#Rogue joins him and they chill together and stare at things

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

Werewolf Bites and Hot Summer Nights

An AU in which Laura and Max can’t find Hackett Quarry and end up at the Harbinger Motel, before becoming camp counsellors for the summer. Max is moody and secretive and Laura keeps bumping into the grumpiest sheriff with the cutest puppy dog eyes, and when he gives her his number ‘just in case’ a girl can’t help but drunk dial him one night. Cue overprotective and jealous Travis. And shouldn’t the officer get a birthday kiss?  

Banter | Enemies to Lovers | Battle Couple | Eventual Smut

Start with Chapter One

Chapter Two 

Blood. 

Blood everywhere.

The child was screaming and it seemed like it was never going to stop.

“Britney, sweetie, I can’t help you if you don’t sit down.”

Whimpering, the curly-haired girl sank onto a bench and gripped it with both hands. Blood was dripping down her knee.

‘What happened?”

“I fell down the steps,” the girl whimpered.

Laura opened the first aid kit and pulled on some latex gloves, before carefully cleaning up the girl’s leg with iodine and cotton wipes.

“You’ve got to be careful around the quarry. There are so many steep slopes and wonky old steps. Dylan nearly fell out of the treehouse the other night, didn’t you, Dylan?”

A tall boy in a faded blue-green T-shirt was relaxing in a wooden chair and swung around to face them. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Got carried away howling at the moon.”

“Silly,” Britney giggled, her tears vanishing. “The full moon’s not for two weeks.”

“There you go.” Laura smoothed the bandage over the ten-year-old’s knee and smiled up at her. “Good as new.”

“Thank you, Laura!” The girl bounded off to the canoes to re-join her friends.

Laura smiled to herself as she climbed the steps of the boathouse to put away the first-aid kit. She’d spent nearly two weeks at camp with another six ahead of her. The food was simple and the cabins were too, but she loved the camaraderie of bunking with the other counsellors and being so deliciously exhausted at the end of the day that she fell deeply asleep before ten.

She was sharing with girls called Abi, Emma and Kaitlyn, and though they were all very different personalities they got along well. Emma made them all laugh, Abi was sweet and easy going, and Kaitlyn was always interesting to be around. Laura liked Kaitlyn the best. All the fun and none of the bullshit.

Max was in with the boys, and it might have been a cute, teenagery experience for them to sneak around together and steal kisses in the dark, but Max wasn’t in a sneaking around mood. He was distracted and morose most of the time and seemed to fix things so they were never alone together. They hadn’t had a proper talk in over a week.

Laura put the first aid-kit away and stared out across the lake. It was difficult not to feel hurt. Dammit, she did feel hurt. And confused.

Meanwhile, there were strange rumours going around camp. Some of them were typical camp ghost stories. Laura had heard many times about the hag of Hackett’s Quarry by now. She probably would have enjoyed adding her own spooky twists to the tale to entertain the kids, but a chill ran down her spine whenever someone brought it up. The minutes she’d spent alone in the woods when their car ran off the road weren’t very funny. She was sure there had been something out there in the dark with her. A woman’s wails. Whispers in her ear. It had been creepy as hell.

But thoughts of ghosts were easy to brush off, at least in the daytime. More concerning were the reports about the hikers who went missing in April and the gossip about hunters who’d gone rogue and started killing people.

Then there were strange claw marks on some of the cabins, which Chris Hackett explained were from bears. Laura had seen bear traps stacked up in a shed, some with marks that looked like rust. Or dried blood. One of the kids from last year mentioned howling at the full moon, but wolves? Around here?

Ghosts. Serial killer hunters. Wild animals. It seemed Hackett’s Quarry summer camp had every creepy base covered.

It had been a full moon when she and Max had arrived at camp. Sheriff Hackett had been jumpy that night. Real jumpy. Not threatening, but…worried about them?

Laura gnawed on her thumbnail. Or maybe she was reading him the wrong way and he was actually stalking them that night.

On her way back to the lodge with the kids, she passed Chris walking with several more campers and counsellors and gave him a cheery wave.

“Hey! Want to go for a walk after dinner?”

Max forced a smile onto his face. “Uh, sure. Dylan and Ryan mentioned rowing over to the treehouse. We could join them.”

Laura shoved her hands into her back pockets. “I was thinking just us, actually.”

But Max was already moving off with the group and it didn’t seem like he’d heard her. She stared after her boyfriend with her mouth open.

What the hell had gotten into him lately?

Laura wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. Before he could disappear with the boys, Laura tracked Max down in his cabin after dinner. He was sorting his clean laundry and cracked a bad joke about girls not being allowed in the boys’ cabins.

“What, I can’t talk to my boyfriend now?” Laura asked, not in the mood for jokes.

“I didn’t say that.”

Laura stared at his back. He couldn’t even turn around and look at her. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Max froze, and then shrugged. “I’m not avoiding you. I’m right here.”

“I’m tired of talking to your back, Max.”

“What? I’m listening.”

This wasn’t like him. Laura hated that she was thinking of that damn sheriff right now, but she couldn’t help recalling his startled face when she’d mentioned that Max was acting strangely. Was there some tick that gave campers a brain parasite that the Hacketts were covering up?

She softened her tone, pleading with him to confide in her. “Did something happen the night we arrived? Maybe at the motel?”

“What? No. I’m fine. Everything’s…” He balled up and T-shirt in frustration and threw it in a drawer. “Fine.” He practically growled the word.

“Max?” She approached him slowly and touched his shoulder. The moment she did he rounded on her, his expression furious.

“Just leave me alone will you? I’m not in the mood for your demands and your snarking.”

“I’m demanding? My snark? What the hell has got into you?”

Max press his hands over his face and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, the sunset had turned his hazel irises to gold. “I just want a relaxing summer before we have to think about going back to…Ugh.” He broke off with a groan of frustration.

Laura moved closer. “Is it grad school? Are you worried about classes? Talk to me, please.”

“I don’t want to talk! Maybe we should just have a break or something.”

She turned toward the door. “Fine. Let’s take a time out. Go swim in the lake or something to cool off.”

“No. I mean a break. You and me.” Max’s voice sounded hollow.

Laura turned around to face him, a sick feeling spreading through her stomach. “What are you talking about? Are you breaking up with me?”

Silence stretched.

Long, painful silence.

No, of course not Laura, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.

She waited for those words, but they didn’t come.

“I can’t believe you, Max!” Laura exclaimed. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone. It seems like that’s what you want more than anything.”

She turned around and walked quickly away from the cabin, but not so fast that Max couldn’t catch her up if he wanted to.

There were no footsteps behind her.

Max wasn’t coming.

Night was falling and Laura started walking faster, breathing harshly through her nose. She was surprised she wasn’t crying. In fact, she didn’t feel anything except pissed off. Her normally sweet boyfriend was shutting her out for some unknown reason, and until he wanted to talk, well, maybe they should be on a break.

Laura pulled up short in front of the lodge and tipped her head back with a groan. “I need to get out of here.”

Her eyes landed on Max’s mom’s car. A drive would sort her head out. She clambered into the driver’s seat.

They’d been leaving the car unlocked and the keys hidden in the sun visor, because this was where Laura kept her secret phone. Her real phone. She’d handed in a decoy one to Mr. Hackett, but then realized she shouldn’t have bothered because there was absolutely no phone reception at camp.

“What the hell, I’ll drive into town and treat myself to half an hour of shitty internet,” she muttered as she started up the car and peeled out of camp.

Town was only a twenty-minute drive and consisted of a square, a couple of shabby shops for food and hardware, and a bar. The bar looked semi-deserted and kind of divey.

Laura heaved a gusty sigh. What the hell. She could use a drink, and she tucked some dollar bills into the back of her shorts along with her phone.

The inside, the bar was cool and dimly lit, and country music was playing. As she pulled up a stool, the woman behind the counter asked what she was having.

“Just a beer. Any. The cheapest,” she added quickly, and the woman put a cold brown bottle in front of her.

“Where are you staying, honey?”

“Hackett’s Quarry. I’m one of the counsellors.” She gestured over her shoulder.

The woman’s friendly expression turned to surprise.

“You can see some ID if you want. I’m twenty-one.” She put her hand in her shorts for her purse and forgot that she didn’t have it. Instead, her hand closed around a small card. She needn’t have bothered offering because the woman was already walking away from her to the other end of the bar, shaking her head.

Laura stared down at the card in her hand as she drank her beer. Sheriff Travis Hackett. She wondered what he was up to tonight. Probably driving around and being secretive and weird.

Her phone had a few bars of reception, and she had questions. After adding his number to her phone as Coppy McCop, she texted him.

Something’s weird about this town.

A reply came back in an instant.

Who is this?

Laura. Duh.

Laura who?

Are we in a knock knock joke?

Do you have something to report?

Officer Travis, you touched my hair in the moonlight and you gazed deeply into my eyes. Did what we share mean nothing to you?

It’s Sheriff Hackett, Miss Kearney. I don’t have time for games.

So he did know it was her.

But I was a good girl and went to the Harbinger when I really didn’t want to. You owe me.

Miss Kearney, there is nothing strange about this town.

A moment later, a second text from Sheriff Hackett buzzed on her phone.

But report to me if you see anything strange. And stay inside at night.

Can’t.

What?

This big guy with tattoos is buying me drinks. Double vodka somethings. He’s sooooo nice and he says he’ll drive me back to camp later.

What? Where are you?

Like there are so many places to drink in town.

Go back to camp. Now.

I don’t have a ride. But it’s okay, this tattooed guy is super friendly. I think he likes me.

Stay where you are. Don’t move.

Laura?

Laura?

Travis stared at his phone, waiting for the three dots to appear that meant Laura was typing. They didn’t, and she hadn’t even read his last three messages.

“Ah, shit.”

He’d known who was texting him the moment he saw an unfamiliar number light up his screen, but he was too proud to admit it to her.

I’m a cop. I’m busy. I haven’t got time to sit around and think about girls’ bare midriffs and the fun she's probably having at camp.  

But he'd been doing just that in quiet moments, thinking about Laura and the mischievous grin she’d given him as she’d nearly tricked him into showing her where camp was on the map. If anyone asked him if he liked mischievous girls, he would have answered, impatiently, “No.”

Though his heart said yes. He liked smart girls, too. Lately he'd been thinking about one who knew how to run rings around him and show off her sparkling wit, teasing him and trying to get a rise out of him, but who just loved to be pulled smartly back into line.

Travis didn’t even like to think about how long it had been since he’d been with a woman, but it was before the curse had come to Hackett’s Quarry.

He tapped his phone with a long finger. A man was buying her drinks. Plying her with strong drinks by the sound of it. Maybe it was one of the local boys. Maybe it was a hunter who hadn’t heard that there was no good prey in North Kill. Travis didn’t trust either possibility.

There were dangers out there. Sleazy men. Forgotten bear traps. Steep cliffs and wild animals. 

Travis shoved his phone in his pocket and strode out of the police station.

Did this girl live to make trouble, or did she just not understand that it was dangerous to go wandering around at night? Any night. Campers should stay at camp.

A few minutes later, Travis, slightly out of breath, burst into the bar. Laura was sitting at the counter, halfway through a beer and very much alone.

He scowled at her. “Tattoos?”

“He just left,” Laura said, smiling at him. She was wearing a short flowery dress, and one of the straps slipping down her sunkissed shoulder.

Travis examined her closely, trying to gauge how drunk she was. No slurring. No glazed eyes. Probably that was her first.

She patted the stool next to her. “Sit down and have a drink with me.”

“I’m on duty.”

“One drink. A coke. Then I’ll go back to camp.” Her smile faltered, and he realized she had been forcing it onto her face. When he looked closer her eyes held sadness.

He sighed and dragged out a stool, saying to the bartender, “Water please, Maggie. What’s got you worried about this town, Miss Kearney?”

She shrugged and played with the neck of her beer bottle. It seemed to Travis that she wasn’t really worried. She just wanted some company.

“Are you married?” she asked.

What kind of question was that? “Divorced.”

“Ah. Sorry to hear that.”

She stared at him, her eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“Tell me about her.”

Not in a million goddamn years. He didn’t like thinking about that mess himself. Dad hadn’t liked her. Mom had hated her. His wife had loathed North Kill. The least said about it the better.  

“Does your boyfriend know where you are?” he countered.

“What, I need a chaperone to drink a beer?”

Apparently she wanted one, or she wouldn’t have made up that shit about the tattooed man.

“He’s probably worried about you.” If he had a girlfriend like Laura he’d be worried about her every time she was out of his sight. She was too pretty. Too cute. Too damned good at getting herself into trouble.

“He’s not worried about me,” she muttered.

Something about the bitter way she said it made him frown. He didn’t imagine Laura as a bitter sort of girl.

“Something happen between you two kids?”

Laura peeled a strip of paper from her beer bottle and sighed. “We’re on a break.”

Travis stared at her in shock, and then slowly shook his head. Some men were dumb—hell, he was dumb as a brick sometimes—but apparently Max was a moron.

“But I’ve got you to cheer me up, Officer Friendly,” Laura said, forcing a smile again, and Travis didn’t have the heart to correct what she'd called him.

He reached out and moved the beer away from her, and then put some bills down to pay for it. “Come on. I saw your car outside. I’ll drive you back to camp.”

Like a forlorn duckling, she followed him out of the bar.

“Thanks, Maggie,” Travis called, giving the woman a wave.

“See you for your birthday drinks tomorrow, Travis.”

Laura turned to him as they crunched across the gravel together. “It’s your birthday tomorrow?”

He put a hand on her shoulder and steered her the way he wanted her to go. Cop habit, but her bare shoulder felt so good against his palm he nearly caressed her with his thumb. “What time is lights out? It’s getting late.”

“I’ll just sneak in.”

He opened the passenger door to the car for Laura. When she was perched in the passenger seat, she turned to him and draped her arms around his shoulders.

“If it’s your birthday, how about a birthday kiss?”

Her smile was suddenly, what? Flirtatious? Travis barely recognized the expression because it had been a long time since a woman had flirted with him.

“It’s not my birthday yet.” He tried to peel her hands from his shoulders, but she was suddenly a goddamn octopus.

Laura kept angling her face close to his and laughing as he turned his head one way and then the other. She was teasing him, darting in close and then pulling back, gathering him closer and closer to her.

He turned his head to tell her off, and his mouth crashed into hers. Not hard. It didn’t hurt. Actually, she felt amazing even though he wasn’t kissing her.

Then he was.

Travis breathed in sharply and softened his lips against hers before he could help himself, kissing her back. Kissing her like she was his to kiss. His hands were gripping her waist to push her away, and then he was holding on instead.

It was over in a moment. Quick enough to pretend it hadn’t happened. They drew away from each other slowly, both their expressions wide-eyed with astonishment.

Travis reached for his first line of defence. Anger.

“Why the hell did you do that?” he snapped.

Laura’s eyes were filled with surprise, but amusement was already dancing in them and turning up the corners of her mouth.

“Me? That was you.” Her fingers curled into the dark blue cotton of his shirt, digging into the muscles of his shoulders.

Travis was standing between her knees and he noticed she was wearing heavy knitted socks and hiking boots with her summer dress.

Why was that so fucking cute?

Kiss her again. Thrust your tongue into her mouth and cradle the back of her head with your hand. Listen for her sharp intake of breath and feel for her breasts pressing into you, telling you that she’s horny. That she wants you, even if it just because she’s hurting over her boyfriend. Take that kiss because she’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. Pretend you’re not the sheriff of this goddamn town for five minutes.

But an invisible rope tightened around him and the crushing weight of all his duties and his family’s expectations dragged him back down to earth.

“Young lady,” he growled through his teeth. “Get in the goddamn car.”

Travis hooked his hands behind her knees and swung them around until she was facing forward. Then he slammed the door closed.

Normally he would walk around the front of a car to get to the driver’s seat, but he was semi-hard and he needed a moment to himself. At the back of the vehicle, he took a deep breath and arranged his features into a scowl.

If she realized how much he liked her, she would laugh at him, and his heart would fucking shatter. He could take the humiliation heaped on him by his family, but any more and he would break.

Travis got in the car without looking at Laura, started the engine, and drove off in the direction of the quarry.

Laura reached out and walked two fingers up his thigh. “You kissed me back, Sheriff. In fact, if you think about it, you started it. I was playing chicken and you were just not going to lose.”

He shoved her hand away. “You’re young enough to be my daughter. Behave yourself.”

“Don’t you ever have summer flings?”

Travis laughed without humour. “Unwashed hunters aren’t my type.”

“What is your type?”

Girls in sundresses and hiking boots who taste like lip gloss. “I don’t have a type. I have a job.”

After parking her car, or Max’s car, or whoever it belonged to, he got out and leaned against the hood with folded arms and waited for her to head for her cabin.

Laura gave him an ironic salute and then meandered up the track away from the lodge. He watched her until she was out of sight, and he heard a cabin door close in the distance and let out a sigh of relief. She was safe.

But she was also gone. That was a dismal thought because he would probably never see her again.  

Or maybe he would, and that was dangerous.

He went into the lodge and told Chris he needed to drop him back into town, making a vague excuse about running into someone who left him at camp.

As Chris drove, Travis remembered the skin at the back of Laura’s knees and how soft it was. The way her gaze had fastened on his mouth as he pushed her into the car.

Sharpen up, Max. Your smart, pretty girlfriend is angry and frustrated and trying on other men for size.

If she did that again stone cold sober, someone might be tempted to drag her into their bed, town, family, and duties be damned.

*clutches heart and manages in a strangled whisper* Travis. Thank you for reading! Leave me a comment if you're enjoying the story xx 

CHAPTER THREE

[spxllcxstxr]

Cold to Cozy • R.L

(Gif not mine)

Request: oshdskdhkshs what about Remus being really patient, loving and gentle with the reader who’s insecure and anxious to open up to sb and be with someone after she had just got out of the toxic relationship? Sorry for my English. Love you so much. — anon

Summary: After a rough break up, you wind up at the top of the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night. Remus joins you.

Warnings: toxic relationship mention (not with Remus), more along the lines of emotional abuse, not physical, crying, but it’s mentioned and Remus comes to comfort you, but please stay safe

Word Count: 1.1k

A.N: Relationships are hard to write when you’ve never been in one. I hope I did this request justice! Could be read as platonic since it’s more focused on like comfort and not really a relationship, but who knows? Read how you’d like to! I think gn!reader. I also still don’t know how to end these things oops. Hope you enjoy, and I love you all ❤️

****

You don’t remember why you even started dating William Mulciber in the first place.

It was a well known fact that he was a bigoted asshole, and anyone with a brain wouldn’t even touch him with a ten foot pole. The only friends he had were Avery, Rosier, and Snape, and even those three needed a break from him sometimes.

But he made you feel wanted in some twisted way—at least at first.

He would flirt with you in class and stare at you across the room instead of getting assignments done. Mulciber would comment on your figure, mostly lewd remarks that had your eyes widen in shock. But he assured you that these were compliments, and who were you to say otherwise, especially in public when all eyes were focused on you?

You’d get embarrassed and duck your head towards the ground as he and his little group laughed at whatever crude joke your little admirer thought of this time.

But he was the only boy to ever outwardly express any sort of interest in you so you felt obligated to accompany him to Hogsmede. And after your little date, even though you realized that the two of you didn’t really have anything in common and he did enough talking for the both of you, you felt obligated to kiss him in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

And your relationship with him was fine for about a whole two seconds before it became damaging to your entire being.

So that’s why after only a few months of being berated and judged by someone who persuaded you that it was all out of love, your relationship, if that’s what you would call it, ended after hours of shouting and flinging insults at each other.

It’s also the reason you’re crying into your house scarf at the top of the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the cold night.

The wind bites harshly at your exposed flesh, your fingers frozen and the tips of your ears completely numb.

Your legs dangle over the side, arms looped securely around the brass banister as your tears drip into your scarf.

The striped fabric is useful in muffling any rogue sobs that manage to escape.

“Rough night?”

The soft questioning voice coming from behind you has you furiously wiping your face in an attempt to look somewhat composed.

“You could say that.” Your voice cracks as the person sits next to you.

Glancing over you can tell it’s Remus, the sleeves of his thick blue jumper bunched up around his hands. He’s shivering very slightly, but is otherwise unbothered by the weather.

He nods silently, and you can hear your teeth chatter. Shyly, you bite your lip in an attempt to stop.

“I heard about you and Mulciber.” Remus speaks up, glancing at you before quickly looking back up at the cloudy sky.

“Oh yeah?” You snort, staring at his scarred face. “And what exactly did you hear?”

