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You and Johnny had been married for a few years now, and he was finally off deployment for a month. You both sat at your nieces birthday party, watching all the kids running round laughing.

“These kids are adorable.” He glanced at you, slightly embarassed he even mentioned it “Forget what I said, dinnae mean anythin.”

You smile and observe the kids, “They are adorable.” He stares at you silently for a moment, then speaks “Have..have you ever though about having kids?”

You chuckle and nod “I’ve always wanted kids with you, there was just never a time to bring it up.”

He blinks in surprise, and fiddles with the hem of his shirt, obviously nervous. “It’s been on my mind recently, with some of the guys having kids of their own, it’s got me thinkin ya know?”

You look at him and smile, “I would love to have a little one with you.”

Soap chuckles and nods “Well, do you think anyone would notice if we crept away back home?” You smile and stand up, leading him back to the car to go home.

Maybe OOC. I finally finished the draft after two months. Dedicated to lovely Z (@batwngs) - the biggest grayson fan I know :) bruce ver jason ver dick grayson m.ist

Dick Grayson cries in front of you. Maintaining a happy facade could be strenuous, and the only way he could blow off some steam was by watching sad movies and weeping his eyes out. You knew it was more than the movie, but whatever made him feel vulnerable enough to cry in front of you as you rubbed circles onto his back. Sometimes, he cries when both of you cuddle after a particularly hard day.

Dick Grayson likes to cuddle, and I mean CUDDLE. If he is sitting next to you, his hands are over your shoulders, on your thigh, or intertwined with yours. During the night, best believe you are not getting far away from him anytime. His arms are over your plush body, chest against your back, and his face tucked into the curve of your neck.

Dick Grayson likes to do nothing with you. He feels a certain calmness just by being in your presence, the air of you. Whether it's just lying on the bed or sitting silently next to each other, Dick felt peaceful even while doing nothing, and that's perhaps the greatest form of love, isn't it?

Dick Grayson is an acts of services guy. He will do everything he can until you put a foot down and ask him to let you do it. Whether it's washing the dishes or taking out the trash. Whether it's planning dates or cooking even after a long night, Dick Grayson would do it all for you. Except you don't allow him to do all of it, which requires a lot of convincing and threats towards Dick to share such chores.

Dick Grayson is just the sweetest lover boy at heart who will kiss the ground you walk on !

: ̗̀➛Back to source

SYNOPSIS: After a late night mission, all Tobias wants is to be in your loving embrace.

A/N: It’s all just fluff!!

Toby trudged through the freezing streets with only one destination in mind. Home.

The moon hung low above him, casting pale silver light across the pavement and making the quiet neighborhood feel even more still. He exhaled sharply, watching the puff of fog leave his lips, shoulders hunched against the biting cold. Not that he could feel it anyways. His converse scraped softly with each step as he dragged his feet, the only sound breaking the silence.

I remember when I was younger and finding out that Raphael grow taller and was my height I was over the hills!

Image Reader! being taller than Raph when they fell in love before they Fast Forward and when he comes back a year later he’s now eye level with Reader!

Love your writing! No pressure to write!

You’ve Grown (Fluff)

BTTS!Raphael x reader

A/N: Damn, can you give out some inches? Lol, just kidding. Keep your beautiful height❤️ I have made a few changes in regards to your requests. It’s never pinpointed exactly when they fall in love, but it becomes more and more clear throughout the story. And in regards to heights, I’ve changed it a little bit as well. I’m a little mip at 163cm, so Raph’s 174 is perfect in my book. Anyway, the reader's height is never stated, but they remain a little taller than Raph before Fast Forward. However, at the end, Raph actually grows taller than the reader. It’s never stated by how much, only that the reader has to look up, and even then, it’s never stated how far they have to look up. Hope you’ll enjoy!❤️

Raph and reader are 15 at the start of the story, and 19 at the end❤️

Warnings: Loooong, underage drinking, I might have cried a little bit at the end ngl❤️

One could describe you and Raphael’s relationship in many ways. Some would have called you best friends, who liked to tease and fight over the smallest things. Others would have called you a pair of wild dogs, due to the amount of playful bickering that went on between the two of you. But one thing everybody could agree on, was that your bond was unlike any other.

Whenever something big or newsworthy happened in your life, Raph was the first person you turned to, and when Raph learned a new trick with his sais or played a good prank on Mikey, you were the first he ran to in order to tell about it. If someone were looking for one of you, the other was not far behind, and if someone couldn’t find one of you, the other always knew (not that you always would tell whoever was asking).

You and Raph were just two teenagers, hanging out like normal teenagers would - except, one of you was a mutant ninja turtle living in the sewers of New York City, but who cares? You had many different types of friends in all shapes, sizes and looks, so a mutant would be much different. You were accepting of all kinds of people, and it was that friendly acceptance and easy goingness that made Raph gravitate towards you. He found you were nice to be around, and found that in your presence, he felt almost normal. Sure, he had Casey and April, who he also considered very close, but they were grown adults in their early to mid 20’s.

April was more like this caring and much older sister, who at times almost stepped in like a mom, and Casey very much felt like older sister’s boyfriend, who her brothers just seemed to get along with very well. Especially Raph, who very much saw Casey as a close friend, and yet another (maybe not as stable) male role model in his life. Casey liked to do the same things as Raph, but it didn’t feel like the same when he was with you. If Raph tried to talk about certain topics with Casey, he would start off sounding like this cool older guy, who had all these answers. But then he would trail off, slowly sounding like a strange mix between Master Splinter, Leonardo and Michelangelo, all while making less and less sense, until he finally found a way to bring April up. It just didn’t work or felt the same.

But with you, Raph could talk openly about so many things, he just couldn't talk to other people about. He could rant about his brothers (and on very rare occasions, his father), his feelings, thoughts and fears, and you just seemed to get it. There was just something about that teenage angst, that only other teenagers seemed to understand and be willing to take seriously, in ways adults just wouldn’t. And though you didn’t always experience the same feelings as Raph did, nor held the same amounts of frustration for certain things, you still understood him. You knew those feelings from other aspects of your life, and just like he shared his things with you, you shared yours with him.

When the two of you were 15 and had just met, it wasn’t strange for Raph to sneak out in order to hang out with you, on the roof of your apartment building. You joked around, ate all sorts of snacks you had brought along, just so Raph could have a taste of them. And with 15 year olds being 15 year olds, Raph’s brothers took notice of your friendship immediately. Raph, hanging out with a girl alone? Bringing the same girl to the lair so they could hangout on the couch until late at night, before finally falling asleep on opposite ends of the same couch early in the morning? Yeah, that was way too good of an opportunity to pass up. It became commonplace for his brothers to tease him, calling you his girlfriend whenever you weren’t around, much to the hot head’s annoyance. But the teasing would only get worse with time.

At 16, you and Raph decided to become trouble makers, and tried underage drinking for the first time together. You had found some of your parents’ cheap liquor, before climbing up on the roof with Raph, where you watched the few of the stars that were visible, despite the light pollution of the city, taking large swings of the bottle, until you were both laying flat against the roof. It was here you mentioned someone from your high school, who you had started to develop a crush on. Raph tried to be helpful, listening to you talk about them. They were pretty, handsome, funny and tall. And for the first time ever, he didn’t just feel subconscious about his green exterior, his lack of digits on hands and feet, the large shell on his back and his lack of hair, now he could also add height to the list. And that was when the realisation hit him - he was shorter than you. Not by much, but he was still shorter. And for some reason, that realization made him feel some type of way that he didn’t even dare to tell you about.

Once again, Raph’s brothers were quick to pick up on things, he didn’t want them to poke their lacking noses into. Raph started to measure his height. At first it was just a quick check, but soon it turned into something he did pretty much every morning. And of course, they had to mention it to you while you visited the lair. But you were as calm, casual and accepting as ever, giving Raph a side hug, telling him and the others that it was okay. You thought that it was cute that he was a little shorter. And once you left the lair, that sentence would he yelled at Raph in high pitch tones, until he started hunting in brothers down with the intention of beating them up.

At 17, you had your first romantic partner. And just like your crush a year earlier, they were good looking and tall. It was a short lived relationship that ended almost as soon as it had started. Raph pretended not to feel relieved by it, staying by your side as your supportive friend as you got through the teenage breakup. Raph had never met the person (thankfully), but he had seen them. Not that Raph would admit it, but he has once watched the two of you on walk, just to see whoever had managed to get a hold of his best friend. And the first thing he noticed was their height. Taller than you, to the point where you almost had to stand on your toes in order to kiss them. Not that Raph stayed long enough to see it, but his vivid imagination had already played that scene in his head, more than he liked it to.

But once you got over your break up, everything was back to normal. Or, almost. You still hangout, got drunk on a few weekends, and watched movies later than what should be allowed. Raph’s brothers still teased him, but now they would sometimes whistle at the two of you. How a death stare from two people could look so much alike, was still a mystery they liked to joke about. Once you even yelled at them, in a way much like Raph would do, but you said it in a way Raph never could get out of his head.

