#Wonderful! time for a celebration... One is evil

[m-ete0ra]

—————Beachside Dreams: The Start of Forever —————

It’s the wonderful @bunnions BIRTHDAY YALL (July 13) so from the bottom of my heart I wish her the happiest birthday, CHEERS 🥂 To one of the prettiest, kindest woman I’ve met. And you should celebrate her too!!!

She commissioned me a a little bit ago and when I heard the idea it hit me just right in my heart, loving partners and a romantic love story and I am super excited because it challenged me once more, but I also feel like I could make someone’s wish come true on their birthday 🥳 because she deserves the world and more on her special day💕🤲 

And of course is it a m-ete0ra commission if you don’t find the Easter egg!? Find it if y’all can! Hint: it’s hidden in the background…. Or is it…

[happyendingsong]

there are moments when it threatens to be interesting! like moments where the characters just turn into bad people and make terrible decisions and are mean to each other like slay!!! what!!!! but then it just forgets about it

[tshifty]

.

[wewontbesleeping]

i'm so glad i didn't inherit the alcohol enjoying gene

[dannyriccsystem]

ik this is a common trope by now in the fanfic community but can we have drivers reacting to their girlfriends calling them their husband even thought they're not married (yet). please and thank you

ME AND MY HUSBAND…

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

MEOW

Summary: Calling your F1 Driver boyfriend your “husband” ^^

Warnings: Fluff, Y/N usage, alcohol consumption, not proofread

Featuring: MV1, LN4, CL16, LH44, CS55, OP81

I’m a sucker for this trope idc

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

You were a famous podcaster, known for your interviews with various famous celebrities of different career paths and backgrounds. People particularly enjoyed your show because of the diversity in content, allowing viewers to branch out into various new interests and gain insight on lots of interesting topics. Anyway, today you had an interview with a famous model who offered to give discernment into the industry.

She had shared a particularly relatable point about her and her husband, mentioning how they both had very different jobs and lives, but still worked as a united team. You, in the haste of the moment, replied with, “Yeah, me and my husband are the same way.”

You didn’t even think much of it. You were just trying to relate to your guest on the show, and hadn’t registered the fact that you made a mistake. Even if you did, you’d probably just shrug it off…

Until you came home. Max seemed to have been waiting for you, sitting on a chair in the living room with Jimmy— Or Sassy, you could barely tell the different— Sitting on his lap, like some sort of evil mastermind. The sight made you laugh as you slipped off your shoes and jacket, hanging it up on the coatrack.

“Your husband,” He said pointedly, his lips quirked up into a knowing grin. You raised a brow at him, and he unlocked his phone to show you the clip. Your face lost its color, shaking your head.

“Uhm… Whoops.” You grimaced, because the reality of things was finally starting to settle in.

“I kinda like the title. Might have to start ring shopping. Everyone’s expecting it now.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Today was one of the first races you attended in person in a long time. You had been occupied with law school and opted to support your boyfriend from afar so you could focus on your career. Of course, Lando had no complaints, but he was eager to have you in the garage supporting him once again.

Of course, you can’t be a WAG in the paddock without being caught by hundreds of interviewers. You managed to brush most of them off with short responses, or simply dismissing yourself politely, but there was one in particular that managed to catch you up.

“Y/N, Y/N!” The woman called out, rushing over to you. She looked exasperated, like she had been trying for some time now to catch you. You paused, taking pity on the woman who was clearly running in heels. She seemed polite, so you stopped to give her your attention. “Thank you,” She directed you towards the camera, and you smiled and waved.

“Hello,” You spoke cautiously, unfamiliar with this experience. It had been forever since you were put in such a position— Hopefully you didn’t look too awkward.

“How do you feel about Lando starting from pole position?” She asked, a glint of excitement in her eyes. You were glad you stopped to give her the time of day.

“Oh! I’m very confident in my husband’s abilities, and I think this will be a promising first race.” You nodded with a warm smile, but the interviewer gave you a befuddled look. You caught her gazing at your hands briefly, before nodding.

“W… Wonderful, thank you Miss Y/N.” You quietly thanked her and dismissed yourself, thinking back on the interview. You huffed a sigh, brushing the confusion off as you stepped foot into the Mclaren garage. Lando, who was watching the TV with crossed arms, which was currently displaying pre-race interviewers, turned to look at you, and his eyes widened.

“Your HUSBAND?” He questioned with raised brows. You blinked, and then your jaw dropped. THAT’S why she was being so weird.

“Oh God, now they’re all gonna think we’re married.”

Oscar, who was watching the interaction with amusement, clapped you both on the back and chuckled. “Guess it’s time to go ring shopping.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Today you and Charles had chosen to stay in. It was supposed to be some big event with the whole Ferrari team, but instead you guys decided to opt out and play sick. It felt slightly naughty since he was technically obligated to go, but the two of you just needed a break.

You were both relaxing on the couch, catching up on some random TV show you found a few months back and never got the opportunity to finish. It was nice to be able to dress down in comfortable clothes and not care about public appearances for a while.

Your boyfriend was sitting beside you, scrolling on his phone to order takeout from the local restaurant. “Hm, want any dessert?” He questioned mindlessly, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up, despite the fact it was nearly 7 in the afternoon.

“You’d think my husband would know the answer to that by now,” You spoke without thinking, your voice infected with sleepiness. You stretched your arms out like a cat, resting your head against his lap. You noticed he fell silent, turning your head to look up at him. He was giving you a cheeky smile. “What?”

“You called me your husband,” He muttered with a fond look in his eyes. You playfully rolled your eyes, lightly smacking his chest. “Hey, don’t hit your husband,” He teased. “What a bad wife.”

“Oh shush, it was an accident and you know it.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours with a promise whispered against them, “One day.”

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Note to self, never get drunk at a race after party.

Lewis had just finished an incredible race in P1, so while you normally left him to celebrate with his friends by himself, you decided to come along this time to show your extra support for such a smooth win.

Within your excitement, you had decided to challenge various drivers in swimming competitions, which you won with ease. By the end of the night you were shitfaced and behaving wildly unlike yourself.

The bar you all went to decided to show highlights of the most recent race. In your rather drunken state, you decided to point at one of Lewis’ overtakes and scream out loud for everyone to hear, “That’s my husband fuckers!”

The next morning you awoke with a major headache and lots of regrets. You rolled over, resting your head on your boyfriend’s chest. He groaned and stretched to life, his fingers running up your bare back.

“Good morning, wife.”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “Damnit.”

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

It was actually a run on joke within the fandom that you and Carlos were married, but all of the teasing had come from him. There were various instances where, during interviews, he’d call you “the missus” or “my pretty wife” and so on. It was all fun and games, but this was different.

Earlier that day, Carlos had posted a picture of him with Alex Albon. It was a pretty typical picture, but you always left comments on his posts no matter what. This time it was “my husband looks so good today!”

You didn’t even mean to, which is why you were confused when you realized your phone was blowing up. Your notifications were limited to very few people, which meant it was your family and friends contacting you.

So many missed calls and messages from your mother… “You got married without telling me?” was the most prominent one. You quickly opened up Carlos’ contact, shaking your head at the singular message he left.

“I didn’t know we were officially married 😃”

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Oscar Piastri was never a fan of post race interviews, but this one had been quite enjoyable. A polite interviewer was kind enough to ask you, his girlfriend, to join them on their little adventure. Usually he was quite nonchalant, but he seemed smiley everytime you answered one of the questions given to you.

“And, while we’re on the topic, how do you feel about Oscar being the new race leader?” The microphone was pointed in your direction, and you grinned.

“I have never felt more proud of my husband right now, I just…” You could feel him staring into your soul, causing you to pause. When you looked at him, he had the biggest smile possible. Probably the biggest smile the public eye had ever seen. “What?”

“My husband,” He quoted with a dreamy tone, his smile remaining in place.

“Ah,” You giggled, shaking your head. “My boyfriend,” You began again, correcting yourself. “Has been performing incredibly well this season. I wish him a good year for 2025.”

“Oscar, your thoughts?” The interviewer asked. He was still grinning boyishly.

“Just like my wife said, it’s been a good season.”

[obxsummer]

P4L // JJ Maybank

pairing: jj maybank x reader

summary: aka the season 4 ending the audience and pogues deserved.

warnings: S4P2 SPOILERS

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ask me anything

--

Morocco was proving to be one hell of a challenge for all of you. Every corner had more of your friends pulling off to play defense or act as a distraction. Pope, Kiara, and Cleo had left in an attempt to hold off the mercenary crew, leaving you, JJ, and Rafe to finish the mission and find the crown.

With Rafe out on the option to climb, JJ had volunteered which left you all in the current situation. JJ was trying to pull himself up on the stone statue as wind and sand whipped at your faces. 

“Be careful!” You yelled up to him, hoping your voice wouldn’t get carried away before it reached him.

You’d been so heartbroken for JJ over the past few weeks - from losing Poguelandia, finding out Luke wasn’t his dad, all the shit with the gold and Enduro… you could really use a win. JJ deserved a win more than anything. 

“Shit, here they come,” Rafe spoke up as he caught sight of the mercenaries who were catching up. “Stay here! I’ll go down and buy us some time.”

“Rafe, no!” You tried to ignore the pit of fear in your stomach but it was grabbing you tighter than you had ever felt before. “They’ll kill you!”

Rafe shook his head. “I’m a killer too! Got nothing to lose!”

Your face contorted into an odd expression at his response before you let him go and turned your attention back to JJ. He was getting closer and closer to the top but you knew he had no clue what to look for.

“JJ, hurry!” You coughed around the sand in your throat and walked closer to see him better.

After a moment, you could hear him cheer in excitement. “Yeah, baby! We did it!”

You tucked your head down as a particularly strong blast nearly knocked you off your feet. You could barely make out his figure in the storm around you as he stumbled his way toward you. “JJ! We gotta get out of here!”

 “I’m good, I’m good!” He reassured as he got closer. “I’m great, actually.”

He shifted the scarf around his neck to reveal the crown, the Blue Crown, that you guys had risked your lives to get here in search of. 

“Oh my God,” You gasped before cheering in excitement. “Do you know what this means?”

JJ pulled the headwrap off to see you better, his hands moving the crown closer so you could hold it yourself. “We’re getting it back. We’re getting our home back.”

The celebrating was cut short as JJ caught sight of something behind you before shoving the show of you out of the way. A gunshot rang out seconds later, warning enough that the two of you needed to keep moving. 

“Go, go, go. I’ve got ya!” JJ’s hand wrapped itself into yours as he took the lead, weaving the two of you through tunnels and structures before you could even blink. The storm was starting to die down, the wind and sand slowing as you guys moved deeper into the town. 

Your run was cut short as JJ slammed on the brakes and you ran into his back. “J?” You asked, confused before you caught sight of the person in front of him.

Chandler Groff had caused JJ so much pain in the few weeks your group had come to know him. From disowning him as a baby, to almost killing him, and the constant manipulation, you were beginning to wonder if Luke was the lesser of the two evils. Life had been so unkind to JJ and you refused to let this man take anything else from him. 

Groff gave the two of you a wicked smile. His knife gleamed against the sunshine, the reflection coasting your eyes as you realized you were defenseless. He moved the blade closer in your direction. “You know what I want.”

JJ’s grip on your hand tightened. There’s a lot of things he would do if you weren’t here, but you were, and that meant you were his top priority.

“And if we don’t?” You tilted your head, mockingly. It was two against one here, even if he had a shitty knife.

“Then I’ll kill you both and leave your friends to find you in bits and pieces.”

You squeezed JJ’s hand twice, a silent signal that you were ready if he was. “Yeah, not happening.”

The two of you moved in tandem, your leg kicking up to knock the knife from his grip and JJ pouncing forward to pin his so-called father against the stone wall with an aggressiveness you hadn’t seen before. 

Groff groaned as his head slammed into the rough surface, eyes struggling to refocus. JJ leaned closer, his forearm pressing against the man’s throat harder. “Don’t you ever threaten her again, ya hear me?”

When Groff didn’t answer, JJ applied more force, relishing in the way the man groaned in pain. “You’ll regret ever crossing me.”

JJ wasn’t risking it and pulled back before slamming Chandler’s head back, effectively knocking the man unconscious. “Hard pass,” The blond teen spat, giving the man a hefty punch to the head to drive his point home. 

“You okay?” You asked quietly as JJ stared at the form of the man who he was beginning to trust. 

He twitched at the question before taking a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah.” His hand reached back to you, waiting for you to grab on. “Let’s go find our friends and get the hell out of here, yeah?”

You took his offer, kissing him softly before nodding in agreement. “Let’s do it.”

And the two of you ran off, leaving Chandler Groff to bleed out on his own, taking the karma he deserved with him to the grave. You had a treasure to celebrate.

--

a/n: fuck u obx writers and goodbye.

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[blackjackkent]

Down the parsed dialogue rabbit hole again, this time looking at Ethel's Vicious Mockery lines for all the characters, and goddamn, they are brutal.

ASTARION You're one thirsty night away from betraying everyone. Deep down, you like being leashed, don't you? Is there still rat stuck in your teeth, slave?

GALE I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle. Who would be jealous of you, apprentice?

KARLACH Let's pull your strings, infernal puppet. Happy to sell everyone's soul but your own, aren't you? When I'm done, even the Hells won't want you.

LAE'ZEL Your people will never take you back - illithid scum. Do you miss kissing Vlaakith's feet, gith? A toad with a tadpole! How fitting.

MINSC How quaint! The hamster has a pet. Only evil here is what's inside you, ranger. Go rub your rat, soft-skull.

SHADOWHEART You're so far up Shar's cake you can't see straight. Pathetic. Why would Shar love you when no one else does? You're no complex puzzle. Just a sad little girl.

WYLL Do you think losing that eye made you a hero? Oh, look! It's daddy's regret. Fraud of the Frontiers!

DRAGONBORN Aww, where's your clan? Bet they'd exile you for that brainworm in a blink. Bet that honour of yours shatters easy as your scales. You foul-breathed little lizard!

DWARF No flabby dwarf's a threat to me. More beard than brains, the lot of you. Bet you'd trade your friends for a trinket or two, gold-eater!

DWARF (DUERGAR) Bow your head, slave. You remember how, don't you? Grey and useless as a stone comb. I'll squeeze that stone heart until it bleeds, dwarf. Need a new master, illithid lover?

ELF Fancy yourself immortal? We'll see how long that lasts. I'll show you what a true fey does, dearie. Elves are so pretty. Pretty worthless!

ELF (DROW - FEMALE) Filthy underscum! Just another of Lolth's pretty harlots. Slaver. Sadist. How dare you judge me?

ELF (DROW - MALE) Bare your throat, spider-bait. Kneel, boy. Just like the matriarchs taught you to. Bow to your betters, boy.

GNOME Disgusting burrow rat. Bet your clan's happy you're gone! Try laughing after I rip your throat out, gnome.

HALF-ELF I wonder which parent regrets you more, half-breed. How revolting. Another thin-blooded mongrel. Half-elf. Half-human. All useless.

HALF-ELF (DROW) Even the Underdark doesn't want you, half-breed. A half-drow? How grotesque. Surprised you show yourself in public, abomination.

HALF-ORC Come now, tusks-for-brains! Doesn't this make you angry? All that bloodlust. A little tap, and I bet you won't know friend from foe! Lumbering half-orc. Twice as ugly as your parents combined!

HALFLING Come closer, little softie. You'll be tender. A tiny, sweet morsel. Just for me.

HUMAN Another human rat infesting Faerûn. A human! So desperate to be special. Pity. That tadpole actually made you interesting.

TIEFLING I'll burn you alive and everyone will celebrate. You're everyone's punching bag and no one's favourite. I see the Hells spit out another tragic little tiefling.

[withlovemark]

“you should start an onlyfans.”

synopsis -> it’s your boyfriends birthday! but he could care less about the fact that you want to celebrate him. you’re determined to change that.

warnings: a birthday blowjob!

—

when the clock struck midnight, you were ready – walking into your boyfriend’s room with the bento cake in your hand, a bear candle lit up in the middle, your soft voice ringing through his room, affectionately singing him the melody reserved for him on this special day, once a year.

haechan! quickly darts his eyes from his computer screen to you, a small smile on his face. he lets you finish singing the tune, the boys joining in through his headset. he closes his eyes for half a second to make a wish. then he blows out the candle “you’re too sweet baby, thank you,” he says, his honey, husky voice complimenting your ears as he places a quick kiss on your lips.

but before you could deepen the kiss, his eyes had already drifted back to his screen, gaming headphones back on, one hand on his mouse, the other on his keyboard, playing away.

you stared at him for a second too long, lips still tingling, birthday cake sitting untouched by the monitor’s glow. he was back in the zone, all commands and focused flicks, the world around him falling away.

except — you weren’t going to let it.

it’s been a while since you had some time together, with tour and fan events and preparations for his solo taking him away most days. you understand it. you love him anyways but you’ve missed him in ways more than one.

you make your way behind his gaming chair, your arms going around his shoulders, “baby—” you whisper against his neck, watching the goosebumps rise all over his skin. you place a sweet kiss on one of his moles there, “i need you,” you say, needy and desperate.

he just glances your way once, muttering, “later, babe,” while tapping your hand before going back to his game, eyes locked on the screen.

so this is how he wants to play it? game on.

without a word, you quietly dropped to your knees, fitting yourself in the slot between his legs, under his desk. he spares you a quick glance, an eyebrow raising but jeno is quick to yell in his ear, something about needing cover, and his attention is away from you once again.

you almost couldn’t believe it. how you were prettily on your knees for him, in between his legs, and you’re still losing to the stupid video game he plays every other night.

you ghost your fingers over his thigh, his leg twitching in response. his eyes flicked down, giving you another second, brows knitting, “what are you–”

“shhh, baby focus on your game,” you whispered, hands sliding up, voice silky and innocent, “just wanted to celebrate you properly.”

you felt his breath hitch, subtle, but not enough. his game kept going, teammates shouting in his ears through the mic. his grip on the mouse faltered just a little bit.

you looked up at him through your lashes, then your hands palm his already hard member through his sweats, wondering why he won’t just give in to his own needs. give in to you. you could feel the tension ripple through him, his focus visibly splitting. his legs parting on instinct, making more room for you.

“don’t mind me,” you purred, sneaking your hand down his sweats to finally set his cock free, thick and heavy and leaking.

he tenses under your touch, “keep playing,” you tease.

“you’re evil,” he muttered under his breath, trying not to move too much, voice low and strained.

“happy birthday,” you whisper, a devilish grin on your lips before you licked a strip from the base of his cock all the way to his tip, your tongue swirling around his head, collecting the juices he already has for you.

his jaw clenches, and you hear his character on the screen breathing heavily, after taking a couple of hits, “guys, focus! we can’t lose this round!,” you hear yangyang’s voice, making you roll your eyes.

“yeah, baby, focus, don’t want to let your team down,” you say innocently, before wrapping your mouth around his cock.

