Always in my dreams

Kai - 23 - They/Them ★彡[ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ]彡★

[sassykai10]

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ᴋᴀɪ - 23 - ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ

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Recent uploads: A dangerous bet for the gambler

Call of Duty

Just Let Me breath Mein Gott [Sub!König X Gn!Reader] Welcome to Battle Royale [Part1]

DC

A strange turn of event A touch of intimacy [Bruce Wayne x Gn!Reader]

Spiderverse

I Shape You Under my Fingers

Honkai Star Rail

A dangerous bet for the gambler [Aventurine x Gn!Reader]

[golden-letters]

bitch this is all you’re gonna get. this life, this face, this body. you better not ‘maybe in another universe’ your way out of everything. sit your ass down and face this. go make tea and have a picnic and read a goddamn book. kiss your loved ones, send that damn text, and hug your siblings. this is all you’re gonna get.

[sassykai10]

A dangerous bet for the gambler

Summary: In the dazzling, yet ephemeral Penacony, Aventurine dominates the Blackjack table, his luck insatiable. But when an enigmatic presence materializes behind him, whispering in his ear and challenging him to double the stakes, the game shifts. A fleeting touch, a warm breath, and a palpable tension fill the air.

Tags: AventurinexGn!Reader, Gender Neutral Reader, They/Them pronouns, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Emotional Tension

Warnings: Gambling

A/N: I found this image on Pinterest, but whoever the artist is the credits go to them!

Penacony, as always, was a dazzling mess of lights, colors and sounds.

The deafening buzz of unbridled fun blended with the inherent melancholy that only an imaginary world, yet so tangible, could instill.

Not far from the main square, the Penacony Casino emanated its boisterous glitz, eclipsing the surrounding stores. Beyond its front doors, the sounds of slot machines filtered through the thick walls, and pulsating lights created a strobe-like atmosphere, at times even blinding.

Inside, the casino revealed itself in lavishly decorated rooms adorned with neoclassical figurines and chandeliers that radiated soft light.

The walls were draped with thick red silk, concealing the windows and exterior.

The Blackjack room, however, was a universe unto itself. As glitzy as the others, but slightly isolated from the central area.

Here, the only glow was reflected in the eyes of the players, who, bathed in an almost reverent silence, were intensely studying their cards.

A thick haze of cigarette smoke enveloped every breath, impregnating the luxurious and expensive clothing as it settled heavy in the lungs of those present.

At a table, regularly placed in the center of the room, five men and one woman faced each other in a silent but fierce game of Blackjack. The dealer, motionless and straight as a spindle, watched calmly but attentively every slightest movement of the players' hands. The latter were taking their time, hesitating, suspended between hoping that the next card would be the right one to bust the table.

The opulent suits and expensive cigars, held delicately between their fingers, betrayed a very high social background: regulars at the Penacony casino, often and often winners.

With his back to the entrance, one of the most influential people in the casino - if not in the entire Dreamscape - was fluidly twirling two chips, each worth 500 credits, between his fingers. Aventurine had before him a King and an Ace: a clean, perfect Blackjack, probably yet another of the evening.

His opponents, on the other hand, had far less promising cards, and some were even high.

The dealer leaned over, and with quick, fluid movements, handed him twice as many chips bet, before collecting all the cards from the dealer and placing them back in the discard pile. The IPC Strategist smiled bitterly, leaning back in his chair in a pose that was anything but elegant compared to his surroundings. He puffed slightly, a veil of growing boredom clouding his gaze, as he waited for the dealer to finish shuffling the deck.

“Will you let us win sometimes, too, Mr. Aventurine?” The only woman at the table glared at him, while the men whispered among themselves.

Aventurine shrugged, a sly smile creasing his lips. “Never say never, Miss,” he leaned over to get a better look at her.

“But for now, I don't think Goddess Fortune plans to stop favoring me,” he replied with a hint of playful arrogance.

She grinned amusedly, and arranging her hair better, she exposed her own neck with studied slowness, almost a silent invitation.

Aventurine lingered with his gaze on her face for a few moments, before returning his attention to the dealer. His hands moved mechanically, dealing one after the other the uncovered cards in front of each player: two each, before placing two in front of him, one of which was covered. Aventurine sensed a light laughter coming from the side.

He shifted his eyes toward the source of the sound and saw the woman bring the fingertips of her left hand to her lips, barely concealing her giggle. The other players at the table were not watching him, but the cards in front: a 2 and a 9, not exactly the best of combinations.

“Maybe you played all your luck first, Mr. Aventurine,” someone muttered, anticipating the first possible victory.

The air around the table had changed, thick with a new, palpable hope.

Aventurine did not respond to any of the provocations. He remained seated, quiet, with a slight enigmatic smile on his lips. His luck at that moment was not the best, but he had not the slightest doubt that something would happen.

The dealer began the round. To his left, the woman tapped two fingers lightly on the table, signaling a request for a card. The dealer handed it to her, placing it on top of the others. Her score was now 18. She passed her open hand over the cards, signaling “stand.”

The dealer shifted his attention to the next player, who also asked for a card. The too-high value threw him off, and with a dissatisfied grunt, he cursed the game between his teeth.

The dealer moved again, this time facing Aventurine, who was better positioned for his move. At that precise moment, the rustle of chips distracted him.

A shadow fell across Aventurine's cards, a sudden presence he had not felt. Not the usual displacement of air, but a new density, almost a warmth spreading from his back.

Then, a hand appeared in his field of vision, gliding with  grace over his shoulder. Between their fingers, two of his tokens, shiny and promising.

Not a touch, but a closeness that was enough to raise the hairs on the back of his neck.

With an almost sensual delicacy that seemed designed to maximize impact, their hand placed the two chips on top of those already wagered.

A light, almost imperceptible, brushing of the fingers against the back of his hand, an ephemeral contact but one that was enough to send a jolt through him. Aventurine held his breath.

The smell of cigarette smoke, already lingering in the room, now mingled with a subtle, intoxicating fragrance coming from the person behind him, something hard to identify but filling his lungs and mind.

“Let's raise the bet,” a voice whispered in his ear. It was not a shy whisper, but a warm, deep breath that made not only his skin shiver. The voice was low, rough, with a timbre that seemed to vibrate directly in his chest.

It was so close that Aventurine felt the faint breath on the skin of his neck, an unexpected and intensely vivid sensation.

“Otherwise it's no fun, right Mr. Aventurine?”.

The last part, spoken with barely perceptible malice, was an invitation, a challenge, and an acknowledgment. That person knew who he was.

Aventurine felt the eyes of the other players on him, but they were not the looks of curiosity or anticipation of the game.

They were amazed, almost alarmed, at that blatant, bold intrusion into their game.

The person behind him leaned against the back of his chair, shifting their weight forward slightly, and drummed his fingers on the table in a slow, almost defiant rhythm. The sound, discrete but present, was like a metronome for rising tension.

The dealer looked at Aventurine, a doubtful and slightly puzzled expression on his face, waiting for confirmation.

An amused and curious smile appeared on Aventurine's lips. There was no annoyance, only an intriguing attraction. The boredom of before was gone, replaced by palpable excitement.

He turned slightly, just enough to meet the the person's gaze. Their eyes met for a brief but electrifying instant, a flash of silent understanding.

“They are with me,” he replied, his voice now a little bit rougher than usual, almost a whisper, but clear enough.

It was a statement, an acknowledgment of that sudden and unexpected partnership.

The game had already changed, and the stakes had just acquired a whole new meaning.

The dealer resumed the game and his hand moved to the deck, drawing a card. He placed it on top of the other two: a Queen, a Ten.

A Twenty-one.

The others hissed in annoyance, a choked chorus of frustration.

The dealer moved to the other players. When it was obvious that Aventurine had won, the dealer returned all his chips, doubling them.

At that point, tired of yet another defeat, the players left the table, one after another, the sound of their chairs crawling on the floor echoing in the sudden quiet.

Aventurine remained seated, the unknown person always behind him, a vibrant presence now occupying almost his entire peripheral field of vision.

The silence grew thicker, interrupted only by the distant hum of the slots and the discreet ticking of the dealer rearranging the cards.

When the seat to his right became vacant, the figure settled in with a smooth, unhurried movement, as if that seat had been intended for them all along.

Finally, Aventurine could see them clearly.

A quiet, amused grin framed their lips, their eyes - of a color Aventurine could not yet define, but which irresistibly attracted him - shone with a playful awareness.

“I don't think I've ever seen you,” he said, his voice now a velvet, more curious than surprised. It was not a question, but an observation, an invitation to open up.

“No, probably not,” the person replied, their voice a low, slightly rough melody that seemed to caress every word.

"But I know you. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Aventurine." There was a subtle thread of mischief in those last two words, almost a challenge.

The blond took a few seconds to observe and study more closely the figure in front of him.

It was not just the strategist's intellectual curiosity, but an interesting feeling that made him want to know more, to dig beneath the surface of that fascinating face and piercing eyes.

The more he looked at them, the more a slight shiver ran down his spine, not of cold, but of a subtle electricity that promised something unexpected.

Every feature, every fleeting expression, suggested a story, a secret that Aventurine was suddenly, desperately eager to reveal.

There was an air of enigma around them, an inviting veil that stimulated his innate thirst for discovery.

Aventurine stood up, an elegant, calibrated movement, running a hand over the collar of his jacket, a gesture that was as much habit as it was a way to recompose herself, to keep his unusual excitement from showing. His eyes did not leave the person's for a moment, a silent challenge and veiled offer dancing between them.

Then, with studied slowness, he held out his hand, palm open, fingers slightly curved.

“If I offered you a drink,” his voice lowered, an intimate whisper that seemed meant only for them, “would you agree to go with me?”