“Are you saying a boy and a girl can’t be friends?”, you asked in a stern voice. That question shouldn’t have cut him as deep as it should have, but it did. A boy and a girl. Not a man and a woman? All of you were almost 18, and you still called him a boy. Was that because that was how you saw him? As someone small with a feisty temper at times, who would forever be just that, small. Shorter than you.

At 18, a lot happened. So much that even after all Raph and his family and friends have been through, he would probably call it the most turbulent time of his life.

A short time after the turtles had celebrated their 18th birthday, Casey brought Raph out to an abandoned theme park so that they could explore it. Here they found an old minigolf park, and decided to see who could send a ball flying over the ferris wheel. It was here, after Raph took a swing, sending a ball flying into one of the wheel carts with so much power that it caused a large dent, Casey finally decided to ask Raph something. Not make fun of Raph, but actually ask him.

“Does (Y/N) know ya have a thing for her?”

Raph blinked a few times, taken aback by the question. One thing was to be teased for almost three years straight, but to have someone ask him. Raph wasn’t prepared for that.

“What are ya talkin’ about?”, Raph asked, looking at Casey like he was a lunatic.

“Ya know exactly what I’m talkin’ about”, Casey answered, swinging a ball with so much power, it hit one of the wheel beams with an echoing bang. “As ya grow older, ya start to develop an eye for such things”.

Raph chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking about his next words carefully, realizing he might just be about to admit something he had tried to avoid for years.

“No”, Raph finally said, searching the ground for another ball so he didn’t have to look at Casey. “I don’t think she knows”. Raph found another ball, young the club to roll it over in front of him. “And I don’t think she cares about me like that”.

“Why not?”, Casey asked, leaning on his way too short club, looking more comical than he had intended to.

Raph shrugged his shoulders. “She doesn't think I’m man enough”.

Casey laughed out loud, which caused Raph to shoot him a glare.

“Dude, if anybody would be man enough, it would be you”, Casey laughed, before he started counting reasons on his free hand. “Ninja, saved New York City more than once, have gained mystical powers, travelled through time and space. Hell, do ya remember the time the Purple Dragons had me captured? Ya kicked some serious butt”.

“Yeah, but that’s not the same”, Raph said, twisting the club in his hand, eyes focusing on somewhere just left from the golf ball on the ground. “It doesn’t change the way she sees me”.

“Hey man, listen”, Casey said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Sometimes it may not seem like the people we care about, view us the way we want them to, but that’s okay. Sometimes they see us as something much better than what we imagine. And what can we do about it? Not give up and keep trying. I mean, how else do ya think I managed to bag April?”

“By being a constant pest in her life?”

“Exactly!”, Casey said, giving Raph’s shoulder a clap that would cause a normal human man to fall over. “I never gave up. I quit being the version I wanted April to see me as, and stuck to the real me. Because April saw the real me as something much better than I did. Ya see what I mean? Yeah? Then stop wanting (Y/N) to view ya as what ya think is “man enough”, and be the real version. The real Raphael. And I promise ya, she will come around. Now, go at it, big tiger, and show that ferries wheel who’s the man!”

Raph chuckled and shook his head as the 27 year old, before taking position by the golf ball. He gave it one hard swing, hearing the club swoosh through the air, sending the golf ball flying through the center hole in the middle of the ferries wheel. Though the goal had been to get the ball over the wheel, he could not deny how impressive that shot was.

But before Raph could put Casey’s words into action, the world had to throw him a curve ball, almost as if the universe wanted to make sure that Raph had actually understood what the hockey player had told him. Because the same evening, he, his brothers and his father, was sent around 100 years into the future. 99 years to be exact, but that didn’t change much.

At first Raph thought it was some cruel joke. Finally he admits to himself that he actually likes you, and that he might actually be good enough for you, and boom. Now his arguing with a mechanic butler about house rules, while the great grandson of the man who had helped him realize his feelings for you, tried his best to mediate the situation.

One day in the year 2105 turned into a week, a week turned into a month, and before he knew it, it had been a whole year, with the summer of 2106 looking just like the previous year. But gods, had a lot changed in that one year.

Raph and his brothers had grown a year older, and graduated from genin to chunin. In one more year, Raph and his brothers would no longer be considered teenagers, but actual men. That had made him take a moment more than once, just to wrap his head around the whole thing. It was wild.

Raph had a chance to flirt with aliens and humans (not that much came from any of them, or that Raph really intended to go anywhere), getting a surprising idea of how well he could actually charm people, causing him to wonder if he had been able to flirt that easily with you back home, if he had allowed himself to.

He had more than one chance to stare himself down in a battle (or at least an alien clone), which caused him to stop and think several times afterwards. His clone was much like, well, how he had feared you viewed him back home. Well, expect his size. Dark Raph was big in every way, making Raphael much more content with his current height.

Speaking of height - Raph had grown. In one year he had shot to the sky, outgrown all three of his brothers, now standing tall at 174cm. It wasn’t as stall as your ex or your crush from high school, but it was surely something. Something Raph felt very proud of. And boi, did he wish you could see him now…

Luckily for Raph, he didn’t have to wish for long, as Donnie finally found a way to get them all back home to their own time…

—

You ran faster than you could recall you had done before. The sound of your shoes hitting against the sidewalk with every spring-like run.

Not even a minute ago, you had gotten a text from April, telling you to come to the turtles home. They were back. And quick you were, running so fast you hadn’t even noticed where you were, saw them all before you in the water station.

The first to notice you was Raph, his eyes widening as soon as you ran into the room.

“(Y/N)?”, he asked, uncrossing his arms as he slowly turned his whole body towards you.

You were so overcome with emotions, pure happiness bobbling within you. You couldn’t speak, instead running at Raphael, throwing your arms around him as you hid your face against his shoulder, holding back your sobs of relief. Raph was quick to wrap his own arms around you, holding you tight as he rocked the two of you from side to side. Somewhere out of sight, Casey acted quick and careful, guiding the crowd away, letting the two of you get some time alone.

After a moment like this, you slowly pulled from Raph, your arms still around each other as you looked up at him… And that was the moment you realized you had to look up at him. Your eyes darted across his face as a small, almost mesmerized smile spread over your face.

“Raph”, you said, your voice threatening to crack. “You’ve grown”.

his boots sound weighted, not just physically.

these sound lighter. more eased up.

you couldn‘t bother to get up from under your weighted blanket.

you recognized the man by face.

"aye, lass. b'fore yer mind runs circles, he‘s livin' an' well. yer old cranky sime needs a bit of calm. said he didn‘t wannae load off his… ya kno‘… tha‘ op wasn‘t exactly… smooth, ye know? jus' comin' over tae… he said tae ease yer mind, cuz he knows ya tend ta‘ get… giddy when yer not hearin‘ of 'im."

"you know when he‘s back?"

"won‘t be long, lass."

"week?"

"dunnae."

"then don‘t say it won‘t be long" you turn away from him"

soap sighs, "lassie, c'mon, dunnae turn away from meh! don‘t shoot the messenger!"

"at least i know he‘s alive. thanks."

"want me tah go to tesco or som'in? get yer sum ice cream?"

"no need. have enough."

"ya still have sum in yer bucket?" he points at your ben and jerry‘s.

you shake your head.

"lemme get yer sum more."

"no. i‘m eating too much ice."

"well, if yer in need of anythin‘, i‘m in the guest room."

"i can handle myself."

"yer man knew you‘d say tha‘, so he left me a message for ye."

he pulls out his phone and presses play on what you assume is a voice message. as his voice comes through soap‘s phone speakers, your body turns on the bed, now facing soap again. what 6 weeks of not hearing your man‘s voice does to a girl.

"love, if yer hearing this, then you‘re refusing soap to help you. i know you wanna se me right now, but i can‘t let you see me like… like this. it‘ll be a little while before i‘ll come back, but i will, 'kay? love yer."

you‘re not particularly messy. you like it clean, tidy, to find everything where you left it the day before.

but whenever he‘s gone, that whole thing falls apart. the dishes become a "i‘ll do it tomorrow" thing, the dust builds up on top of your guitars hanging on the wall and the garden grows like nature intended it to. wildly.

so, soap helps. does the dishes. cleans every speck of dust up, mows the lawn and cuts the wild flowers. he charges your replacement pair of anc headphones. he crawls under the bed to grab the tv remote you under there lost a week ago. he throws out the empty bags of chips (crisps) that have been laying on the ground. he‘s an angel to you.

it does annoy you a little, he‘s always hovering, asking if he can help, and you‘re agitated by it. you‘re not letting it show, but you‘d rather be alone. although you know he‘s not being annoying with ill intent.

a week passes by…

your nap gets rudely interrupted by a large hand shaking your body. the noise canceling headphones shut out your man loudly calling your name.

you push away the blanket to find your man - simon - your simon - yours truly - calling out your name.

