#she should get to have frost on her skin as a treat

[wazzappp]

One fun little idea I love to pull off the shelf every once and a while: mutant Lisa with ice powers

[simplyholl]

Frozen Stiff

Summary: Captured by the Frost Giants, your time on Jotunheim gets interesting.

Pairing: Jotun Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI. Loss of virginity. Size kink. Somnophilia.

See my Masterlist here

You really did it this time. Your father instructed everyone stay in their homes this night. Loki, king of the Frost Giants had warned your father, King Erik, king of the elves that he would be coming through Alfheim. If anyone was caught outside, they would be considered an enemy, and taken prisoner.

Your father’s royal decree had went in one ear and out the other. You were considered a trouble maker. Not because of anything you had done consciously. Trouble seemed to follow wherever you went. You were so unlike your sister, the future queen of Alfheim, and no one let you forget that.

She was tucked away safely in her chambers with the door locked. Here you were, hiding in the bushes outside the palace. You wanted to get a good look at the Frost Giants. You had never seen one in person, and you didn’t think the view from your chambers would do them any justice.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the forest as they stomped through. The trees were shaking with each step they took, the force of their large bodies leaving holes in the ground where they walked. They were approaching quickly. You really should run back in the palace, but you were frozen. The first few Jotuns walk by and you’re stunned.

They are even bigger than you imagined. Then you see him, King Loki. He struts through and a wild thought comes to you. He’s beautiful. You had always been taught that the Frost Giants were ugly beasts that would take misbehaving children in the night. They seemed nice enough. King Loki had even given your father warning before passing through. He and the last three giants walk passed you and you count the seconds before you can run back inside.

Woof

You look beside you terrified. Your sister’s dog, Arnie, pants beside you, tail wagging.

Woof

He barks again. You grab him, trying your best to shush him. But it’s too late. He’s gained their attention. They turn back around, looking toward the bushes you are hiding in. You sink lower to the ground, trying to shove your body under the bush. You close your eyes, hoping if you can’t see them, they can’t see you.

But their footsteps shake the ground as they come closer. “What have we here?” One of them growls, picking you up with one hand. “We found a spy, your highness.”

“Bring him to me.” King Loki demands. You squeak as you are dropped from one huge hand into another. You shiver, the temperature of his skin is colder than you could have imagined. “Not a he, but a she.” He says amused, as he looks closely at you.

“What are you doing out here, little mouse? I warned your king that we would take anyone we found outside prisoner.” You swallow, trying to seem braver than you felt. “My father, King Erik, he did command the whole village to stay inside, your highness. I was simply curious and I wanted to see you for myself.”

Loki looks at you in the palm of his hand, amusement dancing on his features. “Your father, the king? So that makes you a princess? Are you the heir to the throne?” You shake your head. “No, your highness, that would be my sister.” You introduce yourself hoping it will get you out of this situation.

“A princess for a prisoner. What an interesting day it’s turning out to be.” He sneers. “No, wait!” You protest. He closes his hand around you, silencing you. When you arrive in Jotunheim, you are brought to a room with a giant bed, huge fluffy pillows, and a roaring fireplace. King Loki places you on the bed.

“This isn’t normally how I treat my prisoners, but you are still a princess. As long as you obey me, you may stay in this room and avoid the dungeon. You are free to walk around, and I will let everyone know that no harm is to come to you. Am I understood?”

“Yyyyesss” You stutter, you had been freezing the entire trip. You run to the fireplace, rubbing your hands together in an effort to get warm. Loki studies you, his red eyes lingering on your sheer nightgown. You really didn’t plan on getting captured when you went out, so you didn’t bother with putting on a proper dress.

You regret that decision now as his gaze lands on your breasts, heaving on your shaking form. He could see everything through the nightgown, and he was already looking, so you didn’t bother with attempting to cover yourself. “I’ll have someone make you proper clothing. In the meantime, there are extra blankets in the closet.” He walks out, leaving you with your thoughts.

Months had passed and you were settling into your new home. No one treated you like a prisoner, and you decided for once in your life to stay out of trouble. You had been given a job in the palace kitchen and you were making new friends. You were actually starting to like it here.

You giggle as your closest friend Marta, asks about your sex life. As a princess, you had to save yourself for whoever your father chose for you. You knew very little about the act itself. But Marta filled you in. She answered every question you had without judging you, and she even gave you some tips. The most shocking part was learning that a male might want to kiss you between your thighs. Marta told you there was nothing like it, so you couldn’t help fantasizing about it the rest of the day. When you laid your head down to rest, your tried to think of more questions for Marta.

