#[^ mildly spooked by the staring and is staring right back]

[the-grinding-cogs]

... You're aware that "just take care of yourself" or something along those lines probably won't work the way you want, correct?

… I can’t just tell them every time they need a drink of water to go get some.

[mentallyinvernation]

The Haunting of Fawney Rig sounds interesting

Hi! This is my most recent wip! Chapter one is actually up if you want to check it out here:

It's basically a ghost-hunting AU where Hob and Matthew investigate Fawney Rigg, which has been abandoned since the death of Roderick Burgess. There are plenty of shenanigans because when are there not with this duo, plenty of spooks, and a grumpy anthropomorphic personification that's mistaken for a demon.

Have a spooky time snippet:

“There’s a man in the basement,” Hob hesitates to divulge, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles pop white, indecision roiling in his gut as he stares out the window back at the manor. “What?” “There’s a man in the basement.” It’s a testimony to how strange a night they’ve both had that the only reaction that gets out of Matthew is a surprised blink. “Okay.” He breathes out slowly, shoulders slumping. “What’s he doing down there?” “Well, he’s just sort of laying in this big glass sphere, really.” “Cool. Good for him. Hate that. Drive. Please drive. I’m begging you to drive.” “Matthew,” He starts, slowly wrenching his gaze over to his friend. “We can’t.” “Why not?” Matthew demands with a mildly hysterical edge to his tone.  “Because there’s a man in the basement.” “Well, he doesn’t belong to us!” “I think he’s trapped down there -” “You know what else is supposed to be trapped in the basement of this house?” Matthew argues. “A -” “Don’t.” Hob holds up a hand. “I get that you're scared but this is serious, Matthew.” “No, Hob, you’re not hearing me. Believe it or not, I’m aware of how serious the situation is. I’m more than fucking aware. There’s some really shady shit going on right now, and despite everything we just went through, I hope to hell and back that the dude you’re referring to is a demon because do you know what it means if he’s not? If he’s just some regular guy? It means someone put him down there. Like recently. That means people are still coming back here to do weird and fucked up shit, and I refuse to get caught up in it. I’m not dying here. If that guy isn’t a demon, we call the fucking cops about it, okay? That’s the play here. We do not go back into the house of horrors.” He says, angrily stuffing his broken flashlight into the trusty duffel bag while shaking his head. “Man in the basement. No. Fuck off. I’m not doing that. Don’t make me do that.” “We can’t just leave him,” Hob says quietly. “You didn’t see him. It was - Christ. It was pitch black down there. I just - I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself if we left without doing anything. I can’t do that. What if he needs medical attention or something?” “Hob, this isn’t our responsibility -” “It is, though. We know he’s down there. We might be the only people who do know about him. That makes us responsible. Look, just - wait here, okay? You don’t have to go back in. I’ll do it. I remember the way, I’ll only be gone a few minutes -” “No,” Matthew interrupts immediately. “No, absolutely not. Fuck that. Splitting up is like the main horror movie no-no.”

[samthecookielord]

(Intro) - (Previous)

Radar: It- It wasn’t the potion! I think some of the glass hit me when it shattered. That was the part that hurt. Olivia: That never happens to any of us. Radar: Guess I just got unlucky. Olivia raises an eyebrow.

Radar: So what if it hurt, it’s not like I’m a zombie or anything. That would be crazy! Ivor: Well, none of us said “zombie”. Why are you bringing it up? Radar: Because I’m not! Easy misconception! Ivor: Is it, now? Radar: Uh-huh!

Ivor narrows his eyes at you.

Radar: I totally forgot to mention, I’m actually allergic to potions!  Lukas: …How? Radar: It’s, um, the nether wart! I’m allergic to nether wart! And you have to have that in every potion, right?  Petra: You didn’t seem to have much of a problem with it when Ivor ambushed us in the Underneath. Radar: Huh? Petra: The slowness potion. I didn’t see any reaction then. Radar: That’s because you were too slow to notice it! Petra: …Kay.

Petra looks concerned.

Radar opens his mouth to say something else, but instead he stands there awkwardly sweating.

Everyone just stares at Radar before moving on.

You’re unable to go back the way you came, so the only way out is through. You enter the cave, which quickly becomes dark. The torches only last so long, and there are plenty of mobs (that still ignore you. Yep, real good at this being normal thing).

After walking for a while in what should theoretically be pitch dark, you realize. You can still see. Why can you still make out objects when there aren't any apparent nearby sources of light???- oh right you died. Okay! What a fun time to discover a new facet of your strange new existence! Fun! This is great and this is fun! Okay! You look at the others, who are clearly struggling to feel their way around the dark. Well, at least you can freak out a little bit without them noticing!

As you're looking around, you spot a tunnel leading upward, which is probably good. You call out to the others and start heading towards it.

Lukas: You- you can see a way out? Radar: Uh, yeah, I think so. Lukas: But- Petra: Alright let's move first I don't wanna get jumpscared by Ivor for the tenth time in this dump. Ivor: Ah yes, because it's oh so scary when I can't see anything! Axel: AH- oh it's Ivor. Ivor: It seems I can never truly escape my ninja past... Radar: Okay yeah moving on.

Once out of the cave, the others congratulate you for finding the way out! You all stop for a quick break, and you wander off to some trees for some shade and also get mildly spooked by a creeper that, as usual, doesn't react to you. You think about maybe warning the group that there's a creeper, but luckily for them it wanders away back into the trees. Though, glancing at the group... they seem to be giving you a couple weird glances. Well, fair enough, considering how extra weird you've been lately. And then, they approach you.

--Before you can do anything, they ask if you're ready to keep following the trail.

Oh. Huh, okay.

You nod. Still a little tense, you're waiting for someone to say something. Are they waiting for a good moment? Are they waiting for the sun to come down? What's the hold up? You were so sure they finally figured it out...

But nobody ever asked about it. In fact, none of the others ever comment on your vaguely-zombie-like properties anymore. It's... sort of relieving? Ivor accidentally splashes you with a damage potion, which actually works in your favour! When camping for the night, the others seek out a covered area.

...Maybe you could get used to this.

You reach the Farlands.

...

And NOW that's EVERYTHING from the doc. Hope you enjoyed!

(View the beast for yourself in all its unfinished glory)

[home-on-the-wastes]

Hell of a Ride (2/?)

When someone finally makes it through the Gauntlet, Gage's relieved that they might finally have a candidate for Overboss--until he sees that the contender's just a kid. Still, she's the first who's gotten this far in a long time, so maybe there's some merit to her skills, and would be a good fit for the role after all. Besides, kids can be bossed around, right? See Part 1 for additional tags. Part 1 // 2 // 3

Gage dragged himself to his feet to survey the damage. The corner of the arena was black, and near the center of it, what was left of Colter in his power armor. A piece of the oversized helmet was dented and cracked, embedded in the arena guard rail. 

Gage had to hand it to the kid—she at least put on a good show before she blew herself up. Took who she could down with her. If the groans and screams from the stands were any indication, Gage was sure she killed one or two of the gang members right up against the fence from the debris. Fucking idiots.

Then, in the smoldering wreckage, Gage spied some movement. Still on his back, Colter tried to roll over, get on his feet, and do something. Gage couldn’t tell if it was death throes or if he was still alive, just trapped in that stupid fucking power armor, burning up. If Colter survived this, he was gonna skin Gage alive for the Thirst Zapper stunt.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, something else moved.

It might have been a curse, or maybe it was just an unintelligible scream of rage and adrenaline. The kid jumped out of the wreckage, blackened and burning, and unloaded the remainder of the magazine into Colter’s face. The rattling of bullets against the ground punctuated her rage, and when the gun clicked and the ammo expended, she threw it aside, grabbed her machete, and kept chopping, screaming until her voice gave out and there was no way that Colter was alive anymore. With a final swing, arching blood across the arena floor, the kid stopped her bloody double tap as soon as she began it.

Her entire body heaving, she did a brief sweep of the crowd. Gage thought she would jump onto the fence and go mental, but she didn’t. As the seconds ticked by, her tense shoulders started to droop, little by little. She slowly started to lower her machete.

Everyone let out the breath they were holding. Finally, the kid looked at him, jaw set, spitting mad. A plan began to form.

Redeye’s voice crackled over the speakers. “Gage, what the hell just happened?”

He had to get it together, or all of this would be for nothing. Turning to the crowd, Gage shouted over the growing discontent. “You saw it–we all saw it! Colter’s dead.”

He could work with this. Gage grinned and waved a hand at the kid to present her. She spat a glob of blood onto the floor and what looked like a tooth.

“We’ve got ourselves a new Overboss.”

He heard the complaints, especially from the gang leaders. Worried all this talk would spook the new boss, Gage waved his hand and leaned closer to the microphone. “Hey, we talked about this. She survived the Gauntlet. She was smart enough to take my advice and strong enough to kill Colter. She’s what we need. So how about we show some new respect from our new leader.”

“Leader?” the kid asked. Her voice cracked, making it sound like a hiccup. Gage would be pissed if this psychopath started crying, so he waved her off discreetly and kept talking to the crowd.

“All right, all right, now get the hell out of here. I’ll show the new boss around.”

People would be talking about this fight for weeks. Gage eyed the leaders of each gang, talking with their seconds and amongst their crews. Sure, Mason looked mildly annoyed and Nisha was unreadable, but Mags and her brother looked mildly impressed, if not a bit curious.

Gage had to admit the kid had left a good impression. She was tougher than she looked.

Spookier, too. When Gage turned back to the door, she had moved to cracked glass, staring at him like she was out of a god damned horror story with blood dripping down her face. He couldn’t figure out if it was hers or Colter’s, so he decided it was better not to know.  He also opted to not open the door and hoped she wasn’t crazy enough to crawl through the broken windows.

“That went better than expected,” said Gage. “But you gotta listen real close, and you listen good. You just helped us complete a plan that’s been in motion for months.”

The kid’s pupils were starting to return to their normal size, contracting properly with the flashing lights. Gage went through the general overview of the place, the three gangs, how the whole place was just one short fuse from blowing sky high, and how she was going to help him smooth things out. As he explained the situation, he wondered how the kid was going to take it. She didn’t seem much different from the other teenagers who wandered too close to Nuka World and got caught up in one of the gangs, either as a new member or as a new victim. A few well-placed threats would probably make her complacent–at least, until Gage could figure out if she could actually stick around, or just be a stand-in until someone better showed up and crushed her in the Gauntlet.

“What if I don’t want to?” asked the kid.

“Well, you can try and make a break for it,” Gage replied, “where you become hunted by some of the crazier guys here, or you die somewhere out there between here and the Commonwealth. There’s no way in hell you’re gonna be able to get enough supplies to get there, and that transit ain’t running until we say it does.”

She nodded at this, shifting where she stood. Weighing her odds, probably. “Right.”

“And you’re gonna do what I say if you want to stay alive. Got it?”

She nodded again, a little smaller.

“Stand up straight. You just killed the Overboss—now act like it.”

“Fuck you,” she said again, but she stood tall and squared her shoulders.

“Good. You got a little bite. You’re going to need it.”

<< Previous | Next >> Cross-posted on Archive of Our Own

Author's notes: I always liked the concept of the Nuka-World DLC, but never liked how it was handled in canon. My Sole Survivor, Tallahassee, would never have wandered that way due to her own quests and personal issues, but I didn't want to rule out the entire DLC.

However, my Fallout 4 OC, Murk Mathis, would wander there--especially after she gets duped by Harvey at the Nuka-World transit center. Her father's raider background is a bone of contention for her and part of her overall character development in the story arch of my mind for her. Tallahassee shows up later, of course, but for now, I always wanted to get this piece of the story out onto paper.

[mylesimeblr]

Remember me this way (preview part 3)

The sound of robotic yelling reaches him and he doesn’t let her finish, rushing toward the source of the noise. 

It takes him to the common room shared between humans and Na’vis. Mo is in the middle of the room, furiously whipping the floor with its tiny hands, all the while muttering to itself. Around it, Aonung, Rotxo and one of the female Na’vis are watching with frowns.

Mo rolls on until it’s blocked by Aonung’s feet.

It stops and blinks, puzzled by this strange barrier it doesn’t know before looking up and up and up at Aonung’s giant frame with its small head. When it reaches Aonung’s face it screams and jumps backwards, spooked by the Na’vis stature.

Miles can’t blame him. They are intimidating - he truly hates how tall they are compared to everything else. He can’t believe he was ever confident around them one day.

Mo’s red alarm goes off immediately at the top of its head, making sounds of deep confusion as to what that giant blue thing is and begins to wave its hands, shouting hysterically at the gigantic thing that has never been recorded in its logs - and Mo hates things that are not recorded in its logs.

Miles sighs and steps toward, “Mo! Mo! It’s ok, calm down. It’s a Na’vi.”

Mo doesn’t listen and keeps jumping on itself, shouting at Miles in robot language.

“Yes, I know it’s big but you don’t have to clean it.”

Mo yells again.

“No, I told you. You don’t have to always clean everything!”

Mo screeches, absolutely shocked by such a ridiculous idea.

“Return to my room. Do not clean the Na’vis!” Miles orders, aware that no sentence has ever felt more ridiculous to his ears.

Mo squints its eyes at him, outraged, and rolls off.

They watch him for a good minute, trying to make sense of that burlesque situation.

“Is he yours?” Aonung asks in a surprisingly good English - damn, he does speak English then.

“Yes…” he mildly answers, not looking up at the Na’vi’s face.

What was that again about not wanting to see them?

Aonung is still staring right at him, “He’s a cheeky little thing,” he says.

Miles shrugs, “It has its temper… But it’s doing its best. Don’t mind it…”

“Like we must not mind you?” Aoung presses with the faint of a smirk and his stare is so insistent, Miles has to look up and meet his big yellow eyes, if only to shut him up.

“Exactly,” he says, trying to sound confident when he just wants to hide back into his room - away from them.

Aonung frowns but doesn’t say anything. He’s observant, trying to read through that man he used to make fun of as a boy. Miles holds his gaze, not wavering, studying the finer traits of his adult face, the cerulean of his skin and his thick black curly mane. They eye battle for a long time. Around them, Rotxo and the other Na’vi are silent, watching their Olokey’tan and the human.

The eye battle could have lasted more if a sudden flash of deep blue hadn’t shaken Miles’s eyes away. 

His heart almost jumps out of his chest when he sees him again. For a second, the eye battle changes angle. Lo’ak’s bright yellow eyes bear into his and they’re cold. They flicker down to his open red blouse and fall on his robotic shoulder, slightly visible from the off put sleeve and the clear scar joining pink skin and metal. The tall Na’vi suddenly twitches, seemingly taken by nausea, and looks away in haste. Miles shivers and wraps his blouse around himself, hiding his body from view. It has been years since he last felt dirty and unfit in his mutilated body. 

“Excuse me,” he mumbles distractedly before leaving abruptly, Mo rolling right beside him and glaring hatefully at the big blue things.

As he disappears around the corner, Aonung catches Lo’ak eyes and glares at him disapprovingly, shaking his head slowly.

[your-local-grubdog]

Together in the Storm Chapter 11: Lil' BEAST of a Child!

Story Summary: Olimar is back home once again, ready to rest and recuperate from everything that had happened. Yet the universe keeps throwing unwanted surprises his way, making rest difficult. He just wants to make his (now rather large) family believe that he’ll be okay. Because he is, for he has to be.

Story ratings: No archive warnings apply, Teen and Up Audiences, and General/Non-Ship Focused

Chapter Summary: Olimar recalls the time when Captain Destiny met his son.

Read on Ao3 here!

Still no chapter art as I have a huge art project due in four days as of posting this. Art should hopefully be back for chapter 12!

===

Olimar sat in his office, looking through an old book of some sort. It was a thick, hearty thing, with cartoonish renditions of baby bottles on the front. It also has some frog stickers placed half-hazardly all over the front and back of it. He stared at each page for much longer than needed before slowly turning to the next, so absorbed in his task that he almost didn't notice Nova and Louie play-wrestling a bit too roughly right outside of his glass office door.

Almost.

"Cetacea, may you let the boys know that I can see them and that if they don't want me to intervene then they need to tone it down a bit?"

"Of course, Sir."

The boys soon stopped, seeming slightly spooked, before turning to Olimar's door. He merely paid them a sly smile, trying not to chuckle at how guilty they both looked. He only looked up and gave them his full attention when Louie opened the door.

"S-Sorry, dad..." Louie began, soon trailing off. "Uh, what do you got there?"

Olimar closed the book, setting it down. "You're alright, I was just stopping a problem before it could really get started." He then tapped on the book's cover. "This is Nova's baby photo book. Goes a bit beyond 'baby', actually, but still. I don't think I've shown you his or Lunas' yet. I could-" he paused for a moment before looking at Nova. "If he's okay with it, of course."

Louie rose a brow before looking down at Nova. The boy tensed a bit, seeming uncertain, before nodding. They both slowly approached Olimar, looking over his shoulders to take a peek at the book as he opened it back up. As expected, it was filled with pictures of him when much younger, around toddler age in this section. Nova then pointed at a photo, his ears wiggling. "You've never shown me that one. Uh, who is that?"

The photo was of an older woman with dark brown fur and coiled black hair swept to one side. She wore a puffy green flight jacket, jeans, and brown combat boots in the photo. And in her arms was little Nova, wearing a bright yellow shirt, soft blue shorts, and a yellow ribbon attached to a matching headband. He was staring at the camera in a... mildly creepy way, actually.

