#and yes hi. hello. your domain.

[jumpscart]

there needs to be a vampire story that really solely narrows in on the nocturnality of vampirism. The sun doesn't even have to kill them, they just have such a strong innate circadian rhythm that they are basically inable to function in mainstream society. Their loved ones slowly drift out of their lives as they can't keep up with family, their fatigue is so strong that they can't attend daytime functions... and the inverse is true for their closest friends, who just don't have the energy to be up all night like when they were young. But the vampire will always be 'young', and they have to keep living. The only jobs that they can keep are ones with night shifts, hopefully something like a restaurant or bar...but often, and eventually, ones that mean danger. And most of all, they feel hunger at night, and the more and more they stay up and feed, the stronger they slip into the pattern of nocturnality. There are less people awake at night, and none of these people are the same people from the world before. The world is smaller, and darker, and different. And it has always existed, while they had slept. And it will exist while everyone they loved, slept.

[margaretkart]

Honestly, this needs to be said more often: if you’re going to be a diehard fan of Epic: The Musical please take the time to read the Odyssey and Iliad.

These are texts that have been around for nearly three thousand years, and Homer’s work isn’t exactly hidden behind paywalls. We’re talking public domain epics available on dozens of websites, many even in modern translations. There’s really no excuse to confidently post headcanons or "hot takes" about characters like Odysseus while being completely unaware of what Homer actually wrote.

It gets frustrating when people make sweeping claims, like “Odysseus would’ve been horrified about Agamemnon sacrificing his daughter,” when... hello? Not only was Odysseus very aware of the plan in other sources, he’s literally the guy who helped trick Iphigenia into coming to Aulis. In Euripides and the Cypria, he’s even the one pushing for the sacrifice to happen for the sake of the war. That’s not even interpretation it’s written! So spreading misinformation because “well, the musical made him look soft and morally conflicted” is just lazy.

And don’t even get started on the bizarre insistence that Odysseus was just a cheater who didn’t love Penelope. This is a man who was literally held captive and assaulted by not one but two goddesses, and yet never stopped longing for home. He’s not some player archetype, you’re confusing him with modern tropes. Homer paints him as flawed, clever, and deeply human, yes but loyal in his own way, struggling through divine interference just to return to his wife and son. His image has been more distorted by fandom takes in the last years than it ever was during thousands of years of oral and written tradition. It’s time to stop reducing him to a meme or "messy husband energy" and start recognizing him for what he is: one of literature’s most iconic, complex heroes.

If you love these characters and this world, that’s great BUT it feels a little disrespectful to twist canon into takes while never bothering to open the actual text. It’s not about being a scholar. It’s about respecting the foundation you’re building your fandom on.

[arc-misadventures]

A Deal With A Witch

: Well, well, well... What's this? A little boy enters a witches domain? You are either brave, or a fool.

: Hi! My name is, Jaune! Jaune Arcadia! And, I am six years old!

: Jaune A... Arcadia? Oh my... Pray tell, what is a crown prince doing in a witch's hut?

Jaune: I heard that you grant wish's! Is that true?

: To an extent? Do you have a wish you wish to make little prince?

Jaune: I wish when I grow up that I marry a beautiful lady to have as my queen!

: Fufufu~! Is that all that you wish for? Don't you wish for wealth, power, immortality?

Jaune: Well... I'm already a prince, so I have wealth, and power... But, can you really make me immortal?

: I can... I myself am immortal, I am over four hundred years old.

Jaune: You've been that pretty for four hundred years?! Wow....

: Oh that's...?! Oh... You little charmer~!

Jaune: But, I don't want immortality... I want to marry a beautiful lady! Can you make my wish come true?

: In a way... I will not give you a love potion, or anything along those lines. Those potions do not create love, but lust, for more dangerous than love.

Jaune: My mom said the same thing! Mom's still angry about what they did...

: Well, I can read your fortune to tell you who you are fated to be with though.

Jaune: Oh! Do that, do that!

: Very well, I just need a lock of your hair...

Jaune: Ow?!

: An item that you love with all your heart...

Jaune: Will I get, Petty back?

: Do you want to know who you are destined to be with?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Bye, Petty...

: And, compensation in the form of coin for the ingredients that I must...

(Thud!)

: ...

: Use...?

Jaune: Is this enough?

: M-More than enough... H-How do you have so much money on you?

Jaune: Magic pockets~!

: Oh...

: Well then, let's start the spell then... A few fairy flower petals... A drop of moondue... Dust from a soulstone... And, a drop of unicorn blood...

(POOF~!)

Jaune: Ohh... Pretty~!

: Now let's see... Oh? How interesting?

Jaune: What is it, what is it?!

: I see that you have already met the woman you are destined to marry.

Jaune: Really?!

: Throughout the years you will meet again, and a silent love will bloom deep within your hearts...

: She is older than you... but is beautiful, and wiser beyond her years...

Jaune: She will be pretty!

: Around your eighteenth birthday... From the depths of your heart you will know who the woman you love is...

Jaune: Eighteen?! That's centuries away...

: And, upon that day, you will know her name... A name that had not been spoken in an age...

Jaune: I will know her name...

: Hmm... I admit... I've never read such an odd fortune before... Does this please you little prince?

Jaune: Hmmm... Yes! I will see you again pretty witch lady! I'll tell you how things go finding my true love!