The door to your room squeaked open. King Loki walked in, shutting it behind him. He gently removed the blankets from your sleeping form. You were wearing the nightgown from the first night you met him. He reaches out, his long finger grazing your nipple. The chill from his skin causing it to harden under his touch. You sigh from his attention, but don’t wake up. He carefully spreads your legs, laying down between them. His cold tongue meets your center, and you buck your hips toward him. He takes this as an invitation, long tongue lapping between your thighs.

You jump up, searching your room for him, but he’s not there. It was all a dream. You confide in Marta about it and she says it must be your conversation. It made its way into your subconscious. But you didn’t talk to Marta about it the next night when you had it or the next night. Weeks had passed and still, you had the same dream every night. It made it awkward for you when you had to serve King Loki his meals.

“King Loki has requested you serve his dessert in his chambers.” Marta told you, handing you the tray piled high with pastries, cakes, and fruit. You knock on his door, waiting for his instruction to enter. When he calls for you to come in, you bow to him. “My king, I’ve brought your dessert.” He’s propped up on his bed, gesturing for you to place it on a table by the window.

He’s so big, he nearly takes up all the room on the large bed. His muscled blue form has been the object of your fantasies for a while now. “Remove your dress, and get on the bed.” He demands. You drop the metal tray on the table. “Excuse me, your highness. I must have misheard you.”

He pats the bed, “You heard correctly, little mouse. I know you desire me. You dream of me every night. I’m only rewarding your good behavior.” You fight the urge to pinch yourself. You must be dreaming. “How did you know about that?” You manage to mumble. “I know all, little one. You can hide nothing from me.”

He beckons you with his thick finger. You do as he instructed, removing your dress and getting on the bed with him. He lifts you with one hand, hovering you above his face. “Wha- what are you doing?” You stammer. “I’m having my dessert.” He quips placing you on his mouth. His long, cold tongue covers your center. You shiver from the chill. His velvety muscle curls beneath your clit, flicking it.

He treats you like a porcelain doll, holding you as if you might break. He could easily crush you without trying. You really were like his own personal doll. He enters your untouched flesh with his tongue, rocking you back and forth on it. Your small hands wrap around his fingers, trying to ground yourself. He drinks you like it’s water, the icy muscle tipping you over the edge, making your toes curl.

He suddenly tosses you on your back, his bulky form trapping you beneath him. He settles between your thighs. They start aching as he spreads them as wide as he can. It’s still not wide enough to accommodate him. So he pushes your knees to your chest, his gigantic cock nudging your center.

The thought of ruining such a small, delicate woman driving him mad with lust. “I’ll split you in half, little mouse. You would like that wouldn’t you?” Your still dazed from your orgasm, so you only hum in response. “My sweet princess is cock drunk and she hasn’t had any cock yet.” You nod, reaching for him. “I am the first to touch you, correct?” Another hum to confirm.

You gasp when he dips a large finger inside you, curling it upwards. “I have to get you ready.” He explains. As he works his skilled finger inside you, you rock your hips, hungry for more. You whine as he removes his digit from you, but you’re not left wanting for long. He thrusts into you, and you scream. He stretches you, and you try to adjust to his size. You feel him bottom out and you wiggle to get more comfortable.

Tears fall down your cheeks, the stinging not subsiding. “My poor princess. I’m too much for her. It’s only the tip, my sweet girl.” He gently traces the outline of his cock bulging in your stomach. Loki presses on it. “I can see myself protruding out of your stomach, little one. Do you know how feral that makes me? Such a small creature struggling to take the head of my cock.”

He tilts his hips, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. Goosebumps line your arms when you feel his breath on your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, my little princess. You feel incredible. I’ll keep you forever, my little plaything.” You whimper at his words, a gush of arousal soaking him. He moans, looking at your fucked out expression. He wraps his enormous hand around your waist, thrusting you down on him, faster.

Loki roars as he releases inside you. He pulls out, spreading your now limp legs. “I want to see me dripping out of you.” He lowers his head, black tresses covering your stomach as his icy tongue laps at you once more. “What a delicious mess you made.” He coos.