"y/n? lassie? i‘m back and now yer not lookin‘ me in my eyes anymore?" he seems lighter, the weight of the military off of him for at least a good while.

"siiiiii."

"'m back now, dove."

"siiiiiiiiii."

"yeeees?"

"soap is annoyiiiiiing."

"oh, you don‘t say."

"it‘s not his fault tho."

—————

navigation , dc navigation

Summary: Dick yearning for a nerdy girl who constantly talks about her new books or new science inventions, he doesn't understand shit and they have to look stuff up constantly trying to keep up with her

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Dick didn’t believe in love at first sight.

He believed in proximity. Shared moments. Laughter over mismatched socks and long nights spent brushing teeth in silence. He believed in the slow build—accumulated glances, casual touches, the way someone’s name sounded when said too softly, too often.

But if there was ever a moment that could challenge that belief, it was the first time he saw you.

You were arguing with the Dean of Gotham University’s Applied Sciences Department in the hallway. Over orbital velocity.

You weren’t angry, not really—your hands moved too freely for that. You were passionate. Bright-eyed. Electric. You rattled off calculations like poetry, numbers and terms Dick didn’t understand but wanted to memorize anyway.

She’s speaking Latin, he thought. No. Star-language. This woman is built of solar flares and syllables I don’t know how to pronounce.

He was there for a guest lecture on criminology. You were late to a meeting. You brushed past him, eyes distant, your bag slamming into his side without apology.

Dick fell in love with the sound of your thoughts.

He asked Barbara who you were.

“She’s scary smart,” Babs said, smirking over her coffee. “Don’t get your hopes up, Grayson. I tried to get her to help me debug something once and she built a better algorithm in ten minutes while eating a croissant.”

So of course he pursued you.

Like any normal person, Dick decided to attend your public seminars. Which meant sitting in the back of overcrowded rooms next to grad students who whispered things like Did she really reverse-engineer a nuclear model for fun?

He didn’t understand 70% of what you said. But he liked the way your eyes lit up when you talked about gravitational wave detection or microbial communication. You swore like a sailor when you explained things and always had chalk on your hands, like your mind spilled out of you faster than you could contain it.

He wasn’t your type. That much was obvious.

You liked brilliant, slightly aloof, lab-coated types who forgot to eat dinner because they were too busy decoding the genetic memory of fungi. Not acrobats who carried grappling hooks and read crime scene reports for breakfast.

Still. He wanted to know you.

You met properly during a blackout in the city.

You were in the lobby of your building, trying to coax a neighbor’s ancient cat out from under the vending machine with a laser pointer and tuna.

“Need a hand?” he asked, half-laughing, crouched beside you in the dark.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. Something shifted.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said. “You’re the guy who keeps showing up to my astrophysics lectures and pretending to take notes.”

Dick flushed. “Guilty.”

“You looked very confused during the part on dark matter.”

“To be fair, I was still trying to figure out what the Standard Model was.”

You smirked, tugged the cat out gently, handed it off to a grateful neighbor, and turned to him.

“Buy me coffee and I’ll explain it to you.”

He did. He also fell in love with the way you dunked your biscotti and talked about string theory like it was a romance novel.

Dating you was like orbiting a star.

You were radiant. Intense. Impossible not to be drawn to. You had ten books on your nightstand and a half-finished whiteboard formula in your kitchen. You wore socks with chemical structures on them and got distracted mid-sentence to scribble ideas on napkins.

And Dick—he tried.

God, he tried.

He watched documentaries. Asked Babs for help. Subscribed to every science podcast with a halfway decent host.

You’d curl up beside him, humming as you flipped through papers, occasionally whispering things like, “Did you know Venus rotates backwards?” or “There’s a protein in tardigrades that basically makes them immortal.”

He didn’t understand half of it.

But he loved listening. Because you came alive when you spoke. And every time he saw your hands moving, sketching new ideas in the air, he swore the rest of the world went quiet.

It wasn’t all stardust and poetry.

Dick had his own shadows. Long nights. Bruised ribs. The part of himself that couldn’t always talk about where he was or what he saw.

You didn’t push. But sometimes he saw the questions in your eyes. And sometimes, when you were halfway through explaining a recent breakthrough in bioluminescent engineering, you’d stop, tilt your head, and say:

“You’re not really here, are you?”

“I am,” he always said. “I’m trying.”

You’d nod, but the distance would settle in like fog.

One night, you found his emergency burner phone in the couch cushions. The message on it: “Warehouse raid at 2 a.m. Bring backup.”

He expected you to yell. Or leave.

Instead, you said, “You’re him, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Nightwing.”

Dick froze.

You looked calm. Tired, but calm. “I’ve cross-referenced your injuries, time away, and your avoidance of any real explanations. You’re either a spy or a vigilante. And given your gymnastic abilities and the way you keep bruising your ribs…”

He blinked. “You figured that out from my rib injuries?”

You shrugged. “The pattern matched a common trajectory of reinforced police batons. I ran the math.”

He laughed. Then kissed you. Then cried a little into your shoulder when you said, “I still want you to be safe. But I’m not leaving.”

One night, you were on the phone with your lab while cooking stir fry with your free hand and explaining CRISPR to Damian, who’d just dropped by to borrow a biology textbook.

Tim was there too, sitting at the counter with a furrowed brow and an empty notepad.

“Wait—wait, can you say that again?” Tim asked, already flipping through his calculus workbook.

Dick walked in and stopped in the doorway.

There you were—hair messy, glasses askew, hoodie half-tucked—and two of the smartest people he knew were hanging on your every word.

Tim scribbled notes while you corrected a theorem. Damian asked about mitochondrial DNA. You didn’t even pause while plating dinner with your foot.

And Dick?

He leaned on the doorframe and watched you—half in awe, half jealous.

Because he used to be the one who lit up when you talked. He used to be the one who asked all the questions, tried to keep up. Now the boys were stealing your brain, your laugh, your look at this cool thing I just discovered!

He sighed a little too loudly.

You turned, eyes wide. “Hey, babe. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Tim looked up. “She just explained the Schrödinger equation using scrambled eggs.”

“Of course she did,” Dick muttered, kissing your temple. “Because that’s sexy now, apparently.”

You grinned. “Oh? You jealous?”

Dick looked at your two very eager pupils.

“…Maybe a little.”

Later that night, you found him in bed with a beginner’s book on astrophysics.

You laughed. “Babe.”

“I need to catch up. I don’t want to lose you to Tim and Damian.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

“They understand your brain.”

You crawled into his lap, took the book from his hands, and kissed him softly. “You don’t have to understand everything I say. You just have to listen.”

“I do listen.”

“I know. That’s why I love you.”

Dick paused. Blinked. “You love me?”

You smiled. “Was that not obvious?”

He pulled you into his chest and whispered, “I’m in orbit, sweetheart. Always have been.”

And you?

summary: you wake up late on the hail mary, and grace doesn't seem to remember anything about you—or, your relationship. you don't know how to break the news to him. (a continuation of love hypotheticals, but can be read as a standalone!)

pairing: ryland grace x reader

word count: 4.7k

tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, temporary amnesia, avoidance, close proximity, awkward flirting, avoidance, tending to injuries, ryland grace doesn't know how to be nonchalant — and neither does reader

cross-posted to ao3

The force with which you slam open the door to Stratt’s office echoes down the hall—loud enough to trigger a couple of security detail officers to rush in behind you. They concede only as Stratt raises her hand up and nods for them to shut the door. Her relentless calm against your impatience only urges intensity. “Send me up. I want you to send me up,” you demand, nails digging into your plans. It’s your first time, after all this time working for Stratt, that you’ve ever been upset at her. It’s a foreign feeling, being so incensed with someone so excessively authoritative.

“Sit,” Stratt tells you. Her eyes are wide despite her well-kept composure; she would’ve expected this from anyone but you—her calm-and-cool documentation specialist. Begrudgingly, chest rising and falling rapidly, you sit. It feels a step down from your initial entrance. A part of you wants to. drag all of her files with thrown-out arms onto the floor—but you know that’ll only make her more bewildered with you.

Instead, you repeat: “Send me up with him.” It was clear to everyone but Grace what was going to happen to him after the accident. When DuBois and Shapiro passed, you had wept to him in his bunk—head rested on his chest as he thumbed the muscle of your shoulder. And, he simply hadn’t known that you were crying for him, too. You loved Grace, even though you’d only just gotten to know him. You’d just gotten to know him, and it was going well.

