#i have forgotten how to tag fics. god bless i am out of practice

[theogony]

The Jesper Fahey Foolproof guide to getting your friends to fall in love™

written for the grishaverse big bang 2023 (@grishaversebigbang)! Pleasure to work on a lighthearted fic for a change of pace ^^ thank you sm to yaalni (@bloodyrakshasi ) for betaing the fic, and please go check the absolutely stunning works of accompanying artists :)

@intrgalartic (link to art here) @bubble--berry (link to art here) @jmie-draws (link to art here) @mitraavrs (link to art here)

"Wait, no, that’s it. That’s perfect,” Jesper says, and everyone turns to look at him. “What if we use like - what’s the term - reverse psychology?” Jesper pauses, for additional appropriate gravitas (as though everyone in the table isn’t already looking at him with varying degrees of shock, horror, or scheming.)

“What if we still say it straight - but to the opposite person - tell Inej that Kaz likes him and Kaz that Inej likes him,” he finishes, triumphant.

The table quiets down, before interrupting into a series of loud whispers borderlining on shouts, before quieting down again as everyone mulls over the idea.

All in all, Jesper thinks, it’s a pretty promising reaction.

-

When even the imminent departure of Inej cannot prompt either her or Kaz to confront their feelings and cross the invisible line the two of them have been toeing for entirely too long, Jesper and the rest of their friends decide to take matters into their own hands with the help of PowerPoint transitions, nosy partners, and perhaps the entirety of Ketterdam University.

Alternatively, the faked into dating AU, wherein Jesper learns that perhaps he's not as good a matchmaker as he thought he was.

read part of it under the cut! / ao3 link

The hallways part like a sea before them, whispers following them as the 6 (well 7 really, but no one's terrified of Wylan even with the rest of them surrounding him) skulking figures stalk down the hallway, leaving behind the principal's ajar door in their wake. 

All in all, it's a pretty normal day for Kaz Brekker and the crows, really. 

"You'd think we'd robbed the school ourselves at the rate the students are avoiding us." 

Jesper laughs merrily, throwing a friendly arm over Inej's shoulder.

"Relax, Nej. Besides, it's not like you're going to be here in this shithole much longer anyway!"

Inej lets out a tinkling laugh, lips momentarily turning up at brief levity - before she purses them again, turning around to address the rest of them.

"Alright, enough moping around about inevitable change - don't think I've noticed some people in particular practically avoiding me since the trip was announced."

Though the rest of their group tries their level best (which is to say, not at all) to hide their snickers - it's pretty obvious who the message is directed at. After all, there's only one person whom Inej would never bother to hesitate to call out so publicly - only one person whom Inej would never forget to look out for. 

To his own credit, Kaz looks away non committedly, before hefting his bag slightly higher. 

"If you forget to collect your dance shoes from the studio, I don't even think I'd be able to stop Baghra from keeping you here."

Imej hums before walking next to him.

"Fair enough. But you know that I'd stay if you asked me to."

A tension fills between the two of them, filled with unspoken possibilities. 

"I think I'd eventually learn how to handle my accounts on my own, thanks." 

The both of them shrug, turning away from each other, though the tense look on both of their faces tells a very different story.

The fact of the matter is this - no matter how much Inej wishes, Kaz wouldn't dare take away everything Inej has worked for - even if that meant depriving them of something that both of them wanted so badly.

Eventually, Inej shakes herself and joins Kaz, currently facing forward, an impenetrable stone wall of emotion. Together, they tentatively begin talking again about a topic that's too quiet for the rest of them to hear and enclose themselves in a bubble of their own - disappearing into the winding hallways.

read the rest here!

[tintinwrites]

the fallen soul | Poe Dameron x Reader | Part One

A/N: Is this incredibly sinful? I hope y’all like it anyway YA SINNNERS. I did research for this fic and I hope the confession is legit? I suppose it doesn’t matter too much simply bc Poe is half-BSing his way through it bc he don’t care!!

Rating: T but this WILL turn to M.

Warning: Religion. Confession. Men are trash except for Father Poe Dameron himself. Sexual themes.

Word count: 2,171, apparently!!

Summary: You’re a young, aristocratic woman in the early 19th century, destined for a life of empty marriage to an adulterous, uncaring man and multiple children that you won’t even get to raise. Your inappropriate thoughts of wanting more than is expected of you from imperfect people leads you to confession where you unknowingly meet the young, new priest, Father Dameron.

GIF credit: I thought I had this in my likes but I didn’t but it’s not mine and if anyone knows whose it is let me know!!

Tags: Open if anyone’s interested!

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

You looked around the ballroom with disinterest, watching primped up men kissing the hands of primped up ladies as if they actually paid them any respect, and you wondered which one was going to glide over to you with sugar in his mouth and greed in his eyes.

All you were to them was a dowry and a body to birth multiple children until you bore him a son.

Not even a bed warmer to them, since they would take mistresses in the day on a mattress you would sleep on in the night.

It was a pity; some of them were quite handsome and perhaps there was this foolish spark inside of you that wished to be the mistress of a man who showered you with jewels, but your parents would never allow it.

No, you were destined to be a wife and a mother, bored out of your mind as your husband had other women and your children were raised by other women.

