#pls. i would kill to see this man laying in bed with a wicked cold that has just knocked all of the fight out of him.

[raindropsandcoughdrops]

Fell head over heels for the most pitiful soaking wet character in fantasy and I want so badly to see him absolutely wrecked with a cold during the redemption arc I have in my brain for him <3

[sukiglycerin]

birds (not) of a feather || keigo takami.

* pairing: hawks x fem pro-hero!reader

* genre: canonverse(???), terribly indulgent smut, pwp, enemies w benefits

* words: 3,111

* warnings: i just packed a shitload of kinks into this, dom!hawks, sub!reader, daddy kink, dirty talk, semi-public sex (a bathroom), quirk play aka feather play (not tickling), reader is kiNda a brat, fingering, orgasm denial, cum eating, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (pls.,., wrap it before you tap it irl), degradation, breeding kink, humiliation, dumbification, creampie, aftercare (duh), i’m so sorry for this i’ll finish my sfw angst thing now

* a/n: inspired by this text post... oh god, this is filthy. apologies for the slightly late update, but here it finally is!! @toishi is an absolute angel for proofreading this at like 1 in the morning. i hope you enjoy this! if you liked this, feel free to request anything you’d like to see from me <3

there was something about hawks that was infuriating. you couldn't tell exactly what was the breaking point; his messy hair, his plush smirk, or his eyes. his eyes, typically glazed over with a mixture of cockiness and devil-may-care hawtiness, were perhaps the most charming part to him, if you asked any fangirl. the markings around them only made him prettier, but infuriatingly so; and when you put together the entire package of 'hawks,' you got an extremely punchable person. 

yet sometimes, during extremely rare instances - perhaps when the light hits him just right or when one of his feathers is placed just perfectly - the word 'punchable' is replaced with 'fuckable.' and when you say fuckable, you mean him fucking you. it only aggravates you more.

you can't recall exactly when you started hating him or exactly when you became fuckbuddies (well, more like fuckenemies), but what you can recall is that the closets at hawks' agency are unreasonably large. not that they can't be used to your advantage, on multiple occasions (especially when hawks ruts). you're sitting next to hawks as some entrepreneur attempts to sell his ideas to market heroes and gain more profit. none of the pro-heroes sitting in the room seem particularly engaged. you're practically falling asleep; hawks' doodles on your notepad keeping you awake. you can't exactly complain, though the doodles take up space on an otherwise blank page, it's entertaining. you're far past gone being alert, however; your eyelids droop one last time before you see an oddly phallic shaped doodle behind your eyelashes. goddamn hawks.

"really?" you hiss at him, pushing his hand away.

he shrugged, lazily smiling. "you like it."

"like what? lewd imagery in my work notepad?"

"no." his voice drops an octave, fatally gravelly, "my cock."

you flush at his obscene language. "don't-" you whisper, but you're cut off by hawks' muffled giggles as he points to another one of his doodles. a rooster. you purse your lips. ever-so immature, hawks.

"yeah, but i bet you like the first one a lot more, don'tcha, chickadee?" his pet name has your brain stuttering. "you like my cock so much, hm?"

"fuck you, hawks," you breathe.

"you can try, feather." his voice is dripping with cockiness. "i bet, even in professional times like these, you think about my cock. in business meetings, you look so professional, so serious, but little does everyone know - you're dreaming about my cock stretching your tight little cunt out, making you scream my goddamn name. i bet you salivate just thinking about my cock fucking you good, hm? isn't that right, chickadee?"

you huff, not meeting his eyes as you search for a witty comeback. your silence gives hawks' ego a boost; he smirks wider.

"you know it's true, huh?" he purrs. "you think of me wherever you go. in public, filing paperwork, when you touch yourself in bed... you just like it so much, you're my slut. who knew the nation's favorite pro-hero would drop to her knees to the sight of anyone's cock?"

"yeah, i touch myself whenever i think of you," you mutter saltily under your breath. you ignore the growing arousal in your panties at his provocative words. hawks goes quiet, eyes wide.

"more specifically, i rub my temples because i get a headache because you're so damn awful."

"well fuck, dove," he chuckles. he leans in close to your ear. "maybe i'll give you something to think about."

a shiver curls itself down your spine. "hawks-"

he hushes you, jotting something in your notepad. he excuses himself from the room, leaving a feather laying on his seat in place of him. you read the note. "women's bathroom, down the hall to the left. no one uses it."

a pump of adrenaline fills you; your heart skips a beat.

once you slip out, your heart plays a game of jump rope, the rhythm filling your ears. down the hall, to the left... you wonder what hawks has in store for you. your brain recreates images of past escapades you engaged in with the man; a quickie in his office, another in an alley, and once, him fucking you just before a meeting. your panties grow damper, unable to mask the anticipation you feel within yourself.