"I just added it in this morning." Olimar explained. "It... it hurt to much, to add it before. But I can't - and shouldn't - hide it away forever. Her name is Destiny - Captain Destiny. She was my captain when I was around Louie's age."

Nova's eyes went wide then, looking up at his father. "You never talked about your old crew before."

"Ehh..." he chuckled nervously. "Not gonna lie, most of them were jerks. I hardly had a spine at the time, plus I was... different. They picked on my quite a bit. Never bothered to keep in touch after the crew disbanded." He then pointed at the photo. "Our Captain, however, was great. Took me under her wing quite quickly. Mentored me, helped me out."

"Kinda like you did for me?" Louie asked.

Olimar was silent for several moments. "Yeah..." he finally managed out. "A lot like it, actually... she'd visit sometimes. She and Rose got along very well, and she got to meet you as well - er, as you were then, anyways. Would baby sit for us when she could, which wasn't often." he then poked his son's nose affectionately. "Would indulge in your insistent need to play in the mud, though."

At that Nova snorted before shrugging. "At least she was more fun, then, from the sound of things."

"Uh-huh." Olimar narrowed his eyes playfully before looking back to the page. "This was taken the day she met you. I can... tell you both the story, if you'd like." When both boys nodded eagerly, he leaned back into his chair. "We had just gotten back from a delivery run, and she wanted to check in on me..."

===

"T-thanks for offering to come over, Destiny."

"Don't sweat it, kid." The older woman chuckled as she followed Olimar through the house. "Where's that pretty lil' lass of yours now, hmm?" When Olimar's immediate response was to grumble a little, she began to laugh. "Oh, don't start on that now, boy. You know I'm teasin'."

"Yeah, yeah..." he rolled his eyes. "She's taking the chance to see her friends, hasn't gotten to go out much sense Stella was born."

"I see... speakin' of which..." They turned the corner and saw a young toddler wearing a bright yellow shirt, soft blue shorts, and a yellow ribbon attached to a matching headband. She was sitting in a playpen, messing about with toys. "It'll be nice to finally meet her, givin' how often ya brag about her."

"How could I not brag about my baby?" Olimar teased in response, lifting her up. He sat on the couch with his pup, beckoning Destiny over to sit next to him. "Stella, meet Destiny!" He moved her hand as if she was waving, smiling wide. Stella, on the other hand, just stared blankly at Destiny.

"Ah... Not much of a talker, is she?" Destiny asked wearily.

Olimar just shrugged before patting his pup's head gently. "She can babble, make sounds that almost resemble "mama" and "papa". Uh, she does go quiet around strangers though..."

"I can see that. Still, she's quite cute."

"Isn't she?" Olimar smiled wider then. "Rosie and I just adore her. It hasn't been easy taking care of a baby, don't get me wrong, but it's been absolutely worth it."

"Oh, I'm sure. Kids will never get easier. But I know you both were waiting a long time for the gods ta' finally bless you with this lil' one."

Olimar was quiet for a few moments before nodding slowly. He then set Stella back in the play pen, who promptly returned to playing with the various toys laid out for her. "It's been... Very hard. I don't - don't think I've ever told you everything."

Destiny's ears leaned back then, though she stayed quiet as she watched her young crew member lean into the couch, seeming almost... Limp.

"It's - It's taken us so so long... I've come home from work numerous times to find Rosie sobbing. It would take all night to console her, if I was able to at all. She... She was a wreck, captain." He stayed quiet for a long while then, watching as Stella bat a toy around, practically pouncing on it like a cat. Fairly typical behavior for a Hocotation pup, actually. "But... Now that Stella has been born, I think... I think her being alive has made Rose feel a lot better. She doesn't really cry much at all anymore."

Destiny nodded slowly as she tried to absorb everything. Eventually, she laid a hand on his shoulder. "She's a... A lil' rainbow baby then, I take it?"

Olimar was quiet for a long period before slowly nodding. At that point, Destiny began to rub his shoulder in an effort to calm him.

"I'm so sorry, kiddo. I'm sorry... I know it's not much, but..." She trailed off for a bit, leaving Olimar to twitch his ears as he sat up a bit. "May I see her?" She then asked.

Olimar silently nodded as he handed Stella over. The pup stared Destiny down, as if... She were prey. Well, also typical for a Hocotation pup. Probably. They were a predator species after all, and soon she'd be trying to hunt down small creatures. Eventually, she could spend that energy on sports or something. Destiny smiled at the child, holding her up a bit. "I may not be around much, but I can still be the lil' one's Nona!"

At that, Olimar blinked in surprise. "Oh - y-you don't got to-"

"I know." She hummed, lowering the kid and holding her close. "I also didn't need to do everything else. But I do, because you three matter a lot to me."

"I..." Olimar began, at a loss for words. Eventually his ears leaned back as he smiled sadly. "T-Thank you..."

"Of course."

Olimar stayed quiet for a few moments longer before eagerly standing up. "W-Well, if you wanna be the kid's Nona then we should get a picture of the two of you together!"

Destiny chuckled as she watched the man hurry away, hunting down a camera. "Yeah, that sounds nice..." She looked at little Stella, soon poking the kid's nose. "That sounds very nice..."

===

"She sounds kind." Nova hummed. "Why did she stop visiting?"

Olimar was quiet for several moments before being able to speak again. "She - she passes away when you were young." His ears slowly began to droop down then. "I was - it never - I..." He started and stopped his sentence a few times before giving up and sighing. He then turned his had to Nova slightly when the boy wrapped his arms around him. "Thanks, kiddo." He gently pat his back, soon feeling Louie lay a hand on his other shoulder. "And you too." 

"...I'm sorry, Olimar." Cetacea began. "Loosing  parent couldn't of been easy."

"She wasn't my-" Olimar retorted quickly, fur fluffing up from embarrassment. But then he paused and, after a few moments, his fur laid back down. He then let out a sigh, pulling both of his boys in closer. 

"Thank you."

[thereaderinsertlady]

Here's something for 'questober~! Could we do a sfw fluff/spooky Geno x Female! Reader walking through a supposed haunted house but not knowing someone (Dimentio) is following and trying to scare them?

Yeah!! Love Dimmy and Geno. Here's the link on ao3 and I hope you enjoy! (Also, Geno can be seen as his regular doll form or as a human; your preference)

ㅤ

Geno x Reader - A... Friendly Scare

“I doubt this place is haunted,” Geno said, glancing around the supposed ‘haunted’ house you and him were walking around in. “I don’t see any ghosts anywhere.” 

You, who had a death grip on his hand... pouted when he said that. “Geno,” you began with a whine. “This place is totally haunted! There’s like, cobwebs everywhere!” 

“Spiders are a sign that a place is haunted? Does that mean your house is haunted too?” He asked, lightly teasing you. 

“You’re mean,” you said, lowering your bottom lip.  

“I came with you, didn’t I?” 

You... huffed, but hated to admit that he was right. Before you came here, you practically begged him to come with, wanting to check out the notorious haunted house in some quiet neighborhood. You were too scared to go alone, so you were thankful he went with you. He said something about going before it got dark, but you managed to convince him to go during midnight, saying something about ghosts not wanting to come out while there’s still light. 

Geno continued to lead you down the hall, pointing the flashlight you both shared towards the photos that were scattered about.  

“...Do you think this was somebody’s old home?” You asked, seeing a Toad couple kissing each other in one of the old photos.  

“I assume so, yes,” he said, stopping to stare at one of the pictures. It was yellowing and was torn near the edges, showing age. The picture had a child in it, winning some award. “I wonder if they’re still around.” 

“They’re probably around... as ghosts,” you lightly hissed, glancing around suspiciously— and screamed when you heard what sounded like children’s laughter, clinging onto Geno tightly. 

He tensed a little as well, shining his flashlight around to see what had made that noise... but didn’t see anything. 

“I told you this place was haunted!” You whined, pressing your face against his shoulder.  

“It probably... It’s probably just the wind,” he told you in a firm voice, trying not to seem just a little spooked himself. 

You pulled back a little to squint at him. “That was not just the wind, Geno. That was like, like... some little ghost boy! I bet they all died in this very house by a... by a fire!” 

Geno... softly huffed, seeming mildly amused. “A fire? How could they have died by a fire when the house is still standing?” 

You lowered your bottom lip, about to say something— but flinched heavily when a photo from the wall fell to the floor. It was the picture of the little boy. 

“...There must be a strong breeze going around the house,” Geno said a bit awkwardly, even though the air was completely still.  

“......I don’t think the ghosts like us here,” you whispered loudly to him, squeezing his hand very tightly.  

Geno grunted. “Should we leave, then?” He asked, and sighed when you nodded. “Okay. I’ll... I’ll lead the way back,” he said, turning around.  

He was about to move back towards the front of the house, but the flashlight began flickering— before turning off completely, leaving you and him in complete darkness.  

A beat of silence settled in the air as you became increasingly nervous, worried that something bad was going to happen. When you first came into the house, you didn’t think that ghosts would— or could harm you. However, as the silence continued, you weren’t entirely sure if that was the case. 

...You swallowed thickly, moving closer to him. “G-Geno... this isn’t very funny— turn the light back on!” 

“It— it won’t turn back on. I... think the batteries died in it.” 

“Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“I’m not.” 

Slowly, you released a shaky sigh, telling yourself that all the events that happened was just the wind, and that the batteries were simply dead. Geno let go of your hand for a moment, trying to adjust the batteries to check if one of them slipped out of place inside the flashlight.  

You cringed before reaching out for his hand again, managing to wrap your hand around... something. It was hand, yes, but... it had a different texture than what you were used to, as if Geno had decided to wear some gloves in that moment. 

“Um... Geno?” You called out, and he grunted in response, still working on the flashlight, “Am I... holding your hand right now?” 

“Um.” He paused. “No?” 

Your heart immediately sunk like a piece of lead in the ocean, and a sick feeling settled in your gut. 

Before you could panic, a soft, jovial voice whispered into the shell of your ear. 

“Mommy, you’ll play with me, won’t you?” 

You screamed as loudly as you possibly could, shoving the figure away. 

The person— who sounded awfully familiar to the person you knew to be Dimentio, laughed. “Oh, you two are just so easy to scare!” 

The flashlight turned back on and Geno shined it over to the person, confirming the fact that it was... Dimentio. You’ve been... err... friends, with the jester for a good while— even before you met Geno, but Geno never took a strong liking to him. You assumed it was jealousy or something of the like, but you weren’t sure. 

“Hello, Dimentio,” Geno said flatly. 

Dimentio merely giggled. “Don’t seem so dull— I know I scared you too!” 

You let out a very deep sigh of relief. “Well,” you began with a weak smile, stopping Geno from saying anything, “I’m glad it is just you, Dimentio, and not some actual ghost. I think I would’ve passed out if I accidentally ended up holding a ghost’s hand.” 

Dimentio hummed. “Yes, ‘twas just I,” he said before quickly changing topics, “Now, let's make haste like a horse late for a race, and get out of here. Would you two be up for watching a movie, perhaps?” 

Geno... glanced over to you, and you could see it in his eyes that he would do whatever you wanted to, regardless of how he felt towards Dimentio.  

You stared at Geno for a moment, thinking, before turning back to Dimentio. “Well... as long as you don’t try scaring us again, I suppose I wouldn’t mind watching a movie.” 

He grinned. “It’s settled, then!” He exclaimed before snapping his fingers, teleporting you back to your abode.  

(Small art bonus):

[dodo-begone]

New Normal

Pairing: Yandere!Tubbo x Reader (with some Ranboo)

Request: we need more yandere tubbo i absolutely love the way you wrote him shdhhfjd........ maybe a short fic or some headcanons elaborating on "waking up in the mansion one day"? maybe the reader gets more afraid than going along with it .. I'd love to see ranboos aspect regarding tubbos behavior as well 👀

Word count: 2.3 k

Warning: yandere, kidnapping, drugging

A/n: This is all platonic. Nothing romantic. Also this was meant to be short not this long oh lord.

The night had been unforgiving to you as of late. Every night you felt like you were being watched over. It was so weird. It didn’t matter if the windows were open or not. Or even if they had blinds over them. Your paranoia was being fed by every noise emanating from the darkness. Now you weren’t afraid of the dark, never had been. But now, oh god the dark was terrifying. The unknown of the dark scared you. Anything could be hiding in there. And with this new “admirer” of yours, your newfound fear of the shadows was being fed a damn feast. The last straw for you was when you came home one night and saw your window broken and front door open. It spooked you too much; what if they were still inside? You couldn’t risk that.

That’s how you found yourself in Tubbo’s house, on his couch, hunched over and shaking over a cup of tea. You don’t remember why you came here, in all honesty. There were so many other people you could have chosen that were more than capable of protecting you. There was Sam, Bad, Sapnap, even Technoblade. Yet you still went to Tubbo. He was a comforting presence for you. And you just really wanted some comfort for this new fear of yours. Is this what I child felt when they were scared of the dark and needed a flashlight? God now you feel so bad for making fun of little kids for needing those.

“Hey are you okay,” a hand just fucking attacks your shoulder and you wip around. Oh god what if the guy got you now- wait it’s just Tubbo. Wow you overreacted there. Your swift actions shocked Tubbo, making him take a few steps away from you. He held his hands up in the air; an attempt to show he meant no harm to you. But you were just relieved at the sight of Tubbo.

“I don’t know,” a lump was forming in your throat. The tea isn't helping at all. You were so upset that you couldn’t even tell what flavor it was. Nor did you ask Tubbo, but that didn’t matter. Only distractions mattered now; a way to get your mind off of the paranoid thoughts. “I think I am”. Your grip on the cup tightened. Some of that was you trying to ground yourself, but another part of it was just tension. It was becoming harder to breathe and you had no idea why. There wasn’t a reason. Start breathing normally again- uh what was that breathing exercise?

Tubbo came around the couch and sat by your side. “Hey, can you look at me really quick?” He grabbed your hands and you looked at him. Somehow looking into his eyes made it harder to breathe. “Okay now repeat after me- wait not repeat. Uh, do what I do. Ready?” You didn’t get a chance to reply before he started. “Okay take a deep breath with me. In through the mouth for five and out the nose for four. In for five, out for four.” A small pattern formed from the mantra. Something about the exercise was extremely comforting, but you were never sure on what it was. Well you knew it had to do with slowing your breathing and helping you focus, but you felt like there was something else to it. There had to be something else to it. Why else would it be able to calm you so well right now?

It took a while, but you finally calmed down. Well, “calmed down” being a relative term. You were tired and numb inside. Your attention was completely focused on the flames in the hearth. They were mesmerizing. Happily dancing away, illuminating the room.

You hadn’t realized what was happening. All you remember is looking at Tubbo and then everything just became blurry. The sting of tears stung your eyes. Oh, you were about to cry again. That’s so annoying, stupid. You had just calmed down and yet you’re still crying. Craving human contact must be a symptom of sadness or some shit because you looked at Tubbo for comfort. And he gave you exactly that; opening his arms to give you a hug. Without a second thought, you essentially flew into his arms. He accepted you immediately and held you close. The tears that had once been contained by a damn once again ran free. Slowly you grew tired. Oh how you despised the act of crying and how it drained you so. A little nap wouldn’t hurt.

__________________________________ The sunbeams were attacking you and it hurt so much. So bright, demanding. You didn’t want to get up. Sleepiness still held you captive, flowed through your body like the very blood you had. Yet the light was relentless, attacking your closed eyes through it’s armor. A valiant effort was made to stay asleep and keep the sunlight out of your eyes. But it was futile. Rolling over did nothing but illicit noise and made you mildly uncomfortable. When you finally gave in, you just stared blankly at the wall.

For a wall, it was pretty. Kinda. It was plain but a stylish kind of plain. A timeless look. It took ages to finally muster the energy to even sit up, but you still did. The view changed yet it didn’t at the same time. It was pretty empty in the room. Three doorways, two next to each other on your right and one on your left, a bed, some curtains, a small nightstand, and a bookshelf. Other than that, there was a ton of open space.

Once you regained some more consciousness, you slipped out of bed. There was a jingle, but you didn’t really pay attention to it. You definitely heard it, you just thought something fell on the floor. Whatever it was could wait. The unexplored room was just waiting for exploration, though you could have easily explored it from your bed because of how empty it was. When you got to one of the doors, you slowly opened it to reveal a closet. It was absolutely filled with clothes you liked. Or some you were missing. Didn’t you own that shirt at home? And that one too? Huh, what a coincidence. Pretty cool.

Not even two steps away from the closet was another door, which you also slowly opened. Didn’t want to hit anyone. Through that door was a bathroom. It was pretty big and pretty. Very shiny and clean. There were some care products in there, some shampoo and conditioner. But you stopped yourself from looking too much. You didn’t want to snoop. It was rather rude to do.

Grogley you turn toward the last mystery door. It was all the way on the other side of the room. Man you weren’t awake enough for this. Yawning, you start your way to the other doorway. That must be the way back to the rest of the mansion. Sadly you didn’t get far. Not even halfway there before you were stopped. More accurately tripped. Something made your foot slip from underneath, making you fall onto your stomach. Everything ached, but your ankle felt weird. It was a different pain. When you tried to pull it closer to examine it, something stopped it and the sound of metal hitting itself rang across the room. You nearly give yourself whiplash from how quickly you turn your head.