Sometimes you would get into your own head a bit, falling into a silly fantasy of being in the arms of a man who was passionate about you, whose handsome face would gaze down at you, then disappear between your—

Then you would swiftly reprimand yourself for not only going against the purpose that was correct for you, but for thinking of things you had no business even having an inkling of an idea about.

Perhaps no suitor had intrigued you because your thoughts were too sinful, because you were too busy thinking about wrong things to appreciate what was meant for you.

Your parents would pester you with his father is the owner of the local dressmaker’s shop or he’s acquired a large plot of land with the intention of a large family and you would hum as if you were listening, but you never were.

Was it a sin to want passion? Adventure? Something that stirred the barest hint of desire in your otherwise bored disposition?

You supposed it was, otherwise no one would hide it.

Suitors would not act demure when they had taken many women before their wedding night, and those women would not act pure to new men when they had been bedded by the one to their right, and fathers would not lie about how they made their money, and mothers would not put arsenic in their vicious husbands’ tea.

You knew the fabrication that was needed to make the upper class seem better than the lower, yet you still felt guilty for your own thoughts of wanting more.

They all took what they wanted and hid it beneath expensive clothing and charming words.

Why couldn’t you do the same? Why did you merely do as you were told and continually berate yourself for letting your thoughts stray to something you enjoyed more?

Perhaps you were smarter than them and knew it was wrong to do these things even if you kept them hidden away.

When a fair-skinned man with light hair and beautiful yet untrustworthy eyes bowed to you and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and all you could think of was how he had been with a woman you knew dearly, you felt dirty.

Like you knew, and felt, and thought, and wanted too much.

It seemed like there were too many people in the large room now, like they could hear your thoughts screaming in your head louder than their own.

You stuttered a few words about retiring for the night or you hoped you did as you turned and ran from the room.

The darkened hallway offered you solace, the music slightly muffled and no people watching you like they wanted to devour your very soul until there was nothing left of yourself.

Shouldn’t you want to be married? You would be with a man who would provide for you, to keep a roof over your head instead of your father, and your thoughts kept bouncing back and forth between disgust at your desires and comfort in them.

Perhaps you needed to tell someone about it.

Certainly not any of those men or women or your family, but someone who would tell you what to do without judgement; it was likely you only needed to get these thoughts out of your head to realize how ridiculous you were being and then you would be in your right mind.

You would not lie to society like you were pure when you were not. You would be the very model of a modern wife in honesty, not only in appearance.

And you would smile as your...husband fucked anyone but you when it wasn’t time to conceive a child.

You needed to say all of this out loud and you prayed to God it would fix your damaged mind.

God.

That was it.

Dashing to the grand entrance of your father’s manor with your dark blue skirt gripped in your fingertips though the hem did not entirely reach the floor, you grabbed your cloak and fastened it around your neck securely.

Some servants might have questioned you, worried of your parents’ reactions if it was discovered you had left home in the middle of a ball where you were supposed to meet a suitable husband, but you ignored them and stumbled determinedly out into the night.

You weren’t supposed to walk alone at night — no women actually were. You were scarcely allowed to walk in the day unless you had a reputable chaperone.

But you did not fear getting in too much trouble or meeting a stranger that was less than acceptable, since it was late and most everyone was inside your home.

Maybe you were a touch fearful as you walked from your father’s land and down the road, and you realized the farther you walked how close the church was to the poorer part of town.

They were people too, you reminded yourself quickly. They had children like your people, dreams like your people.

Drugs and alcohol like your people, prostitutes like your people.

No different from you and yet scarier simply because their houses were smaller, their clothes not made of fine silk?

You clutched your cloak tighter more from the chill of a spring evening’s wind than your baseless fear, seeing the church slightly up ahead and hoping they had lit some sort of fire despite the warm day it had been.

The door was made of oak that was almost too heavy for arms that did little more than embroider, but you managed to pull one open and slip inside.

It was warmer inside; you stopped for a moment to let the warmth smooth the goosebumps that had risen on your skin, then you carefully lowered your cloak and looked around the room.

You were not used to coming here alone or seeing this place empty, but the bare pews seemed to put you a bit at ease as you walked further inside.

But the confessional to your right made you nervous again, wondering if you really should be confessing these things, imagining that if there even was a priest inside at this time, he might tell your parents who expected you to be pure despite their own sins.

These thoughts had been plaguing you, however, and you wanted them to stop.

You wanted to be satisfied with the life that you were meant to live, and you were sure that pouring your thoughts into the air would lift them from your mind.

Perhaps if you had known the priest a bit better, it might have been easier as you stepped into the booth, but you only came here on holidays and heard gossip that the aging man had begun training someone to take his position.

You did the sign of the Cross over yourself with some uncertainty, having to admit that you were a bit rusty since religion was something that was more talked about than practiced. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was...I...I suppose my first confession tonight is that I don’t quite remember my last.”

Was that a soft chuckle you heard from the opposite booth?

No, you reasoned, priests did not laugh.

“I have come today because I...my thoughts are simply…you see, I cannot get out of my head and...and it’s such a…” You dropped your head in your hands, unsure of how to properly get your thoughts out with how used you had grown to keeping them in.

“Relax, child. Tell me what is on your heart.” The voice was young and smooth, and sounded like he was reading from a book with how flat it was, but you were too intrigued by its other qualities as you lifted your head.