: Farewell little prince...

~~~

Jaune: Hello again my pretty witch!

: Hello again, Prince Jaune Arcadia, what can I do for you this time? Do you need another potion for your stomach when you're flying?

Jaune: Nope! I've come here for a totally different reason!

: Oh? What is it?

Jaune: Yesterday was my eighteenth birthday, and I finally found out who my true love is.

: Oh? Congratulations, Jaune. So tell me, who is the lucky lady who has won your heart.

Jaune: She was indeed a lady I had seen many times. At times I saw her because I need her aid, or because I wanted to simply see her, and spend time with her. After time I came to realize that I had feelings for her, but it wasn't until my birthday that I realized that I loved her. It feels silly, I had been in love with this woman for years, and yet I never realized I was in love with her, or that she was in love with me in kind.

: Oh, so it was just as I foretold you?

Jaune: Yeah, the realization felt like someone had hit me in the head with a frying pan. It certainly felt like I deserved one.

: Oh? And, tell me, who is this woman who has captured your heart?

Jaune: You tell me...

Jaune: Willow the White Witch.

Willow: W-What?! I never told anyone my name, how do you know my name?!

Jaune: 'Upon that day, you will know her name. A name that had not been spoken in an age.' It was just as you foretold, my beautiful witch~!

Willow: What...?! My fortune telling was about the two of us...?! T-That's impossible?! I should have know it was talking about me?!

Jaune: You were telling me about my fortune, not yours. So you wouldn't have know.

Willow: B-B-But...?! I-I'm too old for you!

Jaune: You look thirty years old, That may be double my age, but it doesn't mean you are not desirable.

Willow: Desirable?! But, your mother wouldn't allow it!

Jaune: Well... considering your ability to make a certain type of potion, she will accept you with open arms.

Willow: B-B-But...?!

Jaune: Willow... Look at me...

Willow: ...

Jaune: Willow... I don't care about all those things... I care about you, and I want you... For as long as I live I will love you. Will you be mine, my love?

Willow: ...

Willow: Will you be mine as well?

Jaune: Always.

Willow: Mmm~!

Willow: It's been an age that I was given a lovers kiss~!

Jaune: Then I will make sure that you will never forget what my kisses feel like, my Beautiful Witch~!

Willow: I will hold you to that, my Little Prince~!

///

@lar-mx I did it! Willow Witch story is done!

[the-flaneur]

lights, camera...cook? (mv1) | pt2

pairing: max verstappen x east asian twitch chef!reader [smau]

summary: max does not know how to cook. luckily, his next-door neighbour and resident internet chef might be able to help him out of his pickle. quite literally.

warnings: none (i think)

wc: 1716 + social media posts

a/n: thank you for all the support and love for pt1 ❤️ - hopefully pt2 is just as entertaining :)

additional pic creds: toka (youtube)

[prev] [masterlist] [requests]

-> twitch, cooking mommy

-> twitter

-> irl

“Mate, are you sure we’re supposed to get up at 6am to meet her? I need to sleep,” Lando whines over the phone, as Max rolls his eyes.

“She’s giving you the opportunity to eat at a Michelin star restaurant and you’re saying no,” Max snaps back, toying with Sassy, who’s climbed onto his lap from his gaming desk.

“Well count me in. Alexandra’s been pestering me to ask you if she could visit the restaurant and meet her as well. She’s a massive fan already,” Charles grins as Alexandra laughs at his quip

“When we all meet her,” Max says, “you can ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“Fine I’ll go then. Meet at the restaurant?” Lando groans.

☆

In the early dawn of the crisp December day, there were very few passerbys on the street. Those that were there, their eyes lingered on the small group standing at the entrance to Le Louis XV. It was Max, Lando and Charles, standing awkwardly and awaiting your arrival. 

You and Max had been exchanging a multitude of texts, ranging from cat pics to his maxplaining of F1 technicalities to the best recipes for homemade stroopwafel. Max would even say (hopefully), that the two of you had even begun delving into the domain of flirty friends, with your quick wit and humour, a complement to Max’s deadpan yet very humorous attitude. 

You had mentioned off-handedly wanting to meet Max in real life. It had gone on throughout the entire week, before you had invited him out to lunch at Le Louis XV. 

At first he was ready to excitedly accept your invitation; he had never actually met you in real life and really wanted to talk to you about you. But when he had stopped and actually re-read your message, his doubts about your intentions began creeping in.

What if you were only there to help him cook? What if he had taken it the wrong way? What if you didn’t actually like him, like he thought? Just wanting to be friends? What i-

Max, he chided, you’re being ridiculous. But just for good measure, he surmised, he invited Charles and Lando too. And that’s how he dragged them both (well only Lando, Charles had come quite willingly) out to a lunch “date” with the four of you.

“Hey guys! Sorry I’m late, the babies refused to let me leave this morning,” you yelled as you ran up to the group. 

Max was in awe.

You were gorgeous. He had already seen your pictures on your Instagram and on Twitch, but you were a real knockout in real life. Not in like the high-end supermodel way (although Max would’ve loved to see you grace the cover of a magazine if he was a horny teenager), but in the way which it felt like you were an angel on Earth, delicate and pretty, and a smile as innocent as-

“FUCK!” you swore, accidentally stumbling down the last step before the restaurant’s entrance. Max rushed forward to catch you and your bags, as they went flying towards the group. As he caught you in his arms, you looked up at him and grinned. 

“Did I fall for you?” you laughed, allowing Max to push you back up as you graciously took your bags back from him and gave him a tight hug.

“Hi Maxie. Hello Charles and Lando, nice to finally meet you! Max has loves to talk about you guys-” 

“Hi,” Max blushed at the nickname, avoiding the smirking glances of Charles and Lando as they watched that interaction. Charles and Lando quickly shook your proffered hand, before trailing behind you as you unlocked the door to the restaurant.

The intense decadent and luxury was not lost on the three, as you ascend the gilded ornate stairs. The walls were lined with classical paintings, china and candles; the Le Louis XV was truly a stark contrast of the modest personality of its namesake, instead harkening back to his predecessor, Louis XIV. Afterall, one must live according to la dolce vita.

As you began rambling on about the history and position of the restaurant in the heart of Monaco, from beside you, Max stared longingly. You were literally perfect, a great cook, funny, witty, a great conversationalist and listener, and a cat lover: what more could he want in someone?

“He’s never going to stop talking about her, is he?” Charles laughs, watching the two of you converse intensely about the climate and geography of Monaco and its food production. 

“No way mate,” Lando smiles, watching you blush at Max’s comments.

☆

“I’ve just prepared a small meal for us. It’s a bit more difficult deciding what to cook for three F1 drivers, considering our usual guests,” you smiled, pushing over a series of dishes on a cart. Their eyes bulged out when they saw your “small meal”, which actually consisted of at least eight different kinds of cheese, six starters and seven mains and a tiered display of an assortment of desserts, no less.

“Max already warned me about your…distaste for fish, Lando. So don't worry about the fish-looking dishes. They’re definitely not what you think they taste. Like this one is actually veal grilled with chard and girolle mushroom,” you gestured towards a gorgeous dish, plated with golden mushrooms and deep maroon chard. 

“Now enjoy the cooking of Le Louis XV!”  

The three men could definitely see why you were the executive chef of the three Michelin star restaurant. Between quiet conversation about everything and anything, every bite was desired and savoured, the flavours exploding on the tongue or simply melting off the dish.

The cheeses were flavoursome, some creamy and others intense, but all gorgeous with a pairing of wine (or gin and tonic in Max’s case). The starters and mains were all cooked to perfection, tender yet firm, and packed intensely full of rich aromatics and spices. The desserts were truly the cherry on top, light and fluffy, beautifully contrasting the mains.

The conversation quickly turned to you, with Lando and Charles interrogating about your life, career and everything in between. Max had tried to stop them from grilling you too much, but you seemed to enjoy all the questions, answering each one with a laugh and a smile. You were not starstruck by the trio, but appreciated their deep friendship and care for one another, especially as they asked about you and Max. You enjoyed the company of people who genuinely seemed to like you and your cooking, and it was one of the happier lunches at the restaurant in the past year.

Your mind wandered off as the three began talking about the upcoming 2024 F1 season (despite it still being another three months away). Although you and Max had not said anything yet, you knew there was a deeper connection just waiting to blossom.

It was just a matter of time.

☆

“It was lovely meeting you two today, hopefully we can catch up soon enough. I’ll message Alex for a lunch date Charles,” you promised, gifting them both a small boxed cake, before heading off with Max.

“Now to your apartment, my lady?” Max joked, as you started to enter your address in his GPS. Although he knew Monaco like the back of his hand, he didn’t want to accidentally drop you off on the other side of the country (even if he wanted to spend more time with you).

A small ding alerted Max’s attention back to you, and his eyebrow furrowed when he read the display on the screen.

“DESTINATION: HOME”

“You live here?” you both turned to each other, surprised. Max had no idea that you lived in the same building as he did, while you were surprised that you hadn’t already recognised the view from Max’s apartment in his streams and photos. 

“When did you move in? I swear I’ve never seen you before,” Max asked, slowly pulling away from the curb and back onto the road.

“Well I trained in Lyon for three years, then I moved to Marseille for six months before I visited Monaco. My father’s old friend Ducasse then asked in 2018, if I wanted to become his apprentice at the restaurant, and train to become the executive chef eventually. So I left and moved to Monaco in 2019,”

“And you’ve been living and working here ever since?” Max sighed. If only he had maybe stepped outside his apartment more than three times excluding the F1 season, he could’ve met you a lot sooner.

☆

Entering the elevator, you and Max both moved to press your apartment number on the panel, your fingers brushing against each other as you pressed adjacent buttons. You quickly tore your hand away, hiding it behind your pants, as the elevator began to move upwards.

“What a coincidence that we live beside each other,” you awkwardly laughed, staring at yourself in the mirror. The elevator was once again filled with quiet silence, as the elevator near the top.

“Hey…”

“Max…”

“Oh you go first,” you laughed, staring up at Max.

“IreallylikedyourcompanytodayIwaswonderingifyouwantedtogooutonadatelikejustthetwoofus?” Max said hurriedly, his eyes straying from your gaze. You let out a small gasp, before a beaming smile was plastered across your face.

“I would love to, Max! I thought you would never ask,” you smiled bashfully, grinning at him as the doors opened.

The two of you walked out and awkwardly lingered in the hallway between your two apartments, not wanting to say goodbye just yet. “Thank you for today Max. I can’t wait to see you again,” you smiled, placing a quick kiss on his stubbled cheek. His eyes widened before looking down at your playful ones which sparkled in the light. A hot flush spread across his face, his hand reaching out to grasp your own. However, you quickly stepped back from his grasp, skipping down the hall to reach your own door.

“Also Maxie, I would love for you to come by my apartment some time,” you giggled, waving at him, before you closed your door behind you. Max stepped into his apartment and with a blush and a grin out into the Monaco harbour, he was struck with a sudden realisation.

It wasn’t just a major crush. He was in love.

[next]

series taglist

@lyannesworld @heavy-vettel @bloodyymaryyy @therealplaguedoctor @gigigreens

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[nicnak20]

A detailed examination; Charlie Mayhew:

*When Yn goes in for a regular checkup with her new doctor, she ends getting examined by a handsome young doctor who provides a very detailed examination on her. *

Yn swayed her feet back and forth against the cushiony leather table- the paper crinkling underneath her. Her arms prickled goosebumps- they always did whenever she stepped into the sterile domain of the hospital.

If it wasn't the muffled sounds of hospital chatter, then it was the metallic of the shiny instruments hanging on the walls. Feeling the thin paper gown bellow over her body, Yn felt her body flush with heat. The hair over her arms stuck up like pins in a cushion. She had an appointment with a new doctor: Doctor Mayhew. Maybe he was an older doctor; gray hair on the sides of her hair, a kind worn in smile that he gave to all his patients. Or maybe a sweet but stern woman with crinkles in around her eyes and subtle blue eyes that stared back at her with a sympathetic seriousness.

Yn found that thinking of the mysterious Doctor Mayhew distracted her from the waiting that seemed to be lingering on and on.

A knock on the door sounded and it startled Yn a bit. "Come in,"

In walked a young doctor- dark brown hair slicked and styled, a rich dimpled smile and settled down demeanor. "Hello, Miss Yn," he scanned the clipboard, "I'm Dr. Mayhew and I'll be taking care of you today." He reached out his hand for Yn to shake, before heading over to the counter.

Yn felt her heart speed up. Her face flushed a bit as Dr. Mayhew settled on the stool as he went over Yn's medical history. Feeling a bit small in his presence, Yn turned her attention to her thumbs that kept shuffling over and under each other- a nervous habit she picked up in the third grade.

Dr. Mayhew cleared his throat before holding the clipboard up and turning his attention to Yn.

"Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Engage in any form of drug use?" "No."

"Drink more than twice a day?" Yn shook her head.

A silence fell over the room until the questions became more invasive. "How are your cycles- are your periods regular?"

"...yes."

"Have you ever had any STDs?" "No... I'm a virgin." Dr. Mayhew's eyebrows lifted a bit. "This is just routine but- do you suspect pregnancy or have been pregnant in the past?"

"No." Dr. Mayhew wrote something down on the clipboard before setting it down on the counter and moving towards the foot of the table. Grabbing the little light from his lab coat, he shined it in Yn's eyes, then her ears and then inside her mouth and nose.

"Checks out nicely...." Dr. Mayhew then swiveled over and grabbed a small swivel tray where he set down a few supplies, but Yn's eyes zeroed in on a speculum and a few sample brushes.

Understanding what this exam was about: the period questions, the STDs and the pregnancy routine questions, Yn understood that she was about to receive a very detailed examination by the handsome doctor she had felt so intimidated by.

Her face flushed even warmer when he pulled the thick metal stirrups out that seemed to be hidden under the table. "Before I preform the pelvic exam, I would like to do a breast exam first. It checks for any cancers that might be there."

Carefully undoing the top of Yn's gown, it slid down leaving Yn's bare breast to pop out. They felt cold and care against the air of the room. Dr. Mayhew warmed up his hands after washing them in the sink. Walking back over, he carefully touched Yn's breast and squeezed it carefully- tickling the sensitive nipples with his palms.

Checking the other breast, Yn turned her attention to the stirrups that stuck out; like Dr. Mayhew wanted to taunt her with the looming exam that was to befall her after her simple breast check she was being given in the moment. Yn felt herself become wet but tried to stifle any reactions; professionally as she would've liked it to be for herself as well.

Her nipples became denser the more they were touched. They bounced back from the doctor's touches until they were surprisingly squeezed and pinched a bit from the clamps being placed over them. Five seconds turned into a minute as Dr. Mayhew wrote down some information on his clipboard.

"Alright," he removed the clips from Yn's nipples that were now hard and pointed. He helped Yn dress her gown over her chest before scooting down to end of the table again. "Just lay back Yn," A shudder fell down Yn's spine as she complied and laid back against the table. She felt the thin paper press against the nape of her back as Dr. Mayhew gentle guided her feet into the stirrups.

Feeling the warmth of his hands touch her cool feet, Yn's body warmed. Hearing the loud elastic snap of latex gloves made her cheeks flush with a deep redness. Glancing over and seeing the white gloves wrapped over Dr. Mayhew's large hands made a red fall over face- warming her cheeks with a burning sting.

Grabbing her hips, Dr. Mayhew scooted Yn down to the edge of the table and spread her legs gently, pushing back the gown from around her legs until her inner thighs hit the light and her vagina was exposed in front of the doctor. He kindly shined the light over her intimates, enlivening the peachy rose-colored flesh of her bottom too.

Exposed and artless, Yn felt herself sink deeper and deeper into the bitter hole of humiliation. Feeling Dr. Mayhew's gloved hands touch the lips of her vagina, Yn blushed. Alert to the wetness of herself, Dr. Mayhew seemed to take note of this and arched his eyebrow about the other. A smirk appeared across his face as without warning, his finger dug into Yn's little hole. Hearing the silk wet sounds of his finger adventuring inside of Yn, she tried to drum out the exam with the slight buzzing ring of the overhead lights.

"Okay..." grabbing the speculum, Dr. Mayhew touched it to Yn's inner thigh. "I'm going to insert the speculum now... it might feel a bit cool."

As the smooth metallic slid into you, the coolness penetrated through your body. Afraid to even glance up between your legs and see a focused- and determined- Dr. Mayhew poking and prodding around inside of you. Feeling the tingling cramping from the brush ticking her cervix, Yn was instructed to breathe deep and focus on the celling.

Yn could feel herself leaking her fluids. The speculum was removed with a string of cum still sticking to the tip. Dr. Mayhew used his finger as an interrupter and wrapped the string around his finger before setting it down on the sterile cloth. He stood up and lubricated his two fingers. "I'm going to do the bimanual exam now; you'll feel me go inside and palpate your ovaries. This is to check for any abnormalities."

Before Yn could reply, she felt the cool gelled fingers slid inside her and twist around- mixing in with her own juices. With his other hand, Dr. Mayhew lifted Yn's gown and exposed her mid-section. She knew he was staring at her slim waist and body frame, taking in the etches of her slender, soft curves. Pressing down just above her pubic bone, Yn adverted her attention to anything else- even though she could feel the doctor's eyes on her. He's just seeing if I'm in pain she thought to herself, daring not to even take one simple look into his intense eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Mayhew's fingers slid out and he discarded the used glove. Donning on another one, Yn flinched at the sound of rubbery latex. "I'm going to do the rectal vaginal exam and then a digital rectal exam now."

The squirting sound of lube echoed again and soon Dr. Mayhew's fingers were deep inside Yn's other puckered hole and her vagina. The pressure was becoming too much, and Yn truly wanted the earth to swallow her whole. As the procedure ended, Yn thought the worst to be behind her.

Then she was instructed to get on all fours.

Her feet were guided out of the stirrups and as Dr. Mayhew was sliding them back up into the table, Yn was positioned like a dog or cat wanting to be pet.

The backside of her gown was flung open, and her round bottom was fully exposed against the glaring lights and the handsome doctor's eyes. Hearing more gloves being snapped on, Yn felt her cheeks being spread and she realized that she was at no mercy anymore. A cool wet feeling touched her hidden hole and soon not one, not two, but a whole hand was sliding into her backside, disappearing within her crack.

"A standard hemorrhoid check," Dr. Mayhew said, "it also helps detect for any intestinal problems." Yn understood it meant constipation. Her backside now wet with a determined hand rooting around inside her like she was hiding something in there.

Her face turned scarlet- destroyed by being so undignified by a 'routine physical' that she began to regret even showing up for. Gasping, trying to hide her obvious discomfort and embarrassment became more of the same ambition that Dr. Mayhew had within himself to even suggest an exam like this. Hiding her face in the paper sheets, Yn could only just endure the horrifying treatment of being dug into.

"All done." Dr. Mayhew announced as his hand was removed. Grabbing tissues, he cleaned Yn up and discarded his used gloves. "Your exam went very well, Miss Yn." Helping the young woman sit back up, Yn had to force herself to make eye contact.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Yn. I'll send the samples to the lab, and they'll have your results in a week or so." He smiled.