His sneer was now more pronounced, a mix of boldness and charm, and his eyes twinkled with an implied promise that went far beyond a simple drink. The question was an invitation, a gamble, a way to find out how bold the other person was.

The other watched him carefully, their gaze flowing from Aventurine's face to his outstretched hand, their gazes intertwining in a silent, intense exchange of intent.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

The air around them became almost palpable, charged with expectation.

Then, slowly, with a grace that equaled Aventurine's, the person extended their hand.

Their fingers rested on Aventurine's, a light but firm contact, a spark that seemed to run between them.

“Of course,” they replied with a gentleness that nevertheless concealed an unmistakable determination, an acceptance that was also a promise of something intriguing and perhaps dangerous.

Their smile widened just slightly, a gleam in the eyes that mirrored Aventurine's.

There was no need to add more.

The game had just begun, and the stakes were infinitely higher than mere chips.

[bat0nchick]

[sassykai10]

Precious 🫶🏼

[sassykai10]

I think my simple interest in Michael Sheen is becoming an obsession... I admire him so much!🥹

[sassykai10]

Michael Sheen, the man you are!

There's something about that man, a kind of aura or feeling, that makes it hard for me to take my eyes off...

Also his smile...✨

Tell me I'm not the only person who experiences these feelings... ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

[jolalibrary]

one of my favourite things about writing fanfic is that one day you post something and it might get seen by a few people—but you never know if it’s made their day. but YOU liked what you did, so you do it again. and maybe you share again, and again. and then one day, out of the blue, someone pays you a compliment about your writing. maybe it’s that it’s good, that it matters, or even that they enjoyed what you did. and then you feel seen and like a firework has gone off in your chest. but what is more amazing, is that you get to give others that feeling when you reblog their work or their art or their moodboards or their gifs, and then you’re part of this network of people with fireworks going off in their chests and smiles on their faces.

[florasheart]

I DON’T WANT SMUT I WANT FLUFF OR SOME GOOD ASS ANGST GOD DAMN IT

[sassykai10]

A strange turn of events

Words: 2250 Warning: none Summary: Bruce knew something was wrong. Ever since he had woken up that morning, the laughter of that maniacal Joker was still echoing in his head. He fought with his inner demon, but sunk by a bigger power. Now a new symbol is in Gotham. Not a hero, but a monster who laughs.

Bruce knew something was wrong.

Ever since he had woken up that morning, the laughter of that maniacal Joker was still echoing in his head. He also felt distinctly more tired physically and mentally.

The billionaire tossed and turned in bed, rubbing his eyes, which felt heavier than usual. He knew it was late in the morning and it was unusual for him to wake up at that hour, but at that moment he didn't care about anything.

He felt like a wreck and just wanted to stay in bed for the day.

He shifted again, on his side this time, to look at the window which, closed with dark curtains, still let in the light of what must have been a beautiful sunny day, which he knew he would spend for the umpteenth time locked in the dark cave beneath his mansion.

A shiver, however, ran down his back, reaching his hairline, stopping him.

At that moment he felt it. It was turning in his chest and desperately trying to get out.

He immediately sat up. His wide eyes looked ahead without focusing on anything in particular. His mind travelled fast in search of an explanation.

One hand moved quickly to his chest as if to make sure he was not about to have a stroke, the other closed tightly over his mouth, to block out what was about to come out.

He felt in horror the corners of his mouth turn upwards against his own will. He felt the sweat slide copiously down his neck and his body temperature rise rapidly.

And then it came out first as a choked sob, then clearer.

The Joker's laugh.

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

Alfred, as a good butler and substitute father, had realised from the late hour that his little master was unwell.

As was his wont, he put a teapot on the stove and while he waited for the Wayne family members he set the table with various protein foods, perfect for recovering from the previous night.

Just enough time to arrange the toast on the plates that the teapot began to whistle. Alfred approached, slipping on his potholders ready to move the boiling object away from the fire.

But something made his skin crawl. Not something, but someone, or rather, a voice. A laugh.

Alfred thought he had heard wrong. Perhaps it was the overly sharp whistling of the teapot or perhaps it was his ears that were no longer young.

Slowly, but straining his ear, he moved the boiling crockery to the cold marble shelf.

He took off his potholders and placed them, too, on the counter.

"Mr Wayne?" He called out. The voice was slightly hesitant.

Silence.

"Master Bruce? Master Richard?" He tried to call out, thinking it might be a joke by some of the younger members of the family.

Silence, however, pervaded his ears again. The situation was becoming strangely stressful and unsettling.

Alfred took a step towards the door leading to the kitchen, which gave directly onto one of the villa's dining rooms.

Sunlight streamed through the windows slowly discolouring the old wooden furniture. Dust floated lightly in the air, clearly visible in the light.

The butler leaned in a little more, on guard for any eventuality. The fear hidden in his mind was slowly coming to the surface.

"Alfred?" Bruce Wayne's voice called from behind him, jolting him out of his fright.

"Master Bruce? What are you doing here? How come you didn't answer when I called you?" Alfred asked, placing a hand over his heart as if trying to slow him down.

The elder of the family looked him over, searching for an answer to that strange feeling he still felt in his chest. In front of him Bruce stood with what seemed to be a calm air, his big shoulders however not so relaxed.

'He's probably still thinking about last night's mission,' Alfred questioned himself.

'I beg your pardon, I thought you heard me coming. I didn't answer because I'm still a bit tired,' the man apologised.

"Certainly no problem Mister- he adjusted his shirt- please take a seat. Breakfast is ready" Alfred pointed to the chair at the head of the table.

Bruce stood still for a few seconds and then, as if pulled by some strange entity, shuffled his feet forward to the chair. All under the watchful gaze of Alfred, who followed his every move.

The air was growing tense, but the butler did not understand why. Was it still the strange feeling from before that was gripping him?

Before long, however, he was no longer alone. The room filled with voices and youthful energy. Bruce's adopted and non-adopted sons and daughters sat at the table starting to gorge themselves on food, hungry and ready for a new day.

Alfred, who had eaten before, was mainly busy clearing or filling empty plates, quietly listening to the voices of the family members in the room.

"You could have at least followed orders, Todd- complained the youngest, Damian- your stubbornness has led us to lose sight of the Joker again."

"Hey!- forcefully Jason, the second-born male, slammed his hands on the table, making it shake and risking knocking over some glasses- this was definitely not my fault! Be more careful, because if you haven't noticed I was doing my part better than all of you!"

"Tsk," snorted Damian.

"Guys please..." Dick, the eldest son, intervened as usual to calm things down, but unfortunately neither of them was willing to stop. Any excuse was good to quarrel, especially with their brothers.

'If at least you weren't so boring and repetitive, you would be more fun. Even the Joker is capable of being funnier at times like these..." Puffed Stephanie, the second 'acquired' daughter but not 100 per cent part of the Wayne family, boredly.

"hihihi...-"

Silence fell quickly in the room.

The gazes all shifted to the source of the noise. At the head of the table sat Bruce as his usual self, but in between no one had noticed that his behaviour was different than usual that morning. Everyone except Alfred, with whom he had had a quick confrontation earlier.

The man's head was slightly bent forward, as was his body. The face was therefore obscured and could not be seen clearly.

"Bruce?-he called to him in a firm but attentive voice Dick-are you all right?"

The appointed emitted a quick cough and brought his hand to his mouth, later raising it to those present in apology.

"Everything's fine- he replied in a hoarse voice, which did not escape the attentive ears of those present- I just found Stephanie's joke funny" his lowered head showed no sign of his face, still darkened.

Silence fell again.

Those present now looked at each other attentively. They were looking for information to give themselves a logical explanation.

It was true that Bruce had become an increasingly less talkative person over time, but did he suddenly find a joke (not even that funny) funny? So much so that he had to laugh?

If it was just the fact that it was unusual for him, the youngsters would have teased him jokingly, but that was not the reason.

The truth was that the laughter emitted by their father made everyone's skin crawl, as it was all too similar to the laughter of the Clown Prince of Crime.

"Bruce - Jason's firm, but impatient voice was heard - raise your head."

But no one, least of all the head of the family, moved.

"Bruce!" Jason stood up after increasing his own tone to call him back, but like the first time no one else moved.

The second son then quickly moved the chair and with large steps approached his father.

"Jason- Bruce called him in a calm but stern voice- sit down."

But well known for his stubbornness, especially towards Batman and therefore Bruce, Jason continued with great strides to walk along the side of the table.

As soon as he was beside him he called back to him.

"Bruce, get your fucking head up."

He knew that wasn't the way to put it, but he of all people was justified in being the most stressed in that situation, especially after what had happened to him when he was younger.

"Jason...-The billionaire's voice came out as a choked hiss- go sit down"

"No fucking way! Now get your fucking head up and tell everyone what's wrong with you. We're not idiots. Tell us what's going on-"

"JASON!- raised his voice Batman, slamming a hand down on the table so hard that it knocked over the glasses- I told you to go sit down!"

Taken aback, Jason's eyes widened in disbelief. He quickly shifted his gaze to his brothers, who like himself were quite confused.

"Master Bruce- Alfred appeared behind Jason's back, ready to mediate in what was about to result in yet another argument- you seem more stressed and tired than usual. Why-"

But for the second time someone present was interrupted by a hand on the table, which made everyone jump back in their chairs.

"More stressed?" Bruce's voice wasn't getting any better. His usually so low voice had risen a few decibels, more snickering it seemed. "I've never been so well..." he resumed.

Dick immediately noticed his father's shoulders moving in rhythm. They were shaking as if he were cold. He saw Bruce's body bend forward as if to close in on itself so as not to let anything out.

Alfred took a step forward, resting a hand on his host's shoulders. The latter, however, shifted it badly and with who knows what speed rose to his feet.

It was at that moment that everyone saw her.

Creepy and psychotic, the typical Joker expression was stuck on the billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne.