Stratt is quick to reject your request, you can tell, by the way her lips pucker in dissatisfaction. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“I know what I’m asking and I want you to do it,” you affirm. “You can say that Grace and Yao and Ilyukhina don’t know two cents about documentation,” It’s a good excuse, and you know it is because you’ve spent the past few hours thinking it up. All Stratt needs to do is feed it to the committee. “DuBois would’ve done that job, bless his soul. I can do it in his place. Same job up there as I do down here, and I’m good—you know that. I can be useful.” Utilitarian, first. You know Stratt well enough to cover all your bases.

Decent justifications. You can see Stratt crack just slightly. She shakes her head disapprovingly, “We would have to recalculate for launch to account for your rations and your belongings. It would take an extra week to account for the extra weight. And you’d have to get fitted for a suit.” With an authority as uninhibited as hers, all Stratt needs to do is say yes. All the logistics are not as much of a barrier as she’s making it out to be.

So, you have to be more point-blank: “He might hate you for sending me up, and for a while, he might hate me even more for making you do it.” That part frightens you more than the act of doing it: Grace’s disappointment seeing you on the same suicide mission that he’s been relinquished to. It’s strange, though, that you haven’t felt more sure about something in your whole life. You want to be with Grace. “He has to go up. We all know it, even if he thinks he’s not fit for it.” You glance down at your lap, and back up at Stratt, “You care for him, don’t you?” 

She’s quiet. You push harder, “I know you do, or you wouldn’t go through all the effort to take care of him. I’m asking you to do this for him. Let me do this. He needs me.”

“You’ve only just met,” Stratt counters. For a moment, she sounds like your mother—scolding you for running away, in some juvenile act of defiance. It’s possible that Stratt cares about you even more than she does Grace. You’ve known her for double the time that he has, and worked with her just as closely. Your most generous assumption of her feelings towards you is that of a caring mentorship.

“And it will have been worth it in the end. You have to believe that.” The last thing you’re sure about is that Stratt has seen you and Grace together from the beginning. How you had liked Grace and Grace had liked you. How you’d kept each other company all of those months. How you’d spend all those dull morning meetings passing notes to each other. How, after one of those wistful karaoke nights, you’d been holding hands at the bar seats—Rylan’s cardigan draped over your shoulders.

It’s a set plan. You’ll be missing on the day that Stratt asks him to go up—some excuse about Yao and Ilyukhina needing your informational support after DuBois’ passing. And, inevitably, when she forces him to go up, you’ll be packing your go-box to be loaded onto the Hail Mary. Grace will run out to the field to evade the anesthetic, and you will be nowhere. In the end, he’d have fought harder if he knew you were planning on going up there with him. 

—

When you wake up from the coma, you’re quick to shed yourself of the plastic wrapping, the intubation, and the rest of the IV and tubing with sweaty, frightened palms. It takes you a minute to orient yourself—dead, black air outside the portholes, the bleak whiteness of the ship’s hull. You’re in a bedding unit on the ground floor, accompanied by the automated whirring of a robotic arm. “What is the capital of California?” the computer repeats, “What is the capital of California?” When you look up, the rest of the pods shut, you know clearly what you have to do. 

“Consciousness detected. User 4,” the computer rattles on as you clamber up the ladder, bare in the stark-white underwear they sent you up in. You remember—Stratt, “not enough time to code your information into the ship’s computer”—as glance down the robotic arm spinning on the floor below. When you climb up to slide each of the coma pods open, with no avail—there’s absolutely no one home—you realize that you must’ve woken up a little late. You have to find him. They must be around somewhere, but it’s all eerily quiet.

The hull of the ship is… not exactly what you remember it to be. You’d done only one walkdown with the rest of the crew, and it never once had anything like this. There are these strange crystallized structures mounted up on the walls, lined with dark geometrical frames. “What the hell,” you mutter. You come up to one of the larger structures in the containment room, and tap your hand on the crystalline surface of it. It’s anything but normal, and still, no crew in sight. You feel like you might be sick from the implication.

It’s not before long that you hear a repeated thunking along the floor just outside in the room over. Before long, there’s a smaller version of the structure hurdling in. You feel your stomach drop at the sight. Inside, there’s some kind of spidery thing making its way towards you, appendages rapping closely against the glass shell to wheel along. It feels like something straight out of Alien, and you’re very sure that you need to start running.

“Oh, no. Nope.” You shoot your arms out, looking for anything to throw. If a bunch of these beings have taken over the Hail Mary, and possibly captured the rest of your missing crew of three… it's awfully neat. There’s nothing on the ground, no signs of struggle, and absolutely nothing to throw.

“Grace. Grace. Grace,” an automated voice buzzes out. What? Your jaw goes slack. This thing knows your boyfriend’s—no, you’re not even sure you’d gotten that far—Grace’s name.

There’s a raspy voice echoing down the hall that’s all too familiar: “Rocky, I said I need an extra hand. You’re not still mad at me about the eating thing, are you?” You can already feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You remember clearly how you let Stratt stick you with the syringe. You’d done it for him, and he’s here—and you’re both here. Everything according to plan. Except the alien, of course. Still, he rolls back and forth, back and forth in front of you.

“Grace, friend awake. Grace, come now,” it buzzes again, pressing up flush against the containment of the glass, as if trying to examine you. “Come, come, come, come…” All things considered, it doesn’t appear that this thing wants to eat you.

You have to cough a few good times, massaging at your throat, before yelling out a crackly: “Grace!” There’s a clatter—the sound of something metal dropping onto the floor, glass breaking. Then, rushed steps. He stands in the doorway, hands locked behind his head, eyes wide with his glasses hanging off the edge of his face. You run straight into him, arms shooting around his waist.

“You’re awake,” Grace says. You can feel his arms wrap slowly around you as you press your ear to his chest. Though, for you, it only feels like a long nap since you’ve last seen Grace, you can’t be sure how long it’s been for him.

Rocky, you remember Grace calling him, rolls toward the two of you: “This is hug, question?”

Grace nods, chin coming up against the top of your head. “Yes, Rock—this is a hug,” he looks down at you, astounded, “And… uh, morning. I didn’t think you’d wake up. System advised against taking you out myself, and—”

You can’t be bothered to peel yourself off of him. “Just be quiet a second, Grace. I’m just trying to soak in the fact that you’re okay.” Before they put you under, you’d considered plenty of scenarios about how he’d react to your being on the Hail Mary when you both woke up. His confusion, a possible hint of anger. Now, he’s… rather pacified. You reach up to run your hands through his scruffy blonde hair, nails dragging it on his scalp. He’s watching you check over his face with intent.

“Oh. This is… nice,” he hums, eyebrows knitted together. You must look strange, inspecting him like this—but for you, on that last day you hadn’t been sure that either of you would get up to space safely. Grace is just as handsome as he was when you left him, and the yellow NASA jumpsuit on him reminds you only of his old raincoat.

You have to tilt your head up to kiss him, and as soon as you get remotely close, he seems to straighten up and away from you. “I’m sorry, I can’t—I’m married.” You retract from Grace stiffly. Was he married? No, that doesn’t make sense; he couldn’t have been married, he lived alone—one ex. He had an ex before. And then, he had you. Grace tells you, “I don’t know why I know that, but I’m very certain about it. In here.” He taps his index finger against his right temple. You have to think it over again.

“Right. Sorry,” you say deliberately. It’s a perfect chance to solve it then and there—Are you? or No, you’re not.—but there’s an obstruction, you remember now, Stratt’s words: He won’t remember a single thing about himself. Echoes, if anything. “I’m just… super happy to see that everything’s doing well,” you tell him, “Just got ahead of myself.” Maybe it’s the easy way out, avoiding the truth of your circumstances and his. It’s too immediate, too real. You can see Grace squeeze his hands together in an anxious kind of manner, how you’d seen him do when he had a time crunch on the project and didn’t want Stratt to be pissed with him.

—

Per your lack of actual belongings, Grace lets you borrow a pair of boxers and a t-shirt of his. In the reflection of the windows, black space and your own silhouette, you have to wonder what just the three of you are going to do. No Yao, no Ilyukhina. News of their passing gives you a bout of nausea, to which Grace resolves with a bottled water and an assurance that their burials were nothing but peaceful. Though there’s a lingering sense of urgency for you to be around Grace, you can’t exactly push it. Married? Grace seems flighty around you within the first couple of hours of your waking up from the coma, like he’s frightened to be caught in the same room as you. When you give him your name, he doesn’t seem to react to it in any way. It’s like some odd fever dream.

You figure it all has to be taken in little by little. The two of you agree to have a bit of alone time—if that’s even possible—in the projection room. Together, the two of you settle on a beach ambience, all fog and homely. For a moment, with the digitalized sound bouncing around the enclosed sphere, you can pretend that the two of you are there, sitting on the sand together with your knees pulled up to your chests. Grace starts. “So, your name isn’t on Mary’s manifest. Are you some kind of stowaway?” There’s a commitment to his words, a seriousness just beneath the joke that makes you pull back an immediate answer.