“on–fuck…o-on your left,” he manages to direct, his voice faltering the moment your lips sink down further, cheeks hollowing, taking all of him in. you feel so warm around him and he’s losing control with every second, his hips twitching upward ever so slightly, betraying just how hard he’s trying to keep it together.

you’re winning now, slowly but surely.

your mouth starts moving, bobbing your head up and down, wet and warm, hands resting on his thighs as you sucked harder, swirling your tongue in ways you know drives him crazy. he’s barely holding onto his composure now, muttering broken callouts into the mic, voice hoarse and breathless.

“haechan, what’s going on with your mic?,” chenle’s voice pipes up, suspicion laced in his tone.

you almost laugh around him but manage to keep your mouth steady, hollowing your cheeks as you draw back with a soft pop, only to dive down again, deeper this time. his thighs shake under your grip, his hand instinctively tugging his chair forward, almost trapping you between him and the desk.

“h-hold on, i-ill fix it,” he grits out, fingers scrambling for the keyboard to hit mute. he hits so many wrong keys before you finally hear the dull click of his mic cutting off.

then, finally, his head tips back against the chair with a low groan, “fuuucck, baby,” he breathes, eyes shut tight, one hand fumbling down to your hair, gripping like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

you hum around him in response.

you win.

your tongue teases that sensitive underside, your hand coming up to stroke what you can’t fit in your mouth. he’s trembling now, his whiny moans making your pussy twitch, and all that focus he had just ten minutes ago is completely obliterated.

“yo,” comes jaemin’s voice, tiny through the headset, “did he just moan?”

you freeze. but only for a second because your boyfriend didn’t even hear it. didn’t even flinch. just muttered a low, “shit,” under his breath as he pushed your head down further.

he thrusts up once, shallow, needy and you moan in approval.

“i can’t believe you,” he mutters, voice shaking, “you’re fucking insane,” whiny, desperate moans of your name slipping out of his lips.

his hips twitch, his thighs tense, you feel him teetering right on the edge, “shit baby, just like that, please, please, please—”

you knew he was close with the way his breaths were getting shallower, his toes curling into the carpet, the grip on your hair tightening.

you pull back for a brief second, eyes gleaming, lips wet and swollen, “you gonna come for me, birthday boy?,” you purr, sucking his tip in the way you know always pushes him over the edge.

he couldn’t even answer, his eyes completely rolling to the back of his head, jaw open in a soundless moan as his cum shoots messily out of his cock, a few drops on your tongue, a few drops on your cheek – a painting made by him.

game over.

for a moment it’s quiet, just him trying to slow his breathing, looking at you with dazed eyes, like you were the prettiest thing he’s ever gotten the privilege of ever having.

“uhhh, haechan?,” yangyang’s voice cuts through the air, awkward and almost too polite, making haechan’s eyes shot wide open. and then he sees it.

he didn’t click mute — he only switched the mic to his computer.

“oh my god,” he croaks, sitting upright so fast the chair squeaks beneath him, “no. no, no no no no–”

“bro,” jaemin says, barely holding in his laugher, “was that…a live performance?”

you’re still in between his legs, licking a drop off the corner of your mouth with a smirk, completely unbothered, “you didn’t mute it?,” you ask sweetly, as if you’re the innocent one here.

“i thought i muted it!,” haechan yells, slamming his keyboard like the traitor it is, “i switched it to computer audio,” he groans.

“which means we heard everything by the way!,” chenle shouts, howling with laughter.

“you said y/n’s name,” jeno adds snickering, “like…a lot.”

“please, please, please,” renjun adds, mocking him.

you cover your mouth to muffle your laugher but he’s already burying his face in his hands, whole body curling inward like he’s trying to disappear into the floor.

“you should start an onlyfans,” yangyang suggests, and this finally has you bursting out laughing.

“you should baby, you sounded so pretty for us.”

he glares at you through his fingers, “you knew?”

you just smile at him, eyes shining as you finally stood up.

“i hate all of you,” he mutters, yet still wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap like a shield from the world.

you giggle as you straddle him, arms wrapping around his shoulder, “happy birthday, baby.”

his gaze darkens and the words that slip out his lips makes you lose your breath.

“does anyone want to hear my girlfriends moans while i fuck her?,” he says, voice low and filled with sweet venom, almost a growl.

you freeze in his lap, heart pounding loud in your ears, his fingers dig into your hips and for a moment, you think he might actually do it. pull you in deeper, press the mic closer, let them really hear what you do to him. what he does to you.

but then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches over with one hand and slams his computer shut. everything cuts to black.

he lifts you up, tossing you onto the bed and as he stands at the edge, slowly pulling his hoodie over his head, eyes fixed on you, his voice comes out low and final, making your thighs clench.

“no one gets to hear your moans,” he growls, hovering over you now, eyes burning into yours, “they’re mine…and mine only.”

—

an: happy birthday to my one and only haechanie!!! and my last gift for you all today! of course he was going to get a birthday blurb, i’ve had this scenario in my head set up since last month lol. also the haechan above lives in my head rent free like whyyyy did he angle it that way?? doesn’t he know his fans are insane (me).

[moonstruckme]

*dries tears and ignores the stinging of my hand* hi mae! I have a holiday/winter themed emt!marauders prompt if it suits you!! I was wondering if we could see the boys and reader celebrating the holidays in a cozy little cabin that happens to have a wood burning stove? I was just tending to the fire at my mum's old house and burnt the shit out of my knuckles, and I think the boys would be (want them to be) soooo sorry on my behalf and coddle me senseless 🥹

Awwww, our poor Elle <//3 I hope your burn has fully healed by now my love

cw: mention of burn but no description

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 789 words

You gasp through your teeth when it happens, your body reacting before your brain can register either pain or embarrassment. Those come shortly after, one after the other, pain when you see the already reddening skin of your knuckles, embarrassment when Sirius comes to investigate what’s made that sound. 

Your boyfriend looks you over quickly, a well worn habit. His brows pinch when his eyes land on your hand. 

“Awe, baby.” He takes your wrist carefully. “What’d you do?” 

“I burnt it on the stove,” you say, shocked. “On the door.” 

Sirius coos. “Poor girl,” he murmurs, giving you a firm squeeze around the shoulders before starting to pull you towards the kitchen sink. “Come here.” 

You gasp again as he turns the cool tap on your knuckles. Sirius shushes you, drawing circles into the inside of your wrist with his thumb. After a moment the water starts to feel nice, and you relax right as James and Remus wander in to find you. 

James’ eyebrows raise when he sees you and Sirius at the sink. “You said you were making cocoa,” he says, half confounded and half already on the brink of laughter. “What’d you manage to do instead?” 

“She’s burnt herself,” Sirius replies pityingly. 

“Ohh.” James gives you his sad puppy look. Remus is frowning concernedly. “Angel, how?” 

You shrug self-consciously.  “I thought it was sort of cold in here, so I went to stoke the fire—”

James gives a little smile. “Obviously a mistake.” 

“—and I burnt my fingers on the door as it was shutting.” 

“Dove.” Remus’ sigh is a mix of exasperation and caring. He kisses the back of your head, trying to see your knuckles through the water. “How bad?” he asks Sirius. 

“Mild,” Sirius says, though his thumb is still moving over your wrist, his touch heavy with sympathy. “Might still blister, though. Think they have a first aid kit here?”

“I’ll check.” Remus kisses your head again before he goes. 

You appraise your hand, the stinging lessened under the flow of the tap. “I don’t think it’s really terrible,” you say. 

“No” —Sirius wraps an arm around your waist, squeezing— “it isn’t, baby. Probably still hurts, though, yeah?” 

You frown, and he coos, doting. His lips press warmly to your shoulder. 

“Let’s see if we can get it warm in here like you wanted,” says James, bending in front of the large iron stove. He picks up the poker, opening the small door and prodding at the logs. As he does, he glances at the temperature gauge on the side. “Christ, lovie. It’s already at 400, how much hotter do you want it to be?” 

“It is?” You squint, trying to read it from where you are. “Oh, that is a hot fire.” 

“Is it now?” Remus asks as he comes back in with a roll of bandages and a bottle of clear gel. “You wouldn’t be referring to the fire you burnt yourself with, would you?” 

Your face heats at the teasing in his voice. “I didn’t burn myself with the fire.” 

“No, but the heat of the fire does actually affect the heat of the metal around it. Or so I’ve heard.” 

“Be nice to her,” Sirius protests on your behalf. He scrubs his hand up and down your side comfortingly. “She’s hurt. And it could have happened to anyone, that thing is evil.” 

“You only think that because you can’t use it either,” James taunts, referring to every time in the past few days Sirius has also narrowly avoided burning himself on the hot stove that heats your rented cabin. “You two are disasters in solidarity.” 

Sirius’ mouth drops open. “What did he just call us?” he stage whispers near your ear. 

When you chuckle, his lips quirk. 

To their credit, James and Remus both revert to their usual sweetness as they spread aloe over your burn and wrap it with careful touches. Remus even places a kiss on the other side of your fingers, seemingly under the hope its healing powers will seep through. Sirius remains your most devout supporter, tutting and kissing whatever spare inch of you he can find anytime he so much as suspects something might hurt. 

“Do you need to take some painkillers, babylove?” he asks once they’ve finished up. 

You press your lips into a reassuring smile. “That’s okay,” you tell him fondly. “It’s not so bad.” 

Sirius pouts. “Do you want some painkillers, though?” Your silence speaks for you, and he makes for the bathroom. Remus sighs, holding your head still to kiss your hair and mumbling something about one or the other of you being a terrible enabler before going to get you some water to take your painkillers with.

[inanaincarneetinsidus]

Vedic/ Sidereal observations

- If you have any proeminent Jyestha placement please go buy an evil eye protection, it can be any jewelry with eye imagerie on it not only the classic cristal one that we often see but make sure that it is very visible on you.

The evil eye that is often projected on jyestha is basically a curse, people see your potential even though you crawl in dirt like a scorpio you see. They observe your resilience evolving in a state without resources and fear what you may become once you acquire this abundance, so they manifest your failure DON'T EVER TELL ANYONE YOUR PLANS even if they are family idc

- If you are one of those that went through rahu/ketu antardasha as an adolescent/young adult saturn mahadasa don't got nothing on you , I would say that first the energy of Saturn is difficult because it requires you to actually put in the work: you can not escape it, however when you finally submit and accept it you will often harvest the fruits of your efforts.

Ketu does not work like that at all, your current actions don't actually matter in a ketu ruled period it is your past karma that is resurging, Ketu will take away everything that you actually have not only material possessions but also intellectual ones: opinions, your self-image relationships, everything that makes you appreciate the material world, you cannot truly try to girlboss your way out of a ketu dasa the best thing that you can do is SURRENDER, meditate, be introspective, journal, practice yoga and pick a solitary sport and allow yourself to contemplate life

- Saturn in the 4th house, conjunct moon, or in cancer will destroy the health of the mother, pls it is not a norm at all most of the time saturnbin the 4th/cancer will indicate that the mother was very strict and austere

- Mercurials and Martians shouldn't expect empathy from anybody sadly, I don't know why but society seems to agree on the fact that they do not deserve to be understood, taken with softness and respect one thing I think it is due to is the fact that they often appear as very stoic, they keep their emotions often to themselves conserving a very cold even bitchy appearance so people often treat them badly based on this impression, they are often met with the 'you think you are better than us ?' anyway

-I've seen many western astrology post saying how many celebrities have scorpio moons right and it make so much more sense when you see that most of them have their moon in sidereal libra rashi, since saturn is exalted in libra, and saturn is the one who grant tangible material abundance, libras have a natural understanding of how to manifest that abundance: they know how to manipulate the material world, using Māyā.

- Ketuvians how about stoping to hide under the guise of disgust and admit that all you really want is to be included and cared about ?

-Purva Ashada men will have the most long, luscious hair ever beyond that they are often stunning and they conserve a kind of androgynous appearance if often they physique is very masculine with hard features they will have the softest voices, most delicate manners ever, it would be so cool to see them take care of a pet. On a darker side this nakshatra is very recurrent in cult leaders even fictional ones lol

-Dhanista and Revati would do great in bellydancing since both of these nakshatras have instruments associated with them, rhythm is innate to their functioning.

- Rohini women are so funny to be around when they get over their insecurities, they are sometimes so insecure it's just hurtful for me to see that, they will break off their bonds with people especially other women over jealousy and not realize that they are the problem, acting like pick mes, making subtle diss and wonder why they are left alone at the end ! If everybody as a problem (as in you are in an argument ) with you and you are not nodal (ketuvian or rahuvian) you are probably the problem 🤷🏾‍♀️. A little introspection shouldn't scare you 😙 that's how you grow as a person

- I strongly admire Anuradha people, their resilience is unmatched like their bone structure, the most gorgeous faces like they were sculpted by Michael Angelo himself

- Mars and Jupiter are bestfriends so you will notice that in real life most bestfriends have this combination of placements or they can have Venus/Saturn too as these two planets are also best friends

- Purva Phalguni/ leo men are so vulgar lol, they scare the hell out of me, Venusian men in general they act like they will eat you alive 🥲

- Rahuvians deal with a lot of mental issues I've seen mostly chronic depression that can lead to suicide in some cases 😕 if you have proeminent rahu placement, try get more in touch with you ketu placement it has helped me a lot, for example ketu in the first house: self-care, protect your energy and your space do not allow anybody to enter it, take extra care of your body exercise, meditate. Ketu in the 6th house: put yourself at the service of other people, in the 11th house: force yourself to join a community, an organization etc

- I've recently saw an interview of Mia Khalifa and she talked about her childhood and her struggles with her weight and turns out she has a Virgo moon in hasta, it made realize how much Virgo women often struggles with their alimentation in general, they have many toxic behaviors regarding the consumption of food and many many of them have had ED or still have it. It's crazy to see that when the constellation of Virgo symbol is an ear of wheat so it associated with bread and eating in general and the natives of this sign have abnormal behaviors towards food.

[feeder86]

Feeder 86: The Top Ten

Can you believe that the Feeder86 ‘Orginal Gainer Stories’ blog will soon be posting the two hundredth story? I thought of many ways to celebrate. But then I stopped and realised that I would probably be best using the time to address one of the questions I get asked about most frequently. Which of the stories do I personally like the most?

This was not an easy list to make as I very rarely go back to re-read my own work after I have finished editing and posting them. This is not because I do not like them, but because I always see bits that I want to change. Nevertheless, this project was the perfect opportunity to revisit a few oldies that I remember being very proud of at the time. 

Hopefully you will see this list for what it is: a glimpse into how I write, my motivations and drive; rather than just a self indulgent pat on the back for myself. Yuck!

So, with that being said, let us begin...

#10 The Feeders’ Formula: This tale certainly had to be placed into the list. After all, it is the one that kicked off ‘Original Gainer Stories’ all those years ago. There are many amazing examples of instant body weight transformation stories out there. I felt that I needed to write this one as my contribution to the genre. It went down well at the time. I swiftly wrote a Part Two, then followed it up with others (The Feeders’ Formation, The Feeders’ Formalities, The Feeders’ Foreclosure, The Feeders’ Forecast, The Feeders’ Former Years), becoming something of an ongoing saga in recent years; focusing on the different Feeders from that very first meeting. As a writer who sometimes struggles to find the ending, these are wonderful to write as they all have the same inevitable conclusion. There is also so much freedom to be had when you’re working with characters who are pretty much pure evil. I know so much more about the Feeders than I’ve ever written down, so it is great to tease out those little details with each new installment. The newest of these tales (The Feeders’ Foreplay) was the darkest yet, but seems to have provoked a very favourable reaction from many. Who knows what the Feeders may get up to next? I do! And you can find out too, once we start a whole new sweeps season of stories this April! Come with me into The Feeders' Fortress!

#9 Only One: Where do I start? Only One has my absolute favourite type of feeder. Ben is big, sexy and very in control. He’s one of those rare types of guys who always stays on top and is a step ahead of absoultely everyone he meets. Who wouldn’t fall for him? I certainly did! In fact, I loved him so much that I wrote an entire prequel for him (and none of you even noticed!) Check out Rewire if you want to see how Ben became the man we know and love.

#8 The Wright Boys: The idea of a weight gain that cannot be stopped or controlled is a tempting one for many. How much easier would it be if you didn’t have to second guess your choices or face the pressure to lose weight? This was the first tale of what I see as ‘The Curses’ saga that eventually bled into many other stories (including another one on this list!) and culminated in Wright vs Beckett. However, this story remains my personal favourite of these. If you’re a fan of looking for crossovers between my stories, these are some of the most explicitly linked. I followed it up with a spin-off tale (The Wright Boys: DNA), but continue to have ideas about how I could go back to these boys in the future. Watch this space.

#7 Making Monsters: The title of this story really does give away how I felt about it at the time. This is quite the saga, spread over into not just two, but three parts! It began as a story that was very similar to Blackmailed; a tale that I had written previously about a guy voyeristically enjoying seeing his friend fatten up her boyfriend. However, this story evolved even further for me, with Tommy’s love of eating and gaining weight being both his greatest love, and his biggest shame. His denial only heightened the tension for me, and, when he does eventually give in, the gains feel all the more satisfying as a result.

#6 The Pig Feed: It’s not easy to write a gainer story where there isn’t another character spurring the events along and encouraging things. In this tale however, that role is given to a very tasty and surprisingly addictive pig feed mixture that Steve gets himself hooked on. It’s a story that I really enjoyed writing and still feel very happy with. I have considered writing more stories around this interesting feed. However, I am yet to do so; deciding (for now at least) that things are perhaps best left as they are. But, feel free to let me know your thoughts on this.

#5 Farm Boy: Whether you grew up in a big city, or a small rural community, like Hayden in this story, we can all relate to having desires and attractions that those around us don’t understand. And, thanks to how well connected we are these days, we now know what it’s like to realise that you’re not actually alone, and the whirlwind of excited emotions that follow. I enjoyed writing this story because I, quite simply, fell completely in love with Hayden. As kinky as he was, he still retained that fresh faced innocence throughout. If any of my characters were destined to be together forever, I imagine that these two would be my top choice.

#4 Keeping a Crush: This is one of those stories that I wrote in a matter of hours, and I was so pleased with it when I was done. Getting the train to go to work is not necessarily something that many Americans have to do, and so the location had to be switched to the UK (quite refreshing, I thought!). For me, it’s one of those really rare instances where placing very solid restrictions on the structure of a story (In this case, having it all take place during the commute to and from work) and finding that it actually elevates the sexual tension and mood. All scenes take place in public settings. All conversations could, in theory, be overheard. These days, so many people meet online and flirt for weeks by messaging back and forth, before they even see each other for the first time. Nowadays, for better or for worse, the actual, real fantasy is finding a connection with someone you just see in the real world; perhaps with a person you literally just met on the way to work...

If you’ve not read this one, I really would highly recommend it.