Tags

@fictive-sl0th @lokisgoodgirl @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @coldnique @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @peaches1958 @freegardenbanananeck @chantsdemarins @lokidokieokie @l0ki3000 @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lamentis-10 @loz-3 @litaloni @lulubelle814 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @avengersfan25 @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @xorpsbane @mybugabomlb @bunny24sstuff @luthien-elvenia-asher @gruftiela @itsybitchylittlewitchy @asgards-princess-of-mischief @weirdothatwritess

[katebishopsbow]

ENIGMA • OSCAR PIASTRI

pairing: oscar piastri x reader (18+)

summary: your best friend's brother seems to always be keeping a friendly distance from you. intrigued by how reserved and quiet he is, you devise an evil little plan to make him lose control and uncover the facade behind his polite smiles and curt greetings.

warnings: sexual content (minors dni), sub!oscar, praising, corruption kink, finger sucking, spit, handjob

word count: 3k

(image is not mine)

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Oscar Piastri is an enigma, a riddle you yearn to solve.

You see him occasionally whenever you visit your best friend’s house, purposefully lingering later in the night to catch a glimpse of her brother coming home from practice. He would give you a small smile, and make some light conversations with you and his sister before excusing himself upstairs in hurried steps.

He is always so quiet, so shy and closed off, always keeping a friendly distance from you as if getting too close would burn. It intrigues you more than anything, and maybe a wicked part of you wants to unveil the secrets hiding behind that facade of polite smiles and friendly greetings. You want to see him lose control – to be the one to make him lose control.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Oscar comes home from an exhausting day of practice – muscle sore, completely starving, and in desperate need of a quiet, relaxing night. When he enters the kitchen to get some water, he’s surprised to see you there alone wearing a rather flimsy top that reveals more skin than usual, with his sister nowhere in sight. “Oh – hey,” he greets politely like he always does, shooting you a half smile as he trains his eyes on your face instead of your revealing neckline. 

What a gentleman, right? 

“Hey, Oscar,” you return the smile, your mind already coming up with a devious plan to break his resolve. “Is Olivia here?” he asks as he glances around the house, searching for signs of his sister since the two of you are almost always inseparable. “Something came up. She told me to wait for her here, said she’ll be back in an hour,” you say to him, to which he answers with a quick nod of his head, “Oh, okay, cool.” Classic Oscar, always so reserved and never uttering more than a few words to you. Yet this only manages to fuel your desire to discover what’s hiding underneath and watch him lose his composure.

With a friendly smile, you gesture at the tray of chocolate cupcakes on the counter in front of you and say, “I brought over some cupcakes. Try them!” Oscar’s eyes almost light up at the sight of the sugary treat. The only things he has eaten during the day are a protein shake and a turkey sandwich he packed this morning that did nothing to keep him full, so the boy immediately picks one up and gives it a huge bite, eyes widening at how delicious they are. “These are good!” 

How cliche, you think as you stare at the chocolate frosting at the corner of his mouth. 

“You have a little something on your…” you let out a giggle as you point at his lips, and with an embarrassed grimace, Oscar hurriedly wipes at his mouth with his hands. He’s about to bring his thumb up to his lips when you suddenly stop him, grabbing onto his wrist mid-air as he tilts his head in confusion. “Uhh – what are you…?” he questions with a puzzled look and furrowed eyebrows, and his words fall to silence when he watches you slowly bring his hand toward your face.

Oscar feels like he’s suffocating, like his head is being submerged in deep waters as your lips slowly fall open, tongue darting out to give his finger a kitten lick, just to test his reaction. He supposes he should be tugging his hand back, pushing you off of him frantically, but he feels like he physically can’t, or maybe he simply doesn’t want to. 

So when he doesn’t pull away in disgust and freaks out like a part of you expects him to, you take it as a sign to continue your devious little plan. Oscar can feel his stomach drop, his breath catching in his throat like all the oxygen has left his body, especially when you smirk and envelop his entire finger into your mouth. 

“What are you doing…” he asks in a breathy groan as he tries his damned hardest to recompose himself, holding back the desperate urge to moan at the way you hollow out your cheeks and suck until the tip of his finger just grazes the back of your throat. Fuck, why the fuck does this feel so good already? Something about the haze in your eye makes a chill run down his spine – dangerous and a little twisted, and it’s enough to make Oscar want to surrender himself to you in whatever ways possible, in whatever ways you’d take him.