Remus looks back at you, the whites of his eyes illuminated in the blue glow coming from the tip of his wand.

“That you’re, and I quote, ‘a cheating bitch.’” He rolls his eyes.

“Oh yeah, because talking to Davey Gudgeon about our upcoming Herbology project is categorized as cheating, and him snogging that sixth year behind the Quidditch shed isn’t.” You scoff, balling your fists around your scarf in anger.

Of course he was spreading lies about you to make himself look like the victim. He was never in the wrong and you always were.

“That’s terrible.” You hear him shift closer to you.

“Yeah, well, that isn’t even the worst of it.” You mumble under your breath, a frown tugging at your lips.

“You don’t deserve that, (Y/n).” He tells you softly.

“But—“

“No, no one deserves the utter shit he put you through, alright?” Remus insists fiercely.

Your throat tightens as you turn your gaze down to your fingers. Nervously, you rub them together, trying to defrost them in order to find feeling again.

“You do know that, don’t you? That what he made you deal with wasn’t love?” Remus continues to press.

Noncommittally, you offer him a shrug, still avoiding those warm honey brown eyes of his.

“I’m sorry, I’m being a little too forward, aren’t I?” Remus sputters at your lack of response. “I just get so frustrated thinking about how he treated you, but if I’m overstepping—“

“No, no, it’s fine, Remus, really.” Finally, you look up, waving away his unnecessary panic. “Just...he was my first...everything, y’know? I think he’s ruined love for me.”

Remus’ face falls at your meek response. His sandy curls wave in the wind and you watch as he tries and fails to tame them behind his ears.

“Love isn’t whatever rubbish he gave you, (Y/n). Love is this warm and cozy feeling that makes you want to wake up in the morning. And makes you want to run around laughing in the pouring rain.” He rambles, marred hands waving around as he talks. “It’s a breath of fresh air and a million little kisses in the middle of the night. Honestly, I wish I could be a little more poetic, but it’s almost midnight and my brain is fried after that Potions exam.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No Remus, that was—that was beautiful. It certainly wasn’t what we had.” You smile at him, something you haven’t done in ages at this point.

Truthfully, his little rant had a warmth blossoming in your chest, something you can’t exactly explain. You felt comfortable with him, nothing like you’d ever felt with Mulciber.

With him, it was nothing but ice, sure the occasional dull spark was ignited when his arm was slung securely over your shoulders, but that was rare.

All Remus had to do was look you in the eye and you were a melting mess.

You liked this new feeling.

“You know, you should’ve brought gloves.” He gestures to your numb fingers, shivering in the wind.

“Well I wasn’t exactly planning on going through a break up tonight, Remus.” You sarcastically retort, trying once again to bundle up your hands.

“Here, let me help.” Remus’s large hands lay atop your own, warm palms pressing against your chilled fingers.

You study your joined hands before slowly lifting your gaze back to his eyes. Your hands start to thaw.

“This is nice.” You tell him, just above a whisper.

His face is a bit closer to your own, and you can see the pink blush rising on his cheeks and tinting the tips of his ears. His nose adopts a redder hue from the brutal wind.

“Yeah.” Remus agrees at a similar volume. “It really is.”

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts

Remus Lupin Taglist: @lunalovecroft

[jotunn-loki]

may i feel?

FANDOM: mcu/marvel PAIRING: loki/reader RATING: explicit, NS// FW!! WC: 5,900 WARNINGS/K¡NKS: fem!reader, virginity k!nk, oral, food, social anxiety, voice k!nk, soft!loki, light angst, fluff, servant/prince

SUMMARY: You are a servant of the royal family of Asgard. After an embarrassing incident at one of Thor's revels, Prince Loki finds a way to make it up to you.

A/N: This was originally posted on ao3 a couple months ago under my username MavenMorozova (not linking it because tumblr will mess it up--), but support it there if you’d like:)

You were spread out on the large, plush bed, dark green sheets billowing with the slight breeze around you. Well, really, it was less of a bed and more of an outdoor sofa, or maybe something in-between the two, with a dark wood canopy from which hung slightly sheer curtains the same color as the sheets you lay upon. There were pillows, too, blue and black and gold, that contrasted the green quite nicely. It was a pleasant design, and that made it all the more relaxing.

Loki had always had an eye for design and the aesthetics of a space. You could tell, as you were sure everyone could, the way that he dressed was impeccable, and his wardrobe stuck to a theme that looked rather good on him. Green. It was clear too that his chambers in the Asgardian royal palace were decorated in a similar fashion. It suited him, really.

Losing your focus on the moment in the thoughts swirling in your head about design and coloring and everything else, you let your neck muscles relax and sank your head into the pillow under it. Loki would be here soon, you reminded yourself, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine. You knew what would occur when he arrived, for he had whispered the idea into your ear during the revelries today.

As usual, Thor had basked in his glory, shouting and pounding on the table and shaking his fists in the air as he roared. Loki had been his typical self as well, smiling at his brother from the corner of the room as he happily drank from his goblet. And you’d been there, too, a mere serving-girl, indulgently filling all their chalices as the warriors ceremoniously tossed them on the floor with a shout. It was one of the few moments that you felt relaxed, even though you were technically just doing your job, and that was because you were amidst all the joy and excitement of the best and brightest of all of Asgard. They were the sun, and you were the moon that clung to its stubborn orbit.

Out of nowhere, Loki had locked eyes with you. His gaze had been surprisingly intense, tracking you as you moved quickly over to him with your refilling bottle. But when you had lifted it, a question in your gaze, he had simply smirked and shaken his head. “You don’t wish for more wine, Your Highness?” you had asked.

Loki shook his head again. “I just wanted to get a good look at you,” he admitted, voice soft. “You are beautiful, as you must know.”

At his words, you blushed and looked down, lowering the bottle of dark wine slightly. “Your compliment is most appreciated, Your Highness, but—”

Loki shushed you, placing a finger to his lips, still smiling. You wondered if he was slightly tipsy, but then again, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was, rather more so if he was not. “Please accept my gift to you, my dear.”

Your brows furrowed. “Gift, Your Highness?”

“My compliment,” he replied with a snicker. His eyes roved up and down your body once ever so slowly, and you couldn’t help flushing again. The back of your collar was suddenly quite hot, and you adjusted your neck slightly to give it air.

Then, suddenly, he was closer, and somehow it was now you with your back pressed against the wall instead of him, gasping as he took your hand and lifted it to his mouth. “Your hands are rather smooth for a servant, young one,” Loki whispered.

A chill skittered across your shoulders and you swallowed tightly. “I-I’m new, Your Highness.” You couldn’t help but feel a tinge of apprehension as you said it. The feeling he was eliciting from you now was pleasing, to say the least, and you certainly desired more, but you couldn’t risk losing your position within the royal palace. You were nothing but a servant, and he was a prince, a god. No consequences would be inflicted upon him, and you were sure that you would receive the brunt of it. So taking in a short breath, you scooted away from him along the wall, wine bottle still in your hand. “I apologize, but I cannot, my prince.”

Loki’s lips thinned, but he said nothing else. As you walked away, you were sure that would be the last of him, but you hadn’t even made it two steps before a familiar voice called, “Wait!” and a long-fingered hand closed itself around your wrist, jerking you back around to face him. You stumbled and tripped and suddenly, with a great lurch of dismay, the wine bottle in your free hand tipped and fell, spilling over your uniform and splashing on Loki’s armor.

You stood there for a moment, stunned, mouth slightly agape. This was...not the way you had planned for the night to go. You were meant to secondhandedly enjoy the revelries, then retreat to your own quarters and catch up on some much-needed sleep, for the Asgardian warriors had been feasting and partying for days now, and you had been there each night, dutiful as always.

It was not meant to be like this. Not like the slick embarrassment that felt like cold oil being poured over your face and down your skin. Not your uniform ruined and all of Asgard’s greatest warriors, including the crown prince himself, the mighty Thor, staring at you, right at you. You gulped, feeling the familiar feeling of anxiety creeping through your chest. You couldn’t breathe, much less think. All you could see were the faces of gods and warriors before you, so polished and powerful and— You were, you were…

“Carry on,” called a low voice beside you, and with a start, you looked over to see that Loki had addressed his peers with a raised eyebrow. You saw him exchange a glance with Thor, and with a nod, the God of Thunder broke into a large smile, banging his goblet on the table. “So who wants to hear how I defeated the rogue Jötunn on Vanaheim?”

Around him, his mates cheered, and you felt yourself audibly sigh with relief when their attentions turned away from you. But there was still one person leftover.

“I’m…so sorry,” Loki said from beside you. He did look truly regretful; his forehead was knit together in a series of frustrated lines, he was still, and for once, unsmiling, and you could see that his teeth gently bit his upper lip. But you didn’t know how to respond, so you simply leaned down to pick up the wine bottle that had fallen, averting your gaze from his.

“I can make it up to you, perhaps?” Loki said slyly, his voice nearly a question, and you shot up again, knuckles turning white around the bottle’s neck. The implications of his words lingered in your brain, but hadn’t that same weakness been what had gotten you into this situation in the first place? “Prince Loki, I cannot, as you know,” you said to him softly, not wanting to anger him. “I cannot lose my position. It is...unprofessional of me to indulge you in this way.”

Loki’s lips thinned, though there was a hint of amusement still dancing within his blue eyes. “What if I could persuade you otherwise?”

You swallowed. He was very close to you now, hand drifting from your wrist around to the small of your back. The sensation of his hands was intoxicating, and you couldn’t deny that you’d had fantasies about lying with the God of Mischief before. It was just...could you, in all actuality, fulfill it?

Loki sighed when he saw your persistent hesitation. “My dear, what is your name?”

You told him quietly, embarrassed that he even wanted to know, that he even cared.

He repeated it softly to himself, letting the delightful syllables roll around his silver tongue. “You will not get into trouble, I promise,” he then said, pulling you closer. The back of your neck was hot again, and you could feel the touch of his hand acutely where it lay, fingers pressing into your skin.

Slowly, you looked up at him, meeting his eyes again. You had never been so close to one of the designated “gods” of Asgard before, and you couldn’t help but worry that you were going to stumble again and mess it all up. “Alright,” you finally said, so quietly that you could barely hear yourself speak.

“What’s that?” Loki asked, a teasing smirk on his mouth.

“I will allow you to, um—”

Loki leaned into you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Fuck you? Ravish you until you beg for me to come inside of you?” he whispered in a low, needy voice. At the sound of it, you released the tiniest of moans, and Loki chuckled into your ear. “You want this more than you are letting on, don’t you?” he asked wickedly, and you nodded despite your so-called honorable intentions.

Loki pulled away, his face blank like the exchange between the two of you had not just happened. “My chambers need cleaning, servant,” he said authoritatively, chin rising in the air as he eyed you from an angle, gauging your reaction. You narrowed your eyes at him, but you could feel a smile creeping onto your lips. “Of course, Your Highness.”

You turned to go, but Loki nearly spun you into his arms again as he grabbed you, whispering one last thing into your ear before you could go. “There will be a private maid there to assist you,” he said, and though you weren’t sure exactly what he meant, you nodded.

“Go,” he ordered, and you did, still clutching the empty wine bottle, with its contents all over your uniform’s dress. Loki would join you in his chambers, then, after he had excused himself from the party and shaken off the loud braggings of his brother.

So you had wandered your way to the most coveted part of the castle, the place where all the servants whispered of. The royal chambers of the Allfather, Queen Frigga, and the two heartstopping princes, Thor and Loki. The Gods of Thunder and Mischief. It was all quite daunting, especially since you’d heard anecdotes from a few of your peers, bragging of their sexual encounters with one of the princes or the other. Thor took more lovers than Loki ever did, or so it was said, but the ones who came back from Loki’s chambers always seemed to have a different type of aura surrounding them than those from Thor’s chambers. It was said that Thor was demanding and rough, but that Loki was passionate and gentle, even sometimes imperious, but in a different sort of way than Thor was. You had always laughed at that, wondering how a person could be all three, and in such different varieties. But then again, you were a virgin, and who were you to assume how sex worked?

So really, you were ready for anything as you made your way to Loki’s chambers.

When you reached the great double doors of polished oak that led the way into his drawing-room, you paused and knocked, quietly first, and then louder when your first knock brought no results. Almost immediately, a woman opened the doors, her petite figure dressed in Loki’s signature shade of green, and her eyes crinkled with age. “Welcome, my dear. Prince Loki did mention you would arrive.”

Your mouth fell open slightly. “What—he—?”

She held up her wrist, where a golden communication device caught the light of the candles that lit the room. Candles. They weren’t necessary; they hadn’t been needed for thousands of years. But they were something else— romantic. Loki was doing this for you.

“Do you need help with those clothes?” the servant asked, breaking you from your thoughts, and you nodded thankfully, setting down the wine bottle that you still were holding on the foot table that sat between two opposite-facing sofas.

“What is your name, my lady?” you asked her as she helped you removed your red-soaked uniform and place it into a laundry basket. She hummed for a moment, but then you saw her smile. “Estrid,” she said quietly, as if her name was a spell instead of just something to call her. You could sense that there was something about her that was more than she seemed, but it wasn’t really your place to pry.

“Well, thank you, Estrid,” you said to her, and you meant it with all the sincerity in your heart. You had been so mortified earlier, and feeling this older woman’s hands on your shoulders and around you like the embrace of a kindly mother was ever so comforting. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Of course, darling,” she said in reply with a twinkle in her eye, and as you stood naked before her, you suddenly remembered the purpose of your visit. Yet again, you felt that familiar heat flush your face and neck. “I, um—do you have—”

“Something to wear?” Estrid finished with a smile curling her lips. She left the room and emerged again with a long, silky green robe and simple black undergarments. You felt your face flush at the intimacy of the way they looked, even more so when you realized the intricacy of the designs on the bralette and underwear. There was lightly perceptible golden embroidery on the hems and on the lace that spanned the back of them. It was sexy, unlike anything you were used to. You had never owned anything this luxurious.

Estrid seemed unphased, though that only served to elevate your apprehension. So you addressed her. “Does the prince...often do this? Provide this luxury to low-level servants and promise them mind-numbing sex?” You were a little afraid to hear the answer.

Estrid paused from where she was unfolding the green robe, thinking for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shrugged and motioned for you to turn around so she could lace your arms through the robe’s sleeves. “Yes and no,” Estrid said evasively as she did so. “Loki takes lovers, yes, though not often. He is good at it, too.” She sighed. “I hope this doesn’t upset you, darling. I mean...this is something everyone knows.”

“I know,” you said a little too quickly. “I have friends who have slept with him. I’ve heard the stories.” It was said that though Loki was passive in Asgardian politics and deferred to his brother in general, the same could not be said for his actions in bed.

“Then you must also know that it is essential for him to sleep with someone at least once a moon,” Estrid said tentatively.

You stared at her. “What?” you asked. It wasn’t that it was a lot, quite the contrary, in fact, but just the fact that it was a “necessity” at all.

“He is the God of Mischief, love,” Estrid replied with a smirk. You could suddenly see now why Loki had chosen her to be his personal servant. She was just as charming as he was, if in a slightly different way. You didn’t feel the same enigmatic pull to her that you felt to Loki, but she was clever, and she was smart. You admired that about her already. “You do see where I’m heading, do you not?”

You nodded slowly. Mischief. Sex. It made sense that he’d need the latter to enhance his title and position. “I understand it,” you said to her after a moment. “I suppose it was just nice to feel special for a moment, before realizing that this is as common as it is.” You swallowed, biting back what you wanted to add on, that you had wanted your first time to be with someone who loved you, not just needed someone to fuck.

“Oh, but I wouldn’t be sure it is quite as you’re thinking, darling,” Estrid said with a smile, noticing your discomfort. “Loki has taken lovers, yes, but rarely has he provided any with...all of this.” She gestured at the lingerie you were now wearing and swept her arm around. You noticed that suddenly, a lavish amount of food had appeared, mostly desserts, and lots of chocolate, which was your favorite. How had he known? Well—it was a common trait, really, but still, you had no idea how all of this food could appear at once. It simply wasn’t possible.

“An illusion, dear,” Estrid explained, stepping up beside you and taking a chocolate-covered strawberry in her fingers. She popped it into her mouth and sighed with delight. “You will love these.”

“Thank you,” you said again, overwhelmed, but this time in a good sort of way.

Estrid wrapped her arms around you and gave you a quick squeeze. “You can talk to me anytime at all, do you understand?” she said sternly, and you were reminded again of how many years she was your senior. You laughed and nodded, and only when you wandered out onto the terrace did she finally slip from Loki’s chambers, disappearing into the hallway.

So that is where you were now, lying on the soft silky dark green sheets of the outdoor sofa-bed, enjoying the cool breeze that rushed over your mostly bare skin. No, this had not been the night you had planned at all. But you were sure that it would be a delightful one nonetheless.

***

Loki arrived not soon after you had laid down, creaking his chamber doors open quietly and striding through the length of the drawing-room out to the terrace, which is where he was sure you would be. When he saw you stretched out on the chaise for him, legs spread just a little apart, and barely wearing anything as you stared up at the night sky, he felt himself become aroused. You were so beautiful, all laid out for him like the illusionary feast he had prepared for you in his chambers. He wanted to take you and yet savor you at the same time.

From where you lay, you saw Loki approach you, saw the hunger in his gaze. He was just as needy as Estrid had warned, so you knew that you would need to speak to him before things slipped out of hand.

“Your Highness?” you asked tentatively as he crawled over you on the chaise, playing with the soft bits of your hair. “I must tell you—”

“Loki,” he interrupted, and for a moment you were confused, but then he was kissing you on your forehead, and then, his meaning was perfectly clear. “I want you to call me Loki,” he said, nearly growling. “Please.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “But it is important that you know...I’ve never—this is—” You broke off, unsure of how to confess to him, but Loki seemed to understand immediately. “This is your first time,” he said, his words in a firm statement like he already knew. You nodded warily, but Loki’s grin only widened. “I will make this worth it for you, darling,” he murmured into your ear, before nipping it slightly. You let out an unseemly moan at the little bit of contact he had just made, and Loki laughed as you did. “Yet again, you surprise me, little one,” he said, “just as you did at the revel.”

Your eyelashes fluttered and you looked up at him, mouth parted slightly. Was this really happening. Were you really about to be fucked by the prince, the God of Mischief? Loki Odinson?

“I sense doubt within you, young one,” Loki said, frowning.

“This is new to me,” you admitted, and with a breath, told him of the same worry that you had expressed to Estrid what seemed like just a moment ago. “Are you going to just leave me, discarded?” you finally asked him.

Loki seemed rather offended at the suggestion, his already-thin cheeks thinning further as he sucked in a breath and lay down at your side. He was silent for a long moment, and for just a second, you wondered if he was actually asleep. But when you turned to look at him, you could see that his eyes were staring up to the numerous stars and he almost looked scared. Hesitantly, you asked, “What is it?”

Loki turned his head to look at you, and when the breeze blew across his face, a few strands of his long black locks fell into across his cheeks, such a stark contrast to his pale skin. He was beautiful, and it took your breath away. “I want to keep all of you,” he said softly, and the breeze almost snatched it away from you, but you grasped onto the words nevertheless, desperate to hear them. You needed to know. You needed him to want you fully.

“All of me?” you asked.

“Every single one of you,” Loki whispered, and you could have sworn that his voice broke. “I never have wanted to use any of you in the way I have. But I cannot do that.” When he saw the beginnings of protest bubbling in your eyes, he shushed you, placing a finger to your lips. Where his skin touched them, a tingling feeling remained, craving more of him. “It’s hard to explain, darling.”

Reluctantly, you nodded.

“I want you to know that this will not mean nothing to me,” Loki continued in a whisper, bringing a hand to caress your cheek. It was surprisingly cool, and in the warmth of the night, you felt yourself leaning into it gently. “And I want to apologize for what happened earlier.”

Your cheeks warmed again in the memory of the wine incident at Thor’s feast and revel. You didn’t want to think about it. “Then do what you promised,” you told him, surprising yourself with your assertiveness. Loki, fortunately, did not seem to mind, instead smirking and shifting himself so that he was on top of you. He leaned down to whisper in your ear as he had done before. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Ravenous,” you replied, voice almost a moan. You remembered the chocolate-covered strawberry that Estrid had shown you, and felt a sudden craving for it now.

Loki smiled as he remembered his little trick, and climbed off of you to summon his illusionary food. It came to you all at once, hovering in the air around you so that you could choose.