"Thank you." Yn sheepishly said. "It was my pleasure." Dr. Mayhew shook Yn's hand again before excusing himself out of the room, dismissing Yn from her appointment.

Gathering her clothes, Yn changed into them as quickly as possible, before running out of the hospital, hoping to leave behind the deep shame that had brewed from it.

"A nice warm bubble bath outa do the trick." She said to herself on the car ride home.

She hoped deep down that maybe it would soothe the humiliating procedures from her mind, but not totally erase the doctor that she genuinely did have a pleasure meeting.

[kaisers-house-of-desires]

Idia with bottom incubus reader 🙏

Where it's reader's first time being an incubus and he finally gets to do his job for the first time but he accidentally gets teleported to some random guy (Idia) instead of a woman

Coming right up~!

Title: Wrong Turn

Characters: top!Idia x bottom!incubus!reader

Contains: reader is an incubus, virgin Idia, pet names (pretty boy, sweet boy)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

Reblogs > likes

"Yes! My first summon! You excitedly flew around the area, watching as the portal slowly opened in the middle of your domain.

Ever since your recent creation, you had been waiting eagerly to be summoned, awaiting to charm a pretty lady. Once the portal's flames flickered to life and stopped growing in size, it was safe to cross. You happily flew into the tear of space, flittering through dimensions.

It was quite easy to navigate. You followed the string of desires, like following a light at the end of a tunnel. It was a quick journey thanks to your speed, and when you popped up from the summoner's ground, you immediately burst into a charasmatic introduction, hand on your chest, posed dramatically.

"Well hello there, dear~ You've done right by summoning me. Trust me when I say that you will have the night of your life. We can go as long as you like, or you can leave all control to me and--"

Once your eyes landed on the summoner, you froze.

Blue hair flickered like a flame, dark stained lips were parted in surprise, and wide, tired yellow eyes were practically glowing against the dim light. There was a controller gripped tightly in trembling hands. Was this...your summoner?

Returning to a more neutral pose, you gazed about the room in silence. This certainly was no woman's room, at least, that you were aware of.

"...Well...This is embarrassing," you sighed out, rubbing the back of your neck. "I must have taken a wrong turn..."

"Wh...What are you?"

That voice... Yeah, this only solidified that you made some sort of error on your way over, but could you really blame yourself? This was your first summon, your first journey! There had to be some leeway, right?

Well...something had to be done. You were here, and you had one of two choices: you could charm this person into a night of passion, or you could wipe his memory and pretend this never happened.

And why waste such a good opportunity?

"Well my friend~" Returning to your more entertaining voice, you hovered over toward the other, a teasing smile already set on your face. "I'm your friendly little incubus~ I'm here to provide you with all the fun you could ever desire~"

He brought up the controller, using it to hide part of his face from your closeness. He was silent for awhile, waiting for you to continue instead.

"By the way your room looks, and..." You gave a small scoff, "by how you look, is it safe to say you haven't had a lick of fun?"

Amidst all the blue, you could see gradients of pink show from the controller barrier. The male's eyes darted away, afraid to now meet yours.

"Yeah, I thought so, but don't worry! That's why I'm here~" With a single finger, you pushed the controller down, revealing his flustered face to you. "If you let me, I can show you what it's like to have all that fun~"

You were surprised to receive an answer.

"O-Only if...I could...um..."

You hummed inquisitively, a finger tracing along his pale jaw before resting under his chin to tilt his head up. "Yes, sweet boy? Use your words."

"I...I want t-to...be the one to...um...p-put it in..." His gaze never met yours.

You fought to surpress a laugh. Really, this skittish little thing wants to put it in? To you, he screamed bottom, but this was his first time, so it was your duty to lead him through it.

"Alright, then~ Why don't we prep up~?"

---

While agreeing to let him put it inside of you, you would be damned if this chihuahua would actually top you. You had him lay on his bed, the male keeping his clothes on, though his pants were unbuttoned and ready. He had his arms over his eyes, shielding himself from your nude form.

"Oh come on now," you teased, crawling over him and lifting one arm up from his head and uncovering part of his face. "You've never even seen a naked body that wasn't your own?"

You could see the pink seep to his neck. God he was so flustered.

"Well...before we get started, can I have the honor of knowing the name I'll be screaming...~?"

His breath hitched in his throat, the response almost forced out. "I-Idia."

"Idia...Alright~ I'm y/n, and it'll be a pleasure to have you fill me~"

Not minding his little flustered reactions, you sat yourself upon his lap, starting off with a simple grinding. It was enough to get Idia to whine out, the friction new and sensitive along his shaft. For you, it was just as pleasing. You felt him harden against you, and it sent chills down your spine. If this was enough to rile you up, then you knew you'd enjoy more.

It didn't take long for him to writhe his hips, his boxers and pants growing tight. His motions only drew more sounds from you, and your impatient self couldn't wait anymore. Sitting up some, you retrieved the hardened cock from its confines, practically drooling at the sight.

"Oh, you're a big boy for a virgin~"

No response, but you would make sure you get one as you positioned the tip against your ass.

"A-Alright, I'm gonna go down, is that o-okay~?"

There was a pause, but Idia nodded his head. You had the clear.

Thanks to your incubus body, taking cocks was actually an easy feat. You didn't need to prep up as much as a human would, and you were thankful for that. Upon sitting yourself to the hilt, your wings spread out in a flutter, your eyes rolling back from the sensation that collided with you.

"F-Fuck~!"

You weren't the only one making sweet sounds, as Idia, whimpered out against how tight you felt, how hot it made his cock feel. "T-Tight..."

"Y-Yeah, tight, isn't it, pretty boy? Does it feel good~?"

This answer didn't take long. In fact, it was almost immediate. "Y-Yes. P-Please, don't stay still."

You quirked a brow at the response. "Y-You sure? You...barely got inside."

While you were more than ready, you wanted your partner to be comfortable while intimate. Idia was, in fact, comfortable. So much so that he gripped onto your hips and thrusted into you, setting off a chain reaction.

You cried out into the air, your back arching as his hips came into contact with your ass. You felt a wave of bliss wash over you as you felt him piston deep inside. Strings of swears fell from your lips as you soon lost your balance and hunched over him, his movements not halting. For a virgin, he was quite excited, unless he actually wasn't a virgin? You weren't sure at this point. All you cared about was what you were summoned for: sexual fun.

"G-God you're so big...~" you moaned into his ear, clutching onto his shoulders. "Q-Quite a shock f-for a guy like you~"

He was silent, taking advantage of this once in a life time situation he had fallen into. As his motions continued, a name was sounded from his mouth, a name that was well known to you as, well, it was your own.

Your cock twitched against you two as you heard your own name muttered from him. You felt yourself already nearing your climax, and you only had your fresh creation to blame.

Coincidentally, Idia was nearing his end. Both your moans pitched in tone as you two came without warning. Your seed coated between you and him, dirtying his shirt as Idia's cum filled you in turn.

You two lay on his bed, chests heaving with every deep breath. You turned your head to give his sweat sheened neck a small kiss, causing him to shudder further. You then leaned up to his ear, a hint of teasing in your voice.

"How about a round two?"

[luvvyouforever]

AKAKAKEIDIXKKSALWLEOROFOFD

Hello!! May I please request a Gambit x reader fic where his S/O’s mutation is that they can control/manipulate plants and flowers. S/O loves researching the meanings behind them and gifting people these flowers based on that. I’m sorry if that’s confusing, English isn’t my first language.

Thank you so much!!

YES i love this prompt. here you go <3

secret language - gambit (remy labeau) x reader

synopsis: with an overflowing greenhouse and nothing to do but read books on the language of flowers, you learn the art of speaking through gifting bouquets which comes in handy more than a few times.

content: fluff, sweetness, slightly suggestive at the end hehe.

an: i'm sorry this took me so long to get to!! i finally have a big break to write everything in my drafts!! i had a bigger plot idea for this when i originally started writing it, but it came out to a cute short little one-shot! i hope you enjoy :)

orange lillies, yellow carnations, butterfly weed, and petunias made up the bouquet logan was quite surprised to receive after he had accidentally nicked your arm during a fight the day before. he had thought it was your way of saying everything was okay but according to the 40-year-old encyclopedia you referenced, the bouquet meant something closer to "fuck you."

with your powers, growing flowers was as easy as, quite literally, a wave of your hand. the greenhouse situated on the top of the mansion was your domain. from top to bottom, the room was covered in flowers and vines and leaves of all kinds. it was a way to relieve yourself of the pressure mutations often built inside of bodies, a way to exert the power rather than permanently holding it in.

once you moved into the x-men mansion and received the space to grow flowers, professor xavier had actually been the person to buy you your first "meanings of flowers" book. some of the information was inaccurate, but there was something so rewarding about giving people bouquets that they warmly received, despite you creating it with a deep scowl etched on your face.

only very few people were allowed in the greenhouse. you, of course. professor xavier on some occasions. and remy, your loving partner who enjoyed receiving your sweet flowers.

"did ya give the flowers to logan, chère?" remy asked. he was laid out on a bench in the greenhouse, flipping a glowing pink card around in his hand.

you smiled from your position in front of a bed of roses. with the smallest upwards movement of your hand, the roses grew a few inches and some of the blooms seemed to turn a brighter shade of red. "yeah, i set them in front of his door. seemed to like 'em too."

remy laughed and your heart swelled. "course he did. that little book teach you all kinds of things."

"it did," you said. slowly, you stood up from the roses and padded over to where remy was laying on the couch, you patted his shoulder and he lifted his head so you could sit down. once your body was comfortable on the couch, his head found purchase on your lap. "did i ever tell you the meanings of those bouquets i gave you before we got together?"

his dark eyes opened and made eye contact with yours. "don't believe you did, chère." he smiled. "gambit would love to hear."

you giggled at his suddenly flirtatious gaze, but told him anyway. "that first bouquet? it was more of a friendship thing, i guess. i was too scared to be too obvious with it. the zinnias mean respect, the chrysanthemums mean joy, and the gardenias mean hope. the second one i ramped it up a bit. the tulips mean perfection, the lavender means devotion, and the red lilies mean passion."

suddenly, you were silenced by remy's movements as he sat up on the couch. you made a slightly surprised squeak when his hands found your hips, squeezed them, then used them to maneuver you into his lap. "and what about the newest one you gave me?"

a red tint blossomed on your cheeks then. only a few days ago, you had refilled the vase you kept in remy's room. sometimes it had meanings, other times you had collected a pretty arrangement of flowers to brighten up his room. this time, though, it certainly had meaning.

your hands snaked up from your sides to his chest, where they became firmly planted. as if your power was leaking out of you and into the room, flowers started to blossom and grow higher than what they were at.

"well," you started, "the purple lilacs symbolize my overwhelming amount of love for you."

"mhm," remy hummed, hands roaming your sides.

"the yellow dahlias mean that i am so incredibly happy to be loved by you."

remy tilted his head to kiss your hand that was resting on his shoulder, but kept his eyes attached to yours. he nodded, a gesture to continue.

"and finally, the camellias are supposed to symbolize my unending, deep desire for you, as well as my admiration for you, and your absolute perfection--eek!"

remy had somehow flipped you around so that he was on top of you, arms balanced on the couch to hold himself up. "my sweet flower girl," he sighed peacefully. suddenly, a smirk met his lips and his eyes took on a lustful appearance. "you wanna use those vines to tie me down again?"

you laughed loudly and smacked him in the chest. "you're awful!"

"and yet, gambit will wake up to some new pretty bouquet in his room again, won't he, chere?"

[help-itrappedmyself]

Crimes and Punishments Part 1: Ra's

Masterpost

There’s a phone on a special shelf in the Batcave near the Batcomputer. This particular phone has been set aside as Emergency Only since an incident involving Bruce’s sons a few months ago. No one has touched it since. 

The entire situation was full of way too many unknown variables for Bruce’s liking. He spent a lot of time unnecessarily stressed about that phone. But it never rang, and they never used it. Until one day, when a loud ringing could be heard throughout the Batcave.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and started looking around. There was a specific moment, when everyone realized which phone was ringing. A moment of stillness. Then they all rushed for it at once. None of the boys wanted someone the caller had never met to pick up, but Bruce was curious, and he was fast. Nightwing however, was also fast and a lot closer. 

“Hello?” Nightwing asked as he answered the call. Everyone else quickly gathered around him, and as upset that Bruce was that he wasn’t on the phone, everyone understood not to interrupt.

“Bats?” Danny responded carefully.

“This is Nightwing.”

“Oh, Nightwing. Good to hear from you, hope you’re doing well. Unfortunately, this is a business call regarding the information I was given by Red Robin and Robin when you were here. Are they available for follow up?”

“I’ll put you on speaker.” Nightwing gave Bruce a look, trying to ward off any interrogations and put the call on speaker. “Everyone is here.”

“Hi, everyone!” Danny called out cheerfully. "Red Robin and Robin, you remember when you were in my realm you gave me some information about illegal activity that I had to follow up on, as well as the locations to check out?”

They both responded in the affirmative.

“Wonderful, I wanted to let you know that the situation has been taken care of.” Danny’s voice turns very official. “As of now, my teams have cleared all known locations of the illegal substance to avoid any more contamination. In the matter of one Ra’s Al Ghul, on the basis of knowingly, purposefully, and repeatedly storing and using the illegal contraband, he has been sentenced to imprisonment in the Nightmare Dimension. Once his sentence has been served, he will be released and will be able to make a home in one of my realms if he so chooses. However, we have determined that he will be unable to return to his original dimension, as the damage he has made to your world has already been too great. Now, speaking of the damage to your world."

“As it turns out, your dimension has had a great many interdimensional leaks, the amount of which I also had to look into.” Danny sounds tired and annoyed now. “A specialist of mine, Clockwork, has informed me of a great many breaches made by a small group of people. He is pushing for a very harsh sentence, your citizens have caused him a great deal of trouble and repeatedly broken the law in regards to his domain. I need to look into this further and was hoping to receive some assistance in organizing a meeting with these people, in order to determine fault, and possible repercussions or sentencing depending on the severity of their crimes.”

There is a pause, and no one says anything for a short moment as they hear Danny take a breath.

“I am unsure of the necessary authorities I should speak to regarding people of your world breaking the laws of mine.” Danny sounds so tired.

“We can help.” Red Robin spoke. “Do you know who these people are and where they are located?”

“Not exactly. They are in America, a few different places, but they can and do travel. Are you familiar with the speedsters on your planet? There should be three of them.”

They exchange looks. “Yes we are familiar. We can set up a meeting with them.”

[mysteria157]

Unsteady Ground

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: Light angst, just fluffy but scarred Post-Shibuya Nanami

WC: ~2.1k

Summary: 

Nanami gets more than what he bargained for with the kind receptionist who checks him in for his weekly appointments.

Notes: Hello! Been thinking about Nanami if he was still injured but survived the Shibuya Incident and this is just one of many little thoughts I've had. Hoping to write more soon!

Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @cafekitsune @awenise

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | Come Say Hi!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

What was he thinking?

Nanami Kento prides himself on his self-awareness—a man who can map out his strengths and weaknesses like well-worn territories on a battle-scarred map. He’s the epitome of controlled courage, a figure who could march into dank, shadow-filled alleys and pungent sewage tunnels, his fear compressed into a hard knot beneath his ribs, as he methodically tracked and exorcised curses with cold efficiency. 

So this is new. It has to be.

What was he thinking?

He was thinking about you.

You, who he first saw through a haze of discomfort at the reception desk during his initial therapy appointment. His eye patch itched against his brow, a constant reminder of Dagon’s domain and the razor-sharp fish-like teeth that sunk into his flesh. The burns on his left side stretched tight beneath layers of Mederma a constant, throbbing presence. He felt raw, exposed, his mind a blender of pain and misery, haunted by the taunting echoes of a patchwork curse that still clawed at the edges of his dreams.

But then, there was you.

You, whose voice flowed like silk when you asked for his name and date of birth to check him in. Your words, a gentle current, seemed to wash away the stark clinical atmosphere. With each subtle movement, a hint of vanilla across your desk, wrapping him in its warmth, coaxing his tense shoulders away from his ears.

You, who lingered in his mind long after each encounter. Your daily ask about how he was doing, though met with the same stoic response, became a small ritual he found himself anticipating. Your presence had become a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, somehow making the hard recovery of his life a little more bearable.

You, whose eyes lit up many weeks later as you spoke of the Christmas market in town, your voice brimming with excitement about the newly opened rink.

In that moment, driven by an unfamiliar, overwhelming desire—no, need—to simply fan the flames of whatever was licking to life in his chest, he spoke without thinking. The words tumbled out, clumsy and hopeful. His face flushed, his usually composed demeanor cracking.

“We could go together this weekend if you would like?”

Stupid. Absolutely, unequivocally stupid. 

Nanami Kento, what were you thinking?

A soft smile played at the corners of your mouth, your head tilted ever so slightly, curls dancing in a nonexistent wind as you regarded him with warmth and a lifted brow that made his breath catch.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nanami Kento?” Playful and tinged with an essence of hope that made his heart race even faster.

“I—“ He was thinking of you. Only you. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The cool air of the ice rink slaps Nanami’s face with every person that skates past him, his heart racing with a mix of dread and shame that pulses through his veins. A group of teenagers glides by effortlessly, their showboating twirls and spins threatening to pull his mouth into a sneer. They’re no doubt mocking him as he stands stock still against the glass wall, gloved hands pressed flat as if he could suction himself in place.

He’s endured years of Gojo's incessant, annoying taunts and needless provocations. He’s faced cursed spirits without flinching, coolly efficient even as his watch ticked down the final minutes before six. But now, the prospect of revealing his complete and utter lack of skating ability to you terrifies him more than any supernatural threat.

He had every opportunity to reveal his incompetence. He did nothing as you both laced up your skates. Smiled softly as he listened to you chat animatedly about your favorite winter activities. Kept his spine taut as you adjusted his eye patch, fingers trailing feather light along his jaw. Even as you pulled him by the hand towards the rink, his legs wobbling like a newly born doe on the thin blades, he could only clench his jaw and follow.