"hi, sweetpea," hawks cooes as soon as you enter the restroom. "fancy seeing you here."

"you invited-"

"hush, i didn't give you permission to speak, did i?" he snaps. "good girls who behave are rewarded."

a whimper slips out of you, and you nod.

"safeword, birdie?"

"sunflower."

"good girl." he hums. "so obedient, once disciplined... maybe i should do this more. i bet you'd like that... being such a slut when anyone could walk in." "hawks..." you start, but he doesn't have it.

the hero stalks toward you. if eyes could kill, you'd be murdered within seconds; his irises are dark, pupils blown, and a shadow has fallen over his face. he looks predatory like this - truly living up to his name. it's graceful, the self-control he assumes whence walking toward you. 

said self-control is completely abandoned as soon as your bodies meet. you're completely enraptured in his shadow as the man loomed over you, his wings contributing greatly to the effect. he's the predator, and you're the prey. 

his arm separates your neck from the wall, his hand clutching the back of your head. the free hand moves itself to caress your jaw in a strangely gentle manner, while his knee pushes its way in between your legs, making your upper thighs into a home. his hand nudges your head forward towards his, and then you're kissing him with such ferocity it's animalistic. tongues clash and you're no longer sure whose spit is whose; it dribbles down your chin the way blood drips from the thirsty lips of a vampire.

hawks growls - he actually growls - while he hastily unbuttons your top and slips his tongue into your mouth. you shamelessly grind down against his clothed pant leg, careless that your wetness will leave a stain. 

he pulls away, a string of saliva snapping between you and leaving you two gasping for breath. 

"fuck, fuck, baby bird," hawks wipes his mouth with his sleeve. his lips are swollen, their colour resembling a cherry lollipop with a sheen of gloss. damn, he's pretty. you never realized how good-looking a guy in a suit could be. his eyes are darker than a raven's, and it looks as though he'll devour you whole. 

"come." hawks gestures for you, walking towards the sinks and large mirror above them. as soon as you near a foot from hawks, he grabs you, one hand on your waist and the other on your throat. 

"look at you..." he tsks, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. you're completely disheveled, hair a mess and eyes blown dark. your top is wrinkled slightly, your breasts peaking out through the unbuttoned gap and your skirt pushed up.

"so messy already..." the hand on your waist moves up and squeezes your breast, tweaking a nipple through your bra.

"you just fucking melt for me, like a good whore," he says.

oh, how you hate how easily hawks can win you over.

"fuck you," you scoff half-heartedly. "are you gonna fuck me, or not? we don't have all day."

"won't be a problem, lovebird," he says breezily. "judging by how much you fucking soaked my pant leg, i could have you coming undone without my cock even touching your dirty cunt.

you glance at his thigh, which has a blatant dark spot on it, and feel your heart race in humiliation. you can only stay silent, knowing he's right. the sensation in your core is painfully obvious to you, as if taunting you more.

"obeying now?" he teases, a wicked smile gracing his face. "bend over the counter, sweetpea."

you huff, obliging. hawks deftly moves his fingers, unbuttoning your shirt. you shiver, your hot skin colliding with the cold, unforgiving marble. 

"spread your legs - good, good, like that..." his breath tickles your ear, "you like how the air touches your sopping pussy? how exposed you fucking feel, all spread out for me when anyone could walk in? me, the number 2 pro-hero..." god, he was so cocky it was infuriating.

"shut up," you grumble.

"what?" his voice is sharp, cutting clean through the air. "is that anyway to treat your daddy?"

you fucking hate the title. you hate how hawks harnesses it as his own, how he so personifies the word - how good it fits him, sounding like sugar off his lips.

two of his fingers meet your clothed folds. "answer me, birdie."

"n-no," you squeak out. 

"no, who?" he spits.

"no, daddy." 

you inch your head up to look in the mirror, and hawks is smiling. 

"what to do with you, what to do with you..." he sounds gleeful, sadistic undertones tinting his words with a faded rose red. so pretty, yet so painful. your head goes back down onto the counter, your cheek pressed against it.

"naughty birds deserve punishment, don'tcha think?" 

you can't find it in yourself to form a coherent word; instead, a clumsy moan falls from your lips. hawks' fingers press harder against your cunt; you're sure they've gotten at least a little damp.

compromised in such a position, your senses make you suddenly aware of your surroundings; the way the counter digs into your hips, how the coolness is starting to fade under your body. you're aware of your every breath, the fluttering in your stomach every time hawks presses your clit. you're aware of the inherent eroticism of your acts, and how you don't really hate hawks; no, no, no - how he just infuriates you.

he's the ideal hero, in your eyes - laidback, charming, and yet so skilled at his work. it amazes you. one can only strive to be so multifaceted, and it explains his status as number 2 hero. you work so hard, yet he can achieve all the things you dream in half a heartbeat.