A metal cuff clung onto your ankle which in turn was connected to a tense chain. At the other end of the chain was one of the bedposts. Specifically the one closest to the closet and bathroom. That’s odd. Okay now what’s going on here? Oh did Tubbo do this to make you feel more secure? Well it was and wasn’t working all at the same time. Because who puts an ankle chain on somebody?

A knock interrupted your thoughts. From your spot on the floor, you whipped your head back around to the last mystery door. You stayed quiet, wondering if you were just imagining noises. But another knock soon came. It was undeniable, very pronounced and purposeful. Whoever was out there- what could they be here for. Panic started to overtake you again, but the sound of Tubbo’s voice coming from the other side of the door caught your attention.

“Can I come in,” Tubbo announces his presence again with another round of knocks. With the amount of noise you made, you were pretty sure he knew you were awake. But you still replied to him.

“Yeah you can.”

Not even a second after you reply, the door slowly opens and Tubbo peaks his head in. He seemed to have woken up with some bedhead, which made him look boyish. A little careless for physical appearances, which can be an endearing feature. Tubbo gave the room a sweeping look, checking for something. What exactly, you couldn’t tell. But apparently he was satisfied because he opened the doorway entirely. You swiftly stood up, getting as close to the door as you could.

On the other side of the door was Tubbo in some pajamas. He looked a little sleepy, but his happiness shone through it. You smiled at the sight of him, happy that someone came to get you out.

“Good morning, Tubbo!” You gave a toothy grin and spread your arms to emphasize your joy. “Sleep well?”

“Good morning!.” He gave you a toothy smile in return, but it looked odd. Like it was forced, nervous even. But you must’ve just been looking too far into it. “I slept pretty good. How’d you sleep?”

“I slept like a fucking rock,” you reply with a little laughter. “Honestly? Best sleep of the month, man. Really needed it. Thanks for letting me bunk at your place last night.”

“Not a problem at all,” his smile soon became more natural, much bigger. “I really enjoyed having you over”. It seemed like he was going to say something else, but stopped himself. The nervous look reappeared on his face, and you gave the most reassuring look you could. “So about you moving in-”

“Oh yeah that,” your smile disappeared as quickly as it came. “I can’t just do that Tubbo. I just can’t.” Tubbo seemed saddened by your response. “It’s not like I don’t want to live with you,” you explained. “I’d love to live with you and Ranboo, but I have other responsibilities. Things that have to be done very far from the mansion. Seriously, I’d love to stay.”

“Then stay.” It was a simple statement on his part. You thought it was a little banter.

“I’d stay if I could Tubbo. But I gotta go.”

“You can’t go.”

“Yes I can, Tubbo. Now can you please unchain me, I gotta go.” You lift your ankle and shake it along with the chain for emphasis.

But Tubbo doesn’t even give it a look before answering. “You can’t leave.”

His actions are words are a bit worrying now, huh. This is just a silly prank. Any second now he’ll say it’s a joke and release you. Yeah, any moment now.

That moment never comes though.

“Come on now,” Tubbo starts to lead you back to the bed. “Get back in bed. You still look tired.”

“I’m not tired Tubbo,” your voice hardens to emphasise the fact that you really don’t need this shit right now. “Look I’m completely fine and I have to go. This joke isn’t funny anymore. Just unlock the fucking cuff and I’ll be on my way.”

You two stop at the bed and he gently ushers you in. Climbing on the bed to give you a hug. Struggling against him does no good. If anything, it just makes things worse. He just tightens his grip like a damn python. Wtf why is this kid so strong and clingy? This definitely isn’t a good combo.

“Look you aren’t fine. See?” He emphasizes his point by hugging you tighter. Which you don’t like and groan in protest. “You need to rest. It’s fine. You’re home.”

Internally you start to panic. Yo, hold up, what the hell is he talking about? You know damn well you ain’t home or agreed to stay here. So what does he think he’s doing?

There’s a cough from the doorway, and both you and Tubbo’s attention is diverted to the newcomer. At the threshold of the room is Ranboo. A platter loaded with food held between his hands. He looks awkward standing there. And you don’t blame him because you felt awkward just being in the hug. You couldn’t even imagine the embarrassment you’d get from walking in on this shit. When your eyes meet, he gives you a small, unsure smile.

Movement behind Ranboo catches your attention. You look behind Ranboo’s legs to see Micheal clinging onto Ranboo’s pants. He looked so happy. Well, happy being debatable and interpretive. He looked normal but he was making his little happy noises. Micheal bounded over to you, stretching his arms out while making the most adorable little oink noises. You look between Tubbo and Ranboo for any sign. Literally anything for them. But Tubbo just encourages you. So you pick up Micheal and hold him close to your chest.

Tubbo gives a cheer of joy while Ranboo joins in, though a little less enthusiastic. Still the fact he sounded genuinely happy about this situation was worrying. Especially since he knew what was going on. Knew how wrong it all was. Micheal had no idea. Happily oinking way in your lap and messing with your hands. Suddenly two sets of arms entangle themselves around you; pulling themselves toward you for a hug.

Looking down at Micheal, you now question if the backstory you were told about him was true. Was he actually found wandering around? Or was he kidnapped, just like you?

[ms-starflower]

Spook-tober Maribat — Day 3 — Bats

@maribat-october-rarepairs

So, here is my first try at a non-platonic Jasonette! I really, really tried to write with someone that wasn’t Marinette. But I couldn’t. I’m sorry, I’m weak for Marinette.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is that a bat?” A woman said, cutting through the silence of the night.

Red Hood’s head turned toward the direction of the voice slightly startled. He had been sure he couldn’t be seen from the street here, it’s why he chose this spot for his break in the first place.

“What?! Where?!” A second voice answered, panic noticeable in her tone. Jason couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that; the people panicking at their sight were usually criminals, but the first woman hadn’t sounded afraid.

“Here, on the wall. Are you alright, Mari-hime?” The first woman replied, her tone now mildly curious.

“Oh god, Kags, you were talking about a bat's graffiti?” The second woman (Mari?) asked with exasperation. Jason leaned slightly over the edge of the rooftop, looking in their direction. It was two women with dark hair, they were standing in the alley, both giving him their backs.

“Well, yes,” the first voice, that Jason now identified as the taller one, said with confusion. From where he was, Jason could see her head tilt slightly. “What else could I have been talking about? Bats don’t usually thrive in urban settings.”

“Oh my god, Kagami. We are in Gotham, remember? The city of The Bat. I thought you were talking about Batman or one of his broods!” She exclaimed, turning toward her friend while moving her hands around her. There was something vaguely familiar about her profil, but Jason couldn’t put his finger on what.

“Ah. I see why my sentence could have been misunderstood,” Kagami said, her tone still somewhat judging. Mari clearly heard it too, because she raised her arms in exasperation. “Still, I don’t understand why you sounded so panicked, we are not doing anything that could elicit Batman’s anger. Or his… broods’.”

“That’s— That’s not the point!” Mari said, moving his hand around, making something tingle in Jason’s mind again. But whatever it was, it stayed just out of reach.

“It kind of is, Hime. You were flustered by the mere mention of a bat, I would like to understand why,” she told her, and even though Jason couldn’t see it, he would bet all of Damian’s katanas that she was raising an eyebrow. It probably looked judgmental, too.

“I— I— It’s just that, well,” Mari stammered, pulling on her braid nervously. Jason probably shouldn't get so much entertainment from their conversation, but damnit if he wasn’t invested now. “It’s Batman?”

“What about Batman is putting you in this state? We literally talked to Superman three days ago, and you were perfectly fine,” Kagami said with curiosity, crossing her arms.

Jason raised an eyebrow at that. Why would they talk with Superman? Did they get themselves in the middle of something in Metropolis?

“It’s because there is something cryptic about Batman!”

“Something… cryptic,” she repeated, now clearly judging her friend.

“Yes. Now can we stop talking about the Bats? You are going to summon one of them here!” Mari hissed, making Jason grin devilishly. He really, really shouldn’t do that, but he really, really wanted to crash their conversation now.

“Summon them? What are they, demons?”

“Oh my god, no. But you don’t talk about the bats in the middle of the night, in an alley of Gotham, if you don’t want them to appear!”

“Appear? This reasoning makes no sense, Mari-hime.”

“It does,” Mari hissed.

“It’s irrational,” Kagami countered calmly.

“It isn’t!”

“It kinda is,” Jason said, choosing this moment to make his presence known and jumping from his perch on the roof in the alley, using the fire escape.

The reactions were as entertaining as he had anticipated.

Kagami, the tall one, turned swiftly toward him, taking on a defensive stance, hand going toward her hip like it should have held a weapon. Huh, interesting. But what made him laugh, though, was the smaller woman's reaction.

Mari screeched like a demon outta hell, jumping out of her skin before turning toward him with a fist raised. Both women froze when they realized who he was, Kagami raising an eyebrow with a contemplative expression; probably wondering if there wasn’t some truth in her demon theory.

“Holy hell, Red Hoodie,” she hissed, making him pause. “Don’t do that for fuck’s sake!”

But Jason wasn’t really listening anymore, too busy staring at her. The slightly dramatical pose, hand on her chest and torso slightly leaning forward, her hair and eyes colors, her height. Her body language. Her semi-familiar profile. The fact that she just called him Red Hoodie.

And, well, it clicked.

Of course she was familiar, he had spent the last two years pining over her!

“Pix?” He asked softly, making both women straighten. From there, he could clearly see panic seep in Mari’s, Ladybug’s, eyes.

“What?” She asked with a high pitched tone, making Kagami beside her close her eyes with exasperation. “No, of course not! Who is Pixie? Not me!”

“Sometimes I wonder how you managed to keep your cover for more than a decade, Hime,” Kagami told her with an exasperatedly amused tone. “But then I remember that magic is involved.”

“Yes! What about the magic!” Mari said, turning toward her friend. “Why did the Miraculous’ hocus pocus didn’t stop him from recognizing me!”

“Well, even magic has its limit, hime” Kagami answered, and Jason was only mildly offended to be that easily ignored.

“Hey,” he said slowly, raising his hand in front of him. “I can just, like, forget about it? If you want?”

“You couldn’t just forget about it, Red,” she said with a smile. “But no, it’s fine. I, uhm, I trust you.”

Jason forgot how to breathe for a second there.

He had met Ladybug a little over two years ago, when she and her partner, Chat Noir, transferred from the Justice League Europe to America. Red Hood wasn’t exactly a JLA member, but he helped out for some ‘All Hand on Deck’ situations, and that’s when they met.

Ladybug was smart, witty, and absolutely badass. Jason couldn’t not like her, and if, after that, he would come up to the Watchtower more regularly, well it was nobody's business now, was it.

Still, in the two years he had been pining like a lovesick fool (Dick’s words, not Jason’s), he never made any move to try something with her. Mainly because Ladybug took her secret identity extremely seriously. The only JL members who knew her civilian name were Wonder Woman, because her mother and Ladybug were apparently friends, and Batman, because he was a noisy bastard.

(Alright, in Bruce’s defence, he actually asked Ladybug if he could look into it, and she accepted, if only to know if there were any leaks and how to stop them. But Jason didn’t feel like taking Bruce's defence at the moment so, heh.)

And Jason hadn’t wanted to go out with someone he would know only on one side of the mask, and he equally didn’t want to pressure her into unmasking herself. So he didn’t make any moves.

So, hearing from her that she trusted him with her identity. He felt a small, fond smile curl his lips and took a step toward her.

“So, you’re in Gotham,” he started, trying to find the right word. Not an easy thing.

“Um, yeah,” she said with a smile, and Jason wasn’t sure if she was blushing or if he was just seeing things.

Deciding to just say fuck it, Jason looked into his pockets, taking out an old receipt and a pen. Under her curious gaze, he scribbled quickly on it and gave it to her.

She looked down at her hand curiously, before looking up at him with a frown.

“It’s my number,” he told her, rubbing the back of his neck, before wincing under his helmet at how awkward he sounded. “I was thinking that I could, like, take you out? While you are in town?”

“Like— Like a date?” She asked, eyes wide, and Jason was starting to regret his forwardness.

“Uh, yeah? If you want it to be a date?”

“I— Uhm, I don’t,” she started, and Jason felt something inside him freeze. He should have continued with the pining from afar. “I don’t, you know, date under the mask?”

“Oh. Oh,” he exclaimed, relief shooting through him. “No, no. I wasn’t thinking about coming as Red Hood.”

“You weren’t?” She asked with surprise, blinking at him.

“Nope,” he told her with a smile, before nodding toward the paper in her hand. “Look at it.”

“Oh,” she mumbled when she saw that he had written down his name, along with his number, a deep blush creeping up into her cheeks. “Oh. I— I, um, I would like that very much, then.”

“As a date?” He asked with a smile, just to be sure.

“As a date,” she answered with a grin.

“Well,” Kagami said with a smirk, making the both of them startle and turn toward her. Fuck, Jason totally forgot she was here. “Now I understand why the mere mention of Bats flusters you, Mari-hime.”

[honestgrins]

if you're doing prompts... Mates Trope?! something during s1-2 of TO where part of the reason the wolves (or maybe just the elders who are very righteous about tradition) don't trust klaus is because he wanders around with everyone but his mate (which for this purpose i guess they can sense when a wolf is mated)

Oh || Klaroline

Elijah frowned deeply. “I’m not sure which scenario would be less tolerable to the pack, you being disrespectful to the mate bond or being mated to a vampire.”

Cradling the noticeable swell of her baby bump, Hayley snorted. “I might very well be carrying the next alpha with his disrespectful ass, so they’ll get over it eventually,” she pointed out. “But the vampire thing is always going to be a problem.”

“Not if Miss Forbes stays away from New Orleans.”

That was the crux of it, truly. Whether or not he had a mate, there was precious little Klaus could do about it in the eyes of the pack while she gave his city a wide berth. Honestly, her absence would likely make it all easier for them to swallow - perhaps to forget entirely with a few generations of distance. The thought left a hollow feeling in his chest, one far more noticeable since learning of his…predicament.

Learning he was to be a father after a millennium of running from the only one he’d ever known had been difficult enough. He’d ingratiated himself into the fabric of New Orleans in order to situate it to his needs, even softening the wolf pack to the idea of his leadership outside of the traditional hierarchy - at least, until he returned from Mystic Falls with a freshly established mate bond he apparently left behind.

A mate bond he could only imagine began with a defiant kiss and a slow-rising smile as bright as a sunlit afternoon.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know a thing about it until Hayley broke the news as to why the pack had turned against him. It was small comfort to know her use as a direct line in the camp, but he needed more. He knew so little about life as a wolf, that having been denied him for so long. “How can they know that I’ve found my mate?” Suspicion was a long-earned habit, and nothing was adding up. “How can they sense it here when I had no idea with her right in my arms?”

With a delicate cough, Elijah leaned forward to take some of his focus off Hayley. “I understand this is a difficult revelation, and there’s much to be learned about the mate phenomenon. However, I feel there’s a decided advantage in ensuring Miss Forbes is a non-factor in the politics of the city.”

His hand was around his brother’s throat before he could consciously think to do it, his hybrid strength more than enough to pin Elijah to the wall. “Stop. Talking.”

“Klaus.” Hayley’s voice was shaking, and her hands now covered her belly in a protective gesture. “You feel it now, don’t you? The need to protect her above all else?” She stood slowly, careful not to spook him further. “Even over your own brother?”

With excruciating control, he loosened his grip, finger by finger. “Alright,” he breathed once he could manage it past the sudden onslaught of rage. “I’m listening.”

.

“Caroline, you’re up!”

For at least the third time that afternoon, Caroline reminded herself there were too many witnesses at the Fall Festival to eat her sorority sisters. "I'm all for scamming money out of sleaze bags in the name of philanthropy, but I still think there are better ways to go about it than a kissing booth."

Amber just scoffed. "Suck it up, pledge, we all had to pay our dues," she said, divesting herself of the Gamma blue sash that said Kiss me! and handing it to Caroline. "If it helps, there's a total hottie in line. I almost extended my shift to get a chance at him."

Rolling her eyes, she forced a pageant smile as she slipped the sash over her head. "Thanks for your sacrifice."

"Funny," a familiar voice noted behind her. "You never thanked me for any of the sacrifices I made."

With a deep breath, she tried to make herself count to ten before turning. Call it personal growth that she made it to six when her glare fell on Klaus waiting at the booth. "I'm sorry, are we including the time you literally tried to sacrifice me? Because I'm so not in the mood to deal with you today, in case you can't tell."

"Oh my god, Caroline!" Amber looked mildly scared, but she took a step in front of her anyway, a stance she recognized from other sisters at any number of frat parties when a creep made himself known. "Who is this guy? Do I need to call security?"

She glanced back to Klaus, who remained uncharacteristically quiet as she decided what to do. Reluctantly, she met Amber's eyes with widened pupils. "Everything is fine, but someone needs to cover my shift. You never saw him, and I went home sick." When Amber obediently repeated her words, she also returned the sash. "Thanks!" she called out, quick as she was to flash away from the crowd, knowing he would follow.

Her dorm wasn't exactly a safe bet, given Elena and Damon's constant sexiling, and she didn't want to risk Bonnie catching them on campus. The only place she could think of was the wooded trail behind the chemistry building, where she found a quiet bench for them to sit. Well, for him to sit and for her to pace in front of. "We had a deal, Klaus. You weren't supposed to come back."

"To Mystic Falls," he clarified, his hands pressed together between his knees. At her decided frown, he allowed himself a sigh of discomfort. "Unfortunately, I have good reason to violate the spirit of our agreement."