He encouraged you to go without him, to warm up while he adjusted to the weight of strangers’ gaze when they saw him for the first time. Even with so much practice, the discomfort, even after all this time, burns more fiercely than Jogo's searing touch ever did. 

But he knows he can’t delay the inevitable. Soon, you’ll return, expectant and eager, and he’ll be exposed. The memory of asking you on this date flashes through his mind—a moment of uncharacteristic impulsivity born from longing and evolutionary competition. He’d watched the parade of men filing in for their appointments, each one a potential rival. The brunette who shows up at 3 PM, with his easy smile and effortless charm, was particularly concerning. So Nanami can’t fail now.

Steeling himself, he takes a tentative step. The blades slide across the ice, taking him further than what he intended. His knees lock, his back sways unsteadily, and his arms flail as he tries to find balance.

Somehow, he can hear Haibara laughing from the grave. He can almost see his old friend, red-faced and doubled over, teasing him without shame for never accepting that impromptu hockey game invitation their first year.

“I can do this,” he whispers to himself, desperately praying to whoever will listen for sudden knowledge. He takes another step, a short glide up with his left foot and it’s no good. His legs wobble dangerously, arms windmilling as he grasps for the wall and throws every curse known to heaven and hell, fogging the glass with his acidic words.

The teenagers zoom by again, and he swears one of them snickers, skating backward with infuriating ease as they disappear from view.

“Kento?” Your voice, honeyed with concern, reaches him from behind. It’s too sweet, too kind to quell the embarrassment that runs in rivulets down his back. You appear in the peripheral of his right eye, your lips pinched behind your teeth as you stop in front to take him in. “You’ve never skated before, have you?”

For a fleeting moment, Nanami considers trying again, hoping to slip and knock himself unconscious to escape this mortifying situation.

He feels heat rise to his cheeks. “I may have overestimated my abilities,” he admits, his dry tone a thin cover over his embarrassment as he clings to the rink’s walls like a lifeline.

To his relief, your face softens with understanding rather than judgment. You skate backward with effortless grace, hands outstretched towards him. “Trust me?”

He hesitates, eyeing your hands. Part of him wants to refuse, to flail his way off the rink so he can take off these atrocious skates and maintain some semblance of dignity. But a larger part, the part that has been drawn to you from the start, longs to brush his hands against yours.

Your cream-colored gloves intertwine with his. “Just glide. Follow my feet,” you encourage, slowly skating backward and guiding him forward.

You flow like water on the ice, fluid and sure as if you’re a professional, without a hint of hesitation. He’s mildly green with envy because he’s a stark contrast. Legs stubbornly locked, feet shuffling rather than gliding. He tries to focus on the mechanics of skating, on keeping his balance, but he finds his attention irresistibly drawn to you. 

You’ve taken off your winter coat, and a soft navy sweater hugs your curves, accentuating your form. He’s seen it beneath crisp blouses and pencil skirts. Your leggings outline powerful thighs that bunch with your movements, yielding strength and practice. The overhead lights catch the small puffs of air that ghost from your mouth as you guide him patiently across the ice, no sound reaching his ears because he’s not paying attention.

Your hair, a glorious bundle of curls, cascades from beneath a navy beanie, framing your warm face and kissing your cheeks. Small gold hoops in your ears catch the light with each graceful motion, their gentle swaying hypnotizing Nanami, drawing him further into your orbit and away from reality.

He’s lost in admiring you—the kindness in your eyes, the way your presence makes him feel both vulnerable and safe even as his life has been so tragically altered.

It’s in this moment of distraction, his heart full and unguarded, that his skates and your teachings betray him. As you attempt a gentle turn, his feet slip, zipping awkwardly to the side.

“Kento!”

You grip his hands tightly, urging him to regain his footing, but he’s caught in a comical dance, legs churning in place as he fights to stay upright.

“Wait! Kento just—okay, just try to come to a stop. A stop, Kento, don’t—” He attempts to halt, overcompensating with force. 

“For fucks sake—!” He grunts, feet flying out from under him, launching up as if he’s a cartoon villain slipping on a banana peel, bucking him off the ice and taking you with him as you both come crashing down onto the unforgiving cold ground.

Somehow, he doesn’t hit his head, but his back and ass scream from the impact. At least you were able to use him to cushion your blow, and you lay across his chest, face buried in his wool coat.

Seconds stretch into eternity as you both lie there, panting. Nanami fixes his gaze on the ceiling, half-hoping the harsh glare of the overhead lights will burn the cornea of his remaining eye and blind him completely from this whole ordeal.

“Well,” you murmur, voice muffled against his coat, “should we get up?”

“No…no, I quite like it down here,” Nanami responds, deadpan delivery masking the absolute sincerity of his words.

You pull your head from his chest to look down at him. Nanami’s eyes meet yours, staring, unblinking, mortified, and wishing the ground could liquefy and then freeze over, trapping him underneath.

With impeccable timing and bone-dry delivery, you quip, “I guess for a first date, this was a good way to break the ice.”

Nanami blinks, processing your words. The absurdity of the situation—the terrible pun, your matter-of-fact delivery, the undignified sprawl of limbs—hits Nanami all at once. A laugh bubbles from deep in his chest, croaking through years of cobwebs as it grows into a full-bodied guffaw.

The sound of his laughter surprises him as much as it does you. Your eyes and his one widen in delight at this rare display of uninhibited joy and soon you’re both laughing, the sound echoing across the rink.

The scarred side of his mouth twinges uncomfortably, but he doesn’t care, he can’t. His laughter, rich and unbridled, hiccups from slightly chapped and upturned lips.

As your laughter subsides, Nanami realizes he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this—free, unguarded, genuinely happy. He takes in the sight of you: your beanie askew, a cascade of messy curls tumbling over one shoulder; ice shavings glistening as they melt on your cheek; your lip gloss slightly smeared, yet still inviting. 

Your eyes meet his, and for the millionth time in only a few short weeks of knowing you, his heart skips a beat. With a gentleness, you reach up to adjust his eye patch—a gesture so intimate, so accepting of all that he is, that Nanami hopes it becomes a habit. 

He watches, breath hitching, as you shift, sliding yourself up his chest with a soft grunt of effort. For a moment, you hover there, your faces inches apart. Nanami can feel the warmth of your breath, senses the unasked question of what you want to do. And whatever his face conveys, must be enough for a smile that outshines the gleam of the ice around you to blossom on your face as you close the distance.

The press of your glossy lips against his still catches Nanami by surprise. For a heartbeat, he’s frozen, overwhelmed by the sensation. But only a second later, he melts and softens into you. One hand finds the small of your back, the other sliding against your cheek, drawing you closer as he returns the kiss and opens something within him that he knows you’ve found the key to.

For a second, it washes away the pain of his past, the destruction that he took part in, the friends he’s lost along the way, and he feels okay. If only for a moment, and maybe being with you can help the wounds in his chest and along his left side heal over time.

The ice is cold beneath him, his dignity is probably bruised along with his back and ass, but in this moment, given a second chance at life, hopefully with you, he feels wonderfully, perfectly alive.

Thanks for reading!!

[boymanmaletheshequel]

An altar for Hermes 🛐

🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌

Hello there! Yes, YOU! the little hellenist reading this post! Have you been wanting to start taking your worship of Hermes a little bit more seriously? Because I have, and I have just the thing for you! Hermes is a trickster, but also a very fun, very intelligent god who loves his followers, and is more than willing to grant his protection and deliverance unto them! Wether you’re a lawless little anarchist like me who seeks his protection from the not always fair side of the law, a traveller or wanderer who is looking for some shielding and luck on the road against the backdrop of a big, scary world, or simply a mail carrier who sees the king of mail himself as an idol to be followed, allow me to offer some ideas on how we can craft a little altar space for the hectic and honorable Hermes!

———————————————————————

• STEP ONE: colors and cloth:

When it comes to the domain of color, there’s actually a lot of mixed opinions when it comes to Hermes, as he’s one of the only Olympians whose sacred colors are not really divulged explicitly. Some say that red and green are the colors traditionally associated with him, but I feel like most devotees I know or follow seem to associate him with blue, yellow, and orange. Therefore, any cloth, a base fabric or cloth, the first thing you’ll add to your altar as the base everything else sits upon, would probably be best suited in this color scheme! You also may want your cloth to have more character, and it never hurts to have some symbolism on your fabric, which I’ll get to shorty! You can usually find cheap fabric at craft and thrift stores such as Johanns, Value village, or other local shops!

• STEP TWO: dishes and vessels:

The next thing you’ll want to add to your altar are some of the larger, more utilitarian pieces you wish to decorate with, these can include things like tarot decks, teacups or plates to hold offerings, offering bowls, candles, or books. It is also a good idea to select bowls, dishes, and teacups that line up with the iconography and sacred symbolism of the god the altar is dedicated to. For example, in my altar to Freyja, I have a small teacup with strawberries on it to honor her favorite fruit in Norse mythology! For Hermes, there are a couple different common icons you can look for, these include ironically, strawberries as well, as well as hawks, feathers, coins, gold trimmed and detailed, or gold painted pottery, String instruments, and the Greek key pattern!

• STEP THREE: Idols and tributes:

Another important way to respect your altar and it’s god is to decorate it with Idols of them, like statues, sketches, or other artworks depicting them! You can also donate tributary items to the altar, such as little figurines or charms of things associated with them, for example, my Artemis altar has a small porcelain cat figurine, and my Freya altar has a guilloche heart trinket. In an altar for Hermes, perhaps a statuette of a cherub with a lyre or harp, or a figurine of a mail carrier, or of one of Hermes sacred animals like a cow or ram, would make an appropriate idol for your altar space?

• STEP FOUR: traditional offerings:

Some traditional offerings like food, drink, crystals, herbs, flowers, etc. are an important, and very easy offer to make to your altars, and can easily be placed in the vessels and dishes you keep on the altar space. These offers vary drastically and personally on the god associated with them, but I’ll list some examples that I think would be good fits for Hermes below!

🌸 Crocus, Hydrangea, baby’s breath

🫚 olive oil, myrtle, sandalwood, Saffron

💎 citrine, blue lace agate, blue topaz, Aquamarine, Pyrite.

🍗 strawberries, olives, honey.

🍷beer, milk.

• STEP FIVE: ICONOGRAPHY:

The final step to creating your altar is the use of divine iconography. These symbols, emblems, and motifs celebrate your gods lore, history, and sacred things. You can honor this by finding things donning the iconography associated with your god! For example, almost all of my altars utilize antique painted porcelain or ceramics in some way, I have a porcelain sugar dish painted with strawberries for Aphrodite, a tea plate with wheat sheathes for Demeter, and an antique English teacup with Lilacs painted on it for Pan! Some of the sacred symbols and depictions of Hermes included, but are not limited to: strawberries, olives, lyres, sandals, mail and postage insignia, crocuses, rams, hawks, and coins! Depictions of all of these things on porcelain, pottery, fabric, or otherwise or on their own, are great ways to make clear your altar is dedicated to Hermes!

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Now that you have your very own space to worship and to commune with the hectic, humorous, and helpful Hermes, use it! Talk to him about your travels, bid on him to protect you from your hijinks, legal or otherwise, pray to him to guide your packages safely to you, and to guide you safely on your journeys! Enjoy your new altar space, and may lord Hermes bless you with riches, protection, and travels!

If you like this post, and wish to learn more about the gods of Hellen, Hellenism, paganism, and much more, please consider giving me a follow! I post every single day :) have a blessed day. 💙🏛️

🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌🪽💌

[amethystarachnid]

Hello. I’d like to request a Loki x Fem!Reader. Not sure if you’ve seen Step Up 3 but the song Bust Your Windows by Jazmine Sullivan was played and basically in the scene the two love interests did a tango (I would look it up for reference 🩷). So maybe Loki and Reader are on an undercover mission and they get tied into a tango. You can interpret it however you want but I’ve had this ask stuck in my head for a while now. Hope you like this! 🩷🩷

BOUND BY DUTY

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, flirty

ᯓ★ Requests status: open

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Summary: Loki has been called form the S.H.I.E.L.D. to help the Avengers with an anomaly that's happening around the world and you're assigned to be his handler. You were told to not trust him but what if under that mask of indifference there's a man just wishing to be loved?

ᯓ★ Word count: 9.7k

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think, just a few hated kisses and flirty comments

ᯓ★ I haven't seen the movie but I've seen the scene on YouTube (like just the 3 minutes ? scene) and really hop you'll like the story

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The air inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. compound feels heavier than usual. It could be the weight of the mission ahead or the fact that the one person who might hold the answers is a literal god—a god of mischief, no less. You’ve been briefed on Loki’s recent exploits, his failed conquest of Earth, and his punishment in Asgard’s dungeons. You know better than to trust him, but you also know that sometimes the devil you know is preferable to the devil you don’t.

Nick Fury has chosen you, of all people, to act as Loki’s handler. You don’t know whether to feel honored or utterly cursed. He claims it’s because of your “unflinching professionalism” and “ability to handle high-pressure situations.” You suspect it’s because most of your colleagues would rather face a firing squad than deal with Loki’s silver tongue.

The sound of the jet door opening draws your attention. You straighten your back and smooth your jacket as two Asgardian guards march down the ramp, their armor gleaming even under the dim hangar lights. Between them walks Loki, his wrists bound in glowing cuffs that hum faintly with suppressed power. He’s wearing his usual dark green attire, though the horned helmet is missing. Without it, his raven-black hair tumbles around his face, framing sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. His piercing blue eyes sweep the room, landing on you.

You can feel his gaze like a physical weight, appraising you. He smirks. Of course, he smirks.

“Agent,” Fury’s voice cuts through your thoughts, startling you slightly. “Take him to interrogation. The guards will brief you on his restraints.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, your voice calm and steady despite the flutter in your chest.

The Asgardian guards exchange a few words with you about Loki’s bindings. They warn you not to let your guard down—ever. You assure them you won’t, though you’re starting to realize that resisting Loki’s words might be a different kind of challenge altogether.

“Shall we?” you say, gesturing for Loki to follow you. He arches an eyebrow but complies, falling into step beside you. The guards trail behind at a respectful distance.

The walk to the interrogation room is uncomfortably silent. You’re hyper-aware of Loki’s presence beside you, his tall frame moving with a predatory grace. He doesn’t look like someone who’s been imprisoned for months; he looks like he owns the place, and you’re just a guest in his domain.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. Of course, he does.

“Tell me, Agent,” he begins, his voice smooth and lilting, “do they often send mortals to babysit gods, or am I a special case?”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, determined not to rise to the bait. “I’m here to make sure you don’t cause any trouble. Think of me as your parole officer.”

He chuckles softly, the sound almost pleasant if you didn’t know better. “And if I were to misbehave, what then? Will you scold me? Perhaps send me to my room without supper?”

His words drip with mockery, but there’s an undercurrent of something else—amusement, maybe even intrigue. You keep your expression neutral. “If you misbehave, you’ll find out just how creative S.H.I.E.L.D. can be when it comes to disciplinary measures.”

“Promises, promises,” he murmurs, and you feel a shiver crawl up your spine at the way his eyes linger on you. You remind yourself that this is what Loki does: he gets under people’s skin, twists their emotions until they don’t know which way is up. You won’t let him succeed.

The interrogation room is as stark and clinical as you’d expect. A metal table and two chairs sit under the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. Loki looks around with mild disdain as if the room itself offends his sensibilities.

“This is where you intend to question me?” he asks, his tone dripping with derision. “How... quaint.”

You motion for him to sit. He doesn’t move immediately, instead watching you with that infuriating smirk. Finally, he lowers himself into the chair with the air of someone granting you a great favor.

The guards secure his bindings to the table before stepping back. You nod at them, and they leave, the door clicking shut behind them. Now it’s just you and Loki. You take the seat across from him, pulling out a tablet with your notes.

“We have reason to believe you have information about a recent incident involving extraterrestrial technology,” you say, your voice steady. “S.H.I.E.L.D. recovered several devices that match the energy signature of the Tesseract. We need to know where they came from.”

Loki leans back in his chair, the chains on his wrists clinking softly. “Ah, the Tesseract. Such a fascinating little trinket. Tell me, Agent, do you often meddle in matters beyond your comprehension?”

“This isn’t about me,” you reply coolly. “It’s about you. And what you know.”

He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And what do I gain from sharing this knowledge? A lighter sentence? A pat on the head? Somehow, I doubt your superiors are feeling particularly charitable toward me.”

“We’re not asking for charity. We’re asking for cooperation. Help us, and we might consider negotiating with Asgard on your behalf.”

Loki’s laughter fills the room, sharp and cold. “Negotiate with Asgard? Oh, how delightfully naive. Do you honestly believe Odin would entertain such an offer? He��d sooner banish me to the farthest reaches of the cosmos than indulge your mortal whims.”

You suppress a sigh, already feeling the weight of this conversation. But then Loki leans forward, his gaze locking onto yours.

“Still,” he says, his voice softer now, almost teasing, “I might be persuaded to cooperate. After all, it would be such a shame to disappoint you.”

There it is again—that deliberate charm, the way he threads his words with just enough sincerity to make you second-guess yourself. You fold your arms, meeting his gaze head-on.

“You don’t intimidate me, Loki.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to intimidate you,” he says, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “Merely... entertain you. Is that not the proper term for what mortals call ‘flirting’?”

Your stomach flips, but you keep your expression neutral. “If this is your idea of flirting, I’m not impressed.”

“Hmm,” he muses, leaning back again. “Perhaps I’ve spent too long among Asgardians. We have a certain... flair for tradition. Shall I compose you a sonnet instead? Or perhaps challenge another suitor to a duel in your honor?”

Despite yourself, a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. You quickly school your features, but not before Loki notices. His smirk widens.

“There it is,” he says, his tone triumphant. “A crack in the armor. I knew you weren’t entirely immune to my charms.”

You roll your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you tap a few notes into your tablet, focusing on the task at hand.

“Let’s get back to the matter at hand,” you say firmly. “Where did the devices come from?”

Loki sighs dramatically, as if the question bores him. “You mortals are so dreadfully predictable. Always demanding answers, yet never willing to pay the price for them.”