A smile that took up the whole face was badly pulled upwards. The eyes had green pupils and as much as it didn't look like it, in everyone's eyes Bruce was trying to fight this sudden and dangerous moment.

"Bruce- called him agitatedly Dick- how come you're like this? What happened?"

"Joker...hihihi...before he escaped- the attempt to speak was difficult between giggles- he released a gas...hahAHAH!"

Bruce quickly took a few steps back, aware of what was happening to him, trying to get as far away as possible so as not to hurt those he loved.

His hands futilely tried to cover his mouth to keep the laughter from coming out, but to no avail.

Some of his children tried to approach to help him.

"NO! ahahah... Get back!" He warned them, trying to catch his breath. But as stubborn as he was, they did not listen to him, concerned about the situation.

"Bruce, is there an antidote? Something we can-" Tim, the third male son-in-law and the brains of the family, was thrown backwards several metres.

"Hihihi...- the raspy voice, increasingly resembling that of the original owner, was heard again- there's nothing you can do...hahaHAH!" He chanted uneasily.

Panic spread in the family.

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

Years later, Alfred prepared breakfast in the usual way: starting by putting a teapot on the stove.

The lost look indicated a person who had not slept well for days, perhaps months or years.

For him, the answer was simple: the recurring nightmare of that morning now five years earlier.

The teapot whistled and Alfred, absorbed in his thoughts, did not realise how quickly time had passed.

He picked up the boiling object, put an old, used teabag in it and waited for the now non-existent taste to mix with the semi-pure water from his hiding place.

His mind travelled again. There was not a day that passed without him wondering how he had ended up in that situation. Why it had happened to his family.

Five years earlier Batman was fighting one of the usual battles against the Joker, his nemesis par excellence. Little did he know, however, that this time the villain had a very dangerous ace up his sleeve: a highly contagious toxin rich in his own DNA.

The moment Batman leapt at him to capture him, the Joker sprayed him with the toxin and once he had stunned the bat, he fled on the run, not caring too much about what he had just created.

Back at the cave Bruce stripped off his costume and went straight to bed, followed closely by his children.

The next morning, however, during breakfast the toxin took effect and before long the situation worsened.

Alfred witnessed the whole scene. One of those no one would want to participate in.

Bruce, by now brain numbed by the toxin, lashed out at his own family, and after grabbing a knife began to use it as a weapon, injuring and unfortunately killing them.

Alfred somehow or other, aided by Dick and Jason managed to escape before anything happened to him and holed up in what was to be his refuge for the next five years.

______________________________________

Now the situation had changed.

Batman, Red Hood, Nightwing, Red Robin and the others no longer existed. There were no heroic symbols in Gotham.

The already rotten city had sunk into chaos and was now ruled by a single monster and his followers:

The Batman who laughs and his Robins

[sassykai10]

A touch of intimacy [Bruce Wayne x Gn!Reader]

Bruce Wayne x Gn!Reader Words: 588 Warning: none Summary: Bruce Wayne needs to be Bruce and not just Batman

There were certain evenings when Bruce just wanted to be Bruce and leave Batman in the darkest corner of his mind.

There were evenings when letting go intimately in the pleasure of the flesh was almost an irresistible, uncontrollable need.

But there were just as many evenings when it was fine with both of you only to share in light silence, perhaps with the faint sound of one of Bruce's vinyls, moments of gentle embraces and tender affections that did not need to reach sex to be intimate.

Those evenings when he preferred to stay by your side on the bed running a hand through your hair as he watched you close your eyes before falling asleep in the arms of Morpheus.

Or to be cuddled by the tepid touch of your fingers that lovingly passed in a hypnotic massage over his head, descending irregularly to caress his hard facial features tried by sleepless nights or hits inflicted by his enemies.

The gentle touch would then pass from his cheeks down to his shoulders, and in circular motions you would welcome him into your arms, one way or another, without even knowing it, giving that still childlike part of him extra reassurance that he was loved and not abandoned.

Bruce in fact loved to find himself in that similar embrace that unconsciously banished his worries, and he, with his head on your lower abdomen, as you took time to yourselves lying under the covers of your bed one of the few quiet evenings you could afford, loved to wrap his big arms around your torso squeezing lovingly.

He preferred to feel your skin in scorching contact with his rough fingertips, to feel the softness of your flesh without ever questioning how much you weighed-because very little mattered to him- as his hand passed over your hips squeezing them to sense you alive and present in that beautiful intimate moment.

He loved hearing the involuntary gurgling of your stomach and then hearing you chuckle a little embarrassedly apologetically for no real reason.

He loved to pass his hand behind your back and shift his touch lightly to make you shiver.

And that was when he knew that with a smile you would lean down and leave a light kiss on his forehead.

His hand moved to the base of your neck without pressure but to hold you as close to him as possible.

The very spot where your lips touched his face would quickly become smoldering but affable.

And slowly you would move your touch first to the center of his eyes, which he closed without frowning, letting go of all stress; then to his nose in a fleeting pressure on the tip.

But the best spot, where he felt the stars explode in his mind, the warmth pervade him to his stomach and all anxiety disappear, was the chaste but tender kiss you left on his own lips that unconsciously leaned in just a little so as not to allow that moment to stop for any reason in the world.

The touch, though fleeting, seemed to last for an eternity, and the moment you drew your head back slightly a satisfied, love-filled smile adorned your face that in Bruce's tired but lost eyes was the most beautiful on the surface of the earth.

The heavy mind now clouded, the warmth you conveyed to him and the feeling of being loved led him to lose himself in your arms, melting completely and losing himself in the grip of sleep.

[sassykai10]

Mein Gott [Sub!König X Gn!Reader]

Sub!König X Gn!Reader Words: 1537 Warnings: nsfw (18+), nipple play, edging, submissive boy, cunnilingus, hand play

"Wait-wait...!"

König muttered through clenched teeth, pulling his head back.

The ecstasy was eating him alive; he felt the heat taking every part of his body, eroding him, burning him, arousing him.

Bound as he was, he certainly could not move: lying on his back on the bed, his legs were spread apart and his ankles tied to either side of the bed, while his wrists were tied together and held above his head.

Completely naked, he was exposed to embarrassment.

You looked at him carefully.

A few wisps of his hair were stuck to his forehead from sweat; his blue eyes were half-closed and barely held back tears; his dry lips were constantly moistened by his tongue, and finally a bright red color adorned his cheeks.

He was nothing short of gorgeous, exciting.

König was not a man of average height, not at all; he was seven feet tall and had a massive build. His years in the military special forces had toughened him up, highlighting his pecs, abs, thighs and arms.

In short, a piece of marble sculpted in the best possible way.

You bit your lip slightly.

How lucky you felt to have a man so completely at your mercy.

You wouldn't have let him slip away even if he had begged you to.

"König..." You said his name with a slight note of sensuality. You ran the forefinger of your right hand over his chest, lightly, between his pecs, making him shiver with pleasure.

"Yes...?" he asked curiously, looking at you with half-closed, red eyes.

A slight grin made its way over your mouth as you circled around him, grazing him with your fingers. His eyes did not leave your half-naked body.

When you reached the end of the bed you stopped right at his feet.

"Don't get distracted," you ordered him, looking straight into his eyes.

You positioned yourself better and spread your legs slightly.

Slowly you moved downward sensually running your hands along your chest, playing a little with your nipples, and then down your abdomen and finally over your hips.

Your fingers went around the elastic of your panties, pulling it from time to time, slowly to observe König's need to see you completely naked in front of him.

You smiled mischievously at the sight of the man in front of you trying to tug himself slightly from the ropes that held him to the bed.

"Hey - you called him back gently - I said don't get distracted," and he stopped, muttering annoyed.

You went back to focusing on your panties and in one smooth motion slid them down his legs. You heard a soft moan leave the man's mouth.

You reached down to pick up the underpants now on the floor and returned to look at him.

His penis was vibrating excitedly. The first signs of precum were peeping from the tip.

You saw him gasping now in an excited trance.

You were convinced that if you touched him he would come in a second.

You wanted to try and see, but hearing him under you, begging you after half an hour or more, to make him come was even more fun.

You approached the edge of the bed, positioning yourself exactly between his feet coming out of the mattress.

You leaned out in such a way that you positioned yourself on all fours on the mattress. Your hands lateral to his chest.

You stepped forward looking into his eyes and as soon as I was straddling him you sat on his lower abdomen.

His body bent forward with a powerful groan.

His hips tried to rise rhythmically as when he took you from behind in the best moments of when his dominant side was active.

You held him in place and lowered yourself to kiss him on the forehead, nose and finally on the lips.

He groaned loudly in the kiss you left him and when you pulled away, a trickle of drool bound your mouths together as he followed your movements without being able to move too much.

"You use this mouth for something else," you sneered, winking at him.

And in an instant you were all over him. Your genitals in his mouth as he sucked greedily breathing in your strong scent.

It wasn't long before choked moans left your lips.

Your mind clouded as you threatened to lose your balance. You threw your head back arching your lower back forward to get closer to his mouth.

Your hands were putting pressure on his legs, allowing you to steady yourself and not fall off.

His tongue worked divinely, and this was certainly not the first time you had discovered it. This ability of his was unparalleled; he seemed to have been born with a gift.

In a short time he was able to make you come and now his face was smeared with intimate fluid.

You smiled mischievously as you saw him licking his lips.

"Fuck...!" you sighed, moaning.

Quickly you took the panties you had taken off and left at the edge of the bed and with a gesture shoved them into his mouth.

König moaned when he felt the fabric penetrate all the way down his throat. His body bent and vibrated excitedly. His eyes were lost backwards.

Your smell once again made its way through his nostrils, intoxicating his brain.

So engrossed was he that he did not notice that at that moment your lips were working their way down his neck, leaving a trail of hickeys along the length.