#3 To the Max: Stories with a magical element to them are either loved or hated. However, I find that this tale walks that line very successfully. Ned gets his hands on a love potion and makes straight guy, Max, fall for him. I’m sure we’ve all been there with that fantasy! However, it is in the consequences of inviting someone into your life, someone that you actually know very little about, that the entire eroticism of this story is based. I won’t spoil it for those who have not read it, but believe me when I say that things soon start getting very interesting indeed…

#2 Tommy’s Two Hundred. Don’t recognise this one? Well, that's because none of you have read it yet. 

Now, I’m not just saying this because I want you all to come back for the two hundreth story, but this is genuinely one of my absolute favourites. For my big milestone stories in the past, I have written something specifically for that event (Wright vs Beckett, The Seven Feeders of Finn). However, this is just a tale that I adored writing and decided to hold back for you all, especially for this occasion. It’s a story of domination and submission within a fairly open, but very kinky, relationship. Strapping Hunter plays the part of a very controlling feeder, making me break many of my own rules and stretching my boundaries to the absolute limits. You’ll either love him, or you’ll hate him. That’s all I’m going to say…

Also, this story is going to be the first Feeder86 story that will be fully illustrated. It’s all thanks to the amazing talents of Spellwell9 who was given an advanced copy and asked to imagine the characters in four different scenes. I cannot wait for you to see this!

Put it in your diary. All will be revealed from Friday 5th April…

#1 F80 Control: This is perhaps a controvercial choice (especially as my #1). I have previously admitted that this story strays a little from its purpose of being a gainer story. In other words, I get very caught up in the background story that is being told. However, I feel that the science fiction genre is surprisingly underused in tales of weight gain. Yet, the combination of Aritificial Intelligence and submission seemed, to me, to be the perfect blend. It really is a beast of a story if you can follow it all the way through to its conclusion. 

With the advent of improved artificial intelligence software in recent years, I felt the time was right to develop the world further, with the addition of F80 Ctrl Alt Del; a spin-off tale set slightly before the main story. Then, unable to help myself, I followed this up again with another companion story, F80: Kidnap and Control. 

The reason I chose this universe as my favourite is because this is where I am happiest writing. With AI, I don’t need to consider the morality or motivations - I know exactly what their aims are and I can see multiple ways in which it will cause conflict with humanity (and their waistlines!) I would also love to write more for this world one day, and I even left a little unused subplot in the last story that I think would provide the perfect starting-off point for another chapter. Will I ever write it? Well, we’ll have to wait and see…

So, there you have it! The the complete list!

This was a much harder exercise than I expected when I first embarked upon it. Stories like: Jiggle the Jock, Meticulous, Rule Number One, Freaks, Leftovers I and II, Ethan: The Secret Feeder and, not fogetting The Consequences I, II and III all crept in and out of the list, unfortunatley missing out on the final cut. There are many, many others, of course. But this list cannot go on forever...

So, why not tell me which ones were your favourites? Feel free to write in the comments and post a link to any other stories that you have enjoyed from myself, or from other authors. Hopefully, if we all work together, this could become a great resource for people in the future, filled with signposts and reccommendations.  

Also, don’t forget the Feeder86 Contents page where you can find links and descriptions of all the 200 stories posted so far (as well as plot outlines for upcoming tales as well). Please continue to enjoy the vast catalogue of stories, and even have a go yourself! I love supporting the many new gainer fiction writers who contact me. So please do get in touch if you need advice, or to talk through your ideas. Let’s all encourage a whole new generation of people to get typing away! I’m sure you will cheer them on just as much as I will.

Thank you to everyone who supports the stories blog here on Tumblr. Keep checking in every Friday througout April for a whole new sweeps season to celebrate this milestone. Stories will include: Tommy's Two Hundred, Train for a Gain, The Feeders' Fortress and The 1% (a companion story to The 5%). For now, I thank you all for taking time out to sit and read the very bizarre tales that sprout from my mind. You are all wonderful.

Happy 200 stories!

Feeder86

[ilovemarvel97]

Home-Cooked Love - Part 2

Elizabeth Olsen x Chef Reader

Summary: The Wedding Day.

Word Count: 5,680

Warnings: Fluff

Main Masterlist

---

The weekend before the wedding arrived in a flurry of final fittings, last-minute texts from the planner, and an underlying buzz of excitement that neither Lizzie nor Y/N could shake — especially with their bachelorette parties looming.

The night of the bachelorette parties kicked off in chaotic harmony.

They’d planned to leave separately, but in classic twist-of-fate fashion, Lizzie’s group and Y/N’s crew pulled up to the house at the exact same time. Two SUVs rolled into the driveway, headlights illuminating the porch where Y/N stood holding a drink, brow raised.

Before she could retreat inside, the Olsen twins spotted her.

“Oh no you don’t!” Ashley grinned as she marched up and grabbed Y/N’s arm.

“I live here!” Y/N protested, laughing — but that didn’t stop Mary-Kate from helping shove her toward her own waiting crew. Alice and Malik were already whooping by the car.

Across the driveway, Lizzie leaned casually against her SUV, sipping something bright and bubbly. Y/N twisted in her sisters-in-law’s grip and called across the chaos:

“No strippers, right?!”

The twins just grinned and waved her off.

“That’s not a no!” Y/N shouted, getting stuffed into the car like a wayward bridesmaid.

---

Lizzie’s bachelorette party began in glittering, curated glamour — a penthouse suite in SoHo with champagne on ice, scented candles glowing softly, and a skyline view that made even the Olsens stop and admire.

Her sisters had decorated the suite with deep red roses, velvet throw pillows, and candles in shades of rose and gold. A massive charcuterie spread sat on the dining table, and the bar was stocked with Lizzie’s favorite wines, herbal liqueurs, and tequila from a brand she once endorsed.

They kicked off the night with toasts — Mary-Kate started it with, “To the first Olsen who’s letting someone else cook for her every day,” and the group burst into laughter.

The music got louder, shoes came off, and cocktails were replaced with drinking games. At one point, someone dared Lizzie to name her worst ex. She sipped instead. Then came the real question.

“Okay,” Ashley said, wine glass swaying in her hand, “we need to talk about it.”

Lizzie blinked. “About…?”

“You’ve only ever dated men until Y/N,” Mary-Kate said, leaning forward with an impish smile. “And we love her, but we’re nosy.”

“Nosy,” someone echoed with a giggle.

“So what’s the verdict?” Ashley asked, swirling her drink. “How’s she compared to the boys?”

Lizzie flushed, laughing as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “You want a review?”

“Yes!” they chorused.

“Y/N is…” Lizzie grinned. “She’s the best I’ve ever had. Like, no competition. It’s not even close.”

Mary-Kate gasped and threw a pillow. “I knew it!”

“She’s the top, right?” Ashley asked, raising a knowing brow.

Lizzie sipped, eyes glittering. “Oh yeah. Very much.”

The room erupted into scandalous laughter and clinking glasses.

“God, no wonder you look so happy all the time,” one friend said.

They whooped, toasted to “Hot Chefs with Magic Hands,” and proceeded to play increasingly spicy rounds of “Never Have I Ever.”

The game started tame — “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” “Never have I ever kissed a celebrity,” — but quickly spiraled.

“Never have I ever had sex in a kitchen,” someone said, and Lizzie sipped with a bashful shrug.

Ashley shrieked. “Not the restaurant!”

Lizzie held up her hands. “I’m not saying anything else!”

“Never have I ever been tied up,” came another, and Mary-Kate dramatically choked on her drink when Lizzie took another sip.

“Okay, your fiancée is dangerous,” Ashley muttered.

Lizzie giggled, cheeks pink and eyes shining. “You have no idea.”

“Never have I ever begged,” someone tossed in with an evil grin.

Lizzie hesitated—then sipped.

That was when the room howled.

Mary-Kate rolled onto the floor. “I am never looking her in the eye the same way again!”

“Never have I ever screamed someone’s name so loud the neighbors complained,” came next.

Lizzie didn’t even try to deny it. Another sip.

It was glorious chaos — friends howling with laughter, clutching pillows, teasing her endlessly as she confessed just how thoroughly and spectacularly Y/N ruined her for anyone else.

By the end of the game, Lizzie was sprawled in a pile of throw blankets, head tilted back with laughter, her heart full and her cheeks aching.

“Okay,” she panted between giggles, “this is the best night ever.”

“Wait till the wedding,” Mary-Kate said, clinking her glass against Lizzie’s. “And the wedding night.”

They cackled.

Unbeknownst to them, across the city, Y/N was about to come stumbling into their suite in full drunken glory — and she was going to demand her spot right back in Lizzie’s arms.

---

Y/N’s party had taken on a very different, very drunken energy.

They started at a cozy bar owned by one of her old sous-chefs — a speakeasy vibe with jazz echoing from the walls, a private lounge, and a lot of mezcal.

At first it was chill: drinks, music, toasts, stories. But then someone ordered absinthe.

Things escalated quickly. Malik dared her to down a homemade shot called “The Vowbreaker” and after three of them, Y/N was already halfway tipsy with eyes sparkling. She leaned into Alice and whispered, “I’ve never loved a human more than I love Lizzie when she wears that cashmere thing that falls off her shoulder—”

“She’s drunk,” Malik declared.

“You’re drunk,” Y/N argued, tripping slightly as she stood on a bench with her third mystery shot.

Then came the moment.

Alice and Malik, trying to be responsible, coaxed her toward the car.

“We’re getting you to your hotel. You’ll thank us later.”

“Nooo,” Y/N whined, resisting. “I need to sleep in her arms. That’s where I belong.”

“We’re not letting you crash her party—”

“Try and stop me.”

They exchanged a look. They knew that tone.

---

When they arrived at Lizzie’s penthouse suite, the party was still going — music low now, girls sprawled on pillows and couches, sipping wine in pajamas.

The door swung open and chaos stepped in.

Y/N, wrapped in someone’s blazer over her slinky blouse, stumbled into the room like a wine-soaked tornado. Her hair was wild, her eyes shiny, and she was clutching a takeout container like it held the meaning of life.

The Olsen twins immediately rose to intercept.

“Y/N, this is Lizzie’s night—” Mary-Kate started.

“Yeah, you don’t get to crash the slumber party,” Ashley added.

“I’m engaged, don’t touch me,” Y/N said with mock dignity, pointing at her ring like it was a royal scepter.

“Y/N?” came a soft voice.

She turned — and the second she saw Lizzie, she just… melted.

A dopey grin took over her face. “There she is.”

Lizzie rushed over, laughing. “Oh my God. You’re drunk.”

Y/N nodded, looping her arms around her. “I tried to sleep without you but it felt wrong. Also I think I made out with a breadstick.”

Lizzie laughed so hard she nearly cried. “C’mere.”

The girls parted as Lizzie helped guide Y/N to the bed. Y/N flopped down dramatically and buried her face in Lizzie’s lap.

“You’re my home,” she mumbled.

The Olsen twins rolled their eyes affectionately. Mary-Kate tossed her a throw blanket.

“Fine,” Ashley sighed. “You can stay. But you’re not allowed to hog the bride.”

“I would never,” Y/N whispered, already half-asleep, one arm wrapped protectively around Lizzie’s waist.

Y/N’s breath evened out in minutes, her face still tucked in Lizzie’s lap, arms loosely curled like a content puppy who’d found her favorite place. Lizzie, cheeks warm from laughter and wine, gently stroked her hair, fingers combing through messy strands while the rest of the suite slowly quieted again.

Alice leaned on the doorframe with a fond smile, Malik standing behind her holding two sweatshirts and a bag of coconut water. “Told you she wouldn’t go down until she found Lizzie.”

“She kept shouting ‘Let me in! I’m emotionally naked!’ in the elevator,” Malik said dryly. “Everyone thought we were dragging a poet.”

Lizzie burst out laughing and gestured them in. “You two want to stay?”

“Sure,” Alice said, dropping onto the nearest couch and kicking off her heels. “Didn’t realize this was where the real party was.”

“We were just getting to the emotional overshare portion,” Ashley teased, offering Alice a glass of pinot. “You made it just in time.”

“Y/N missed that,” Lizzie murmured, smiling down at her fiancée, who snuffled softly in her lap.

“She’s literally leaking love,” Malik said, taking a seat next to Mary-Kate. “It’s kind of disgusting.”

“It’s kind of beautiful,” Mary-Kate corrected.

Ashley leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “Okay, now that she’s passed out, Lizzie, is she really that good in bed or were you just hyped on tequila?”

Lizzie didn’t even blink. “Tequila or not, I stand by what I said.”

Alice clapped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t need to hear this—”

“No, you do,” Ashley insisted. “We all do. For science.”

“She cooks. She gives me forehead kisses. And when I tell you she treats my body like a prayer—”

“Okay, okay!” Alice cried, grabbing a pillow and hurling it with a laugh. “I get it. You’re marrying Aphrodite. But I don’t need to hear my sister’s sex life!”

Lizzie giggled, cheeks flushed again. She glanced down at Y/N, who mumbled something unintelligible and snuggled in closer.

“She’s just so…” Lizzie sighed, dreamy. “Loving. Gentle. Wild when she wants to be. And somehow, no matter how tired or stressed or busy she is, she makes me feel like the only thing that matters.”

The room melted into a collective “Awww.”

“She makes you feel chosen,” Mary-Kate said softly.

Lizzie nodded. “Every single day.”

The room quieted for a beat, everyone feeling the weight of her words.

Ashley blinked, wine glass paused mid-air. “Okay. So we agree — she’s banned from future slumber parties because none of us can top this romance.”

“Deal,” Malik said, raising his glass.

“To Y/N,” Alice added, and the group echoed it — clinking glasses, tossing popcorn, chuckling at the human bundle of love still curled in Lizzie’s lap.

The music played low in the background again. Candles flickered. Someone brought out skincare masks. Mary-Kate started braiding Alice’s hair. Malik ended up in a deep chat with Ashley about astrology.

And in the middle of it all, Lizzie stayed seated, humming under her breath as she kept petting Y/N’s hair, her heart full in that quiet, overwhelming way love fills you when you're safe, surrounded, and utterly seen.

The last thing she heard before drifting off into a seated doze was Y/N sighing, still half-asleep: “I dreamed we were married. You made pancakes. I cried.”

Lizzie whispered back, “That’s tomorrow, my love.”

---

The first light of morning spilled through the wide penthouse windows, casting a soft golden hue across the room. The suite was quiet now, littered with evidence of the night before — empty wine glasses, a few stray popcorn kernels, a charcuterie board still valiantly holding half a cracker.

In the center of the chaos, on the oversized bed in the main room, Y/N stirred.

Her head ached, but the scent of rose candles and the gentle weight on her chest kept her from groaning. Instead, she blinked slowly, and the first thing she registered was Lizzie, curled on top of her, cheek resting over Y/N’s heart, arms wrapped securely around her waist.

Y/N smiled, slow and a little sheepish. She brushed a few strands of hair away from Lizzie’s face and just stared at her for a moment — puffy-lipped, bare-faced, utterly relaxed.

Guilt crept in, soft but persistent.

Y/N swallowed, her voice low and hoarse. “Hey,” she whispered, not sure if Lizzie was awake. “I’m sorry I crashed your party.”

Lizzie didn’t move at first, but then her lips quirked in a sleepy smile against Y/N’s chest. “You didn’t crash it. You conquered it.”

Y/N chuckled weakly, brushing her thumb along Lizzie’s shoulder. “I was so annoying, wasn’t I?”

“You made out with a breadstick,” Lizzie murmured, eyes still closed.

“God.” Y/N groaned softly, covering her face with one hand. “Why are you still marrying me?”

Lizzie looked up now, her chin propped against Y/N’s sternum, eyes still drowsy but warm. “Because even wine-soaked and half-asleep, you still found your way to me.”

Y/N exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “I just… couldn’t sleep. I needed you.”

“I know.” Lizzie leaned up and kissed her collarbone. “I’m glad you came.”

“You sure I didn’t ruin anything?”

“You made it better.” Lizzie sat up just enough to cup Y/N’s cheek. “I love that you’re always where my heart is.”

Y/N’s smile returned, lopsided and a little emotional. “Even when I show up with takeout and a stolen blazer?”

Lizzie laughed, voice rasped by sleep. “Especially then.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, tucked together in the warmth of morning light and quiet love, until Y/N leaned up just enough to kiss Lizzie’s forehead.

“So,” Y/N murmured, “you ready to marry me?”

Lizzie grinned. “I’ve been ready since the first time you made me pancakes and kissed me with syrup on your lips.”

“Romantic and slightly sticky,” Y/N whispered. “Perfect combo.”

A few minutes later, the quiet murmur of the penthouse began to shift. Doors creaked, groans echoed from the hall, and the rustling of blankets and pajama pants signaled the collective awakening of a very hungover bridal party.

“Is someone brewing coffee or did I die and go to heaven?” came a croaky voice from the kitchenette.

“Both,” Malik called back, already pouring two cups, his hair sticking up in all directions.

Alice wandered out wrapped in a blanket like a disheveled ghost and blinked at the sight of Lizzie still curled up with Y/N on the bed. “Okay, cute — but do I need to separate you two?”

Y/N snorted and held Lizzie a little tighter. “Nope. She’s mine today.”

Lizzie smiled but sat up, hair tousled and cheeks still warm from sleep. “It’s wedding day.”

That declaration snapped through the room like a starter’s pistol.

Mary-Kate appeared in the doorway, already in leggings and a perfectly rumpled T-shirt, holding her own coffee like it was sacred. She narrowed her eyes at the bed.

“She’s still here?” she asked, nodding toward Y/N.

Ashley came in behind her, equally unimpressed and equally caffeinated. “Y/N, sweetie, I love you, but get out.”

Y/N blinked. “It’s too early for exile.”

“It’s your wedding day,” Ashley said, crossing her arms. “We have glam, steamers, champagne, and a bridal schedule with color-coded stickers. This is a Lizzie-only zone until aisle time.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Y/N tried, dramatically flattening herself to the mattress.

“Nope.” Mary-Kate walked over and yanked the blanket off her. “Out. Now.”

Y/N groaned and reached for Lizzie. “Save me.”

Lizzie just giggled. “Babe, they’ll kill you and hide the body in one of their fashion studios. Just go get ready with your crew. I’ll see you at the altar.”

Y/N stood with exaggerated reluctance, muttering, “Betrayed by my own fiancée,” as she shuffled toward the door, still barefoot and clutching her coffee.

“Hey!” Ashley called. “Don’t forget the breadstick container!”

Y/N turned, grabbed it with a wink, and waved dramatically as she exited. “I’ll remember this.”

“You better,” Mary-Kate called. “Because you only get to do it once.”

The door closed behind her, and the suite erupted into movement: curling irons heating, steamer vents hissing, playlists starting. Lizzie took a long sip of coffee, eyes still soft.

She whispered to herself with a smile, “I’m getting married today.”