"let's get these out of the way." hawks, hooking a digit into the band of your panties, forces them down in an instant. you instinctively clench at the air which meets your nether lips, your juices leaking out of them like a honeyed nectar.

"so messy," hawks comments. "can't even control yourself without your panties. you like being such a slut for daddy, huh?"

you grumble in protest.

"huh?" his index and ring finger plunge into your pussy, making a loud squelching sound.

"d-daddy," you blurt a moan out, falling apart on his fingers.

"that's more like it, feather." hawks sets a moderate pace on your pussy, curling to hit your sweet spot. the noises from your cunt and mouth fail to cease, and you throw a hand over the latter to muffle your whimpers.

you start to feel a burning sensation rise in your stomach; a toe-curling, warm feeling like sunlight shining in the morning.

"daddy, daddy, hngg- i'm so close."

you're so close to the sunlight, to being showered in the blissful heat. just one more stroke and-

you're suddenly empty, and the light starts to slowly recede.

"daddy!" you complain, shifting your legs and rubbing your thighs together. "bad birds get punishment," he shrugs. "though i must say... you like it when i bend you over the counter, huh? your little pussy is dripping all over it for me, and i've barely touched you... i bet you're getting off to this right now; when anyone could walk in, huh? filthy slut. you're already begging for more... hm, maybe i should make you lick up the mess you've made..."

"d-addy, no, i've taken my punishment, please let me cum..."

hawks sounded indifferent, as if he were merely studying his nails. "beg for it."

"wh-" you clench your hands in your skirt. you do not particularly enjoy begging - for anything or anyone. despite the pulsing in your cunt, and how hard it is not to give in, you don't want to give hawks the satisfaction of winning. "p-psh, didn't really need your cock anyway..." you grumble. you exhale quietly, calming the adrenaline pumping in your blood from the loss of your orgasm.

something in him changes, and a scarlet feather tickles your lips. you're confused; what does hawks want you to do?

"suck."

you exhale in confusion, blowing the feather away. "suck?"

you crane your neck up at the mirror to catch a glimpse of hawks. he looks deadly - there's no other way to put it. his eyes are sharply trained on you, his wings buff and towering over him. you think you see a bulge in his pants, straining for freedom.

"well?" the feather dusts your lips once again, teasing you to trap it in between your lips. your head drops, falling against the counter. you open your mouth, and the tip of the feather rests on your tongue. your lips close around it, and you hesitantly suck. you're not sure what you were expecting; it's a feather, soft and flimsy in your mouth.

you jolt at an indistinct tickling feeling against your clit. you look back, feather hanging out of your mouth, to see hawks leaning back on a stall. he's not within reach to touch you, so...

"hng!" the foreign object presses your clit. the pressure strengthens against your tight bundle of nerves, and you can feel your slick drip out of you even more. a feather; though hawks made the consistency a bit more solid. the feather pushes against your pussy like a seesaw, making you reach for your high. you shut your eyes tight, lost in the feeling and desperate for release. the feather drags up and down your cunt, eliciting lewd noises, while your lips are clamped shut around the feather in your mouth. saliva pools in your mouth the more the feather teases your wet sex, and the familiar build of tension starts in your stomach. you yearn for the heat returned in full, to be so fulfilled in pleasure, and you rut against the feather in an attempt to reach your climax faster. the stimulation is suddenly gone, leaving you crying out.

"look at this," hawks sneers. a single, wet feather, dripping in a substance far thicker than water hovers in front of you. "open your mouth."

the feather slips out, and is replaced with a salty tasting one.

the taste of your arousal fills your tongue, and before you're given time to dwell on it, you feel warmth pressing against the back of your thighs. there's a clanking of metal, a shuffle of fabric, and you feel the tip of hawks' cock pressing against you.

"look at you, baby, so desperate for a fuckin' feather," he rasps in your ear. "should i show you how much better my cock is? hmm?"

you nod dumbly, the feather bobbing with you. 

"fuck," he groans, pushing himself into your depths. "so wet, so- slick- goddamn baby bird, you like it when i stuff you full of this cock?"

you hum a noise against the feather in your mouth, agreeing. he slipped into your pussy smoothly, lubricated by the abundance of your slick. once in, snuggled in deep, something in the man's composure snaps; he thrusts mercilessly, pounding deep in you. his fingers hold your hips, bruising them, you're sure - and the pain is sweet, a sick lolly against your tongue. 

"fuck, fuck, daddy's gonna fuck his babies into you, betcha'd like that, huh?"  you can't articulate your words properly with the feather in your mouth, but you attempt to agree. he doesn't care, continuing with his degradation.