Every rational thought inside his head is telling him to stop, screaming at him to put an end to whatever madness this is. This is insane, absolutely ridiculous, and you two really shouldn’t be doing this. His sister can be home at any minute, not to mention that he definitely shouldn’t be doing such sinful acts with his sister’s best friend. Unfortunately, his body is betraying him and the tightness in his pants is a clear enough indicator that his facade is starting to crumble. He’s losing control and he knows it, and maybe it’s about time that he realizes how utterly screwed he is. 

When you finally pull off of him, a string of spit connects his finger to your glossy lips, and Oscar almost moans at the lewd sight. “Fuck…” The sigh that falls from his lips makes you smile, because while he will never admit this, you can tell that he’s secretly enjoying whatever you are doing to him. 

Feeling courageous, you move closer toward the boy until your bodies press directly against each other, feeling the radiating heat from his skin through the layers of clothes he has yet to change out of. You lean in to plant a kiss on his neck, and another, and another, suckling on the delicate skin until a purplish-blue bruise begins to form when you feel Oscar wordlessly tilting his head to allow you more access. In the corner of your eye, you can see him biting down on his lips as if he’s trying his hardest to stifle his sounds, and you can’t have that, no. 

You need to hear him, to listen to the way you’re affecting him while drinking in every little whine and plea of his until he comes. So you allow your hand to slide, trailing along the soft lines of his chest and abs until it reaches the hemline of his jeans. Oscar squeezes his eyes shut in anticipation, waiting for you to touch him where he needs you the most, yet that feeling never comes. “What?” he asks breathily when his eyes flutter open once again and is greeted by a grin on your face he would only describe as evil, calculative, as if you have everything planned out in your mind already – which isn’t exactly far off from the truth.

“You want me to touch you, Osc?” you say to him, voice sweet and mellow, knowing damn well what his answer is going to be. The bulge over his pants is rather prominent, and it must not have felt very nice under the confinement of his jeans, but you just want to hear him say it. You need to hear him admit it, that he wants this, that he wants you just as much as you want him – and also just to tease him a little.

Oscar nods his head, wishfully hoping that this is somehow enough since his ego won’t allow him to say anything more. To no avail, you shake your head at his silent response. “Yes or no, baby?” The nickname has him inhaling a shuddering breath, his head becoming foggy with lust and the burning need to be properly touched by you. It hurts – he’s so hard and his jeans are so tight, and all he wants is your fingers and lips around him. 

All he needs to do is say the word, just say that he wants it and you will give him everything he needs and more, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud, he just can’t do it. Maybe it is his headstrong personality, but Oscar doesn’t beg for anything. He never has to beg for anything that he wants, he simply works for it and gets it. Good grades, his parents’ approval, sponsorships, karting and race wins. He doesn’t beg – never has and never will – but god does he want to get on his knees and beg for you right now.

He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know that he’s having an inner battle within himself, so you decide to be nice and give him a little… push. “Please, baby, please let me touch your cock. Let me make you feel good, Osc,” you pout your lips and look at him with the most desperate, pleading eyes ever, and he swears he is genuinely going to pass out.

Oscar likes to think he is in control most of the time, laid back and calm even in the most unpredictable times. Nothing can ever faze him, and he takes pride in that. But as he stands here before you, pushed back into the kitchen counter as you beg to jerk him off with the prettiest pair of eyes, every ounce of inhibition and self-control has suddenly evaporated from his body. 

So he lets himself go, and he lets you take – whatever you want. “Please, I want it,” he gasps out a strained whine as he returns the same pleading expression, shoving whatever “I never beg” principle he used to have to the very back of his mind and lets himself have this, lets himself have you. “Good boy.” Your words coax a breathy moan out of him, loud and unashamed and almost pornographic. You haven’t even properly touched him, and yet he already feels like he’s been completely taken apart by you, with every single part of his body humming in anticipation.

“Unbuckle your pants for me, baby.” Oscar doesn’t need to hear it twice, rushed hands fumbling with his belt to pull down his zipper, his eagerness endearingly funny. He looks at you with awaiting eyes after he’s done, trying his best to be patient as he waits for your next instructions. Placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, you slowly slip your hand into his pants, delicate fingers wrapping around the length of Oscar’s erection. Fucking finally, he thinks to himself.