“Yes. Of course. I am descended from noble blood and my destiny is to marry a man of similar status and bear his children. Yet...I...don’t necessarily wish to. I keep finding my thoughts wandering to...to more. Sometimes I do not even know what more entails, simply that it’s something I desire. Often I do think...of having sexual intercourse. Of...of running barefoot through a field and swimming in a lake without a stitch on.” You loved it all so much that you giggled beyond your shame, falling silent as you weren’t sure what else there was to confess.

“And?” He cleared his throat.

“I believe that’s everything.” You furrowed your brow, not sure you could say much more other than your forbidden desires.

“You’ve forgotten something, child.” Now you were sure he was laughing.

You thought for a moment then your eyes widened in a display that could have almost seemed comical. “This is all I can remember! I am sorry for these and all my sins!”

It was said so quickly that your words were hardly intelligible, but the priest hummed in acknowledgement and amusement.

“What do you think my penance for this should be, Father?”

“Have you acted on any of these thoughts?”

You quickly shook your head even though he couldn’t see you. “Of course not!”

“Then you haven’t, really, committed any sin.”

“Father, please, I truly feel that I should be punished for having these thoughts.”

“Very well. Uh...let me see...when you kneel by your bed to pray tonight, I want you to do five Hail Marys.”

“Yes, Father.”

It wasn’t the harshest punishment you’d heard of, but it was going to encourage you to actually pray before bed that night and perhaps that would help with your thoughts.

You were curious about this priest, with his charming voice and the monotone way he went about conducting this confession.

Not that you had met many priests who were all that lively, this man seemed like he was hardly even paying attention to his duties.

However, you were correct in your belief that talking about your thoughts would make them go away, and you closed your eyes in preparation for your prayer asking the Lord for forgiveness.

Your prayer discussing your regret for your sinful thoughts and a promise to do your best not to sin anymore was followed by the priest praying to absolve you of these sins — still sounding like he was reading it in a book right then and there — and you smiled softly, doing the sign of the Cross again. “Amen.”

The priest stuttered a few times and then seemed to formulate what he wanted to say, “You have a good soul to beg for penance over something so trivial. Now thank God for this good confession, and, hm...peace be with you.”

“Thank you, my Lord. And thank you, Father.” Perhaps he listened to many confessions that day and had grown tired of saying the same thing, and you were happy for the help from him either way.

“Go now and...sin no more?” He seemed to chuckle at himself.

You stood and stepped out of the booth, finding yourself charmed by the empty church now as you walked to the door.

Father Dameron waited a moment to keep your privacy hidden before he stepped out of his booth, seeing a glimpse of a dark blue skirt slipping out the heavy, wooden doors and into the night.

Were you all by yourself this late at night or had someone been waiting for you to finish and walk you home?

He hated that he had to worry about you simply because you were a woman, but he knew the sins men confessed in the little time he’d been the head of this church.

Men would confess to taking prostitutes despite having wives at home, then come back the next week to beat their breasts all over again as if they actually cared.

Such a pretty voice with barely a sin to confess was a breath of fresh air for once, and he hoped you didn’t punish yourself too much for thoughts that any normal, interesting human being — including himself — had.

[distressedpanda]

Her Song (Loki x OFC) Part 2

Warnings: Mild Violence (Male against Female), Language, Angst, Slow Burn

A/N: I feel like everything thing I have been writing lately has been slightly out of character. Loki is more vulnerable in this fic and to me that would make him susceptible to feelings. I don't really get into to that too much in this chapter but I feel like I need to explain it before it happens.

As always, your comments fuel my writing! If you want to be tagged just let me know! Gets a read more for length.

Part 1

Freshly showered, designer ripped jeans and a black spaghetti string crop top covering her essentials. Her hair flowing lose, long and curly down her back. A simple pair of black leather square-heeled boots on her feet. She decided not to wear a bra, not like she really needed one anyway. Not exactly blessed in that department.

Assessing her appearance in the full length mirror on the bathroom door, she could easily slay any man. Her facial features were all gentle curves, from the slope of her nose to the pout of her lips. She had never needed make-up, complexion flawless, cheeks just the right shade of rose, and lips just the right shade of pink to compliment her beige skin tone.

Of course, she was about to take on a God, but really what was the difference when it came to the male species.

Making her way to the kitchen for dinner, she discovered Tony had ordered pizza tonight. She was late, and the only ones left in the kitchen, were Thor and Loki.

Perfect.

She grabbed two slices of the pepperoni pizza, dropping them onto a plate. She carted it and a bottle of water, joining the two at the table.

Thor was sitting at the end of the table, finishing off his last slice of what appeared to be an entire box to himself. Loki was sitting in the seat on Thor's left and had an untouched slice in front of him.

Pulling a chair out further down the table, she watched out of the corner of her eye, as Loki furrowed his brow and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You could sit closer and be social,” Loki spoke sarcastically.

Letting her hair fall across her face to hide her smirk, she reveled at the fact that he was taking the bait. This is going to be easier than I thought.

Wiping her face of any expression, she raised her head to look down the table at the two. “I wouldn't want to interrupt anything.” She kept her voice small, meek, and sweet, pushing the chair back into place. She took a tentative step toward them, but didn't take a seat. Arching her back and emphasizing what little chest she had. They may be small, but they were perky and should still have the desired affect.