You played lightly by tugging at the skin under his Adam's apple, while your hands were working their way up his nipples, pulling and annoying them. So hard they could only increase the stimulation.

Nothing you were doing could be considered dangerous to your relationship, especially in the eyes of others. König wore a hood most of the time and no one could ever see the fruits of your labor.

After a few minutes you began to move further downward, and while your mouth focused on a hard nipple, your right hand had already reached down to take hold of the man's penis.

Your tongue slowly circled around the middle part of the nipple and you carefully nibbled with your teeth.

When you began rubbing with your hand König stopped breathing.

His body suddenly arched with a moan, his eyes averted upward and his teeth clenched around the factory of your panties.

You looked at him sadistically, knowing full well that this was not the best you could get out of your partner.

You knew by now what aroused him so much that he cried, and in no time you would be at your best.

Your hand became faster and faster in its movements, and pulling away for a moment from his oh-so-perfect chest, you concentrated on watching him carefully. Your left hand moved to grab his testicles and begin to stimulate them.

With your knuckles you made light, rhythmic pressure on the area of his perineum.

You felt in your right hand his cock shaking spasmodically.

The precum now thicker than ever, ready at any moment to come out at once with a strong orgasm.

But before you got to that you wanted to hear him sob asking your permission.

Just the thought made you shiver with pleasure.

"Are you all right, König?" you asked sarcastically, but carefully.

His eyebrows were arched and trembling. Her eyes were completely turned back, leaving room only for a view of the white part from her sclera.

A few tears were beginning to roll down his cheeks.

His mouth was half open, blocked for the most part by his underwear.

You could hear him breathing hard through his nose.

His whole body trembled spasmodically in rhythm with the friction you made with your hand all along his penis.

Not feeling a satisfactory response, you sadistically stopped. His body reacted accordingly and his hips moved forward to seek the same friction as before, mind from his lips came a moan of annoyance at the lack of movement.

He didn't even look at you, but you saw him close his eyes causing a few tears to escape.

"Plea...-se..." You heard him mutter.

"What? Would you like this?" And your hands once again moved.

His muscles went from a rigid state, to relaxed and back to rigid again.

His ass tightened with every move, and your continued stimulation on his perineum certainly didn't help him keep from coming.

After a series of minutes you felt his cock begin to get stiffer and stiffer, hard.

He was shaking spasmodically and his legs were flailing.

You slowed down in your movements.

Then you began again faster.

Slow.

Fast.

Slow.

Fast.

And so for another few minutes.

You heard him sobbing and between grumbles you grasped a series of unintelligible words that must have resembled requests for "please" and "I want to come."

But at that moment he wasn't deciding, you were and only you could decide when and how to make him come.

You continued for a few more seconds and with asphyxiating slowness you moved closer to his left ear.

"Whenever you want," you whispered mischievously nibbling on his lobe.

And in an instant all his semen poured over your belly, all the way to your chest. Some of it soiled your hand, which for a few more seconds continued to friction to increase the stimulation.

You heard him gasp between moans. Your ears were blessed by such an arousing sound.

"Well done, König," you kissed him on the neck. "I hope you are not too tired because I would like to continue," you sneered.

[sassykai10]

Welcome to Battle Royale! [Part 1]

Part: 1/?? Words: 3.3K Summary: Task 141 and other 150 soldiers from all over the world will partecipate in a bloody game of Battle Royale -- AN: Hello everyone! It is a pleasure to have you here! I've decided to start this new series of which I don't know how many chapters I'll write, but I'm announcing right away that there may be future problems with updates, since I work and study. But I hope you enjoy my work! PS: my native language is not English so you must excuse me for possible errors. In case it would be nice if you pointed them out to me! Also in the future I might gonna add more tags

Day 24 - 14:57:05

Task Force 141 - Northern suburb of Al Mazrah (Adal Republic)

The sun exactly at its zenith did not improve the already hot situation. Hot as the earth was, only the equally warm wind could only on a few and rare occasions give a minimum of hope and respite. But even a simple light gust of warm wind moved the sand, which in an instant crept into any object it could penetrate, including balaclavas.

A group of four men approached a ledge in catlike silence, with fast steps and their bodies bent forward so as not to be seen. At the signal with the hand of the man at the head of the group, everyone stopped at attention before stretching out on the ground, placing their heavy rifles in front of them.

The wind blew again. Not a single sound, other than the grains of sand moving across the ground. Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish's blue eyes were straight, focused on his Captain John Price's firm back. They moved quickly on his hand still in the air, expecting to get any sign of movement at any moment. He blinked quickly trying to eliminate from his eyes all those cursed grains of sand that pinched him making him cry. The red skull mask he wore did little to lessen his suffering.

He ran the gloved back of his right hand quickly across his face, trying to get the garment to fit as tightly as possible in the eye holes of the mask. He snorted as he noticed that he had been no use and that he had probably just screwed up more.

His gaze then shifted, with difficulty, to his companions. To his left is Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick and to his right is the famous Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley. A certain pride welled up in Soap's chest. Knowing that he was once again at the side of such an interesting, feared, reserved, but extremely strong man, gave him the energy to do anything.

Soap grinned slightly behind the balaclava. He shifted his weight from side to side and with a sigh concentrated back in front of him, looking at the Captain, more precisely at his hand. The muffled noise of the radio reached his ears. On the other hand, Laswell continued his situational update on the capture of their target, a wealthy businessman who must be somehow affiliated with the disappearance of former General Shepherd. Catching him would have been a significant step forward in trying to stop such a dangerous character still on the loose.

“Copy that,” the Captain suddenly said into the microphone. He then turned behind him and nodded at Ghost.

Soap stiffened, adrenaline in his veins and hir breath blocked in his trachea. At the precise hand signal of his superior, Soap saw Ghost rise slightly and take a position at Price's side and take the long sniper rifle and point it directly at the small group they had been following for days. Hidden away in an unused suburban area of Al Mazrah, they thought they were probably safe from prying eyes.

Price picked up the binoculars and aloud accurately marked the distance from their point to allow Ghost to have a perfect scope and land a perfect shot.

“Gaz, Soap. It's up to you"

As Ghost the two sergeants rose and one on either side, following Price's instructions to step carefully and unseen off the ledge where they had stood. In this moment the sand and the wind became their best allies, a perfect camouflage coating to be able to make the most of it so as not to be seen. Like two predators, in a low position, they advanced slowly and carefully. At the slightest suspicious movement of the enemy they threw themselves to the ground aiming their rifles.

The heavy boots fell softly into the sand and earth, leaving marks on the soles, which were quickly eaten away by the wind. Eyes fixed on their prey and the group around them. Two armed men with their faces covered walked quietly, without too much concern, around the low abandoned house where their man was. According to Laswell's indications, there must have been three other men inside, not counting the target.

It seemed a little strange. Too easy to be a big shot and so close to Shepherd. But that was their only lead for now and they could do nothing but follow it.

"Fifty meters" Price woke Soap from his thoughts.

From a distance he saw Gaz approaching one of the two men on watch. It would be up to him to get the other one. As soon as he turned the corner, from behind his hiding place, Soap came forward and, surprising him from behind, took him in a suffocating grip. His left arm passed quickly, serpentine, under the man's chin, hooking onto his right arm, while his right hand moved to press on his head in order to quickly block all the air that could enter his lungs.

After an initial scare and a few seconds of silent struggle, the man was on the ground, passed out. A perfect job done in a short time. Soap picked up the rifle again and raised a hand, thumbs up, in the direction of his superiors. Ghost was definitely looking through the scope. He gulped silently, amused at the idea of what face the lieutenant might have made.

"Free" he whispered into the microphone as he recovered.

He shook his head slightly and positioned himself at the corner of the structure. He leaned forward a little. From the other side Gaz peeped out, with his hand he signaled that everything had gone well.

“Proceed carefully,” Price told them.

Now the hardest part began. A nod to his partner and Soap got ready to take the explosives from the kit on his shoulders to blow up the door. Carefully he placed the backpack on the ground and carefully pulled out the thin adhesive cord that would have allowed the door to be kicked down. The rest of the rope dropped to the side. Once he had shouldered his backpack and taken his supplies, Soap leaned out again from the corner to signal to Gaz. But he had to stop.

Gaz was not there.

“…So-!” the communicator rang in his ears with a deafening high pitch.

Confused Soap carefully dropped the explosive to the ground. One hand on the rifle at the ready and the other on the microphone. He tried calling Gaz first.

"Gaz - he whispered - Gaz can you hear me?"

“…”

Fuck…

He turned to look directly at where he knew Ghost and Price were.

“Ghost? I lost communication with Gaz he was here with me until a minute ago” he whispered furiously into the microphone.

“…”

At the umpteenth silence he began to feel his stomach squeeze in a strong grip. Whether it was fear for himself or for his companions, now his instinct told him to get away as far as possible, try to find another way to communicate with his companions and with Laswell.

A strange feeling behind him made him shiver and the breath in his throat was forced to stop.

He didn't even have time to turn around before a strong blow caught him off guard on the right temple. His head started spinning and his ears started ringing. His vision blurred for a few seconds. He felt his body swing left and right a few trembling steps. His right hand touched the more or less exact spot where he had been hit. He groaned in pain as he felt it burn.

When he was about to regain almost total vision, a second blow this time threw him to the ground. He must have been hit harder because in that moment, between gulps of air, he felt his mind drift further and further away from reality.

[Redacted]

Day ?? - ??:??:??

Task Force 141 - ??

An icy cold had embraced him in a grip that did not allow him to stop shivering.

He felt the teeth of the lower jaw beat hard against those of the upper jaw without ever stopping. A distant call reached his muffled ears. He tried to open his eyes but it took longer than expected to get at least decent visibility. The lids asked for mercy, they seemed to want to close again to seek some peace in the sleep from which he was waking up.