His face contorts in pleasure when you begin tightening your hand, giving him a few unhurried, lazy strokes up and down his cock. “Argh… holy fucking shit…” Oscar isn’t normally much of a swearer, but he can’t seem to control himself nor the words spilling from his lips when your fingers feel so good around him. 

He lets out a displeased whine when you abruptly remove your hand from his jeans, staring at you with dazed eyes as you bring it in front of his mouth. “Spit,” you order, and Oscar being the good boy that he is, immediately obliges, gathering the saliva in his mouth and letting it dribble down to your palm. “That’s my good boy.” Using Oscar’s spit as lube, your hand returns to its original placement and begins moving, this time with much firmer strokes.

Oscar’s eyes snap close at the electrifying sensation, and he feels like his brain is melting inside his head from the overbearing pleasure that envelops him. Every muscle, every bone, every fiber of his entire being tingles with nerves, and your hand feels so warm and slippery and tight and so, so fucking good. He wonders if he’s dreaming, if he’ll suddenly come to his senses and wake up from whatever fever dream this is with a sticky mess under his covers.

The thing is, you have always been gorgeous. Oscar has eyes, and he cannot lie and say that he has never ogled at you when came over to their house and had your back turned, or that he never allowed his mind to wander in the late hours at night as he thinks about you indecent ways – ways a boy should never think about his sister’s best friend. He knows how wrong this entire thing is, with your fingers around him as he moans at how good you’re making him feel, but he doesn’t ever want to stop. So he prays, ever so solemnly to whatever higher power out there that this is real, that you are real, and please please please he just needs you to stroke him faster.

“Please, faster, I need – I need more!” 

Now how could you ever say no to him when he looks so good writhing in your arms like this? So you pick up the speed, pumping his cock in faster strokes and occasionally thumbing against the slit when you reach the head. “Does it feel good, Osc?” Oscar frantically nods his head at your question, gasping out strings of barely coherent curses under his breath, “Yes, yes, fuck! It feels so good, so fucking good…” 

“Good boy… I bet it does,” you lean down to brush a kiss on his jaw, relishing in the whiny moans that never stop spilling from his raw, bitten lips. “You’re my good boy, aren’t you?” Oscar nods again, eyes rolling to the back of his head whenever you draw teasing circles over his frenulum. but you want to hear him say it, to admit that he’s yours. “Say it,” you repeat yourself, purposefully slowing down the movements of your hand as you await his answer.

“I’m your good – boy!” he breathes out in a groan, wanting more than anything to be good for you. “That’s right, baby, you’re my pretty boy,” you whisper into his ear, and it’s nothing but the truth. With his hips bucking up into your hand in a desperate chase of pleasure as wonton moans never stop falling from his parted lips, Oscar has never looked prettier. Not the kind of pretty that makes you want to take him out to dinner and kiss him under the moonlight, but the kind of pretty that makes you want to take him apart and put him back together, to ruin him and make his eyes roll to the back of his head until he remembers nothing but your name.

You can tell Oscar is getting close with the way his breathing picks up and how he frantically grabs onto your hips just for something to hold onto. He’s jerked himself off before, plenty of times, but he has never felt anything like this – how you’re able to turn him into a malleable, whimpering mess with just a few deft strokes. It’s unfair how stupid-good your hands are, Oscar thinks to himself. Somehow he can’t find it in himself to be upset about it though, not when he’s too occupied with falling apart in your arms. 

“You’re gonna be a good boy and come all over my fingers, Osc?” Oscar barely manages to nod, making an almost begging noise in the process, and perhaps he would be embarrassed if it isn’t for how fucking turned on and insatiable he feels. “Yeah? You’re gonna come for me and watch me swallow every drop, baby?” Fuck, he is definitely not going to last when you’re muttering straight-up filth into his ears. 

When his eyes flutter close, he lets his imagination run wild the way he always does when he lies in his bed, hand stuffed into his pants while fantasizing about his sister’s best friend. He imagines you getting on your knees, opening your mouth with your tongue sticking out and waiting patiently as he spills all over you. He imagines your face covered in his come – so filthy and sinful – and you scoop them up with your fingers before sliding them inside your mouth. He imagines coming inside of you, warm and tight and so perfect for him. “I wish you were inside me instead, Osc,” you breathe into his ear, and that’s when he feels himself tipping over the edge.