She crossed her arms and waited.

He sighed again. "Sweetheart-"

"Just rip the band-aid off, Klaus!"

"I need you to accompany me back to New Orleans, and I need you to trust me enough to keep you safe," he said. With eyes intent on hers, his energy seemed barely contained, like he wanted nothing more than to grab her and go. "I would like you to do so freely. And quickly."

Her arms tightened, and she sank onto her jutted hip as she took in his plaintive request. "Points for being polite, I guess, but I doubt you would be if I were in any real danger. What I don't know is if this is you being overly cautious or just being a dick."

Rubbing two fingers at his temple, there was an ancient exhaustion in his face. "Neither of us can truly know what this is," he muttered to himself more than anything. He spoke up with more resolve. "Elijah wanted to hide you away in one of our many properties throughout the world, and Rebekah suggested a less involved plan that offered you an anonymous scholarship across the country - anything to keep you far away from me."

"Why are your siblings trying to get rid of me?" she demanded. "I didn't even do anything."

He shifted on his feet, and he couldn't quite meet her eyes. If he weren't Klaus Mikaelson, she might think he were embarrassed. "Your absence in New Orleans has been noted."

Confused, she pressed her hands to her face. "I seriously doubt that, since I've never been there. The only people I know in New Orleans is your family, and you've already established they don't want me there."

His ears flushed red, and then she knew he was embarrassed. "Hayley has found a home with nearby pack," he explained with a wince, "a pack that could prove necessary to the balance of the city. However, they are disinclined to negotiate with me at the moment."

"Gee, I wonder why. How many of them have you killed so far?"

Klaus gave a ferocious glare. "None, actually. But perhaps you missed the fact that a wolf with a known grudge against you is well placed to inform any number of enemies of your name and location."

The scoff burst out of her without permission, an absolute confidence emboldening her. "Like you'd let that happen."

Then he took a step closer, and that confidence withered into a new understanding - one that scared her. His voice lowered, soft in its menace. "Why do you think I'm here, Caroline?"

She swallowed, the tension unbearably thick between them. "I'm no one," she said, her voice shaky as she fought for the calm she felt only moments before. "Even if they could use me against you-"

"They can," he answered, deadly serious. "And they will. Maybe not now, but someday." He watched her closely; for what, she didn't know. His whole face softened whenever he found whatever he was looking for. "I'm only just beginning to understand myself," he admitted. "But you're far from no one, and I need to establish that you're firmly under my protection."

"Why?" He never really answered her questions, Caroline realized. This one, though... This, she needed to know. "Why me?"

His eyes seemed to burn with gold, and she held her breath as he stared. "Wolves know when another has found their mate, and this pack has judged my character unfit for abandoning mine."

If she weren't a vampire, she would swear her legs might collapse beneath her. As it was, her head felt suddenly light. Her mouth fell open, and she finally remembered to breathe. When she exhaled, it escaped as a sigh. "Oh."

"Yes, oh."

[garbria]

Could you do “How you made me fall in love with you is still beyond me.” with CorNyx? ^_^

Cor was just finishing up his paperwork for the day when he got a call from Drautos.

“Come retrieve your boyfriend before there’s an accident.”

Cor stared at his phone as Drautos hung up. He sounded amused rather than upset, though you never could tell with him. Cor sighed, and stood up. He considered calling Nyx, but if Drautos was calling him down, it was probably something that needed his actual presence. Cor sighed. He was tired, and had been hoping for a quiet evening.

This better not be another Furia-related incident. If he blew up the Citadel’s east wing again, Cor was making Titus take it out of all their paychecks. And do all the paperwork. He didn’t care if it was for science. Science didn’t pay the bills or balance budgets. Accounting had been on his ass for weeks afterward about scaring their clerks.

He frowned to himself as he made his way to Glaive Headquarters. He passed a few council attaches walking quickly through the commons back to the council offices. He only made note of it because they were moving faster than people like that usually did. Most of the time, that particular group liked to take their time, they were of the mindset that you flexed your status by making other people wait for you. They were assholes, in other words. And they generally didn’t walk fast, much less the near run they were doing.

Cor stopped, and turned to watch them make it into the council building. They hadn’t seemed injured or anything, but somehow Cor knew Nyx was responsible for whatever was going on. He just hoped there wasn’t too much property damage.

Cor continued walking, scanning the surrounding area for whatever had spooked the attaches. The common area was quiet and mostly empty, which wasn’t unusual for this time of day. Most everyone was in their offices, working. He neared the glaive buildings, and slowed down to better survey the area. He didn’t see anything, which was pinging his instincts like crazy. There should at least be a few glaives coming and going, or lounging around the entrance, enjoying the sun. What were they planning?

Cor felt movement to his right and stepped back, only to feel a sharp impact on his chest. He glanced down to see himself covered in blue, and repressed a sigh. Someone had given the glaive paintball guns, probably the ones the guard used for training. No wonder Drautos had called him down here. The menaces couldn’t be trusted with equipment like that in public spaces.

Cor followed the trajectory of the bullet with his eyes, and saw Nyx leaning out a third story window, waving cheerfully at him. Cor glared, and motioned for him to come down. He had just enough time to see Nyx smirk, then he saw a streak of silver as Nyx’s kukri thudded into the ground in front of him. Nyx appeared in a shower of sparks a second later.

“You know, there are these things called stairs,” Cor said, mildly, as Nyx pulled his kukri out of the ground.

Nyx flipped his kukri in the air before sheathing it behind his back. With an exaggerated leer, Nyx said, “You look good in blue.”

Cor kept his face blank as he looked back at Nyx. Nyx’s smirk widened as the silence dragged out. After a moment, Cor laughed quietly and shook his head. “How you made me fall in love with you is still beyond me.”

“My natural charm,” Nyx said with a wink and a little bow.

Cor huffed at him. “You’re a better shot than you used to be.”

“Practice!” Nyx smiled brightly and clapped Cor on the back as he guided him inside the glaive building. “We’re training the recruits on firearm use.”

“You’re not supposed to use the public as targets,” Cor said as he let Nyx lead him inside.

“But they weren’t the public! They were council members.” Nyx’s eyes crinkled with amusement as he glanced down to the stain on Cor’s shirt.

“That doesn’t make it better,” Cor admonished.

“Yes, it does. Those two were assholes and you know it.” Nyx raised an eyebrow, daring Cor to gainsay him.

Cor tilted his head, conceding the point. “Yes, they’re assholes, but shooting them with paintballs isn’t going to make them be less awful.”

“Made Tredd feel better, though. He won his bet with Pelna.” Nyx leaned towards Cor conspiratorially. “Now Pelna has to introduce Tredd to his sister.”

Cor’s lips twitched. “Poor woman.”

Nyx laughed as he led Cor into the main training courtyard, where half the glaive wandered around, covered in various shades of paint.

Cor looked over the other glaives, before turning back to Nyx. “You’ve had your fun. No more shooting non-combatants. I’m not doing the paperwork for it. You’re not the one who has to listen to them bitch.”

Nyx tilted his head, considering. Cor narrowed his eyes at him until Nyx lifted his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say, Marshal. No more council members.”

Cor glared at him. “No more targets that haven’t agreed to it. Understood?”

“Yes, message received.” Nyx’s mouth lifted up on one side. “You’re kinda a buzzkill, for someone covered in a kill shot.”

Cor looked down at his shirt, before looking up at Nyx. He smiled suddenly, sharp and dangerous. “You want a real challenge, let me know.”

“You’re on,” Nyx answered, returning the smile.

Cor looked out at the other glaive milling around, then back at Nyx. His smile went amused. “You get this cleaned up in time, I’ll take you out to dinner at the kebab cart.”

Nyx straightened up. “Deal. But you need to get cleaned up, too.” Nyx’s face went smug as he looked at the stain on Cor’s shirt again.

“You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you.” Cor didn’t bother making it a question.

“Yep,” Nyx answered, making sure to pop the ‘p’.

Cor sighed. “I’ll meet you outside in 15, if you’re coming.” He strode off to the locker rooms to change his shirt. He smiled to himself as he heard Nyx chiding the others into a semblance of order. It’s a good thing Nyx was charming.

[haworthiaace]

Magic misfits! Did I update the masterpost specifically because of this fic? yes absolutely. A busy day for Scar, featuring TFC and some good ol’ Scar appreciation :]

The start of a new season was always interesting.

While TFC didn’t enjoy having to start from scratch every year or so; having gotten used to the comforts of late season riches, he did love the sheer amount of interaction that came with a new season. TFC was content to hear gossip about the others’ shenanigans while he stuck to what he was best at: mining. Some of the others called it cheating to use his earthbending down in the tunnels, but he called it cheating to be able to shapeshift, or use magic crystals, or any of the other crazy things the other hermits could do, so it evened out.

When he wasn’t down in his mine, TFC watched as all the other hermits scrambled to make the most impressive buildings and contraptions in as little time as possible. Many of his servermates placed more importance on finishing their creations than actually gathering necessities such as tools and armour. 

As if to prove this observation, the Boatem village appeared on the other side of the nether portal, populated with structures that were much too large considering it had only been three weeks since they arrived in this world. There was also a… tree? At least that’s what it looked like; a thin oak tree stretching up past the clouds and out of view. Looks like Mumbo and Grian were up to no good already.

“TFC! Up here!” Scar’s voice came from somewhere above TFC’s head, and he looked up to see the wizard (although he no longer wore his robe and hat) standing on a balcony extending from a truly massive wagon, one hand on the railing and the other extended above his head, waving enthusiastically at TFC.

He climbed the ladder up the side of the wagon, entering a sparse storage room. Knowing Scar, he either hadn’t bothered to move in yet or lost all of his things in a cave somewhere. Despite his powerful crystal magic, Scar still managed to die more than any other hermit, so the second option was more likely.

“Well hello there! Welcome to my humble abode, please take a seat.” Scar led TFC to a balcony, where he gestured towards a table and two folding chairs. Scar sat down, crossing his legs and folding his arms in his lap. “So, what brings you to our little village today?”

TFC raised an eyebrow at the question, confusion evident in his voice. “Because you invited me? We were supposed to have tea today.” 

Scar jolted in his seat, then proceeded to scramble out of said seat. “I’ll be right back! I have to go… feed Jellie!” This was quite obviously a lie seeing as Jellie hadn’t returned from her between seasons interdimensional travels yet. TFC’s laughter chased Scar into the wagon, where he frantically prepared the tea that he was totally planning on making because he definitely remembered his plans for the day. 

After about five minutes of mildly concerning crashing sounds, Scar returned with two steaming mugs of tea (decorated with cat faces, of course) and a plate of chocolate chip cookies - Stress’ recipe if TFC wasn’t mistaken. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, appreciating the tea and cookies. 

“So, how are you holding up this season, Scar?” TFC took a sip of green tea, looking out at the horizon.

“Oh you know, the usual. I don’t have my village anymore, but the magical misfits still come seeking my help.” He brought a cookie to his mouth and bit off half of it. “Not that I mind helping people!” He swallowed his mouthful before continuing. “XB was here last week convinced that he left his coat in season seven, but turns out it just ended up in one of Joe’s boxes.” He chuckled to himself, wiping crumbs off of his jacket as TFC stared at the distant ocean, lost in thought.

TFC broke the silence that had fallen. “You’re a good man, y’know that?” The wizard in question looked at TFC in surprise. He was used to ‘thank you’s, but the personal compliment caught him off guard. “You’ve created a safe space for folks from all sorts of places, and you’ve saved quite a few of them from bad people.” 

Scar looked down, smiling at his cup of tea. He spoke quietly, a departure from his usual boisterousness. “Thanks TFC, that means a lot.”

-

Scar was in the middle of catching TFC up on what he missed from day one when something red and very fast crashed into the balcony. The something in question turned out to be Grian, shimmering wings protruding from his back. Something must have been wrong, since winged hermits tended to refrain from flying early in the season, in the name of fairness.

“Scar we need your- Oh heeey, I didn’t know you had company over!” He leaned on the railing, his urgency replaced with a forced cheerfulness as he (quite obviously) pretended nothing was wrong. What was probably supposed to be an easygoing smile stretched too wide, and his voice was more high pitched than usual. “How’s it goin’?”

Scar, completely oblivious, responded excitedly. “Oh, I was just telling TFC here about our adventure in the geode with Cleo!”

Grian’s uncomfortable smile grew wider, and his eyebrows furrowed. “That sounds great, do you think you’ll be done anytime soon?”

“Oh well, I’m not too sure. It depends on when we finish all of these cookies.”

“Oh that’s just wonderful,” Grian’s wings started to twitch behind him, “did you make those yourself?”

Scar took a breath, preparing for a tangent when TFC cut in, showing the poor fairy some mercy. “Alright Grian, out with it. What’s wrong?” Scar stared at Grian, somehow surprised that this wasn’t a completely ordinary visit.

Grian let out a long sigh. “Thank you so much TFC.” He turned his gaze to Scar. “We need a little help with curse breaking.”

Scar set down his mug and gave Grian his full attention, preparing himself for whatever strange curse one of the fairies had set on some poor hermit. “Really? How are you two cursing people already? It hasn’t even been a month!”

Grian’s tangent was accompanied by wild hand gestures that made it difficult to follow what he was saying. “Well, Pearl came up behind Mumbo and spooked him, he shouted something about not sneaking up on him, and now whenever he turns his back on her she teleports directly in front of him.” Grian looked nervously over his shoulder in the direction of Mumbo’s van. TFC followed his gaze, and burst into laughter again.

Mumbo was standing a few feet away from his campfire, spinning in circles and doubling over in laughter as Pearl kept popping up in front of him. 

Scar pushed himself up from his chair, TFC followed suit. The pair headed to the door while Grian flew back down, Scar giving TFC a sort of briefing. “Alright, let’s go figure out what exactly Mumbo did before Pearl starts feeling particularly vengeful.”

-

It took two hours and a lot of trial and error (with TFC giving supremely unhelpful tips), but eventually Pearl could stand behind Mumbo again. At some point Scar accidentally applied the effect to both Grian and Mumbo, and he had to beg the two not to create a space time anomaly. But it was all fixed now, and TFC was sure Pearl’s revenge would be swift and cruel.

Scar made his way back up to the balcony, and the two continued their conversation. It was a good thing Scar had enchanted his mugs, something he had done back in season seven after his drinks kept getting abandoned and going cold.

After a few hours of peace (other than both Mumbo and Grian’s bases abruptly flipping upside down while the boys were inside), the pair was interrupted again by a voice behind them.

“Howdy, Scar. Oh, and howdy to you as well, TFC!”

Neither of them had heard Joe coming, so Scar jumped about a foot in the air while TFC nearly spat out his tea. It turned out that Cleo was there as well, looking quite a bit angrier than Joe, although that wasn’t too uncommon.

“Oh my goodness, Joe you scared the life out of me!” Scar held a hand to his chest and caught his breath as Cleo got right to business.

“Sorry about that Scar,” her voice was flat, and it was safe to assume that she was not, in fact, sorry about that. “But we have an emergency. It’s completely Joe’s fault, he-”

Joe smoothly stepped in front of his companion as he cut her off, “I wouldn’t say it’s entirely my fault, old magic is a fickle thing-”

Cleo shoved Joe aside, stepping in front once again. “He revived my leg!” She raised a foot off the ground and gestured at it with both hands.

Sure enough, both TFC and Scar looked down to see that Cleo’s right leg was significantly more flesh-coloured than the left, restored to what it presumably once was. 

Scar’s lingering panic was instantly replaced by an amused grin as he gestured to the leg in question. “Cleo, why don’t you just get your leg reinfected? It’s not like zombies are hard to come by.”

The pair stood still, just blinking. (Completely in sync, it was eerie) 

Cleo rounded on Joe and punched at his shoulder just as he raised a hand to deflect her fist. “How did you not think of that Joe?! I thought you knew everything there was to know about-” She gestured wildly about for a moment. “Everything?!”

“Shouldn’t you be some sort of zombie expert by now? How is that my responsibility?” The argument continued as the pair went back into the wagon and down the ladder. As they walked off, presumably to go find a cave, something occurred to TFC. He cupped his hands around his mouth to yell down at them.

“Cleo!” She turned around. “Don’t use Joe as bait!” 

She snapped her finger like a defeated cartoon villain, as Joe turned to face her and presumably gave her grief for this evil plot.

-

It was only about five minutes after Cleo and Joe left (preceded by twenty minutes of arguing) that the next problem arrived, as it often did, in the form of Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango arriving on the shore of the village. TFC found this odd, seeing as how everyone was now connected by nether portals, but he assumed there would be an explanation shortly, even if it didn’t make a lick of sense.

Impulse shouted up from the ground, the three of them clustered near the front of the wagon. “TFC, we need your help!” Well that was a surprise, not many people asked for his assistance other than Scar. “We made an oopsie and Cleo said we could find you here!”

As every hermit knew, ‘oopsie’ was a versatile word with these three. It could mean anything between making a minor mistake in a build to banishing Impulse for the fifth time. “What happened this time?” TFC stood up and made his way down the ladder, since shouting down at them wasn’t very efficient and they didn’t seem inclined to come up.

Impulse started twisting his hands together while Zedaph and Tango tried their best to look innocent behind him. It didn’t work. “Weeell, Tango wanted a terraforming job done around his base, so we made a little deal for it.” 