You can’t even comprehend what Grace might think when you tell him—if he’ll be heartbroken that you’re there, if he’ll be made that you martyred yourself for him. So, you keep it vague: “I thought it best fit for the project to be sent up with the three of you. I’m still shocked that I swung it, but I did.”

“They just let you come up?” His skepticism makes you nervous. Maybe, Stratt was right. You aren’t supposed to be on the Hail Mary, and you never were; you were only meant to document and archive and keep track of the information. 

You run your tongue over your teeth. “No, I mean, I really had to sell the idea.”

“Of you joining the suicide mission.” Him and his stupid logical inquiry. You can only give him a sickly sort of nod, and trust that he won’t dig any further into it. After all, if it was as easy as it was for Yao, Ilyukhina, and DuBois to give themselves up for the cause, it’s not out of the realm of possibility for there to be someone else like them. Grace seems to accept this easily. “And, you and I…?”

Would’ve been great together, given time. And now there is time. Instead, you admit a measly: “We knew each other, yeah.”

“And you know about me. Who I am,” he affirms. Grace isn’t quite sure how to ask you how you know him, what you were to each other—friends, coworkers, or otherwise. 

You shoot for as-vague-as-possible: “I mean, as much as you do. We only knew each other for a very short amount of time.” He looks unsatisfied by your answer, but doesn’t seem to prod any further. To him, you appear just as clueless an agent as he is. Guiltily, you hope that he’ll stay that way until you can figure out how to tell him anything different.

—

You decide to put on a puppet show, laying supine in the little pod with little figurines in your hand. Rocky’s doing: he’s made one little miniature of you and one little miniature of Grace. In front of your face, you dance them along with one another, two geometrical forms moving in unison but unable to join together. You can hear Rocky rolling into the room far before he even enters the room, the bulkiness of his xenonite shell knocking across the ground of the hall. When you tilt your head to look out at him, he’s already well jutting into your sleeping pods.

He asks, “Why hide while Grace working, question?” Right about now, Grace should be doing a couple of extra checks on the Taumoeba, and making sure that the Hail Mary’s trajectory towards Rocky’s ship is still on-point. Which means he’s busy. And you can escape for a generous forty-five minutes before he needs a spare hand.

You have to lock the miniatures away in your closed palm, and slide them just beneath the pillow. You scoff: “I’m not hiding. Where’d you get that from?” You click a button off the side of the pod, letting it extend the bed outwards; as you get up, legs dangling off the side, you can see Rocky roll back slightly. 

He insists: “In bed. Make little noise in corner of ship.” It’s all very matter-of-fact.

“I just needed to take a breather,” you correct. In truth, you are very patently hiding from Grace. It’s a terrible habit now that you know that Grace is a pin drop away from recalling who you are.

Rocky pushes again, “Need meaning of word.”

“Breather, like… there’s a lot happening, and I need to rest for a second and think.” It’s the most clean-cut definition you can think up for Rocky. Though, it omits the obvious: you’re terrified to tell Grace and are perpetually delaying the inevitable.

“Think what, question?” As flatly as his programmed voice seems to ring out, Rocky shows a genuine sort of care that you’d find rare among most humans. You can’t exactly reject his attempts. They’re nothing but good-willed.

It takes you another minute or so of silent deliberation before you can figure out how to seek Rocky’s help without giving away too much. Finally, you offer up a decent, analogous-enough hypothetical: “If your mate—if Adrien had come up with you, left Erid, would you be angry with them?”

Disjointed and with much urgency, he responds: “Not angry. Sad. Very sad. Adrien stay on Erid. Stay home. Journey is too high risk.” His response can only send you into a further state of despondency. Rocky and Grace are more alike than either of them would like to admit. Rocky only affirms what you already expect of his response, and by extension, of Grace’s. He must be able to gauge your panicked reaction in the laborious sound of your breathing and the well-engrained frown adorning your face. “Are you sad, question? Thinking of mate.”

“Something like that.” You smile faintly. The thought of calling Grace that—given your absolute lack of time together—amuses you. Still, it’s an endearing thought. You wonder if he’d be as entertained by it as you are.

“Not familiar with Earth mating traditions,” Rocky reminds you. “If talk with Grace, maybe feel better, question?” Rocky has absolutely no clue.

—

Out of the three of you, you happen to have the least painful injuries after Tau Ceti-E—a couple of tender bruises on your back, and a sprained ankle. As you’re still very much in love with Grace, it feels absolutely excruciating to act casually around him. Him flinging himself out of the ship for the bacteria collector was enough to send you into a panic. And, now that everyone’s safe enough—injuries aside—you fall back into an easy enough routine.

And, it’s not as if he’s a blank slate. He’s still plenty identical to how he was when you first met—intelligent, sometimes klutzy, and prone to curiosity. You flock to him like you did then, on the carrier ship. There’s some instances, you think, that Grace must feel it, too—despite how much he strays away from you.

Like now, as you insist on cleaning his wounds up. Though it’s an easy enough job for the robotic aide, both you and Grace have unanimously agreed to let the system cool down after the obvious intensities of your near crash. So, you’re in the lab, Grace is seated on one of the tall stools, whining as you peel off the old patch off his cheek. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

“This isn’t going to go any faster with you squirming like that,” you say, discarding the papery adhesive on the counter. The gash on Grace doesn’t look terrible, just scabby around the edges. You take up supplies from the open medical kit on the counter beside you both. Your hand grips his chin as you drag an antiseptic-saturated cotton swab across his cheek. His scruff is rough against your fingertips. “Just stay still and let me disinfect it. You’re worse than a kid.”

“You know, I don’t think you’re wrong,” he responds with gritted teeth. You can tell he’s trying, out of embarrassment, to hold in any further disgruntled noises. “Have you been icing your ankle?”

“As much as I can,” you mumble. You can tell that he’s trying to distract himself, hands gripping the seat of the stool.

Grace hums, “Well, if you need to be off your feet for the next couple of days, I’m pretty sure Mary isn’t going to get any worse.”

You lift the swab off his cheek a moment. “Are you asking me to take a break, or are you telling me to?”

“Whatever you’ll agree to more easily?” Grace grins softly. His insistence is so familiar that you almost forget that the half of him that knows you is missing.

You return the swab back against his wound, and he flinches less intensely than before. Softly, you tell Grace, “I’ll think about being off my feet. Don’t want Rocky waking up to a dumpster fire of a ship—you know how he hates messes.”

It isn’t until the new bandage is on his cheekbone that the two of you, at once, recognize the sort of position you’re in. Grace with his hands grasped tightly around either side of your waist, and you wedged in between his parted legs. You must have failed to notice, and clearly he hadn’t either. You swallow soft, face hot. You can see Grace’s eyes flash down to your lips and back up.

“Thanks,” he coughs out, red-faced, “I better go check on Rock now.” As soon as his glasses are shoved back onto his face, Grace dismisses himself with a beeline towards Rocky. You make sure to step aside, making sure to toss the used supplies into the nearest waste bin, before closing up the kit and tossing it back into its usual drawer. Now, the ship feels exceptionally tiny. You can see Grace press his face closer to the xenonite glass of Rocky’s container. His glasses are fogging up, and you can see through the glass that he’s trying his best not to glance up at your direction.

—

While Grace is occupied with taking care of Rocky, you’ve dedicated yourself to restoring the Hail Mary to her prior state. The cleaning is a decent distraction, and gives you a good chance to survey the ship’s inventory. The cockpit has the worst of it, manuals scattered and screens cracked from the interior pressure. You try your best to order everything back into place.

There's a whiteboard discarded in the flight deck lodged behind the chairs, bent in the middle but still largely recoverable. You pick it up gently, as if recovering some kind of ancient artifact. There’s a couple of phrases at a time scribbled neatly in columns: San Francisco? Good with cilantro. I’m a teacher. You can’t imagine what it must be like to be him—bits and pieces of who he was before the launch, trying to sew themselves into something meaningful. Another column: Notebooks? Sweet coffee, no exceptions. Gorgeous.

There are a couple more identifiable things that sell the understanding that it’s all you. Hometown. The names of cafes and restaurants you liked to go to before the project started. That sells it: this side of the board is all about you—detailing in fragments all the time that you’d spent being together all that time on Project Hail Mary before the launch. How you’d like each other from the start over breakfasts in the carrier ship’s cafeteria. How you’d pass notes across the table during those five o’ clock committee meetings.

Open windows. How you’d kissed for that first time before dinner with the team, in your crammed bunk room. You’d had the windows propped open that night to let the open air and sea mist in; he remembered that. He remembered sentiments about you—but he still can’t quite place your name or your face. It’s you who’s clouding Grace’s brain, and he doesn’t even know it. He thinks you’re married. It’s an educated guess that he’s reiterated enough times to think it’s real.