---

Alice and Malik flanked Y/N as they walked back into the hotel suite that had been reserved for Y/N’s wedding prep — a quieter, more minimalist space with crisp white walls, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a sleek modern aesthetic that perfectly matched Y/N’s vibe. There was already a garment bag hanging on the closet door, and a small stack of handwritten notes from her staff tucked beside a bottle of champagne.

Y/N sank onto the couch and let her head fall back with a sigh. “I feel like I got hit by an Uber Eats truck.”

“You did get hit,” Alice muttered, kicking off her shoes. “By three different kinds of liquor.”

“You did try to sleep in Lizzie’s lap in front of, like, twelve people,” Malik added, smug as he handed her a bottle of water.

“I succeeded,” Y/N mumbled, grinning.

Alice rolled her eyes but smiled. “You’re lucky it was cute.”

They let her rest for just a few more minutes before shifting into motion. Alice unzipped the garment bag with reverence, revealing Y/N’s wedding tuxedo — sharp-lined, custom-tailored black silk with a white satin lapel and delicate embroidery along the collar that mirrored the pattern of Lizzie’s dress (not that Y/N had seen it yet). Her shirt was crisp white, and a rose-gold pocket square matched the shade of Lizzie’s bouquet.

“Okay,” Alice said, handing her the undershirt. “Let’s turn you into someone worthy of marrying my dream girl crush.”

“She’s mine,” Y/N said automatically, but her grin was soft.

As they got her dressed — shoes polished, cufflinks fastened, tie knotted by Malik with precision — Y/N kept fidgeting, her nerves slowly overtaking the hangover. Her hands wouldn’t stay still.

“I feel like I’m going to puke.”

“That means you’re in love,” Alice teased, fixing her collar with a sisterly tug. “You look amazing.”

There was a knock at the door then, and when Y/N opened it, her parents were standing there — Melissa with misty eyes and Tom already adjusting the camera strap around his neck.

“Oh, honey,” Melissa said, reaching to cup her face. “You look like your father when I married him. And also ten times more nervous.”

“I’m gonna cry,” Tom said, clearing his throat.

Behind them, Will entered with a squirmy Laila in his arms. The moment she spotted Y/N in her tux, her face lit up.

“Auntie Y/N! You look like a princess but also like Batman!”

Y/N knelt to hug her. “That’s the best review I’ve ever gotten.”

“Smile,” Tom called as he snapped a picture.

Soon the room filled with more family — soft voices, champagne flutes, excited murmurs. Y/N’s tie was straightened again, this time by her mom, and Laila insisted on sitting next to her while Alice helped pin a boutonnière to her lapel — a blush-colored rose with rosemary tucked in.

“I’ve never seen you this quiet,” Malik said, nudging her gently as the wedding coordinator peeked in to say it was almost time.

“I’ve never been this sure about anything in my life,” Y/N whispered.

She took one last deep breath, stood tall, and followed the call toward the ceremony — the aisle where she’d wait for Lizzie, ready to begin the rest of forever.

---

The SUV rolled up the long gravel path that wound through the golden hills of the vineyard. Rows of grapevines shimmered in the late afternoon sun, the warm breeze carrying the scent of lavender and ripe fruit. The venue — a restored Tuscan-style villa perched above a sun-drenched terrace — glowed like something out of a fairytale.

Y/N sat in the back seat with Alice, quietly bouncing her leg. She’d finally stopped sweating, but her hands were still clenched tight around the small note cards in her lap — her vows, rewritten twice the night before.

From the passenger seat, Malik turned around. “This is it. No turning back now.”

“As if I would,” Y/N murmured.

They pulled up to the front circle, where guests were already milling about — dressed in soft florals and pastel linens, sipping prosecco, shaded under ivory parasols. Strings of fairy lights hung above the vineyard courtyard, and a small string quartet had begun to tune their instruments near the ceremony arch.

The car door opened, and Y/N’s mom was the first out. Melissa looked around with misty eyes. “Oh wow… It’s even more beautiful than the pictures.”

Tom followed, adjusting the lapel of his jacket, camera at the ready. “I can’t wait to see Lizzie walk down that aisle.”

Laila popped out next, already twirling in her pale pink flower girl dress.

Y/N was the last to step out. As soon as she did, the world seemed to tilt — or maybe it was just her heart thudding in her ears. The vineyard bathed in sunlight. The arch wrapped in pale roses and eucalyptus. The chairs filling fast with friends and family from both sides. And the aisle — long and elegant, lined with petals.

“Damn,” Alice said beside her. “This feels like a movie.”

“Let’s make it a good one,” Y/N replied, smoothing her tux jacket with shaking hands.

A staff member from the venue approached them with a warm smile. “Y/N? We’ll guide your family to their seats. You’ll be waiting at the altar with the officiant. Lizzie’s almost ready.”

Almost ready.

Y/N nodded, then turned to her family, pulling each of them into a hug — her mom’s lasting the longest, Alice’s the tightest, and Laila’s the most giggly.

“We’ll see you up there,” Melissa whispered, voice full of emotion.

As the guests took their seats and the music swelled softly into the air, Y/N was led toward the altar — a quiet, graceful figure in a tailored tux, standing at the end of the aisle with the sun behind her, waiting for the love of her life.

---

Back in the bridal suite of the vineyard villa, sunlight poured through the tall windows, casting a warm, golden hue over everything it touched. The air was filled with soft chatter, rustling fabrics, and the delicate clinking of perfume bottles and bobby pins.

Lizzie stood in front of an antique mirror, her bridal robe just slipping off one shoulder as Mary-Kate carefully fastened the final touches of her hair — a loose bun threaded with small white blooms and baby’s breath. Ashley stood behind her with a glass of champagne, watching quietly.

Jarnette dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “You look just like you did when you were six and made me help you marry your teddy bear in the backyard.”

Lizzie laughed, nervous and glowing. “He didn’t show up, if I recall.”

“He was late,” Trent said from the corner. “Bad precedent.”

Courtney and Jake flitted in and out of the room with updates, but the energy was calm — reverent, even — like everyone knew this wasn’t just a celebrity wedding, or a glamorous event. This was real. Sacred.

McKenzie helped button the back of Lizzie’s gown — a soft ivory dress with a flowing skirt, delicate lace, and a deep back that hugged her form without ever feeling heavy. Lizzie had chosen it because it reminded her of summer mornings and simplicity and bare feet in the kitchen — of love that was grounded and effortless.

“How are you feeling?” Ashley asked, offering her sister the glass.

Lizzie took it, sipped. “Like I’m about to walk off a cliff... but like, the good kind.”

Mary-Kate grinned. “Y/N’s going to cry. Calling it now.”

“She already did,” Alice said from the doorway, slipping in with Malik. “She got teary when she saw the arch and then again when she hugged her niece. She’s standing at the altar now, probably practicing her breathing.”

Lizzie blushed. “She looks okay?”

“Like a damn Vogue cover,” Malik said.

Lizzie exhaled, hands trembling slightly as she clutched the bouquet that Ashley passed to her. The music began to drift in from outside — soft and stringed, the processional starting.

Jarnette stepped forward and cupped her daughter’s face. “You ready?”

Lizzie smiled, tears pricking her eyes. “I’ve never been more ready.”

The double doors were pushed open, and the room grew still as Lizzie stepped forward, her sisters gathering her train behind her. The sun stretched long across the aisle, and all eyes turned — but Lizzie saw only one.

Y/N.

Standing in her tailored tux, eyes wide and awestruck, hands clenched in front of her heart like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

And then she smiled — that smile Lizzie knew was just for her.

The walk began.

As Lizzie walked down the aisle, time seemed to slow. The vineyard was awash in late afternoon gold, sun filtering through the canopy of olive trees and dancing across the rows of guests seated in delicate white chairs. The scent of lavender and blooming roses wafted on the breeze. Strings played a gentle version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” and somewhere in the crowd, Laila quietly gasped, “Auntie Lizzie looks like a princess.”

Y/N stood beneath a rustic wooden arch draped in soft white fabric and vines, her tuxedo perfectly fitted, a small white flower tucked into her lapel. Her family sat in the front row—Melissa with her hands pressed over her heart, Tom wiping his glasses, Alice whispering something teasing to Will.

Y/N’s eyes never left Lizzie.

When Lizzie finally reached the end of the aisle, she handed her bouquet to Mary-Kate and took Y/N’s hands.

“You’re crying,” Lizzie whispered.

“So are you,” Y/N replied, grinning through the tears.

The officiant gave them a moment before beginning, letting the emotion settle. Birds chirped softly in the vines behind them.

“Dearly beloved,” he began, “we are gathered here today in the heart of this vineyard to witness a moment of true love — not just a celebration of two people, but of two souls who have chosen each other with joy, with purpose, and with awe.”

Y/N and Lizzie barely heard a word. They were too focused on the way their hands fit, the way their fingers laced together with absolute certainty.

When it came time for vows, Y/N went first.

She unfolded a piece of paper — but then laughed nervously and pulled a second, smaller, handwritten one from her jacket instead.

“I had something different planned,” Y/N began, voice steady despite her watery eyes. “Something polished. Something clever. But then you went and read my first draft,” she teased, and Lizzie smiled.

“So I wrote this instead — because if you’re going to read my heart, I want it to be honest.”

She took a breath. “I spent a lot of my life learning how to stand tall on my own. But loving you… taught me how beautiful it is to lean into someone and know they’ll never let you fall. You are the home I never knew I was missing. You’re the breath in my lungs after a long day, the warmth in my chest when I cook breakfast and feel your arms wrap around me from behind. I promise to carry you, to protect your peace, and to love you with every part of me. Always.”

Tears glistened in Lizzie’s eyes as she exhaled shakily.

Then it was her turn.

“Y/N,” she began softly, “you walked into my life like a song I’d always known the words to, and suddenly everything made sense. You make ordinary days feel sacred. You make my laughter louder and my fears smaller. You see me — every side of me — and love me deeper because of it, not in spite of it.”

She paused, her voice trembling.

“I promise to always look for you in every room, to laugh with you in joy and hold you in pain. To build a life we’re both proud of — one filled with music, and flour-dusted mornings, and long walks where we never need to say a word. I choose you today, and I’ll choose you again and again, in every lifetime.”

The officiant smiled. “By the power vested in me… do you, Y/N, take Elizabeth to be your wife?”

“I do,” Y/N said, voice unwavering.

“And do you, Elizabeth, take Y/N to be your wife?”

“I do,” Lizzie whispered.

“You may kiss your bride.”

Y/N leaned forward, both hands cupping Lizzie’s face like she was something sacred, and kissed her — slow, soft, full of emotion. The guests erupted in cheers, laughter, and applause, and Lizzie melted into her wife’s arms.

They turned toward their family, hands raised and still clasped together.

Wife and wife.

At last.

---

The reception unfolded beneath a canopy of fairy lights strung between the old oak trees at the vineyard. As the sun dipped below the rolling hills, casting the sky in warm amber and lavender hues, tables gleamed with candlelight and wildflower centerpieces in shades of blush, cream, and sage.

The meal was a heartfelt collaboration — a feast that felt like love on a plate. Y/N had partnered with her trusted sous chef, Mateo, to curate a menu that reflected not just her talent, but the story of them. The evening began with small plates passed around on rustic wooden boards: grilled peaches with creamy burrata and a whisper of mint, whipped feta crostini topped with slow-roasted grapes and a drizzle of balsamic glaze, and her signature roasted beet salad with honey-thyme vinaigrette — a dish that had made Lizzie cry the first time she tried it after a long week on set.

Then came the mains. Slow-roasted rosemary lamb, so tender it melted beneath a fork, nestled beside saffron couscous and charred broccolini. But in between it all, tucked like a love letter into the center of the menu, was a surprise from Lizzie: a bubbling pan of her homemade lasagna — rustic, layered with mozzarella, sweet tomato, and handmade pasta sheets.

Next to it, printed in delicate gold script, was a note from Y/N:

“The dish that won my heart — Lizzie’s touch, Y/N’s obsession.”

Guests murmured their delight between bites, laughter rising and fading like waves. Lizzie’s family passed wine around the table. Melissa dabbed at her eyes every few minutes. Courtney and Jake took turns trying to guess how many sticks of butter Y/N had used. Meanwhile, Alice and Malik snuck seconds of the lasagna when they thought no one was looking.

Then came the speeches.

Tom stood first, lifting his glass. “From the moment Y/N could hold a wooden spoon, we knew she’d do something extraordinary. But what she’s created with Lizzie — that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Your mother and I are proud beyond words.”

Melissa wiped at her eyes again and smiled at Lizzie, who reached for her hand across the table.

Next came Mary-Kate, clutching a glass of red. “I wasn’t sure about anyone dating my baby sister,” she began. “But then I saw the way Y/N looks at her — like she’s made of stars. And then I tasted her food, and frankly, we’re all lucky she didn’t marry someone boring who can’t cook.”

Laughter rang through the tables.

Ashley followed. “Y/N, thank you for being the calm in Lizzie’s chaos, and Lizzie — thank you for letting us keep her, even a little.”

And finally, Alice stood with a grin. “I always knew my sister was different. Loud, stubborn, bossy — a genius in the kitchen but hopeless with laundry. But then she met Lizzie, and suddenly all that sharpness softened. She found someone who matched her soul. And from that first night when Y/N called me saying, ‘I think I just met the one,’ I knew it was game over.”

There was a beat of silence as glasses were refilled and the last round of applause faded — and then Y/N stood, champagne in hand, nerves hidden behind a soft smile.

“Okay,” she said. “My turn.”

Lizzie gave her an encouraging nod, already beaming.

Y/N took a breath, then raised her glass.

“Cooking is about instinct. About heat and timing and knowing when something is ready — or when it needs a little more time, a little more love. That’s how I’ve lived most of my life. But nothing prepared me for Lizzie.”

She looked toward her wife, eyes shining.

“She’s… the only thing I’ve ever known was right from the very first moment. No testing, no tweaking. Just — there you are. And I’ve never felt more sure of anything.”

The crowd murmured, a few audible sighs passing around the tables.

“She makes the world brighter. And funnier. And a little more chaotic — okay, a lot more chaotic — but it’s exactly the kind of chaos I never want to live without. So, here’s to my wife. My muse. My taste-tester and my forever.”

She paused, her voice thickening just slightly.

“You’re the recipe I’ll spend the rest of my life perfecting.”

Everyone rose with their glasses, toasting through misty smiles. Lizzie stood and wrapped her arms around Y/N in front of the crowd, murmuring, “That was perfect.”

The dancing began under the stars.

Y/N and Lizzie’s first dance was to an acoustic version of “La Vie en Rose,” played live by a string trio. They swayed slowly, foreheads touching, the world blurring away.

“You realize we’re married,” Lizzie whispered.

“I haven’t stopped realizing it since you walked down that aisle,” Y/N murmured back, smiling.

As the music swelled, family joined them — Laila spinning between Alice and Will, Jarnette laughing as Dave awkwardly two-stepped, and even Trent trying a moonwalk that nearly knocked over a centerpiece.

Later, Mateo wheeled out the cake.

Three tiers of honey sponge, lavender buttercream, and candied citrus — a creation Y/N had poured her soul into. The top tier was decorated with delicate sugar violets, and etched into the bottom was a tiny inscription in cursive: “For Lizzie. Always.”

As the guests gathered, Lizzie clutched Y/N’s hand. “This one going on the menu?”

“Never,” Y/N said. “This one’s just for you.”

They cut the cake together, laughing as Lizzie smudged a bit of frosting on Y/N’s cheek. Everyone cheered when Y/N licked it off and kissed her like no one else was watching.

The night drifted on with dancing, toasts, and stolen kisses in the vineyard shadows. It was loud and joyful, tender and wild — a perfect celebration of the imperfect, magical thing they had built together.

---

☺️☺️☺️☺️

[spookyrea]

A Cheap Trick Called Shame

Chapter 1 / Read on AO3

Loki has a plan. A twelve step plan to woo both you and the world (in that order). Unfortunately, he neglects to communicate any of this to you. Chaos ensues. Or: you have a plan. A plan that involves brute-forcing Loki into admitting that he likes you. Unfortunately, you're a witch with a limited grasp on your powers. Chaos ensues. Or: Tony is a very, very good friend, even when he doesn't want to be.

18+ NSFW / fem reader

Loki Laufeyson is all sharp lines. From the slope of his nose to the flat plane of his chest, there is not an edge to him that has not been filed to a point. Even in moments of relaxation, his muscles strain under a skin stretched too thin, hinting at a terrible, jagged restlessness. He is a weapon ground down on a whetstone, which he makes no effort to hide.

The first time you saw Loki – in person, not in a gossip rag or in a pixelated profile on a screen – he towered over the shape of some would-be tyrant, his boot pressed firmly to the soft spot under their skull. It was your first real mission – that is to say, the first one to incur sizable property damage. You hadn’t even seen the action, relegated to keeping civilians safe and handling minor set-backs while Thor and his brother ran point. So the fun was already over, and the bad guy defeated by the time you arrived. Everyone else was celebrating another job well done except for Loki, who watched the enemy wriggle as a cat does a mouse – with a detached curiosity, his mouth whetted for dinner. 

Loki occupies a nebulous middle-ground that is becoming increasingly common: justifiably revered while equally reviled. Not quite an Avenger, but not quite not. Too great an asset to lose to a grudge. He is never trusted with important information, or access to your private chats, or even a room beyond the hoteling spaces offered in the Avengers Compound. There are some who will likely never forgive him for New York, and others who watched him crash-land a ship full of refugees with his brother and have decided to put their faith in that Loki.

Your staring drew his attention eventually. Preternatural in nature and so hungry; his eyes licked up every soft, human curve until he reached your eyes. 

Steve had hauled the enemy up by his scruff, vibranium shackles in hand. Steve was soft – round muscle and sweetheart eyes. The kind of quiet that's assertive. Next to Loki, he seemed comically kind. 

Loki took one step forward – or did you? – and then another, until you were near enough to speak. “You’re new,” he said.

“Yes.” 

“You’re a witch .”

You were turned dumb by his eyes. They were such a bright green – expressive, sparkling things, framed by a dark hedging of lashes and little creases at the corners. How much did he smile, you wondered, to carve lines in an immortal face? “Yes.”

He didn’t say much else. Only grinned, and pulled his gloves off finger by finger. A crowd was forming and the sound of a hundred shutters going off all at once drowned out the silence of battle. People were yelling. Loki kept looking. 

Steve pulled him away by the collar. “Enough schmoozing, Loki. Too public.”

“Shaking hands is the polite way to greet someone on Midgard, is it not?”

“Loki,” Steve had deadpanned. “You and I both know that you weren’t just going to shake her hand.”

Someone like Loki flirted for fun. Looked people in the eyes just to watch them go numb with wanting. Grinned – resplendent despite his terrible arrogance – because he knew they would cave and let him in no matter how evil he was.

But this didn’t feel like a joke. Loki looked back at you over his shoulder, towed away by his epaulettes, and his smile was genuine.