Oh boy. Not much good came out of magical deals, yet the other hermits continued to make them with each other. Demonic deals were especially tricky since the demon didn’t have precise control over their end of the deal, not that it stopped these three. “Tango offered me his first beacon in exchange for the job, and it turns out that a beacon is worth a lot more than I thought- it’s probably easier if we show you.”

“Quick FYI guys: firsts are very valuable in deals! It applies to you as well Impulse, not just the fae!” Scar called helpfully from his still seated position on the balcony.

-

They all ended up going over to Tango’s house/ shop, which was literally buried in a mound of dirt and stone, along with about three quarters of Bdubs’ giant moon house. That explains why they didn’t use the nether. 

The earth was offended after being touched by demonic magic, but after a long negotiation TFC managed to convince it that Impulse meant no harm, and it was happy to return to its prior state. Tango was mildly annoyed that he would have to do the terraforming himself and give Impulse a beacon, but it was better than the wrath he would have faced from Bdubs.

By the time TFC and Scar returned to the Boatem village, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. While TFC admired the beauty of it, Scar just looked disappointed. 

“I’m sorry.”

TFC raised an eyebrow at the wizard, a frown making its way onto his face. “What do you mean you’re sorry? Did you do something to the tea?” 

Despite TFC’s attempted joke, Scar still stared at his perfectly polished shoes. “This was supposed to be a nice relaxing day to catch up, and people were just showing up left and right. I mean, we hardly got to spend any time together! Maybe I shouldn’t invite people over with all this wizard stuff going on.”

“But we did spend time together.” TFC’s rough hand landed on Scar’s shoulder, the latter looking up at the former, startled by the contact.

“Well yeah we had tea for a while but-”

TFC had to cut off Scar’s rambling or he would never get to his point. “Yes we had tea, but I’m talking about the rest of the day.” Scar seemed genuinely confused at this. “I helped you un-curse Pearl,” he did air quotes on the word ‘helped,’ “We watched Joe and Cleo argue together, and you came with us to fix Tango’s house.” Of course he didn’t do much other than laugh at Tango’s misfortune, but it was the thought that counted. “Just ‘cause it didn’t go to plan doesn’t mean I didn’t have a good time.” After all, not much went according to plan on the hermitcraft server.

Now Scar was smiling. “So I didn’t ruin the day with magical misfits?”

“Not at all.” TFC reached for his mug and emptied it one last time, then stretched before heading out. “But now I gotta get going. I don’t like my chances against the mobs with my crappy iron gear.”

Scar waved once more as TFC disappeared into the nether portal. “Goodnight TFC! And thanks again, for everything!”

TFC smiled as he made his way through the nether tunnels back home. Scar did a lot more for the hermits than he realized, allowing them to be free with their magic in a way they couldn’t back home, TFC included. He’d created a home for all sorts of ‘magic misfits’ as Scar put it, and he performed an invaluable service, whether he realized it or not.

He’s a good kid. Just needs some reminding every once in a while. 

[bloody-bee-tea]

Devastation - All Star Xicheng White Day 1

This is for the All Star Xichen White Day and the prompt for that was Fashion/Modelling/Makeup. I only chose the first two though.

Jiang Cheng is acutely aware of the eyes that are following him through the room. He doesn’t dare to look over to check out if it’s a glare or not, but he can imagine that it must be.

People usually glare at him.

Even though this feels a little bit unfair, because it’s the first time he ever actually met Lan Xichen and he’s not sure what he did to offend him like this already.

He hasn’t even spoken to the guy yet.

Jiang Cheng huffs into his glass of water at that thought, because Lan Xichen is probably an overprotective older brother and it’s more than clear that Lan Wangji doesn’t like Jiang Cheng one bit—at least that feeling is mostly mutual—and so he’s probably angry on his brother’s behalf.

It’s the only explanation Jiang Cheng has.

Jiang Cheng tries to ignore the stab of disappointment he feels at that, and he scolds himself for expecting anything more.

He might have a little tiny crush on Lan Xichen, and while Jiang Cheng never deluded himself into thinking anything more will come out of that, he wasn’t expecting active hostility either.

Especially since Lan Xichen doesn’t even know him yet.

“You look upset,” Nie Huaisang suddenly says from his side and Jiang Cheng scowls even harder.

“How would you know?” he bites out, but he knows he’s being unfair to his friend.

It’s not Nie Huaisang’s fault that Lan Xichen clearly can’t stand him.

“You have a broad variety of frowns,” Nie Huaisang says, tapping his fan against his lips. “And this is your upset scowl. So tell me, what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” Jiang Cheng tries, even though he damn well knows that it’s no use.

If Nie Huaisang thinks that something is wrong then he’ll definitely bother Jiang Cheng until he admits to it or erupts into his face.

It’s a tested method, and Jiang Cheng is annoyed to admit that it usually works too.

“Maybe you want to try that again and this time look a little more like you mean it,” Nie Huaisang teases him and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Lan Xichen doesn’t like me,” Jiang Cheng finally whispers and goes hot in embarrassment at Nie Huaisang’s knowing little “Ah”.

They have been best friends for years, of course Nie Huaisang knows about Jiang Cheng’s stupid, unfounded, hopeless crush.

“Are you sure? Why wouldn’t he like you?” Nie Huaisang wants to know and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

It’s not like he knows how he offended Lan Xichen or what he did to make Lan Xichen dislike him. Lan Xichen is Nie Mingjue’s best friend and the brother of Wei Wuxian’s boyfriend—fiancé, now—but for all that their social circles should overlap at every turn, they have never actually met.

There were a few situations where one of them was leaving while the other was just arriving, but today is the first time they are in the same room for longer than twenty seconds.

“I mean, it’s not unusual for people to dislike me,” Jiang Cheng amends after a short pause, “but I didn’t even speak to him yet. Usually that’s the breaking point for most people.”

“Stop that right now,” Nie Huaisang chastises him and slaps him with his fan. “We talked about this. You’re not allowed to speak like this about my best friend,” Nie Huaisang firmly tells him and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes at him.

“Doesn’t change the fact that he seems to despise me,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath, watching Lan Xichen from the corner of his eyes.

Lan Xichen is furiously scribbling something into a sketchbook before he turns the page with enough speed to almost rip it to shreds and then he’s glaring at Jiang Cheng again, before he turns back to his sketchbook.

“I don’t know,” Nie Huaisang muses. “He doesn’t seem angry.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs.

“Are you looking at the same guy I am? He nearly ripped that page in half, he’s so angry.”

“Or impatient,” Nie Huaisang gives back but Jiang Cheng won’t hear it.

“Look at him,” he hisses. “He looks as if he’s personally blaming me for his art block.”

“How do you know about his art block?” Nie Huaisang asks him with a frown and Jiang Cheng snorts.

“Please Huaisang. The statue is his brother and Wei Wuxian loves to overshare about everything regarding the statue. Including how he worries about his brother because he seems to have lost his muse and is even thinking about taking some time off.”

“You know, they are engaged now. You should probably stop calling Wangji that,” Nie Huaisang mildly says but they have had this conversation often enough that they both know nothing will come of it.

And besides; Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have been together for long enough that Jiang Cheng actually says it with some kind of fondness now. Lan Wangji does make his brother happy, after all and Jiang Cheng can acknowledge at least that.

“I will, if he stops calling me sparkle,” Jiang Cheng give back, completely deadpan but he has to smile when Nie Huaisang bursts out into laughter.

“Okay, fair,” he says between his giggles right before he goes serious again. “But all jokes aside, I don’t think Xichen-ge hates you,” Nie Huaisang says again and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“Hate might be a strong word,” he finally amends. “Intense dislike would maybe fit more.”

“You’re being stupid. You said it yourself; you didn’t even speak to him yet. There’s no reason for him to dislike you. Maybe you should go over there and make some small-talk. Your brothers are getting married, you should at least make an effort to speak to him.”

Jiang Cheng can feel himself blush at just the mere suggestion but he has to agree that maybe Nie Huaisang is right about this. Maybe Jiang Cheng just has to talk to him, to either be completely sure that Lan Xichen truly dislikes him, or to amend his previous impression.

Either way, it will bring some clarity to the whole situation and with that thought in mind Jiang Cheng walks right up to Lan Xichen and sits down on the couch next to him.

He tries to keep his face smooth when Lan Xichen slams his sketchbook closed and then he tries to pretend not to be hurt when Lan Xichen leans slightly away from him.

“Hi,” Jiang Cheng says very eloquently and Lan Xichen jerks as if he’s a startled baby rabbit.

He blinks at Jiang Cheng a few times, before he finally manages to return the greeting.

“Hello,” Lan Xichen says and he sounds unsure and probably spooked to hell and back, and it’s Jiang Cheng’s time to stare in surprise as Lan Xichen suddenly gets up from the couch.

“Bye,” Lan Xichen rushes out and then promptly flees the scene.

Jiang Cheng can do nothing but stare after him. This is really not how he imagined meeting Lan Xichen for the first time would go over.

“That was strange,” Nie Huaisang says as he sits down next to Jiang Cheng on the couch, a thoughtful look on his face as he stares after Lan Xichen.

“I told you so,” Jiang Cheng says, trying not to let Nie Huaisang know how hurt he is over this reaction, but when Nie Huaisang pats his arm, he knows it’s futile.

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang says and while Jiang Cheng was in the process of relaxing under his constant petting, he tenses when Nie Huaisang suddenly smiles at him. “I know how to cheer you up, though,” he promises and Jiang Cheng is not in the habit of calling his friends liars, but yeah.

Nie Huaisang is a liar.

“No,” Jiang Cheng says immediately, because he knows that whatever Nie Huaisang will propose now, he’s going to hate it.

“How about you model for me?” Nie Huaisang asks him and Jiang Cheng glares at him so hard, he hopes he sets him on fire.

“Absolutely not,” he gives back, because he will not model for Nie Huaisang.

“Come on, A-Cheng, why not?” Nie Huaisang whines and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes, before he sinks deeper into the couch.

“You damn well know why. I’m not going to model for you. Don’t you have Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji at your beck and call for that kind of thing anyway?”

“But I don’t want them,” Nie Huaisang says and clings to Jiang Cheng. “I want you to do it. You would look magnificent.”

“I wouldn’t look better than Wei Wuxian and I can’t hold my composure like Lan Wangji so stop it.”

Jiang Cheng is very firm in his refusal of this, has been ever since Wei Wuxian picked up modelling as a hobby, and he won’t change his stance on it now. He knows that he’s nothing compared to Wei Wuxian and he’s not keen to see it in the photos or clips Nie Huaisang will make.

“You would be wearing completely different clothes, you can’t even compare the two of you,” Nie Huaisang tries but Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“No,” he says and Nie Huaisang deflates against him.

“You’re a spoilsport, A-Cheng,” he mutters, but he snuggles into Jiang Cheng’s side, so he can’t be too mad.

“And don’t we all know it,” Jiang Cheng says with a sigh, because that is one of the many faults he has.

The rest of the party goes over relatively quickly and Jiang Cheng does his best to stay out of Lan Xichen’s way, seeing as the guy clearly can’t stand him. It almost doesn’t hurt at all, especially with how hard Nie Huaisang tries to distract him.

~*~*~

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Wei Wuxian yells as he storms into Jiang Cheng’s apartment.

“Hello to you, too,” Jiang Cheng gives back, but he’s already on the defence because Wei Wuxian seems genuinely mad and Jiang Cheng can’t think of anything he did to warrant that reaction.

“Fuck you and your hello,” Wei Wuxian sneers and jabs his pointy finger into Jiang Cheng’s chest. “You’re a selfish, thick-headed idiot and I am so mad!” Wei Wuxian yells into his face and Jiang Cheng smacks his finger away.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jiang Cheng bites out. “Get the fuck out of my apartment if you think I’m so stupid.”

“You don’t even care, do you? You’re ruining Xichen-ge’s whole career and you don’t even care. God, you’re truly so damn selfish,” Wei Wuxian tells him and Jiang Cheng frowns at him.

“What the hell do I have to do with Lan Xichen? I don’t even speak to the guy,” Jiang Cheng tells him because he has barely even seen the guy since he so clearly fled from him, but Wei Wuxian continues to glare at him.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffs and Jiang Cheng fights the urge to strangle him. “Is that what you tell yourself to be alright with what you are doing?”

“I have no fucking clue what you think I’m doing!” Jiang Cheng yells at him, completely fed up with Wei Wuxian’s accusations.

Wei Wuxian clearly wants to scream something back at him but before he can do so, Lan Xichen comes into the apartment. He frantically looks around until he sees Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng and then he rushes forward.

“Wei Wuxian, what are you doing?” Lan Xichen asks him, clearly trying for calm, but looking stressed as well.

“You said—” Wei Wuxian starts but Lan Xichen frantically shakes his head.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“What the hell is going on here?” Jiang Cheng snarls out, crossing his arms in front of his chest and shifting uncomfortably when both Wei Wuxian and Lan Xichen turn to look at him.

“I would like to explain,” Lan Xichen starts, but Wei Wuxian interrupts him.

“Why would you even still speak to him if he’s ruining your whole show?” he demands to know and Lan Xichen sighs before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Because he doesn’t know about it,” Lan Xichen mutters, and Wei Wuxian’s eyes go big.

“Oh,” he whispers and Jiang Cheng sends him a scathing glare.

“Yeah, oh,” Jiang Cheng says and then points at the door. “You’re going to get the fuck away from me now, I don’t want to see your stupid face until I calmed down, and then we will have words about your accusations,” he tells Wei Wuxian who presses his lips together and then scurries out of the door.

He closes it behind him very softly and Jiang Cheng glares after him for a long moment before he turns to Lan Xichen.

“Explain,” he bites out and does his very best to not find it fetching how Lan Xichen’s cheeks slowly turn red.

“What did he say exactly?” Lan Xichen asks him first and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“That I’m ruining your entire career,” Jiang Cheng gives back and frowns when Lan Xichen grimaces at that.

“He’s overreacting,” he then says but Jiang Cheng is not going to let him off without a proper explanation.

“About what?” he demands to know and Lan Xichen sighs, before his shoulder sag.

“I have a new collection ready,” Lan Xichen tells him and Jiang Cheng is surprised to hear that.

Last he knew, Lan Xichen was completely without inspiration and thought about taking some time off, so this surely must be a good thing.

“Congratulations?” Jiang Cheng asks, because with how the day has been going it cannot be simply something good, that much is clear to Jiang Cheng.

“Thank you.”

“Now what does it have to do with me ruining your career?” Jiang Cheng eventually prods when Lan Xichen doesn’t say anything else, and Lan Xichen blushes again.

“I refuse to let people who are not you model them,” Lan Xichen whispers and goes even more red in the face.

“Why would you do that?” Jiang Cheng asks with a frown. “And you didn’t even ask me about that.”

“I know,” Lan Xichen admits. “But I heard you talking to Huaisang once—during the party—and you said you’re not going to model, so I thought it futile to ask just for you to tell me to fuck off.”

“Why would you even want me to model for you if you have your brother and my gremlin at your beck and call? They are clearly the better choice,” Jiang Cheng says and almost manages to not sound bitter at all.

“Because you’re—” Lan Xichen starts and then can’t seem to bring himself to finish the sentence.

Instead he reaches into his bag and pulls out a sketchbook. Jiang Cheng recognizes it as the one Lan Xichen was drawing in when he saw him at the party and when Lan Xichen pushes it into Jiang Cheng’s chest, he takes it.

“Just look at it,” Lan Xichen says without meeting his eyes and Jiang Cheng frowns down at it before he flips it open.

He silently goes through every page, but his eyes get bigger and bigger as he goes along. Lan Xichen didn’t draw faces or anything, just sketched the absolute minimum to give it a human figure, but Jiang Cheng knows that it’s all him.

The clothes completely give it away.

They are all in various shades of purple, completely fitting Jiang Cheng’s style and he doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

“But you hate me,” Jiang Cheng says when he finally manages to tear his eyes away from the last page.

“Why would you ever think that?” Lan Xichen asks and Jiang Cheng thinks he must be imagining the devastation colouring his voice.

“Because you glared at me the whole evening! And then you fled like a startled animal when I tried to talk to you!” Jiang Cheng reminds him and Lan Xichen breathes out a soft oh.

“That wasn’t—" Lan Xichen starts and then shakes his head. “You’re so beautiful,” he finally says and frowns when Lan Xichen scoffs at that.

“You are! You’re gorgeous and captivating and seeing you in action, talking to people, it was like my muse had come back and hit me over the head. So I had to start drawing that very instant and it couldn't go fast enough with all the ideas I suddenly had, because you are just that inspiring. And then you came over to talk to me and I was just filling another page with clothes for you and I didn’t know what to do. So I ran,” Lan Xichen sheepishly admits and Jiang Cheng can only blink at him, because surely this must be a joke.

“What the hell are you on about?” Jiang Cheng finally manages to get out and he gives the sketchbook back to Lan Xichen, waiting for the punchline.

He’s not prepared for the look on Lan Xichen’s face though.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lan Xichen whispers again and it seems like he wants to reach out for Jiang Cheng before he remembers himself. “I’m sorry this made you uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have said anything if it wasn’t for Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen finally says with a sad, small smile when Jiang Cheng can’t seem to find his words.

“Please don’t let this—It doesn’t mean anything,” Lan Xichen finally finishes and that jerks Jiang Cheng out of his stupor.

“Of course it does!” he almost yells out and Lan Xichen flinches. “Fuck, you can’t just say that and then pretend that it doesn’t mean anything,” he goes on, voice a little bit softer and his heart is hammering away in his chest.