It was lovely, then. Loki fed you each strawberry one by one, and you moaned as each tiny fruit disappeared into your mouth. Estrid had been right; they were divine indeed.

“You have such a pretty mouth,” Loki murmured as you ate the final strawberry. He leaned forward and brushed the pad of his thumb over your lip, gathering a stray chocolate stain and sucking it off his finger...slowly, seductively. You swallowed. You wanted those fingers in your mouth, or even better, in your pussy.

“Not so fast, my dear,” Loki said then, as if he had sensed your thoughts. You flushed, and as he licked the last bit of chocolate from his finger, he pressed his lips to yours. Sighing against him, you allowed your mouth to open for his tongue, and with a small bit of amusement, you realized that you could still taste the chocolate in his mouth.

“You taste heavenly,” Loki mumbled into your mouth, and that made you groan, hands fisting in his long hair. You had never truly kissed someone this way before, and it was even better than you had imagined.

“Are you ready to move to the bed?” Loki asked after a moment, his voice gentle. Slowly, you nodded.

“Inside or outside?” he asked.

You thought for a moment. “Outside, right here on this chaise,” you told him, gesturing to the bed-like sofa that you had been lying on. “Please.”

Loki’s lips turned upward and he scooped you into his arms, carrying you over to the chaise in a few steps and laying you down with the utmost gentleness. He then stood over you, eyes lingering on all your generous parts: the swell of each of your lovely breasts and the soft, pillowy plane that was your stomach. Even the way that the curve of your ass was on full display, as you lay slightly on your side. Seeing his eyes lingering there, you stuck out your ass even further, lip jutting into a pout.

At that, Loki’s eyes filled black with lust, and he had to try hard not to fuck you right there, the little virginous whore that you were for him. Taking a deep breath, he latched a finger around the hem of your black lacy panties and ran the tip of it along the inside. You moaned at his proximity, and Loki felt his cock twitch in recognition of the sound. “Like that, young one?” he asked, voice low.

Quickly, you nodded. You did need him, just as he needed you.

Smirking mischievously, Loki shucked off his layers of gold-and-green armor, leaving it in a pile at his feet. Now he was only in a dark sweater-like material and tight leggings that left nothing to the imagination. You could see the tent his cock had formed in his pants, and you sucked in a breath at the sight of it. This was real. This was actually real.

“Lay back, sweetheart,” Loki whispered as he kissed your forehead again. “Relax, now.” His lips slowly moved to yours, and you moaned into the passionate kiss he gave you. It was a hungry kiss, a kiss that begged for more, and you wanted it all. His hands swept along your back, and even through the green robe you wore, you could feel the coolness there. It was almost unnatural, that chill, but you didn’t mind; it only made the God of Mischief all the more enticing.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Loki edged the strap of lace that held up your bralette off of your shoulder, and you let him kiss your clavicle there. His lips were soft on your skin, and you shivered. “Loki…”

“Yes, darling?”

You really didn’t know what to say. You just wanted...more. Faster. There was a fire building in the pit of your belly and you wanted to toss it a log, but Loki was insistent on layering the kindling. When you didn’t respond, he smiled at you, eyes narrowed with knowing, and whispered your name softly. “Patience, patience…”

You nodded reluctantly, and your eyes fluttered shut as his lips slowly moved across your collarbones and his hands pulled the green robe from your shoulders and arms. All of it was so light; you had not expected this at all. Loki was a prince and a god, and you had expected someone like him to be more...out of control? No, that was not it. But certainly not as gentle as he was currently holding you.

A minute later, your bralette was removed from your chest, and your breasts shone on full display for him in the moonlight. “ Beautiful,” Loki whispered, and you blushed. Loki raised an eyebrow. “You will have to get used to that particular word, my dear.”

Then his lips were back on your body, more insistent this time as he sucked at the skin around each of your breasts. You moaned as his tongue slowly encircled your areola and flicked at your nipple. As he did so, he gave your other breast a squeeze and you yelped.

“Too much?” Loki asked, but you shook your head fervently. “Keep going,” you whispered, pushing your body to him. “Please, Loki.”

“As you wish, darling,” he murmured in reply, returning to his task. You could feel yourself trembling with want, with need, as he stimulated your hardened nipples. And then— oh.

His hand had moved to that sensitive spot between your legs, and through the thin fabric of your panties, you could feel acutely every movement that he made. “Loki,” you moaned, causing him to grin amidst the ministrations of his delightful tongue. He pulled away from your breast and stared up at you, at the building ecstasy in your eyes. “You are already so wet, little one.” Smirking, he held up his hand. Sure enough, it was coated with the juices of your pussy, and that only made you moan further. “Loki, please—”

Loki gave a few scolding clicks of his tongue, but otherwise seemed unphased, his hand reaching into your underwear and fingers pressing to your clit. You gasped as they began to work in little circles, bucking into his hand. “Loki!” you shouted, clutching at his shoulders for stability. It wasn’t that you were new to the feeling, for you had pleased yourself in this way on many occasions, but when someone else was doing it—the fucking God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard —it was a wholly different experience.

“So wet for me,” Loki mumbled into your tit, pulling at your hard nipple with his teeth. You whined at the heady feeling of it, for combined with the finger that was now slipping into your cunt, this was nearly Valhalla itself.

“Please,” you moaned, not even sure what you were crying out for. “Please, Loki, ahh—”

But he suddenly stopped, hanging you over the precipice of something, something lovely and powerful and why had he stopped?

“Loki!” you screamed, nails raking through his black hair, but he only snickered at your frustration. “The best is yet to come, my dear.”

Then his hand was skimming your ass, touching your skin through the thin lace. You ground yourself into it, but Loki only laughed further. He suddenly yanked the scrap of fabric from you in one quick movement, and for the first time, you began to see the hunger truly rise within him, deep and powerful and full of passion.

You were interrupted from your thoughts by a wave of feeling that washed over you in an instant: Loki had just dragged his tongue down your torso and had his mouth clamped over the tightly wound bud of your sex, kissing it furiously. Your eyes rolled back; you were caught in his touch, his mouth, his tongue. Furiously you scratched your hands into his shirt, pulling the fabric upwards. “Loki!” you cried, panting. “Oh, Loki, please—”

But he pulled away again, and you let out a whine. The smirk unfolding across Loki’s face was unbearable, made even more arousing by the fact that his mouth was coated in your wetness.

He slowly stood, eyes staying on yours the entire time. His cock was undeniably hard now, and from the wetness that could be seen soaking through his leggings, you could tell that he’d been stroking himself as he administered to your needs. Narrowing his eyes and lifting his chin at you, Loki pulled off his shirt, revealing a slightly-toned abdomen, and stepped out of his pants, his cock springing free, long, pulsing, and tinged with an odd sort of color. Blue? Your mouth watered at the sight of it, but Loki had other plans for you tonight.

“This is going to hurt,” he told you, petting your hair gently, “but I promise to be gentle.”

Taking in a deep breath, you nodded. “I’m ready,” you told him firmly.

With a twinkle in his eye, Loki delivered a quick kiss to your lips, and you could taste yourself on him, but it didn’t last long, for he was then pulling away again, lining his dick up to your cunt. Slowly he pushed into you, groaning, and you were struck by how much more painful it was than you had imagined. “Fuck,” you cursed, clutching Loki’s arms.

He kissed you gently, pulling at your lip just a little as he sunk in deeper, then pausing to allow you to adjust to the foreign feeling. “Shall I continue?”

“Please,” you said, your voice coming out as little more than a squeak, and Loki lowered himself further, stopping when he reached his base. He sighed as he lay on top of you, hand coming to your face to wipe away the few tears that had sprung to your eyes. “It’s alright, darling. You just let me know when you are ready to move forward.”

You nodded, sniffing, and Loki pressed his lips to your ear. You shivered; you were starting to love the way he did that. “You are so tight, young one,” he hissed, sending a spark of arousal down to your core. “So fucking tight for me. New and untouched and—” He broke off into a grunt as you clenched around his hard length, both a painful and delightful experience. You were a little more used to the feeling now, and the pressure was beginning to build within you again.

Seeing the sensation manifesting on your face, Loki grinned. “May I move?” he asked, ever so quietly, voice like a song.

You nodded, lips curling into a smile despite yourself.

Carefully, Loki began to shift his weight upwards again, hands pressing against yours into the chaise below your back. It was an odd sensation to feel him pulling out again, but when he pushed back inside of you, it was better than anything in the world. It still hurt, of course, but along with that was pleasure, too, especially as Loki let one of your hands go to finger at your clit.

You moaned, beginning to match his rhythm. “Not too fast,” you warned him as he sped up slightly, and Loki nodded, gaze never leaving yours. You could tell it was hard for him not to let himself go, and in an odd sort of way, you were proud of him for his discipline. But then again, he’d had much practice.

Closer and closer the both of you came, until you were begging and writhing below him, staring into his enticing blue-green eyes that shone like the sea. “Loki, oh, Loki —my prince!” you cried, fingers tangling in his hair. “Please, I’m so close—help me—don’t stop—”

“Come,” he said simply, and you did, coming undone in the slow fucking of his cock and the vibrations of his fingers. White blanked out your vision and you squeezed your eyes shut, lost in the beauty of the moment.

Loki came a few seconds later, screaming your name as he spilled into you, hot liquid filling your cunt. You groaned at the feeling, and Loki fell on top of you, panting heavily.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, pressing a kiss to the hollowness below his cheekbone. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything,” he murmured in reply, capturing your lips in his again. “ You are divine, my dear. I—thank you,” he said, and though you had no idea what he meant, you sighed into him, humming as his hands caressed your face.

Next to him, you slowly fell asleep, for he was a cooling presence against the warm night, and the breeze sweeping across your bare skin seemed to come from Valhalla itself. Although you supposed that you were in Valhalla right now, and he was your loving god. Your God of Mischief.

Loki’s eyes fluttered shut, his lean arms wrapping around you tightly. “Sleep well, darling,” he whispered, and that night, right then, you did.

* * * * * *

A/N: This is one of those one shots that has the vibe of a multichapter...it almost was, lol. Anyways, reblogs/comments/reviews are always appreciated! LMK if you want me to make a taglist!!

[miraculousluvbug]

WINGLESS | Ch. 8

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: Ladybug has no idea what to do with her Lucky Charm, but she soon realizes it was never intended for fighting. She has one duty: protect Chat Noir.

> > > REVEAL DAY > > >

Ladybug hunched over, hands on her knees, bracing herself. She desperately tried to fill her lungs with oxygen, but each attempt felt like filling a sieve with water. This akuma was ranking pretty high up on the mental list she’d been forming since she first became Ladybug. She and Chat Noir could barely land a hit and Rena Rouge and Carapace weren’t faring any better.

And not to mention, they still hadn’t figured out the akumatized object.

She heard boots land beside her, but she didn’t need to look up to know Chat was there. She recognized the notes of his footfall like she would her favorite song on the radio.

“This is getting out of hand,” he said between pants. His voice was absent of its usual mirth and it frightened her. She relied on his lighthearted approach to imminent danger to contrast her immobilizing fear.

“I have . . . no idea . . . what to do with this,” she replied breathlessly, holding up her Lucky Charm.

Chat rounded to the front of her and squinted at it, scratching his head between his leather ears. “Is that . . . tin foil?”

Ladybug nodded, still a bit out of breath. “Rena and Carapace?”

“They’re distracting Sirena with illusions of us.”

“I wish we knew who she was.”

“Me, too.”

“And your shoulder?”

Chat tried to make a spectacle of rotating his arm. “It’s purr-fectly fine, I sw-- Ow!” Chat recoiled when his left arm hit just the right angle, spreading a frantic fire through his nerves.

Ladybug frowned.

“Okay, so maybe my shoulder isn’t fine. But it will be when we beat Sirena. I’ve been hurt in a battle before.” Fighting Riposte after injuring his leg as Adrien was not fun. Weredad was even worse. He shivered thinking of Tom akumatized and tried to play it off, but Ladybug remained unamused. “Really. It’s no biggie! Let’s just focus on a plan for the akuma. She’s already foiled our picnic plans.”

Ladybug held in a snort.

A silence draped over the pair as their minds raced and adrenaline coursed through their bodies. It was far from uncomfortable; they were quite accustomed to the quiet that sometimes accompanied their strategizing. Ladybug was a little--okay, maybe a lot eager to finish the battle so she and Chat could get back to their prior engagement: Reveal Day. She had worked so hard on his gift and the akuma had ruined everything, swallowing it and the picnic basket she had prepared in its ascending waters.

She even stayed up into the wee hours of the night baking him cat-shaped macarons!

But this akuma was accompanied by a sentimonster unlike anything they had seen yet. It was a whirlpool with teeth the size of limousines and its existence seemed to entail a supernatural rising of the tides. The thing was so grisly Ladybug tried not to look too hard at it in case her lunch decided to make a comeback.

That wasn’t even the half of it, though.

Oh, no, there just had to be more! The second anything touched said supernatural waters, it turned to seafoam. Humans included. Which is why Ladybug and Chat Noir had chosen to reconvene on the highest ground they could think of: Montparnasse Tower.

Like her sentimonster, the akuma was just as grotesque. Whenever Ladybug could get a decent look at her, she felt the itching sensation of goosebumps scorch her arms and back. Sirena appeared to be half-bird, half-human with razor-sharp talons for feet, splotchy feathers covering her legs, and gargantuan wings sprouting from her back. Her eyes were gray and devoid of life, and Ladybug had to wonder if they had the ability to also suck the life from a person. But what made Sirena the most dangerous was her affinity for song.

When she opened her mouth and sang, the whole world stopped to listen and obey, even if that meant walking into the perilous waters and ceasing to exist altogether.

“The ear plugs were a great idea, by the way, kitty cat,” Ladybug told Chat, beaming with pride.

Before Ladybug could process what was happening and that she was inching closer and closer to the water, Chat had stolen some toilet paper from a nearby convenience store and stuck it in all of the team’s ears, breaking the spell.

The compliment warmed Chat’s cheeks. “Thanks,” he said softly.

“How did you manage to snap out of it?”

“I--I don’t know. I don’t even know if I ever was under her spell. I think it has to do with my feline hearing?”

Ladybug’s brow furrowed. “So her singing didn’t affect you?”

Chat puckered his lips before letting out the most endearing laugh Ladybug had ever had the pleasure of hearing. “That was singing? All I heard was high-pitched screeching.”

Ladybug tried to stifle a laugh of her own but ultimately failed. Never one to miss an opportunity for clownery, Chat crossed his eyes, held out his hands like a zombie, and filled the air with velociraptor noises. Ladybug’s ribs hurt from laughing so hard.

“Maybe it has to do with frequencies?” Ladybug supplied, wiping a stray tear from her eye.

Chat shrugged, a goofy smile on his lips.

Rena Rouge and Carapace joined them then, but they appeared better off than Ladybug and Chat had been five minutes ago.

“I’ve got Sirena chasing Illusion Ladybug and Chat Noir, but I’m not sure it’ll last much longer,” Rena informed the team.

“Please tell me you have a plan, LB,” Carapace pleaded.

Ladybug and Chat Noir shared a look before Ladybug smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand.

“Oh, man, dudes.” Carapace hung his head. “Sirena is, like, no joke. Who even is she?”

“We don’t know,” Ladybug and Chat replied in tandem.

“Yeah, and didn’t we already have a siren akuma? Shadow Moth has gotten so lazy,” Rena complained, crossing her arms.

Ladybug chuckled softly. “There was a siren akuma, but it was nothing like this.”

That akuma was the more colloquial version, having presented like a mermaid rather than like she came straight out of a Greek epic. She also didn’t have a raging whirlpool for a sentimonster and Ladybug could touch the water without disappearing.

Without warning, Alya burst out in laughter. “Wait a minute, girl. I remember seeing you use a trash bin as a boat that day!” Chat gawked at his partner and Ladybug felt her cheeks redden in shame. She firmly avoided eye contact. “Geez, you were so suspicious. I should have put two and two together way before you told me.”

“Rena,” Ladybug growled. She clenched her fists at her side and felt the roll of foil yield to her iron grip. It crinkled, drawing Rena’s attention.

“Oh, is that the Lucky Charm?” Rena asked, gesturing toward it with her flute.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure what to use it for.”

Both Rena and Carapace stared at the Lucky Charm for a moment. Then they stared at each other.

“Right, well,” Rena started while Carapace slowly backed away. “We’ll keep watch over there while you figure it out,” she finished. Then she elbowed her best friend gently and winked. “I believe in you.”

When they were out of earshot, Ladybug’s shoulders slumped. “Thanks,” she muttered glibly to no one in particular.

Chat blinked. “Bug? You okay?”

The tenderness in Chat’s voice took Ladybug by surprise. As it always did. How did he do that? How did he always know when she needed it the most?

Because he’s your other half, her traitorous brain supplied.

Ignoring her subconscious, Ladybug gave him a small smile and raised her fist. “You and me against the world?”

Chat eyed her fist before his face softened and he met her fist with his own. “Always.”

The anxiety gripping Ladybug’s heart loosened a bit, giving her just enough leeway to inspect her Lucky Charm and pray for a plan. She unraveled the foil a smidge, holding it up against the sun to get a better look.

“Hey, watch where you point that,” Chat warned when the foil reflected an overwhelming white light into his eyes. Not wanting it to happen again, he elected to stand near Rena and Carapace for the time being.

Ladybug chuckled nervously and opened her mouth to apologize, but the words died on her lips. She stiffened. Chills shot down her spine.

There, reflected by the foil, was the akuma torpedoing towards them. Darkness shrouded her figure as the sun eclipsed her wings, and catching Ladybug’s eye in the foil’s reflection only spurred her on. Light glinted off something in her hand, blinding Ladybug in one eye. The moment she realized what it was, her body jumped into action.

Dropping the foil, the spotted heroine raced so desperately her speed could rival sound. Funny how it still felt like she moved in slow motion. Her heart thudded in her chest and all she could hear was her own breathing.

As she neared her teammates, it became clear whom Sirena meant to attack.

With deadly aim, she was hurtling straight for Chat Noir.

Chat Noir, who was too caught up laughing at Carapace’s joke then to hear Sirena’s wings slice the air.

Chat Noir, who had a bum shoulder.

Chat Noir, whose dazzling smile made her ponder if that’s what standing next to the sun was like.

Chat Noir, who had sacrificed himself for Ladybug so many times, she lost count.

Chat Noir, who loved her.

Ladybug’s leg muscles burned as she mustered every bit of energy her body had to offer. She had to push Chat out of the way!

You had Mayura right where you wanted her. I could have managed by myself. Why’d you do that?

Because while she knew Chat could handle himself against the akumas (bum shoulder or not), what she didn’t know was if the rogue blade Sirena wielded could pierce their suits, and she wasn’t about to let her partner become the test subject.

As Ladybug neared her partner, she realized that this was exactly what her Lucky Charm was meant for.

We’re Ladybug and Chat Noir. Ladybug by itself doesn’t sound half as cool.

The foil was never meant to defeat Sirena.

You’re nothing without your Chat Noir.

It was always meant to guide Ladybug.

Chat Noir and I are a team. If you take me on, you take Chat Noir on, too.

No matter what would happen, Ladybug knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was destined to protect Chat. Sirena may have been aiming for her partner, but . . .

If you take him on, you take Ladybug on, too.

“Chat, MOVE!” Ladybug cried, hoping that if she didn’t get there in time, a warning might be enough.

Chat’s Noir’s ears twitched. Turning, he had only a millisecond to process what he saw before Ladybug’s palm slammed against his chest.

-----

I've been anticipating this chapter (and the second part, Chapter 9) since I started writing this beast. After a few revisions, I'm pretty happy with this chapter. A big THANK YOU for reading 🥰 writing wouldn't be half as fun without sharing 🥺 Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

(8/?) Previous | Next

[the-dreadful-canine]

Thank you v much for the tag @noire-pandora, @oxygenforthewicked, @emerald-amidst-gold and @dungeons-and-dragon-age I appreciate you all~ 🥰

On this fine day, I bring a snippet of the gang having a sweet moment at the tavern (but then I throw angst in the end because I am built like this).

Cw for: gambling, drinking, mentions of blood, ptsd, mild panic attack (it sounds really bad omg)

Balanced on the back legs of her chair, Elizabeth hid a soft smile behind a sip of her cup’s contents. The well-fed fire burned merrily on the hearth, bathing her chilled skin and the tavern in flickers of gold and orange, enhancing the homey atmosphere its patrons created. Scouts, Chargers and members of the Inner Circle alike gathered, piling around a couple of hastily pushed together tables.