Thor smiled around his mouthful, then swallowed thickly, “Come, Iloa. Keep Loki company. Perhaps you can convince him to try this glorious meal called, pizza.” With that he shoved the last of the slice into his mouth. He beckoned her down the table with a hand, “I was just leaving,” he mumbled around the bite, standing and taking the empty box to the trash.

She watched Loki give Thor a look filled with daggers. Thor grinned widely completely unfazed and winked at his brother, quickly leaving the room. Loki rolled his eyes at his brothers retreating form. So they have talked about me.

She smirked again, not bothering to hide it this time. Loki eyed her cautiously, as she took the seat Thor had just vacated. She dropped her plate unceremoniously on the table, depositing the bottle as well. If Thor's abrupt exit was any indication, her question was pretty much answered. But she knew that under her influence, Loki would spill his deepest darkest secrets if she wanted them.

Loki assumed a dispassionate air, that didn't have Iloa fooled. The silence lingered for a moment, before he huffed a sigh. She glanced around the slice of pizza she had been taking small bites off of, quirking a brow innocently at him, “What?” she asked, before taking another bite.

Leaning forward and dropping his forearms on to the table, he looked pissed, “What do you want?” He growled at her.

OK, so grumpy Loki is sexy as hell, noted. She swallowed her bite, “Who said I wanted anything, Loki? Wasn't it you that invited me down here to be,” she dropped the half finished slice back on her plate, making air quotes with her fingers, “Social?”

He rolled his eyes, leaning back into his chair again, “Well, yes, I did.” His voice sounded slightly defeated.

If she was going to have an opening for this tune it would be now. Her ability worked better on the weak minded when it came to influencing and not killing or healing. Hearing this slight vulnerability from Loki, she knew she had to take the chance or end up having to fish for another opportunity.

Grabbing the water bottle, she hummed low, making like she was twisting the top off. She watched his eyes glaze over turning a pale green, and didn't fight the delighted grin that spread across her lips. Returning the bottle to the table and singsonging her words, she kept him under her influence, “Tell me, Loki, why did you want me to be social?”

She continued the hum, as he spoke in a trance like voice, “You intrigue me,” he admitted.

Propping an elbow on the table, she nestled her chin into her hand, leaning forward. The action drawing him closer as well, “How so?”

He shock his head, as though fighting the influence. She raised her humming tune slightly, drawing him back under, “There is a spark between us,” he admitted, gritting his teeth.

He was fighting her, she could feel his brain reeling to gain control again. She knew she didn't have long, “So you feel it too? The electricity? The heat?” She sang.

He nodded, gritting his teeth, his hands shooting out to grip the edge of the table with a white knuckle grasp. He grimaced as if in pain, “Yes, I feel it. I felt it that first day. And every time since.”

She was going to hurt him if she didn't stop, dropping her hand from her chin to lay across one of his alarmingly pale hands. She changed her tune, singing, “You will forget this conversation, Loki. I have all that I need.”

Releasing his hand and her influence, she grabbed up the forgotten slice of pizza. She hadn't gotten all her questions asked, but she had enough to know that the arc between them wasn't one sided. That was something at least. 

He blinked a few times releasing the table and flexing his fingers. He looked confused for a moment, then suddenly whirled on her, pinning her with a dagger-like glare.

She ignored his gaze. Biting off a large chunk of the pizza and chewing methodically, before swallowing as if nothing had happened. She hadn't used her ability on someone as strong willed as him but his current reaction was something she was very familiar with. Confusion, rage, denial, understanding, and then finally calm. She just had to wait it out.

Only, Loki didn't progress past rage, “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!” he growled through grit teeth. His eyes burning lime green with his seiðr, she could feel the magic rolling off of him, smell it's thick heady scent.

Shit. She hadn't expected this. Instinctively, she drew back away from him, “What are you talking about?” she questioned, incredulously.

“You forget who I am, mortal!” He shot out of his chair, grabbing Iloa's throat in a tight grip. The pizza falling from her hand to the floor.

She gasped, as he lifted her out of her chair. Clinging to his arm, she grappled for freedom. He slammed her down against the floor, all the air leaving her lungs in a strangled huff. His snarling face moving so close to hers, their noses were almost touching. His chest pressed firmly against hers, her legs free and kicking helplessly against the floor.

“I am the God of Mischief. The God of Lies. The God of Illusions,” he punctuated each sentence by lifting her slightly and slamming her back down. A breathless cry left her bruised throat, but it had no magic behind it. Struggling as she was she couldn't concentrate well enough to use her voice to save herself. Her mind reeling for options of freedom. His hot breath burning her eyes and making them tear. “I know when my mind doesn't belong to me. I may not remember the conversation but I remember not remembering,” he spit at her, practically drooling with anger.

She gasped, clawing at his hand. Then she stilled, watching his brows stretch to his hairline. She relaxed her entire body. Her combat instincts kicking in, she accessed his strength. Her legs were abnormally strong and fast. She knew she could strike him hard enough to free herself, she was stronger than he knew. She could probably even bruise him, though she wouldn't be able to cause any real damage from this angle. Not without her voice and with oxygen continuing to leave her lungs but not return, it wasn't an option. The only way she was getting out of this was to use her speed against him, and the element of surprise.