He fears that he’s going to perish on the spot if Lan Xichen keeps insisting that this doesn’t mean anything, and so he shakes his head vigorously when it seems like Lan Xichen is going to protest against his words.

“I’ve had a crush on you ever since our brothers started dating,” Jiang Cheng finds himself blurting out and Lan Xichen’s eyes go big. “So if this means more, then I’m not opposed to that,” Jiang Cheng finishes weakly, and is not prepared for the huge smile that breaks out on Lan Xichen’s face.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” Lan Xichen beams at him and immediately reaches out to thread their fingers together.

“It still doesn’t mean I’m going to model for you,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, completely taken aback by how happy Lan Xichen seems, but even that doesn’t seem to do much to dampen his mood.

“That doesn’t matter,” Lan Xichen reassures him and Jiang Cheng finds that maybe he would like to model for him, if Lan Xichen keeps looking at him like this then.

Jiang Cheng will have to wait and see, though. He’s not going to dive into this head-first. At least not into modelling.

“Do you want to stay for—” Jiang Cheng leans slightly to the side so he can catch a glance at the clock, “lunch?” he then asks and Lan Xichen nods enthusiastically at him.

“I would love to,” he eagerly agrees and Jiang Cheng can’t help the small smile on his own face.

They still have to get to know each other and see where this will take them, but Jiang Cheng is cautiously hopeful about this and he can’t wait to spend more time with Lan Xichen.

And by how Lan Xichen squeezes his fingers, he’s feeling the same.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Rainstorm

so this is a one shot, but then it got weirdly more than that? but it's supposed to be a oneshot, but I'm lookin at you idea brain, it's supposed to be a one shot >.>

Anyways please comment I really appreciate it

-

The wind started to pick up as you and Loki walked beside each other through long forgotten ruins on Alfheim. Your hair fluttered about in the wind, threatening to get in your face. Glancing at Loki, you saw that his long, feathered locks, though slicked back with product, were also starting to whip about his face.

The two of you walked at a respectable distance, both shy, newly betrothed to one another. It would be a welcome treaty for your people.

Your skirts began to whip up in the growing gale. Loki’s long green cloak flapping wildly behind him as he walked next to you in his gold and black leather and metal armor. He had his horned helmet under his arm opposite you, politeness so he could look at you better as the two of you walked and talked.

“Were we expecting a storm?” You asked mildly, holding out your hand as a large raindrop plopped onto your palm. It was more of a comment than a question, really.

Loki looked up as an arc of lightning flashed across the sky, his brow furrowed. “I did not think there was one expected, no.” He trailed off. “Here princess, allow me.” Lifting his helmet back onto his head, he gripped his cape and raised it over your shoulders, protecting you as the rain increased its intensity.

“Surely it can’t last for more than a few minutes?” You asked, “We always get these bursts of rain and then it ends.”

“Shall we find shelter then, my lady?”

You nodded, looking around among the ruins.

Loki saw a spot first, pointing to it and motioning you to come with him.

Bent low, you moved alongside him. Nervously wrapping a hand around his waist to keep under his cape, you felt your cheeks heat up at the warmth of his body. You could not see his own pink blush tinging his cheeks at the intimate contact.

Eventually the two of you arrived at the spot, two fallen pillars leaning against each other, fallen just so that they crushed together, and dirt and stone had formed an airtight seal above them and no water could fall through. You and Loki slipped underneath the pillars and looked out as the rain turned into a torrential downpour. Just in time.

Your dress was a pale pink and if it were to get soaked, it would be quite see-through. The thought sent your cheeks further heating up and you bit your lip, looking away from Loki, terrified that he could know what you were thinking.

Loki stared out into the falling rain before suddenly realizing he still had his cape wrapped around you and you were still hugging him tightly.

The two of you came to this realization at the same time.

Both of you laughed nervously, almost giddily with the nerves, prying yourselves apart and stepping as far away as possible shelter would allow.

Loki coughed and cleared his throat, removing his helmet and setting it on the ground. “Yes, right, so.” He began.

“Thank you for the rescue, my lord.” You blurted out at the same time.

Both you and he felt your cheeks burn and the two of you quickly looked away from each other.

Still, on the rain fell. Pittering and pattering along the stone pathways among the ruins, tiny figures dancing and leaping as the droplets hit the floor and falling back to the ground again. The rain pelted the earth in heavy drum, almost a roar, silencing out the rest of the world, save for the occasional crack of thunder.

It was so dark in your shelter, you felt yourself shiver, and you rubbed your bare arms past the short-sleeved fabric of your sheer, layered dress. You could almost hear your teeth chatter over the rain.

Abruptly a flash of green, nearly sending you squeaking and tumbling out into the rain, appeared and there was a sudden light and warmth radiating from beside you. From Loki’s hand?

You blinked, staring in awe at the green fire flickering and dancing in his palm, slowly moving closer to look at it.

“It’s magic.” Loki murmured softly, by way of explanation.

“You’re a sorcerer.” You whispered.

“Close enough.”

You looked up at him, still amazed, “That’s incredible!”

“You’re not disappointed that your soon-to-be husband does magic… and is not, is not as focused on the brute force of battle?”

“I much prefer to think you won’t be getting yourself killed as easily.” You smiled at him, eyes still wide at the green fire.

Loki lowered his voice, “Are you afraid?”

You bit your lip, “It is a great power.”

He nodded, “I, I can not use it around you. If you would like.”

“To deny such a part of yourself, I imagine it is such a part of you?”

Loki nodded, “My mother taught me.”

“I wish to hear about her sometime.”

He smiled, “Gladly.”

“I would not have you deny any part of you for me.” You hesitated, “As I would have you not deny any part of me?”

Loki looked at you, slowly smiling, “Never.” With his free hand, he reached for the back of your head and brought you close to him, angling your face up to his and kissed you gently.

You were surprised at the suddenness and the boldness, and yet, it felt right.

As the two of you kissed, a massive clap of thunder filled the air, startling the two of you apart. The flame in Loki’s hand vanished, though he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you to his side.

Abruptly the rain stopped.

“What, what was that?” You stammered, peering out of the shelter fearfully.

Loki followed your gaze uneasily.

You looked at him and raised your brow. Though you were spooked, you did not expect such a powerful sorcerer to be worried. “You’re not afraid of storms, are you?”

Sighing wearily, he shook his head, “No, but I’m certain that was no ordinary storm.”

“What does that mean?”

Loki pulled your hand to his mouth for a chaste kiss, “It is a long story, princess. But I believe our union has been approved.”

You quirked your head at him, “It had not been before?”

Loki chuckled darkly, “You have no idea.” He pulled you close to him, “I am not the only prince that was awaited to you.”

You rested your head on his shoulder as he gently stroked your back in soothing circles. The back of your dress was so sheer that it felt as though he were smoothing his hand over your bare skin. You shivered at the thought. After a few moments of this, he started to hum, singing some song you didn’t know and couldn’t tell under his breath, swaying with you. You swayed peacefully with him, lost in the moment. If your marriage to him was always like this, you thought, you just might like it. In fact, you found yourself looking forward to it.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Zedaph is a hacker, again. Friday night stabby crew plus zed. He decides to see how the lover role reacts to the airlock.

i’ve got two requests for Zed and the airlock but i’m gonna do two instead of combining them into one for two reasons: 1) they’re both slightly different, and 2) i wanna write as much Zed/airlock stuff as possible

…

“Hey, guys,” says Zedaph happily, approaching two of his new friends in the cafeteria. “How’s it going?”

“Yeah, good,” Astro responds warmly. “I’m just watching Joker’s back while he does a task.”

“I see, I see.” Zedaph pauses for a moment. “So you two are the lovers, right?”

Joker whirls round to face him. “What makes you say that? Did Astro tell you? God, Astro, you’re not meant to tell people!”

“Hey, I-!” Astro begins.

“No, he didn’t say anything,” Zedaph chuckles. “It’s kinda obvious.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re currently holding hands with him.”

“Oh.” Joker looks down at his and Astro’s hands, currently linked at their side. “I guess that’d give it away.”

“Excellent, excellent. Follow me.”

The two exchange a glance before following Zedaph down to storage. To their shock, they find an open sliding door.

“What’s this?” Astro asks slowly.

Zedaph glances up from his tablet. “Something I wanna do an experiment with. Can one of you stand in there?”

Joker and Astro exchange a frown. “Why?” asks the former.

“I just wanna test something out,” Zedaph says. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. Just an experiment.”

After a moment, Astro nudges Joker forward. “Go on, then.”

“Why ME?” demands Joker.

“Because I’m sure as hell not getting involved in this.”

Sighing, Joker walks into the small room and spreads his arms. “There. I’m in. What now?”

“Ah, good! Stay still.”

Zedaph twists the wheel and pulls the lever, closing the door.

“I muted the noise so he wouldn’t get spooked,” Zedaph says to Astro. “It’d make him panic if he heard a robotic voice counting down to his death.”

Astro stares at him with wide eyes. “D-DEATH?”

Zedaph nods. “Yes. This is an airlock; in less than a minute, Joker will be ejected into space.”

“No, wait, you can’t do that!” Astro yelps. “If he dies, I will too!”

“That’s what we’re here to test,” says Zedaph. “I have a hunch and I wanna see if I’m right.”

“Is- Is this what you always do when you play this game?! Weird and mildly traumatising experiments?”

“Weird and mildly traumatising sums up the majority of my experiments, not gonna lie.”

Astro hears the outer airlock door slide open and turns away, bracing himself for the death he knows is coming. He holds his breath and waits.

...but nothing happens.

“Just as I theorised,” says Zedaph triumphantly. “Astro, the airlock isn’t meant to exist. It’s a way of killing that doesn’t fully register as a way of killing. Do you know what this means?”

Astro stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, unable to respond.

Zedaph excitedly grips his shoulders. “The airlock can separate the lovers, dude! This is revolutionary!”

“Zedaph-!” Astro tries to keep himself calm but he’s unable to stop hushed panic from creeping into his voice. “He- He was the imposter…!”

Zedaph slowly turns to look at the airlock, then back to face his new friend. “He… He was...?”

“Y-Yes! How are we supposed to explain this to the others?!”

Zedaph considers this for a moment. “I could say I sheriffed him.”

“Are you the sheriff?”

“No.”

“Then they’re going to know that’s not true!”

“Hey, relax,” says Zedaph calmly. “It’s fine. I’ll explain everything once we get back to the lobby. For now, we’ll let the game continue with only one imposter.”

And with that, he just walks off, as if nothing happened.

Astro watches him go, unsure of how to react. His head is spinning. The lovers’ bond is gone; it died with Joker.

And he has no idea how to feel about that.

…

“Okay, let me get this straight…” Tango rubs his temples with his fingers. “There’s a secret airlock on the ship and you used it to kill Joker and that somehow severed the lovers thing?”

Zedaph nods. “That’s right. You didn’t know there was an airlock on the ship?”

Tango shakes his head but as he opens his mouth to say “no”, he stops. Why does that seem so wrong?

“I think we should agree to not use the airlock again,” says Etho. “It seems too powerful. I mean, two people have been ejected at once before. And the mechanics seem sketchy. It’s just better for everyone if we leave it alone.”

Zedaph glances sharply at Etho, but nobody else seems to have noticed what Etho just said.

When the next round starts, Zedaph goes straight to admin and takes a moment to breathe deeply. His mind is churning with thoughts and feelings.

The airlock is a glitch; it’s not fully supposed to exist. But the same applies to Zedaph’s hacking abilities. So the two are fighting each other, battling for the right to overpower the other. Part of Zedaph’s code is fighting to forget the airlock, part of it is fighting for him to use it, even when he’s not imposter.

But something else concerns Zedaph the most. Only he is supposed to remember past uses of the airlock, or even the fact that the airlock exists.

...so why does Etho remember…?

[bellesque]

Stop & Smell the Flowers (Loki x Reader)

A Loki Oneshot for the Spring Time with Loki Collab Collection on AO3. Also on my AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.9K BIG yikes

Tags/Warnings: Sex Pollen (therefore Mildly Dub-Con), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Sex in Space, and some hints of a Praise Kink

Summary: Plant samples from Alfheim and a brooding god as your only companions in a small Quinjet sounds like a recipe for disaster, but some good things can happen in ten hours.

A/N: All I can say is... whoops, my hand slipped?

THE RIDE BACK to Earth is longer than you anticipated.

The small Quinjet is a sturdy and silent thing, the engine’s muffled hum a constant as you hurtle through space. It’s a drawn out, unceasing sound; it brings your boredom to the forefront of your consciousness and warps it into a false sense of steady calm. You might even be able to close your eyes for a second, seeing as there’s nothing but blackness before you—

“Wake up,” a voice snaps from behind your pilot chair, punctuated by a sharp snap of fingers. “You will not crash this ship.”

You straighten in your seat, unfazed by the bite in your companion’s tone. You blink a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut as you stifle a yawn.

“There’s literally nothing to crash into, Loki.”

Heavy boots thud against the metal floor of the ship until they stop by the copilot chair a few paces away from you. “You never were the vigilant type to begin with.”

This time, you sigh. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m turning on autopilot. If you can’t trust me, trust Stark. His tech is unparalleled. We will be fine.” You punch a button on the control panel, and the low hum of the Quinjet rises slightly in pitch. Swiveling around in your chair, you turn to face the god with raised hands. “See? No hands. All good. Course set.”

Loki stares at you, his features set in an unamused scowl, before turning on his heel to the farther side of the ship.

It takes a little more willpower than usual not to allow yourself to snap back at him, but you manage. After all, you’re both pretty tired, and he’s most likely antsy because of how long you’ve been cruising through the void of space. You’re sleepy, he’s irritable.

Still, your estimated time of arrival isn’t for another eight hours, and seeing as you’re going to be stuck with each other you might as well try to maintain some semblance of cordiality.

“So,” you begin, pushing up and out from your seat, “Alfheim was pretty.”

Loki stands by the glass window that shows you nothing but the expanse of space. His reflection is so clear that the details—like the strong slope of his nose, his aristocratic cheekbones—are unmarred.

“Yes,” he answers curtly. “Home to the Light Elves. As Stark briefed earlier, if you had been paying any attention.”

You swallow the retort, letting it fizzle out on the tip of your tongue. Stark did brief you on your mission, alright. You just wish knowing how to handle a brooding, irritated god was one of the things on Tony’s agenda.

Your mission was simple enough—collect some plants and flowers and shrubs and cuttings, he said. All the planty things. It’ll be quick, he said. Two rides through the Bifrost from Earth to Heimdall’s Observatory in Asgard, and then to Alfheim, followed by a short Quinjet ride to the nearby planet-slash-moon-thing, he said. Piece of cake, won’t take too long to get there.

He failed to mention how long it would take you to come home since you couldn’t use the Bifrost for reasons that were “none of your damn business.”

“You know, you’re not usually this much of a pain in the ass,” you find yourself saying as you stand side by side.

“And you’re not usually this mouthy,” he replies. He cocks his head at you. “Are you certain the coordinates have been set for Midgard?”

“Yes, sire,” you say, unable to keep the mocking tone from your voice at bay. “I told you. Trust me. If not me, then Stark.”

You lapse into silence, watching distant planets and stars twinkle against the dark backdrop of the void, the unending vastness pulling you into thought.

You’ve been working with the Avengers for just about a year. In this time, you’ve gotten to know everyone in the tower.

Including Loki.

He’s… quite a character, to say the least. Silent. Calculating. Not plotting his next attempt at world domination, but still, many are wary of his presence. You’ve spent enough time with him to know he’s a different Loki from the one in New York, though. You’d even go as far as to say that he’s… almost kind of good. Wreaking chaos, sure, by way of annoying the hell out of Steve and Tony especially, but… good.

And you’ll even admit to yourself, just a little, that he’s nice to be around. Not right now; no, he’s unnecessarily bitchy at the moment. But when it’s just you and him in the tower while the rest are either off-world or taking a day off outside the tower, it’s almost refreshing. His presence is companionable. When you watch a movie, his comments are genuinely witty and they make you laugh. He’s more aloof—more himself, you feel, and he allows himself to actually fucking smile.

And hell, when he does, looking at you with those green eyes and that heart-wrenching, happy smile—

You huff, squashing the blooming feeling in your chest. Pivoting on your heel, you make towards the other side of the ship: the small corner by the hatch that holds your collection of plants from today’s excursion. Maybe the weird, exotic flowers will keep you from acknowledging your tiny (but growing) crush.

“Do you have plants like this on Asgard?” you ask, hoping to inject some light into the heavy and tired air that hangs between you.

It takes Loki a second to move from his stance by the opposite window, but he ends up by your side eventually. He picks up a glass jar that houses a plant with blue, stunted leaves. “No.” He brings it up to eye level, examining it and rotating it in his hand. “The plants we’ve acquired are native to the Alfheim regions, it seems.”

“What does Stark want with them?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He sets down the jar with a dulled thunk and picks up another. The flower inside this one is pretty: curling petals with an orangey, reddish, and golden iridescence to it. It glitters in the low light of the Quinjet’s interior, and you can’t help but voice your admiration for it.

“Do you know what that one’s called?”

“No.”

“So why’d we get it?”