Groans of defeat and pleased laughs filled the air, fistfuls of sweets, coins and the odd piece of clothing changed hands at the end of another round of Wicked Grace.

Following the self-assigned role of fire keeper, she eased the chair’ legs on the floor, turning back to the flames. It burned low, so she fed it a new log. Reaching her will outwards, Elizabeth called out to some of the curious *kindlings floating above the table, coaxing them to feed on the offered wood.

“Kadan, please.” The sudden baritone rising above the hushed gambling made her head turn, and she watched a coatless Dorian caught on his lover’s embrace. He had his nose in the air, arms crossed and eyes closed, a clear dismissal to whatever Bull tried to convince him of.

Finding his reasoning ignored, Bull let go of his lover with a sigh. Who was more than happy to return to the table and take a healthy gulp of his glass. With less grace than the usual he bent halfway under the thing, returning moments later with a triumphant expression. Whistles and hoots followed the clinking thud of his shiny boots being dropped over wood, and more than one pair of eyebrows rising at the rare bet.

“Deal me in, rogue.” Dorian spoke, managing to appear somewhat regal even while hastily tucking his now much colder feet under himself.

“You sure, Sparkler?” Varric drawled, eying the expensive item “That’s quite the pretty thing to risk.”

“And it’s about to look prettier surrounded by everyone’s piles of coins I’ll win this round.”

“A brave claim for someone clad only in a shirt and breeches.” Taunted Josephine from over her hand of cards. The ambassador perched like a golden dragon on her chair, her loot spread around her. “This will be a pretty addition to my collection.”

“You, Montilyet, shall rob me of no more items,” he scoffed, “for I have picked up on your tell.”

“A lady has no tells, Pavus.” She retorts swiftly, sipping from her wine with a smile like the cat who ate a canary gracing her face.

“Oh but she does.” called a voice from the door, a series of disheartened mutters rising from the table when the owner revealed herself. “If you know where to look.” she smirked, eying the offered footwear. “Now Mister Tethras, if you will?” Leliana spoke, roosting smoothly on a chair and motioning for Varric to deal her some cards.

Elizabeth nearly snorted on her drink when a chunk of the table suddenly decided to skip the round in a wave of half-baked excuses. Wise decision. But her favorite necromant’s wisdom had drowned somewhere around his fifth serving of liquor and he grew bolder, teasing the new rival, and she shook her head.

How in the Void Dorian still had enough clarity of mind to play Grace was beyond her. Their shared taste for the spicy, embrium-infused drink meant they were sharing a bottle this night; she was barely half her second cup and already her body started to feel all kinds of woozy. But then again, her ability to hold her liquor was never anything to boast about.

A fond smile made way to her face when the laughing and voices of other companions joined the growing banter. They were precious, these moments of peace where they could all come together and enjoy each other’s company. Even if for a few hours, they could ignore the ever-looming presence of the falling skies and rising evil magisters.

Much too often the hearth provided a melancholic light devoid of warmth and drinks not for loosening and unwinding with friends. The burning found at the bottom of the cup was a way to numb down the senses. To forget the days on the battlefield. To hope their bloodstained souls would not stain in crimsom their sleeping hours.

Something cold and sticky seeped on her thigh, and only then Elizabeth noticed the shaking hands. The spilled red liquid trailed down her fingers to pool on the rug, like blood pouring from a gaping wound. She closed her eyes and held her breath, willing her mind to settle. But it was too late. The homey smell of burning wood and roasting meat wafting from the kitchens twisted, and the stench of smoke and scorched flesh filled her nostrils instead. The laughing voices, warm and friendly grew louder, too loud. They bled and mixed into each other until all she heard was a cacophony of horrified screams of the uncountable lives she had to take just to survive.

A gentle, firm tug at her hand, pulls her from the edge of the vortex inside her mind and she reopens her eyes, blinking away the blur of unshed tears. Pale blue stares back at her, the familiar depths filled with so much empathy and understanding and it feels like an anchor; one she allows to ground her.

She can’t hear his words at first, but works trough the calming exercises until his blessedly monotonous and unwavering voice returns to her. The rest of the tavern’s voices and noises following soon enough.

Once awareness returns Elizabeth notices the rug she’s sitting in, the walls of the attic a familiar sight. She has no memory of getting there, but is thankful all the same. The boy in front of her gets up from his crouch, tugging her to her feet with a strength that never ceases to surprise her.

“Come.”

“Cole,” she tries pulling her hand out of his, but the spirit refuses to yield his grasp “thank you for coming to my aid but, really. I’m alright. I’ll be alright.”

“You are hurting.”

“Well, once you reach your thirties, you’re always hurting somewhere.” She jokes, trying to lighten the mood, but Cole sees right through her act, and although his face wears the usual neutral expression, his eyes scream his disapproval. With a sigh, she gives in, allowing him to drag her down the flights of stairs to the floor level.

“I can’t make you forget. They can help.” He says with a ghost of a smile once they reach the last step of the stairs. And then he’s gone.

There’s no time to feel awkward for standing alone in a dark corner, Varric’s finding her in a heartbeat. He calls out to her then, a wide grin on his face, warm brown eyes glimmering from something more than being on high spirits.

“Stop hiding, Stabby!” the table perks up at the mention of her nickname. More eyes and smiles turning to greet her “You’ve got too little alcohol and way too much dignity left in your body, you’re making us all look bad!”

The giggles and assorted noises of agreement wash over her like a warm cocoon, and weight she wasn’t even aware being on her shoulders slowly melts away.

Maybe Cole was right, she thinks - hopes -, while walking to the table. They could help.

* I tweaked Elizabeth's abilities based off her origins. She's from Earth not Thedas, and so I gave her earth-like magic: her 'magic' comes not from the Fade, but from borrowing from the elementals in the ambient. The kindlings mentioned in the scene are that, smol fire elementals attracted by the flames of the hearth.

[inber]

Goat Dad Fluff Time (Eskel x Reader Drabble)

The whip of the wind sends rain in lashing streaks across your exposed skin. You're past the point of drenched; you're sodden, dripping, so soaked that the tips of your fingers wrinkle with it. You're running and stumbling but fuck, it all seems rather pointless. The village is so far.

The gale stole the picked herbs from your hands first, and then it robbed you of your cloak. Your indignant shout was swallowed by the storm's unrepentant howl as the garment danced far from your reach, wraith-like. There was nothing to do but run.

Breathless from cold and exhaustion, you squint ahead. Sheets unfold around you in a pour, and you can barely make out the shape of a dense, ancient oak. It's not waterproof, but it's something. Slipping once or twice as the road slops at your boots, the hemline of your dress dip-dyed with mud, you shamble for the temporary shelter.

It's not unoccupied. There are two adorable goats huddled together for warmth at the base of the great tree. Although your teeth are chattering, you can't help but smile.

"H-hello, little friends," you force out, stooping. They're tame and eager for affection, and you laugh when one rears up to rest her little trotters on your thigh so she might get the most affection.

"Lil' Bleater, down." A husky voice commands from above you, and you shriek in surprise, falling back onto the muddy grass. There's a man resting on the lower branches. When he swings from the tree and plants his feet, you stare up at him in awe, realising he's no mere man - he's the hero that saved your village from a rogue forktail. A Witcher.

"Forgive me, Sir Witcher--"

"I'm terribly sorry to have frightened--"

You both laugh nervously. He has the hood of his cloak up, and you can only see the glimmer of his unusual eyes. Hesitantly, he offers a hand -- almost as if he expects you to be offended by his politeness. But you grasp it readily.

He gasps. "My lady, you are so cold--" And again you are interrupted, just as he is trying to haul you to your feet. The goat -- Lil' Bleater -- clambers onto your lap and starts making herself comfortable. The other one is more skittish, but not so frightened that it is dissuaded from trying to search through your apron pockets for stray herbs.

"Goats, no!" The Witcher tries to order, sounding distressed, "Get off-- Lil' Bleater! Manners!"

You can't help but laugh, even as you tremble. "It is alright, Sir Witcher," You try to comfort him, "My dress was quite spoiled anyway. A little bit of goat will do no harm."

He reaches down and picks Lil' Bleater up, who yodels with the indignity of it, before he sets her aside and successfully pulls you to your feet. He's close to you -- close enough that you can feel his warmth and strength. Despite the chill of the storm, your cheeks grow hot.

"I was leaving town when this sweet doe joined us," He gestures to the second goat, "So I had to backtrack to try and find her owner. But then it began to rain..." He frowns. "You've no cloak."

"I fell victim to a gust of wind." You confess, "A pity, for I sewed that cloak myself. But these things happen, Sir Witcher. I will warm again in town." But your lips are taking on a hint of discoloration, and your fingertips are tingling numb. The storm still rages.

"My name... I am Eskel, my lady. I must insist you take my cloak for now." He undoes it, and pulls it from his body.

"Oh, Sir Eskel, I could not ask..." But already he's pulling it around you, and you drown in the fabric and residual warmth. You let out a little moan at the feeling, and clap your hand over your mouth after in shame. He's rubbing the side of his face as if it itches, and you note the scars that claw down it.

They do not detract from his beauty. Without the cloak, you can see the discipline of his body, and the glitter of his eyes. Your fingers itch to brush some of the hair away from his forehead so you can truly examine the fascinating cat-like pupil that splits his irises, but such a gesture might not be welcomed.

"You're definitely my hero." You confess, "First you save us from the forktail, and now you save me from hypothermia. I am most grateful." You smile at him, but it just seems to make him more awkward.

"It is nothing, my lady." He mumbles. Lil' Bleater butts into his knee unexpectedly, and he staggers. You bite your lip so you won't laugh. "Oooh, I'm selling you at the next market, I am." He grabs the goat's horns and wrestles with her for a moment. She yields and frolicks out of his reach.

"She has quite the spirit." You remark, "I doubt you want for entertainment."

He smiles, and you feel giddy at the sight of it. "Not often, no." He agrees.

"Are... are you not cold, Sir Eskel?" You wonder, guilt nipping at you, "You have done me a kindness, but I can't accept it at your expense."

"Witchers don't get cold very easily." He says, and you hum, disbelieving.

"But still..." You gather your nerve, even if you're looking at your muddy shoes, "It is a rather large cloak. I would happily share it."

He tenses up, and you immediately berate yourself for being so forward. Gods, he must think you a harlot. You're about to backtrack when he whispers, "Really?"

Your cheeks grow warmer still. "Very happily."

He thinks for a moment, and then reaches up into the branches for one of his packs. He withdraws a tightly coiled bundle of leather; something to be laid down to keep the damp from a bedroll. Then he unfurls it, and you take initiative and sit.

Tentatively, he sits on the edge of the leather, and pulls a corner of the cloak to cover his knee. You stare at him, bemused. He looks so lost that you can't help but want to guide him.

You undo the cloak -- he protests at first, as you wrap it around him -- but then he goes silent and still as you sit in the space between his legs, pulling the material around you. He's rigid, and you suspect that he might not be breathing.

"There," You whisper, "See? Plenty of room."

He makes the tiniest noise. Gradually, he begins to relax; to accept that together, you are warmer. Occasionally your back brushes his chest, and he goes all stiff again, until you sigh and just lean fully into him.

As if you're a fragile baby bird, he provides support. Emboldened by your gesture, he loops his arms around your middle chastely -- barely touching -- and you murmur your approval.

You'll never know how he scents the herbal fragrance of your hair and commits it to memory. How he'll remember the thrum of your pulse for years to come. How the sight of an old oak tree will make him smile.

As the two goats cuddle nearby and the storm swells, you find shelter in a Witcher, and he finds comfort in your tender heart.

A/N: For @ficsandcatsandficsandcats because I'm pushin' for 80%. And cause we love touch-starved, kind goat dad.

[drethanramslay]

High

Pairing: M! Sam Dalton x MC( Malaika Agarwal)

Word count: 4.7 K words

Masterlist

WARNING: DIRTY TALK, SMUT AND NS*W!! IF YOU CLICK ON THE READ MORE TAG,THEN YOU ARE CONSENTING THAT YOU ARE 18+ AND ARE CAN VIEW SUCH WORKS 

Permanent Tag list: @trappedinfandoms​ @oofchoices​ @agent-breakdance​ @dailydoseofchoices​ @colossalpainintheass​ @siaramsey​ @theeccentricbibliophile​ @ac27dj​ @ramseysno1rookie​ @justanotherrookie​ @openheart12​ @jamespotterthefirst​ @checkurwindow​ @chasingrobbie​  @junggoku​

Sam x MC Taglist: @lulaortega @hatescapsicum @theodorepjames4 @noboundariesplease @datynasuha @sanchita012 @choices-addict @the-trash-bandito @peregrinaflor @drakewalkerfantasy @itsmechoicesfanaf @crazynutella @rookiemarsswiftie @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor @ethandaddyramsey @mvalentine @the-pale-goddess @pixelberryownsme @lucy-268 @ohramsey @fleur-de-jasmin-fdj​ @edgiestwinter​

Songs: I see red by Everybody Loves an Outlaw and High by Dua Lipa and Whethan

forgive me if there are any mistakes

Coming to the engagement party was a bad idea.

Malaika knew from the very beginning that working for one of the hottest and most elligible CEO would have been a disaster. She knew that kissing him against the kitchen counter of his own home would have been catastrophic. His deft fingers running and teasing against the heat of her pussy in the backseat of the limo was problematic.

Don't even get her started on the blunder that happened on the dancefloor. She still remembered the way they were close to each other in borderline obscene ways.

But lately, these series of bad decisions have been one of the happiest moments of her life.

Yes you can call me boo boo the fool. Malaika thought to herself as she emptied the contents of another glass of champagne, to drown her misery and boredom.

The soft waltz music died down and she heard the feedback from the mic. She looked up and saw barbie doll standing there with her perfect nails and her perfect life.

"Thanks for coming to our fabulous party. This night is a dream come true for us. Sam is a dream come true for me." She raised her flute towards Sam's direction and fluttered her eyelashes.

Malaika scoffed. Is she for real? Did her fake eyelash poke her eyeballs that she if fluttering them like that?

Malaika was never one to be a bitch, hell she wouldn't even hurt a fly unintentionally, but the sexual frustration, her own feelings and the smooth champagne is not a good combination.

"This is so boring." Robin piqued as he took a sip of his whiskey.

"Ugh... Hard same. Is she always like this?"

"Yep. This is very serious business for Sofia. I heard that she even hired a ghost writer for the toast."

"Wow. That's pathetic. I mean how hard is it to write a toast for the person you 'love'?" Malaika asked, making air quotes with her free hand on the word love.

Especially when that person is Sam Dalton.

"It's only easy if you remotely like the person."

Sophia continued her monologue. " Same and I have been dating for only..." She proceeded to check her notes.

"Are you kidding me? Who the hell forgets when you start dating?"

"I know right? She even has her 'I love you' written down too. Imagine what we could've tricked her into saying if we'd swapped out her cards." Robin said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Malaika giggled. "I can definitely see that happening."

As Sofia continued to drone on about how much she loved him and yada yada, Robin provided her with whispered commentary which had her laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face.

Thank god for waterproof mascara.

They continued bullshiting each other when from the corner of her eye, she saw Sam step up near Sofia and kiss her cheek before proceeding to give his speech.

"Thank you Sofia and thank you to all of you for coming here to join us in celebrating our love."

Robin turned around to see him and scoffed, not even lowering his voice. "More like an arrangement."

Malaika's eyes widened. "Shhh Robin. I am not getting into trouble because of you."

"But you wouldn't mind getting in trouble for other reasons?" He asked cheekily.

A smirk danced on her lips. "Maybe..?"

Sam continued his speech, tears glinting in his eyes. "As you all know, I lost my first wife about five years ago... and for a long time, didn't think I would ever meet someone else who made me feel the way she did."

His eyes locked with hers and Malaika's breath hitched in her throat.

"But now I feel like I have a second chance at happiness again. I finally met someone who gets me. Someone I can't stop thinking about. Someone who lights up the whole room with her passion."

Sam... Are you even talking about Sofia at this point?

Malaika was frustrated by the 'hot and cold' behaviour Sam showed. One moment he is all over her saying things like 'I want to taste you' and then the next moment say that 'we can't'.

Malaika understood where he was coming from. She understood that this game they were playing was forbidden and dangerous but Malaika was never one to shy away from the adrenaline rush.

And on top of it, he is so possesive about me that he goes wild like a rogue buffalo when he sees me with another guy. Malaika snorted rolling her eyes.

"Awww I love you too boo-bear." Sofia squealed as she hugged him. Sam picked her up and twirled her around not letting go of her.

"Passion is not a word I would use for Sofia." Robin mused turning back to look at Malaika.

"...right." A frown tugged on her lips and and the longer she stared at her arms around Sam, the dizzier she felt.

If he thinks I am some weak bitch who will just sit on the sidelines and cry, then he is wrong.

She turned to Robin, who starts to make another snide remark but stopped short when he saw the determined look on her face.

A small smirk made its way on to his lips. "What? Finally want to join in on the fun? 'Cause you know I am down for anything."

The adrenaline, anger and alcohol surged through her as she came up with a plan.

Was it stupid? Yes.

Was that going to stop her? Nope.

As Sam continued his toast, Malaika turned her full attention to Robin. She placed her hand on Robin's chest and his eyes widened.

"What would you say to upping the ante on your little game with Sam? See how far we can really push him? All in good fun of course."

Robin gave her a thoughtful side-eye while poking his tongue against the inside of his lip. Finally, he chuckled.

"Consequences be damned. Let's do it."

In a fluid motion, he wrapped his hand around her waist and she leaned into him, which did not go unnoticed by Sam.

"As I was saying, Sofia is an incredible woman..."

Robin gave a grin. "Forget Sofia, you're the easiest woman to pretend-flirt with I've ever met."

"Back at ya, my partner-in-crime."

"I am hurt. I thought we could be partners and mor-"

"Shhh Robin, we are on a mission." She lightly slapped his chest.

Robin rolled his eyes. "And pray tell me what is the name of the mission?"

Without thinking Malaika blurted out. "Salty Sam."

Both of them snickered and Malaika punched him playfully. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sam struggling to get a visual on what was happening between the two.

Sam continued his speech. "But, uh, what I like most about Sofia is... ugh, move, you big oaf."

"What?!" Sofia's smile melted into a scowl.

"Whoops." Robin said with zero guilt.

Realisation dawned on Sam, as he struggled to fix the mess he made. "I said... 'you're smooth as merlot'? Because you've always had such sophisticated taste in everything...? Except men, I suppose."

The crowd chuckled at the joke and Robin shakes his head. "Always manages to stick the landing."

"Let's take it up a notch, shall we?" Malaika asked with a wicked grin.

"I like the sound of that. Didn't know you were so bad."

Malaika opened her mouth to reply when Sam tapped on the mic and sent a death glare Robin's way which sent a shiver down her spine.

"A-hem. I know some of you are busy smooth-talking your 'flavor of the week', but all eyes need to be up here, thanks."

Malaika's eyes narrowed. How fucking dare he, that entitled jackass?

Robin raised a hand in apology as he shifted to face the couple again, but his lips found her ear.

"Uh-oh we are making the boss mad."

"Oops we did it again." Malaika chuckled under her breath.

"But do you know what will make Sam go completely berserk with jealousy?"

"Enlighten me, O' wise one."

"If he saw us leave together."

"Damn Robin... You really went for the throat, huh?"

"That's how we prey Malaika."

"As much as that fulfills your wet dreams, I actually have thought out what we need to do." Malaika reached and smoothly snatched the glass out of Robin's hand.

"Hey! Give it back." Robin reached for it again and he was dangerously close, his cologne surrounding her. Her eyes darted and met furious hazel ones, staring back at her. Sam's speech was long forgotten and his eyes were solely focused on her... And Robin.

That might teach you not to fuck around with me.

"Now for the winning stroke... Kiss me."

Robin's eyes widened and his jaw was on the ground. "Seriously? Now?" He whispered back.

"Don't you want to?"

"Hell yeah." With that he pulled her body flush against his and crashed his lips to hers. Malaika grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.

Damn... Robin is a good kisser. Malaika thoughts as he deepened the kiss.

They pulled back and Malaika expected Sam to be on the verge of an exploding, ready to bark at them for the unsolicited PDA, but he wasn't.

He just smirked and the glint in his brown orbs making her wary. He reached for Sofia and pulled her into a passionate kiss, his eyes not leaving Malaika's shocked ones.

Oh...

Robin was calling her name but it sounded far away, as if her head was dunked in a bucket of cold water, the reality chilling into her bones.