Slowly drawing her knee up, she arched her back and kicked out at his side, quickly. Feeling the successful contact, and the resulting startled groan from him, his grip on her throat failed. She used the momentum from the impact to slide free of his grasp. Sliding her body easily and quickly away from him. Rolling over and facing him in a crouch. Her hands planted firmly on the floor, she gasped loudly. Pulling the sweet relief of air greedily into her lungs. She was suddenly grateful that her top had stayed where it should. Bad idea to go without a bra.

She kept her eyes locked on his, and was startled when he grinned at her. Slowly rising to his feet, seiðr disappearing from his gaze. He stretched a hand out to her. “You are fast, mortal.”

She stared at him and the proffered hand, still panting. He sighed his shoulders rising and falling dramatically with the motion. He rolled his eyes, “If I wanted to kill you, I would have.” He shook the outstretched hand at her.

“That doesn't exactly inspire confidence,” she croaked up at him. She wasn't sure if this was a trick.

He huffed, returning the hand to his side, "Then stay on the floor. See if I care,” he turned away from her, reclaiming his seat at the table. Sitting, he crossed his arms and lent back into the chair. He winced almost imperceptibly. Almost.

His eyes scanned her curiously, as she slowly rose from her crouch. Returning to the table, she took the seat across from him. He smirked, but said nothing. Her legs buckled beneath her, her body collapsing into the new chair. She rubbed her sore throat, beginning a low healing hum, to rid herself of the soreness and bruise she could feel there.

His eyes flashed bright with seiðr. His body snapping forward, hands slamming flat on the table, “Do not sing again,” he hissed the warning through his teeth.

She shook her head, removing her hand from her throat. She watched his eyes register the absence of bruising on her throat. “It wasn't for you,” she admitted, her voice much less hoarse now and his body visibly relaxed, eyes turning emerald again. His brow meeting in the middle, as he cautiously watched her.

“You have the ability to heal?” he asked, his monotone voice betraying no emotion.

She nodded in response, “And not just myself,” she said glancing down at his side. “Did I hurt you?”

He scoffed, “As if you could, mortal.” His sneering glance left her skin prickling with anger.

“I have a name,” she gritted through her teeth. “If you don't want my help, then all you have to do is say so. You don't have to lie.”

He lent back in the chair, the muscles in his neck flexing. She knew he was suppressing his pain. He was favoring the side she had kicked slightly, but he seemed to be too proud to admit he had any weakness. “Actually I do,” he smirked. Cocking her head, she quirked a brow at him questioningly. “God of Lies, remember.” He gestured at the place they had been on the floor, and winced at the movement.

She rolled her eyes at him, “I can heal that, ya know?”

He shook his head, “I am not injured. Even if I was, I could heal myself.”

“Oh good grief,” she said getting up and rounding the table to stand next to him. With him sitting and her standing (with her boots on) they were eye level with each other. Locking her gaze with his, “Quit with all the high and mighty I'm a God, bullshit. Just let me heal you already, ya big baby!”

His eyebrows became one with his hairline, “I beg your pardon?” Disbelief written all across his face.

“You heard me,” she shot back, cocking her hip to the side her hands planting themselves on her hips. “Let me see it.” She felt like she was scolding a child. And he was certainly acting like one.

He lent away from her, and she watched the shock turn into a grimace before flashing quickly to a scowl. “No one has ever dared speak to me, the way you do,” his tone less anger and more wonder.

“Well there is a first time for everything,” she knelt next to him and reached for the hem of his leather top. “Now let me see.”

He watched her hand for a moment and she thought he would deny her again. Then he sighed heavily and moved his arm allowing her to lift the tunic and the leather top. Exposing the growing bruise on his otherwise flawless alabaster skin. She ran her fingers across the deep purple almost black center, ignoring the tingle. The affected veins radiated out from it in different shades of blues, purples, and yellows. The heel on her boot had done the most damage.

He shivered, and she glanced up at him curiously. He swallowed, “Your fingers are cold,” he answered the unspoken question.

She grinned sweetly and this time it was genuine, “Sorry about that.” She placed one hand over the other, on the center of the bruise, “Stay still,” she commanded.

She closed her eyes, humming the healing tune. She could feel the flesh beneath her palms mending itself.

“Is this how you usually get someone's attention?” He suddenly asked.

Opening her eyes when he was healed, she shock her head. Grinning up at him, “I have never met anyone like you before. Could be why I acted so rashly.” Feeling heat grow in her once more, she quickly dropped her hands from his side. His tunic and leathers sliding back into place, as she stood and turned to go back to her chair.

She was stopped by his hand gripping her wrist suddenly. She looked down at the hand, a bolt of electricity shooting up her arm, as he spoke, “You could have just asked.”

Giving him a small snicker, “I was trying to save myself some embarrassment.” She heard him chuckle. She couldn't turn back around to face him. If she really admitted it to herself, it was easier to talk to him sincerely, if she didn't have the danger of getting captured by his emerald stare.

She heard the leather of his clothing rustle, and he dropped the hold on her hand. She moved to continue toward her seat, when she was suddenly pulled flush against his chest. His arms circling her bare waist. He nuzzled his face against the crown of her head, “Instead you got anger. How is that better?” His voice was slightly muffled in her hair, but she heard every word.

She shivered from his warm breath ghosting against her scalp. Heat and electricity pouring into long since forgotten places in her body and mind. He squeezed her gently and she bit into her bottom lip. She tried to capture coherent thoughts to answer him, but she was melting into his touch.