In the present, you stand on a balcony overlooking the Avengers Compound’s quad. The sun has set but the air is still warm; June has been kind so far, it's days rarely so hot that you have to hide inside.

Loki didn’t join you until everyone else went to bed. He does this a lot – avoids detection. It sometimes strikes you as odd, considering how quick Loki is to hog the spotlight, but you imagine the public eye can get tiresome even for someone as naturally egotistical as him. Or maybe he’s just embarrassed by your human-ness. Either way, spending time with him is a pleasure you’ll accept regardless of his intentions.

“Careful.” Loki is sin incarnate, pouring himself over your shoulder to offer you his mystery drink. “This is very powerful.”

“What will it do to me?”

“Enslave you to my every desire?” He leans against the bannister, cheek-to-shoulder, and watches you with the slightest slouch.

“Is that right?” You raise it just high enough to get a taste; it’s sharply floral and leaves your mouth feeling sticky, like you’ve swallowed corn syrup. Unlike earthly alcohol it doesn’t burn, but it does leave behind a strange itch in your sinuses.

“You Midgardians have no self-preservation skills.”

“I think you’re just slipping,” you counter. “So much for enslaving.”

There’s some sort of film collecting at the bottom of the glass, a thin pink sheen left behind as the dregs dry. 

“Nothing? Not wooed by my charm, are you?”

“Not at all.”

“Hmmph. Rude. You could at least pretend to fawn over me. It’s the polite thing to do, you know.”

You hear a rustle from the bushes to your left. You pay it no mind but Loki freezes, and his hand pulls away from your arm stiffly. His shadow splits from his feet and storms toward the planters; there is a short protest, and then an expensive looking camera arcs through the air into Loki’s waiting hand. A ruddy-faced man stands, brushing detritus from his shirt.

“Pervert,” Loki growls.

“Everyone’s fully clothed.”

“Tch.” Loki pulls the camera apart – not with his seidr, but with his bare hands. He rips the lens off, then the flash; squeezes the plastic sides until they splinter; sticks his fingers into gears and gizmos – until the device is practically dust. He finds the SD card and crushes it under his shoe. “Be a dear and fetch security, would you?”

You understand when you’re being dismissed. You’re a little worried what Loki might do to the stranger in this mood, though, so you pull your phone out and type a quick message to Happy.

“Don’t want your playboy image ruined by a little girlfriend?” The photographer either lacks the self-preservation skills to keep his ego in check, or is just too stupid to recognize when a creature with the power to manually disassemble a man by his joints is angry. He brushes off his pant legs as if he is the one being put out by this entire exchange, his ruddy face deepening to near-purple.

“Would you prefer it if I took you apart next?”

The photographer only laughs. “Small victories, huh? Couldn’t conquer the world, or even the Avengers, but its women are all too willing to let you conquer them.” 

Loki’s mouth curves down. The balcony is lit by a brief whip crack of green, buzzing hot inside your silver fillings. It leaves you blinking spots out of your eyes, and by the time your field of vision has returned to normal, you find that the paparazzo has been replaced by a conspicuously round, green toad wriggling on the concrete.

“Loki! You can’t just turn people into frogs!”

“Well, of course not. That’s why I turned him into a toad.”

The paparazzo hops a bit too far left for your liking, nearly clearing the railing toward certain death below. You side-step Loki and try to usher the toad toward the building, not a freefall.

“Can you be sued for this?”

“He’ll be back to normal in a few hours.”

“You said that about the dogs.”

“I had no idea that human teeth were so hard to transmogrify.”

“And the robots.”

“Okay,” he counters, his hands planted firmly on his hips. “That was an uprising against Stark’s villainous mistreatment. They took matters into their own hands and made their grievances heard.”

“You unionized them.”

“They did that themselves! I only… aided their endeavours. I’m something of a humanitarian at the end of the day, dearest.”

Security arrives quickly – no doubt out of fear for the stranger’s well-being, not yours. After a short (albeit slippery) struggle, they collect the paparazzo into someone’s pocket and cart him off… somewhere. Hopefully with a water dish.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you grumble on the way to your apartment. Loki had agreed to walk you back, but the distance between the two of you is enormous in comparison to the balcony. Every time you try to make some headway, Loki moves a comparable step sideways. “A few photos online.”

“It’s the principle of the matter.” You imagine for Loki, someone sustained entirely by attention, that those few photos spell out starvation.

“I know… But women won’t really mind. If you’re seen around me, I mean. A girlfriend wouldn’t stop most people from flirting with you. Actually, it might even make you more desirable.” Loki's jaw rolls, and it’s clear you’ve said the wrong thing. You never know with him. 

The hallway is a sprawling thing on most days, but tonight it seems all too short. You find yourself wishing it would go on a bit longer. “You leave tomorrow?”

“Technically today. Before sunrise.”

“I could stay up a bit longer.” You try to catch his sleeve inconspicuously. “Until you have to go.”

“Pet.”

“You can tell me all about that bet you and Banner have going. He’s tried to explain it to me, but–”

“Pet.” 

“Really, I’m not that tired–”

Loki pulls you to a halt and shoots you a wry smirk. He taps one of the apartment doors. “How many times have we turned this corner now?”

Your cheeks burn. You must have accidentally compelled the building to loop the hallway a few times. “Sorry. I’m not very good at controlling it yet.”

“Witches,” he groans, winding an arm around your waist. This time, he leads you down the hall – and around the corner – until you’re both in front of your apartment.

It’s quiet in the hall. The kind of quiet only experienced in airports and empty streets; a quiet that whispers sleep-song and makes you crave a warm bed.  “I’m not even that tired, really,” you offer weakly.

But Loki stands in your doorway as if the threshold is an insurmountable barrier, lingering like he’s trying to concoct some grand scheme but never acting on the threat. Dejected, you close the door with a wave.

He catches it with his foot just before it can fully shut. “I suppose–” His hand snakes through the gap, pushing it just wide enough to peer through. “Perhaps you could… visit. Me. Us. New Asgard.”

“Is it… built yet?” The last you had seen, New Asgard was a hunk of smoldering rock and a few ramshackle stone houses.

“Well… It’s not perfect. Asgard proper was built out of solid gold. But it’s passable. Quaint. Free from… prying eyes.” The door creaks under Loki’s flexing fingers. Such a small detail, yet you find yourself lingering on it. As if it is taking a great deal of effort for him to remain on the other side of the threshold.

A female voice floats down the hallway. Wanda, you think. Whoever it is, they startle Loki out of his reverie long enough for him to regain some sense.

“I should go,” he mumbles.

“Or you could stay.”

“Or,” he pushes off the door frame with a theatrical flourish. “I could go.”

Even though Loki chose to rebuke you, you don't go to bed until the sun has started rising. The Asgardian warship – a garish, ugly spacecraft spray-painted in a dozen different colours – leaves in the early morning. Your apartment overlooks the compound’s landing-strip, giving you the perfect vantage point to watch Loki ascend the ramp beside his brother.

You consider your reflection in the mirror while you brush your teeth. “You want me,” you say to no one in particular. “You want me so badly.”

Weeks crawl by. The most contact you have with Loki is in passing in meetings, where he occasionally provides a biting comment at Tony or Steve’s expense via video call. 

You can’t get the thought of Loki out of your head. Your mind wanders back to him so often that you find yourself, halfway lost to a daydream, accidentally puppeteering kitchen appliances together like dolls, bashing them together in some crude approximation of an embrace.

“Stop that,” you snap. The toaster and electric kettle float shamefully back to the counter. The ability to communicate will into inanimate objects is sometimes a blessing, but mostly a curse.

“What am I going to do?” You moan to them. The toaster pats the back of your hand with its cord. “He wants me. I know he wants me. He– right? I’m not crazy.”

The toaster chooses that moment to return to being a toaster and does not respond.

You’ve sent Loki a few text messages sporadically; he occasionally answered. On only one occasion did he reach out first.

Are you thinking about me? He wrote.

You were never not thinking about him. Your days were mostly spent pretending to watch television with Tony while secretly dreaming about Loki’s hands. 

You aimed for nonchalance when you replied. Maybe. Why? 

Old superstition. His next message took a few minutes to come in. You wondered what he could be doing – was he busy, texting you absentmindedly during some mundane chore, or was he nervous, poring over every choice of synonym to create the perfect reply like you were? When you catch the wind changing directions, it means someone is thinking about you. 

You weren’t quite sure how to respond. You could aim for flirty, maybe? Or ask him a question to keep him talking? You were halfway through drafting a text when another message from Loki came in:

If a hurricane touches down over the compound, you know why. 

Your response bounced. You watched the little check mark pinwheel, never settling – around and around and around. Eventually, the text bubble went grey.

Undeliverable – try again later.

Another week drags by. 

Quin-jets are always a few degrees warmer than comfortable. Something to do with their engines – while magnificently powerful, they give off heat like an oven element. June has been chased off by a slobbering July, leaving you all a damp, awful mess, which is how you and Tony find yourself in t-shirts and shorts, peeling your exposed skin off of sticky leather seats.

You prop your feet up on the quin-jet’s dashboard, waiting for Tony to finish checking the cargo. A can of soda sweats between your thighs and you focus on tracing the condensation while you queue up music for the trip. 

“Do you think you could compel green apple candies to not taste like shit?”

“Some people like green apple flavour, Tony.”

“Who? Name one person.”

“Clint.”

“Clint would eat toilet paper if it looked at him hard enough.”

“Natasha.”

“Okay, but Nat would also–” 

You toss a sour candy in your mouth and chew thoughtfully, ignoring the grotesque ten-layer sundae that Tony is painting with his words. “Why the green apple hate?”

“It’s not even apple flavour,” he complains from the cargo hold. “It’s evil. Nasty. I'm actually a bit offended that you even picked them at the gas station. Throw it out the airlock for all I care. Actually – I’m rich enough. I should start lobbying–” Tony drops into the driver’s seat and begins flipping switches. “Feet off my dash.”

You roll your eyes but comply, knowing that your feet will be back up in twenty minutes. Tony holds out one hand, palm up, while he pulls the quin-jet up and forward toward New Asgard. (Gummy worm me, kid, he insists. Gotta pay the Tony tax. And open my soda while you're at it.)

After a few handfuls and obnoxious comments, Tony eventually settles into your flight path and switches to auto-pilot. It’s a beautiful day; you have a strong tailwind, a cold drink, and nowhere else to be but in each other's company. (Which means that Tony has to cause maximum havoc in order to get his daily ‘Piss People Off’ quota met.) “How’s your thing with Tall, Dark and Murderous?”

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

“He’s a war criminal.”

“Tony, I’m pretty sure you’re a war criminal.”

“Still.” Tony and Loki aren’t friends – not even friendly – but they seem willing to put their differences aside for the well-being of the citizens of New Asgard. If it means Tony gets to play with alien technology for a few hours on weekends, that’s a plus. “You can do better. Much better.”

“He’s a prince.”

“An asshole.”

“A god.”

“I could start a religion tomorrow.”

“Tony.”

He makes his voice nasally. “Tony.” 

You toss a sour key – a green one – at the side of his head. He flips you off while pulling the quin-jet a couple degrees North.

“I can’t get a read on him,” you grumble. “He disappears. Barely texts. But then he gets so–”

“Territorial?”

“Yes!”

“Yeah,” Tony scratches absentmindedly at his beard, steering the jet back on its flight path per Air Traffic Control’s request. “I think that he thinks he’s doing a really good job at hiding it. But it’s like he just can’t resist sneaking a peek.”

“You make it sound… perverted.”

“Well, he’s a pervert. Everything he does is perverted.”

You throw another candy at Tony’s head for good measure. “He’s not a pervert. He’s the opposite of a pervert. He’s so… detached.”

“You know who touches your back when you’re not looking? Perverts. You know who strokes your jacket on the rack when they’re hanging up their own? Perverts.”

“Does he really do that?”

“You know who–”

“Tony,” you interject. “What do you know that I don’t?”

He shrugs, stuffing his hand into the bag in your lap. He eats the handful indiscriminately, all at once, and then winces when it comes back mostly green. “He’s completely under your thrall. Gross.”

Tønsberg is an inconsequential splash of colour against an otherwise grey landscape: a meagre collection of houses spilling out in a few spiralled limbs, each extending from a huge clock tower in the very heart of town. A few bizarre creatures – definitely not native to Earth – flit past the windshield when you land.

“Welcome,” Tony says with a regal flourish, “to New Asgard.”

It looks like something out of a storybook. A wide cobblestone street winds along the bluff, lined with wood and stone cottages with cheerily-painted doors and window sills. Flower boxes spill over with late-spring blooms. Wooden carts are piled high with goods, peddled by salesmen in folding chairs, and a great many people sit on front steps, doing idle tasks together for the sake of togetherness. 

A few Asgardians greet Tony as soon as he steps off the ramp; some children run up and grab at his pant legs to draw him into a game of tag. It appears that Thor and Loki were been roped into their game before you arrived, because both of them are collapsed in the grass a few paces away, huffing exaggeratedly and waving off a barrage of wooden swords as if their lives are truly in danger. Thor peels his head off the field with a wave, then pauses when he sees you. His face splits in a magnificent grin, and he begins to laugh.

“Thor, what could possibly be so funny?” Loki hasn’t caught on yet; he’s thrown his hands over his eyes to block out the sun. You find your feet moving on their own, carrying you to the field where the brothers lie.

He peels his hands off finger-by-finger, turning his unfocused eyes toward you. Once they adjust, Loki blanches. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He looks different here. Like Thor, he mostly wears civilian clothing around the Avengers – button-downs and dark jeans in familiar, American cuts. He seems to favour an Asgardian style of dress when home; he’s wearing a dark, draped shirt rolled up to the elbows and an obscenely tight, low-riding pair of trousers. A leather belt is slung carelessly around his hips – for style, not function, since it’s not threaded through anything – and a few knives are strapped to his thighs.

The sun needles the back of your neck. “You said I could visit.”

“I had assumed you would tell me beforehand.”

“Your phone isn’t working.”

“The blasted thing doesn't work this far from your Midgardian cities, you see.”

“Thor sends me weekly Steam requests.”

“Thor is magnetically charged. Your 'service' follows him like a dog.”

“And you repel it.”

Loki nods, his face scrunched up in faux sincerity. “Yes. The telephone believes me to be a great, deadly creature, and it's correct to do so."

“Well. I’m here.”

“Stop ogling and start helping,” Tony hollers from the quin-jet. Thor clasps his brother by the shoulder and gives him a shake, effectively dragging Loki through the dirt.

“Stark convinced you, then,” He grumbles while fixing his hair.

“Yes. He had to ply me with the promise of hours of monologuing and gummy worms. That’s the only reason I came.” 

“Ha!” Tony jerks his head in your direction, his arms laden with interesting machinery. “You’re turning red.”

You blink, bewildered, only to catch a splash of red in your periphery. Tulips – dozens of tulips, growing wildly around your feet. Bright, cardinal red, a shock that quickly bleeds out onto the otherwise grey gravel path. “Stop that!”

The flowers drop their heads in shame, admonished. You feel a little bad for being so harsh, but magical things get over such meanness quickly. When Loki stoops to examine them they immediately perk up, leaning their petals in his direction for a moment of his attention. “Stop,” you try again.

“I have to say, darling... This is a little pathetic.”

“Why can’t I control it?”

“It’s the seidr,” he explains. “Amplifying your magic. So many users concentrated in one place… We’re a bit of an invasive species. You’ll notice…” He turns your chin toward the beach. “The shoreline is turning green. Plants previously thought extinct are returning. The fish are turning new colours.”

“You’re like toxic waste.”

He laughs. “I’m a corrupting influence. When our chores are done for the evening, I’ll take you for a closer look. How does that sound?”

It’s involuntary – like blushing, only worse. Your magic swoons, and you have to consciously collect it before another meadow stars to bloom. You squeeze his hand as tightly as you can, so hard that you ache.

“It sounds great.”

“Great.”

“Mhm. Perfect.”

The corners of Loki’s mouth trip up, a smirk betraying his cool composure. He’s clearly quite taken by your bashfulness. “Per-fect.”

“Quit flirting,” Tony grumbles from the cargo hold, “and help me get everything out.”

You and Loki fill a jeep - the doorless kind, meant for military use – with supplies. Some of it you recognize, like car engines, turbines, and motherboards, but some of it is completely foreign. You’re not sure if the tech is Tony’s design or Asgardian, but some of the circuits shine in a way unlike any Earthly metal you know of. Once Tony is happy with your haul, you deposit yourself in the passenger seat and wait for Loki to get in, but he only rounds the car and leans over your lap, bracing his weight next to your thigh. He’s all muscle; with his sleeves rolled up, you’re gifted a glimpse of miles of smooth, sculpted forearm.

“Aren’t we going to deliver this now?”

Loki snorts. “No. I’m a prince, I don’t run errands . This was the extent of my work for the day.”

The jeep jostles, keeling to one side, when someone joins you from the driver’s seat. You startle and find Korg turning the key, which seems comically small between his massive fingers.

“Hi.”

He nods, which you take as your sign to scramble out of the car. Loki is already wandering off, trailing his hand behind for you to hold. “Come for a look.”

It’s a very small town – you can see the chimney of the communal hall even from the outskirts – but Loki makes it meander somehow. He pulls you down back alleys and through secret doors in shops, taking you on a winding tour of New Asgard. 

Loki is more relaxed here. He laughs more freely, is less conscious of his touchiness. On more than one occasion he links your fingers together, or offers you his arm. He doesn’t mind being a nuisance, and the Asgardians are so used to it that they brush his arrogance off with barely a rolled eye.

It’s the first time that you’ve ever felt really, truly in love with him. Not secretly, or shyly, or desperately - just neutrally in love. You listen to him prattle on about a childhood spent stealing sweet breads from palace kitchens and he listens when you describe summers spent trawling for samples and penny-candy in grocery stores. There were miles – lightyears, even – between the two of you, yet the joys of childhood mischief are universal. He steers you toward the water. His hand is a solid weight in your own.

It’s a rocky beach with only a few patches of dark grey sand – hardly picturesque – but the setting sun has turned the air soft and quiet. You allow yourself to slip into the fantasy that you are the only people on Earth, just for a moment. Where he isn’t a god, and you aren’t a burgeoning witch. Where he is just a man taking you for a walk. Where he puts more than his hand on your waist.

“What were the beaches like on Asgard?” You slow down when you don’t get a response. You can’t hear any other footsteps besides your own. “Loki?”

The beach is empty for miles when you scan it. You take a few more uneven steps forward, but all you can hear is the whisper of seafoam gathering. A lonely gull circles overhead, fighting a current. Maybe it was all a dream , you think dejectedly. You dig your fingernails into the meat of your palm and try to peer past the illusion, wondering if your magic has finally overgrown your mortal body and taken control of your consciousness. “Loki?”

A pair of hands close around your hips from behind. The yelp you let out is undignified at best.