She should look away or close her eyes to stop the pain, but she just could not. He could see the pink of his tongue entering Sofia's mouth and she saw red.

"I think I had enough excitement for the night." She mumbled as she got out of Robin's embrace and reached for her champagne flute, and raised it towards Sam's direction, an indication that he won.

Congratulations asshole, you stomped all over the remains of my dignity and heart.

She set the glass down and headed towards the bathroom so that she could have a breakdown in peace.

"Hey you okay?" Robin asked, catching her by the elbow. Malaika managed to out on a smile and patted his hands. "Just peachy. I will just go and get fresh." She turned on her heels and walked.

But even as she walked away, she could feel a pair of eyes staring at her leaving form.

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

She found the restroom like a oasis in the desert. It was completely empty and she finally was alone after hours of torture.

"It's okay.... You are going to be fine... Breathe in, breathe out." Her manicured nails were clutching the counter, trying to recentre herself. She looked up to see her reflection staring back at herself.

She was greatful for her russet brown skin for it could hide the bags underneath her eyes. Her onyx brown eyes looked tired due to the juggling between her work and her feelings. The only thing which had survived the entire ordeal was her dark hair with light brown undertones.

Under the soft lights of the restroom, her short baby blue dress popped against the deep bronze of her skin.

My life maybe falling apart but at least I look hot.

In midst of her washing her hands she saw Sofia strut in and stand in front of the basin beside her.

There are literally six other basins she could stand and do her gaudy makeup but no. Ever learnt of personal space lady? Malaika rolled her eyes as she continued washing her hands.

The quicker I finish, the faster I can yeet myself out of her highness' presence. Malaika chanted in her head as she reached for the tissue paper.

"He isn't going to love you."

Huh?

Malaika turned towards Sofia, with an incredulous expression in her face.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"I think you are reading too much into this."

"Please. You don't become the most successful heiress to a Multi-Million dollar Company by being an airhead." Sofia said as she reached for her face powder.

"I think the spotlight under which you stand has blinded you." Malaika said as she reached for her lipstick, coating a nice layer of Burgundy on her lips.

Sofia stopped what she was doing and turned towards her, a patronizing smile on her face. "Aw, aren't you cute. You think I didn't see that little game you had going on?"

"I was with Robin, what the hell are you talking about?" Malaika clenched her hand around the lipstick, annoyed by the fact that this bitch could see through her intentions. She maybe fuming on the inside but she had the perfect poker face on the outside.

"Oh naive Malaika. You both were so obvious that even the paparazzi noticed it. But, if you want to be a petulant child and continue living in the state of denial, then okay."

Malaika clenched her jaw. I am so close to yanking of her hair extensions. 

Sofia capped her lipstick and placed it in her clutch. She turned towards Malaika. "See, I don't give a damn about what's going on between you and Sam. But, I have known Sam for a long time and I have known that you are nothing but a momentary infatuation."

Sofia placed her left hand on her waist and the diamond ring glittered an underlying threat.

"Bask in the attention all you want, I am not saying no. But at the end of the day he is marrying me and it's my bed he going to be sleeping in."

Sofia walked up to Malaika and stared her down. Malaika matched the intensity of her stare, her height giving her the advantage of matching the intimidating glare.

"I usually get what I want, be it the good way or the crook's way. Nothing will ever stop me from getting what I want. So go, do your job of a nanny because that's all you will ever be. Ciao!"

Sofia turned on her heels and she walked out of the bathroom, leaving Malaika pissed to another level.

That bitch...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Wow... Pardon my language but that bitch!" Robin exclaimed as they stood near the window, in the hallway talking.

"That's exactly what I said!! See, I fucking topped in biochemistry in NYU. I'm financially independent- I mean as independent as I can be. I already have job offer but it starts after six months and that too, in LA. So that's why I took up this job of a nanny so that I could save up enough money to move, pay off my student loans and have time to work on my thesis."

Robin put his hand on Malaika's shoulder. "I know it's hard M. Hell, I am called Sam's assistant when I am literally the Chief operating officer."

"Fuck the rich. Fuck capitalism. I hate this. I’m sorry for being such a Debbie downer," Malaika grumbled as she crossed her arms and stared at her feet.

"No its okay... I understand. If you need to talk, I'm here okay?"

"What would I do without my partner-in-crime?"

"Probably die of boredom?" They both chuckled. Robin put an arm around Malaika and squeezed her into a side hug. Malaika returned the gesture and laid her head on his shoulder as they stared out of the 40th floor.

"Things will get better M."

"You don't know that." Pessimism ringing clear in her voice.

"But I know you and I know that you are hell of a fighter... And that's why I know you'd be great in bed."

Malaika groaned and pushed him. "Dude, read the room."

Robin laughed and something caught his eye, causing the laughter to die down. "Malaika, Sam is here."

"A'ight, that's my cue to leave. Once again, thank you Robin." Malaika started fast walking down the hallway. There was a deserted service elevator which she could use to get away undetected.

"Malaika!" Sam called out.

Fuck my luck. Malaika cursed as she stopped in her tracks.

"Back off Sam." Robin spoke up stepping in his way.

"Robin, can you kindly fuck off. You are the last person I want to talk to after the stunt you pulled. What the hell were you doing with Malaika?"

"Why does it matter to you?!"

"She is not one of your dates. I won't let you take advantage of her just because she is vulnerable."

Is he on crack?

"Who said he is taking advantage of me?" Malaika angrily spoke up, her eyes blazing with anger.

That seem to motivate Robin because he stood up taller and spoke back. "Yeah, calm down, Mr Big Shot. I'm cleaning up your mess."

Shock coloured his face which infuriated her further. "What is that supposed to mean?"

The sheer audacity to pull the Pikachu face...

"Sam I- I just can't with you. Robin, good bye! I had a lovely time." She threw a smile Robin's way and he waved back at her.

"Malaika, wait up!"

This time she rushed into the open lift and pressed the close button multiple times before it started closing. Sam was still pretty far away so she let out a sigh of relief.

Thank fuc-

The door opened and Sam entered.

Malaika dragged a hand down her face, groaning internally. She was already in a bad mood and she didn't have the bandwidth to deal with mixed signals at the moment.

The next time I meet like luck character, she and I are going to have a nice chat.

"Malaika." Sam said, his eyes focused on her.

"That's my name."

Sam clenched his jaw in annoyance, and Malaika crossed her arms stubbornly. She looked the other way but from the corner of her eye, she saw how the lights of the lift casted shadows on his face, making him look sharp and angular, as if he was cut from granite.

"See Malaika I just wanted to know if you are okay."

"I am in the utmost state of bliss." The words sarcastically dripped of her lips and Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Oh. So is this how we are going to go about this?"

"What's there to go about? I am fucking done and I need to sleep."

"Fine." Sam tuned around and pressed the emergency stop button on the lift and it smoothly came to a stop.

Malaika gripped on to the railing out of surprised and threw a dirty look towards Sam.

"We are not leaving until we talk." Sam said as he stood opposite her. The lift was four feet wide, and the fact that they were in a metal cage, all alone was really distracting Malaika.

"You want to talk? Fine. Let's talk about how I don't need you to protect me. It's a party, and I'm a young, single woman. I could be up to anything or fucking anyone, and it wouldn't be any of your business!"

"I know that but-" Sam said in a perplexed voice.

"Do you though? You hired me to be your nanny, not a girlfriend. That's Sofia's job."

Sam winced. "I..I know that too."

Malaika stepped forward and poked a finger into his chest. "One minute, you pull me onto the dance floor, then the next, I'm watching your engagement speech!"

Sam stood to his towering height, glaring down at her. "And I can't stop thinking about that dance or about the way you were grinding that ass on my dick. Do you know how long it took me to cool down?"

If it were any other day, Malaika’s brain would have short-circuited with the words he spoke, but not today. Today she was pissed, hurt and ready to beat the hell out of someone.

She grew up in fucking Brooklyn, she isn't some weak bitch you can trample on.

Another jab.

"Here is your big fucking chance to talk so go ahead and let me have it! Tell me how ‘sorry’ you are or how ‘wrong’ this is."

"Don't provoke me, Malaika." Sam spoke through clenched teeth.

She didn't care. Another step closer, another jab to the chest.

"Why did you really want me here tonight? Did you want me to be here and see her all over you? To see you playing tonsil hockey game with her? Sorry sir, but that is not covered in my pay-check."

She raised her finger to jab him again but this time Sam grabbed her finger tightly.

Wonder how would that feel aro-

Not the time brain. Malaika chided her inner thot.

"No of course not! I just- I just wanted you to stay. For once in my life, I wasn't thinking ahead."

The alcohol and the day's frustration had caught up to her and she didn't care if she sounded snarky and rude. He already deals with Sofia’s jabs, so how could I be any worse? "Wow, what an earth shattering revelation. Yeah well, let me make it easy for you and quit."

"Don't fucking do that." Sam rushed.

Malaika sighed, leaning her head in his broad strong shoulders. She looked up and spoke. "Face the facts. It'd be a lot easier for both of us if we don't have to see each other every day."

"I'm trying Malaika..." He said as his touch ran down her arms, changing from hard restraint to a gentle caress, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Even though I am angry, how does this man manage to get butterflies in my stomach.

"Every day, I'm fighting not to let myself get carried away. I'm fighting not to touch you. I'm fighting not to do this..." He buried his head into her neck and placed a hot, wet kiss at her jugular, knowing that it's the one spot that drives her absolutely mad.

"...or do this..." His hands slid from her waist to her ass, groping them. A gasp left her lips and her eyes fluttered shut, feeling the sensation of his lips kissing the crook of her neck, his hands wandering and sqeezing and his growing erection against her stomach.

"...and I definitely missed doing this." He pulled her hair, forcing her to look at him as he crashed his lips against hers, an avalanche of desire unleashed.

Malaika returned the kiss with equal fervour. She reached to loop her hands around his neck to pull him so close that she was literally painted on him.

But that wasn't enough for Sam.

He pushed her against the wall, his broad and sculpted body completely covering her frame. His hands unhooked her dainty ones and pushed them against the wall, locking them in place.

"I want to fuck you until I can feel that sweet little pussy clenching around my cock." He whispered in her ear, before catching her earlobe in his teeth and tugging.

Malaika let out a moan her stomach involuntarily clenched, desire lighting up each inch of her body, as if a matchstick was thrown into a pool of gasoline.

"Keep making those noises. Can't wait to make you scream my name until your throat is sore." Sam spoke in a husky voice, his hand letting her go and reaching for the zip on the back of her dress.

Malaika reached to help him but he just pushed her hand away. "Just relax and let me do what I'm good at." Sam started kneeling down, and that sent her imagination into overdrive.

"And what would that be?" Malaika asked, her eyes wanton as he unclasped her bra, showing off her plump breasts.

Sam then proceeded to remove her soaked panties, and holding them near his nose to inhale her scent before snapping his dark eyes towards her.

"To devour you. To worship you. To make you come hard."

Malaika clenched her thighs and Sam stood up, smirking at the effect his dirty talk had on her. He stood back up, his hand running along her smooth calf, thighs and stopped to rest on her hipbone, gently massaging it.

His other hand cupped her face, his thumb running along the cushion of her bottom lip. "Is that what you want, baby girl?"

Malaika was an outgoing woman and rarely found herself tongue tied but here she was, at a complete loss of words.

Oh god...

So instead of saying, she showed. Her hand reached for his erection, and palmed him through his trousers. Sam's eyes darkened and he descended on her mouth with such passion which had her breathless.

And as if that wasn't enough, his fingers found their way to her pussy, which was throbbing with a heartbeat of it own.

It was a fight for dominance. A fight to see who could get the other to bend at their will. Malaika's hand flew through the buttons of his tacky suit, exposing his strong, broad chest with sparse chest hair. Sam hooked her leg against his hip so that he could get better access to her, his hands running along the smooth supple skin.

Malaika's head rolled and rested on the cool surface of the elevator, lost in the pleasure of his fingers rubbing her clit. She was so wet and she knew that his hands would be dripping with her arousal.

Two digits entered her and her back arched against the wall, her breasts making contact with his naked chest.

"Do you feel it Malaika? Do you feel how wet you are for me? Do you know how sexy you look right now?" He spoke lowly, his voice husky with desire.

"Yes sir." Malaika choked out as his thumb brushed the hood of her sensitive clit.

"I'm... Gonna come." She panted out which was a mistake because he withdrew his fingers.

"Asshole." She sweated.

"And what about it? You wanted to quit didn't you? I did it-" Sam was interrupted by Malaika grabbing his ugly floral tie and pulling him towards her.

"With all due respect, fuck me, hard. Don't hold back one bit otherwise I swear to god, I won't let you come."

"Turn around, baby girl." She obeyed, almost giddy that she was finally gonna be dicked down.

He grabbed her wrists which made her yelp. He took his tie and tied it around them, securing them in their place. It was just perfect, not too tight nor too loose.

Sam moved her hair to one side placed hot fiery kissed on her neck, lapping up the moisture accumulated. "Look at you... What a delectable sight. You will forget your fucking name after I'm done with you."

"I'm holding you to it sir."

"The more you use sir, the more it feels like an insult." Sam said, his erection digging into her backside

"You do you sir."

Spreading her legs, she heard Sam's belt unbuckling, which made her excited and increase her yearning to feel him. The moment Sam saw her twitching, he slapped her ass which caused her to let out a breathless moan. He massage the spot where he spanked her leading her to get impatient.

What’s the fucking hold up?

"Stop fucking standing there with your junk in your hand you- holllyy shitt." She was interrupted as she felt Sam's dick rub against her walls, coating them with her arousal.

Grabbing her waist tightly, he entered and Sam rumbled in approval, enjoying the way her walls clenched and unclenched around him.

"You feels so good Malaika. Almost heavenly."

Malaika pressed her forehead against the cool surface and let out a moan, a flux of pain and pleasure cursing through her veins.

"Oh lord..." She moaned.

He moved slowly initially, so that she could get used to his size. But once Malaika started get fidgety and begged him to fuck him harder, it awoke something in him. Something primal and something which motivated him to snap his hips and pummel into her.

In. Out. In. out. A steady punishing rhythm was set which had Malaika crying, from ecstasy. Sam's hand reached to grab her breast and roll her nipple, making them erect and heavy with need. His other hand reached to rub her which had her screaming due to the override of stimulation.

"Please don't stop... pounding my pussy... please." Malaika begged, feeling her climax coming closer and closer as she soared above.

Sam grunted, his lower spine tingling and his abs clenching, his need to release fueling his motions further. His thrusts became shorter and faster, which was just enough to push them over the edge.

Malaika screamed, failing to be quiet while Sam moaned out loud, and sunk his teeth into her shoulder to muffle it. The bliss lasted for what seemed like eternity, both of them clutching on to each other as they slowly floated down from cloud nine. Malaika was leaning against the wall of the elevator, her legs feeling like jelly.

Sam unbound her hands and pulled put of her, causing her to wince at the sudden emptiness. He turned her towards him, hugging her in his muscular arms. He ran his fingers through her head as Malaika sought solace in his embrace, her breath becoming normal after a while.

Sam kissed her forehead. "We will try, Malaika."

"Yeah... I am not giving up on you Sam."

"Thank you for having faith in me baby girl. Its a mess but, I am not giving up on you either.” Malaika smiled, feeling some sort of peace in a very long time.

okay so um yeah... here is your flask of holy water

this would have to be the filthiest thing I have ever written sike

I hope you liked it heheheh

like, comment, reblog and let me know what you think <3

[dessarious]

Misconceptions, Miscommunication, and Misinformation Pt86

Inspired by @ozmav Maribat AU

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Ladybug sat motionless on top of the Arc de Triomphe. She thought it was somewhere around one in the morning, but she couldn’t be certain. She just hoped Chloe didn’t wake up while she was gone. The last thing she wanted to do was cause more worry but she’d needed some fresh air. Needed time alone to think.

“Bit past your bedtime isn’t it?” As soon as she heard the voice Ladybug was in motion. She dove off the Arc using her Yoyo to swing around and flank the intruder. They were looking over the side where she’d dropped and she had them wrapped up before registering what exactly she was seeing.

“What the hell?” For a moment she thought it was a cosplayer dressed as Chat Noir, then her brain woke up. Getting on top of the Arc itself was no easy feat but they’d also been able to sneak up on her and that wasn’t something just anyone could do. No, the woman in front of her had to be Catwoman. When had this become her life? “Whatever you’re here to steal I suggest you rethink it.”

“I’m not here to steal anything. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Everyone’s talking about the tiny Parisian that brought the Justice Clowns to their knees. I must say I didn’t expect you to be so cute.” The woman had a smirk on her face and her tone was teasing.

“Thank you?” She didn’t even know how to respond to that. “Wait, what do you mean everyone’s talking about me? Who’s everyone?” She could hear a note of panic in her own voice but was pretty sure anyone else would take it for frustration. At least she hoped so.

“Everyone. Hero’s, Villains, those of us who are in more of a limbo territory. It’s not everyday someone hands the man of steel his ass and walks away completely unscathed. It’s impressive.” She absolutely did not need this. Ladybug just let out a heartfelt groan as she freed Catwoman from her Yoyo. The last thing Paris needed was random villains showing up to gawk at her or test her abilities. She was going to have to talk to the others about this.

“Wonderful. Just when I was thinking things might calm down enough to breathe for once. So what do you want then?” Her tone was flat and it took everything in her not to just walk away from this. Just once she wanted to let someone else handle things. But she was Ladybug right now so no matter how much she wanted to scream in frustration or find a hole to crawl into she had to do the right thing. Whatever that was. Catwoman just looked confused.

“Wait… did Robin not tell you? I thought for sure he would as soon as he found out I was coming.” Ladybug could only blink at the woman as her brain refused to process the words or their implication.

“He knew you were coming?” This didn’t make any sense. Surely Damian would have told her about something like this if he actually knew. Before Catwoman could respond she was tackled by another figure in black. So much for getting back before Chloe woke up. In seconds Discorde had Catwoman pinned to the roof by her neck as a growl emitted from her throat.

“You’ve got one minute to explain why I shouldn’t tie you up and toss you off this roof.” Well that was a bit of an overreaction. Ladybug felt guilt swell as she stepped forward to put a calming hand on her partner's shoulder.

“It’s okay, we were just talking.” She kept her tone calm and soothing but it didn’t seem to help at all. “Discorde, please just let go, I’m too tired to explain or fight about this right now.” That got her attention and she let go of Catwoman as if burned.

“I’m sorry-” Ladybug shook her head and motioned to Catwoman to cut off her girlfriend’s apology. It wasn’t necessary for one, but it really wasn’t a conversation to have in front of one of Gotham’s rogues.

“I thought the Bats were just screwing with me when they said that one of Paris’s heroes was cat themed.” Discorde actually hissed at her but she just grinned back. “Oh I definitely like you.” Ladybug could only share a confused look with Discorde before letting out a sigh.

“Can you please explain what you meant about Robin?” The woman hesitated before shrugging to herself.

“Just that I thought he’d start bitching and moaning as soon as he heard I’d be joining his father in Paris. He’s not exactly my biggest fan and I figured he’d warn you about me as quickly as possible.” She really needed sleep. None of this made sense. Luckily Discorde seemed to be able to put together the clues her brain was too overwhelmed to process.

“You’re Selina?” Oh… Oh! That made sense, well sort of. Catwoman nodded and Discorde began cursing in a number of languages before slipping into planning a very detailed torture for Damian.

“I really like you.” Discorde just frowned at the woman but Ladybug could see a hit of pleasure at the praise. Maybe this wouldn’t be a bad thing.

“Suddenly I understand why Robin has such an issue with you.” She really hadn’t meant to say that out loud and cringed as Catwoman shot a glare at her.

“Because I’m a villain?” She spat the last word with contempt but Ladybug didn’t have the energy to process what that meant.

“No. Because he prefers to see the world around him in terms of black and white but you’re nothing but a gray area. Both in this persona with the way you bounce back and forth between what most people think of as good and bad, and your less than stable relationship with his father. You’re unpredictable, neither one thing nor the other, and he doesn’t like the uncertainty of it all.” Both Catwoman and Discorde were staring at her like she’d grown another head and she really didn’t know why.

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[gotmetalkinginmysleep]

The Pep Talk

Genre: Fluff and Selfcare with Park Jaebeom x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Mentions of self-doubt, low Mood and a yearning for skinship which may be unsettling for some.

Summary: It’s time for a Pep Talk from Papi.

Reference: I Got This by Jay Park

Word Count: 817 Words

All rights reserved ©Gotmetalkinginmysleep.