"you're gonna give me my chicks, huh? be my bitch," he pants heavily. god, you can just imagine how he looks; hair falling onto his sweat-matted forehead, his eyes completely lascivious. a wanton moan spills from your mouth, and the feather falls, but hawks doesn't make notice of this. he continues to slam into you, pace unforgiving, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. squelching noises fill the bathroom, echoing off the walls.

you can only moan and clench around him unintelligently. 

"look at you... all fuckin' stupid and obedient, all for daddy, hm? so willing to let daddy use you as a cumdump, daddy's personal- fucking- cumslut- but you like that, huh? your pretty pussy's clenching around me. you like being talked down to, don'tcha? such a dirty slut. look at that, you're drooling."

two of hawks' fingers shove themselves into your mouth, and you salivate around them. it's messy, you know, and spit trails down your chin.

"look at me, chickadee," he commands. you crane your neck to look at him, eyes wide. "fuck, so slutty," he grunts. "you really like this, don't you? fuck- exposing your fucking cunt to every guy, huh? being used as nothing but a filthy fucktoy?"

you shake your head rapidly in disagreement, cheeks heating up. 

"no?" he chuckles darkly. "just my fucktoy, then?"

you reluctantly nod. 

"my stupid lil baby... so pretty with daddy's fingers shoved in her mouth..." he coos, and a surprising, fuzzy feeling emerges from the praise.

his unoccupied hand reaches down in between your thighs to stimulate your clit, rubbing fast circles against the bud. warmth pools and ties a knot in your stomach. the sugared indulgence of release that you'd so craved comes into view; the knot tightening and tightening and you feel fit to burst.

"c-cum for me, baby bird, cum for me, y/n," he stutters, making a guttural sound in the back of his throat. the fingers in your mouth pull out, falling onto your hips. the tight knot bursts into violent fireworks of ecstasy; your cunt gushes around hawks' cock, convulsing madly. the pleasure shatters you, and everything becomes a haze. you go limp against the counter, thighs shaking. you're not sure how much time has passed - hawks had been fucking you through orgasm, and, at one point, came as well.

"hey, feather," he whispers gently to you. "you did so well for me..." he strokes your back, making a plethora of calming coos and humming sounds

"did so well," you mumble. 

"don't worry about anything, dove, i've got it all handled."

your thoughts are all fog, and you allow yourself to lean into hawks. this is one of the rare times you're vulnerable completely to him; at his mercy, after a particularly hard session. rather, it's one of the rare moments that your true feelings are revealed; how your hatred is baseless, built on jealousy and attraction you deny.

not that you'll admit it.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

“Move. I dare you.” PROMPT YES YES YES YES YES YES PLS DO THAT ONE FIRST

Halloween Masterlist - DT special

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~           ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

𝓢𝓔𝓡𝓘𝓐𝓛    𝓚𝓘𝓛𝓛𝓔𝓡  ~  G𝓡𝓐𝓨𝓢𝓞𝓝 𝓓𝓞𝓛𝓐𝓝

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

This whole damn series is a WARNING so don’t read if you’re not good with anything serial killer related.

Part six - finale

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~           ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

She could feel the icy cold tip of the blade slowly trailing up the side of her left thigh, sending chills up and down her spine as she held his merciless gaze. The wicked glint in his eyes matched the one in his smirk, forcing her heart to beat so fast he could hear it without a strain. And he loved it. He loved every minute of this sweet torture he had forced on her, but can you really say it was forced if she turned up on her own free will?

He thought her to be pure, an angel touched by the heavens, the good in darkness that surrounded the world, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. Good girls don’t meet their serial killer boyfriends on their own free will. Good girls don’t stand there and let their serial killer boyfriends do as they please with their body and their mind. Good girls would call the police. If she was a good girl, he’d have been arrested by now. Thus, the only conclusion he had was that his Y/N wasn’t the good girl he believed she is, meaning she had deceived him all along and he wanted retribution.

“Move.” He spoke lowly, tilting his head to the left, examining the way her lips part as he pierced the veil of silence. “I dare you.” He raised his eyebrow, his smirk growing into a grin, holding in a chuckle he wished to release with every beat of her very audible heart.

“No.” She stated calmly, knowing she’d meet her end that night. But she refused to let him snuff out her light before she got answers. So, she lifts her chin up defiantly, narrowing her eyes at him, ignoring the flames flickering in his.

“Not until you tell me why you’re doing this. Or why you haven’t killed me yet.” She knows it’s a gamble, too big of a chance to lose in this game he’s been playing with her, but she promised herself she won’t die until he tells her the truth. He had no reason to lie any longer and if he did, even a relative truth was better than the lie he sold her.

Grayson pressed the tip of his knife into her thigh, noticing her left eye twitch with the pain, but she didn’t flinch. She didn’t even gasp as he drew blood. Sure, it’s a flesh wound, but most girls would scream by now, but this girl….his girl refused to give him the satisfaction, drawing a snarl to his lips.