—

It takes quite a bit of thinking over when you decide to confess. While Rocky shows Grace his ship, you’ve decided to stay back and make sure the Hail Mary is in top shape to get refueled. You come up with the courage while he’s gone, and it’s all plotted out thoroughly in your head:

Grace, I haven’t been honest with you. I need to tell you that I knew you more than I said that I did, before this. I need you to forgive me for what I’ve done, and know that it was the best possible choice I could’ve made—even if you might not agree. And anyway, we’re here now and we won’t be going back, so there’s nothing to be done but be together. 

When Grace makes it back in, suit shedded, he doesn’t think twice to collapse onto the ground of the main hull. You find him like that, knees pulled up to his chest, heavy-lidded eyes swollen from crying. He must know now, somehow, how he got there. And, he must have a sneaking suspicion about how you got there, too. The need for your drawn-out confession has evaded the both of you.

There’s the chirps and ticks of the ship’s machinations, the low hum of the Hail Mary cutting through space, and there’s the sound of his muffled sniffling. Oh, Grace. You’re quite aware of the fact that he can see the soles of your shoes right next to his. Your voice falls lower than a whisper: “Are you upset with me?”

“It’s you. Of course not,” Grace grumbles. You let out a little bit of a sigh—seating yourself onto the ground beside him. He hangs his head, “We’re so not married.”

“In your head, I guess we were.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” Grace groans, palm coming up to cover his face. You have to nudge his shoulder with your own. Not that embarrassing, you want to say—but all too shy to do it aloud. He murmurs, “Why did you do it?”

“It was this or slow death. Living with the fact that I wouldn’t ever see you again.” This is a confession in and of itself—admitting to Grace that you cared about him crazily enough for you to leave the planet. “I convinced Stratt before she sent you up, made sure you wouldn’t find out about it. I knew you wouldn’t want me to do it, and I knew you didn’t have a choice.”

“You knew she was going to send me, and you volunteered yourself up to keep me company,” he repeats back to you. He nods with a sturdy, rasped out “huh.” It’s clear that he’s still trying to settle with the fact that he’s known you this whole time—more than known. Grace rubs his fingers gingerly against his forehead.

“Sure you’re not mad?”

To that, he eagerly shakes his head. “I should be. Selfishly, I’m kind of stoked. I mean, I get you all to myself. That’s, like, the dream. I win.” Grace throws a weak, celebratory fist into the air. You have to stifle a giggle. Yes, this is the Grace you knew. “Obviously,” he says, “you get the short end of the stick.”

“Don’t,” you tell him, index finger pointed. “I’m one-hundred percent where I want to be. It’s you and me, Dr. Grace.”

“You and me,” he repeats. He makes a quick swipe at your hand, lips brushing over your knuckles in a quick kiss. Grace makes sure to hold your hand hostage in his own, and the two of you sit there a while, your head leaning on his shoulder. There isn’t a single bit of assurance that the two of you will be making it back to Earth in due time, and still, you don’t feel much of a need to rush.

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1.5K of plotless fluff

Summary: the Avengers have a night out in a club and your husband gets a little drunk

A/N: reader has curly hair in this, also I myself don't have curly hair so if anything is inacurate and makes no sense just tell me and I'll fix it. Thank you and enjoy <3

A/N no. 2: I got idea for this fic after a convo with my bestie @lokislovingvalkyrie, so... here honey, enjoy

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld @forevernthensome @kozkaboi @the-emo-asgardian @theaudacitytowrite

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟗𝟑𝟓

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐦𝐞! 𝐇𝐢! 𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞: 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝐁𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞.

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Loki is the first person you look for when you finally step off the Quinjet. You’re aching and so exhausted that your limbs feel leaden, but both things become so utterly insignificant compared to reuniting with the love of your life. 

It doesn’t take you long to find him - leaning back against the frosted glass doors that lead to the Landing Bay, he emits an air of complete indifference to the scene around him, but, unfortunately for him, you can read him better than your favourite book. It takes less than a minute to register the tense set of his jaw and the faint dark circles marring his pale skin, along with the way his arms are wrapped protectively around his torso. 

He’s barely holding it together. 

that's my first time making a request , i wanted to ask if you can write a loki x virgin!reader oneshot or Headcanons, but the reader is slightly jealous and insecure because Loki already had many people in bed and they don't?

Absolutely I can, thank you for reading and requesting!

I’ll Take Care of It

Loki Laufeyson x virgin!f!Reader

Warnings: 18+ content; minors DNI, virginity loss, slight praise kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, creampie

"Dumb conversations, we lose track of time. Have I told you lately, I’m grateful you’re mine?"

- Nothing; Bruno Major.

-> Pairing: Avenger!Loki x gender neutral!reader

-> CW: Loki is in the Avengers in this one!! Slightly different timeline: if Loki decided to stay on Earth w/Thor after the Battle of New York & become an Avenger (look… just go w it.) x gender neutral (they/them/yours/) reader!

-> TW: none!! Just tooth-rotting fluff, as reader chills out to cuddle w/ everyone's favourite God of Mischief. lots of unconditional love for one (1) Loki Laufeyson <3

W/C: 1424

╰┈➤ Lex's note: DEAR JAYNIEBLOSSOM, MY SWEET, SWEET READER... i am so sincerely sorry that you had to wait two months for this!! i'm so ashamed for making everyone wait/gen. written from this req by @jaynieblossom-or-rosieposie !! i hope i did him justice for you!! i hope we all enjoy some fluffy cuddles w/ our dearest Loki. as always, thanks for requesting & reading!! <3

“On your left!”

Like a knee-jerk reaction, Loki’s dagger was hurled, and Sam swore into the comm that crackled in the God’s ear as his metal wings made a screeching noise, grinding against the blade. 

“Nice one, reindeer games. Forget what side you’re on?”

Stark’s grating, arrogant drawl made his dark eyebrows pinch together, his glacier eyes narrowing beneath his helmet as he grit out an apology. Be kind, he thought, they’re your team now.

Regrettably.

The others filled the comms with their voices as they gave Stark and Rogers their intel and their positions, and the dynamic team of Avengers managed to make the mission a no-casualties success, except for maybe Loki’s mood. Loki panted, sweat drenching his lower back, making his tunic cling to his abdomen more than usual. He thought about what you’d say if you saw the view, and he tried to let a kindling warmth stir in his core, only for it to feel like he had been doused with freezing cold water. The swirling voices of Stark’s childish arrogance, Sam’s disapproving looks, even Maximoff’s sympathetic smile as she tried to offer consolidation- ”You weren’t that bad! When I first started with the Avengers, I was clumsy and disoriented too. Just think of yourself like a baby deer learning to stand!”

It made him grit his teeth.

Stand? Why, he could do more than that. He was a Prince of Asgard, a King of Chaos, the God of Mischief for crying out loud.

Curtly, he dismissed the Scarlet Witch’s kind attempt to make him feel better, and Sam rolled his eyes while Tony assessed his wing, “Don’t get too pouty, prince. I’m sure big brother can help you learn the difference between teammate and target.” His mocking smirk made Loki want to ruin the pearly whites he mocked him with, when there was a warm caress around his wrist. A little thread bracelet of gold, black and green you had made him, with one in your own favourite colours to match. He had enchanted them, so a simple touch would be felt for the other bracelet wearer, and Loki immediately craved home.

You were cosy on the couch, in a hoodie that smelt like him, though he had made it clear he wouldn’t stoop so low to wear such mortal rags in public, but you were content with this. You had scrolled on your phone, watching cute compilation videos of little animals, and success stories, and family reunions. It had gotten you warm and teary eyed, but you had put your phone down as soon as the door to your room swung open, “Hey you… I was just thinking about- oh!”

His face was buried in your chest before you could properly process his non-verbal behaviours, and immediately you began to scratch his scalp tenderly, playing with his soft raven hair, “Mission didn’t go well?” A muffled grumble was your answer, before he shook his head against your chest. He wasn’t needy, looking at you with a wolfish smirk and hungry eyes, like he usually would, and your lips tilted down into a frown, “Why, my love?”

There was considerable silence, before you quirk your lips to the side in thought. You were ready to make silly guesses, but something in the air shifted, and you could tell this was serious.

“I don’t think I’m a good fit for the Avengers as a whole.” He started, sitting up suddenly, staring at the ground with his elbows on his knees. His hands were clasped together, slender fingers twisting at the jewellery to adorn his hands, “I don’t have any purpose. I go on these foolish, wasteful mundane missions and do nothing useful- my powers are fizzling out, all because I’m some washed up God now, though I still don’t do right on missions-”

“Hey!” You finally made a successful interjection, sitting up and pulling him into a hug, “Where did this come from, Loki? How could you say these things about yourself?” Your voice was soft, not to baby him or condescend, but to provide a safe place for him to be… vulnerable. As if he had caught on, he tried to look away with a mean scowl, though it was not directed at you as he answered, “It’s not easy to stick to the path of redemption with a creature like Tony Stark reminding you each moment of what atrocities you need to repent, and how much of a monster you are.”