Loki’s eyebrows scrunch together, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Are you a child, mortal? Why must you ask such—”

You never get to hear the rest of Loki’s question; the Quinjet makes a hard, stuttering sound, almost as if it’s skidding over gravel, and the entire ship lurches forward and then sideways. The scraping sound of metal doesn’t cease as the ship continues to vibrate from the turbulence. You lose your balance, clutching at air to steady yourself, only one particularly hard jerk to the side causes you to stumble into Loki with a soft oof.

The pair of you are jostled to the floor, and the next thing you register is the distinct sound of glass shattering.

After a few seconds, the vibrations stop. Thankfully, because you were really starting to worry that dying in space was going to become an actual thing. The lights flicker before steadying and it resumes its normal hum as though it didn’t just go through the most unholy turbulence you’ve experienced. Granted, this is only your third time in space, but the unexpected collision leaves you spooked out nonetheless.

“What was that?”

It’s this moment that your mind chooses to notice that Loki’s chest has seemingly cushioned your fall, the top half of your body splayed on top of him.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you hastily clamber off him. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, only rises to his feet and dusts off the front of his clothes. “You and I are in big trouble,” he says.

You hurry to the cockpit, which isn’t much of a cockpit considering how small the ship is compared to what Stark usually provides. A space rock just about the size of the ship lazily rolls away. “Looks like an asteroid?” you say, uncertain. “Are we caught in a belt?”

“No, it was a rogue one. The trouble I pertain to is not that, mortal. I’m afraid we’re one plant short now.”

“What?” Your head whips to the back so fast that your neck cricks, and you rush to the spot Loki points at.

Broken glass, and a flower that’s lost some of its iridescence. Some particles glitter on the metal floor, and you curse.

“There’s a spare jar in one of the overhead cabinets. Maybe we can still salvage this one.” You sigh. “What if this had some super special healing power and we just ruined it?”

“I told you not to crash this ship, and yet—”

“Shut it, Reindeer Games.” At this, you can see in your periphery how Loki’s nostrils flare just the slightest at the nickname. He hates it. Hates it because Stark uses it.

You manage to pick up the bigger pieces of broken glass without inadvertently cutting yourself and throw it into the waste bin. Loki hands you—well, more like shoves into you—another glass jar, into which you carefully place the flower. You slot it with the other plant samples and straighten up.

“There are still some smaller shards of glass around here,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the floor, “so we just need to be careful when we walk here.”

The floor shimmers in some angles: some attributed to the minute glass shards, some from the flower. Loki dips his chin in acknowledgment before resuming his perch by the window, staring out at the abyss of space as he was doing before you and he decided to look at the Alfheim plants.

A decision you’re regretting more and more with each passing minute.

You’re back in the pilot chair, scanning for any possibility of crashing into another space rock. If what you were feeling earlier was sleepiness, how you’re feeling right now is that tenfold with an extra weight of ten pounds on your head. Your eyelids are heavy and your body is beginning to feel warm. You sniffle, your nose a little congested, and a sneeze permeates the silence.

You swivel around to face Loki. The simple action of it causes your head to spin; you feel almost lightheaded, the same feeling you get when you’re sick. You steady yourself by planting your feet on the floor. “Hey. Are you feeling a little woozy?”

Loki’s eyes snap to you, concern written on his features. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Not really. Feels like… like an allergy. From the flower.” You sneeze again. “Head’s heavy. Wanna sleep.”

“There’s a pull-out cot you can rest in.” In a flash, Loki’s helping you up, one arm around your waist. You can’t stop your eyelids from closing this time, feeling your grip on consciousness slip from you as your head lolls onto Loki’s shoulder. It’s a weird feeling. Heavy and light at the same time. You want to voice how it feels, but all that comes out is another sneeze.

“Perhaps the Alfheim flowers are a little too intense for your mortal body.”

Maybe it’s the allergies, but you swear you hear the hint of a smile in his voice. Loki drapes a blanket over you—wait, is he tucking you in?—and cards his fingers through your hair. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it feels nice.

“Sleep,” he says, voice distant and muddled. “I will take care of the ship.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep to the Quinjet’s comforting hum.

 --

It’s hot.

Way too hot.

You blearily open your eyes, the feverish warmth that’s spread over your body the first thing you notice. The funny thing is you’re hot but you aren’t sweating. At all.

Just warm.

Excessively so.

“It’s hot,” you blurt out dumbly, sitting up on the strangely comfortable cot. The blanket falls away from you as you squint at Loki’s silhouette in the pilot chair.

The lights are a little dimmer, you think. Not as harsh and cold, blinding white too, but almost warm. You didn’t even know the ship had that feature.

Loki doesn’t answer you. You realize this a little late after marveling over the Quinjet’s new lighting. “Are you hot?” Your voice sounds foreign, different to you—a different timbre, a little more hoarse.

“Not particularly.”

Your stomach does a little flip because shit, his voice sounds different too.

You swallow, rising to your feet. “How long was I asleep?”

“I did not keep track. Perhaps an hour. Maybe two.”

He swivels in the pilot chair, and your stomach does a funny kind of flip. He’s the perfect picture of a confident, cocky prince with a sort of casual regality; he’s leaning back just a little lower with his legs spread open, one arm hanging over the armrest while the other is bent at the elbow, a closed fist by his face. Like he sits on his own throne, proud and powerful and incredibly sexy.

And you’ll be damned if you don’t admit it’s an attractive sight.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his head falling to one side. The intensity of his gaze burns into you, and something inside you coils unmistakably. What the hell…?

“I…” your voice catches, and you clear your throat. “I did. Maybe—do—uh, do you want to take a nap this time? ’Cause I can keep watch.” You hurry to your feet, and your legs feel like jelly as you stand. It’s as if they aren’t a part of your body as they take you to the heart of the ship, the halfway point between the cot and the cockpit.

Loki stands, still staring at you, and even in the dimness of the ship you can see that the intensity with which he looks at you hasn’t waned. He reaches you, standing a good foot away, and stops.

You try to calm the wild beating of your heart, rooted to the spot from his attentions, and you fidget. Your eyes are flighty in contrast, flitting from his face to his chest to the void outside the Quinjet and back again.

He lifts a single finger up to your face, tipping your chin upwards so your eyes meet. Heat begins to pool somewhere specific now, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Obviously nothing, your brain screams in protest. It’s like your mind is swimming, your afterthoughts delayed and your actual thoughts heady, private wishes just bubbling at the surface.

“Your face is red,” Loki comments, his voice low and soft. Like the blanket he tucked you into. No, a part of you thinks, stop this right now—

He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, regarding you with great interest. “You’re burning up as well. Shall I take you to bed?”

Surely he doesn’t mean for his words to come out as much of an innuendo as they do, but that’s immediately where your mind goes: into the gutter.

“A-aren’t you tired?” you say instead, allowing Loki to steer you by the shoulders back to the pull-out. “I can definitely—”

“No, you need to rest,” he insists. As your butt hits the mattress, Loki’s expression shifts into a thoughtful one. “Although your suit seems to be an unfitting set of clothes, considering you’re quite hot. One moment.”

Loki disappears, walking to a hidden part of the ship and you take this time to fan yourself. It’s still unbelievably hot, and the way your folds are slippery without any stimulation (except, you think with a small smirk, Loki’s little pilot chair moment was visual stimulation enough) causes alarm bells to ring faintly in the distance of your mind.

You experimentally flex your lower muscles and—oh. Oh.

“Here,” Loki says as he saunters back into view. He tosses you a dark green shirt. “Wear that.”

You stare at the bundle of fabric in your lap and realize it’s his.

And just like that, a fire is lit within you.

You bring up the shirt to your face, inhaling his scent when he turns his back, and fucking hell does he smell good. Your mouth practically waters at it, your eyes trained on Loki’s back as he settles back into the pilot’s chair.

Unconsciously you bite your lip as you wonder what his skin might look like underneath his armor.

“Don’t turn around,” you say, fighting the urge to jump him right then and there that surges to the fore. You’re tempted. You really are. And you also want him not to listen to you and turn around, watch you undress and change into his shirt.

Again, what in the hell…?

You shimmy out of your clothes and pull Loki’s shirt over you. It’s Asgardian in design, likely tailored specifically for him. You wearing it just feels so intimate. The smell that’s so distinctly him envelops you and quite frankly, it’s intoxicating.

You stand, and the shirt falls just to your mid-thighs. He didn’t bother getting you any shorts; you’re not sure if you’re grateful or angry, or maybe a heady mix of both.

Bundling up your used clothes in your arms, you clear your throat. “Thank you.”

Loki swivels around, stuttering to a stop when he sees you. His eyes rake over you, from your messy bedhead down to your exposed legs. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat quite visibly, and your pride rears its head in victory.

“No shorts, though?” you ask innocently, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Unnecessary,” he answers with a devious grin that makes your insides melt and ignite all at once.

He turns his attention back to the controls, and you lay your clothes by the side of the pull-out.

Wearing Loki’s shirt does little to cool your temperature—in fact, it’s still blistering despite the Quinjet’s air conditioning.

“Are you sure it isn’t hot?” you ask again. You know you’re asking unnecessary questions, but you want to get him talking, speaking to you in that gorgeous velvet full voice of his.

You hear him chuckle, a gush of heat rushing towards your center. “I’m afraid that’s all you, little one.”

Sighing, you flop onto the bed, pulling a pillow over your legs. Maybe if you take another nap, the heat will subside from your body.

Your arousal, on the other hand…

A thought enters your mind, fleetingly, because you immediately push it away and chastise yourself through the murky fog of your brain. Pleasuring yourself? In Loki’s presence? The absurdity of the idea. You should be feeling shame… only you don’t. Not really, at least.

You shift onto your side, squeezing your eyes tight. Sleep does not come to you. You try lying on your back, on your stomach, and then again—

“Are you alright back there?”

The normal tone Loki uses astounds you, seeing as you’re somehow a feverish, horny mess and he isn’t. It puzzles you, and some deep part of you wants to figure out why. Only your brain seems to refuse to cooperate unless you’re thinking of doing certain things.

Things you certainly don’t mind doing with Loki.

“I-it’s hot,” you explain, embarrassed defeat lacing your words. How many times have you said that to him? You probably sound like a broken record.

At this, Loki lets out a full peal of laughter, husky and with a sensual edge to it. You wish you could make him laugh, hear it one more time. Or twice. Or on loop. It doesn’t really matter.

He swivels again to face you, his sitting posture similar to the one earlier, and it does things to you. Causes an uproar that’s novel to you, a need rising within you that must be sated.

Loki makes a smooth come hither motion with his fingers, curling from his pinky to his index. A beckoning you can’t refuse. “Perhaps I can help. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m quite adept at magic. It may help the current predicament you face.”

You slide off the cot and walk barefooted to the copilot chair. He looks a little different, you realize as you amble towards him. Maybe it’s the allergies, but just as he sounds different, there’s something different about him now that you’re really looking. He’s always been a pretty face and you’ve always found him extraordinarily handsome, but right now is different. You just can’t put a finger on it, so you chalk it up to his aura changing. Or the allergies. Most likely it’s the allergies.

You’re about to sit in the copilot chair beside him, only to be stopped when Loki laughs again and wraps his fingers around your wrist. All you hear is a faint, “No, silly girl,” before he pulls you in between his legs.

Pulls you with surprising strength, it seems, because your butt lands almost unceremoniously in the crook of his groin and lap. Your knees are hooked over the opposite arm rest, which means if you shift even just the tiniest bit to the side, your hip will come in contact with a certain part of him.

It’s a dilemma, you think with a giggle, if you want to be caught in a hard place.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you close to him, and it just registers that you’re sitting on his lap holy shit you’re sitting on his lap.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, adjusting your position so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. Instantly your mouth goes dry; it’s the proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, and being in such a… an intimate position has you tense and rigid on top of him.

“I think so?” you squeak, stilling further as Loki’s nose burrows into your hair. He parts the curtain of your hair with side to side movements, until he buries his face into your neck. He inhales, and a delicious shiver runs down your sides.

“Good,” he breathes.

You’re frozen on his lap, afraid to even let out the smallest puff of air. His face just stays there, in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Are… you okay?”

And then your heart stops, because he’s lifting his head, his fingers brushing your hair to the back and exposing your nape to the cool air. The next second he’s tracing the tip of his nose from your chin up to your earlobe, where he pauses. You’re acutely aware of his lips against your skin, just barely brushing against it. “Never been better.”

He inhales again, deeply, and another shiver runs down your spine. You were wrong to think he was unaffected; something’s changed between you as you slept, and you aren’t sure why or what it is.

“You smell…” He trails off, moving down and back to the spot behind your ear. You swear you feel the slightest whisper of a kiss there, and it takes extra effort to hold in the sigh that’s caught in your throat. “…different.”

“I have a smell?” It comes out with a halfhearted, short laugh; an attempt to ease the thick tension that hangs over you.

Loki only hums in response. This time, with the pressure on your neck and the puffs of his breathing against your skin, you’re sure Loki’s lips are on you. Not a kiss, nothing more—just a steady weight that anchors you in his lap.

Anchors you to the reality that you are in his lap.

“And you are so warm.” The way he says it, his mouth moving against your skin, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. His arms around your waist tighten, and your hip comes in contact with a little bulge.

Well, not very little, but…

“Y-yeah, I thought you were going to do something about that.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

His hand rests on your exposed thigh, his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks with his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think so.” Coherency becomes increasingly difficult to achieve; you’re too focused on the sizzle of electricity thrumming within your veins, spidering from where he touches you.

“How about…” His hand glides up your thighs, skimming over your underwear and underneath the baggy shirt until they come up to rest on your hip. “Now?”

You’re sure he kisses you this time, on that sensitive spot below your ear, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from making a sound.

“Still nothing,” you whisper, strained. “As hot as ever.”

There is no second guessing anymore: something wet and hot darts out behind your ear, and Loki’s lips press a firm, lingering kiss there as his hand skims to the center of your stomach. You suck in a shaky breath, your eyes slipping closed at the spark you feel.

“And now?” he questions, just by your ear. The conspiratorial tone and the volume he uses makes you clench in anticipation.

Instead of answering, you shift on his lap—purposefully grinding a little bit on his evident erection. You hear Loki’s breathing change just slightly, his fingers curling on your stomach.

You think he’s about to do something to break the sexual tension and turn it into something tangible, something you both can actually do to ease the ache you’re sure you both feel, but you know the God of Mischief enjoys his games. He enjoys acting unaffected when in fact he is, and you intend to play that to your advantage. Somehow.

“I’m not sure I’m feeling anything,” you say as nonchalant as possible. A plan quickly brews in your mind, and you pretend to notice something on the dashboard. You wriggle in Loki’s lap, making sure to rub him in all the right places as you tell him you swear you saw something whiz past.

The way Loki tenses underneath you brings you a small bout of satisfaction.

“Perhaps,” he starts, his voice clearly strained as you begin to rotate your hips ever so lightly against him, “perhaps a nap is what you need.”

“But Loki,” you say, exaggerated and almost whiny as you lean back against his lean chest, feeling the full extent of his arousal against your lower back, “who’s going to see if the asteroid comes back?”

You yelp as Loki stands, one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your waist. He’s carrying you, the thought floating through your muddled brain.

“Stark will handle it. Like you said. Trust him and his technology, or something like that,” he says, voice a little rough. “It’s bed for you.”

Loki lays you down with surprising gentleness, smoothing the covers around you. You think you might be able to sleep a little now that a little pent up energy has been released, but you only become shell-shocked when Loki climbs into the cot beside you.

It’s not a very large bed, mind you, which means that you’re trapped between his body and the wall of the ship. There isn’t much room to lay on your back when Loki’s in it with you, so you settle on your side while he does the same.

Loki pulls your back to his chest, completely flush against his body. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Try to sleep.”

Yeah, as if you can with something very hard poking into your backside.

For the record, you do try to sleep. You let your eyes drift closed with Loki’s arm draped over you, but even when you reach that half asleep state you’re focused on his erection behind you and his arm slowly making its way under your shirt again.

And somehow, whether it’s of your own doing or your body on autopilot, your hand slowly makes its way behind, reaching between you and placing it flat against his erection.

It’s like time stops. There’s nothing but static in your brain, the only sound the ever-present hum of the ship. As if neither of you dare to breathe. Loki’s fingers rest on your hipbone, where the garter of your underwear rests.

Neither of you move. You stay like this, for how long you don’t know, until Loki exhales a little, pressing his length against your palm.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, shifting to ease the budding strain in your arm. “Still hot.”

“So am I,” Loki replies softly.

You don’t think you can tense up further, but your body surprises you. “Maybe…” You don’t know why you’re allowing your question to form and where you’re getting the boldness to ask. “Maybe you should take something off.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you don’t turn around to face him. The sound of the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting is enough to tell you that he got up. Cold dread begins to replace the delicious fire that was coursing through your veins—have you scared him away? Offended him?

The mattress dips again, and Loki’s pulling you against him, in the same spooning position you were in earlier. Only… only he’s shirtless, you realize when your back hits his chest.

Shit, you really want to turn around and take a good look at his gloriously naked chest first.

You’re not sure your heart can take any more when Loki slowly guides your hand back to the evidence of his arousal. Once he places your palm on his erection, his hand is sliding over your skin underneath what you’re wearing, resting just underneath the swell of your breast.

“You know, mortal, you are very pretty,” he admits quietly, his finger dashing against your skin. “And your company is… tolerable.”

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself, Reindeer Games.” It comes out rushed, breathy, and a small moan of pain (or is it?) punctuates the end of your sentence as he drags a nail over your skin.

“Do not call me that. Or I will have to punish you.”