“Soap, wake up! Come on…"

Thinking he was completely alone, Soap took a few seconds too long before he realized they were talking to him.

He moved his head slightly, blinking his sleepy eyelids several times. His teammate Gaz was watching him with a curious look of relief in his eyes. His body rocked slightly back and forth in a frantic reassurance-seeking motion.

It took him a good few minutes before realizing he was lying on the floor on a cold, damp floor.

“I'm here…” he mumbled, the words in his mouth coming out with difficulty as if his tongue and lips had been still for days on end. His mind was still too foggy to be able to force himself to remember how he had ended up in such a place.

"Everything is fine?" Gaz asked carefully.

Soap looked at him for a moment before trying, struggling to sit up, slowly backing up to the wall behind him. His right arm unconsciously went to press on the right leg that he felt particularly numb for some strange reason. He felt the movement of blood in his brain. He thumped so annoyingly in his skull that it started to hurt worse than before.

He would have been better off lying down.

He looked up to see Gaz watching him with nervous attention and then he remembered that he'd better answer.

“Everything okay. My leg just bothers me a little and my head is killing me,” he hissed through his teeth as he jerked his head around feeling his shaking painfully. "You Gaz?"

The other observed him for a few seconds before showing him his hand. He was covered in bandages now red with dried blood. He was shivering as if it were ten degrees below zero. His tired face and two huge black bags under his tired eyes.

“Pretty good,” he chuckled icily with a strained smile.

"Shit, Gaz..." Soap looked at him with apprehension and concern.

John wondered if his condition was similar or worse than Gaz's, but upon a quick check, he noted that luckily he wasn't bleeding anywhere. However, his equipment was not there. All their equipment, including radios, had been removed. Only their military clothing remained, their coat of arms of the flag they belonged to and, fortunately, also their heavy boots, dirty with mud and dust.

Shit… he felt all his pockets, but there was nothing. He sighed exhausted.

The silence became heavy between the two and it was clear that Gaz didn't feel able to speak. Soap had some time to collect his thoughts about him. He didn't have the faintest idea where they were and he didn't even know how the fuck they got there. Memories of where they were before resurfaced with difficulty.

Soap looked around. They appeared to be inside a cell. Three walls of thick reinforced concrete and a huge door locked with thick iron bars. The walls were filthy with mold stains and strange substances and what looked like traces of dried blood. On the floor, between one piece of paper and another, there were two crumpled and dirty mattresses, positioned on broken supports in rusty metal, one was instead thrown to the ground. A malodorous smell of dirt, vomit, feces and who knows what else, made its way into Soap's nostrils, and he almost risked pouring everything he had in his stomach, out of his esophagus.

He leaned forward slightly to see what was outside the bars. He snorted helplessly at the sight of what appeared to be a fully-fledged prison. He closed his eyes with a weak shrug of his shoulders. His forehead rested on the cold bars.

In the center a huge courtyard in equally concrete, one could observe a large ruined wooden platform, raised by at least three meters. To the side were two large wooden bows with thick strings tied, probably for executions. A shiver went up Soap's spine as he thought of the tightness of the ropes on his neck and the consequent lack of air that would leave him gasping like a fish out of water.

In the surrounding courtyard there were also a series of objects such as crates and sacks left at random without an order. It looked like an unused open-air warehouse.

Looking up, all around you could see an enormous balcony with a tin roof, the same as the one onto which their cell opened. Only at that moment did Soap notice other cells all identical to each other and in them, numerous people.

“What the heck…?” he got up on his knees despite the pain in his leg. He moved closer to the bars holding on as if to seek support for the disbelief of the moment. Focusing his gaze, he tried to figure out who was in those cells.

"Gaz..." his partner called softly before turning his head "Where are we exactly?"

“I don't know mate. I don't have a clue…” the other he looked down.

On the other hand, in all those cells opposite there were dozens of soldiers, military of all ranks, genders and nationalities, all crammed into the cells in groups of seven or eight people. John had only been able to see a few flag crests from so far away. Several Americans, many British, some French and Germans, a few Russians and as many Egyptians. But the list didn't stop there, from so far away he couldn't see well, but he was convinced that there were others of different and multiple nationalities.

Soap felt anxiety begin to creep into his chest, squeezing him painfully. He snorted tiredly. Slowly he walked back to the same spot against the wall. He leaned in with his whole body and remained still attached to the cold concrete, while the warm air outside slightly eased the pain in his chest. In the distance, gulls could be heard chirping and perhaps even a perceptible crash of the sea.

Shit. Looks like Alcatraz… thought Soap panting.

He observed Gaz who with difficulty tried to lie down on the ground trying not to worsen his already so battered hand. His companion lay down on the ground and closed his eyes. John understood well the suffering he was going through. He'd woken up before him, but no one knew what to do in such a situation. Soap took the time to pay more attention to the details around him that might help him figure out how to act, but for the umpteenth time since he'd woken up, he huffed in stress.

His head moved to the outside of the cell again. He watched the soldiers on the other side as intently as his eyesight would allow. They were one more confused than the other. Nobody understood what was happening. In their native languages, or in crude and badly spoken English, some tried to ask for help or simply information, but no one knew what to do. There were soldiers yelling at whoever brought them there, others sitting on the ground like Soap, staring blankly waiting for something.

Total confusion.

Soap patted his head back against the wall and cast his eyes around the dim light from the single bulb in their filthy cell. Numerous flies swirled around, attracted by the light. Soap followed the flight of one or two, losing sight of them and mistaking them for the others.

Suddenly a loud noise made its way throughout the covered corridor which their cell overlooked. Noise of heavy footsteps and covered growls. Soap leaned against the iron bars to try and see out. With all the noise, Gaz had also sat down to see what was going on.

Two large men clad in heavy orange overalls appeared within sight of the Scotsman. Three jailers, Soap guessed. They wore a white gas mask that did not allow to see neither the eyes nor the face. In addition to the orange overalls, they also wore a series of protections and a bulletproof vest. On the belt a series of magazines and on the shoulders a heavy assault rifle.

In the center of the two, the hooded figure of Price writhed like a wounded animal.

"Get your hands off me, you bastards!" The three stopped in front of their cell and quickly removed the jute cap from the captain's head. A third appeared from the side and with a turn of the key he violently opened the door, and then closed it again in an instant as Price was thrown inside, falling to the ground.

"Shit!" he cursed through clenched teeth as he stood up and brushed the dirt off himself. Time to look up and he noticed the two Sergeants of him. His face relaxed slightly, almost imperceptibly.

After kicking a dirty can away, he sat down in the center of the cell. Soap looked at him carefully: his hair was in a mess, his lower lip was bleeding from a more or less large wound. All of his camouflage was covered in dust or caked with dried blood. He saw him raise a hand to his head, but it fell on his hair when instead he was looking for his hat, disappeared. He snorted loudly.

"I'm glad to see you're alive, sons" he sighed, laying his eyes first on Soap and then on Gaz, who as soon as he saw him grew bigger, almost as if to show that he was better than he was in reality.

“Sir – Soap called him – do you know what happened? Where we are?"

Price shrugged before answering “The last thing I remember is that we were on a mission, but I lost contact with Laswell in a short time. I woke up in a warehouse a few hours ago”.

The previously confused memories now became decidedly clearer in Soap's mind. For some reason the pain in his temple, where he remembered being hit, was now more bothersome. He brought his hand to the affected area, but felt only dried blood. To avoid any other kind of aggravation, he decided not to touch too much.

"Captain. Where is Ghost?” Gaz's voice made its way to his ears.

“I have no idea,” he lowered his head.

Soap tried to look up and search all the cells in front of your lieutenant. Of Ghost, however, not even the shadow. Had they killed him? John let a shaky sigh escape his lips. He just hoped that thought hadn't come true.

But something was moving below, in the center of the courtyard.

Soap felt Price close to him. On the other side all the soldiers, like them, were crowding the iron bars to see what was happening. A clanging of a gate echoed within the prison walls, from which a series of anxious murmurs now rose.

A man of medium height, his face covered by a very banal white mask. One of those that elementary school children cut out or paint for carnival. Soap watched him better as he made his way to the center, onto the wooden platform. He was wearing an elegant suit, nothing in particular exalted his figure. Confused faces watched him look around at the filled cells.

“Let us out!”

The voice of some soldier in one of the nearby cells echoed, shortly thereafter raising a series of protests from the prisoners.

But the man remained still. Quietly, he slowly turned around as if to admire the view around him. His hands, which until then had remained behind his back, opened upwards, up to the height of his shoulders.

“I warmly welcome you all!” his voice rang out, heavy. No particular accent aroused Soap's suspicion. The prison, however, fell silent.

“This is the Gulag and you will all participate in the Battle Royal!”

[sassykai10]

I shape you under my fingers [Miguel O'Hara X Gn!Reader]

Miguel O'Hara x Gn!Reader Words: 2442 Warning: none Summary: Miguel O'Hara is a stressed man who just need to relax. What's better than a massage?

Miguel O'Hara was a careful, alert and intelligent man, but also a proud blowhard. With you, however, it was different: in your company he enjoyed every moment, every word, every touch, your every look.

You had gotten to know each other better shortly after being recruited by him to join the Spider Society and after a short period of bickering, your eagerness and interest in trying to get closer to him had led you to begin a simple relationship in the dark. Not that it was hard to imagine what you did together all that time when you disappeared from everyone and everything.

Miguel's difficulty lay mostly in having to make peace with himself in order to start trusting someone again, to be sure that the Multiverse would not be compromised if you took time for yourself. And on top of that there was the mess that had happened with Gabriella from Earth-968B, when he lost that one spark of happiness that had allowed him, even if only for a short time, to trust someone, to be able to love.