Your face softened into a sad frown, and you hugged him tight again, kissing his temple, “You don’t really believe all that crap, right?”

“How couldn’t I? He makes such convincing points.” His sarcasm was unnecessary, but you knew better than to comment on it while he was like this. Instead, you gently coaxed him to lie with his head on your chest, the two of you sprawled comfortably on the couch with legs intertwined. You grabbed your phone to open it up to something, but before you did, you kissed his head again.

“You know you’re doing so good, right?” Your voice was the warm ray of sun he needed to defrost his sweeter mood, and he felt the foundations of his scowl begin to crack and melt already.

“Lies.” He grumbled, but your refusal was adamant,

“You are. I am so incredibly proud of you, Loki. And truly, if I thought there was… something wrong, if I thought you didn’t care at all about making up for what you’ve done, if I truly thought you were some low-life, irredeemable monster-”

“Okay, I think I get it-”

“Then I wouldn’t be with you! But I am, because I see how much this change of heart means to you. Every day, you do so well, even when you think the opposite, and it makes me feel so proud, so fulfilled to see you give yourself a chance.” You had cupped his face at this point, kissing his head, then the tip of his nose, then his lips in an affectionate peck. He returned for a sweeter kiss, before you pulled up a thread of something you had saved for your own bad days, and immediately he was intrigued.

“Animals?”

“Baby animals! Look! A little baby bunny, and a puppy, and ducks!” You cooed, your eyes pooling with adoration as you absorbed the contents of the tiny screen. Loki still thought you were one of the strangest mortals he had ever met, but that only reinforced his love for you as he watched you swipe and scroll through, before he scowled at the baby deer and extended a finger to personally remove it from his screen. You didn’t question it, letting him look around on your phone, until he saw little snakes with flower hates, wearing tiny scarves or jumpers, curled up in funny little spots. 

“See? It’s you! My handsome little snake prince.” You hummed, kissing his head while his eyes were fixated on the screen, scrolling at his own pace. 

“You know, I’d love you if you got turned into an animal by an evil witch.” You curled your lips in a thoughtful pout, which he met with his own in a gentle peck, before raising his eyebrows at you. “Oh?” He hummed half-distractedly, eyes drooping as your nails scraped against his scalp in the way he liked, right at the nape of his neck. You felt him sag more into your body, half-blanketing you, half-trapping you in the couch.

“MMhm! Whether it’s a snake, a puppy, even a worm- I’d love you no matter what form you entered my life in.”

“Thank you, darling… That is kind… Very kind.” His voice trailed off slowly as he cuddled into you, and you kept kissing his head whilst you told him sweet things. At one point, you had fallen asleep too, to which he poked an eye open lazily and murmured, “I’d love you if you were a worm too.”

He lay in your arms, his mind quiet despite the emotionally charged day, despite what he was thinking before he saw you. As he lay here, with your arms wrapped securely around him, hands tangled comfortably in his hair, he couldn’t help a small smile as he looked up at you with pure, wholesome adoration. As long as he had you, he was sure that he was doing good in the world.

Especially when he got to see you smile, or laugh, or do any other simple motion that could fuel his lifespan and fill him with strength.

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: hopefully i return to a semi-consistent posting schedule!!

summary: when loki needed to be comforted he found a timeline where his longtime wife y/n was alive so he could be grounded in this time of need, craving for her touch.

word count: 1511

warnings: pregnant reader! i repeat, pregnant reader, different timeline, a country life, reader obvi not knowing loki is impersonating….himself?, hurt/comfort<3

thank you :D

Daddy’s girl

Comfort

Loki never thought he could be any happier after being with you but to his utter surprise everything changed when you gave birth to the bundle of joy.

He caressed the soft chubby cheek of his baby girl, she was curiously watching him with her big green eyes, a trait he was very proud of passing off but still very pleased that everything else came from your side.

She had just woken up from her nap, not hungry and her diaper just changed, enjoying the attention her daddy was giving her.

"Aren’t you the most gorgeous being I have ever seen" he kissed her forehead and walked out to the area where everyone was waiting to meet the new little princess.

Wanda hurried to be the first to hold her and squealed happily at the awaken baby "Oh great heavens she looks beautiful, the most precious little thing"

The other surrounded Wanda to take a look at the little girl, Loki felt a heave pang of pride as he heard everyone complement his baby.

His little one, the one you graced him of bringing to this world.

"She takes after her mother, a beautiful strong and delicate flower she will grow up to be"

The baby girl cooed at the many people staring at her adoringly, clearly enjoying all the attention and being the center of everyone’s conversation.

"And this right here is all you Loki, attention seeker" Natasha chuckled.

Loki grinned mischievously "And doing it with the most adorable little face, what can I say? She’s her daddy’s girl"

"Oh my god let’s hope you don’t inherit your daddy’s mischief behavior now" Wanda booped the baby’s nose.

The baby girl smiled softly, showing her little dimples, everyone awed at the sight before handing her back to Loki.

He looked adoringly down at her "I’m so happy you are finally here my little princess, my dove did a wonderful job of taking care of you inside her, I’m so proud and I hope you know, you will be loved to bits just like your dear mother" he whispered to his baby, unknowingly to him that you were standing near the doorway, hearing everyone word and clenching your chest in pure bliss with the stupidest grin on your face.

And maybe just maybe when time is right you’ll let him live the same feeling again, but for now, he can enjoying showing off your baby and dotting on you till you get sick of it.



-🍎

apple of my eye ⋆.˚

You’ve been stuck on Wally's lap for the better half of an hour, not that you’re really complaining, he’s warm and a good kisser, but he really does have wandering hands. From cradling your cheeks in his calloused palms, to tracing the curves of your waist, and all the way down to grasp your hips. You're situated in his lap, doing your best to keep still, speedsters are known for being easily excitable after all. With your arms loosely draped around his shoulders, you pull away from his kisses for a heavy breath. Wally tries tipping his face up some more to kiss you but you turn your face to the side to avoid it.

"Hey, what's the big idea?" He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, cheeks flushed all the way up to the tips of his ears and probably down to his chest. Makes his freckles stand out more. "The deal is that you've totally sucked all the air outta my lungs." You try to chide, brushing his hair back firmly, he leans up into it like a stupid cat. “I’ll be gentle this time, promise.” Wally replies solemnly, wriggling his pinky in front of your face, quickly pulling it back just before you can bite it off.

You fall for his boyish charms, because who could withstand them? Wally starts off sweet, a little peck to the corner of your mouth, brushing your hair away from your face. But around you it's like his brain just turns to bubble gum, laying you down onto your own frilly sheets, sucking your tongue into his mouth and laving the inside of your mouth with his drool, once again stealing all the oxygen residing in your lungs. "Mmph--liar!" You turn your head away with a weak hiccup, breathing heavily like you ran more than you should've. "Sorry!" Wally squeaks, ducking his head to nuzzle your chest, he's a blur, and in the blink of an eye his big head is underneath your shirt, orange hair poking from the neck of your shirt as he rubs his cheek against your chest. He likes skin to skin.

"What is your deal?!" You're exasperated, lifting your shirt to reveal his head, pushing him away. But Wally just sees the frizz of your hair, the cute pout of your lips, and the furrow between your brows and swears his heart grows a size bigger. "The deal is that I love you!! My baby...my wittle snookums." Wally all but coos, smushing your cheeks together before you can make fun of him, he kisses your puckered lips with a loud Muah!

"I swear I've never seen anything, or anyone, cuter than you." Wally speaks as though it's a shame. You can't even reply because his next act is to wrap his arms around you and squeeze, his skin vibrates against yours and even makes you a little hot from the friction. "Wally!" You wriggle uncomfortably and he smacks another apologetic kiss against your cheek. "Were you trying to phase through me?"

"I just wanna be close to you." Wally mumbles, slumping on top of you, adjusting your hands to try and coax you into petting him. You oblige and he gives you another squeeze. Weirdo.

dividers by @lunardividers

Pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader

a/n: Fluff, a smidge of angst

Jason Todd was not a man who played games with you.

He didn’t do psychological warfare, didn’t do silent treatment, didn’t do riddles or petty tests. He loved you like he shot: straight, hard, and direct. When he wanted something, he said it. When he felt something, he showed it.

So the fact that Tim of all people wormed his way into Jason’s head was, frankly, a personal tragedy.

“Couples always hide things from each other,” Tim had said in that smug, insufferably matter-of-fact voice. “Even healthy ones. Don’t be naïve, Jason. You think she tells you everything?”

Jason scoffed at the time. “Yes? She literally can’t lie to me. Her face does the thing.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Everyone hides something. Test her.”

“Test...Are you insane? I’m not mind-tricking my girlfriend.”