“Because I like the feeling of a body growing limp and cold in my arms. I enjoy the way they scream and the way they stop, their hearts finishing its tune under the palm of my hand. But most of all, I love the control it gives me, the fear I strike into the cowards who can’t fucking move when they see a little blood - as if they don’t know how good it feels to have it flow across your skin - slowly turning colder the further is goes.” Grayson smiles. Perhaps ’smile’ wasn’t the right word for it - the top row of teeth was showing, and there was a faint curve to the lips and a slight dimple in the right corner, but there was no crease below the eyes, no movement of the cheeks. It felt like a grimace, not a grin.

Her breathing grew faster as he continued, swallowing thickly as she faced reality that her once prince charming is truly the angel of death and not the touch of heaven she believed him to be. That wing shaped earring he wore deceived her right from the start and the smile on his face right now ripped her apart.

“There’s more to it.” She demands, her voice oddly calm still, only pissing him off. Every word she says pushes him closer to the edge and it’s only a matter of time until he breaks. They both know it.

Grayson wanted this to be a game for the long run, but even he knew that was a lie. There was a bigger reason to it.

“I’ve always had the urges. And when I first saw you, I knew I wanted you to be my first…first victim. But then I realized it could be something else. A game.” Grayson stepped closer, using his body to push her into stepping back and closer to the bed.

“The girls I killed were all practice. Ethan had caught me on the second kill, only then joining me. But I was the instigator. And I wanted to see how far we could go, before and after revealing ourselves to you.” He stepped closer once more, making her move again.

“And you loved me either way. The pure, good girl next door loved me - a serial killer who planned to kill her from the very first time he laid eyes on her. And he enjoyed knowing that. I loved knowing you love me - giving me immense pleasure. And I planned to torture you this way until you stopped loving me, but you can’t, can you?” Grayson smirked, but in reality, the conversation made his heart jump as well. He knew he was mixing lies with the truth, trying to convince her without revealing his weakness…and his weakness is her.

She was the last shred of his humanity, the boy he used to be, who he clings to. She was the past, the present and the future. In her, he could see a life unfold - a life where the persona he wanted to uphold would remain - one where he’d be the charismatic, appreciated, manipulative humanitarian until he has all he wants in the world - like all sociopaths do. But his brother didn’t have that wish, for Ethan only wanted to kill until he’s killed and the restlessness would lead them off the deep end either way, so he gave up that wish of his - the one where he’d be the perfect man in the eyes of the world - the one with Y/N.

And yes, she loves him and it gives him a perverse sense of pleasure and while he wanted to wait to kill her, he couldn’t do that anymore. With her, he was just a boy. With her, there was hope of being who he wanted to be which would betray his twin. With her alive, he’d gravitate toward her until it all ends. And he couldn’t do it anymore. With her, he’s a boy, but he needed to be a man. So he had to kill the boy and let the man be born - he had to kill her.

“You never loved me, did you?” She whispered, going against all sane reason once she cupped his cheeks in a moment of weakness, pressing herself closer to him, her trembling lips brushing his.

“I don’t know if I know what love is.” He admitted, lifting the knife up, setting the tip of his blade on a forty-five degree angle under her left-side rib cage, preparing to break his pattern of killing, unable to cut her throat as he did with the others. He loved that neck of hers far too much - his beautiful swan.

So he would push the blade in as fast as possible and end this torture, just as Henry did with Trish. It would be a quick death and he’d hold her in his arms until she took her very last breath, letting go of all she represented for him. He’d look into her eyes and see the shock, betrayal and the love fade until her pupils are wide and fixed, no longer swimming in a galaxy of her own as death claimed her.

And just as he’s about to do it, he pressed his lips onto hers one last time, saying goodbye without uttering the words, unaware of the world around him.

Which is exactly why he nearly jumped out of his skin as the door busted down from behind them and the room quickly filled with a SWAT team. Y/N was taken from his arms with great force, pulling her away from his embrace as they pushed him down on his knees.

“I’m compliant!” He shouted, stopping them from shooting him. They’ve pushed him all the way to the ground, his cheek laying on one of the rose petals left on the carpet, searching for Y/N desperately.

“Grayson Dolan, you are under arrest for murder. Anything you say…” The officers started with their usual blabber, but he couldn’t pay attention. He knew if he was caught, so was his brother who remained in front of the door of this apartment as he was the lookout. He also knew that if he was caught, it meant Y/N didn’t listen to his request of coming alone. He knew that if she had done that, it mean that she wasn’t just a girl who agreed to meet her serial killer boyfriend willingly. It meant she was the good girl he believed her to be.