“What’s the price?”

He tilts his head, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Your name.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Your name, Agent,” he repeats, enunciating the words slowly, as if you’re a particularly dense student. “You see, it’s rather difficult to have a proper conversation when I must refer to you as simply ‘Agent.’ It’s so... impersonal.”

You hesitate. It’s not a particularly sensitive piece of information, but giving him your name feels like handing him a weapon. Still, you decide it’s a small concession if it means making progress.

“Y/N,” you say finally. “My name is Y/N.”

Loki’s smile softens, though it’s no less dangerous. “A beautiful name for a beautiful mortal. Tell me, Y/N, do all agents possess your... charm, or are you truly one of a kind?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” you reply, though your cheeks warm slightly at the compliment. You hope the harsh lighting hides it.

“Ah, but it’s not flattery if it’s true,” he counters smoothly. “And if I may say so, you wear skepticism rather well. It suits you.”

You shake your head, fighting the urge to laugh. Loki’s flirtations are relentless, but you can’t let them distract you. You refocus on the task, determined to get the answers you need.

But as the interrogation continues, one thing becomes clear: working with Loki is going to be anything but straightforward.

The quinjet ride to Avengers Tower is suffocating in its silence. Loki sits across from you, his long legs stretched out casually as if he owns the entire aircraft. His wrists remain bound, the faint glow of the Asgardian cuffs serving as a reminder of his diminished power. But that doesn’t stop him from exuding arrogance with every calculated shift of his posture.

“Is this where I’m supposed to tremble?” he muses, his voice cutting through the quiet. “The great Avengers Tower, lair of the mighty heroes who so thoroughly bested me.” His smirk deepens. “How quaint.”

You’re seated across from him, tablet in hand, pretending to review your notes. But Loki’s presence is impossible to ignore, his every word curling around you like smoke.

“Maybe don’t insult the people who’ll be watching your every move,” you say, not looking up. “They’re already not thrilled about this arrangement.”

He tilts his head, watching you with something between amusement and curiosity. “And you, Y/N? Are you thrilled?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Oh, but your job now entails keeping me under control, does it not?” His voice lowers, playful and conspiratorial. “Tell me, how does it feel to hold the leash of a god?”

You glance up, meeting his eyes without flinching. “It feels like babysitting a particularly arrogant toddler.”

His laughter rings out, rich and genuine, surprising you. For a moment, you think you’ve caught him off guard. But then his expression shifts back to its usual smugness, and you realize he’s thoroughly enjoying this verbal sparring.

When the quinjet lands on the rooftop pad of Avengers Tower, you rise, gesturing for Loki to follow. He does, the clinking of his cuffs echoing as he steps out into the open air. The city sprawls out below, glittering in the early evening light, but Loki barely spares it a glance. His focus remains on the tower itself, his smirk growing as he takes in the structure.

“Ah, Stark’s playground,” he says. “I trust the man himself is waiting inside, ready to deliver a string of tiresome quips?”

“Something like that,” you reply, leading him toward the elevator.

As the doors slide open, Loki steps inside with the air of a man entering his throne room. You press the button for the common floor, bracing yourself for the chaos that’s about to unfold.

The doors slide open to reveal the Avengers lounging in the common area. Tony Stark is leaning against the bar, a drink in hand, while Natasha Romanoff sharpens a knife at the table. Steve Rogers stands near the window, arms crossed, his jaw tight. Bruce Banner hovers awkwardly in the background, glancing up as you and Loki step in.

“Look who’s here!” Tony’s voice cuts through the tension, dripping with mock enthusiasm. “Reindeer Games himself. I thought Asgard had a no-returns policy.”

Loki’s lips curl into a predatory smile. “Ah, Stark. Still compensating for something, I see.”

“Alright, let’s not,” you interject quickly, stepping between them. “Loki’s here to help us, not pick a fight.”

“Help us?” Steve’s voice is cold, his gaze sharp as it settles on Loki. “That’s a generous interpretation.”

“It’s true,” you reply, keeping your tone firm. “We’ve encountered tech with energy signatures similar to the Tesseract. Loki’s the only one who might have answers.”

“Because trusting the guy who tried to enslave the planet worked out so well the first time,” Tony quips, raising his glass.

Loki chuckles softly. “It’s heartwarming to see how fondly you remember me.”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably in the corner, his eyes darting between Loki and the others. You don’t miss the tension in his posture, the way his hands twitch as if ready to retreat at a moment’s notice. Loki notices too, and for the first time since his arrival, a flicker of unease crosses his face. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

“I see the beast is still lurking,” Loki says, his voice quieter now, though the edge remains. “Tell me, Dr. Banner, does he hunger for revenge?”

Bruce flinches, his face pale. “I—I’d rather not...”

“Enough,” you cut in sharply, fixing Loki with a glare. “You’re here to cooperate, remember?”

Loki raises his hands as far as the cuffs allow, feigning innocence. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten the good doctor.”

Bruce mutters something under his breath and retreats further into the room. You make a mental note to keep an eye on both him and Loki; their shared tension feels like a powder keg waiting to ignite.

After the initial round of barbs, you manage to get Loki settled in a secure room. It’s more comfortable than the dungeons of Asgard but still far from luxurious—bare walls, a simple bed, and a reinforced door with biometric locks.

“Charming,” Loki says, surveying his new accommodations. “I feel right at home.”

“Good,” you reply, leaning against the doorframe. “Now, let’s get one thing straight. If you step out of line, even once, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

He steps closer, just enough to invade your space without crossing a line. His voice drops to a low purr. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t doubt your ability to... discipline me. In fact, I almost look forward to it.”

Your cheeks flush despite yourself, but you hold your ground. “Get some rest. We’ll debrief tomorrow.”

As you turn to leave, you hear his voice again, softer this time. “Y/N?”

You pause, glancing over your shoulder. He’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite place—curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper.

“Why do you trust them with me?” he asks. “Your precious Avengers. Do you truly believe they can keep me in line?”

You meet his gaze, your own unwavering. “I don’t trust them to keep you in line. That’s my job.”

His smirk returns, but there’s something almost genuine beneath it. “Indeed, it is.”

The following day, the team gathers in the briefing room. Loki is seated at the far end of the table, his wrists still bound, though his demeanor remains as smug as ever. A holographic projection displays images of the recovered devices, their design sleek and alien.

“These were found in an abandoned Hydra facility,” you explain, gesturing to the display. “They emit the same energy signature as the Tesseract, but we have no idea what they’re for. That’s where Loki comes in.”

All eyes turn to him. He leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

“Convince me,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “Why should I share my insights with you?”

“Because if you don’t,” Tony says, leaning forward, “we’ll lock you in a room with Banner and see how long it takes before the Other Guy wants a rematch.”

Bruce shoots Tony a horrified look, but Loki’s smirk falters for a split second. You notice the way his fingers tighten against the edge of the table.

“Enough,” you say firmly. “We’re not resorting to threats.” You turn to Loki, your voice softening slightly. “You know what’s out there, and you know how dangerous it can be. Help us stop it. Prove you’re not the monster everyone thinks you are.”

For a moment, the room is silent. Loki’s gaze locks onto yours, something flickering in his expression—something almost vulnerable. Then, slowly, he inclines his head.

“Very well,” he says, his voice smooth once more. “Let’s see if mortals can keep up.”

As the meeting disperses, Loki lingers behind, waiting until it’s just the two of you.

“Nicely done, Y/N,” he says, his tone almost... complimentary. “You’ve mastered the art of persuasion.”

“I didn’t persuade you,” you reply. “I just told the truth.”

He steps closer, his smirk returning. “And yet, it worked. I wonder, what other truths might you use to sway me?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Let’s focus on saving the world first, shall we?”

“As you wish,” he says, bowing his head slightly. But as he steps past you, his voice drops to a whisper. “Though I suspect saving me might be your true challenge.”

You watch him leave, your heart inexplicably pounding. This mission just got a lot more complicated.

The next morning, the Avengers leave in a flurry of purpose and energy, Stark’s voice echoing with instructions as they file out of the tower. It’s a rare sight—every single one of them heading into the field together. You’re left behind, tasked with monitoring Loki and keeping the tower secure.

The quiet that follows their departure is almost unnerving. You sit in the common area, flipping through a report on your tablet, when Loki saunters in. He’s unbound for now—S.H.I.E.L.D.’s restraints only used when necessary. His movements are languid, predatory, as he crosses the room with his usual air of entitlement.

“Left alone with me again, Y/N?” he drawls, leaning against the counter like he owns the place. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

You don’t look up. “You’re always alone, Loki. I’m just here to make sure you don’t destroy anything or anyone.”

He hums thoughtfully, his sharp gaze raking over you. “I wonder, is that truly why you remain? Or do you find my company... intriguing?”

You glance at him, exasperated. “I find it tolerable. At best.”

“And yet, here you are.” His smirk widens as he steps closer, just enough to test your boundaries. “Tell me, Agent, what do you do when the others aren’t here to play their parts? Surely, you don’t spend every waking moment in this dull little tower watching me.”

“Someone has to.” You set your tablet aside and stand, trying to put some distance between the two of you. “Why don’t you make my job easier and sit quietly for once?”

“But then how would I amuse myself?” He takes another step closer, his voice lowering. “You may not admit it, but I suspect you’d miss my antics if I were to behave.”

You roll your eyes and walk toward the kitchen, feigning indifference. “Don’t flatter yourself, Loki.”

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. You keep yourself busy with monitoring systems and catching up on reports, all while Loki stays suspiciously quiet in his room. It's unusual—he’s normally a restless presence, eager to test limits.

You assume his compliance is a sign of temporary boredom. What you don’t know is that Loki is lying in his sparse room, calculating. He’s been studying the tower’s security systems, searching for a way to slip past its safeguards. Tonight might be the night, he thinks. He’s memorized the patterns, the gaps, and he knows he can vanish before the Avengers even realize he’s gone.

As the hours stretch into evening, you retire to your room, unaware of the god’s intentions. Your space is a rare sanctuary in the tower, a blend of cozy practicality and personal touches that feel distinctly you.

Loki waits until the tower falls completely silent. With a wave of his hand, he disables the monitoring device in his room. It’s a minor spell—one he’s been saving for the right moment. The cuffs are no longer a problem; he’s studied the locking mechanism enough to slip them off without much effort.

He steps into the hallway, his bare feet silent on the cool floor. For the first time in weeks, he feels a surge of freedom, the tantalizing promise of escape. He heads for the exit, his mind already planning the next steps.

But as he passes by your room, a faint sound catches his attention. The door is slightly ajar, spilling a sliver of warm light into the hall. Loki hesitates, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

He peeks inside—and what he sees makes his breath hitch.

You’re standing in front of your bed, freshly out of the shower. Your hair is damp, curling against your shoulders, and you’re wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around your body. The bathroom door behind you is still open, steam curling into the air, and the glow of a bedside lamp bathes your skin in soft light.

Completely unaware of your observer, you move to the dresser, pulling it open to retrieve clothes. As you reach up, the towel slips slightly, revealing more of your shoulder and the curve of your collarbone. Loki swallows hard, a rush of heat pooling in his chest and spreading lower.

He knows he should leave—should slip away unnoticed and continue with his plan. But he doesn’t move.

There’s something captivating about this glimpse of you outside the professional walls you keep so firmly in place. You’re unguarded, human in a way he rarely sees, and it stirs something in him he doesn’t entirely understand.

He takes a step closer, his presence still undetected. The urge to say something, to tease you as he always does, bubbles up, but he suppresses it.

For once, the god of mischief is utterly silent.

You turn suddenly, as if sensing something, and his heart lurches. He retreats quickly, pressing himself against the wall just as your eyes flick toward the door.

“Hello?” you call, your voice uncertain.

Loki curses himself for his foolishness. He shouldn’t have lingered—but now that he’s seen this side of you, his desire to leave the tower has shifted. He watches as you step closer to the door, your expression wary.

He slips away, retreating to his room without a sound. Once inside, he leans against the wall, his mind racing.

The thought of escape still lingers in the back of his mind, but it no longer feels urgent. Not tonight.

Not when he knows you’re here, in the same space, entirely unaware of the effect you’ve had on him.

You find Loki in the common area, lounging on the couch as if nothing happened. His cuffs are back in place, though you notice a faint smugness in his expression, as if he knows something you don’t.

“Good morning,” he says smoothly, his tone laced with amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You seem chipper today.”

“Perhaps I’ve found reason to be,” he replies, his gaze flickering over you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You frown, brushing off the unease that his words stir. “Try not to enjoy yourself too much. You’re still under watch.”

“Of course,” he says with a slight bow of his head. “But tell me, Y/N, how did you sleep? Peacefully, I hope.”

There’s something about the way he says it—soft, teasing, with just a hint of mischief—that makes you pause.

You brush past him, refusing to let him get under your skin. But as you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, his gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts.

And in his room later, Loki sits at the edge of his bed, the memory of you from the night before seared into his mind.

For now, his escape can wait.

The tension in the air was thick as the Avengers gathered in the briefing room, the holographic screen showing images of the upcoming gala. Tony Stark stood at the head of the table, his hands resting on the surface, eyes narrowed as he analyzed the data. Steve Rogers was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his jaw set, while Natasha Romanoff sat with a focused expression, her fingers tapping lightly on the table. Bruce Banner, still uneasy around Loki, looked at the screen, then at his colleagues, silently awaiting the inevitable question.

"Alright," Tony began, his voice cutting through the thick silence. "We've got a masked gala happening in three days. High-profile event. The criminals we're tracking are expected to make a deal there, and it's our best shot at catching them."

"But they’ll be surrounded by a lot of people," Natasha said, folding her arms. "And these are highly dangerous individuals—some with connections to Hydra. We can’t risk a full-on assault."

"I agree," Steve added, his tone serious. "If we act too soon, we’ll spook them. We need to get inside, gather intel, and only move in when we have enough to bring them down safely."

"The problem," Tony continued, tapping a button on the table to bring up a closer view of the suspects, "is that they’re too well-protected. The best way in is through someone they don’t expect. Someone like... Loki."

The room went quiet. Everyone exchanged glances, the air thick with unease. Even though Loki had been cooperating—somewhat—the trust wasn’t there. Not after what he’d done. Not after the chaos he’d tried to bring to Earth. And still, his knowledge of these kinds of circles, his ability to navigate a room and blend in with the highest of society—well, it was a skill set they couldn’t afford to ignore.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” Tony continued. “But he’s the only one who can do this. We send him in as a guest. He can be charming—when he wants to be—and this kind of event is perfect for him. He won’t be recognized as a threat. In fact, they’ll probably be more inclined to trust him because of his past affiliations.”

“But we can’t just let him roam free,” Steve said, his distrust of the god evident. “There’s still the matter of him being dangerous. Even if he’s pretending to play nice, he’s unpredictable.”

“Exactly,” Tony said with a nod. “Which is why we’ll send Y/N in with him. As his escort.”

The room went silent again, this time for a different reason. Every eye turned to you, and for a brief moment, you felt the weight of their gazes. It wasn’t exactly a choice you’d been expecting. You had done plenty of fieldwork, but partnering with Loki? That was a new level of uncomfortable.

“Y/N’s been on the ground for this mission longer than any of us,” Tony continued, sensing the hesitation. “She knows the people, she knows how to blend in, and most importantly, she knows Loki better than any of us. She can keep him in check. Plus, we need someone who can keep him focused when things get... tense.”

You couldn’t help but shoot Tony a sharp look. “You’re assuming I’ll be able to control him. I’m not sure that’s realistic.”

“I’m confident you can,” Tony said with a shrug, though his tone was far from comforting. “Besides, we’ll be monitoring you both from the moment you step inside. We’ll be feeding you intel, and we’ve got backup in case things go sideways. But we can’t afford to miss this opportunity.”

You let out a long breath. The Avengers were right in one respect—this gala would be the criminals’ first big move, and it was the perfect chance to catch them red-handed. The only problem was the wild card in all of this—Loki.

“You do realize, he’s going to hate this, right?” you said, glancing toward the hallway where Loki’s room was. “He won’t go along with it without making some... demands.”

“I’m aware,” Tony said with a smirk. “But that’s where you come in. You’re going to keep him in line, whether he likes it or not.”

The idea of working so closely with Loki was disconcerting, to say the least. You weren’t sure if you were more concerned about his volatile personality or the way he looked at you—like he could read you with a single glance. Either way, being his partner at a high-stakes event was sure to turn this mission into something far more complicated than it already was.

“You’ll need to get him suited up,” Tony added. “Dress him the part. He’s got the charm, but he’s going to need the right... accessories to sell it. A tux, maybe something dark and mysterious. And, of course, a story. We’re going with the ‘rich but elusive businessman’ angle.”

You nodded reluctantly. “I’ll make sure he’s... presentable. But don’t expect him to be on his best behavior just because he’s wearing a suit.”

“I’m counting on you to make sure he stays in character, Y/N,” Tony said, locking eyes with you. “We need him to play nice for just a few hours. If he steps out of line, you have full clearance to use whatever means necessary to rein him in.”

Steve cleared his throat, stepping forward. “I don’t like putting you in this position, Y/N. But this is the only chance we’ve got to take down these criminals. You know the risks, and we’re counting on you to make sure Loki doesn’t derail everything.”

“I get it,” you replied, trying to sound more confident than you felt. “I’ll keep him focused. But if he decides to do something... foolish, don’t expect me to clean up after him.”

“That’s the spirit,” Tony said with a grin. “But seriously, we’re counting on you both. The gala is our best chance to catch them. You’ll be getting intel from us in real time, so we’ll know exactly when to move in.”

You nodded again, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on your shoulders. This wasn’t just about stopping criminals—it was about making sure Loki didn’t ruin everything, too. And while you could handle the job, you knew it wouldn’t be easy, especially with a god of mischief at your side.

As you walked to Loki’s room to prepare him for the mission, your mind raced. You were about to go undercover with someone who had a knack for turning every situation into a game. It was going to be a challenge, no doubt about it. But if it meant catching the criminals and keeping the tower—and your team—safe, you were ready to do whatever it took.