- - -

It’s nice to be outside after a stuffy day. The end of the working week reached and a much needed few days of rest before hitting the grind. Air cool enough to sit outside on a midsummer evening, especially with friends at the park, everyone bringing food and a few drinks to unwind. A much needed night after feeling low and distant for so long.

Black bean noodles from the take out wash down deliciously with a can of soda before the bottles of Soju are opened. Jay, of course, had to make opening the liquor a show with everyone around but it brought a smile to your face all the same. Even though you were enjoying your night, you still felt remote and separated from it.

Your inner demons filling you with personal doubts about your future. Constantly wondering if you’re doing the right thing. The plans you had changing considerably to make the dream come true. Although your friends are rallying around you, you still feel alone. Like you’re fighting an inner battle with the person inside telling you what you can’t achieve. That you’ll fail. That you’ll disappoint those who deem it important to share their views with you. Their voices of hate ringing in your ears so loud you’re afraid others can actually hear them.

When everyone starts playing games you take the opportunity to sit out, casually leaning back and sitting on the concrete steps. Watching your new life in the distance, parading itself before your eyes like you’re not invited. You try to chill. Head lolled back and eyes closed, enjoying the gentle breeze that rustles through the trees, the sounds allowing you to relax your emotions before they boil over.

Seeing you alone Jay joins you, bringing a glass each and a half bottle to share. He places these between you as he kicks back, mimicking your now relaxed stance. Watching everyone enjoying themselves from a short distance, he could see how out of touch you felt. Almost distancing yourself in both physical and mental sense. He pours you a glass and hands it to you, his soft smile spreading across his face.

“Cheers,” Jay announces as he presents his glass to you. You oblige him, clinking the glasses together with a forced smile on your face. The liquor no longer burns after the previous shots, rolling down your throat with ease and sitting warmly in your belly.

Both of you sit in comfort for a few minutes, watching the world go by. Your friends laughing and joking metres away but they may as well be miles. The silence isn’t awkward between you, but it rapidly becomes that way when he opens his mouth.

“You know. You can be anyone you want.”

The words hit you like a brick, muting you in your already quiet state. He kicks back more as he grabs the bottle swigging the liquid, discarding the glasses between you. Staring at your mutual friends like he’s surrounded by them; his metaphorical backup to his argument. His smile brightening the evening sky as he chuckles lightly to himself, recalling his own personal hardships before he turns to you.

“You can be anyone you want,” ensuring he’s directing right at you, making you look at him. His face becoming more sincere as he closes the gap between you and placing the now empty bottle on the floor. His arms wrap around your shoulders in support as your feelings hit you like a hammer to the chest. Your eyes welling up at all the angry thoughts you have within yourself. Your saboteur raging inside you and rising to the surface in powerful emotion.

Jay feels it in your shoulders as you shake, holding back your tears. He’s watching your face intently as he begins to calm you down, his fingers stroking your hair before hooking the rogue strands behind your ears. He captures the stray tear that gives you away from your face. The gentle touch has you humming. Someone’s love and warmth on your skin comforting you in a way you didn’t expect. You’re yearning to be held. To be taken care of. To be loved.

“Also,” He pauses as his face becomes serious. His hand resting along your jaw as he gazes into your slightly glassy eyes, “You can have anyone you want.”

The warmth of his palm dissipates through your body, erasing the hateful voices within and filling you with contentment. A soft smile spreading across your face as you lean into his touch, longing for someone’s comfort; his embrace. You’re watching him keenly before accepting the silent offer that you can feel between you.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy and you close them with a subtle nod as he draws you in. His hand cupping your chin as the other wraps around your nape, bringing you closer to his lips… closer to his kiss.

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[attackonmyself]

Every Step You Take--TW Victor Oneshot

Originally inspired by the Day 20 Kinktober Prompt: dubcon. Turned into noncon but not kinky.

TW: Explicit description of nonconsensual sex. Character being drugged. Nothing violent, but tread with caution.

Tonight was the night. The night he would have her, once and for all.

He knew everything about her. Her morning routine. The stores she visited to buy her lemon scented shampoo. Her scheduled hours of work, and how often she stayed in the office late into the night, working tirelessly to advance her career. He had eyes on her every second of the day; he knew every move she made the moment she made it. And she had no idea he was watching.

He looked in the mirror in front of him, combing a rogue tuft of hair. Everything had to be perfect, everything would be perfect--

The chandelier, glittering above him in the low light of the room.

He gritted his teeth, looking down at his shaking hand. Now was not the time to be nervous. One wrong move, and all his hard work would be for nothing.

He moved to the closet, picking out a tie to complement the three piece suit he had made just for this occasion. He ran his fingers over the various patterns, giving each a cursory glance until it hit the one he was looking for--

The synthetic taste of fabric softener as he swallowed.

He shook his head, deciding maybe not that one after all. Better to stick with a patternless one. He wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression, after all, and even the smallest details mattered tonight.

He slipped into the suit, fastening buttons, zippers, and the like. A black belt would match best, he determined, and fastened it quickly--

The clinking of his belt buckle below his line of sight.

“Snap out of it,” he commanded. Tonight was about her, not him. Being out of the spotlight was a key part of the plan. He was simply a guest, blending in with all of the other investors and interested parties. He could not stand out in any way. She shouldn’t notice him until the precise second he planned for her to.

He left the bedroom, and calmly descended the stairs to the garage. A click of a button, and the car door opened automatically. He got in, the door shutting behind him. Time to put things in motion for the main event.

The streets moved past in a blur, and soon he arrived at his destination. Goldman was already waiting for him, anxiously looking up from his watch as he trailed behind his boss. “Sir, what took you so long? You were almost late!”

“None of your business,” Victor replied coolly, signing in at the registration kiosk. They entered the building, where many of Loveland’s high society were mingling.

“A drink, sir?” Asked one of the waitstaff, circling around the venue.

An offered drink, manicured nails encircling the base of the glass.

“No, thank you,” he replied, waving her away. Being in full control of his faculties tonight would make the experience even sweeter, and despite his high tolerance, he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

He scanned the room, looking for an inconspicuous spot in which he could mingle while the guests waited for the presentation to begin. A few acquaintances were nestled in a corner, so he joined them and engaged in idle chatter about golfing trips, the new mayor, and business ventures.

Finally, the lights dimmed off and on, and everyone made their way to the auditorium. He, of course, had chosen a box seat; centrally located, with a soon to be perfect view of her.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He had waited for this moment for such a long time, and now his waiting would finally be over. Anticipation overtook any residual nervousness, excitement coursing through his veins. He’d finally caught her. She was at his mercy, and he could not wait to see the look on her face when she realized what was about to happen.

The audience applauded as she entered the room. She accepted the recognition with a nod and a wave, then made her way towards the podium. The sound of her heels hitting the stage echoed through the auditorium, and she deftly grabbed the microphone.

“Welcome, everyone!”

She flashed the audience a wide, familiar smile, and that was all it took for the memories to fully pull him under, into the past.

It was a business event, back when he was young and naïve. He was well on his way to becoming the successful powerhouse who now ruled the markets, but still green enough to not recognize that her attention was not of the business kind. He could feel her eyes on him from across the room, but had ignored her in favor of familiar associates. He could no longer avoid her, however, when she came right up to him and offered him a drink. He accepted it, and they exchanged pleasantries, her intense and observant stare present even while face to face making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. She was a powerful connection to have, so he pushed down any uneasiness and continued idle chatter until he suddenly started to feel weak and dizzy. He excused himself into a side room, and was splashing his face with water when he saw her slip into the room in the mirror, locking the door behind her.

“What are you doing?” He asked sluggishly.

In the blink of an eye, she approached him, pushed him back onto the couch, and ripped off his tie. He tried to fight back, but whatever was in the drink she gave him left him completely powerless in her hands, too weak and confused to shove her away.

She smiled widely as she shoved his tie into his mouth. “Just relax, and try to enjoy yourself. You’re mine now.”

A chill ran down his spine at her words. This couldn’t be real. It had to be some sort of prank.

Straddling him roughly, her hands expertly shed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. She leaned over him, putting her hands on his shoulders, looking him directly in the eye. “Don’t get any ideas about making a scene, ok? No one would believe you. And besides, you have your reputation to think about.” She sat back up, and he heard the soft thud of her skirt hitting the floor. “No one would take you seriously if you made this a big deal. Or tried to, anyways.”

Reality started to kick in. This was happening. A sudden surge of nausea hit him as she began to grind her hips against his. There had to be some way he could get himself out of this. He tried to look around for anything he could use, but he couldn’t muster the energy to turn his head, so the only thing he could see was the chandelier, glittering above him in the low light of the room.

A jolt of pain made him jump slightly; she nipped at his collarbone before tracing the vein in his neck with her lips. He swallowed around the fabric in his mouth, the bitter taste of fabric softener lingering for days after. Her moist breath at his pulse point made him shudder in repulsion. She ran her hands up and down his torso, making him tense up wherever she touched him. He tried to summon up the strength to push her to the ground and gain the advantage, waiting for the right moment to act.

“You’re going to try to give me trouble, aren’t you,” she said, as if reading his mind. “We can’t have that, so just in case…” He heard the rustling of fabric, then felt her lift his arms and bind his wrists together with what felt like the sleeves of his jacket.  

As he struggled to make his muscles move against the fabric, he heard the clink of his belt buckle from beneath his line of sight. It was too late; there was nothing he could do to stop this from happening. As her hands slipped beneath the band of his pants, he could feel his body begin to shut down, mind freezing up and paralysis overtaking his limbs. As her hands wrapped around him and his body betrayed him, his only thought was how he was going to make her pay for this.

She let out a blissful sigh as she slid down to the base, and he flinched internally as she caressed his cheek. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said as she began her assault.

He was determined to stay alert and aware; excruciating as it was, he needed to internalize every painful moment to fuel his desire for revenge. He looked her dead in the eyes, trying to convey through a withering look what he could not through his words: he would not let her get away with this. He would make her curse the day she met him if it was the last thing he ever--

“Sir!” A harsh whisper pulled him back into the present. “Sir, are you alright? You look rather sick. Should we leave?” Goldman’s worried expression faded back into view.  

He shook his head, schooling his expression back into a stoic front. He could not control the rapid beating of his heart, however; convinced the danger was still present. He closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers into his palms. “No. I’m fine. This is an important presentation, one I cannot miss.” Goldman sat back into his seat with a final concerned glance. Victor refocused his attention on her, waiting for his plan to play out.

“And with that, let’s look at the data.” She pressed a button on the remote in her hand, and the slides switched.

The lights shut off with a click and the projector went black. Victor sat up in his seat; the moment had finally come. Lines of code flashed across the screen and hushed whispers circled throughout the auditorium as an automated voice began to speak.

Good evening, ladies and gentleman. I know I am quite an unexpected guest, but believe me when I say I am a necessary one. The woman standing before you is not who you believe her to be. She is a liar, and a menace to society.  And I, Key, am here to bring you proof.

Shock spread across the auditorium. Victor looked at the stage, where she was frantically trying to regain control over the presentation. It was futile; she was now at his mercy.

While many medical trials successfully distort their data and get away with it, few minds are clever enough to be able to hack the system and change the numbers completely, especially over a period of close to ten years. But that’s exactly what she has done. It’s hard to trace when done correctly, but there are ways to tell. I took the liberty of personally checking all of her studies for the top selling drugs she has created over the past decade, and every single one had their clinical trial results tampered with. I won’t bore you with the technical details, but you can see for yourself on the live site link displayed on the screen exactly what she did and how she did it.

The projector clicked back on, and began displaying a muted live walkthrough on how to tamper with data at that level, a url displayed at the top. Security was beginning to move towards the stage.

But that’s not the worst crime. No, that would be her deleted side effects data. Not only did she tamper with her results, making her trials more successful than they were in reality, she also hid the data displaying the grossly negative side effects her drugs caused in the early stages of testing. She fixed this by adding painkillers and sedatives to the drugs to stave off some of them--which, by the way, went unreported--but that was only after the death of some of the initial trial subjects, marked down as sudden heart failure or stroke.

The hacker’s voice became lost in the pandemonium erupting in the room. Security had made it to the stage, and had her on her knees, arms behind her back. One of the guards pulled her hanging head up, and Victor managed to lock eyes with her for a split second. Her dull eyes widened in recognition, a hint of fury creeping into them. He let a satisfied smirk play across his lips. While some skeptics wouldn’t believe Key’s words until they had been fact checked by the proper authorities, everything would come back verified, just as the mysterious vigilante had said. Her reputation was ruined; everything she had worked hard for discredited. She would be known as a disgrace in the community. Despite the exposure being credited to Key, the two of them knew who was really behind it all. He had outsmarted her at her own game.

He left the auditorium with the rest of the perplexed guests, his performance not over until he was alone. Goldman bid him a good night at the door to the venue, and he returned to his car, the door closing with a satisfying click. As he sat there, stunned with how thoroughly according to plan everything had gone, a laugh of relief broke through. He had finally won. There would be no more awaking from a flashback induced nightmare and trembling from the knowledge that she was still out there and could get to him again at any moment. He would no longer have to be looking over his shoulder at every fundraiser. He was free. As he turned the key in the ignition, he continued laughing.  He hadn’t felt this relaxed in the five years he spent planning for this night. He felt like he could do anything, having accomplished this so perfectly.

As he stepped through the door of his apartment, he decided it was time to celebrate. He poured himself a glass of brandy, and reclined on the couch looking out at the picturesque skyline. He took a full sip--

The bitter taste of the drug infused champagne.

He spat it out, the brown liquid staining the white couch. He watched it seep into the surrounding fabric, heart racing.

“I’m fine, I’m merely imagining things,” he reassured himself. He prepared the drink himself, from an unopened bottle. There was literally no reason to worry.

He stared at the glass for another long minute, before deciding that perhaps it was too late for a drink tonight. He had work in the morning, and it was already past the typical time he went to bed. He was tired; he needed sleep after the exciting events of the evening. He went through his bedtime routine, and fell asleep soon after his head hit the pillow.

In his dream that night, she was on top of him once more, this time strangling him for what he had done.

[anistarrose]

Part TAZ Graduation, part TAZ Amnesty, entirely an experiment. Consider this a pilot episode for a fic premise I’ve gone and gotten myself invested in, but don’t have time to commit to right now. Were this an official first chapter, it would be tentatively titled “Prologue — The Exiles.”

The point is, I come bearing Amnesty’s plot adapted to Graduation’s cast of characters, not to mention so much lore. Like, way more lore than I could fit into just one fic.

CW: mind control, something that gets briefly mistaken for a suicide attempt (it isn’t, and no one gets hurt)

***

The most famous features of Hope, Oregon are her two distinct beaches, found beneath the cliffs that house the northern and southern halves of the town. A nameless man — and relative newcomer to Hope — is staring into the ocean, but is not standing on either beach, nor atop the cliffs.

Had he only wanted to stare into the Pacific, the beach to the southwest would’ve been preferable. The white sand is dotted with umbrellas and chairs, and the staircase leading down to sea level from the cliffs is well-maintained, making it a popular tourist destination — less so in these days, he’s been told, but when the tourists do come to Hope, it’s usually for her southwestern beach.

The northwestern beach is less forgiving. Though it appears serene and inviting at first glance, countless signs atop the cliffs dispel that illusion with warnings of rocks and riptides beneath the waves — and even if that didn’t deter you, the only way down to this beach is a rusty ladder that no one but the lighthouse keeper has ever attempted to maintain. This beach is why the town was deemed treacherous enough to warrant a lighthouse in the first place, and why it earned the nickname “Last Hope” from sailors in the olden days.

Yet for a competent climber, the northwestern beach is still an adequate spot for staring out into the sea. The nameless man can only assume he wanted something more than just to stare, even though he doesn’t know what — because for some reason, his feet have brought him not to either beach, but to the most dangerous spot in all of Hope:

Between the two beaches is a crack in the cliffs; beneath the crack is a giant chasm; at the bottom of the chasm, a briny whirlpool. It churns with impossible symmetry and silence, without sound or any sort of fury, yet still more warning signs assure him — the fall into the chasm would surely be fatal, regardless of the rapids themselves.

Yet the nameless man stands on the edge of the chasm, hypnotized by the vortex. He was hypnotized well before laying eyes on it, of course, for he never would’ve came here of his own free will — but now, the whirlpool has joined whatever other compulsion makes its home in his brain, and together, they drag his feet forward.

It contradicts itself — ancient but new, violent but peaceful, chaotic but orderly. It’s a death sentence, but he needs to jump. Someone is counting on him to jump. Somewhere in that chasm, there’s something he desperately needs.

He tears his eyes away just long enough to double-check that the lighthouse isn’t lit — and indeed, it isn’t, presumably because Mr. Keene found more important things to do tonight than climb a flight of stairs. A not-too-comfortable dissonance sends a chill up his spine as he thinks of the lighthouse keeper — he likes Argo, trusts him even — but tonight, a voice echoes in his head, warning him otherwise:

If Argonaut Keene and his partners in crime realize who we are and what we’re doing here, it’s all over. Stay hidden from them at all costs, or some of the banished folk might piece it together.

The voice is familiar, but not too familiar. Yet he trusts the voice more unconditionally than any lighthouse keeper.

Once you’re sure you’re not being watched, double-check that the moon is full — and it will be, if you go tomorrow night. Then jump.

Sure enough, the full moon is the only source of light in all of Hope this evening, with the lighthouse keeper slacking and a fog pervading the entirety of the sleepy town, from the cliffs to the forest. At the center of the whirlpool, the moon’s reflection glows bright — sunlight reflected off lunar rocks reflected off churning water — but you could almost mistake it for a distorted glimpse of another world, peering through a portal at its cosmic neighbors.

The nameless man jumps.

The impact with the water stings, but not as much as it should. Worse is the cold, not cold like near-freezing water but like the vacuum of space, like loss and loneliness as you hurtle into a void with no destination in mind —

But almost as soon as the impact takes place, he’s warm again, and he bobs to the surface of a pristine lake. The moon above him is still full, but the pattern of craters is different, and the constellations look nothing like the ones visible from Hope — or even the ones from his home.

The chasm holds no whirlpool resembling a portal. It holds a portal masquerading as a whirlpool.

A ripple crosses the lake’s mirrorlike surface as he breaches, and as soon as he’s able to take a breath, he ducks back beneath the water, afraid of being spotted. There’s a bubbling trench at the bottom of the lake, which he instinctively knows is the way back to Hope, but he ignores it at first. The crystals embedded in the floor of the lake are what he’s come for.

He needs to find a green gem with silver veins and bring it back to Hope without anyone spotting him. If he can’t, then —

Then —

Then —

He doesn’t know what then. Nothing good, that’s for sure. He won’t let it come to that — and this way, he won’t have to think about it either, or question why he doesn’t know.

Just as his breath starts to run out and his lungs start to ache, he spots it out of the corner of his eye. The particular green crystal is in the shallows, close to the shore, and he can’t stop a few of his limbs from poking out above the surface of the lake as he reaches for it —

Something snags the hood of his waterlogged jacket, yanking him upwards. He emerges in the shadow of a draconic figure standing on the shore, nearly as tall as he is and covered in gleaming silver scales, who exhales a blast of frost and freezes the whole lake solid around him.

Again with the cold. It’s always the cold — maybe there’s a poetic sense of justice about him never being able to escape, it no matter what fleeting hope he finds, but that doesn’t make it any more bearable, and he can’t help but let out a whimper.

The dragon’s expression softens. “Hey, it’s okay. I don’t want to fight you — I just had to be sure you weren’t trying to fight me.” He kneels on the shore to face the nameless man, scales and armor gently clinking against each other. “But I need to know — why are you here?”

“I — I jumped.” His voice is deep, and accented, and just as out-of-place here as it is in Hope.

“That is how most people come through the portal on your end, or so we’ve been told.” A second figure — this one far more humanoid — makes his way to the dragon’s side, holding the staff that must’ve pulled the nameless man to the surface. This one has dark skin, short hair, and pointed ears, but his most striking feature is the one thing he has in common with the dragon — eyes of pure, softly glowing white.

The nameless man is surprised by how little it surprises him. Of course the fae folk of Nua all have white eyes — he’s seen it before, had it explained to him before. He can’t just can’t remember where.

“What Crush and I want to know,” the dark-skinned man patiently goes on, “is why you jumped. Most nights, it isn’t nearly this safe —” He turns to the dragon. “Remind me, hun — how long has it been since a rogue human visited us?”