She was still his good girl and despite her being why he’s in handcuffs right now, he knew she was still on his hook. And the thought made him smile - widely, especially when he finally caught her eye as they forced him to stand and walk out, winking at her.

“We’ll see each other again, babe.”

A/N - The Trish and Henry reference is from Harper’s Island, a mini series I highly suggest you watch if you like this fic.

Tags: @dolanstwintuesday @peacedolantwins @xalayx @godlydolans @heyits-claire @dolandolll @ethanhes

[sserpente]

In a heartbeat (Chapter 20)

A/N: Okay you guys. This is literally the first chapter I wrote for this story, this is how it came into being in the first place. You remember me telling you it will be emotional? Well, you better prepare some tissues.

The next morning felt, if anything, strange. Together with Bruce, the only other mortal around, you would finally leave Norway—and Asgard, Thor, Hela and most importantly, Loki, behind you.

The Thunderer had managed to contact Tony Stark, who today would be sending a private jet to fly you back to New York, where it had all started. You couldn’t wait to meet Karen again, to hug her, tell her you were alright and what had happened to you and sincerely mourn her sister with her.

Loki had announced a feast before your departure, a reason to properly bid you both farewell after everything that had almost killed you. Behind this kind gesture, so you knew, lay the sneaky attempt to allay the people, to restore some peace and repose, yet you were looking forward to it—even if it was the last opportunity to see Loki before you left him forever.

When you woke up and found yourself in your bed instead of the library, your first reaction was it to frown at the ceiling. You had been dreaming last night. Of someone joining you on the comfortable pile of pillows and then gently caressing your cheek… perhaps it was about time to go home.

The thought of it filled your heart with joy, yet the very same time, there was sadness clawing at your heart.

“Good morning. Fell asleep in the library again, (Y/N)?” Bruce started when you stepped outside to meet the others around a bonfire. Thor and Valkyrie were joking around and laughing, the scientist himself was sipping a coffee.

Oh. So he was the one who had carried you to bed. You were about to thank him when suddenly, Loki showed up beside you. Your heart jumped and almost made you flinch. Other than Bruce, however, no one seemed to notice your sudden excitement. The knowing look he shot you had a blush creeping up your cheeks. They were practically burning when Loki’s smooth voice reached your ears.

“The celebrations will start at noon. Stark should arrive shortly after the meal.” He explained. Each and every word sent pleasant shivers up and down your spine, realisation that throughout the last couple of days, you had barely spoken to each other, hitting you hard. For some reason… for some very odd and peculiar reason you all too well knew the heritage of… you were not ready to go.

“Can you believe we’ve survived this?” Bruce shook his head in an unbelieving manner. His restless eyes searched the crowd in the throne room for a familiar face to spot either Loki or Thor but there were only Asgardian citizens among them. They had disappeared shortly after the main course and would likely return for dessert. You had never eaten this much in your life, especially after what they had fed you on Sakaar.

“Not really,” you gave back, lost in thought and shrugging as you did.

“Me neither. Although I can only remember a few weeks of it all, it was… draining.” You nodded in response. “And now here we are, back on Earth and alive. After everything we’ve been through…”

Oh yes. You had all been through a lot. In only one month’s time, you had seen and experienced so many dreadful, terrifying and deadly things it was hard to remember how exactly you had survived it all. What mattered was that you had. After defeating a goddess, fighting a giant wolf and surviving a realm full of fire, smoke and glowing embers, you were still alive—and it was all thanks to Loki, the very man who just now returned with Valkyrie and Thor to stand before his throne to elicit a smile from you and raised his arms to quieten the cheerfully chatting crowd.

“My friends…” He started, standing to raise his arms in the air. Instantly, the whole room silenced, curious as to find out what it was their new king was going to tell them. My friends? Just this once, he didn’t sound as superior and condescending as usual. You frowned. “There is a special occasion for which I invited you all here to feast with me. As you are aware, our two Midgardian guests will be leaving us today and we are to bid them a proper farewell. May they return back home safe and sound.”

The crowd beneath him cheered and while you managed to lift the corners of your mouth to a timid smile once more. Bruce only shifted uncomfortably on his chair.

“However,” Loki continued, pausing to build tension, “There is something else I would like to announce.” He paused once more. Wicked silver tongue. “Being king can be a great burden. A burden that requires a lot of strength, support and dedication and is best shared to properly care for a people. I would like to therefore introduce you to my fiancé and your future queen of Asgard.”

Your blood ran cold.

“The fierce Valkyrie!” A condescending smile was playing on her lips when she joined Loki before the throne, nodding thankfully at all the admiring sounds of agreement and delight she received. “Now then! Let us have dessert!”

Swallowing thickly, you watched how Asgard’s folk blithely returned to their plates after Loki and Valkyrie had made themselves comfortable. Servants hurried over to them to pour refreshing ale into their empty cups and while they served delicious dishes, Asgardian specialties, to all visitors, you quickly got on your feet and stepped back to hide in the shadows of a pillar.