When did you decide to court danger?

“Are you threatening me with a good time?”

“Perhaps I am threatening you with the absence of one.”

Fast as lightning, Loki removes his touch from you. “You are still feverish. Perhaps you should take off your shirt.”

“You mean your shirt.” Your heart thumps loudly against your ribcage, your hands now toying with the hem of the fabric. The tone between you two has shifted so drastically, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. You sit up, twisting to see Loki lying on his side, his eyes dark and half-lidded.

You maintain eye contact as you grip the end of the shirt, slowly pulling it as it exposes, bit by bit, the upper half of your thighs, your underwear, your stomach, your breasts, until you pull it over your head and toss it to the side. Loki stares at you all the while, a hungry look in his eye, but does nothing.

“Lie back down,” he commands, running a finger over your bare side. “Perhaps now you will be able to cool off.”

He twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers as you do as he says, the warmth of your center now the focus of your attention as it thrums.

Loki props you against him, on your side again, his fingers dancing across your midriff, moving up until he’s tracing the tops of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples.

Your back arches almost unconsciously, pressing into him where he meets you with equal pressure.

Experimentally you gyrate over his erection, making sure to keep your movements slow and agonizing. His hands skim over your breasts until he takes one in his hand, rolling your nipple between his fingers until they pebble.

His head falls onto your shoulder as you keep with your tantalizing dance over his hips, his breathing growing ragged. He tweaks and pulls at your nipples, squeezing and palming your breasts until it’s the only thing that clouds your mind.

“Are you—are you still warm?” he asks, evidently trying and failing to keep his composure as you buck your ass against him particularly hard.

“You tell me.”

He flicks over your breast in response, your head falling back with a barely held back moan.

“Maybe you should take off your pants,” you suggest with a sigh.

“Maybe I should take off yours.”

“I’m not wearing any, remember?”

Loki stills, which makes you do the same. He shifts, gently guiding you to lie on your back. The confusion must be clear as day on your face, because Loki stares at you with those intense green eyes of his as he climbs on top of you.

Your faces are level, his eyes scanning every inch. You’re not sure where this is coming from; one minute he’s all over your breasts and the next he’s quiet and on top of you. He buries his face in your neck for what feels like the millionth time today, setting off a reaction that sends another wave of want to your core.

This time he sucks on your neck, and you gasp. Your hands move to bury into his hair, but Loki pins your arms to the sides by your wrists. You writhe underneath him as he marks you with tongue and teeth.

He peppers kisses around your neck, your throat, your collarbone as he grinds into you. Letting out a small groan, he moves to hover over your lips.

“Tell me to kiss you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Do it. Now.”

The grip on your wrists has slackened and you take the opportunity to pull Loki’s face to yours. Hungry and passionate is what the kiss is: his mouth moves quickly, in sync with yours, as though to make sure every bit of this is real and not just a fever dream. You savor it, the taste of him, leaving you dizzy and delirious with every swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth against your lips. It’s almost rough, the way he kisses you, but it fits the urgency you feel. You don’t want to have it any other way.

He travels down until he’s suckling at your breasts, and you do everything in your power to hold in the moan that rises in your throat. All you can feel is heat and slick and the pulsing of your blood, overcome with the need to be filled to the brim by him.

You’re about to fumble with his pants when he trails a path of kisses down your torso, stopping when he reaches between your legs.

You’re practically trembling with anticipation now. Seeing Loki in between your legs, a wicked grin on his face, has you wetter than you’ve ever gotten in life. He spreads you apart, settling between them, and feathers kisses over your inner thighs.

“Loki,” you say through gritted teeth, your pussy clenching as he nears your sweet center. “Stop teasing.”

He shifts forward, kissing your hips, your stomach jumping underneath him. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he bares his teeth, scraping over your skin and biting down on the fabric of your underwear.

He slides one side down, his mouth dragging over your thigh, your underwear between his teeth; he does the same to the other side, and again he goes. All the way, pulling your underwear down with his teeth until they’re around your ankles. He discards it lazily, adding it to the growing pile of clothes, and at this point you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

“So this is the source of your sweet smell,” he mutters as he lowers his head between your legs. You’re shaking lightly, wound tight from the excitement, and when Loki inhales the scent of you, long and drawn out, you almost want to cum right there and then.

“Absolutely divine,” he comments. Then he’s placing his tongue flat against you, your head falling back against the pillow, unable to hold in the moan that spills from your lips.

It’s like an explosion of little lights, you think distantly. Little stars bursting from one touch.

He lifts his head from your cunt with a mischievous grin. “I like that sound, little one. Let’s see how many times I can make you do it again.”

The feeling of Loki’s head between your legs, his mouth inside you, is incomparable. He dives into your cavern, his dexterous tongue causing you to sigh praises that seem to only spur him on. It’s a steady, swirling motion that drives you insane, your pelvis arching.

Then he’s moving up to swipe over your clit, and every nerve ending in your body sizzles and frays, another loud moan of his name ripped from your throat. With a grip of steel, he holds your thighs down, parted wide, as he assaults your clit with sucks and nibbles and licks.

“Loki,” you pant, hips bucking against his mouth. Your insides begin to coil in preparation, your walls clenching around Loki’s tongue. “Loki, I—”

He hums, almost like he’s questioning you, and the vibration on your sensitive parts is enough to send you over the edge.

The orgasm that overtakes you is powerful, pulsing through every part of your body as you whisper his name like a prayer. Only Loki doesn’t stop—he licks up every drop that leaks from you, and it’s enough stimulation for another powerful orgasm to build.

His lips latch onto your clit, sucking rhythmically, as his tongue swipes and swirls around the bundle of nerves.

“Loki,” you try to say, only it comes out a breathy whine, “I want to go down on you too—ah—”

He plunges a finger deep within you, curling against your G-spot in time with his sucks.

“Fucking hell, Loki,” you grind out, your fingernails digging into his scalp as you rotate your hips on his face. You can feel the steady climb to another precipice of an orgasm, as well as the tiny smirk that plays on Loki’s face against you.

Your grip tightens on his hair as he speeds up his movements; rapid, quick swipes on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you shallowly. Your walls begin to clench at the splinters of release—

“Not yet,” he says, removing his lips and fingers from you with a dark grin.

Frustration wells up within you, but it’s shadowed by the undeniable thrill that shoots towards your center. If you’re understanding Loki right—which you do most of the time—he isn’t finished with you just yet.

He crawls on top of you like a prowling animal, the pure lust in his eyes mirroring what you feel. He captures your lips in a kiss, languid and seductive, his hands cradling your face.

The juxtaposition of the entire situation hits you like a freight train. He’s gentle when he’s holding you like this, like you’re made of glass, but the urgency with which he grinds into your naked mound detonates another explosion of emotions. One action is delicate, the other rough. Contrast bolting through you at the same time and colliding into one as pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh into his mouth, and you can feel Loki suck in a breath, pausing at your words. Spotting your chance, you roll on top of him, straddling his waist with a smirk.

Loki’s eyes open, a ghost of bewilderment etched onto his face at the sudden shift, and then when he sees your expression he transforms his own into his usual confident half-grin. As though he’s merely amused by this whole situation—but he isn’t fooling you.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, little one,” he drawls, sliding his hands up your sides.

You grab his forearms, pushing them down to his sides as you rock against the clothed tent in his pants. Loki could easily overpower you, you know that, free his arms from your not so vicelike grip, but he lets you. Lets you pin his arms to his sides just as he did to you.

Lowering your head, you run your nose along the expanse of his chest, up to his neck where it’s your turn to inhale deeply. He smells just like the shirt you were wearing, only ten times more potent, and it sends a fresh wave of heady arousal to wash over you.

“Not yet,” you echo his words from earlier, your grip tightening on his wrists as you grind down into him. You can feel Loki about to respond with a snarky remark, so you silence him by suctioning your lips on his neck. Your one track mind has only one goal: mark him with bruises that are of your doing. Claim him as yours.

You lift off him with a little pop; not a very sexy sound, but Loki seems to enjoy it with the way his hips seem to be moving of their own accord. You kiss across his throat before suctioning again on another spot right below his jaw.

This time, you play a little rough.

Loki’s hips jerk upwards as your teeth rake over his skin, his breath fanning over your hair. “Little minx,” he utters, groaning a second later as you push your center against him with a harder bite to his neck.

“Pants off, Loki,” you whisper.

He frees one arm from your grip and haphazardly waves his hand, and your swollen sex comes in contact with the flesh of his hard and heavy cock.

Just as Loki’s about to jerk up and into you, you lift your hips off of him. It kills you to do it, but the teasing, the foreplay, causes you to feel a smidge of power.

“I said, not yet,” you say, sliding down his body until your face is level with his cock.

His length throbs in front of you, and somehow, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you think you’ve never seen a cock as beautiful as his. Curious, you lick a stripe down the underside of it, from the base up to the tip.

Loki masks his hiss, turning it into a cheeky exhale, folding an arm under his head. “Go on then. Impress me.”

Whatever intimidation game he’s trying to play, feigning nonchalance, it’s not going to work on you. You take a moment to examine the bead of precum that leaks from his slit, your fingers at the base of his erection, and drag the tip of your tongue over it before sliding your lips over the blunt head.

You don’t bob up and down; unmoving, merely suckling and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands fist into your hair as your hand and mouth begin to pump up and down his shaft, and just like that promises and praise fall from his lips like wine.

You chance a glance at him, and are utterly pleased by the sight. Loki’s eyes are scrunched shut, barely containing his pleasure, breathing hard through his nose. To have him, a god, reduced to his most carnal needs at your ministrations fills you with gratification. You take him further into your mouth until you can feel him pulsing with almost release, and then you lift off him with a sly grin.

“Not yet,” you repeat in almost a teasing, singsong kind of way.

Loki glares at you, but it’s hardly threatening. You manage to laugh as you level your faces, kissing him hot on the mouth and guiding your slick entrance to his throbbing cock.

You hover over him, not fully seated, his cock just stretching you the slightest bit. Your self-restraint cracks with every passing second you remain unmoving, until Loki takes your hips in his hands and brings you down on top of him, seating you on top of him.

He stretches you in a way you can only describe as full. You lean forward, planting your hands on his lean chest, and rock against him, eyes closing at the feeling.

It’s nothing you could ever conjure up in your wild dreams—he fills you, grinding in time with you and sending you into a barely controlled frenzy. But you keep your movements slow, relishing the way you can feel him throb inside you. Everything feels so new, a first you’ve never experienced: each touch, movement, kiss, no matter how small seems to be amplified in the small ship. It fills you with an unfamiliar, delicious kind of fire, boiling inside you.

“Not—not bad,” Loki grunts, unable to maintain the once casual tone he used before. “For a mortal.”

You swivel your hips and rake your nails over his chest, and Loki’s mouth parts lightly. “Not bad,” you remark, squeezing your muscles around him, “Reindeer Games.”

It’s Loki’s turn to seize his opportunity, it seems, because his eyes fly open, a wild, hungry look to him as he flips you underneath him, his cock still buried in you. The shift in position drives you a little mad, your pussy clenching unconsciously around him.

“What did I say,” he asks dangerously, plowing in and out of you with slow, agonizing strokes, “about calling me that?”

“You’d punish me.” A delicious shiver runs down your spine as the words come out.

“Wonderful that you remember. Because you’re about to forget everything except my name.”

And with that promise, Loki brings your wrists over your head, pinning them above you with a firm grip, his mouth seeking yours as he begins to rut into you more senselessly now. He swallows the moan you make when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, making sure to angle it right where you’re most sensitive.

He doesn’t cease his movements when he latches onto your breast, roughly biting and sucking until you’re whimpering soft cries and pleas and praises. His other hand caresses the curve of your hip and ass before he presses on your clit.

If you were seeing stars earlier, right now you’re seeing entire galaxies explode behind your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, your legs spread wide open, and just when you think you’ve felt it all, Loki takes you by surprise and pulls you both into a kneeling position. He bounces you on his cock with unrelenting speed, and your arms find their way around his shoulders as you approach orgasm yet again.

You subconsciously flex your walls around him, biting down on his shoulder to prepare you for an orgasm—only Loki slows to a stop, gently laying you back down on your back.

The release that built inside you ebbs away, and you clench around Loki, a silent signal for him to continue. Only Loki pulls himself out of you, resting atop you with his face buried in your neck, suckling another bruise into your skin.

“Loki,” you breathe, his hand cupping your breast, “Loki, please.”

The god has the nerve to smile against you, you feel it. “What did you say to me earlier?”

“You said it to me first, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki lifts his head, his eyes boring into yours, blown with desire and yet… something has shifted. Something else is there.

“You are extraordinary,” he tells you, brushing hair away from your forehead. “You have always been the object of my attention, ever since you walked into the board room on your first day.”

Your throat closes with the genuine admission, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well, I always thought you were pretty neat. Maybe we can talk later and finish what we started?”

Loki chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Smart woman.”

It’s almost as if the tender moment doesn’t happen at all, because Loki’s arms snake underneath you to bring your hips closer to his, plunging into you and reaching a deeper spot that makes both of you groan in earnest. Whatever just happened, you can probably mark it for later with a good sit-down conversation. Right now your focus is on his cock inside you, and you don’t hesitate to tell him how good he’s making you feel.

“Hands above your head,” he commands.

You oblige, and his head immediately dips to your breasts. He’s kissing, licking everywhere he can reach, while your hands tangle in his hair, his shoulders, his muscled back. Your back arches, his cock thrusting mercilessly into you, burying himself to the hilt and brushing against that sweet, sweet spot over and over.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to come back from this. Loki buried within you, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, perfectly slotting into each other. His fingers rub against your clit, adding to your already overloaded senses and fuck, it’s as if all the effects from the foreplay and your heat come crashing down in one big tidal wave.

The speed at which Loki’s pounding into you is almost ungodly, unreal. Your mouth hangs open, your orgasm building with extraordinary intensity—

Almost as quickly as it builds, you’re tipped over the edge, a broken wail of his name accompanying the spasms in your lower body. You’ve never had an orgasm as shattering as this one, your cunt fluttering around Loki even as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” Loki says, jaw set. “Very good, little one.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down—he continues to wreck you, the sounds of your coupling obscenely filling the air. You want him to feel the seismic pleasure you just did—so you clamp around him, rotate your hips in little circles in time with his thrusts.

“You’re absolutely amazing,” you tell him, watching how he slowly unravels with every new praise. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how good he is, perfect and incredible and oh, the things you would do to—

Loki bends down and kisses you ferociously, licking every part of your mouth and biting on your lips as he bucks, going rock hard and cumming inside you. His movements slow, just a fraction, as you let him ride out his high.

“Glorious woman,” he mutters, his eyes still closed as he kisses over every inch of your face.

You’re about to return with a compliment of your own, but are cut off when Loki grinds into you again.

“A-are you still hard?” you ask, a giggle rising to your throat whose tail end turns into another moan.

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve made you make that wonderful sound,” he says, hips stirring back to life as you feel a fresh bout of slick moisture gush down your legs. “I think that’s quite a success.”

And then he’s flipping you over, on your stomach, pulling your ass up and sliding his still-hard cock back into your dripping folds, reaching depths you didn’t even know you had, evidently ready for another round.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you make out the faint outline of stars—whether they’re from the pleasure you feel or actually there, you don’t know.

-- -- --

You’d think overstimulation would best you, but your entire afternoon—evening, morning, you can’t really tell, space is just completely dark—has been you and Loki all over each other all over the ship.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, but you can feel the ship beginning to descend into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Hey. Hey, Loki—ah, yes, there—”

You’ve also lost track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

You writhe underneath him, searing hot ecstasy blistering in your core as Loki sucks on your clit, his teeth just lightly scraping over it, his fingers smoothing over your inner thighs.

“You taste so sweet, little one,” he murmurs against you, licking through your folds.

“Don’t distract me.” You swat at his head weakly. “I think we’re here.”

“Haven’t touched the ground,” he says, shrugging, making to dive back into your well-spent cunt.

You stop him before he can seduce you into letting him taste you again, and again, as he’d been doing all day.

Whatever warmth you were feeling earlier has completely subsided from your body, and even your mind feels clearer. As soon as you came down from whatever it was, all that was left was a blissful afterglow that you still feel until now.

Surprisingly, you and Loki haven’t had any awkward, dead air—granted, he has been buried in your thighs and yours in his most of the trip. You thought maybe as soon as the strange fever subsided, you’d both be back to whatever it was before this, but apparently not. It seems to have opened up a door, an opportunity, one you both mutually want to walk through together.

“We still have time,” Loki purrs, caressing your folds with his thumbs.

“You’re insatiable,” you sigh, and Loki takes this as a sign to delve back into your warmth, his tongue gliding into you for the umpteenth time today.

“You love it.”

 --

You and Loki disembark the Quinjet, you with shaky legs and him with a sort of spring in his step. You’re not sure what to tell the others when you see them, a tinge of worry sneaking into your bubble of sexual satisfaction.

As soon as you walk into the board room, you’re met with the expectant eyes of the Avengers, studying the pair of you with varying expressions.

And then Loki’s sliding his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, and the room erupts into shouts of “Called it!” and “No!” and you can’t help but laugh at the raucousness of it all.

“I’m glad we couldn’t take the Bifrost coming back here,” you tell Loki quietly.

“As am I,” he whispers back.

“Yeah, about that,” Stark cuts in, stepping forward, “yeah… you totally could have used it.”