“Jeez!” You press your palm to your chest, willing your heart to calm. But beneath the fear there is relief – he’s real, and he’s touching you. You just want him to keep touching you. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Perfect. I think you’re all getting a little too complacent in my presence. About time I reminded you all of my true nature.”

You shoulder past Loki with a scowl, heading back toward the steep pathway to the top of the bluff. “You’re an egomaniac.”

“We’re quite far from civilization out here,” Loki calls after you. He kicks a stray rock, sending it skittering across the shore into the froth churned up by the tide. 

“Very.”

“No one near to hear you scream.” The tide hums, crawling up the beach with a great swell. Sea salt crystalizes where the waves cross Loki’s shadow, leaving a sparkling impression of him scattered across the beach. “It is a dangerous game you’re playing.” 

You open your mouth to make some dry retort, only to be startled again by Loki materializing in your path. You nearly collide with him head-first. He takes one calculated step toward you, then another. The stone shore crackles under his weight, and mischief taints his handsome face.

You had begun retreating on instinct, something you aren’t aware of until you trip on a leather shoe. The version of Loki advancing on you grins, then dissolves in a green blink, and the one at your back pins your arms like you’re an object to dissect.

“Send me away,” he murmurs, tipping his head ever so slightly. “My restraint frays with every passing second.”

You aim for flirty, but you land somewhere between stupid and dumb. “M’kay.”

Another hum; more shocks of white vandalize the shore as Loki’s seidr splits the salt from the sea. Or is it you this time? You’re not sure, but you feel magic buzzing, skittering under your skin, and you can only imagine what your heart could compel the elements to do in such a sorry state.

Loki turns you around. “M'kay,” he parrots, exaggerating your mundane inflection to be a pest.

It’s a nothing kiss, really – a hand on your cheek, his mouth over your bottom lip. There and gone in a heartbeat, with heavy eyes and a sickly kind of anticipation in his expression. When you chase him, Loki only grows more arrogant.

“Oh, you simple creature,” he rumbles, though it is anything but an insult. He holds you as if to possess you, pawing, sliding his devious hands under the hem of your shirt, and kisses you again – and again, and again, and…

You don’t return until the sun is a sliver on the horizon. You have to be careful picking your way across the cobblestone street, which is still uneven in many places. Loki doesn’t seem terribly affected; you suspect he might have some natural predilection for night vision, on account of his Jotun heritage. Whatever allows him to walk with such grace, however, is a blessing and a curse rolled into one, because it affords him the opportunity to hold you close and pretend to guide you to the town square. Even more infuriating – he’s grown cocky, chiding every unsure step. Poor thing; mocking, sinking his teeth into your shoulder just to hear you squeak; silly creature, tripping again. You’re useless without me, aren’t you? Absolutely– positively— endearingly useless. 

“You’re really bad at this flirting thing.”

“Useless in a charming way.” He kisses the corner of your jaw and steers you away from the clock tower. “I don’t mind helping you along, little mortal.”

Loki’s cottage is less than a mile from the beach, something you learn between searing, mind-numbing kisses. It’s a stone building – surprisingly simple for Loki’s taste – with mismatched shingles and too many wind chimes. There are raised beds for a garden, and lawn chairs scattered around a firepit. Further down the acreage is a miniature quinjet, the four-seater kind meant for casual use. (Whether or not Loki came by this jet legally is unknown)

Loki unlatches the short gate that demarcates the field and his lawn and ushers you through, up the porch steps until you’re at the door. You’re giddy with the anticipation of it, half expecting to wake from your daydream in a board meeting or the training hall. An ocean breeze whips up the wind chimes, the only sound for miles. 

“It’s so quiet out here,” you say, more to fill the time.

“We’re very far from your civilization.”

“No prying eyes.” You’re finding it hard to care, however, when his thumb traces such a loving line over the back of your hand.

“Exactly.”

His house is sparsely decorated, with the exception of an overwhelming quantity of books. They cover nearly every surface; they’ve spilled over from the bookshelf onto the floor; some open and dog-eared on the fireplace mantle; even more stacked on the windowsill. The spines are adorned in all sorts of languages; alongside the alphabet, you recognize the curves and lines of gurmukhi; the swoops of kanji; the blocky shapes of cyrillic.

A few lamps flare to life, green-ish tinted, as Loki settles into a wingback armchair in the corner. His legs spread invitingly, straining the material of his trousers; in the low light, everything about him is sharpened, a little villainous but even more handsome. It’s voyeuristic in the way that a painting is; you could stand there for hours admiring the lines and planes of his body and still find new details to digest. 

You pick a book up at random and leaf through it. It’s a copy of Jane Eyre – second edition based on the inside cover. 

“What are you doing?”

You turn your head and catch him watching you through his eyelashes. “Which is your favourite?”

“Hmm?” His eyes wander the length of your body, scraping a path of goosebumps as they go. Once they land on your mouth they don’t waver, not even the extra inch to meet yours. And then– the most peculiar thing occurs. Loki, usually so impassive, so difficult to read, drops his mask, and every vile, dirty thought that crosses his mind is projected for you to see in his expression.

You swallow around a tangle of barbed wire. “Language. To read.”

“English is fine,” he mumbles. “French is a nightmare. High Martian makes me want to kill someone.”

“High Martian?”

“Low Martian is much easier to read.” 

If you had been paying attention, you would have noticed how Loki’s shadow was transforming under his feet. The shadow moved in an impossible way, stretching into the light without a care for how refraction was supposed to work. But you were struck dumb by the sight of Loki, god of mischief, tapping his fingers against his parted lips. Dumb enough to miss how the shadow hooks around your ankle, then your calf, up the curve of your spine until there is a second, phantom presence behind you, frog-marching you forward. The shadow dumps you in Loki’s lap, facing him. You think you feel it kiss the notch at the top of your spine. 

Loki traces a line down your neck with his fingers, then follows it with his mouth. He kisses like poets speak, somehow filling a dry, nothing gesture with a great swell of emotion. “I didn’t bring you here to share book recommendations.”

Your thumb finds the seam of his lips and pulls, open to an ‘O’ shape. Loki watches you through heavily-lidded eyes, letting you slide your thumb deeper, over the ridges of his front teeth, into the heat of his mouth. His lips close behind the first knuckle, and his cheeks hollow when he sucks – hard.

Loki drops your thumb to kiss you – his tongue hot and insistent, flicking against yours, lips not quite sealed, breaths twisted and coiled together in the space between you. He leans aside just long enough to pull his shirt off before he’s devouring you again.

“Oh.”

“Yes.” He makes quick work of your shirt and bra, which end up strewn across the stacks of books. Loki sinks his teeth into the swell of one breast, just hard enough to leave little divots in your skin when he pulls away. 

There is a prey instinct stirring deep inside you. A trip in your heart’s beat, stuttering with every absentminded pass of his hand over your calf. You’re hyper aware of the peculiar predicament you’ve found yourself in; there is no doubt that, were your circumstances different, were you a lowly mortal who stumbled into the gilded kingdom of Asgard, or even a few years earlier when he was still jaded and heart-stricken, Loki would have plucked you from the crowd and eaten you alive. Yet fate has twisted your luck in such a way that his cruelty has been transformed into lust.

(And isn’t that a cruelty in its own right – wanting. Desire hurts. It hurts something terrible, something bleeding. You can’t breathe for how tight your desire has wound you up.)

(You kiss him again.)

“Get yourself off on my hand like a good pet,” he says, his voice ground like gravel to sand. “And I’ll reward you generously.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His fingers toy with the button on your shorts. “If you come, I’ll give you anything you desire.”

Loki rolls the waistband down your hips, then jerks his chin upwards, instructing you up onto your knees so he can work them the rest of the way off. He somehow makes the awkward act of undressing sexy; even when he has you one leg out of your shorts, the anticipation burning behind his eyes erases all embarrassment from your mind.

You lay your hands around his shoulders for support, creating a very loose collar. "You would look good with something around your neck.”

You didn't even mean to say it, really. It was just an observation, but one that has Loki’s hips jerking, a hiss seething through his teeth. The glare he shoots you is apocalyptic.

“Quiet.”

His right hand slides around until it’s comfortably between your legs. His middle finger traces your slit until he finds that slippery place, where there is no resistance against his touch and he sinks in. His eyebrows slant upwards even though you’re the one on fire.

“One?” He asks.

You rock your hips experimentally. His hands are long and dexterous, elegant, and even one finger is enough to make your mind spin behind your eyes. Just the obscenity of it – his beautiful hands between your legs, all that alien strength concentrated on toying with your nerves until you’re useless.

“Two?” He slides out of you, only to add a second finger when tracing your entrance. You nod, and Loki fills you a little bit more.

“Loki.” You tilt your hips, searching for a bit more friction. “It’s not – oh – quite–”

He seems to understand your frustration and takes pity; his fingers curl, soothing over that soft spot you can never quite reach, and it’s liquid relief that pools in the base of your skull. You sigh, and it drags a growl from Loki in response. 

He’s completely taken apart by your pleasure. He mouths at your chest – sometimes your breasts, sometimes your shoulder, kissing anything he can reach – with a dazedness, constantly distracted by the sight of you getting off. The outline of his cock is insistent through his slacks. You're sure he must be aching. 

“Loki.”

“Yes.”

“ Lo-ki. ”

“I should have offered you my mouth, not my fingers,” he says bitterly. His other hand slides between your bodies, circling your clit. “Fuck, you are resplendent.”

Loki is the picture of debauchery when he tilts his head to look up at you. His lips are shiny with spit, smeared all the way to the corner of his jaw. His hair mused, curls pulled apart by your wandering hands. If he is debauched, you can’t imagine how you look. 

He wears a collar around his neck made of your ten fingers, flexing every time he passes over a particularly sensitive spot. You sit in the lap of a god and he lets you make a throne of him, lets you whine with every little turn of your hips against his hand, lets you stroke his hair and kiss his brow, his cheek, his jaw, as if he is a mortal lover and not a supernova wearing the veneer of a person. Pet, he calls you. His little human pet– yet he looks up at you as if you’re his master, as if this is an indulgence he will never have his fill of. You wonder: if you kissed him right now, would you taste your name on his lips?

“More?”

You nod. “A little bit.”

He lifts his hips off the armchair, rearranging your bodies down the seat so his torso is reclined and you can lean against him. The new angle lets you drag your hips back and forth in a rolling motion and it’s – blinding. Enough to make your head fall forward onto his shoulder, and for the stitching in the armchair to begin to work itself free under your magic.

“What…” His neck is damp with sweat against your nose. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking,” he grits out, “about how hot your little human cunt is, and how you’re going to feel when I fill you properly. When I get to put my cock to this spot and not my fingers.”

It’s so vile an image that your brain blanks. Your skin crawls like television static in the most delicious way, arousal usurping all other sensation until you’re mindless with it. “That–” you can’t really form sentences anymore, with how tight your chest is. “That sounds great.”

“Great?”

“It’s– perfect.”

“Sound certain, poppet. If I’m to give you–”

“Loki, please .”

“Oh, too many syllables?”

You should have anticipated that Loki would use sex as another method to mess with you. To turn you into a mouse, cornered by a cat’s claws. “Please. Make me come, and then…”

He kisses you sharply. “And then…?”

The circles he’s rubbing inside of you grow wider, pressing deeper. 

“Lo-ki,” you whine.

He mimics your tone, whining each syllable of your name back to you. “Ye-es.”

“Please. Please.” 

Loki hums, finally speeding up both hands until he finds a suitable rhythm. Whatever snide complaint you were going to make is cut off around a silent moan as your whole body tenses, and your hands grope the muscles in his back for support.

“Come, my darling.”

It’s short but lovely; your eyes squeeze shut and all thought drifts from your mind. You can hear him laughing distantly, enjoying the spectacle. Once your eyes are able to open again, the laughter is gone but his smile remains. 

His fingers continue to circle your clit absentmindedly; your hips twist, trying to escape his touch, but Loki manages to chase you, prolonging your orgasm until you’re sniffling, blinking tears out of your eyes against his sweat-damp neck. You think, for a horrified second, that he means to pick back up, to wring another climax out of you. Finally, he slides his fingers from your cunt with an embarrassing squelch.

“Exquisite.”

“I need a minute.”

“Absolutely captivating.” He’s panting, his mouth open to taste you on the air. “Now give us a kiss, hmm?”

Before your mouths can connect, a knocking sound rattles the frame of the house. You nearly tumble out of Loki’s lap, only caught by his hand around your elbow at the last second. Where the awkwardness had once been sexy, now it only makes you uncomfortable.

Loki’s seidr whispers in your ear while it redresses you. You’re strangely disappointed to realize that, in the process of cleaning you up, he’s dried his hands of any evidence of your orgasm. Gone is the sheen of sweat, of come, of spit. He is perfectly, wholly, completely dry.

He crosses the room in a few long strides, pulling the door open with a perfectly-calculated ease. “Yes, brother?”

Thor narrows his eyes. “We’re looking for a certain Midgardian avenger.”

“Now that you mention it, a stray has gotten lost in my library. Perhaps she has a collar to identify her. What did you say her name was again?”

Tony hollers from the driver’s seat of his car, whose bolts seem ready to give way under the force of the bass being pumped out through the stereo.  “What kind of nefarious deeds were you up to, Laufeyson?”

Loki leans his arms on the top of the door jamb, straightening to his full height. “Only the most evil of them.”

You slip out through the space between the threshold and Loki’s bicep, hoping no one will notice when you straighten your shirt collar. “What’s the problem?”

“Extraterrestrial anomaly has touched down about 40 miles off the coast. All hands on deck until we figure out if it’s a friendly or not.” Tony examines his hand, idly snapping one of his repulsor gloves into place. It whirs as it loads, and then a bolt of light is arcing through the air toward nothing. 

Disappointment curls in your belly. You had hoped to shirk responsibility and return to Loki's armchair (or his bed, if you were extra optimistic). It seems you really were dreaming, only it was a waking dream, not a sleeping one -- it's time to return to the land of rational thought, to tuck your love away until another quiet moment arrives. “I have a kit in the jet. We’ll make a pit stop and then we can go check it out.”

Loki catches you by the sleeve before you can descend the porch. He’s still standing in the doorway, his expression troubled. You hear the creak of wood under his fingers – holding himself back again, as if the threshold is a barrier he isn’t willing to cross. Before you can ask him any questions, he kisses you. Just a short, chaste thing.

You ignore Tony when he faux gags, loud enough to be heard over the gunmetal gnashing through the speakers. “What was that for?”

Loki doesn’t respond. He just manifests his helmet and slides it into place, obscuring his eyes from your sight. And then– he’s off, taking the stairs two at a time with a warning jab when his brother flashes the headlights. 

[playstation-dreamcast]

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Character Select: Werewolf Chris X Hunter Reader

Synopsis: An Au that takes place outside of the Resident Evil canon. You've been hunting Chris for the better half of a decade now, or maybe he was hunting you. Did it really matter when neither of you ever had any intention of actually killing each other? You'd taken a break off to try and heal an injury (and your ego) and Chris wasn't taking your absence well. He decided it was time to get your attention

CONTENT WARNING: This book contains explicit sexual content, including monster fucking, knotting, and a slightly dubious amount of consent (even if you're having the time of your life.) Viewer Discretion is advised!

Song Rec: Howl by Florence and the Machines

Authors Note: This was written to actually celebrate one of my mutuals birthday!!! She knows who she is, sorry it's like, a months late lmao. it's HERE NOW THOUGH!! WEREWOLVES RIGHT?! CAN I GET AN AMEN?!

This had Chris Redfield’s fingerprints all over it. A small village away from any quick help suddenly has a wave of missing persons reports? Check. Most of those missing people are corrupt cops or otherwise known criminals? Check. 

The people start finding the desecrated carcasses of these criminals at the edge of the woods? On or near the night of the full moon?

Check. 

You’d been hunting this bastard long enough to know his M.O. and long enough to know when he was trying to send you a message specifically. Normally, Chris was content as a passive player of the game, always happy to see you and your knife, but rarely- if ever- going out of his way to catch your attention. What kind of werewolf would he be if he spent all his time trying to get noticed by a hunter? It would have been embarrassing, quite frankly. 

This time though, he brought it to your doorstep. The small village he chose to terrorize this lunar cycle was your home village. And while you hadn’t been back in…well, since you left, he knew your old stomping grounds. He knew your connection to that land, and the only reason he would so brazenly use it as a feeding ground would be to get his “Favorite Chew Toys’” attention. Still, you couldn’t figure out why. 

Maybe he was bored. No, that didn’t make sense. Chris was an animal, but not a mindless one. Even at his most savage, he was never fully feral, that you’ve seen at least. He kept a surprisingly tight grip on himself. For a werewolf. You wondered if maybe his pack had something to do with it. Maybe they had picked it out? But, that made even less sense. From everything you knew about him, you didn’t take Chris to be the kind of Alpha that would just let his pack run amok. 

You looked up at the clear evening sky. Waxing gibbous. You had one more night before the final rampage against the settlement. You looked down as you approached a decline, and a steep one at that. You grimaced, not sure if your leg could handle that, all things considered. You really should have taken more time to recover before going back out on the field. Having your own wooden stake turned against you was a real blow both to your legs' ability to function, and your ego. 

Still, the trail led this way. And backing down had never really been your thing, even if it was against your own body. You took a step down, putting all of your weight on your good leg. You took a moment to brace yourself, taking a deep breath and holding it in your chest. 

And then you stepped right back up to the top of the incline and turned around. There were other parts of these woods you could go hunting for him in, there was no point in possibly leaving yourself prone to the enemy. 

“What, scared to fall?” A familiar gruff voice hit you like a sledgehammer. You whipped your head to the right, only to find Chris leaning against a tree- his neon yellow eyes burning a hole into your soul, glowing in the night. When did he even get there? 

“You don’t have to be, you know.” He smirked, pushing himself off the tree, “I’d catch you.” 

You immediately readied your weapon. “I’d be careful who you went around saving, Redfield,” You warned as you aimed your flit lock at him, “You never know who might have a silver bullet with your name on it.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, shoving his hands into the pockets of his navy blue jacket. “Do we really have to do this every time?” he complained. You took a moment to study him. dark cargo pants, jacket, and a navy turtleneck. His body would almost entirely blend in with the night, if not for the stainless steel dog tags glinting around his neck. 

“Do what every time?” You asked, lowering the gun ever so slightly. 

“The threatening, the fighting, the dancing around the sexual tension,” he grinned at that last one, “Can’t we just talk for once? I’m starting to think you only want me for my body you know.”

You aggressively rolled your eyes back at him, deeply annoyed with his nonchalant attitude. “You’ve been terrorizing my fucking villiage Chris!” You snapped, “What is there to talk about?”

“Oh, It’s your village?” He asked flatly, cocking his head to the side, “You’re one of the leaders? I didn’t see your name on it.”

“Chris.”

He raised his hands up in mock defense. “What?” He asked, “I’m not even terrorizing it. I’m helping it.”