You reached his door and knocked twice, preparing yourself for the inevitable confrontation. It was time to bring him into the fold, even if that meant wrestling him into a tux and a plan.

Inside, Loki’s voice echoed through the door. “Come in, Y/N. I trust this isn’t a social call?”

You opened the door, steeling yourself. The mission was about to begin, and there was no turning back.

The grandeur of the gala hits you the moment you step into the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the crowd, illuminating the sea of elegant masks and opulent gowns. A live band plays a sultry melody, the kind that fills the air with the promise of secrets. Beside you, Loki cuts an imposing figure, his sharp suit tailored to perfection and his black mask veiling just enough of his face to make him look both alluring and dangerous.

You’re both walking a tightrope here, pretending to be something you’re not while still tethered to the truth. The mission is clear: mingle, gather intel on the criminals, and identify their deal. But the undercurrent of your arrangement hums just beneath the surface, threatening to pull you under with every step.

“They certainly went all out,” Loki muses, his voice smooth as silk. He offers his arm, and though you hesitate for a fraction of a second, you take it. “Is this where I play the doting husband?”

“Try not to overdo it,” you reply, keeping your voice low. “We’re supposed to blend in, not steal the spotlight.”

He tilts his head toward you, his lips curling into a smirk. “But stealing the spotlight is what I do best, darling.”

You give him a warning look, though your heart skips a beat at the way the endearment rolls off his tongue. “Save the theatrics for later. Right now, we need to find our targets.”

He hums in agreement, though the sharp gleam in his eyes suggests he’s more focused on you than the mission. His hand rests lightly over yours as he leads you through the crowd, weaving seamlessly between masked attendees. He’s good at this, you realize, his charm a perfect weapon in this environment.

“Smile,” he murmurs close to your ear, his breath ghosting against your skin. “You look far too serious for someone at a gala.”

You force a small smile, though the proximity of him sends heat rushing to your face. “I’d be more relaxed if I wasn’t babysitting a god with a penchant for chaos.”

“And I’d be more entertained if my wife weren’t so suspicious of me,” he teases, his voice dropping just enough to make the words feel intimate.

Before you can retort, Loki’s posture shifts ever so slightly. He leans closer, pretending to adjust your mask, and murmurs, “Our targets are at three o’clock. The tall one with the crimson gown. She’s speaking to a man with a cane.”

You glance subtly in that direction and nod. “Let’s move closer.”

The two of you drift toward the edge of the ballroom, positioning yourselves within earshot of the targets. Loki keeps his hand on yours, the intimate gesture lending an air of authenticity to your cover. You focus on the conversation happening nearby, picking up snippets of information about shipment schedules and encrypted codes.

But then, the music changes.

A familiar tune fills the room—sultry, electric, and unmistakably intense. It’s Bust Your Windows by Jazmine Sullivan, reimagined by the live band with a pulsing tango rhythm.

Before you can react, Loki takes your hand and spins you toward the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, trying to pull back.

“Keeping up appearances,” he says smoothly, his mask glinting in the light. “We’re a married couple, after all. And what better way to celebrate our love than a dance?”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, but you allow him to lead you onto the floor.

The second your feet touch the polished wood, his hand finds the small of your back, pulling you closer than you expect. His other hand captures yours, holding it just above shoulder height as he begins to move. The tango’s rhythm demands sharp, deliberate steps, and Loki executes them flawlessly, guiding you as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

“You’re surprisingly good at this,” you say, breathless as he spins you.

“I’m full of surprises,” he replies, his voice low and magnetic.

The music swells, the band leaning into the dramatic crescendos, and you feel the tension between you and Loki rise to match it. Every step, every twist of your body against his, feels charged. His hand lingers just a moment too long when it brushes your hip, his fingers grazing the bare skin between your dress and his touch.

“You’re supposed to be watching the targets,” you remind him, though your voice comes out shakier than you’d like.

“Ah, but how could I focus on them when my wife is such a vision?” His tone is playful, but there’s something darker, more serious, behind his words.

As he dips you, your breath catches. The movement is effortless, but the way his eyes bore into yours makes you forget, for a moment, that this is just an act.

The song’s climax hits, and Loki pulls you even closer, his cheek brushing yours as he whispers, “Tell me, darling. Are you pretending to enjoy this as much as I am?”

Your heart pounds, though you refuse to let him see how much he’s affecting you. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you haven’t pushed me away,” he counters, spinning you once more before the final beats of the song.

The last note hangs in the air as Loki holds you in a dramatic pose, his arm wrapped around your waist, his face inches from yours. The applause from the crowd barely registers as you realize your breathing has quickened, your skin warm where his hand rests.

He smirks, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “Shall we call this a victory, wife?”

You snap back to reality, pulling away just enough to compose yourself. “Don’t get used to it. We still have a mission.”

“Of course,” he says, though the glint in his eyes suggests he’s far more interested in the game he’s playing with you than the criminals in the room.

As the crowd disperses from the dance floor, you glance toward your targets, who seem to have moved toward a private balcony.

“Come on,” you say, tugging at his arm.

Loki follows, but not before leaning close and murmuring, “I’ll be thinking about that dance for a very long time.”

You don’t dignify him with a response, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you. The mission isn’t over yet, and you can only hope Loki’s antics won’t make things even more complicated.

You and Loki follow the targets carefully, keeping a measured distance as they make their way toward a secluded hallway leading to the gala’s private suites. The corridor is dimly lit, lined with ornate wallpaper and gilded sconces. The murmur of the crowd fades, leaving only the faint echo of footsteps as you press closer to the wall, your pulse quickening with the thrill of being so near to your goal.

“They’re heading to the west wing,” Loki whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “It seems our charming couple prefers privacy for their dealings.”

You nod, your heart pounding as you creep along the edge of the hall, trying to stay out of sight. The couple stops just ahead, speaking in hushed tones. Loki steps closer behind you, his presence almost overwhelming in the enclosed space.

“Keep your focus,” you hiss, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“Oh, I am focused,” he replies, his tone playful but quiet. “Though I can’t help but wonder how much longer we can linger without being noticed.”

It’s a valid concern. The targets seem engrossed in their conversation, but the corridor is too exposed. You glance around, searching for a place to retreat or a better angle to listen in, but before you can decide, one of the criminals glances back sharply, their eyes scanning the hallway.

“They’re looking this way,” Loki mutters, his voice low and urgent.

Panic shoots through you. There’s no time to retreat, no place to hide. Your mind races, and then—on pure instinct—you grab Loki by the lapels of his suit and pull him toward you.

Before he can protest, your lips press against his, your back hitting the wall as you lean into him. His body stiffens for a split second, but then he catches on. His hands come to rest on your waist, fingers curling slightly as he leans into the kiss, matching your urgency with surprising ease.

Your heart hammers in your chest, not just from the danger but from the sudden, electric sensation of Loki’s mouth on yours. His lips are soft yet commanding, his touch both calculated and possessive as he shifts his body to shield you further from view.

“What in the Nine Realms are you doing?” he whispers against your lips, his tone more intrigued than accusatory.

“Keeping us alive,” you murmur back, your voice barely audible as the footsteps approach.

The targets pass by slowly, their footsteps deliberate. You can feel their gaze sweep over you, but you don’t dare look. Instead, you pour every ounce of focus into the act, your fingers curling into the fabric of Loki’s jacket as you deepen the kiss just enough to sell it.

Loki seems to relish the role, tilting his head to deepen the kiss further. His thumb brushes against your waist, sending a shiver through you that has nothing to do with the cold.

A voice interrupts the moment, sharp and disapproving. “This is hardly the place for such displays.”

You part from Loki abruptly, your face hot as you turn to face the source of the scolding. One of the gala’s staff members, an older man in a crisp uniform, stands a few feet away, his expression one of polite disapproval.

“My apologies,” you say quickly, straightening your mask and trying to appear appropriately chastised. “We got… carried away.”

Loki, ever the performer, offers a sheepish smile that’s somehow more seductive than apologetic. “Forgive us. My wife and I have a difficult time restraining our passions.”

The staff member huffs, clearly unimpressed. “There are designated areas for such… activities. Keep it off the main floor.”

“Of course,” Loki replies smoothly, his hand still resting at the small of your back. “We’ll be more discreet.”

The staff member mutters something under his breath before walking away, and you exhale a shaky breath, your heart still racing. The targets are gone, having paid you no more than a passing glance. The plan worked.

You glance up at Loki, whose expression is unreadable behind his mask. “That was quick thinking,” he says finally, though there’s a teasing edge to his voice. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“It was survival,” you retort, stepping out of his hold and straightening your dress. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

He smirks, adjusting his own mask with an air of casual arrogance. “Too late for that, darling. I’m afraid you’ve given me quite a lot to think about.”

You glare at him, though the heat in your cheeks betrays you. “Focus, Loki. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

“Ah, but you see,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, “now I’m more motivated than ever to see this mission through. And who knows? Perhaps we’ll need to use that particular tactic again.”

You roll your eyes, brushing past him as you head back toward the main event. But as much as you want to dismiss his words, the lingering warmth of his kiss—and the way your body seemed to respond to him—stays with you, making it harder to focus than you’d like.

Loki follows close behind, his footsteps quiet but his presence impossible to ignore. And though neither of you speaks it aloud, there’s an unspoken awareness between you now—an understanding that something has shifted. Whether that’s a good thing or a dangerous one, only time will tell.

The ride back to the Avengers Tower is quieter than you expect, though tension hangs in the air, thick and unyielding. The mission was a success; you and Loki gathered enough intel to pinpoint the criminals’ next move and their precise location. As Tony pilots the jet, he and Natasha pore over the information, already strategizing for the intervention. Steve listens intently, his expression serious, while Bruce sits stiffly in his seat, keeping his distance from Loki, though the god seems entirely unfazed.

You sit across from Loki, your mask now discarded, but the memory of the gala’s events lingers. Every stolen glance, every near-discovery, and every moment you spent pressed against him still simmers in the back of your mind. You can feel his eyes on you, and though you refuse to look at him, your body betrays you, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Quite the evening,” Loki says suddenly, his voice smooth and low. His tone carries the same playful edge it always does, but there’s something else lurking beneath it—something darker, hungrier.

“Successful, at least,” you reply, keeping your voice even as you glance at him. “We accomplished what we came to do.”

“Indeed,” he says, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Though I dare say the evening held more… unexpected delights than anticipated.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can respond, Steve interrupts.

“Focus, you two,” he says sharply. “We’ve got work to do.”

Loki’s smirk widens, but he falls silent, leaning back in his seat with a satisfied air. You cross your arms, willing yourself to ignore him, though the memory of his kiss lingers, stubborn and persistent.

When you return to the Tower, the debriefing is quick and efficient. Tony projects the data you and Loki retrieved, detailing the location of the deal and the criminals’ schedule. The team agrees to strike at dawn, using the element of surprise to their advantage. As plans take shape, you feel a flicker of relief. The night’s tension will soon give way to action, and with any luck, this mission will end successfully.

Once the meeting adjourns, you catch Loki’s eye. “Come on,” you say, gesturing for him to follow. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

“As you wish,” he replies, rising gracefully from his seat.

The walk to his quarters is quiet at first. The Tower feels oddly still in the late hours, the hallways dimly lit. You lead the way, your mind spinning as you try to push away the lingering heat of the gala—the dance, the kiss, the way his hands felt on you. Loki walks beside you, his presence magnetic as ever, his gaze lingering on you even when you refuse to meet it.

When you reach his door, you stop, turning to face him. “Goodnight, Loki,” you say, your voice firm but polite.

But before you can step away, he moves closer.

“You’ve been avoiding my eyes all evening,” he says, his voice a low, velvety murmur. “Why is that, darling? Did I do something to unnerve you?”

“No,” you reply quickly, though the catch in your voice betrays you. “I’ve been focused on the mission, that’s all.”

“Liar,” he says softly, his smirk returning. “You’ve been thinking about it. About us. About the way I touched you, held you, kissed you.”

His words send a rush of heat through you, and you take a step back, your back hitting the wall. He follows, closing the distance until he’s mere inches away, his tall frame towering over you.

“Admit it,” he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You felt it, too—the spark, the fire. I see it in your eyes, Y/N. You want me just as much as I want you.”

You open your mouth to protest, but no words come out. Because he’s right. No matter how much you’ve tried to deny it, the truth is undeniable now, burning in every corner of your being.

His hand rises to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me to walk away, and I will.”

But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into his touch, your resolve crumbling as the need overtakes you. Loki’s eyes darken, his breath hitching as he realizes your answer.

With a groan, he closes the distance, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s nothing like the one at the gala. This kiss is raw, urgent, and unrestrained, a culmination of every unspoken word and every stolen glance. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as his lips move against yours with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

And to his surprise—and yours—you kiss him back with just as much passion. Your fingers thread through his dark hair, pulling him closer as you lose yourself in the moment. The world falls away, leaving only the heat of his touch and the hunger in his kiss.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing hard, your foreheads resting together. Loki’s hands remain on your waist, his grip firm yet gentle as if he’s afraid you might pull away.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse but tender.

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you press your lips to his again, silencing any words with a kiss that speaks volumes. For now, words don’t matter. All that matters is this—this moment, this connection, this fire that neither of you can deny anymore.

And for the first time, neither of you tries to.

The Tower feels different now, quieter in the wake of the mission’s success. The criminals have been apprehended, their operation dismantled, and SHIELD has taken over for the cleanup. But despite the victory, a strange tension lingers, heavy and unspoken. Fury and Thor are locked in discussions about Loki’s fate, and you and Loki are left waiting in his room, suspended in uncertainty.

The silence between you is unlike any other you’ve shared before. It’s not sharp with banter or charged with playful tension; it’s softer, quieter, tinged with something neither of you is willing to name.

You sit on the edge of the small couch by the window, gazing out at the city lights glittering against the dark sky. Loki leans against the desk, his long fingers idly toying with the edge of a book. For once, he’s still—not prowling or pacing, not filling the room with his restless energy.

“They’re taking their time,” you murmur, your voice cutting through the silence.

“They always do,” Loki replies, though his tone lacks its usual sarcasm.

You glance at him, studying his profile. He looks calm, almost serene, but you’ve spent enough time with him to see through the mask. The faint furrow in his brow, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands grip the book just a little too tightly—they all betray him.

“They’ll make the right decision,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him.

He scoffs lightly but doesn’t look at you. “The right decision,” he repeats, the words laced with bitterness. “That depends entirely on who is defining it.”

You sigh, standing and moving closer to him. “Loki, you helped. You could’ve run at any point during this mission, but you didn’t. That has to count for something.”

His lips twist into a faint smirk, though there’s no humor in it. “And do you think that will sway Fury or my brother? Do you think they’ll forget what I’ve done? The chaos, the destruction?”

“They don’t have to forget,” you say, stepping even closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “But they can see that you’re not the same person who attacked New York. You’ve changed, Loki.”

His gaze finally lifts to meet yours, and for a moment, something raw flashes in his eyes—something vulnerable and uncertain. “Have I?”

You place your hand over his, stilling his restless movements. “Yes. You have. I see it. And if they can’t, then that’s their failure, not yours.”

The room falls into silence again, but this time, it feels different. Loki’s hand shifts beneath yours, his fingers curling around yours as he exhales slowly.

“What do you think they’ll decide?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “But whatever happens, we’ll face it. Together.”

His eyes search yours, and for a moment, the mask falls away entirely. You see the man beneath—the uncertainty, the fear, the hope he doesn’t dare acknowledge.

“You say that as if you’ll still be by my side when this is over,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t hesitate. “I will be.”

His hand tightens on yours, his eyes holding yours as if trying to memorize every detail. Then, without warning, he pulls you closer, his other hand rising to cradle your face.

“If this is to be the last time we’re alone,” he says, his voice trembling slightly, “then let it be a moment worth remembering.”

Your heart aches at the words, at the vulnerability he’s showing. But you don’t argue. Instead, you lean into him, closing the gap between you.

The kiss is different this time. It’s not urgent or hungry but slow and lingering, filled with a quiet desperation. His lips move against yours as if savoring every second, every touch, every taste. His hands are gentle, one cradling your cheek while the other rests on your waist, anchoring you to him.

You lose yourself in him, in the way he holds you like you’re something fragile and precious, in the way his touch feels like both a promise and a farewell.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, and the world outside feels impossibly far away.

“No matter what they decide,” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly, “you’re not alone. You never will be.”

For a long moment, Loki doesn’t speak. Then he nods, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek as he closes his eyes.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, the words so quiet you almost miss them.

The two of you stay like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the world outside fade away. For now, there’s no SHIELD, no judgment, no uncertain future. There’s only this—this moment, this connection, this fragile yet unbreakable bond.

And for now, that’s enough.

The knock at the door comes like a thunderclap, shattering the fragile stillness you and Loki have wrapped yourselves in. You tense in his arms, and his grip on you tightens briefly before he lets you go, stepping back as though putting distance between you is the only way to shield himself from what’s coming.