But after what had happened, how could he be able to love again? True, it had taken him months, years before he met you, but now that you were part of his world, it would be difficult to let you go. He had to understand that, step by step, it would all work out, he had to trust and you were there for that too.

A recently finished mission had brought back, through several portals, several wounded Spiders, some more severely and some less so. You looked carefully for Miguel in the crowd and saw him come out with Jess as the last one before the portal closed. On seeing him without injuries you breathed a sigh of relief.

"Miguel!" you called to him as you approached "What happened? You're not hurt anywhere are you?" you took his arms and moved them back and forth, checking his entire body.

With a slight tug Miguel told you to let him go "It's ok" he replied in a serious voice, but with a slight tinge of breathlessness. His eyes were locked on the other spiders and his hard shoulders locked forward. You watched him more carefully as he walked away with Jess who had meanwhile waved goodbye.

Not that it was such a strange thing to see him stressed and tired after a mission, especially if it was one that hadn't gone as well as you hoped, but one way or another seeing him like that was always unnerving. You wanted and were there for him so being shunted off like that was hardly the thanks you would expect. You huffed audibly and set to work trying to help the medical team in charge. At that moment Miguel had better be left alone and take some time to calm his hot temper.

The day went on quietly. You lent a hand in escorting those who were in the slightest need of assistance to the infirmary, while the seriously wounded were quickly taken under the knife and operated on. Not that you were a doctor, not at all, but it was a way to make yourself a little more useful, especially when there was nothing else to do.

You checked your watch in the infirmary and since it was already past six o'clock in the afternoon, you began to think that maybe it was time to take a break and think about going back to your Earth. Staying so far away every time was not a good thing since crime never rested and you were canonically the only Spider in your world and in Brooklyn.

You walked towards the exit after greeting the staff in the room and just before you stepped outside the door you noticed a set of small bottles on a bedside table. A brilliant idea came to you, and when you asked a nurse if you could borrow them and she said yes, you quickly picked them up and almost ran out the door.

Miguel had asked you several times to stay the night. At first he had left you a key to one of the rooms in the headquarters, but as your relationship grew, it was needless to say that key was of less and less use. Instead, he had given you a copy of his so that you could enter as often as you wanted and when you wanted, without commitment.

Quietly you walked towards the sleeping quarters, where you knew Miguel would be resting. With all his good will it was almost impossible, even for him, to concentrate when it was obvious he was so tired. You climbed the stairs leading to the rooms and once in front of his door you knocked lightly. Three times, as he had asked you to do.

You waited a few seconds before the door opened slightly, leaving room only for Miguel's head to peep in.

"Yo" you greeted him with a sincere smile.

"What is it?" the voice heavy and sleepy, tired. You could tell from his eyes so dull that the mission had been more trouble than usual and one way or another this had not been good for his health, mental and physical. Although it was unnerving, you knew he wasn't doing it on purpose to answer you like that.

"May I come in? I'd like to spend some time together..." you looked at him with a smile still on your face.

You saw him watching you carefully before letting out a slight snort and opening the door to let you in. Without even waiting for you he turned around and went back to lie on the bed where he had been before. The sight was interesting to say the least: with only the trousers of a black tracksuit on, his bare back was completely in view.

"Thank you," you thanked as you entered and closed the door behind you. Your room was simple, nothing fancy: the large bed against one wall, two bedside tables to the side. Near the entrance was a desk full of paperwork and various objects, while on the opposite side was a large wardrobe. There was nothing decorative and the large windows were part of the time always closed so as not to let in any light as your eyes suffered.

You left the two small bottles you had borrowed from the infirmary on one of the two bedside tables as you settled on the edge of the bed, next to Miguel. You watched him carefully breathing, his body stiff as a piece of wood. You reached out a hand to rest it on the nape of his neck and slowly ran it through his hair. As soon as you touched him you noticed a visible change in his posture, which became slightly more relaxed.

"Are you alright...?" you asked carefully, continuing to stroke him with slow movements. The only reply you received was a simple, monotonous, tired and slightly annoyed mumbling.

"I noticed that the mission was more difficult than you expected. I saw that you seemed to be more exhausted than usual," your hand moved calmly along his neck making a light pressure that Miguel accepted with pleasure making his face disappear more into the pillows. He nodded slightly at your words.

"I got some oils from the infirmary," you left your seat for a moment to reach for the small bottles you had brought "I brought them because they are the same ones that doctors and nurses use for physiotherapy massages," you leaned your head forward to better see a possible reaction from Spider Man. "Would you like that?" you asked.

Another mumbling made its way to your ears, this time seeming to be decidedly more relaxed, signifying a green light. In one hand you took one of the two flasks and twisted the cap to open it. A strong but pleasant smell of lavender reached your nostrils. You poured some of the contents onto your hands and began to turn them over to grease the entire surface well.

Carefully you got up from your seat at the edge of the bed and just as carefully moved one leg over her bottom and straddled her. A slight mumble left Miguel as he felt your weight on him, you noticed that his hips shifted slightly forward, lifting you slightly. A sneer made its way onto your lips.

It was difficult to have to pay attention to what you had to do when your view at that moment was only focused on her perfect back. But after allowing a few seconds to pass, you shifted your weight forward and slowly placed your hands on his shoulders, at the neckline. At the contact of your oiled, cold hands with his back, Miguel shivered slightly.

You let him get a little used to your presence and when you saw him relax his shoulders, you began to apply pressure with your thumbs on the muscles that were so visibly tense and stiff. Back and forth, your hands travelled all along his back, first in a single area, then spreading wider and wider in simple but effective movements.

With Miguel's face pressed between the pillows of his bed, it was difficult for you to see his face and expressions so the only way was to rely on every single little movement his body made in reaction to the points you massaged.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, first inwards, sliding your thumbs down to his hairline, then outwards and down along his spine to his lower back. Contrary to what you might have thought, Miguel's skin was not as tough as his character, it was instead much smoother and softer.

Numerous were the scars. Signs of the many battles against the enemies of his Earth and all those falls and blows he had taken during his career as Spider Man.

With a slight shake of your head you returned your focus to the work at hand. Your thumbs lingered in your lower back and moving your body forward you put a lot of pressure on the very spot you knew, and felt, to be stiffest. In an instant Miguel's hands flew to your thighs, tightening the fabric and flesh in a tight but careful grip. Your whole body suddenly stiffened. A stifled moan came like music to your ears.

"Found the sore spot," you giggled, continuing to massage the lumbar area applying the same pressure, meeting the knot several times.

Watching him closely you could see his back trembling slightly. His breathing muffled by the pillows and the sheets made it faintly audible.

You moved your hands upwards again and then lightly downwards again, squeezing the spot where the knot was. Passing your thumbs over the same area several times, you noticed that each time Miguel let out a moan and his hands tightened more firmly on your thighs.

You leaned your face forward and with astonishment and pleasure noticed a slight red colour at the tip of your ears. You said nothing to avoid a possible grumpy response, but you grinned to yourself, amused. Your hands reached up to my shoulder blades and lingered there for a few seconds before resuming their way along my shoulders and the base of my neck. At first stiff, his hands released their strong grip on you, never completely detaching.

Your fingers moved along the length of his neck until they reached his hairline and pressed lightly, in circular movements, right there.

Miguel visibly relaxed, a sign that this was one of the best places I could find. His shoulders relaxed noticeably and you felt his whole body almost melt under your weight. His back slowly widened, a sign of deep breathing.

You circled around that spot for several minutes. Up and down, up and down. Clockwise and anticlockwise, working to the best of your ability. Again as before you went further down, first on your shoulders and shoulder blades, widening also along your arm, then going down again along your spine.

And as before, the lower you went, the more pressure you applied. Miguel on the other hand could do nothing but stiffen again. His hands again desperately clinging to your thighs. Another stifled moan, followed by a snort held in his lungs.

"Hey stop!" you called back, giggling when you nearly fell off his back from a too sudden movement.

His face half peeped out from the pillows. A strong layer of redness adorned his skin from the tip of his nose to his ears. Glassy eyes with wide pupils searched almost desperately. A faint trickle of saliva fell from his lips, which desperately let in more air than his lungs could hold. You watched him carefully as you felt a warmth run through your entire back, the hair at the base of your nape standing up at the sight.

"What's going on, Miguel?" you whispered in his ear once you leaned forward. A mischievous smile on your face. His response was just an almost annoyed mumbling and the quick escape of your face back into the middle of the pillows.

To torment him some more, I decided to repeat the same process as before and again move my hands along the entire spine to the lumbar region and then apply pressure with clockwise and anti-clockwise movements. Slowly, gently but precisely.

"Hmm..." Music to the ears.

"You seem to be pretty stressed in this spot, you know?" you teased him amusedly. Miguel did not speak. For a moment you thought he had started biting the pillow so hard so as not to make any noise, that you would probably find the holes later.

You massaged for a few more minutes all along his back, but at the umpteenth time you teased him, in an instant you found yourself thrown off his back. Miguel, in fact, moved so quickly that you didn't even notice. In an instant you found yourself with your back on the mattress and him on top of you, visibly red in the face.

"Yes?" you grinned at him amused.

"I'd say we can stop here," he looked you straight in the eyes, glassy as before but with a hint of lust that made them glow brighter.

"I feel like I did a good job, you know? I must have untied all your knots,' you thought aloud, smiling innocently as you knew Miguel barely held back an annoyed snort.

In an instant he was closer to you than before, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I think it's my turn now."

[sassykai10]

Just Let Me Breath

Summary: Simon “Ghost” Riley has a dissociation moment  Warnings: Angst, Dissociation, Derealization, Panic Attack, Anxiety.  Please, If you don’t feel confident to read it, just don’t! Take care!

It was a cold mid-November evening.

The base was completely silent, except for the few soldiers on watch for the evening.

Price had let the guys from Task Force 141 off so they could rest before their new mission somewhere in Europe.