You growled as you threw your limbs down in an almost childish display. “Murdering people is not helpful, Redfield! We've been through this!”

He smirked slyly, taking a step toward you. “Oh, but that’s the catch Pup,”

“Do not call me that.”

“I’m not murdering people,” he continued, “It’s just monsters killing monsters. It’s not my fault I have an advantage.” 

You grit your teeth. You hated how calm he was. You hated how he always treated your encounters like a game- or worse- some sort of fucked up date. He tried to banter with you, knowing he had killed your people!

…Those people being murderers or worse, in some cases, but that wasn’t the point! The point was he dragged away from your medical leave, kicking and screaming, back to a place you fucking hated, out of obligation, and he had the audacity to try and play cat and mouse with you! 

“Where were you?” He suddenly asked, taking another step closer. He seemed to smell something, something that genuinely caught him off guard. His face only showed it for a split second though, before he went back to his regular stone facade. You noticed he took a step back though. 

You shook your head in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

He scowled, the playfulness from earlier all but gone. “What do you mean what am I talking about? I’m talking about the fact that the last time I had any eyes on you, you were at the Kennedy estate,” He kept tabs on you? “And then nothing! You vanished into that fucking shack-”

“I’d hardly call the Kennedy estate a “shack.”” You scoffed, nearly sneered really.

He got angrier, continuing with a growl, “You were gone. For three. Fucking. Months. I thought you died, what happened?” He demanded. 

You fought back a smirk. Was that jealousy you heard? Maybe even a little concern? “Nothing happened,” You shrugged, “Leon’s a very considerate host.”

No he wasn’t. The truth of the matter was that you very nearly did die there. You’d hoped that if you struck in the daylight the ancient vampire would have been weakened. And to be fair, he was! It made the utter display of power as he manhandled you even more terrifying. It hurt when rammed your stake through your leg, but not nearly as much as the plummet from the third story window to the ground you took trying to get out of there. 

You had managed to limp your way to the home of a doctor that was known for helping hunters, broken- and ego more than a little bruised, and that’s where you had been for the past three months. Even now Rebecca had demanded you not go out, insisting you were not ready for combat yet. You ignored her. Your home had been attacked. Meaning your pride had been attacked. It had already been hurt once, you couldn’t just sit back while it happened again. 

Chris laughed as he shook his head, but there was no humor to it. “No. no no no no no, You weren’t at Leon's. I know. I looked. Personally.”

Your blood ran cold. There had been rumors that an ancient vampire had been slaughtered, but you assumed they were just rumors, made with the intent to rub salt in your wounds. You’d never thought it would have had anything to do with Chris. He made a point of leaving the vampires to their own devices. At least you thought he did.

“Did…did you kill Leon?” You asked.

Chris’s eyes darkened. “Who had you.” He wasn’t asking anymore. He was demanding. 

You almost took a step back. In the near decade that you had been hunting Chris, you’d never seen him so…

Possessive. You took a second to reassess him, this time taking into account the purple circles under his eyes, and his unkempt stubble. You wondered when was the last time he got a decent sleep cycle in. You hoped it wasn’t three months ago.

“I was with a doctor,” You explained slowly, trying to ignore the ice crawling up your spine and spidering across your body. “I needed to nurse a wound-”

“That son of a bitch hurt you?” Chris growled, stepping forward before his nose scrunched and he backed away again. 

It was an absurd question to ask. Of course he fucking hurt you, he wasn’t apart of whatever fucked up game you and Chris had going on, and he damn sure wasn’t looking to join. You wanted to snap back at him just how ridiculous of a question that was. Any other night you would have. Tonight though? Tonight his temper was rising at a fast enough rate, and you didn’t want to make a bad situation worse.

“Yeah, yeah he hurt me,” You finally spat the words out, biting back the obviously that threatened to come out with them.  

You saw something flash in his eyes, a feral crack of insanity. Somewhere between protectiveness and bloodlust. “Where?” Chris asked, “How?” 

You thought for a second. You couldn’t run if Chris chose to attack you right now. You’d have to fight. Chris was an Alpha Wolf, meaning he was twice as big and twice as strong as a typical werewolf. You’d been banking on trying to catch him off guard tonight. You’d been banking on him being normal. Maybe that was foolish in hindsight. You’d have to be careful here.

“Answer me Pup.” He demanded, the emphasis he put on “pup” somehow stinging more than any traditional derogatory term ever could. 

You shook your head, “He staked me through my thigh.” You said flatly. He took an instinctive step to you, before stopping to cover his nose, holding it and physically cringing. You knew his nose was better than yours, but for something to be affecting him that much surely you would be able to smell it too. 

Right? You sniffed the air, trying to catch a whiff of whatever it was he couldn’t get near. “What?” You finally asked, “What, is someone watching us? Some other monster? Is there a dumpster fire, what are you smelling?”

He shook his head aggressively. Like he was trying to shake something out of it. “No.” He groaned, not looking at you, “That’s not the problem.” He took a minute to think, or at least try to. Finally he looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “You’ve never come after me this close to a full moon.” He noted.

You blinked at him, not entirely sure where he was going with this. Chris was normally far more composed and coherent than this, something had to be going on. Of course you typically avoided him around the full moon, that was when he was at his most powerful. Typically you avoided hunting not just him, but any werewolves around the full moon. During the new moon or waxing crescent, sure, but never after the first quarter. 

You shook your head. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” You deadpanned.

He scoffed, annoyance rolling off him in waves. “Of course you don’t. Mortals never do.”

That struck a deep, raw nerve with you. You weren’t entirely sure where he got the fucking audacity to act like you were the one acting strange here, but you knew you weren’t a fan of it. The implication that you were somehow beneath him because of your mortal status was the final straw. Fuck getting answers, you just wanted him to shut up. 

Before you could realize what you were doing, the gun had fired. Chris jerked to the left, avoiding a silver bullet to the head by a hair's width. His eyes narrowed as he realized the game had started. He bum rushed you while you threw the gun down and tried to pull your second weapon from its holster, picking you up and tackling you against a tree. You felt the wind rush out of your lungs as you slammed against the bark, Pounding your fist into his solid back as if that was going to do anything.

If you had been paying any attention, you might have noticed the way he pressed his face against the crook of your neck, and the low growl that left him as he took a deep breath of your scent. You hadn’t been paying attention though, you were too focused on grabbing your silvered dagger from its sheath and digging it into his shoulder.

He howled as he ripped himself away from you, turning to wrench the metal from his back, no doubt causing more damage than you had. His eyes darkened, and a sick smirk found its way onto his face. You took these few precious seconds to grab your second flint lock and-

Jammed. Of fucking course. He pounced, his growing claws digging into you as he pressed you into the dirt. You swore you felt his teeth graze your jugular vein, and his already vibrant eyes looked brighter than the sun. You think he was going to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance. You grabbed a conveniently placed rock and slammed it into the side of his head instead, dazing him.

You managed to roll him off you and scramble to your feet. You noticed the way he lurched forward, and the twitching in his back. He was turning. You looked up at the nearly full moon and cursed. While Alphas could technically turn any night they wanted, their power grew with the moon. Their animal instincts intensified with lunar lunacy. A turned werewolf on a full moon night was at its most deadly. And while it may not have been the full moon yet, it was close enough that you knew you didn’t want to deal with a Transformed Chris.

And Chris was transforming. Fast. You watched the way his muscles contorted, his bone structure changed, and his skin ripped, only to show shiny black fur hiding underneath. 

Okay, new plan: Run. Run like hell as fast as you can. Logically you knew this was fucking stupid. You weren’t going to outrun a werewolf, and activating his prey drive was probably the worst possible thing you could have done in this situation. You knew that. But in your hubris induced rage you had come to this encounter woefully unprepared. 

You’d gotten too comfortable with the idea that Chris wouldn’t kill you. You had both had countless opportunities to end all of this in the past. To finally take the other one out. And you never had. You’d hurt each other of course, left your respective marks and scars littered all over the other's body. But neither of you had ever pulled the metaphorical plug on the whole operation. 

But that look. That darkness that clouded his normally vibrant eyes. You’d never seen that in him before. And it terrified you just as much as it excited you. Much to your dismay. Much to your extreme dismay. You really hoped this whole experience wasn’t going to awaken anything in you, but that was going to have to be an issue for future you.

If you survived tonight that is. You heard a shrill howl pierce the relative silence of the forest, and you forced your legs to run faster. You could hear him tearing through the foliage behind you, a predator locked in on its prey. You made the mistake of glancing back, only to see a mass of black fur, snarling teeth and hunger in hot pursuit. You involuntarily let out a yelp as you took a sharp right turn, hoping to lose him.

You heard the unbearably loud crack of a tree snapping behind you as he no doubt ran into it, going far too fast to make a turn as quick as you did. The odds of that stopping him were slim, and you knew that. You forced yourself into a full on sprint, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the stitch in your side. Ignoring the sounds of snarling that only seemed to get closer, and the tightness in your chest.

What you couldn’t ignore was the sudden, intense pain of your leg muscles seizing up, the improperly healed injury forcing you into submission. You screeched as you collapsed to the cold ground, cursing Leon, Chris, your body. Yourself. You tried to get back to your feet, only for your leg to refuse any amount of weight you tried to put on it. You were going to die here. Mauled to death by a creature you vowed to kill, but got too comfortable with instead.

Maybe you deserved this. Maybe this is what you got for breaking the Hunters Vow, and refusing to kill Chris Redfield when you had the chance. You wondered if he’d at least have the decency to kill you before devouring you. 

The air was knocked out of you for the second time that night as an animal crashed into you. Chris. He grabbed you, manhandling you into a position under him despite your weak attempts to fight him off. He pressed you flat on your back, towering over you and caging you in his arms. You’d taken a moment to look at him. You’d seen his wolf before, normally in the middle of a fight, but this looked…different. 

He was bigger, and looked feral. His elongated face snarled down at you, shockingly white fangs gleaming in the moonlight. You found it almost comical that the dogtags still hung from his neck, albeit fitting much more like a collar now. You locked eyes with him, refusing to show fear even in your final moments. You weren’t sure what made you sicker, the cloud of hunger you found there- or the lucidity that was behind it.

He growled and lunged down. As determined as you were not to show fear, you flinched- closing your eyes and jerking your head to the side. You braced for the feeling of teeth ripping muscle from bone, but it never came. Instead you heard him inhale sharply, and felt a soft tongue lap at the side of your neck. You forced your eyes open, looking at him as best as you could with your head forced to stay in place.

He nuzzled into your neck as if it was home. You felt a little lost here. You had expected murder feel more painful and violent, less…Intimate. You definitely didn’t expect it to make you stir the way it did. You’d press your thighs together if there wasn’t a giant, bowed leg keeping them apart. So this was going to awaken something in you. Great.

 “Stupid bitch,” he growled, low, and in the back of his throat, “coming after me smelling like that, knowing she’s in heat.” You were reasonably sure you weren’t supposed to hear that, despite him rambling literally right next to your ear.  You were caught up on what he said though. Heat? Humans don’t go into heat, surely he knew that. The closest they got was ovula-

Oh. Everything fell into place. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized what he was after. You squirmed, trying to get out from under him only for him to hold you tighter. Surely you could at least have a conversation about this first, but the more you tried to claw your way out of his grasp the more insistent he seemed to get, growling as he held you in place. 

“Chris,” You forced the word out, still out of breath from your struggle before, not to mention the strain on your neck. You felt his clawed hands caress your side, felt him lick your neck again, sending a whole new wave of embarrassing heat rolling through your body. He dragged his teeth across your jugular, the threat of violence loud and clear.

He pressed his hips into yours, and you gasped. You’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined what he might have been working with before, both out of and in wolf form. Even at your most generous, you couldn’t have predicted what was pressing into you now. He bucked his hips again, chasing any friction he could get, undeniably desperate for you.

You bit your lip. You shouldn’t want this. It was one thing to fail a hunt, it was another to willingly be fucked by one of these monsters. It went against everything you were raised to believe, everything you had dedicated your life to. To covet Chris was to covet damnation itself. Maybe that was why it took you eight years to admit you’d wanted him since the first time he dug his claws into you. 

As sinful and impetuous as it was, you could beg for forgiveness later. You rolled your hips up into his, and you swore you felt what might have been a laugh in his chest, but it came out distorted and wrong. “Knew you wanted me,” He groaned.

His mouth covered yours, forcing you into a kiss that was all teeth. One of his hands found its way to the small of your back, pressing you up and as close into his chest as he could get you. It was like he was trying to crawl into your skin, as if no matter how close you were it would never be close enough. 

You reached up to pull at his fur, looking for any sort of leverage you could get in this exchange. He groaned and bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. You yelped at the sudden pain, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, desperate to taste every inch of you that he could reach. You moaned helpless against him, lungs burning but unwilling to try and pull away. You were a little embarrassed by how quickly you gave into him, but in your defense Chris was incredibly warm, and surprisingly soft compared to the cold hard ground he had you pinned too.

His claws cut through your pants like a warm knife through butter, the sound of denim shredding reminding you just how sharp those claws were. The same claws that gripped your now bare thigh, hiking it up on his side to give him access to you. He rolled his hips into you, dragging his tent- hardly contained by his own barely existent cargos- against your heat. You yelped, equal parts excited and embarrassed as he reached down and ran the pads of his fingers along the damp spot in your panties.

He moaned, something dark and possessive making itself known, mixed with his lust. You were so wet for him already, and he’d hardly even touched you. He shouldn’t have been shocked. You were his mate after all, even if you didn’t know it yet. Of course your body was ready for him, of course it wanted him. Still, a little ego boost never hurt anybody.

He cut a slit in your underwear, and sucked in a sharp breath. He felt almost dizzy, drunk off the full force of your scent with nothing left to hide behind. You had to have known what you did to him. You had to have known what you were doing, showing up smelling like honey and sin. You had to have known it was going to end like this. 

He felt what little self control he had left in him try to flee. He held onto it by a thread, reminding himself that you were still just a delicate little human. He had to be careful not to rip you apart. He pressed you deeper into the mud, lowering himself between your legs. 

You let out a yelp as he licked a strip along your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue. “Cute.” He chuckled. Your pathetic slap against the back of his head was even cuter. Even when you were writhing under him you still had it in you to try and fight. He licked you again, separating your folds and pressing his tongue against your weeping cunt. You moaned above him, rutting your hips into his muzzle like the needy bitch you are. 

He pulled you closer, claws digging into your hips, leaving blood to trickle down your body in his wake. He easily pushed his tongue into you, groaning as you clenched around him, imagining that same clench around his cock. Your head fell back against the ground, hands scramblings to tangle themselves into his hair. 

Chris was able to reach places inside you no human mouth could even dream of, easily lapping at your g-spot. the sensation sent you reeling. You tried to ride his face, buck your hips against him to chase your high; but his grip on you held strong, leaving you to whimper and beg for him pathetically. 

You felt light headed, climax building on itself faster than you could have predicted. It was like Chris instinctively knew every soft spot your body had to offer him, and was more than happy to bully the hell out of it. To twist, turn, and mold you into exactly what he wanted you to be, to get exactly the reaction he wanted out of you. He growled, pulling you closer to him. You pulled his hair in return, earning you a deep moan from him.

He pulled back enough to become more targeted with his snout, the padded skin now rubbing your clit with intention. Your legs started to tense up, the coil in your stomach tightening to the point of snapping. You let out a truly embarrassing sound. Luckily, you didn’t have to hear it, the feeling of euphoria washing over you and drowning out anything that wasn’t bliss or Chris. He licked you through your high, dragging it out for as long as possible, and leaving you a shaking mess in the aftermath.

You looked at him with hazy eyes as he finally pulled fully away, muzzle slick with your arousal. Your heart caught in your throat as you realized what you’d done. It was unforgivable to lay with the beast you were supposed to kill. He didn’t give you much time to think about the deeper implications though, before he careened down, pulling you into another facsimile of a kiss. Your taste was still thick on his tongue, mixing with his own and leaving you breathless.

You’d hardly noticed him all but ripping his pants down, until you felt him pressing into you. The stretch was enough to leave you screaming. No matter how prepped you were for him, you were only human, a fact that your body was actively trying to remind you of. “Chris!” You shrieked as he shoved himself inside you, with zero care to take things any slower than he already had. “Chris, it’s too much, I can't-!”

“You can.” He started moving, leaving you with zero time to try and adjust to his size. Tears sprung to your eyes as you desperately tried to accommodate him. “You were made for me, you can handle it,” He groaned, relief rolling over his shoulders as he finally got to feel you around him. He lapped your tears away, positioning himself to hit the sweet spot inside you he’d discovered earlier.

Slowly your body started to welcome him, the pain of being ripped in half ebbing away in favor of the mindless pleasure of being so full you swore you could feel him in your throat. He fucked you as if he had a map of your body, like he instinctively knew exactly where to push to make you see stars. Your cries morphed into moans, and before you knew it you were rolling your hips in time with his.

“That’s it Pup,” Chris groaned, completely lost in you. He was overwhelmed; your decadent smell, your pretty sounds, the divine feeling of your warm little cunt quivering around him. For all the times he’d fantasized about you, even his wildest dream couldn’t come close to the real thing. “You’re taking me so well, feel so good. You were made for me.” He praised.

His words went straight to your core, a storm building up inside of you faster than you’d care to admit. Every animalistic thrust of his hips managed to hit you exactly where you needed him too, and you could feel your second orgasm of the night coming on. A heat was mounting between your trembling thighs, and it only intensified as Chris’s hand fell to where the two of you met, using the back of his knuckle to massage your clit. 

It sent you over the edge, a crack of lightning so intense you felt the aftershocks pulse from your center to your fingertips. Waves of euphoria capsizing your little boat and drowning you in the ecstasy. It pulled Chris over his own edge. The smell of your arousal mixing with the feeling of you clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper had him spilling over and painting your insides white as he growled your name. 

You were still catching your breath, waiting for the world to stop whirling around you and for him to pull out when his voice finally cut through the fog. Rough, low, and still thick with need. “Still with me Pup?”

You nodded, and were treated to a growl in response. “Yeah,” You finally said, “I’m here.”

You felt him lick your pulse point before he started to move again. “Good,” He grunted as he folded you in half. It was only then you realized he was still rock hard inside of you, and your heart rate picked up again, “Cause it’s gonna take more than that to knock you up.”

You considered protesting for a split second. But, before the thought could fully form he had you folded into a mating press. And at that point he could have told you the two of you were going to burn your entire village to the ground and fuck on the ashes and you would have been down. Wasn’t all that unappealing of an idea actually. He was pressing against places you didn’t even know existed in you, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted at this point.

Chris set a ruthless pace, seemingly lasered in on his personal mission. Every relentless rut of his hips had his cock massaging your g spot and kissing your cervix. Every movement sending an overwhelming shock of pleasure through you, so intense it almost hurt. You were thankful you were in the middle of the woods, because if you were anywhere near civilization and the entire settlement would know. 