He squeezed her again, rougher, tighter this time, “Answer me,” he demanded, begged, and she gasped in response to the pressure around her waist.

“It didn't embarrass me,” she countered. Grasping his forearms, she dug her nails into his flesh.

He groaned, the pressure of his face against her head disappearing, “That does not answer the question.” He huffed, causing her hair to tickle against her skin.

She was trembling and attempted to hide it with a chuckle. “Of course it does. It's not my fault that you don't understand it.”

Loki pulled his arms from her grasp, placing his grip on her hips instead. He spun her quickly and she yelped not being able to stop the reaction. His hands left her body quickly, to grip the sides of his head. He grimaced and doubled over, causing her to take a step back away from him.

“Shit, I'm sorry, Loki,” she reached out placing her hand on his shoulder.

His eyes lifted to hers and he slowly dropped his hands, rising back up. Her hand sliding down to rest on his chest, “What was that?!”

She looked away from him, before answering, “You can't startle me.”

He lifted his hands in argument, “Well obviously, I succeeded. So that statement is a lie.”

She still wouldn't look up at him and dropped her hand, crossing her arms tightly around her waist. “I should rephrase then. I should have said, you shouldn't startle me.”

He stepped toward her, her eyes snapping to his feet at his approach. He reached out cautiously, allowing his hands to rest against her hips once again. “You don't answer anything directly, do you?”

She chuckled, “No. I guess I don't.”

One hand left her waist, sliding in between her hair and neck. His palm meeting her cheek, he forced her chin up with his thumb, capturing her gaze with his once more. “How do I get answers from you?"

She couldn't breathe. He was to close, his mouth nearly against hers. His hands on her bare skin. She placed her hands against his chest. Drawing in a stuttering breath, “You earn them.” She pushed away from him. Out of his grasp, she left the forgotten dinner right where it was, heading quickly for the kitchen door.

Just before she could pull it open, he was on her again. He didn't touch her. Instead he loomed over her, making her feel small once more. How does he have this power over me?

He placed both hands on the door on either side of her head, effectively keeping it closed. She glared up over her shoulder, meeting his devious eyes. He smirked, “I wasn't done, mortal. How do I earn them?”

She grit her teeth, glancing down at the door handle in her tightening grip. “Remembering that I have a name would help,” she growled.

He scoffed, “I know you have a name. I simply prefer calling you, mortal.”

Her eyes snapped to his again, “Why?”

He snickered, “Difference in status, my dear,” his voice sank low wrapping like velvet around the last two words.

“Let me go,” she whispered. That grin was driving her insane, she just wanted to reach up and smack it right off his face. Confusingly, she wanted to rise up and lay one hot passionate kiss on him, wiping the grin off that way as well. These simultaneous feelings had her swallowing past a growing lump in her throat and licking her dry lips. She wanted to escape, terrified he could hear the now rapid beat of her heart.

His eyes followed her tongue, “Did I offend you?” He feigned concern, that didn't reach the daring smirk still in his eyes.

She huffed loudly, dropping her head, allowing her hair to curtain her face and slumping her shoulders. If she couldn't get away from him using anger, she would attempt to use heartache instead. “You did, Loki.” She kept her voice low and hurt. “I know in your eyes, I am just a commoner. But if you truly got to know me, you would find so much more. You might even learn that I am more than common or mortal,” she let the sentence edge on wistful. Glancing back up at him, she watched the confusion dance in his eyes.

He stepped away from her, dropping his arms to his sides. “I meant no offense, honestly. I was raised . . .” he cut himself off sharply, shaking his head. He took another retreating step backwards, placing a fist over his heart and dipping his head, “Have a good night.”

She took the opportunity to open the door. Stepping around it, she thought she heard him add, “Iloa.” It was so low she wasn't sure he had actually spoken her name. It brought her up short for only a second. Then squaring her shoulders she made for her rooms, to a bed that was desperately calling her name.

[queen-of-fine-vagine]

Klance Fic: Movie Theater Mayhem

Cute fluffy AU where Lance and Hunk work at a movie theater and Keith keeps coming in on failed dates. Lance notices, and thus, pining coupled with mild flirting ensues. (If you like it here go check it out on Wattpad! And give a vote if you would: https://my.w.tt/UiNb/dDwQRGf0rJ )

Lance had been working at the movie theater for six months now. It wasn't the most glamorous of jobs, and the pay wasn't too great, but he couldn't complain much. The managers were all pretty cool and he had become really good friends with his coworker Hunk. What was cleaning up the occasional puddle of puke when you get to watch as many free movies as you want? Plus the popcorn. Virtually unlimited. Lance liked his job. Lance didn't always like the customers. Usually it was the old people who came in and had no idea how anything worked. Or the bitchy lady with her unlimited supply of kids who would curse Lance and his coworkers out about the popcorn prices (like they had any say in the matter). They weren't all bad, though. There was this one guy who worked at the restaurant across the street who came in all the time. His name was Billy and he was keeping a running tab of all the times he managed to watch a movie without anyone else in the theater. He had racked up an impressive thirty times. It wasn't too hard to believe considering the small, semi-run down theater attached to a dying mall wasn't doing as hot as it had in the blessed years before Netflix and Redbox. Nevertheless, the theater did have many regulars that never failed to make Lance smile. Like the sweet elderly couple who always came on Fridays for their weekly date night.