“Excuse me, will you?” You mumbled to Bruce who had already noticed your discomfort. He only gave you a court and compassionate look to indicate he understood and then, you frenziedly bolted the throne room.

It was like someone had driven metal hooks into your heart, twisting and turning them inside of you and ready to painfully draw life from you.

He was going to marry Valkyrie. He was going to marry the woman who had looked at him with utter disgust upon finding out about his true heritage, the one person you hated with a passion for it. Of course though, she was the better choice. Valkyrie was Asgardian. She was powerful, skilled and, as much as you hated to admit it, intelligent. A perfect match for a king like Loki and the perfect woman to gain a people’s trust. He would be happy with her. How could you not have noticed? The last couple of days, he had barely spent any time with you. Valkyrie on the other hand, had been around the whole time, forcing her advice on his ruling. What had changed? How could he forgive her for what names she had called him for being a Frost Giant? Would he overlook it because of the sex? Had they gone back to loveless fucking?

The thought of it stung in your eyes, hot and salty tears worsening your sight. You had no idea where you were headed anyway until suddenly, you found yourself in Loki’s provisory library, its dozens of books luring you into false comfort by enchanting you with the wise words it held. The one place which made you feel close to the God of Mischief again.

You scoffed as you blinked away the tears you were unwilling to shed. There had been too much crying in the last couple of weeks, too much heartache and pain. Was a single person even able to feel all of this in such a short amount of time? Perhaps you were dead and had gone to Valhalla already but then again… your definition of paradise wasn’t Loki wedding Valkyrie.

Taking a deep breath, you chose a book to occupy yourself with, determined to get lost in its story. For just a brief moment, the world was fine again. You were fine, unable to feel the agony clawing at you with sharp and poisonous nails.

“You are not celebrating?”

His smooth voice had you flinch. The book you had grabbed in a desperate attempt to distract yourself almost fell from your weak grasp when you turned your head to face the man of your lovesickness. His attire was as impressive as usual. With every step he took, the green cape flapped behind him like eager waves at the shore of a blue sea. A sea as blue as his eyes that opened the gates to his soul, to the very feelings only you had caught a secret glimpse at. Would Valkyrie see them too? Would she care to heal his wounds and attend to his scars? You sincerely hoped that she would.

“I’ve never been one for celebrating,” you responded, smiling weakly as you did. You managed a shrug before setting the book aside. He was standing only an arm-length from you now. Insecurely, you cleared your throat. “Congratulations on your engagement.”

Loki nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you.”

Pause. “Why are you here then?” You asked carelessly. Naturally, you were anything but so.

“I have never been one for celebrating, little minx.” He copied with a smirk. A chuckle escaped your lips, scaring away the pain in your heart for a second.

“Touché.”

Pause. Your breath was shaking as you let your gaze drift over the many books in the giant hall, desperate to lock eyes with something other than these blue oceans of his. You couldn’t bare it any longer, not if you wanted to remain calm. It was bad enough your heart was pounding so fast you feared for it to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna miss this library,” you stated, albeit it wasn’t what you actually wanted to say. I’m gonna miss you, you corrected yourself silently.

Loki smiled knowingly. You had grown familiar with this room, after all, learned its secrets and ancient knowledge. It was only a fraction of what he himself had acquired but he knew all too well you were telling the truth. He had missed the library in the palace too during his time in the dungeons.

“When are we leaving?” You asked then.

“Stark will arrive any minute. Once the beast has recovered from all the ale he is drinking right now.” Good old Bruce who was the only one who knew what was really going on inside your tormented mind. Another sigh escaped your lips, followed by Loki’s amused chuckle.

“I think he is trying to outdrink Thor. He’s quite tipsy too already.”

“It takes a lot for Asgardians to get drunk, little minx.”

You were going to miss his playfulness too. The way he liked to tease you just to see that taunting smile on your face.

“What about Frost Giants then?”

The God of Mischief smirked but his expression was blurry. You realised with a start it were your tears. “I have not yet tried.”

“You should. You have a lot to celebrate.”

Suppressing the trembling of your limbs, you took a step towards him and forced a weak smile. Your eyes were shimmering with unshed tears as you placed your hands on his chest and then stood on your toes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek—to at least once feel what it was like if not for the one time his lips had grazed yours.

“Goodbye, Loki.” You said quietly, turning to leave. You never watched his reaction.

As soon as the linen of the tent’s entrance fell back in place, you burst out in tears, your quiet sobbing echoing through the empty and vast landscape of Asgard’s new home.