You take a deep breath and move to answer the door, Loki trailing behind you. When you open it, you’re greeted by the imposing figures of Nick Fury and Thor. Fury’s face is unreadable, his single eye piercing as it moves between you and Loki. Thor’s expression is graver than you’ve ever seen it, a heaviness in his gaze that sends a chill down your spine.

“May we come in?” Fury asks, his voice clipped.

You nod, stepping aside to let them enter. Loki lingers near the window, his posture deceptively casual as he leans against the wall. But you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curl faintly against his sides.

Fury and Thor take positions near the center of the room, both of them standing tall and commanding. Thor’s gaze lingers on Loki, a mix of concern and judgment flashing across his face.

“We’ve reached a decision,” Fury begins, his tone as sharp as ever. “It wasn’t an easy one, considering everything Loki has done in the past and the risks he poses in the future.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you glance at Loki. He’s staring at Fury now, his expression a careful mask of indifference.

“Loki Laufeyson,” Thor says, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Your actions during this mission have proven that you are capable of aiding Midgard without causing harm. However, they do not erase the destruction you have wrought.”

Loki raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “How magnanimous of you, brother. Do get to the point.”

Thor’s jaw tightens, but he presses on. “You will not be returned to Asgard’s dungeons. Instead, you will remain here, under the supervision of SHIELD and the Avengers. Your movements will be restricted, and any deviation from the terms of your parole will result in severe consequences.”

Fury nods. “Think of it as probation. You step out of line, you’re done. No exceptions.”

You exhale a shaky breath, relief flooding through you despite the harshness of their words. Loki isn’t going back to Asgard’s prison. He isn’t being taken away.

Loki, however, seems less than impressed. “So, I am to be your prisoner still, but with a longer leash?”

“Consider it an opportunity,” Thor says, his tone softening slightly. “To prove that you are more than your past mistakes.”

Loki’s smirk fades, and for a moment, something unreadable flashes in his eyes. He looks away, his gaze drifting to the window.

“And what role do I play in this… probation?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

“You’ll assist the Avengers as needed,” Fury says bluntly. “Your skills are… useful, when not being used to destroy things.”

“Charming,” Loki mutters.

Fury ignores the comment, turning his attention to you. “As for you, Y/N, you’ll remain his primary handler. You’ve proven capable of keeping him in check, and frankly, you’re the only one he seems remotely willing to listen to.”

The weight of the responsibility settles over you, but you nod firmly. “Understood.”

Thor steps forward then, his gaze fixed on Loki. “Do not squander this chance, brother. It may be the only one you are given.”

Loki meets his gaze, his expression unreadable. “I’ll endeavor not to disappoint you, Thor.”

The words are polite, but there’s a sharpness to them, a bitterness that hasn’t faded. Thor watches him for a moment longer before nodding and turning to leave. Fury follows, but not before giving you a pointed look.

“Keep him in line,” he says, and then he’s gone, the door closing behind him.

The room falls into silence again, heavier now than before. You turn to Loki, who remains by the window, his back to you.

“Well,” he says finally, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “It seems I’m to be your ward indefinitely. I hope you’re prepared for the burden.”

You take a step closer, your heart aching at the undercurrent of vulnerability in his tone. “Loki… this is a second chance. They didn’t have to give you that.”

He turns to face you, his expression guarded. “A second chance to serve as their pet sorcerer, you mean. To be tolerated, not trusted.”

“It’s more than that,” you insist, moving closer still. “It’s a chance to prove them wrong. To show them who you really are.”

“And who is that, Y/N?” he asks, his voice dropping. “Who do you think I really am?”

You hesitate, your throat tightening as you search for the right words. “I think you’re someone who’s been hurt, someone who’s made mistakes, but someone who’s still capable of doing good. Of being… more.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his expression softening ever so slightly. Then, to your surprise, he chuckles—a quiet, almost bitter sound.

“You are a strange woman, Y/N,” he says, shaking his head. “But perhaps that’s what I need.”

You smile faintly, stepping even closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “You’ll never have to face this alone, Loki. Not as long as I’m here.”

He gazes at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, slowly, he lifts a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“You’re maddening, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and tender.

“Then we’re even,” you reply, your lips quirking into a faint smile.

For the first time that night, his smirk softens into something more genuine. And as he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, the weight of the world outside fades, leaving only the two of you in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

[moonselune]

Hello! I was wondering if you could write something with god Gale where Gale is being rude about their times as mortals and the reader just snaps at them? Reader goes full rant mode about all the little things they miss about being mortal. Like the feeling of the sun on their skin, or the smell just after it rains. Thanks a lot! I really love your writing! 💜

Yes yes yes yes yes I love this and I hope you do to and thank you so much!

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God!Gale x Reader | The little things

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In Gale’s domain, the air hummed with arcane energy, the very walls of his celestial realm pulsing in time with the weave itself. You had long since grown accustomed to the shimmering light that surrounded everything, a reflection of his immense power and the world he had shaped for himself—and now, for you. Everything here was perfect, pristine, and untouchable. But at times, that perfection felt like a cage.

Gale sat at his grand table, casually drumming his fingers on the polished surface as he reminisced about the days when you both had been mere mortals. His words were laced with thinly veiled disdain, his tone almost mocking.

"Mortality," he mused, his voice deep and measured. "Such a limited, tedious existence. The constant hunger, the frailty of the body, the fleetingness of time. I don’t know how we ever tolerated it for as long as we did."

You stood beside him, your back stiffening as his words grated against you. You had heard this before—how he reveled in his godhood, in the transcendence of all the things that had once made life real, tangible. He spoke as though being mortal had been a burden, something to be discarded like a worn-out cloak. But for you, it wasn’t that simple. The more he went on, the tighter the knot in your chest became, and finally, something inside you snapped.

“You don’t know how we tolerated it?” you cut in sharply, your voice rising as you turned to face him, the frustration you’d been holding back for centuries bubbling to the surface. “How about because it was real, Gale? Everything meant something. You talk about mortality like it was some kind of curse, but do you even remember what it felt like?”

Gale blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden outburst, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.

“Of course I do,” he said, his tone measured but slightly defensive. “But I’ve evolved past—”

“No, you don’t,” you interrupted, your voice trembling with emotion now. “You’ve forgotten. You’ve forgotten all the little things that made life worth living.”

You stepped closer to him, your eyes burning with unshed tears of frustration. “You’ve forgotten what it felt like to have the sun warm your skin on a crisp morning. Or the smell of the earth just after it rained, when everything felt fresh and new. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel the grass between your toes, or to stand in the breeze and just—breathe.”

Gale sat up straighter, his brow furrowing as he opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t let him.

“You’ve forgotten what it felt like to get lost in a book for hours, to feel tiredness settle in your bones at the end of the day after doing something meaningful. Or even just the taste of food after being hungry, or that first sip of wine that warms you from the inside out. You miss the beauty in the fleetingness of it all! You miss—” Your voice cracked, and you took a shaky breath before continuing. “You miss the simple joy of being alive. Of being human.”

Gale’s expression shifted, the amusement gone from his face now, replaced by something more guarded—perhaps even regretful. But still, he remained silent, his gaze fixed on you as if trying to comprehend the weight of your words.

“And sure,” you continued, your voice softer now but no less impassioned, “maybe we don’t have to worry about those things anymore. We don’t feel hunger, or fatigue, or pain. But we’ve lost something too, Gale. We’ve lost the very things that made us who we were. The things that made life real.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the rawness of your emotions leaving you exposed. “You can sit here and talk about how much better it is to be a god, how much more powerful and perfect it is—but I miss being mortal. I miss the imperfection, the fleetingness, the moments that mattered because we knew they wouldn’t last.”

For a long moment, silence hung between the two of you, the tension in the air palpable. Gale’s gaze softened, his godly aura dimming slightly as he absorbed your words. He looked away, his hands stilling on the table as if the gravity of what you had said weighed heavy on him.

“I never… thought of it that way,” he finally said, his voice quieter, less certain than before. “You’re right. I’ve been too focused on what we’ve gained, and I’ve forgotten what we left behind.”

You swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the storm of emotions that had erupted from deep inside you.

“We didn’t just leave it behind, Gale,” you whispered. “We lost it.”

He rose from his seat, stepping toward you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to see the world through your perspective. Slowly, he reached out, taking your hand in his, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

“I never meant to diminish what we had,” he said softly. “I only wanted to protect you, to give you everything.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling over. “I don’t want everything,” you whispered. “I just want something. Something real.”

For the first time in what felt like centuries, Gale seemed to falter, his divine confidence wavering. He drew you into his arms, holding you close, and for a brief moment, it felt almost mortal—almost human.

“I’ll try,” he murmured into your hair, his voice tinged with an unfamiliar vulnerability. “I’ll try to remember. For you.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

A little god gale piece for you all, I hope you enjoy it !! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[mintartem]

I really love your Poseidon!!! ❤️❤️

Also, angst time! What if the 600 strikes happened when Poseidon is pregnant? + plus point if Ody doesnt even know about it :")

No not miscarriage! I can’t handle that! <- just joking I love angst.

The timeline won’t match up. To make this make sense, this is completely different from the whole Posiren shenanigans. It’s a whole story of its own.

I think that would break Poseidon. Imagine failing to avenge your blinded son, who by the way is still angry at you until you kill the mortal who blinded him, being beaten by a mortal despite being one of the big three, and now losing the children that you are carrying that you promised to protect.

Poseidon’s storm wouldn’t be raging. It’s more akin to weeping clouds than an angry hurricane. The fish caught by fishermen appear unhealthy, sickly, and they dont even catch a lot of fish. The salty sea breeze has a faint hint of the smell of tears. The waves crashed and raged against each other leaving fishermen and other traveling ships going off course, stranded at sea, or worse, sunken.

Many prayed to the sea god to end this catastrophe. Offerings of the finest quality were given and the best live stock were sacrificed. None were enough. It’s almost similar to when Demeter lost her child for the first time.

Deep in the sea, there is a palace made of gold, with pearls and other stones that can only be found within the ocean, sat on his throne is the god of the sea. His face appears blank. His trident, normally at his side, was thrown far across the other side of the room. One of his hands is clutching his flat stomach. His eyes shows extreme sadness. And yet the Earth-shaker did not weep, for his domain did it for him.

And then cut to Odysseus.

Odysseus stood at the courtyard of his palace, glaring at the sea. He watched the waves clash savagely against each other, completely different from its normally graceful dance.

“What is it this time Poseidon?” He screamed to the horizon. “You won! I may have won our fight on the rock, but you still won the war! I’ve become ruthless, just like you wanted, just like you taught me!”

Tears prickled at the corner of the king’s eyes. He just got home! He finally got reunited with his family and kingdom. Things were looking up! Why did such a catastrophe have to happen now?

“No need to yell. Us gods can hear even a mortal’s faintest whispers if we so choose.”

Odysseus quickly turn his head around, almost making him dizzy. There stood, hovered, Hermes. “Hello, old friend” said the messenger with a sad smile.

“Hermes?”

The god laughed, not in the same way they met the first nor the second time. This laughed sounds fake, hiding the sadness visible in the messenger’s eyes.

“You have beaten him, yes. And he may have won. But at a cost.” The god of travels started. “For you, it’s your humanity, your mercy. But for the god of the sea…” Hermes trailed off. The immortal looked at the sea for a moment. When Hermes looked back at Odysseus, Odysseus felt his breath hitched when the God of Travels’ irises were gone, reminding Odysseus that Hermes is still a god despite being on friendly terms with him.

“For the god of the sea he lost his unborn children that, may I add, you put in him.”

Odysseus froze. His hands felt cold yet sweaty. His heart rate increased, beating wildly against his chest. He killed unborn children? Killing an infant is one thing, but killing the unborn? Odysseus felt his stomach churn. A wave of Nausea passed over him.

“The gods have sent me to give you a message.” Hermes’ loud echoing voice took Odysseus away from his thoughts. “You shall travel to the deepest parts of the sea, seek out Poseidon, and undo the chaos that has begun. These orders are from Zeus himself.”

This is more of a concept that I may draw because the whole Posiren Pregnancy saga is intended to be comedic and unserious. But damn, this has a lot of potential!

How the babies are formed? Let’s just chalk it up to: at some point during his time in Ogygia, Odysseus dreamt of meeting Poseidon and then fucking him, not realising that it is the god himself that he was fucking (in Ody’s defense, it is in a dream).

Why did the babies died? Demi-gods turning out to be immortal seems to be a rare occurrence, not 50/50 (like I thought it was at first.) Achilles isn’t immortal (in some versions he is but because of Thetis’ attempt to change Achilles’ fate.) Not only that but also, Ody did used Poseidon’s own divine weapon against him.

[lilylovestowrite]

Could I request Gepard with a chef! reader who enjoys cooking for him?

Reader loves to spoil Gepard with homemade bread or cake. Upon realizing that he skips meals, reader decided to take action and make him boxed lunches.

SWEET LIKE BUTTERCREAM! ୨♡୧

PAIRING ୨♡୧ (Gepard Landau x Gn! Chef! Reader)

WARNINGS ୨♡୧ None

SYNOPSIS ୨♡୧ Your husband has been neglecting himself, and you decide to spoil him rotten. 

WORD COUNT ୨♡୧ 1.5k

A/N ୨♡୧ Thank you for the request, Anon! I know you didn’t specify whether the reader was married to him or not, but Gepard is so husband material that I couldn’t help myself. Hopefully you don’t mind! Please enjoy!

Divider by @/cafekitsune

“Honey,” Gepard echoes through the entryway to the kitchen, “I’m here.” 

You can’t hear him through the chaos, but he can hear you barking orders at your coworkers. Even your yelling soothes him to a certain degree. Still, he wants you to talk to him, so he shuffles through the tight squeeze in between the kitchen island and the ovens. Honestly, even though he’s a guard, his workplace is almost as dangerous as yours. The smell is heavenly, saffron and spices waking him (and his stomach) from a stress-induced daze, but the discord is immeasurable. 

He can hear you asking (shouting) for someone to check on the tiramisu, followed by a louder, “Thank you!” which makes him chuckle. That’s what the blond first noticed about you: even in dire situations, you never forget your manners. The memory of a rainy day in Belobog flashes through his mind: on his daily rounds, he finds a figure dressed in an adorable frog raincoat, beating a thief with their matching frog umbrella, hollering tearful apologies with each strike. Whilst as a Landau, his teachings have raised him to believe that ‘manners maketh man’, that scene was a rather overexaggerated use of the phrase. Nevertheless, the second he met your teary gaze, he was so enraptured by you that he nearly stumbled into a puddle. He’s about to melt into one too, watching you work away with that little look of concentration that makes him want to scoop you up. 

“Darling?” Your husband calls once more, just metres away from you. Finally, you turn around. Meeting his deep blue eyes, taking in his tired tiny smile and outstretched arms, you leap right into his arms. You’re not one to throw yourself at people, nor are you one for physical touch, but of the many years you’ve known him, Gepard will always catch you if you fall. It’s that trust that allows you to dive into his embrace every time he visits you at work, he’s just so reliable. 

“Hello handsome,” you hug him so tightly he nearly stumbles backwards, “back from work so early?” It’s then that you do a double take at him. Gepard is never home from work early. He’s a doting husband, yes, but he’s an equally hard-working Captain. You hug him harder and realise just how much skinnier he’s gotten. “You must be sick, sit down. Let’s get you to the private lounge.” You take a deep breath, ready to yell once more, and Gepard shuts his eyes in anticipation of another wave of noise-barrier-breaking-banter. “Jiaoqiu, I trust you’ll keep things running?” The new foxian chef nods, and you leave your domain with your husband behind you. 

Working as a chef in a hotel is a stressful job: entitled customers who plant hairs in their food to get a discount, waiting staff who hand in an order that is completely illegible, the loud hustle and bustle of the kitchen. It’s not for the weak, and your employers are appreciative of that fact and give the cooks a little lounge. Even for a five star hotel, it’s amazing they even considered it in the first place. You take full advantage of their kindness and lead your husband to one of the cream coloured couches. The sea is visible from the lounge, full glass windows making you feel as if you’re trapped in an ice cube. The hues of sunset begin to paint the sky, light red casting light on the hollows under Gepard’s eyes. 

“Geppie, you haven’t been overworking yourself and skipping meals again, have you?” 

He looks away, slightly red: “It’s not that bad. It’s just a few meals.” He winces, his soft voice jaded from fatigue. To make matters worse, his stomach rumbles ferociously. He covers his stomach with white gloved hands, blue eyes widening with panic. “Listen, go back to work, love, I promise I’ll eat once we get home. Just, don’t do that thing where you go insane trying to cater to me. You work a full-time job too, don’t let me get in the way. I’m a grown man, I can take care of myself.” 

“You’re a grown man when I saw you are, Geppie. I’m bringing you pasta, just the way you like it.” You flash him a pout, frustration building up inside of you. You hate seeing your husband neglect himself like this, every time you see him convince people around him when he’s fine when he’s obviously struggling, it hurts. You two lead your lives in effortless synchronicity, like a perfectly executed ice skating performance, so observing his health deteriorate when you two are so close it’s like you share the same chambers of your heart is hurtful to you too. You’ve given him his space, but now it’s time for an intervention.

“You don’t have to cook me pasta, darling, I can cook too, you know?” 

You grab both of his legs and rest it on the white fancy coffee table in front of you so suddenly, he startles and jumps back like a frightened rabbit. You fetch him a blanket from the hotel cabinet and drape it over him. “I know you can, love,” you run your hand through his soft hair and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy, “but just let me handle it tonight, okay?”

He yawns, finally giving in. “Okay honey, but only for tonight.” Gepard replies, his Captain’s authoritative lilt leaking into his words. 

But that voice doesn’t work on you, it seems, because the next day during his patrol, you bound up to him like a puppy. Gepard may walk into you at times, and you will greet each other, maybe share a kiss. But you know not to interrupt his work, as any lack of diligence may result in casualties in rare cases. But Gepard doesn’t want to take that gamble. Today, however, in this picturesque sunny day, the sky the shade of his eyes, there is something hidden behind your back. 