The captain had gone back to his office to sort out some paperwork. Gaz had run back to his room as soon as he had been given the all-clear. Ghost had intended to return to his room to get just enough rest, but Soap would not let him go until the middle of the night.

It was just past midnight.

The sergeant and lieutenant were in a quiet little room on the base. They had decided to pass the time by playing cards, chatting - Soap especially - and drinking something strong to help them fall asleep better later.

"Boom! - the sergeant threw a double pair onto the table - how do ye respond to this excellent play, LT?" he observed him amused with a big grin on his face. Proud of his cards.

Ghost looked at him. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up just enough to give the idea of a small smile under his balaclava.

Ghost slowly lowered the cards in his hand, a scale of alternating black and red cards ascending from number four to eight.

"Shite..." huffed Soap as he rolled his eyes and tapped his thigh with one hand.

He then moved to settle himself better in the chair. His hands slid over his face and lightly tapped his cheeks. He took the shot glass and poured himself some Drambuie, a liquor his parents had left him the last time he had visited them.

He raised his glass slightly and after carefully contemplating his choice, downed the contents in one gulp.

When he had finished he banged the glass so hard on the table that Ghost was already thinking of Price's face when he found out the next day that Soap had broken something because he was half drunk. Fortunately, nothing broke.

"Whoa! - Johnny shook his head left and right as if to clear his hangover, then looked Ghost straight in the eye with new resolve, his Scottish accent growing stronger - A'm waantin' a rematch!"

"Whatever you say, McTavish," replied the superior calmly, amused.

The two spent another half hour playing and when it was time to return to the room, Ghost was forced to help the sergeant.

In no time at all, he had drained about half the liquor he had brought and was now unable to stand.

"LT... - called him back chuckling - how come yer not as drunk as me? Ye've been drinking too..." he hummed drunkenly.

"I can hold my liquor just fine Johnny"

"Tis nae fair though..." he pouted.

"What?"

"I want tae be like ya when I grow up..." he joked chuckling.

Ghost took a few seconds before replying.

"You'll be better than me, Johnny."

"Hmm. Maybe, but I'll never be as cool as ye" and laughed belly-first.

Ghost felt himself smiling slightly.

It had been so long since he had spent the evening pressed in the company of someone who could make him feel good and prevent his mind from returning to all those horrible memories of the past.

When he was with Johnny, he felt like Simon Riley, not Ghost.

But this thought, as nice as it was, made him uncomfortable. A certain sense of anxiety and nausea tightened his chest.

Johnny had been able to bring a part of Ghost out into the open, something he had been hiding for years since it had fallen into Manuel Roba's hands.

Maybe the man wasn't completely dead. Right...?

'Lt! - Soap snapped his fingers in front of his eyes to rouse him from his trance - we're here!" he laughed.

"Hmm," he muttered in agreement.

Johnny took the room keys from the pocket of his military suit trousers and with difficulty managed to slip them into the keyhole. With a turn he opened the door.

"Finally some rest!" he sniggered as he made his way to his perfectly made-up bed according to the strict rules of the barracks.

With a leap, the sergeant threw himself onto the mattress and moved over the sheets to find a good sleeping position, crumpling and unravelling them.

Despite not being a dog person, Ghost had always thought that Johnny actually resembled a Golden Retriever in character, especially when he was drunk.

Seeing him tossing and turning on the sheets, it felt like watching a dog turn in the kennel before going to sleep.

"LT...! - Johnny called him back in a whiny voice - goodnight!" and smiled at him through wide smile before resting his head on the pillow and falling asleep.

Ghost watched him for a few seconds before turning on his heels.

"'Night Johnny" he mumbled, grinning slightly as he closed the door behind him.

The corridor was silent.

Ghost's footsteps could not be heard, that was a characteristic of him. He had been trained to be a weapon, and as such he had to be able to move silently, on the tips of his toes, to sneak up on his enemies and sever their carotid artery with a single blow from behind.

Even if he had wanted to, that part of himself would never have changed and no matter how hard he tried, some of the things Roba and his people had put in his head, he would never be able to forget them, many of the traumas had changed him so much that they left everlasting scars in his mind.

He took a long breath as he began to feel his heart beat faster.

Remembering what he had been through was certainly not helpful, especially if he already had to deal with these traumas at night with nightmares that lasted for hours on end and always woke him up with his throat closed and tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

With long strides he finished walking down the corridor and after entering his room he slowly closed the door behind him, making sure the key made two turns in the keyhole. Being cautious and anticipating any possible enemy attack, especially in his sleep, was one of the answers to the traumas he had been carrying around since his return to action.

He removed his boots and jacket, carefully placing them in order near the entrance.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table by the bed. 00:43.

He could feel his heart still in his throat, pounding and pounding in his ears.

Fuck...

Quickly he headed for the bathroom and with a sudden gesture tore the skull balaclava off his head, a reminder of what he had become.

He did not even look at himself in the mirror and turned on the water in the sink. He cupped his hands and filled them, then ran them over his bare face.

He felt the marks of his eternal scars pass under his fingertips.

Hard lines of memories that had branded him, preventing him from forgetting every time he saw his face in the mirror. That was why he never looked at himself. That was why he did not want anyone to look at him.

He wiped water over his face several times, as if unconsciously trying to eliminate all traces of the growing anxiety he felt in his chest.

Anxiety about what then?

He didn't know either, but his mind travelled so fast that it could be anything: the mission, the night, the nightmares, his relationship with Johnny and the other team members, his fear of not being enough...

All kinds of thoughts of this kind ran through his unconscious continuously, without giving him a moment of peace.

He just wanted to be able to breathe.

To forget everything he had suffered for, but he knew that would be impossible.

He looked up and saw himself in the mirror.

He had done it without realising it and now he regretted it.

His face was milky white, decorated with heavy and numerous pink scars cutting across his forehead, neck, jaw and lips, and his nose was slightly crooked from all the blows he had suffered.

He looked into his eyes, so dark brown that he wasn't sure if he was really looking at the colour of the irises or inside his soul.

He felt and saw his eyebrows arch imperceptibly upwards. The corners of his eyes began to itch uncomfortably.

His hands clung tightly to the edge of the sink to seek support with the reality he knew was disappearing.

For a few seconds he still saw himself reflected in the mirror, then he saw nothing more.

His head was whirling dangerously and his mouth was completely dry. He felt his legs and arms begin to stop supporting him. His balance was precarious.

For a tiny fraction of time he remembered standing in the bathroom, facing the mirror.

The more he looked at himself, the more he wondered if that person in front of him was really him, Ghost, not Simon. He tried to convince himself of that somehow.

He was certain that Simon was no longer there.

But then who was that man in front of him?

In a few moments consciousness slipped from his hands, before returning to his mind, all of a few seconds apart.

He had to force himself to remember where he was, who he was.

His mind was distracted and before long he found himself immersed in a strange, but not unusual feeling of disorientation.

Now he was no longer sure where he was.

Blurred images appeared before his eyes and when he tried to close them he could not.

His head spun lighter, increasing the feeling of nausea that knocked at the pit of his stomach.

He suddenly felt his body become weak, as if he were floating.

Then he saw him, or rather, he saw himself.

The man before him was standing somewhere, not sure where he was.

He could see his blond hair, but his face was blurred.

What did he look like?

He knew, of course he knew!

So why couldn't he remember?

When he saw him turn around, he felt the taste of bile rise beyond his stomach, up his esophagus.

The blond-haired man had the face of a skull, no eyes, no mouth, just an aggregation of pieces of bone.

He felt a slight movement and his mind began to whirl again, wiping the man out of sight.

...Simon...

His name reached his ears in a distant, distorted way.

He turned his gaze to see where it came from, but no one came forward.

Around him only darkness.

Darkness, darkness and being alone.

He shifted his eyes left and right, above and below, where he hoped to find a light, something to help him escape the sudden panic he felt in his chest.

He felt his body as if lying down.

And suddenly the blurred but familiar image of the coffin's interior took him by surprise.

The air began to run out quickly.

He tried to move within that cramped space to find something useful to get out, again.

The jaw... he thought as he felt around, only to realise he couldn't move.

He was going to die there.

He had managed to escape the first time, but he had been pardoned and now, by some strange twist of fate, he would have to relive those interminable minutes again without being able to move or breathe.

His life would end there.

Simon...!

The same voice reached him a second time, more clearly.

He closed his eyes tightly.

He tried to struggle as much as he could, to no avail.

He had to escape at any cost!

When he opened them wide, he was no longer in the coffin.

He felt he could breathe better, however with difficulty.

He looked around again and saw for the second time the so familiar body of a man with ash-blond hair.

He was standing, his shoulders arched slightly forward.

He approached.

He saw him trembling.

He looked closely at his face: his eyes were fixed in front of him, lost in something that even he did not know what it was. He could see that he was biting down hard on his upper lip, just enough to be bleeding. His cheeks were streaked with tears.

It pained him to see that man suffer like that.

Him?

Who was he pitying?

That man?

Who was he?

Who was that man?

Where was he?

Shit...! Shit!

Simon!

It's all right...!

... Johnny?

He opened his eyes wide.

His head was spinning as if in a spiral, his vision was still blurry.

He felt his quick breath go in and out of his mouth.

He had to stop. He had to catch his breath.

His heart was pounding loudly in his ears.

He had to regain his self-awareness somehow.

Three things he could smell.

The faint smell of the shampoo he had used the day before. The aftershave. The faint smell of cigarettes.

Three things he could touch.

His sweatpants. His arm. The cold edge of the sink.

Three things he could see.

His hands clinging desperately to the sanitary. His toothbrush in a glass on the small cupboard nearby. Himself in the reflection.

Inhale. Exhale.

Repeat.

Ghost closed his eyes and forcefully ran his hands over his face.

He needed to detach himself from that mirror. He needed to get out of there.