Tim pushed his glasses up. “Just ask her. Make a serious face. ‘I know what you’re hiding.’ If she spills immediately, she’s honest. If not…well.”

Jason had rolled his eyes. Said he’d never do it.

And then, ten hours later… He was pacing the bedroom, psyching himself up like a man about to commit a felony.

“She’s an angel,” he muttered to himself. “She can’t hide anything worse than…than forgetting to water the plants. Why am I doing this. Why am I listening to Timothy. Why am I...”

You walked in.

“Hi,” you smiled, soft, easy. “What are you doing?”

Jason froze.

He had planned to look serious. He had planned to look intimidating. He had planned to look like Red Hood interrogating a gang lieutenant.

But you smiled at him and all his internal wiring short-circuited.

Still…he powered through. For science. For pride. For the fact that Tim would never shut up if he bailed now.

He cleared his throat. Straightened up. Set his face into the most grave, solemn expression he could muster.

“Babe,” he said, voice low, controlled. “I know what you’re hiding.”

You blinked.

He pushed forward. “And how long,” he asked, eyes narrowing with faux-gravity, “did you think you could keep this up?”

There. Perfect. Tim would be proud.

Except… Your eyes widened. Your lips parted. Your breath hitched.

And you looked... Nervous.

Jason’s stomach plummeted.

Oh god. OH GOD.

“I...Jason, I...” you stammered, fiddling with your fingers. “I didn’t think you’d find out yet.”

Jason’s soul left his body.

Tim was wrong. Tim was wrong about everything. Tim was a demon child who had poisoned him with doubt. You were perfect...you would never...

But you were still fidgeting. Still looking like you’d been caught by the IRS.

Jason’s voice cracked. “Baby…what...what did you hide?”

You swallowed, cheeks flushing with guilt.

Then you whispered:

“…chocolate.”

Jason stared.

“I have a secret chocolate stash,” you blurted out miserably. “I hid it because I told you I’d cut back but the sale was really good and I impulse-bought a giant bundle of fancy bars and I didn’t want you to know because you’re so good at self-control and I’m…not.”

Jason blinked. Once. Twice.

But you weren’t done.

“And...I also bought a bunch of new notebooks. I don’t know why. They were pretty. And now I have seventeen unused notebooks and I don’t know what to do with them but I can’t get rid of them because what if I need them for something? And I’m sorry I hid it, I wasn’t trying to be secretive, I just...”

Jason’s mouth fell open.

That was it.

Chocolate and notebooks.

That was your “dark secret.”

And suddenly...suddenly, Jason wanted to strangle Tim Drake with his bare hands.

He inhaled deeply.

Then he walked over, cupped your face gently, and kissed your forehead.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. “Baby. Angel. Light of my miserable life.”

You blinked up at him, still anxious.

“I thought you were hiding something actually serious.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, expression softening with every second of relief. “You’re allowed to have chocolate. You’re allowed to buy pretty notebooks. You don’t have to confess that stuff like a crime.”

You sniffed. “But I lied.”

“No,” Jason said firmly. “You…omitted. About snacks. And stationery.” He kissed your nose. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You sagged against him, relieved.

Jason wrapped you up in his arms, soft and sure again.

And as he held you, he made a mental note:

He was never, NEVER, listening to Tim Drake ever again.

When you finally calmed down, you peeked up at him.

“…so you don’t think I’m hiding something terrible?”

Jason laughed into your hair.

“Baby,” he said. “You couldn’t hide a tragic secret if your life depended on it. Your face does the scrunchy thing.”

You gasped indignantly. “It does not!”

“It absolutely does,” he grinned. “And it’s adorable.”

You pout-smacked his chest.

He kissed your pouting mouth.

And in the back of his mind:

Tim is getting payback.

with JASON TODD ◜ content ⸝⸝ short n' sweet . i didn't mention the girls :(   !  ୧ head empty just batfamily ♡

It's quiet when you both turn in to sleep ― warm, comfortable ... shielded from the filth of Gotham. His heavy duty and your deep-rooted fears, far from your guys mind. Your face is turned towards his, head nestled comfortably under his chin, and ... Jason breathes softly, in n' out ... It's calm ... quiet ... Maybe even a little too quiet ? You hear the faint noise of the city below your apartment complex and all the way down the streets. Traffic, sirens ― it's all a familiar sound that would usually lull you right to sleep. Even the light rumbling of your partners' chest ― not quite snoring, but something close ― normally has you knocked out in under five minutes. But ...

The doorbell. It's a sharp tone in the otherwise silent apartment, that has your eyes wide open again, and Jason on his last nerve. You hear him sigh. Annoyed, yes, but also in a way that tells you ― he has an idea of who that might be. It's still dark, and you can barely see just what he's really doing, but you feel how he peels his side of the blanket away, muttering something like 'jus' sleep, i'll check' which is barely audible by how sleep drunken he sounds. Then, he's already out of the bedroom, lazily walking towards the door, already dreading which bat will greet him at such an hour ...

When he finally opens it, it's ... Richard Grayson, grinning. The sight has another heavy sigh escape him. "Yeah?" Jason liked to pretend that it was unusual for his brothers to show up ― which it wasn't. He also liked to pretend that he never lets them stay ― but he does. And it ― embarrassingly so ― never even takes that long to convince him. When asked, though, Jason claims it's because he rather gets right back to sleep than argue with any of his brothers.

Everyone believes him. Not.

So, Jason just steps aside and lets a much too triumphal looking Dick crash on the couch.

You hear them talk, hushed, comfortable, and soon enough, Jason is back in your bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him as he crawls back to you and underneath the sheets. "S' he okay?" You ask softly, shifting back into your previous position, flush against his chest as you breathe out, content. You're used to Richard coming over and crashing, so you're more concerned on why. Wouldn't be the first time he came over bloodied and beaten, much more eager to let you patch him up than have the batman give him a lecture. "He's fine. Will be gone in the morning."

'He doesn't want to deal with Bruce today' is what he wants to say, but he doesn't want his father to be the last thing he thinks about before going back to sleep. So he just presses a kiss against your forehead and tells you to go back to sleep.

You do, for maybe a minute, then there's a loud crash somewhere, and you're obviously wide awake again. This time, Jason doesn't even pretend to 'go check' because it's one of two people ― and he has this vague idea that it must be Tim, by how stupid his landing was. Probably came through the wrong window and fell right into that new Vase you bought.

Great.

You quietly follow behind when he leaves the bedroom again. You carry a blanket and a smaller pillow that you know is more comfortable than whatever pillows you keep in the living room, handing both to a drowsy Dick when he opens one eye ― not even bothering to check what caused such a loud noise in your guys' apartment. He just thanks you, turns around and goes right back to snoring. It's sweet, you think, how he feels more at ease here, than the large Mansion of his father...

"Go home, Tim," You hear your boyfriend mutter and follow his voice to the kitchen. His brows are furrowed as he watches the boy ― still glad in his suit ― try and puzzle the vase back together. "It's fine, we'll clean it tomorrow..." you find yourself saying, offering the kid a reassuring smile when he sheepishly lets it all fall back together. You know why he's here ― Jason knows too... and it goes without saying that he, too, is always allowed to stay. Even when Jay plays the annoyed older brother, grumbling and huffing when you show Tim the foldable sofa in your bedroom ( the one you guys bought specifically for nights like this ... )

He gets the last spare blanket, and a pillow, and he's good to go, bright smile and rosy cheeks when he thanks you so genuinely, you almost tear up a little. Your boyfriend grunts something about it being 'the last damn time' and Tim just nods. It won't be the last time. Jason acts like his brothers are intruding ― you know better.

Then everything slowly settles. It gets quiet again, there is the occasional shifting of blankets and pillows ― but, everyone seems asleep. Jason is cuddled against you, you can hear the faint snoring of Dick, and even Tim smacks his lips in deep content.

Yet, you can't help but feel like something is still not right. And like the universe agrees with you because ― of course, someone is still missing ― you hear the noise of your window being shoved open, with careful, skillful little hands... and soon enough, a smaller body wedges itself right between you and Jason as if it belongs. You don't say anything, and neither does he ― Damian Wayne fits right in the middle, barely three apples, yet he gets comfortable as if he owns the place. And you know Jason is rolling his eyes, deeply annoyed and beyond done with having so many siblings seeking him out when he just wants to spend time at his apartment with his partner. But even he is quiet and settles easy, his arm lazily thrown over his youngest brother and you, shifting the blanket so that all three of you are warm.

It's the sounds of a full apartment that finally lets you find comfortable sleep ― the warmth of two bodies right next to you ( of which the smaller keeps his hand laced with yours, as if you would ever even dare leave during the night ).

When morning comes, your sofa is empty, the vase glued back together and one demon child can't even look at you because he knows you're aware he's been clinging. He's embarrassed, you ruffle his hair, and together with Jason you bring him back to the Manor. You know it won't be the last time... and you honestly don't mind.