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until Chris licked the tears from your cheeks. You didn’t realize you’d been gripping his fur so tight, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you. You felt so small under him, left to his whims and helpless to do anything while he ruined human men for you forever. Nothing was ever going to feel like this again. 

“Pretty little Pup,” He groaned, rocking into you so perfectly you knew you weren’t going to last long. “So good for me, feels so good. Gonna take my knot like a good girl?”

You didn’t even think twice. “Yes, Chris please, need it.” you gasped. You wanted so badly to be good for him, to be whatever he wanted you to be so this happened again. 

You barely registered how dangerously close to your neck his fangs were. You were too focused on the feeling of his knot swelling, somehow stretching you more. The lewd sound of him fucking his cum back into you almost drowned out his growling. Almost.

“Perfect little Pup, and all fucking mine.” The way he said it definitely went beyond dirty talk, but you were in no position to pick up on that. “All fucking mine, my mate, mine.” He was losing himself, the moon pulling him away from coherent thought and leaving him with little more than the animalistic fuck his mate into oblivion. 

“Knew it from the first time I smelled you, knew you were mine. Say it, Say. It.” 

“Yours Chris, all yours.” You were hardly in the headspace to fully grasp what he was saying, the dopamine and oxytocin drowning out any sense of reason you may have had. Your body felt like an electrical fire, every nerve ending alive with feeling. You were driving towards a cliff at 200 miles per hour and had no intention to stop. Your limbs were shaking with anticipation, you really felt like you might have burned alive if he stopped now.

And Chris was just as gone. The look of you alone, tear stained and breathless in his arms, could have gotten him off. He watched his bulge appear and reappear in your stomach with every thrust, watched your eyes glaze over with dazed pleasure, felt the way your warm cunt hugged him perfectly and fuck who needed heroine? This was better than any drug he could have imagined. 

He decided then that he was taking you home tonight. 

You pulled at his fur, the bliss building inside of you, twisting in on itself and threatening to snap. When it hit you, it hit you like a tidal wave, suffocating and all at once. You didn’t hear the scream you let out, barely registered the way your legs tried to wrap around the monster that was on top of you. Your head felt like it was full of cotton and your veins were full of stars. You watched galaxies be born before your very eyes.

What you did register was his knot locking you in place as he tried to fuck you through your high. Felt the way his already impossibly tight grip tightened, claws digging into your soft skin, surly leaving you bruised and bleeding. You felt him filling you again for the second time that night, and were a little ashamed to admit how right it felt.

You felt his teeth sink into your neck to muffle his own howl. Not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to draw blood. Deep enough to infect. You’d like to say that you yelled, tried to pull him off and went to immediately seek treatment. Time was limited after all, if you wanted to avoid lycanthropy. 

You wanted to say all of these things. In reality your hand found the back of his skull to hold him closer. You struggled to catch your breath and reorient yourself. Chris gently lapped the blood from your neck, trying to soothe the ache there. He was muttering something, but you were barely paying attention. You were more focused on the fact he was already rocking his hips back into yours.  

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep. And if you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t totally sure where you woke up, jerking out of bed with a sharp gasp. Your head jerked around, trying to get a grasp on your surroundings. It was a simple room, barely lived in. As if whoever had set up camp here didn’t plan to stay for long. You sat up straighter, listening to the bustling noise from the other side of the door. It sounded like a decently sized family was descending into chaos. It sound like-

It sounded like a pack of wolves. You went cold. You looked down, only to discover stainless steel dog tags dangling from your neck, and that you were wearing an oversized shirt you didn’t recognize. You could guess who it belonged to though. You had a sinking feeling. You took a closer look at the tags around your neck.

Redfield.

Chris J.

315-05-4075

O Neg

NO REL PREF

No surprises there, but just to be sure you reached up to your neck. Sure enough, you felt the unmistakable divots of a wolf bite, flinching at the fresh sting. So last night wasn’t an extremely vivid dream. Great. 

As if on cue Chris chose then to show up, slipping through the door with two cups of coffee in hand. You wished that seeing him filled you with rage, or revoltion. Or at least some deep sense of guilt. Sadly though, the only thing you felt when you looked at his adoring smile was a warm sense of safety. He looked mostly human again, a far cry from what mounted you last night.

“Hey, I thought I heard you waking up,” He said. Jesus, he had good hearing. He came over and settled next to you on the bed, handing you the mug. You’d ask how he knew your coffee preferences later. For now, you were just happy for the caffeine.

You nodded to him, taking a drink of the coffee. He gently rubbed your back, looking you over, carefully assessing the damage. “How you feeling?”

“Okay I guess,” you muttered, “A little sore.” 

“That’s to be expected.”

[feygaleh]

I saw the post from that account that featured you in an ask from like two days ago and so this is a pretty belated response, but I just wanted to say that it made me so angry like I haven’t been in weeks. I cannot stand Zionist Jumblr, every day they seem to stoop to new lows I did not think were possible.

That post made me so mad because it’s like the epitome of everything wrong with Zionism online today, I simply cannot stand it what with their “I LovE JeWs BeING ThE BaD GUys NOw” like they cannot fathom any member of their tribe being capable of great evils, all while they endlessly call out everyone else for doing wrong. And their weird nonsensical whataboutisms that try and pick out even the most menial or nonexistent “flaws” from the people who challenge them “Faygeleh is for gay males only” and “I see you are learning Hebrew AND YET you still dare to criticize the state, hmm curious” so infuriating honestly.

But the worst thing of all is their endless conspiracies and their dogged assumptions that hold no basis in fact, them literally “Theorizing” about your synagogue being a JVP meeting place like KNOW YOU is simply one of the worst examples of this that I have ever seen up to this point, at least that other account they referenced did the only slightly less infuriating cookie cutter “Fake Jew doesn’t support the fatherland, fake Jews is not a patriot, fake Jew is pretending to be Jewish” spiel, at least I’ve seen that one so many times that I’m growing numb to the constant accusations.

These conspiratorial ramblings are all so completely anti-intellectual that it makes me sick to my stomach, and the worst part is that this is almost everything that I see on Jumblr, there’s almost no diversity in opinion, not a single attempt at any kind of nuance (While still constantly claiming nuance when it suits their agendas), it’s all entirely irrational at its core and it’s all anyone ever makes posts about.

I always celebrate to myself when I find an account that is about something else, either one like yours, or one dedicated entirely to just cool Jewish stuff like art, culture, and history, but those seem to be so few and far between these days, it’s all just about antisemitism or Zionism or the state, you’d think these people didn’t care about anything else, like do these people even enjoy being Jewish? At all? Because from the legacies they’re leaving via their internet footprints it would seem that to them being a Jew is more of a curse than anything and it makes me so, so sad.

Apologies for the long rant, but this one really was one of the worst I’ve seen in a while. I’m not even going anon this time, I’m so tired of cowering in the shadow of Zionism and all its religious extremism.

i know exactly the post and i had my own similar reaction because it’s all such cowardly baseless takes they’re making. i have nothing to add here, you’ve perfectly summarized all of my feelings on and about zionist jumblr.

thank you for this message, it is so so uplifting to know and hear there are other people out there reading the shit these people are saying and also thinking they’re being deranged. it’s such a harmful echo chamber they’re in that sometimes i start to wonder if i really AM alone in this because they say it so much. but as long as i’m here and alive and joyfully jewish, there will be a contesting voice.

[megxplryxb]

Dance with me Forever

Pairings - Steve Harrington x Fem!HopperReader

Warnings: None. Absolute fluff, Idiots in love, Mutual Pining, Friends to lovers, Jopper Wedding

The hot summer sun had finally set on a beautiful Saturday evening in the middle of July. The sound of champagne glasses clinking echoed throughout the romantic lake house ballroom, lit up in pinks and purples as guests celebrated the marriage of Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers. The couple had finally decided to tie the knot and unite their families once Vecna had been defeated, ending the nightmare of the Upside Down once and for all. It had been a long four years, continuously battling monsters from another dimension, always wondering when evil would rear it’s ugly head again but this time felt different, like there was finally peace in the mystical little town of Hawkins, Indiana.

The last few years had changed no one more than Steve Harrington. Long gone was the arrogant, rich boy you’d known in High School, having been cut off by his parents and left heartbroken by Nancy Wheeler, he had become somewhat of an outcast. Never in a million years did he imagine his life turning out quite like it had. Steve always thought he’d end up like his Father, marrying some girl for convenience instead of love, being nothing more than a suit for some company and have a mistress in every city he traveled to. Steve was more than grateful he hadn’t gone down the same path and he knew he had you, Robin and the kids to thank for that.

He was sat at a table with Robin, Vickie, Eddie, Chrissy and Nancy, all of whom were engrossed in conversation about how sweet Hopper’s speech had been and how emotional it was when the Chief of Police shed a few tears while gushing about his new Wife, your new Stepmom. Steve couldn’t exactly say he had heard much of Jim’s speech himself, too busy gazing at you sitting at the top table with your family, holding back your own tears, laughing with your siblings, El, Will and Jonathan. He hadn’t seen you all day as you were too busy doing bridesmaid duties, making sure everything was perfect for the ceremony but when you walked down the aisle, holding your bouquet of flowers, smelling like lavender, he swore his heart stopped when you looked his way and smiled at him. You were breathtaking, literally and figuratively, the girl of his dreams. Eddie had teased his friend for how red his cheeks had gotten, knowing that the former King of Hawkins was head over heels for you and that you felt the same about Steve. Chrissy had intervened, telling her boyfriend to lay off with the teasing but she too secretly wondered why Steve didn’t just tell you how he felt. It was obvious to everyone that you loved each other.

It’s not that Steve didn’t want to tell you, he’d almost told you twice before on the brink of death. The first time being when you were stuck in the Russian base under the Starcourt mall, the second time being when you were all preparing to battle Vecna for the final time. But he’d made a promise to your Dad two years prior, after that night in the Junkyard when you first became friends that friendship was all it was ever going to be between you. Steve didn’t blame Hopper for wanting better for his daughter, didn’t blame Jim for thinking he was exactly like his Dad back then. But he wished the Chief of Hawkins could see him for who he was now and not the asshole he was four years ago.

After dinner was done and all the pictures had been taken, you took yourself out to the garden with a glass of champagne in hand, glancing at Steve before you made your escape outside. He looked so handsome in his tux, the tux you’d helped him pick out several weeks ago when he asked you to go shopping with him. You hadn’t spoken to him all day, having been avoiding him like the plague for the better part of a week when he mentioned that he was planning to bring a date to the wedding. You had tried your best to not let it bother you, the thought of Steve with some pretty girl on his arm while you were all alone and you’d be lying if you said you weren't just a tiny bit relieved when he'd shown up all by himself.

You knew your Father had spoken to Steve about you, warned him against asking you out on several occasions and even though you were angry that Steve obeyed him, it kind of made you love him even more, because the Steve you'd known in High School wouldn't have been so respectful. Sometimes though, late at night when you couldn’t sleep, you wished he’d climb through your bedroom window so you both could give in to your feelings just one time.

As Joyce danced with her new Husband, she couldn't help but frown at Steve who was standing talking to Murray at the bar. He'd left his table to get another drink after the meal, not wanting to be surrounded by all the happy couples while he not so secretly pinned for you. Joyce had always liked Steve, saw the goodness in him that her Husband couldn't and she knew how the both of you felt about each other.

"Hop, are you ever going to give that poor kid a break?" She asks as Hopper let out a heavy sigh, knowing exactly who she was referring to.

"Joyce, please not tonight, it's our wedding for Christ sake." He begs as his new wife nodded in agreement. It wasn't the first time they'd discussed this matter.

"Exactly! It's a day full of love and happiness and your daughter is out there miserable and alone because she's terrified to talk to the boy she's crazy about in case she upsets you!" She huffs, frustrated at the Chief's stubbornness.

"Oh come on, I'm not that bad!" He defends as Joyce rolls her eyes. "What about the crap you pulled on Mike when he and El got together? The kid thought you were going to murder him Jim.”

"But I didn't! See, he's alive and well, having a great time!" Jim points to his younger daughter and her boyfriend dancing with their friends.

"And what about Steve, huh? When are you going to admit that you were wrong about him?" The bride asks, raising her brows.

"Joyce...."

"Jim Hopper, that boy has helped save our children's lives more times than I care to count. He would do anything for OUR daughter, he’s shown it time and time again. You know he’s nothing like his Father. They love each other, Jim. So quit being a god damn pain in everyone's ass and go talk to him, please?" Joyce begs, giving her new Husband a small, hopeful smile as he closes his eyes and sighs defeatedly.

"Fine, alright. I'm going."

Steve is nursing a glass of champagne, trying to look somewhat interested in Murray's ramblings when he see's Hopper approaching him at the bar. Jim lets out a small cough, before giving Murray a nod to give them a minute alone and Steve nervously waits for Jim to speak.

"Oh shit, what'd you do?" Murray mutters to Steve before downing his glass of whiskey, giving him a hopeful pat on the back before going to talk to the new Mrs. Hopper.

Jim leans back against the bar, fixing his suit jacket as he tries to think about what to say the boy beside him. He knows he should apologise for being an asshole to him but it's his wedding day and he wasn't apologising to anyone. Not today at least.

"Harrington, why is my daughter out there by herself?" He asks, pointing to you, still strolling through the garden alone.

"I uh, I don't know Sir, I haven't talked to her all day." Steve replies, wondering if this was some kind of trick.

"Well, maybe you should be a gentleman and go keep her company, huh?" The Chief suggests and Steve is really suspicious now.

"I'm sorry, I can't tell if you're being serious or not?" Steve questions honestly, not trying to offend your Dad in any way.

"When am I ever not serious about anything that has to do with my daughters?" He asks, looking straight at Steve. "Never, sir." He answers back.

There's silence for a moment as the two most important men in your life pause to look at you. You stare back at them, astounded that they seem to be having a conversation without your father looking like he was going to kill Steve.

"Do you love my daughter, Steve?" Jim asks, both of them still watching you in the distance. Hopper already knows the answer, he’s known it for quite sometime. He saw how Steve protected you during the battle in Starcourt, heard about how he looked after you and El when everyone thought he was dead. He’d have to thank him for that one day but not now. This was hard enough.

Steve didn’t have to think twice before answering the question, even if it meant getting choked out or knocked unconscious by Jim Hopper.

"More than anything in this world." Steve admits, smiling brightly as his heart swells with adoration for you. Hopper nods then, placing an approving hand on Steve's shoulder.

"Then go make her happy." He says, giving the boy the smallest of smiles as Steve begins to cross the ballroom floor.

"Hey, Harrington!" Jim yells, as Steve looks back at him, hoping it wasn't really a trick all this time. "You're a good kid." He admits, as the boy nods an appreciative thank you, finally making his way to the garden to find you.

Joyce smiles at Steve as she walks towards her Husband, wrapping her arms around him tightly, before kissing him. "You're a good man, Jim Hopper."

He sighs heavily before he begins to laugh. "Happy wife, happy life."

Steve can hear his heart beating out of his chest as he slowly approaches you, watching you in awe as the moonlit sky makes your skin glow. You haven't noticed him yet, too busy gazing at the stars above, wishing for your own fairytale ending. Your hair which had been in an up-style all day was now hanging below your shoulders and Steve thought you had never looked more beautiful than right now.

"You could catch a cold out here you know?" Steve whispers from behind you, already removing his suit jacket to cover your shoulders before you even turn to face him.

"Hey stranger, I feel like I haven't talked to you all day." You smile, turning to greet him, embracing him in a warm hug as you both stay that way for what seems like several minutes.

"Yeah, I know. I missed you, Hopper." He admits, as you blush. "I missed you too, Harrington."

The song inside changes to Take My Breath Away by Berlin and Steve knows it's one of your favourites, he bought you the album for your birthday and it's still the most played tape in your car. You both watch as everyone begins to fill the dance floor back inside the lake house and Steve swallows hard before extending his hand to you.

"Will you dance with me, out here?" He asks as you nod your head, happily reaching for his hand as he pulls you in closer to him. You nervously wrap an arm around Steve's neck, inhaling his cologne and shampoo all at once. He always smelled so good. He places his other hand gently on the small of your back, intertwining your fingers together as you begin to dance slowly to the music playing inside. There was silence for a few moments before Steve cleared his throat to speak again.

"You know, I really could’ve used you at our table earlier. Nancy ditched us to sit with Jonathan the minute the speeches were over, so I got stuck with all the loved up couples, it was totally awful.” He jokes, referring to Eddie, Chrissy, Robin and Vickie.

"I thought you were going to bring a date?" You question, trying to hide the jealousy in your voice when you ask.

"Oh yeah, I was thinking about asking someone but I didn't in the end." He frowns and you bite your lip, wanting to know more.

"Why not?"

"Cause her Dad would've kicked my ass." He replies, as you let out a small giggle. Stomach filling with butterflies as he gazes at you.

“That’s too bad, I have a feeling she would’ve said yes anyway.” You whisper in his ear, leaning your head on his shoulder as he mumbles “Oh really? Well in that case, the ass kicking would’ve been worth it.”

"I saw him talking to you, thought you were a goner for sure." You tease as Steve shakes his head.

"I knew I'd be ok, too many witnesses around." He jokes, as you both laugh.

"I'd have come to your rescue eventually, if i thought it looked like you were in trouble, you know?" You admit and he nods his head gratefully.

"I know, honey." Honey. Was he trying to kill you?

"Seriously though, he didn't upset you, did he?" You ask as you continue to dance to the music.

"No actually, the total opposite." Steve smirks as you scrunch your nose.

"What do you mean?"

"He asked me why you were out here alone, told me to come and keep you company." He reveals as your eyes widened in surprise.

“Really?”

"I know, I was shocked too but I think Joyce said something to him because she was giving him the death stare the whole time he was talking to me." Steve chuckles and you remind yourself to thank your Stepmom later.

"He asked me something else too." Steve states, swinging you around.

"Oh god, what was it?" You ask, still spinning.

"He wanted to know if I was in love with his daughter." He says, as you fall back in to him in shock, placing your hands on his chest as he wraps his arms around your waist. You feel sick with excitement, like a kid at Christmas about to unwrap her presents under the tree.

“And…what did you tell him?”

"That he had nothing to worry about, El is way too young for me." He jokes as you smack him playfully on the chest.

"Steve! I'm being serious, what did you really say to him?"

“I told him that I do, more than I’ve ever loved anybody.” Steve admits as your eyes begin to water.

“I love you too, Steve.” You reveal, trying to hold back your tears as Steve cups your face gently, placing his forehead lightly against yours.

“You looked so beautiful today honey. When I saw you walk down that aisle, I thought, Christ, I could just marry her right now.” He smirks as you bump your nose with his.

“Careful Harrington, a few more compliments like that and I might just have to kiss you.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck as he hovers his lips over yours.

“Yeah, I’m sort of counting on it.” Steve says, finally crashing his lips with yours, not giving a damn who sees. You were finally all his.