Fuck...

He ran a hand through his hair as he shakily made his way to the bedroom.

The anxiety was still there, but he felt decidedly more self-conscious.

He saw the balaclava on the floor and bent to pick it up.

Putting it on meant going back to being Ghost, the man he was meant to be. A confidence to gain full control of his body.

He passed the mask around his head and took a deep breath.

A - wrong - feeling of peace embraced him, making him feel safer.

He sat on the edge of the bed taking his face, now masked, in his hands.

He took more long breaths trying to calm himself in the last moment of the panic attack.

He looked up and glanced at the clock. 1:03.

Only a quarter of an hour had passed since he had entered his bedroom after leaving Johnny drunk in his room.

The feeling of helplessness seized him, making him break into a cold sweat.

So little had passed and he had experienced the moment as if it had been hours.

He could not remember what had happened, but he must have had a moment of derealisation and dissociation, something he had been experiencing for years, but was not used to.

How had he managed to come to his senses this time?

His mind strained to remember.

The memory of a male voice, heard many times before, made its way from his unconscious.

"Johnny...- he sighed quietly, his eyes open in amazement- fuck..."

He didn't know if that was good or bad.

He knew that the sergeant could be trusted enough by now.

He didn't want him to get too close to Ghost. He didn't want him to run away once he got to know him better and especially didn't want to risk putting him in danger.

On the other hand, however, a deep desire in his heart wanted someone to at least try to help him, to save him from the idea of a life lived only as Ghost and not also as Simon, who in one way or another still existed in his mind.

He was afraid that a good soul like Johnny might change him, not knowing what awaited him once he got so close to someone.

Ghost shifted on the bed to stand with his back against the wall, the pillow behind his back.

He curled in on himself, closing his legs and tucking them against his chest.

He hid his head between his knees and his hands gripped his feet tightly.

He would wait until he fell asleep, then the day would begin with a wake-up call and preparations for the mission ahead.

Everything would be exactly as it always was.

[sassykai10]

Loki×Fem!Reader

Genere: fluff

Riassunto: La Reader si ritrova a spazzolare i capelli a Loki.

N.A.: la storia è un po' corta, ma spero vi piaccia lo stesso :)

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

"Stai fermo!"

"Mi fai male se tiri così!"

La sera era scesa sulla gigantesca torre degli Avengers, mentre l'ultima luce pomeridiana si faceva strada tra gli alti palazzi della gigantesca metropoli di New York, svanendo oltre l'orizzonte insieme al caldo sole.

In una delle stanze più in alto nella torre, dove una gigantesca finestra si affacciava direttamente sull'Empire State Building, si trovavano due persone. Una ragazza, (t/n), era seduta a gambe incrociate sul grosso letto matrimoniale disfatto, mentre un ragazzo, Loki, era invece seduto per terra che imprecava e si dimenava tenendosi i capelli.

"Ahi!" ringhiò lui prendendole la mano per fermarla.

"Se continui a muoverti è ovvio che poi ti tiri i capelli e ti faccia male!" rispose lei spazientita dopo l'ennesima volta che veniva fermata.

I due avevano cominciato a frequentarsi già da un po' di tempo, prima come conoscenti, poi amici, migliori amici ed infine erano giunti ad una relazione più intima e seria. Ora si ritrovano nella stessa camera disordinata a sistemarsi i capelli a vicenda.

Come erano giunti a quel punto? Loki, col suo carattere glaciale aveva cominciato finalmente a lasciarsi andare diventando più sincero e amichevole. Ma questo solo in presenza di (t/n), poiché il resto degli Avengers gli era ancora ostile. Nessuno di loro si era dimenticato l'attacco alieno di New York di alcuni anni addietro e nonostante tutto, nonostante non sapessero nulla, lo additavano come colpevole, facendolo sprofondare in una peggiore concezione di se stesso.

Ma conoscere quella ragazza lo aveva in un certo senso salvato. Lei lo vedeva in modo differente, migliore. Era stata capace di penetrare nel suo cuore per aiutarlo e sostenerlo nel suo dolore. Un'ancora di salvezza a cui Loki si aggrappava con tutte le sue forze.

Quella serata aveva finalmente deciso di lasciarsi andare e a testa bassa per non mostrare il suo imbarazzo era finito davanti a (t/n) chiedendole di passare un po' di tempo da soli facendo qualcosa che le piacesse.

La ragazza sperava oramai da tantissimo tempo che lui le chiedesse qualcosa del genere e felice come non mai gli sorrise prendendolo per il braccio e correndo in camera sua.

Lo fece sedere su qualche cuscino per terra e gli disse fermamente, ma con voce eccitata, di non muoversi per nessun motivo, scappando poi verso il bagno.

Loki rimase seduto, più confuso che altro. Si guardò in giro cercando di ricordare quando fosse stata l'ultima volta che era entrato in quella camera. Poggiò la schiena al grosso letto disfatto dalle sottili lenzuola bianche. La stanza non era eccessiva, ma decorata bene e semplicemente.

Quando vide (t/n) uscire dal bagno con un beauty, drizzò la schiena in modo composto osservando attentamente i movimenti che essa faceva. Non le tolse gli occhi di dosso fino a quando si posizionò alle sue spalle sedendosi sul letto.

"Cosa fai?" mosse la testa all'indietro per guardarla sottosopra.

Lei gli sorrise e dal beauty prese una spazzola sventolandogliela davanti agli occhi. "Sorpresa!" Gli mise poi le mani sulle sue guance e con un movimento veloce gli spostò la testa in modo che guardasse di nuovo di fronte. Con movimenti tranquilli ma decisi cominciò a spazzolargli i lunghi capelli neri.

Ora i suoi capelli erano decorati da qualche treccina strette al fondo da colorati elastici, i primi che (t/n) aveva trovato all'interno del beauty.

Mentre lavorava attentamente ai capelli di Loki, non aveva fatto altro che notare quanto fossero mal messi e perciò ci aveva speso più tempo di quel che pensava bastasse all'inizio. Inoltre il fatto che lui continuasse a lamentarsi la preoccupava parecchio, specialmente per il fatto che gli facesse male, ma anche perché era abbastanza convinta che non gli piacesse.

(t/n) aveva sempre desiderato decorare e sistemare i lucenti capelli di Loki, ma aveva dovuto aspettare parecchio tempo. Non aveva intenzione di imporsi, voleva che fosse lui a fare il primo passo per uscire dal guscio che si era costruito lui stesso.

Senza pensarci troppo e con gentilezza prese con la mano libera una ciocca di capelli e gentilmente ci passò sopra la spazzola che si trovava nell'altra mano. La testa di Loki seguiva i suoi movimenti spostandosi in dietro e poi tornando avanti una volta che la spazzola aveva lasciato i capelli. E anche questa volta (t/n) si scontrò con un nodo.

"Diamine che male!" sibilò ancora Loki stringendo i pugni.

"Scusami, ma sono davvero messi male. Sarà la centesima volta che trovo un nodo" sbuffò (t/n) stanca anche lei e preoccupata che lui si stesse innervosendo sempre di più. "La smetto se vuoi" gli disse.

Lui la osservò dopo aver piegato la testa all'indietro. Faceva male? Dava fastidio? Sì, ma sapeva che a lei faceva piacere poter passare così il loro tempo.

"No" abbassò la voce "Vai avanti. Non mi lamento più" nascose la faccia guardando avanti.

(t/n) era convinta di aver capito male. Loki aveva parlato talmente a bassa voce che era stato difficile capire cosa avesse detto. Rimase un attimo ad osservare la testa di lui dall'alto e poi si sporse per guardarlo in faccia. Lui però da parte sua spostava la testa dall'altro lato ogni volta, imbarazzato.

La vide però sorridere e successivamente la senti ridere divertita. Non disse nulla, ma gli baciò la fronte, riprendendo poi da dove si era fermata.

Loki sorrise felice.

Il suo cuore di ghiaccio era più caldo che mai.

In quel momento si ritrovò a ringraziare l'universo intero per il momento che stava vivendo. Non sarebbe stato capace di spiegarlo a parole, ma era certo che quello fosse il vero sentimento di amore che tutti gli esseri viventi, umani e non, ricercavano durante tutto l'arco della loro vita.

(t/n) che ora si ritrovava indaffarata a legare l'ultima parte di una treccina con un colorato elastico rosa si vide costretta a smettere perché Loki la fissava di nuovo.

Lo osservò incuriosita cercando di capire il perché di questo movimento improvviso, poi vide i suoi occhi azzurri.

Dovette ammettere che un quel momento si sentì come se si fosse innamorata una seconda volta. Gli occhi di Loki erano più belli che mai, più tranquilli, più rilassati. Di solito mostravano delle leggere sfumature di rughe, date dalla costante contrazione dei muscoli dell'occhio, ma in quel momento non esistevano.

Loki stava dimostrando di essere totalmente nelle mani di (t/n), nella più completa fiducia.

Lei sorrise un'altra volta e si abbassò per baciarlo sulla fronte.

"Sei la cosa più bella che mi sia mai capitata..." la voce bassa, seducente, innamorata.

"Anche tu Loki" rispose immediatamente lei con un sorriso. Ridacchiò teneramente e gli spostò di nuovo la testa ritornando a lavorare ai suoi capelli.

[sassykai10]

Salve a tutti!

Sono nuovo su questa piattaforma, spero di potermi ambientare velocemente.

Mi chiamo Kai e mi piace scrivere fanfiction sui miei personaggi preferiti delle diverse serie che guardo.

Spero possiate apprezzare i contenuti che andrò a postare! (☞^o^) ☞

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Hello guys!

I'm new here on Tumblr and I hope to learn more about.

My name is Kai and I like writing fanfic about my favourite characters from different TV series I watched.

Hope you can appreciate my posts! :D