Recently though, Lance had found he had a new favorite regular. The guy had been coming in everyday for a week now.Each time he had some girl with him. Never the same girl twice, though. Despite the obvious appeal of having some cutie draped on his arm, the guy never seemed to drop his signature scowl. Lance was intrigued. Why all the dates? Why all different girls? Why did he always look like he was being forced to be there? And why, for the love of god, did he always buy two regular drinks? Didn't he realize he could save almost seven dollars if he bought one large and shared it with whatever chick he had with him that time? Lance sighed at the prospect of solving those mysteries as he restocked the candy shelves. It had been a long Friday evening and he was gunning to go home. The guy hadn't shown up yet today and a small part of Lance was worried that this mysterious stranger's date escapade might be finished.Not that Lance had been looking forward to seeing him again or anything... Okay maybe just a little. The guy was attractive. With raven black hair and piercing eyes that looked almost purple under the fluorescent glow of the concession stand.

"Oooh," Hunk murmured from his position behind his register. "Eye candy, 12 o'clock." Hunk waggled his eyebrows as Lance quickly stood from his crouched position to see who was coming in. Lance may have let it slip that he thought the mullet-adorned boy was cute, and Hunk had no intention of letting it go. Sure enough, in he walked through the glass doors leading out into the mall. To Lance's surprise (and delight) there was no girl clinging to the guy's muscular arm today. No, there was another guy there instead.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom." The new boy murmured to cute guy before slinking off out of sight.

The raven haired guy heaved a sigh and approached the counter with his hands in his pockets and annoyance on his face. Lance's face split open into his best customer-service grin.

"What can I do for you today?" Lance asked.

"Can I get two regular drinks and a large popcorn?" The boy replied with little enthusiasm. Honestly the poor guy's wallet must have been hurting after his week of dates.

"Of course." Lance plugged the order into the computer and went to retrieve the refreshments.

"Did you notice he had a guy with him?" Hunk whispered with enthusiasm as Lance scooped the popcorn.

"How could I not?" Lance hissed back.

"You should make a move!" Hunk practically squealed. "Get his number or something."

Lance smirked at the idea. Not one of the worst Hunk had come up with. As Lance carried the guy's order back to him, he decided to Hell with inhibitions.

"You've been coming here for the past couple days," Lance says casually as he places the concessions on the counter. The guy looks up at him in surprise, clearly not expecting to have a conversation.

"Yeah...?" He replies hesitantly.

"Mind if I make a suggestion?" Lance asked slyly.

"Umm... I guess.”

"If you just buy a large and share it," Lance gestured to the cups sitting on the counter. "You can save about seven dollars."

The guy made a face at the proposition.

"I don't like sharing drinks." He mumbled.

"Why not?" Lance questioned.

The guy just shook his head. After a beat of silence, Lance cleared his throat and told the guy his total.

"Thanks." The guy said as his card was swiped and he bundled his food items into his arms.

"The name's Lance, by the way." Lance said with one of his signature smiles.

"I know." The guy says gesturing to the name tag attached to the front of Lance's uniform. Lance could have been mistaken, but it almost appeared as though the corners of the boy's lips twitched upwards.

"I'm Keith." The raven haired boy returned.

"Well, Keith," Lance addressed him directly, meeting those almost-purple eyes. "I hope this one goes better than the others." Lance gestures to where the other boy from earlier was returning to the lobby. Keith's faint smile disappeared from his face at the sight of him, almost as though he had forgotten about his date for a moment.

"Me too." He grumbled under his breath, just loud enough for Lance to hear. A glimmer of hope sparked in Lance's chest. Maybe he had a chance.

***

The next day was another long shift for Lance. Eleven AM to ten. The absolute worst. Lance's grumpiness was abated at the sight of a certain raven-haired beauty coming in through the glass doors. Keith had a new companion today. A blonde girl wearing a pink tank top who smacked her gum as they came in. If Lance wasn't mistaken, Keith looked even more perturbed than normal.

"Good afternoon!" Lance called from behind the counter. "Can I get you the usual?"

A glimmer of amusement cracked through Keith's grimace at the familiarity Lance conveyed.

"The usual?" The girl questions with another smack of her gum as Lance sets off to grab the treats.

"I come here a lot." Keith grumbles as means of explanation.

Lance returns to the counter with his prize.

"Can I get a Dr. Pepper?" The girl asks with a bored expression.

"We have self serve soda machines right over there." Lance says with an easy smile, gesturing around the corner of the concession stand. With a final smack the girl plucks one of the cups from the counter and stalks off towards the machines.

Lance let out a low whistle. "She's a piece of work."

To his surprise, Keith snorts.

"Yeah, I don't know where Allura and Shiro keep finding these people."

Lance raises a questioning eyebrow. Keith stutters as he realizes what he said.

"I don't.. I just mean... my brother and his girlfriend thought I should... date more..." Keith looks down at the glass counter-top as a light blush gathers on his cheeks.

"So that's what all these dates are about," Lance says with what he hoped was a comforting smile. "You're being set up." Somehow this comes as a relief to Lance. He had been worried his newfound crush was some kind of player. Keith shrugs, obviously embarrassed. Lance takes Keith's card and runs it through.