“Darling, hello! Are you enjoying your day off- oof!” The second he reaches out to kiss the back of your hand, you smack an adorably wrapped box into his arms. Although he is in his uniform, perfectly built to protect him, he does stumble back slightly. He assesses the box, unwrapping the floral pink fabric that holds it, and finds a bento box. “Wait, love, I love your cooking but we have food at work, don’t waste your day off on-��� His voice trails off, because as he looks in front of him again, you’ve already vanished. He shakes his head dismissively, “What a sly fox.” But a few of the Silvermane Guards at the same post as him watch as a wide smile breaks out on his face, along with a blush that turns the tip of his ears a deep pink. 

It has become a daily thing now. And although Gepard feels a bit ashamed that his partner is babying him, the complete truth is that on your days off, he intentionally ‘forgets’ his bento box just so you can find him and hand it to him then. It’s no different three months later, when you stomp up to him in your wellie boots, under your frog umbrella. “Hello, love.” He greets, ruffling your hair and taking the bento box. He looks at the fabric that decorates it and tilts his head to look at you better. “I like the ducks on this one, it’s cute.” When he laughs with the same softness as a tiny bell, you swoon softly, even more so now that he’s gained some of his baby fat back on his cheeks after your rigorous diet schedules. It makes him seem so much more peppier, and now that things are a bit more difficult for you at work, he’s been stepping up and taking care of you too. It shows now more than ever that he’s less overworked. There’s a pep in his step, all signs of tiredness in his face replaced with a healthy glow and rosy tint in his cheeks. He makes your cheeks bloom with heat when he kisses the back of your palm, his common Prince-like greeting. “So, what did you make this time?” 

“I made some linguini and I had some leftover battenburg cake, so that’s in there too! It’s a bit chilly today, so wrap up warm, sweetheart. I’ll get going now, I have to pick up some groceries.” You’re about to turn away, but Gerpard calls your name in such a way, it resembles the light and sweet taste of buttercream. 

“Wait! Before you go,” he sets the bento box on a nearby bench and lifts you up for a kiss. You meet his lips and exchange a cold kiss that ends up warming the both of you up significantly. “I’ll see you at home, angel.” He smiles, putting you down. You say your goodbyes and walk away, heart swelling with affection and excitement for the next time he opens the door to your house so you can leap into his arms once again. 

[npookie0]

Hi! Can I request something? It's my first time requesting in tumblr Here I go! Can you do a one-shot with V with a reader who's a mute? I sorta need a comfort fic right now. If It's okay! I love your Ronin fanfic about it

Loud in the Silence.

V x mute!g.n.reader, comfort, fluff

Words: 3354

Cws: spoilers for Killer Chat!

"Mx Y/n, please try to say 'hi'." Your therapist told you, she's been telling you the same thing for years now.

Years of speaking exercises, therapy and many other exhausting things. Even with so many procedures, you were still unable to talk and your doctors were slowly losing all hope for your case. Every doctor you visited kept on reassuring you that you can overcome your muteness, but no matter how much effort you've put into the exercises, it all ended in vain.

This time was no different, you were leaving the doctor's office, resignation in the man's eyes, exhaustion on his face. You were a lost cause, you accepted it a long time ago. Not speaking wasn't so terrible... alright it was. It was a lot. You hated it, hated being treated like a lost child, like someone weak who needs others to do things for them, the special treatment. Being treated like some kind of alien because of your muteness was the worst.

I'm used to this. You kept on telling yourself, bottling your feelings inside, shutting away from the world and people who hurt you.

You've reached home, put your bag on its place, kicked off your shoes and made your way to your study-bedroom to work some more on your serial killer book. You wanted to be a new promising criminal novelist, that was your dream since forever.

Writing was the only form of escapism for you, the only thing you didn't feel judged for not talking. People only cared about the words you wrote, not the ones you said. It brought you comfort, something to keep you away from these overwhelming thoughts that made your mind so unbearably heavy.

This doesn't feel right".

You grunted in frustration, erasing a whole freshly filled page. This character, they felt so unrealistic, the murder was poorly executed, nothing made sense. You will never be a great author if you will continue on like this. It was fine time you touched some... less than legal resources.

After days of leaving interesting question on the dark web and feared your IP getting leaked anytime you received a reply to your posts.

You opened the site, wrote up a new post and clicked "send" then you noticed a new private message, you opened the chat, the person was marked as unknown. Of course they were. They sent you a link and a key, you were curious so you opened the link and filled in the password.

A chatting site showed up on your screen, you were in the main channel that slowly got flooded with welcoming messages. It was weird. A server with eight members, made specifically on the dark web of all places. It definitely screamed trouble from distance, but you already joined and there was an active threat that whoever owns the server has your IP, so why not stay?

<Y/n>: Hello, thanks for the warm welcome.

You sent your first message.

<goreboy>: your welcome darlin' <goreboy>: check out the rules, there's not much but y'know

You took a note of the person by the name "goreboy" words and entered the channel.

<goreboy>: be a serial killer, First rule of fight club <goreboy>: oh yeah and don't be transphobic, racist and just weird or angel will Snipe ya

<Angelic> And that's a promise, not a threat.

Serial killer? That has to be a joke or some stupid roleplay.

You thought, it was the most logical conclusion you could come up with. These people couldn't be serial killers, why would serial killers make a whole server anyway? It's probably some silly roleplay made by bored people who were too deep into their roleplay and decided to use the dark web as their domain. Yes, that sounds logical.

But what if these are real serial killers?

Doubts began to cloud your mind, there was no reason for them to lie about this either. You had to find out the truth some way. Asking them about it would be suspicious. A supposed serial killer asking other serials if they truly are who they say they are? Yeah that's your one way ticked to a grave.

You scanned the server members and an idea came to your mind.

Why not ask a specific person about their identity?

That idea should work, there was no way it would flop, or so you hoped.

<Y/n>: @/K9, are you the serial killer who kills other bad people?

You sent the message. Why did you choose that person? You didn't know, this member seemed to be the most interesting out of all the others.

<K9>: I refuse to be associated with these wild beast. I am a vigilante.

<goreboy>: don't Listen to v, he's As killer as The rest of us are.

Oh, I am seriously in a den of serial killers... how exciting.

Logic told you to leave, call the police and let them handle this, but something stopped you. You could use this as an opportunity to shape your story, get to know how the other serials operate, get inside their heads in a way. What better way to learn than by making them believe that you are one of them?

Two weeks had passed, you've been enjoying your time playing pretend with the killers and hoping that they won't learn about your serial killer persona being just an act.

You entered the #killer_shit channel to see some discourse started by Misaki about blood art, a curious choice for a topic, but these people also talked about gutting someone open or what torture methods are the most painful.

<goreboy>: hey Y/n, you've Been here for weeks by Now and we still don't know shit about ya <goreboy> isn't it a li'l weird?

Shit.

Of course, it couldn't be too easy. You should have expected them to catch up on the way you were more of a lurker and that you rarely participated in murder talk.

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL>: Yeah dude you're totally rightttt

<Y/n>: Isn't being a mystery a good thing? ^^"

You didn't really know what to do so you had to improvise. A serial killer could want to not reveal a lot about themselves, right?

<goreboy>: i mean, if ya Want someone To open you up and see your li'l secrets then im After the job, darlin'

Okay maybe being an enigma wasn't such a great idea as you originally thought.

<goreboy>: c'mon, let's have A voice call Reveal

<hitmeuppp>: OMG yesss we should do that!!!

<LUCA_IS_SO_COOL>: I second this!!!1

<Felicite>: I third this...!

Oh you are in so much trouble.

You obviously can't join the call, unless you magically overcome your muteness in five seconds or less and telling them that you have to stay on mute would make you sound like some cop trying to get information about them.

Your hands were sweating as they hoovered over the keyboard, barely tapping on the letters you wrote.

<Y/n>: I'm very sorry, I can't call now.

You left the chat after you sent this, too stressed to see their replies, you didn't want to see their disappointment or anger.

While you were worrying about the consequences of your words, a pop up shown on your screen; K9 wants to DM you.

You blinked a few times. What does he want?

V didn't strike you as someone who would message you out of the blue, he didn't show up on the server much after you joined, unless Ronin made a new announcement or the topic was "immoral" enough.

You agreed to the request and then received a message.

<K9>: Is there a reason for your inability to call right now?

Oh wow, he's forward.

You bit your lower lip. What should you do now? Lie? Tell the truth? You didn't want to hide the truth about being mute, but seeing it in your texts with someone felt humiliating.

Then, another idea popped into your mind. It was risky, could fail or give you more trouble, but it could also make one serial killer (or a vigilante in this case) side with you.

You prepared the item for your plan and called V, not asking him if is able to have a short call now.

To your surprise he picked up and he looked better than you could ever imagine a serial killer to look like. Beautiful eyes that looked at your coldly and judgemental, dark braids put up in a ponytail and falling down his shoulders. He looked majestic, you can't remember ever seeing as handsome.

Stop, stop, stop. This is not the time for this.

You scolded yourself in your mind, you can dote over the way he looks some other time, you had a plan to go through with.

Before you could say anything you moved the notebook that you were nervously holding in your hands to the camera, somehow the text on it wasn't inverted.

You watched him mouth the message you wrote; I am mute, I can't speak. His face froze in shock, shock turning into understanding.

Not pity, not sadness, not disgust like some other people you knew. Just pure understanding, acceptance. It almost made you tear up. For the first time someone didn't judge you for your disability, didn't flood you with uncomfortable questions or declared that they'll teach you how to speak.

"I see. it would be truly uncomfortable to join a call in this situation." He said.

Oh gosh, even his voice is just amazing.

You nodded your head and wrote another message, showing him the notebook again; Yes, I don't think that I'm ready to share it with the whole server, yet.

"Ah, of course, that's completely understable. You are in no way obligated to tell anyone about your situation." Hs words were rational, they were what you already knew, but for some reason they felt comforting. It felt validating to know that there was someone who agreed with you, who didn't expect you to spill everything out.

I'm glad you understand me.

You could swear that there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Well, now that we're here, do you feel comfortable answering my questions?"

Here we go again with the interrogation, why can't they just leave me alone?

At least this time you have a way out of this; Can we do it some other time? Admitting my disability was already a lot. It wasn't a complete lie, you did feel overwhelmed by coming clean about your muteness like this.

"Ah, yes of course, rest well, Y/n." V said before he hung up.

You were left alone with your thoughts again and the open draft for your story that you still needed to build a protagonist for. You will think about it some other time... You are in a dire need of rest now.

Some time later and you were on another call with V, this time he knew your made up serial killer alias, you learned his Modus Operandi and he decided to play a game of 20-but-I-will-make-it-3-since-you-so-kindly-asked questions on a call with you.

"Were you born mute?" His first question was bold, but you were expecting questions like this, even though other people usually make them sound much more gentle.

Yes, I can't remember ever saying a word in my life, nor does my mother or the doctors we visited. You replied, using your notebook again. V was very much alright with this method of communication, or he just never expressed having anything against your conversations looking like this.

"Mhm. I see." His response was simple, not prying on any more details than what you were ready and comfortable with revealing. You could respect him for this, it even made you feel very happy for some reason. "Do you not know sign language?" This question was... unexpected. No one was ever interested in that part, well mostly because they didn't know how to sign themselves.

Writing this reply took you longer than you thought, because you never had to think about an answer for so long before. I never felt the need to learn, more people knows how to read then how to sign and it's simpler. You didn't add the part about not having enough people in your life to learn how to sign for, he didn't need to know that part.

This response surprised him, he probably never met someone so laid back in a way when it comes to things like that. "Oh, I understand. Well, I know how American, British, German and a few other versions of sign language, if you'd ever feel the need I could teach you."

His offer caught you off of guard, V telling you that he could teach you how to sign? You thought that this could be a dream with how surreal it seamed. He was especially kind to you for the time you knew him, sure, but to the extend that he'd spend his time on being a teacher for a mute (supposed) serial killer? The more time you spend with him the more surprising V turned to be.

"Are you not okay with this?" You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't realise that you still haven't replied to him.

Oh, no, no! I'm really thankful for the offer, I could consider taking you up on this if I ever felt like it. You replied and gave him a big beaming smile. Somehow the thought of V trying to teach you how to sign was exciting to you, it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

Oh, I'm so lost in this game.

The realisation was hard, sure, even confusing. Falling for a vigilante was never in your plans when you took this journey, but was it a bad thing? Well, yes! You could end up dead if he found you out, thought whenever you tried to bring you not being a writer up to him ended with him scoffing and saying that he knows how Ronin operates and that he'd never invite a non serial to the server.

Maybe it won't be as bad as you think it could be? V is tender, caring, he is easily flustered, his smile is sweet and he's a protector who deeply loves his animals, even if he never admits to the last part. Heck! He even found a bird and name it after you, is that not a perfect romance potential then what is?

I'm seriously insane for considering a killer my potential partner... Well! Taste is subjective!

January came faster than you thought, and so did a sudden love confession from V. His words made your heart melt, you reciprocated his feelings. You would be a fool if you didn't.

You really did take him up on that sign language offer, learning the most basic and easy signs that you could need the most.

"It would be easier if I could do this with you in the room with me." V sighed when your try to sign 'where' ended up with it being very floppy and apparently making an insult in another language.

These words birthed yet another genius idea in your creative mind. Then why don't you pay me a visit? All that trying to hunt me down and I'm to believe that you have nothing on me? A bold move on your side, but you either go big or don't go at all.

V looked at you, squinting his eyes like he was thinking about something really important. "You are right my love, why don't I teach you how to sign face to face?" He gave you a soft smile. "Did I ever tell you how smart you are?"

Yes, but you're free to praise me more, love. You stuck out your tongue at him when you gave him the response and his face flushed.

"There's not enough words, or signs, that could describe your genius or beauty, my love." And now you were the one blushing and losing your words.

Damn him, and his stupidly sweet praise.

Valentine's day. What a better time to meet with your serial killer boyfriend than that? Well, you probably could think of a few dates at the top of your mind, but Valentines worked as perfect as those other days too.

You were dressed up nicely, you would be meeting V for the first time you had to look at least presentable. You were fidgeting with your pen. This was seriously stressing you out in a way that you couldn't explain.

There were the butterflies, the excitement and love, but there was also worry, at he'd find out and harm you. You trusted V, but would he trust you if he knew? It was the uncertainty that scared you so much, you couldn't expect anything from a man who fed his animals with the people he killed.

The sound of the doorbell rang in your ear. There's no time for doubts, no chance to back away now. You took a deep breath, looked at yourself for the last time in a mirror and made your way to the front door.

You opened them and felt your knees weaken when your eyes met him. As elegant as ever, with the softest of soft smile on his lips, gentleness and affection in his eyes.

You melted under his gaze. Your happiness getting the best of you because you almost pulled him into a hug.

"Hello, my love." He took your hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. "You look absolutely wonderful today." He said.

With pink cheeks and new warmth in your body, you let him in, showing him the way to your living room.

The two of you sat down on the sofa, you were ready to give him a note proposing tea or coffee, but he was faster. He outsretched a hand towards you, he was holding a notebook in that hand.

With a raised eyebrow you took the notebook and opened it. You almost dropped it when you read what was written inside.

My love. No words can describe my feelings towards you, you made my life better with your presence alone, made me realise and find out so many new things about myself. I never felt this way towards anyone, I can't tell if this is how most people feel, but that is how I feel while bein in love with you.

You expressed your worry about being mute many times before, and I can't help but wonder what cruel people would ever dare to act this way and say such absurd words towards you. Mute or not, you are perfect and I am really glad that I am able to spend time in your company and have your love and be the person who you feel safe with and shared the secret with.

I love you, Valentin Viljoen.

You could feel the tears run down your cheeks. No one has ever done this for you, put so much effort into something for you. You tried to wipe away the tears, but with how many were there it was almost impossible.

You looked at V, your vision was blurry from the tears but your could see the gentle smile on his face and he cupped your face with his hands and caressed your cheeks.

"You are a good person, my love. Your heart says more than any words, you are louder than any person who can speak that I know. Communication is more than just words, it's your expressions, your actions. Don't think that your muteness makes you worse or any less of a person."

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly and letting those happy tears out.

Never in your life have you expected yourself to cry in someone's arms, know that they love you unconditionally even if they know that there are things you're hiding.

You let go off the hug and with shaky hands and the most crooked and probably stupid looking smile signed.

< I love you. >

Not even silence can conquer the feeling between the two of you.

Gahhhh it feel so good!!! I'm proud of this >w<

I want to thank my dearest discord parent Kage for making their music because it carried me through the process of writing!!!

I love you all!!! -N <3

[dark-elf-writes]

You know, if Poseidon really was the one to turn Thalia into a pine tree I think, regardless of the reasoning, Thalia should be allowed to claim that Poseidon is her dad, not Zeus

I mean, Percy can already create storms who’s to say Thalia can’t stretch so her powers are based on Poseidon’s domains instead

Thalia: So you saved me, with a symbol of your power, and not my dad

Poseidon: Yes.

Thalia: … sounds close enough to an adoption to me, hello dad

Poseidon, with stars in his eyes: hello daughter.