“Over a decade now, I think,” Crush answers. He inhales, and the ice begins to melt and crack with a creaking noise that, while unpleasant, was a hundred times preferable to being trapped in a prison of cold. “Unless this fellow’s new. Are you new, new guy? Got a pendant?”

The nameless man blinks, still shivering, and slowly manages to shake his head.

“Figures,” Crush murmurs. “Dakota usually comes with the new recruits on their first trip.”

The other fae kneels on the shore, carefully looking the nameless man over. “Did anyone tell you about the portal?”

“I… cannot remember.” He had jumped for a reason, he’d known to look for the crystals for a reason, but that reason is long gone from his mind. He hadn’t even known why he was jumping as he’d done it.

The fae man narrows his eerie white eyes. “You don’t have to lie. You’re not in trouble, we just need to understand how —”

“I did not lie,” the nameless man growls, picking up a floating chunk of ice and crushing it in his fist. “I will not lie. Truth is my honor. I can not remember.”

“Jimson,” Crush hisses softly, but not so softly that the nameless man can’t hear. “It’s not safe for a human to stay much longer without a pendant.”

“Is it any safer for this human to go back alone?” Jimson whispers back. “If you don’t know about the portal at the bottom, there’s really only one reason to throw yourself off a cliff —”

“Shit, you’re right.” Crush’s eyes widen. “Should I keep watch while you go ask Hieronymous? He’ll know what to —”

“He could be busy. I don’t know if we have time to —”

The nameless man dives back beneath the surface of the lake without even taking a breath, ignoring the burning feeling in his chest and frantically paddling for the jagged rift at the bottom. Distantly, he hears Crush shout, but his hands find the edge of the trench and he pulls himself inside, thrashing in the current that suddenly grabs ahold of him —

No one in Nua can be trusted… least of all “Hieronymous.”

He gets a mouthful of familiar salty ocean water, and surfaces beneath Earth’s moon and sky. He’s in the chasm again, the whirlpool behind him and the ocean in front — but the ocean keeps getting closer even though he’s only treading water, as the same current that pulled him back through the portal drags him out to sea —

He hears a dog barking — and then, a voice he’d recognize anywhere yet could not put a name or face to. One moment, he’s struggling to keep his head above the waves, and the next, he’s paddling in air as an invisible hand lifts him out of the ocean, and slowly, back to shore.

It deposits him, kneeling, a few feet from a long-haired collie with a blue bandana tied around his neck, and an elderly man gesturing very carefully and deliberately with his simple wooden cane. For a fraction of a second, the illusion spell flickers, and the nameless man sees pure white eyes behind his rescuer’s glasses —

And that’s all it takes for him to remember everything.

“I… I have brought back nothing, Higglemas,” he admits. “Not one component. This is a great, great shame —”

The collie leaps into his arms, so the nameless man takes the hint and begins to pet him. It is significantly harder to think ill of yourself while holding a dog, and after a few moments, the man realizes that this may have in fact been the dog’s plan.

Higglemas watches with a sad smile on his face and a detached look in his illusion-altered eyes, standing still for close to a minute before slowly angling his head upwards, and staring at the moon as clouds begin to drift in front of it.

“We still have time,” he assures them. “Not all is lost. But… before the next full moon, we’ll need a new strategy.”

Then, he turns to the lighthouse. “We may just have to reconsider staying hidden from the Unbroken Chain.”

***

I have some other projects I’m working on right now that really deserve to be prioritized over this idea, but my outline document is over 2000 words (and that’s really just pre-canon history plus a very brief summary of the first couple chapters) so this has a high probability of getting continued, because there’s no way I can keep all that lore secret forever! This very brief preview already got wildly away from me, after all.

I’m very hyped to get into the Firbolg’s backstory in particular, not to mention Fitzroy and his relationship with his magic (as the resident Aubrey equivalent) — it’s just likely to be a very long wait. Feel free to send me your questions/theories and I will give you cryptic answers!

[smalltowndetective]

24 for Mason please but don't worry about the time! I'm excited to see what you come up with for 31 days of Wayhaven :)

Hello anon! :) So, I know that I said that I was not going to do requests until after I finished the 31 Days, but I was going through some massive writers block, and well, this finally was the thing that unstuck it. I did not use my own detective for this one, instead using @lividlyinlove‘s detective Cherie Young, because I absolutely love her. I hope you like it!

#24- You’re Trembling 

Ao3 Link

Title: Strange Comfort

Pairing: Mason and Cherie (lividlyinlove’s detective)

Words: 1.2k

Cherie had finally thought she had Mason figured out.

               But apparently, she did not

               Their first few moments together, she had enjoyed simply flirting with him, knowing he would not take it as anything deeper and she was not going to either.

               The months of separation after what happened with Murphy; however, she was starting to realize that was not the case.

               Because she missed him.

               And she was not sure what exactly she missed about him.

               It was not like he was the friendliest person to be around, and he always seemed to be a general sense of annoyance around her.

               But Cherie had found herself longing to see him anyway, even with something holding her back.

               She did not do causal relationships, wanting to have a true connection with someone, security something that she craved, and she knew that she was never going to get that with Mason.

               Over the events with the past few months with the maa-alused, he seemed to be hanging around her anyway, and even though part of her wanted to give in and finally give in to the feelings that had seemed to overwhelm her mind, she was not going to get herself in the position to get herself hurt.

               You know what he wants, and you know what you want.

               So, for her own sanity, she had been trying to forget about the whole thing, put it aside as if had never happened, hoping he would end up getting bored and wandering off to someone else.

               However, he never did.

               Mason had stayed around anyway, with the normal smirk on his face, and while he not overly pushed it himself, he had been hanging around her, and she was not sure why.

               He must know I won’t give him what he wants.

               She wanted for neither of them to be holding anything back, but she was not willing to let all of her walls come down if he would not do the same around her.

               Things need to be open for a relationship to work, and they just aren’t right now.

               Shortly after the maa-alused situation was when things really started to change.

               There was this semblance of care that she was starting to get from him, almost as if he was concerned for her wellbeing in a way that she was unaware he could be.

               And it was about enough for her to want to finally give in to the temptation.

You can absolutely not go to get all wrapped up all in it because he seemed concerned if you gotten eaten by a pack of werewolves and called you “sweetheart” unsarcastically. It’s pathetic.

               Cherie would be lying however if it did not make her feel slightly better, especially with what happened with Falk and the rest of the maa-alused.

               It was her own failure that ended with them joining the rogues, she knew it. She could not keep her own mouth shut for a few seconds, and she had ruined everything.

               None of the members of Unit Bravo had made it feel like it was her fault, but she still carried it with her anyway, a constant reminder how she had let down the team when they needed her most.

               She had expected never to hear from Falk at least for a while, and when she got the message that he wished to speak to her again, it immeaditly put her on edge.

               What could he possibly want to discuss?

               Both Adam and Nate had been against her going in the first place, due to their ties with the rogues, but Cherie felt like she had to go, even if it did not fix anything at all.

               There has to be at least a chance that I can repair something.

               Finally, with the agreement that Mason would go as well, they agreed that she could go, and even though she was not sure how she was feeling about him going with her, she put that all aside.

               And now, she was here, outside of the maa-alused new tent, waiting for the two of them to be let in, but for now, both of them were left out in the cold.

               It was starting to snow, and even as cold as she was, she was not sure if she was trembling from the chill or the anticipation that was making her hands shake, and she could feel her heartbeat race in her ears.

               She looked over at Mason, who had his hands thrust deep in his jacket pockets, his head bent down in his jacket collar as at attempt to keep warm himself, but she noticed that instead of his usual sneer, he was watching her instead.

               “You’re trembling”, he suddenly said, and even with the typical bitter tone, there was a certain softness in his eyes that she was not used to, and she found it hard to look away from it,

               “It’s just cold”, she replied, even she knew lying to him was pointless. He was the interrogations expert for a reason.                “Take it however you want”, she shrugged, moving to tighten her ponytail, that was starting to slip out of its normal spot at the top of her head.

               “Cherie…”, was all that he said in response, and she felt her eyes widen at the use of her name, but she did her best to hide it as best as she could.

               No, you aren’t going to get caught up again because he had the basic decency to use your name.

               “Look, can we just get through this?”

               He sighed, and rolled his eyes, but he did not try to push it any further, turning his head away from her.

               “It’ll be fine”, she said, through she was not sure whether she was saying that more for herself or for him.

               Mason opened his mouth to say something else, but she heard the door of the tent rustle open, and she turned to see Falk.

               Nothing had changed about his since he had seen him last, his pupiless black eyes still as piercing as ever, contrasting heavily against his pale skin. But even with his hard to read eyes, it was plain to see how his face twisted in contempt when he looked at her, and Cherie fought hard to calm the nerves that were starting to form.

               She hardly realized it at first, but Mason had moved closer to her, know only inches away, and while normally she may had pushed him away, she realized just how much she needed some sense of protectiveness at the moment, but she would never say it aloud.

               “Detective Young”, he snarled, narrowing his eyes.

               “What was it that you wanted to discuss, Falk?”, she asked, and she watched as his eyes went up to Mason.

               “You brought the vampiir with you again, I see”, he said, ignoring her question entirely.

               She could feel Mason tense next to her, and almost like he wanted to reach out, but decided not to, and she could deny that a part of her hoped that he would.

               “I did”, she finally muttered, “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

               Falk stared at her a minute longer, before giving no more than a small nod, and he turned to enter the tent, and Cherie slowly followed him, Mason not leaving her side as she did so.

[ineffablegame]

I imagine you'll get a few of these, but may I request Ineffable Husbands for either 1. a sweet kiss or 17. a love bite? Thank you!

Heads up, this gets a little naughty. ;)  Also published on my Ao3.

Taste

Crowley has never been one for eating.

Oh, he’s tried a number of times over the millennia, but no amount of effort can make him derive joy from the act.  He can’t quite tap into the endorphin rush Aziraphale so relishes, and the thought of a lump of mashed-up organic matter sitting in his belly, slowly chewed into pulp by acidic juices before moving down to the plumbing, as it were… well, it all makes him get a bit queasy.  Drinking is one thing, mostly made tolerable by alcohol, but eating is quite another.

No, Crowley is not a one for eating.  But he does love tasting.

“This is absolutely delectable,” Aziraphale murmurs, licking a dollop of tiramisu off his fork. Sitting on the other side of the table, chin propped on the heel of his hand, Crowley watches intently.  The angel cuts off another piece of the dessert and pops it into his mouth with an appreciative hum.  “Utterly divine.”

It’s obscene, really, the way Aziraphale eats.  The little sighs and moans, the pink flicker of his tongue, the rapture that toes sacrilegiously close to religious ecstasy.  It should be classified as public indecency.  The angel should be locked up.

Crowley can’t stop staring.

“Give it here, then,” he says, pleased when his voice emerges in a convincing charade of insouciance.

Aziraphale sets down his fork, eyebrows arched.  “Really?  I thought you didn’t care for… well, this sort of thing.”

“I don’t,” Crowley says. “But you seem to be having a grand old time with that tiramisu, so…”  He trails off, hand outstretched.  Aziraphale hesitates and he smirks.  “What? Scared about swapping a little saliva, angel?”

Aziraphale hands over the fork and nudges the plate across the table.  The tips of his ears have gone strawberry shortbread-pink.  “Of course not.”

Crowley laves his tongue over the tines.  He is glad for the concealment of his sunglasses, for as he licks up traces of dusky coffee and feather-froth mascarpone, he keeps his gaze fixed on Aziraphale. And when he tastes it at last – a trace of fresh apple and unsullied desert air, the angel’s taste, a six-thousand-year-old savor of Eden – his eyes slip shut.

-

It becomes something of a game, chasing Aziraphale’s taste.  Crowley tells himself it’s because he’s got nothing better to do, now that Armageddon has been cancelled and Adam Young has decreed that Messing People About should be kept to a minimum.  It’s boredom, it’s Hellish mischief, it’s the latest sally in Crowley’s eternal battle against his Adversary.

Most of all, it’s a pity, because Crowley has learned enough self-awareness to see a list of denials when he’s the one writing it.  Fortunately, he also has just enough of a sense of self-preservation left to keep on denying.  Peter the Apostle could have learned a thing or two from Crowley.

He starts small. Crowley might prefer to terrify his houseplants into verdant beauty, but he does know gardening.  For a temptation to truly work, you must plant the seed, tend the soil.  With patience, care, and just the tiniest infernal nudge, you can reap a bountiful harvest.

“Funny, how humans worked that out,” Crowley remarks one day, as they sit in a posh little café in Mayfair.

Aziraphale licks a smudge of crème brûlée off his spoon and sets it down, cocking his head.  “What do you mean?”

Crowley waves a hand at the dish.  “Well, how, way back when, some brilliant bugger thought, ‘huh, what happens when I add heavy cream and sugar and egg yolks together and torch the top?’  It’s clever, that’s all.”

Aziraphale considers the cracked crust of his dessert.  “Well. I suppose I never considered it.”

Crowley says nothing more on the subject, but he doesn’t need to.  He can see the light of curiosity burning in the angel’s gaze long after they leave the café.  Seed planted.

Later, giddy with his own sense of spontaneity, Aziraphale invites Crowley to the little flat above the bookshop.  They walk into the kitchenette, Aziraphale bubbling with excitement, Crowley feigning confusion.  The angel gestures to the ingredient-laden table with a flourish.

“What’s all this?” Crowley asks, perfectly aware of what it is.

“Ingredients!” Aziraphale exclaims.  “We’re going to try baking!”

Crowley affects a long-suffering groan.  “This is pointless.  We can just miracle biscuits onto your plate, and besides, I don’t even like—”

“I know, I know,” Aziraphale says, “but this is more fun!”

It’s a simple recipe for chocolate biscuits.  Well, it’s simple in theory, at least.  Aziraphale and Crowley have never bothered to learn how to bake, not with the power of Heaven and Hell at their fingertips.  They soon discover the trials of eggshell in the batter, whisking too quickly, and goodness, Crowley, are you certain you greased the pan?  The first batch looks more like charred lumps than biscuits, exiting the oven in a putrid cloud of smoke, but Aziraphale will not be deterred. They start a second batch with infinite care.  Crowley is so preoccupied learning how to break an egg without getting shell shards in the bowl that he almost misses Aziraphale raising the spatula to his lips for a languorous lick.

Almost.  But not quite.

“These will be better,” Aziraphale says, certain in a way that means the biscuits will be delicious even if they mucked up every direction in the cookbook.  As he turns to put the pan in the oven, Crowley snatches up the spatula, still smeared with chocolate batter, and steals a taste.

And there it is again – hidden beneath sugar, butter, flour, chocolate – the faintest trace of apple and garden air.  His eyes close and a sigh gusts out of his chest.

“Crowley?  What on Earth are you doing?”

Crowley startles, the spatula slipping from his fingers.  The utensil tumbles to the floor in a spatter of chocolate.  “Ngk—nothing.”

Aziraphale slants him a dubious look.  “Were you tasting the batter?”

“Maybe,” Crowley mumbles.

The angel’s lips stretch in a grin.  “You’re becoming fonder of food than you let on, dear boy.  Don’t worry, I shan’t tell a soul.”

“Shut it,” Crowley grumbles, stooping to pick up the spatula.

When the biscuits are done, Aziraphale takes a bite and declares them to be scrumptious.  Crowley wouldn’t know.  Compared to the taste of angel, they are dirt in his mouth.

-

It becomes a ritual for them, the baking.  Aziraphale claims it calms him after a long day at the shop, that he likes making things with his hands.  They actually become not-rubbish at it, churning out batch after batch of increasingly complex biscuits before graduating to other sweets. Bars follow the biscuits, and are in turn trailed by tarts and pies and cakes.  Despite Aziraphale’s insistence on doing things the proper way, miracles join the mix as often as not, a spice no kitchen in the world could replicate.

Crowley becomes adept at stealing tastes of Aziraphale.  He hoards them, pilfering used spatulas, bowls, and stray spoons.

Time passes.  When you are immortal, time does that – slips through your fingers like flour through a sifter, each dust-fine speck a day, a week, a month.  And then, years later, Aziraphale invites Crowley over to work on a lemon curd cake.

“Curd’s almost done chilling,” Aziraphale says.  “How’s the batter coming along, my dear?”

“Nearly there,” Crowley says, preoccupied with folding in the whites.  “Oven up to temperature?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. He snaps his fingers and the oven chimes in agreement, a whoosh of hot air filling its belly.

Crowley lifts a skeptical eyebrow.  “That’s cheating, angel.”

“Oh, hush.  I’m only speeding the process along.”  As Crowley slides the pans into the oven, Aziraphale opens the refrigerator and lifts out the dish of chilled curd.  Crowley turns to watch, frozen, as the angel dips a finger in and lifts a yellow dollop to his lips.  Pink lips, pink tongue.  A divine sigh.  “Perfect.”

“Stop that,” Crowley says, voice thin in his ears.  “You’ll eat it all and we won’t have any for the cake.”

“Oh, tosh,” Aziraphale says. He dips his spit-slick finger into the curd, and Crowley should be mortified, he should be disgusted – but instead he’s striding forward, body leagues ahead of his mind.  His hand shoots out to close around the angel’s wrist.  Aziraphale makes a noise of protest.  And falls silent.

Crowley lurches back, the tang of lemon curd and angel skin leaping on his tongue.  Aziraphale is staring at him with wide eyes.  “Angel, I’m, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was…”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathes, already reaching for him.  “Oh, Crowley.”

-

Aziraphale is still trembling, still panting like he truly needs his lungs when Crowley lifts his head. He crawls across the angel’s naked body, smearing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the way – the crease of his thigh, the mound of his belly, the center of his chest, the column of his neck.  Aziraphale shivers out a laugh at the brush of Crowley’s tongue on his skin.  “Stop—stop that, you rogue.”

“Nah,” Crowley murmurs, rasping his teeth to redden the skin, memorizing the savor of his sweat. “Never.  Love how you taste.”

Aziraphale’s fingers thread through his hair, soothing and inciting at once.  “Come here, then.  Let me taste myself on you.”

Crowley shudders and tilts his head up for a kiss.  He has never been one for eating, but this is a hunger he will never sate.

[shannaraisles]

Honor Among Thieves - Chapter 1

Lorna Lennox busted out of Kinloch Hold, survived the Blight, and just wanted to stay out of the Chantry’s clutches for life. Now she’s the Herald of Andraste, and people keep trying to kill her. Worst of all, the bodyguard Leliana found for her is all kinds of tempting. Is there really honor among rogues and thieves?

[Read on AO3]

Note - yes, I’m back! I actually wrote something! Amazing, innit?

Chapter One

"And what will you give me, little mage, for helping you to escape your gilded cage? This is no small thing you ask for."

"I don't have anything, but I will do anything. What do you want?"

"Mmm, now let me see ... Ah! I have the perfect payment."

"What is it?"

"Your life, pequeña. Do not lose it, or fritter it away on the undeserving. Live it, and I will consider the debt repaid."

"Herald?"

Lorna snapped out of the memory, blinking to look across the war table at the Nightingale. Her side was aching as she leaned one hand onto the rough wooden table, aware of the curious concern in the eyes of the other three who stood with them.

"Are you well?" Cassandra asked, frowning as she tilted her head to look closer at the elven woman beside her.

"I'm fine," Lorna insisted, straightening up despite the pain in her ribs. "Nothing a good sleep won't cure."

"This incident was too close for comfort."

Cullen looked agitated as he spoke - she could have sworn that was guilt flickering in his gaze as well. For all their shared past, she did not know the man any longer. The young templar she remembered had been twisted and broken, put back together inexpertly, and was now clearly trying to find his own path. That hadn't stopped him from outing her as a mage the moment he remembered who she was, though.

"How did they get through?" Cassandra was asking, an uncompromising tone in her voice.

"New recruits," Cullen said in a dull tone. "There is no means to check their backgrounds or motivation as yet. I am in the process of putting those systems in place, but it does mean our flow of troops is going to slow down considerably."

"Leliana?"

The redheaded spymaster looked grave.

"It is as Cullen says," she agreed. "They were local Fereldans, not the sort we have been looking more closely at. I have sent more agents out into the area around Haven to uncover if there are any more assassins on their way here."

"If I may," Josephine interjected, before anyone could restart the circular argument that had been going on for a little over an hour now. "I believe, Mistress Lennox, that you should remain under guard for the foreseeable future."

"I have things that need to be done, Lady Montilyet," Lorna objected. "I cannot stay in a gilded cage if we're to help the people and close the rifts. I won't be caged again, not willingly."