"Do you mind if I ask something?" Lance asks as he hands the credit card back.

"Sure," Keith mumbles.

"Why the movies? I mean it's kinda cliche, and it must get boring for you."

A small smile tugged at Keith's lips.

"Nah, I like movies," Keith admonished Lance's statement. "Plus, this way, I don't have to really talk to any of them."

Lance nods as he hands Keith his receipt. "That's fair."

The blonde girl returned from the machine with a cup brimming in brown soda. She hadn't bothered with a lid for some reason. Lance couldn't help the pit of dread that curled in his stomach at the prospect of mopping that up.

"Well, best of luck to you," Lance murmurs as Keith grabs the popcorn and disappears down one of the hallways towards the theaters.

"Dude. He is soooo into you," Hunk teases from his place at the popcorn maker.

"Whatever," Lance sighs as he checks the times the next set of movies gets out. A boy could wish.

***

Twenty minutes later, Lance was checking the soda cartridges in the self serve machine when a tap on his shoulder made him whirl around. Keith was standing behind him and looking a bit startled at Lance's sudden movement.

"Oh hey," Lance smiled at the realization of who it was. "The machine will be ready in a second, I just need to-"

"Actually I was wondering if you could do me a favor," Keith interrupted him without meeting his gaze.

Curiosity tickled at Lance's spine as he wiped soda residue on his uniform pants.

"Sure thing. What's the problem?"

"That girl I was with," Keith starts. His arms are crossed defensively, but he looks embarrassed. "She's been on her phone the whole time and I've asked her to put it away, but he won't listen to me and the people around us are getting antsy." Keith looks at Lance directly for the first time. "Do you think you could come in and, I don't know, scare her straight or something?" Keith finished.

"You want me to yell at your date?" Lance asks with a quirked eyebrow.

"Not yell at her..." Keith replied with wide eyes. "Just tell her she'll have to leave if she doesn't stop or something."

A smile split Lance's face at the embarrassed blush creeping up Keith's neck.

"Sure thing," Lance replied with a shrug. "I'd love to."

"Thanks," Keith sighed with relief.

Lance waited for a moment after Keith returned to the movie before walking in himself. Sure enough, the girl was sat a few rows from the back with her screen lighting up the room. Lance casually walked down the aisle between the seats until he was close enough to speak with her. He tapped her shoulder.

"Excuse me, Miss," Lance began in his best customer service voice. "I'm going to have to ask you to turn off your phone. We have a strict policy and if you do not turn it off, we will have to ask you to leave."

"You're not serious," The girl said around her wad of gum.

"Very serious." Lance smirked.

The girl harrumphed and stood with a flourish.

"Come on, Keith." She said much too loudly for the environment. "Let's go."

"I'm gonna stay," Keith mumbled.

"Excuse me?" The girl asked shrilly.

"I really wanted to see this movie," He whispers dejectedly.

"Fine," The girl snaps. In a flash she had grabbed her lidless drink from the cup holder and sloshed it onto Keith's head. "Good luck finding your own ride home."

Keith cringed underneath the rain of ice as the girl stalked out of the theater. The few other patrons of the theater turned back to the movie as the drama settled down.

"Oh man," Lance mumbled at the sight of Keith's sodden hair. "Let me help you get cleaned up."

The two boys soon found themuselves in the male restroom, running Keith's red jacket beneath the air dryer.

“Sorry about the mess," Keith mumbled as he ran a paper towel over his sticky mop of hair.

"Don't worry about it," Lance shrugged as he handed the jacket back to Keith.

"I'm actually off in a few minutes, so someone else will have to clean it."

"I'm also sorry about dragging you into that," Keith sighs gripping either side of the sink.

"Part of the job description," Lance replied. "Sounded like you need a ride, though?"

"Yeah," Keith affirms as he wrings out his shirt in the sink. "She offered to drive, so now I have no way home. I guess I could call my brother, but he'll be super upset about me botching another one of his stupid dates."

"If you don't mind waiting twenty minutes," Lance starts, struggling to mask his trepidation. "I can give you a ride in ol' Blue."

Twenty minutes later the pair were cruising down the highway in Lance's beat up pick up truck. It's robin-egg paint was splotched with rust and the interior always smelled like cigarettes despite the fact that Lance never smokes. Lance loved his car.With a wave, Keith disappeared into the apartment complex they had pulled up to. The piece of paper with Lance's number was presumably still tucked safely in his pocket. Lance couldn't help the giddy smile that split his face all the way home.

***

It was late. The last few shows of the night were just about to start when a familiar face walked in.

"What, no date today?" Lance asked mischievously as Keith approached his counter.

"Nope. Just me," Keith shrugged his jacket up against his shoulders. "I didn't exactly get to see the movie yesterday, so, I'm back."

"Makes sense," Lance nods. With a quick glance at the clock Lance punches an order into his screen.

"Two regular drinks and a large popcorn?" He asks with a conspiratorial look in Keith's direction.

"No. Just one drink," Keith corrects him with a furrowed brow.

I get off in five minutes." Lance punctuates his statement with a wink. A full smile breaks across Keith's face. The first one Lance can remember seeing.

"Keep the two regulars?" Lance asks as his finger hovers over the computer screen.

"Actually," Keith interrupts him with a twinkle in those violet eyes. "Make it one large"

THE END