It was a truly beautiful sight. White clouds, a blue sky, the evergreen bushes and the colourful flowers dancing in the cool wind that whistled through the air… Norway was your new definition of restful peace and Asgard knew to cherish it. No wonder Loki had wanted to be king so desperately. It was treasure.

By now, your tears had dried off. Your reddened cheeks were only moist and your eyes were swollen from all the salt water when Thor appeared behind you. The private jet Stark had sent was impressive—at least, it would be a pleasant journey home.

“What the hell happened to your hair, Point Break?” Tony took off his sunglasses to reveal a shocked expression, his lips slightly parted. “The pirate look suits you though. A little old-fashioned maybe but still, I think I like it. Banner!” He shouted then. Thor smiled and shook his head. So there was another Avenger. What an interesting twist your life had taken. Maybe with this story, you would finally be granted your big breakthrough as a journalist.

It took Tony a while to catch up with the scientist. When he finally turned to you, he winked.

“You must be (Y/N) then. Tony Stark, Iron Man.” He bragged jokingly.

“Hello, Mr Stark.”

“Are you ready to go home? I would be.”

You returned his smile as honestly as you could as you nodded. “Yes. I’m ready.” And it might have been the biggest lie you had ever told.

Following Tony back to the private jet, you were almost a little surprised when you spotted Valkyrie and Loki waiting for you to say goodbye as well.

“I promise to come visit you, big guy.” Thor joked as he pulled Bruce into a hug. The scientist patted his back.

“Anytime. Just try to, you know, not to bring along another revengeful sister.”

The Thunderer laughed. “I shall try to. Farewell, Banner.”

Then, he turned to you. So this is goodbye, a faint voice in your head whispered. This was going to be one of those cheesy farewells where everyone in the movie theatre cried emotional tears. You appreciated it though. You ravished every single second of it. What else was there left to do?

Please, let something get in between.

“I’ll think of you next time there’s a thunderstorm, yes?” You teased, smiling as you wrapped your arms around his broad form. “Goodbye, Thor.”

“Farewell, (Y/N).”

Let something happen, please!

Valkyrie was next. Only reluctantly did she step forward and stretched out her hand for you to take it.

“You know I still don’t like you.” She started, her dark eyes boring into yours. “But I have to admit that I didn’t think you would make it. You have a strong will. You have my respect.”

Loki was watching. The motion of him tilting his chin curiously was barely visible when you huffed. Your voice was eerily calm as you spoke.

“I don’t need your respect, Valkyrie.” You countered coolly. “Be a good queen.”

Now what was there left to say? What was there left to do? Would you be able to embrace him one more time, wish him all the best, knowing that you would never see him again? No, you can’t, your tears whispered as they returned. So you simply bowed slightly before him, seeking out his blue eyes for a very last time.

“My king,” you mused in awe, enjoying how his typical mischievous smirk grew on his soft lips.

So this was it. You were going home. You were going to leave behind the man you had grown to love more than yourself, more than anyone else in all of the nine realms. You were willing to let him live the happy life he deserved after all he had been through, even if he spent it with a woman that wasn’t you.

Turning around, you gave Tony a court nod. The tears were burning in your eyes, worsening your sight and your lower lip was quivering so intensely you feared not to be able to hold back your sobbing much longer. Tony only frowned. Of course—only Bruce knew of your aching troubles.

Please, let something happen, anything, I don’t want to leave!

“(Y/N), wait!”

Your heart skipped a beat. Loki was rushing towards you so fast you failed to blink when he suddenly pulled you in his arms and held you tight against his strong body. Within the fraction of a second, he stole away your composure. Your crying was so loud and heart-breaking the whole of Asgard must have heard and suffered from it.

“Thank you.” He muttered into your ear. He didn’t say anything else and yet you knew he wasn’t just thanking you for helping him keep his betrayal a secret. He was thanking you for everything. For your time, your ear, your shoulder to lean on, for being the friend he had never had and quite simply—for understanding him.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” You choked out, unable to talk properly. Loki nodded.

“I will.”

It was hard to let go of him. Fuck, everything was hard. It was hard to watch him marry a woman you hated, it was hard granting him happiness if it didn’t include you. Was this a test? For if you truly loved Loki, it was now time to let him go? You were determined to do so, even if it tore you apart.

So you stepped away, taking a last glance at the man you had fallen for before allowing Tony to take your hand. Still sobbing, you climbed on board and listened to the engines of the private jet humming to life. It took off after mere seconds.

“We’ll land in New York in about eight hours. Make yourself at home.” Tony announced, unbeknownst of the storm rioting inside you.

Bruce patted your shoulder as you watched Norway getting smaller, with Thor still waving at the metal construction up in the air—you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Loki again.

“Home,” he sighed, inhaling deeply.

“Yeah,” you whispered sadly. “Home.”

A/N: Please don’t kill me. *hides behind Loki*