"I have taken the liberty of contacting an old friend who would be willing to join the Inquisition in the position of bodyguard," Leliana said, apparently ignoring this comment from the Herald they were supposed to be protecting in the first place. "He would be nothing more than a companion to you in your travels, but your life would be his first priority."

"Aye? And would he do as I tell him?" Lorna asked suspiciously.

"Probably not," Leliana said with a faint smile. "He would do what he is contracted to do."

"Contracted?" Cullen glanced sharply at the spymaster. "Who is this old friend of yours?"

"His name is Zevran Arainai," she told him easily. "He was once an Antivan Crow, and is now ... not."

"I have heard of him," Josephine added. "His reputation precedes him. He would be an excellent companion for the Herald on her journeys."

"And does the Herald get a choice in this?" Lorna asked acerbically.

"At this point, no," Cassandra said. "As much as I wish to keep you alive, I cannot be by your side at all times. These attacks have come in many places, most recently here in Haven itself. We need someone to be at your elbow, day and night."

"How is this not caging me?" Lorna demanded, annoyed with the way they all seemed to be in agreement without her consent. "I don't need a human man looming over me every hour of the day."

"He is an elf," Leliana told her. "And he is very good at what he does. I believe you have already met him once, during our visit to the Fereldan Circle during the Blight."

Lorna blinked, stared at her in shock. What will you give me, little mage? The smooth warmth of that voice she had never forgotten drifted through her mind once again. It couldn't be him, could it? The elf who had helped her to break into the basement during the chaos following Uldred's takeover of the tower ... was he the bodyguard Leliana had contracted for her?

"About so tall?" she asked, raising her hand a few inches above her own head. "Blonde hair? Tattoo on the left side of his face?"

Leliana smiled. "Indeed."

"I remember him," Cullen said, though his tone was pained. "Can he truly be trusted with the Herald of Andraste? He is ... very forward."

"If I want to fuck him and he wants it, I'll fuck him," Lorna told the commander bluntly, inwardly delighted by the sound of Josephine choking back a laugh. "There's nothing you can do about that, commander."

Cullen's brows drew together, but Cassandra stepped in quickly.

"Then you will accept this elf as your bodyguard?" she asked Lorna.

"Aye, he'll do," Lorna agreed. "So long as he knows the truth of all this. I'm no Herald of Andraste. I'm just incredibly unlucky."

"He will not worship you," Leliana assured her. "And he will be here within a few days. We have been in contact for some weeks."

"You knew there would be assassins coming?" Cassandra asked her sharply.

"It was not unexpected," Leliana said. "The methods, however, were unpredictable. I thought to have Zevran here as soon as possible. Lorna's injury is not something I am prepared to see repeated."

"Likewise," Cullen said. "I have raised security - no one will be permitted to enter or leave the village itself without the consent of at least one of the four leaders in this room."

"There you go, caging me again." Lorna frowned across the table at him. "You can't help wanting to lock up a mage, can you?"

"That is ... I didn't ..."

"These are precautions for your safety," Josephine interjected smoothly through Cullen’s fumbling to try and excuse his draconic regulations. "Once Master Arainai arrives and takes up his position, these restrictions will be relaxed."

Lorna bit down on the urge to growl, carefully not looking over at Cullen as he subsided in defeat. Instead, she pinned her gaze to Leliana.

"He had better get here fast," she said. "Our people are trapped in the Fallow Mire; I'll not leave them indefinitely on the whims of an assassin."

"He will be here," Leliana insisted calmly. "You should rest. That is the only way you will heal with our current supplies."

"Go to bed without supper, got it."

Rolling her eyes, Lorna turned away from table, pushing her way out into the chantry proper. She got halfway to the door before she realized that one of the templars guarding the door to the war room was walking with her. She opened her mouth to snap at him ... and remembered what she had just been told.

"Wonderful," she muttered, walking out into the chill air of Haven. "One bruised rib, and I'm back in the Circle."

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 2020 - 17 (Cold)

Summary: Cahel Mahariel likes the cold... but it finds him frustrated more often that not. 

---

That night, the sky was orange.

Cahel's breath created steam as he trudged through the snow, cloak wrapped tight around him. Down the hill, his clan was sleeping through the winter night. In the morning, they would wake to the layer of white deposited on their aravels and the keeper would melt it away. Until then, the world belonged to him.

At the peak, he had a clear view of the entire area. Off in the distance, a hunter's campfire burned as a point of light in a dark forest. He heard the rustling of bare branches, the whisper of owl's wings as they too set out to hunt. All of it was quieted by the snow falling softly around him, covering the dead grass and muddy ground with pure white.

He loved nights like this. It felt clean.

Cahel sought a stump in order to look up at the sky. The fact he had to brush snow off bothered him little as he sat, curled up in his cloak. Snow began to fall on his shoulders, but he didn't mind. He was content to watch it fall, still as the world around him.

If only down below was like that.

He frowned, drawing his cloak closer. Despite the fact he was almost 18, Marethari still wasn't letting him take the final hunt to earn his vallaslin. Hunters a year younger than him already had the ink settling into their faces, but he had nothing to show for his efforts. It was frustrating, to say the least – he wasn't incompetent. In fact, the head hunter said he was one of the best archers he had seen in quite some time.

So why weren't they letting him go?

“This better not be because of ada...” he sighed, closing his eyes. “No... it's probably not because of him. Marethari promised it wouldn't be.”

But then why? He knew how to hunt, he had taken down game. They could leave him on his own and he was perfectly fine. All of that indicated he was more than ready to prove himself. Besides, it wasn't like a whole year was being held back. All those he had trained with had long since passed on, some even beginning their families. He was left behind, to glance at their footsteps and wonder when it would be his turn.

“I don't get it!”

His voice rang out on the hill, and somewhere a bird startled to life in the bush. Cahel watched it fly, frowning as he felt the cold wind against the tips of his ears. Part of him had hoped coming to watch the snow fall would help settle his nerves, but it only seemed to be making things worse. At the rate he was going, he wouldn't sleep at all.

Tomorrow was going to be rough at that rate... but it wasn't like he was doing anything important anyway.

“Shit... I just want to know why...”

His question was met not with an answer, but the crunching of feet on snow. Someone was coming up the hill at an easy pace, though they slipped once if the muffled cursing was anything to go by. The voice was familiar, and caused him to chuckle as he turned to face them.

“You're loud, lethallin.”

Tamlen had snow on his head and the knees of his leggings were wet from the snow. He ignored his friend's snickering as he came to rest on a nearby stone. When he tilted his head to glance up at the sky, the lines carved into his face seemed to match the dark sky.

Unlike Cahel, he had passed.

The thought made the apprentice hunter frown as he pulled his cloak closer. “Sorry... better here than down in the aravel, I guess.”

“Yeah, you would've been tossed on your ass for sure.” Tamlen chuckled at the thought, but then he frowned. “Usually, you like watching the snow though. What's wrong?”

Cahel sighed as his shoulders fell. “What's always wrong?”

The other elf winced in sympathy as he nodded. “Ah. Your cram-”

That earned him a glare from a rather red-faced elf who would rather not have to think about that. He still had a few weeks before he was suffering. Better to not mention it and bring it early. For all they knew, the gods were listening and ready to spite him.

Tamlen was, as always, good at reading that look. “Ah. Not that.”

“Not that.” Cahel sighed as he brushed some snow from his cloak. “Marethari still won't let me go on my hunt.”

Part of him knew he sounded like a sulking child when he said it like that. After all, he wasn't the first elf to meet 18 without his vallaslin. But he was the first actually competent one in quite some time, at least by his calculations. Other hold-backs often didn't know their ass from an arrow, to say the least. That didn't make him feel any better though... in fact it only made his mood darker.

Tamlen frowned at the info. “You asked her again?”

“Before dinner, yeah.” He shrugged. “She said I wasn't ready and that I needed to wait.”

That made Cahel stand as frustration propelled him to his feet. “How am I NOT ready, though? You've seen me in action, I can do it!”

Part of him wanted to just march down to Marethari's aravel and demand she tell him what the holdup was. He didn't, though. That wouldn't exactly help his case if he was acting like a child about things. Besides, she might blast him out onto the snow, and then where would he be? He liked not being on fire, thank you very much.

It was still tempting though...

“I know you are, it's weird...” Tamlen frowned. “Perhaps she wants you to wait until spring?”

“She said no last spring.” Cahel ticked the rejections off his fingers. “And summer. And fall. I ask her every season and she keeps telling me I'm not ready. You think she would at least tell me how I could become ready, I'm no good to anyone stuck back in camp!”

Well, he was good for watching the small kids and baby halla when he wasn't helping the hunting teacher. When it came down to it, he was becoming quite the errand boy. Cold fear struck his stomach at the thought that Marethari might have been preparing him for that... but then he let it go as soon as it came. After all, if that was true she would've stopped him from hunting. You didn't exactly need an errand boy to pull a bow properly.

But that was the last of his explanations, so there wasn't much else he had in mind.

Tamlen watched his antics and shook his head. “I don't know, then.”

“That's the problem, I don't know.” Cahel plopped back onto his stump, sighing a cloud of steam as his ears drooped. “Creators, I hate this...”

Tamlen left his rock at his words. The elf soon joined him on the stump, close enough to touch. It was at least a little warmer now, though the wind was still chill as it blew across the hill top. Down below, the campfire flickered. Hopefully the hunter had success...

“You'll get it, I know you were.” Briefly, their hands met and squeezed together. It was something new they had started, something unsure in their routine. Cahel's face heated up as he saw Tamlen's gaze on him. The look in his eyes was new too, and something about it excited him in a way nothing else ever had. “I'll be the first one to congratulate you when you do.”

He smiled, briefly. “Thanks, Tam.”

“No problem...” he paused, looking back down the hill. “Now... can we go back to the aravel? It's cold out here, and we're going to catch a cold at this rate.”

Now it was Cahel's laughter that rang out into the darkness as he stood, brushing the snow from his cloak. “Alright, we can go back. Can't have the mighty hunter freezing to a stump.”

Together, hands still laced, they started back down the hill to the waiting aravel. No doubt the next morning was going to be messy and tiresome, but at least he felt a little better. Doubts still ate at his mind, but... he felt like he was going to be able to sleep.

So... bring on the errands come morn, he supposed.

---

Even in Amaranthine, the snow laid thick.

“What the hell are you even doing out here?”

Miris' nose sounded stuffed up as they walked along the top of the fort. It was a dark night, and the snow falling turned the sky above their heads orange. Down below, Vigil's Keep was quiet. In the morning, they'd have to do some shoveling.

That he'd give to someone else. He hated shoveling.

Cahel kept his cloak close as he walked along the stones. “I like being out when the snow's falling. The world looks clean.”

A good cleaning was exactly what it needed after the Blight. They were still finding remnants of the horde in pockets of Ferelden that they had to put down and burn before someone got tainted. The land still bore the scars, especially at Denerim. They would be rebuilding for months, maybe years, before things were back to normal.

Yet... somehow, they had won.

Cahel stopped to stare over the wall. In the distance, he saw Amaranthine and the Waking Sea beyond it. At the distance he was at, it looked like a pane of dark glass reflecting the snowy sky above. Something about it was strangely peaceful, as if the world had gone to bed.

“That still doesn't answer why you're up here. You could see the snow from anywhere in Vigil's Keep.”

Miris and Stumpy were back a ways, surveying the area. Technically, neither should have been on night duty thanks to the warrior's poor eyesight. The problem was that they were stretched a little thin at the moment, so it was all hands on deck.

Cahel shrugged. “Figured I should relieve you. You're night blind.”

“Among other things.” Miris looked relieved, however. He picked up his maul, laying it across his shoulder. “Thanks... I'll cover your morning shift for you. Don't let anything kill us while we sleep, Commander Squirt.”

The rogue rolled his eyes as he settled onto the wall. “Can do, Senior Warden Cyclops.”

There was no barb to their words at this point – they were too close for that now. It happened when  you slayed an Archdemon together and lived to tell the tale. That of course didn't mean they stopped teasing each other – that would be bizarre. But, it was friendly now. Mostly.

Miris and his dog disappeared down the stairs, leaving Cahel to the sky. His breath came out in a fog of steam as he stared out at the ground below. Without the moon, he wasn't sure what time it was. Probably after midnight, but other than that he was lost.

“Well... here I am again, watching the sky.”

Cahel wasn't sure who was talking to – it certainly wasn't his dog. Tamlen was in the capital city, trying to bolster their mabari numbers. He had no other company other than the torch and the snow, and neither of those could respond to his words.

But he said it anyway, as he looked down at the necklace hanging from his neck. He had gotten it half a year prior attempting to save someone who didn't deserve it in the slightest. Not that it mattered- Eamon's days were numbered by a number of assassins – but he had promised Alistair he would try. After that, the man was on his own.

Tamlen, the real Tamlen, had been there, but not there at the same time. After all, Cahel hadn't been able to touch him, or to hold him one last time. His ghost, maybe, had given the necklace to him as they stood in the gauntlet. A lifetime had passed between them in those few moments before he smiled and faded away, never to be seen.

It had been good to see him, especially after...

Cahel still didn't like thinking about that. He tried his best to block it out, but the memories still leaked through in the quiet of the night. Something had needed to replace the Archdemon eating him, he supposed. They were getting less by the day, but sometimes they still got to him. It had gotten to him that night – it was why he was awake.

“I still don't have my vallaslin, you know. Found out why – Marethari wanted to make me a clan guardian.” He laughed at the empty air. “Can you imagine that, me a warrior? The armor weighs more than I do.”

Nobody was there to answer his laughter. There was just the cold air and the soft snow falling all around him. Cahel watched it, sighing as he pulled his cloak closer. Day by day, he was getting over it. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much in time.

Or maybe it would always hurt a little. Some wounds did.

“I miss you, Tam.”

His ears lowered as he stared across the snowy landscape. “Hope you're alright, wherever you are. It would suck if you were stuck in the Gauntlet.”

If the gods were kind, Tamlen was somewhere warm and safe. That's all he could hope for as he watched the snow fall on Vigil's Keep. If he couldn't be there, may he be somewhere he could no longer be hurt. That all he could ask for, though he doubted they heard his pleas.

“Stay safe, lethallin.”

He sighed once more and allowed himself to fall into the routine of watching from the top of the Keep. Come morning, he was going to have to find someone to shovel it all up, but that was when morning broke. Until then, he was content to watch the snow.

[meteorstricken]

FFVII Rare Pair Week Day 1 Prompt: Weight of the World

“Kill Switch”

Tifa stared out from the Highwind's deck at the Lifestream creeping up from the cracked ground, joining with Holy to repel Meteor. The fight was over, the future quite possibly still ahead. A momentary wave of relief washed over her, but she recoiled against it. More than against the apocalyptic scene before her, she faltered at the uncertain future--that directionless path she'd have to walk while she digested all she'd done, what it had done to everyone else, and all she'd survived. She'd have to take it in and try to carry on…how? Like normal? Normal: What was that word supposed to mean anymore?

She supposed normal was whatever they chose or tried to make of it, but the thought alone was exhausting.

Too much. It was too much. "Just let it wash away everything…" She couldn't bear to face it-- having been run ragged from surviving too many times, the crushing guilt, the idea of going on after what she'd seen. "…My past. Our past. And me, too." Now that Sephiroth wouldn't personally benefit; now that it was the planet acting of its own accord to preserve itself, she felt she could accept the end. Privately, selfishly, part of her hoped for it.

A rogue Lifestream tendril buzzed the ship, blinding her. Tifa ducked reflexively, covering her head when she heard shattering glass. They weren't making it out of this after all. The planet really was done with them, and it wasn't going to let it be easy. Her heart raced. They were going crash into the ocean, where they might drown or get eaten by something, and they were--they were still pressurized. The ship was still pressurized. And eerily still.

It had grown silent, and suddenly dark. Holy's glaring light, the Lifestream's brilliant green, sweeping flow, and even Meteor's fiery approach had dulled somehow. "Cloud?" she called. "Barret? Nanaki?"

No one answered.

The anxious chill she'd felt turned frigid. Her regrets and misgivings for the future found themselves mercilessly sidetracked. Rising to her knees, Tifa grasped the edge of the window she'd been gazing out. A dark, liquid haze had overtaken the combating magical forces, veiling their terrible lightshow with something even more ominous.

"Everyone…" a word pounded in her head, a command from nowhere.

"Yuffie? Cid?" she yelled this time.

"…everything…all finished…" Another utterance pulsed through her whole body.

Tifa shuddered. No, that was impossible. "It can't…Vincent? Cait?"

And then, she booked. She ran out of the bridge, scrambled through the machinery room. She threw open the operation room to find it just as vacant. Even the single gold chocobo they'd carted along (and terrorized when the Highwind came crashing into the crater) in the small, onboard stable was missing.

That left only the deck. In slower, but still-urgent strides, Tifa approached the door. They had to be out there, trying to get a better look at what was going on. Maybe she'd gotten a little too lost in her thoughts to notice. It would have been nice if someone had told her, but she couldn't really blame anyone. They had to be just as confused.

Sliding it to one side, her shoulders sagged. It too was empty. The ship was miraculously still aloft, but she was the only one left aboard.

Time had seemingly stopped dead in its tracks. Chains of Lifestream stood on end from their fissures, unmoving like plastic seaweed in a fish tank. Holy--whatever wasn't covered in the black mist--appeared as a sheet of crystal suspended in the nighttime sky, while Meteor was a flaming moon with a suspiciously close orbit.

Tifa stepped up to the guardrail, planted her hands on the bar, and lowered her head in defeat. It…it was always going to come to this, wasn't it? After the night she and Cloud had shared together under the Highwind, waiting for everyone to return to them--or not--with their own reasons to fight for the planet, something else had taken hold in her. An uneasiness she wasn't familiar with, or the personification of that unease. Whatever it was, it felt like something with its own ideas; not really a part of herself. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that what Shinra's scientists had put in him that had allowed Sephiroth to control him was now in her as well. She'd hidden it so well from Cloud, Barret, and the others, though. She'd told herself it didn't matter. Her mind simply needed to remain strong enough--that was the trick, according to Cloud--to go fight Sephiroth and defeat him, or die trying. Once that was over, the whole thing would be a moot point.

And she had held on so well too, down through the crater's treacherous paths, and even as they'd fought Sephiroth's monstrous and self-aggrandized forms. Her will had remained her own.

But Sephiroth had been watching her, specifically, the whole time. She could feel him, smug and accusatory of her silence, playing around the edges of her mind, reminding her that he knew his foot was in her door, and that he was there to stay. That she'd serve her purpose--his purpose--yet. When the last wisps of spirit energy that had been him had dispersed, Tifa truly believed she was off the hook. Cloud had won his fight, physically and mentally, against the man, and it would be good enough for her as well. He was fighting for both of them anyway, right?

She felt foolish: Cloud was free; she was not. In retrospect, she'd hidden behind him, or her need to protect him the whole time, too afraid that her new predicament might drag him back down. There was no way she could bring herself to unload when he'd only just pieced himself back together.

And now?

"Now it ends with you, Tifa," Sephiroth intoned triumphantly, materializing from the twisted, smoky fingers of dark matter that had started to descend from the blackened sky overhead.

She'd played her part, acting as an antenna for what should have been a dead man's will; becoming a convenient last-minute kill-switch for if his plans went awry. How much of her desperation had been her own? How much of it was his influence? Her reasons were her own, at least. She had to take credit for that. Credit that, at the last minute, even surrounded by friends in aftermath of a hard-won victory and far too much sacrifice, she'd managed to succumb to similar conclusions about the world that Sephiroth had--some of the same ones that had guided his twisted crusade for godhood.

What did that say about her? Was it really just the Jenova cells, or had her own traitorous mind made her so useful to Sephiroth as well?

"So it does," she bit out and looked away. Away from him, and up at his Meteor through stinging eyes, which hung obscene and garish over Midgar, slowly pressing fractures into the frozen Holy spell. Tifa wondered if he'd hurry it along now that he had her cornered, or if he'd simply stand here and watch it come down like a personal sunset. "What did you do with my friends?"

"I am them. They are me."

A bitter hiccup of a laugh escaped Tifa's throat. "You're not half of one of them."

"If that is how you wish to delude your last moments, I will not prevent you."

"…Then why am I still here?"

Sephiroth smirked and waved one hand slightly, directing the black energy to weave through Holy's cracks, causing them to widen and spread. A sound like a growling behemoth miles away filled the air as Meteor resumed its now barely-impeded descent.

He hovered close behind her and replied, "To watch it all wash away."