Broken gasps and breathy whimpers are all Oscar can manage as his body overrides with pleasure – pure and utter euphoria that sends strikes of lighting down his spine. The pace of his hips stutters, and he thrusts up into your fingers once, twice, until his come splatters all over your hand, making a complete mess. Lines of white trickle down between your fingers, and he’s still desperately trying to catch his breath when you lift your hand and bring it to your lips. “Jesus fucking Christ…” he groans at the filthy sight of you sucking your fingers clean, lapping up his come and swallowing down everything with a teasing smirk.

You gently thumb at the streak of white that has spilled from the corner of your mouth, swipe it away and bring it to Oscar’s lips. Eager to please and obedient as ever, he parts his lips and lets you push your finger into his mouth, licking the taste of himself away. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise him softly, rubbing teasing circles over his glossy lips upon removing your finger. Oscar pouts, silently looking at you with eyes that say “Please kiss me” and you just have to reward him after everything, right?

Slowly, you lean in and press a kiss on his awaiting lips, feeling the way Oscar’s mouth falls open so willingly and melts into you without second thoughts. He isn’t a particularly great kisser, but it’s precisely his unskilled and inexperienced movements that make him so, so addictive. The thought of being the one to ruin him, to teach him all the ways you can make him feel good, to be the one to uncover his facade and make him lose control is exactly why you will never get enough of him. Now that you’ve seen him lose control, you don’t think you can ever stop. You can never stay away from him, and neither can he.

“Until next time, pretty boy.

[skellseerwriting]

Fab 5 Sleepover Headcanons!

Based on these headcanons by me

Every week or two they have a sleepover in Uliana’s dorm (she has the room to herself and has the biggest mattress)

Usually they start off with watching a cheesy classic movie on a projector

They make fun of the movie the whole time and will throw popcorn at it

secretly though, they really enjoy watching them

Whenever it’s a Friday Sleepover, Uliana will mock Bridget with a “we’re having a sleep over tonight and you’re not invited.” Because whenever she does, Bridget will bake treats for their sleepover (not because she wants to be invited, but because she wants them to have fun)

Uli will answer the door in her duck pjs to grab the tray of food with “You’re still not invited!” without so much as a “thanks” (in a strange way, that is her way of saying thanks)

While shoving a cupcake down her mouth, Uliana will ramble about Bridget: “she’s awful” *eats cupcake* “I hate her” *takes another bite* “Her baking is terrible” *mouth full of frosting* “Who’d ever like that loser”

They all tend to gossip, however it’s mostly Uli complaining about Bridget

Once she reaches a fuming point, the others will start Karaoke

I imagine it’s either cheesy love songs or emotional ones about heartbreak, then they move onto music they like to headbang too (think “Bring me to Life” by Evanescence)

They clamber all around the room like little gremlins, using hairbrushes and lamps as microphones and guitars

Stuff WILL get broken

I think everyone has a different kind of song they like to do solos for

Maleficent likes to sing stuff that’s slow and eery (though one song I can imagine her singing is W.I.T.C.H.)(she would listen to Billie Eillish if her music existed at the time)

Hades will choose heavy metal he can scream to (put example here)

Hook will either go with a sea shanty or like, dark romance(?)(I was thinking like Stalker’s Tango)

Morgie will choose upbeat pop I think (such as High School Musical songs like “I don’t dance”, which he’ll duet with Hook)

Uliana will sing anything that’ll let her show off her pipes, or make her feel powerful (such as “Everybody Loves me” and “You should see me in a crown”)

To relax a little after that, Maleficent and Morgie will help everyone with face masks and cucumber slices to get a patented 15 minutes of vocal silence and music

”This is stupid-“ “Zip” “who likes-“ “shUT”

after washing their masks off they officially begin skin care with Hook and Morgie at the helm, who try to take a whole hour

due to the others complaining it’s more like 30 minutes

Right after that everyone does each other’s nails (black, usually), and bust out the hair curlers

With curly hair, Maleficent looks majestic, Hook looks fabulous, Hades’ hair looks ridiculous down, Uli’s barely waves, and Morgie just reverts to Peder Lindell

When they try and get ready for bed, that’s when Morgie will start a pillow fight. It quickly turns into chaos and ends with everyone vs. Uliana because she gets 8 pillows with her tentacles (she’s too overpowered)

it’ll always end once Morgie crashes asleep from over-exhaustion. after that, they’ll roll him onto the circle bed in the center of the room

they all cuddle to sleep, so they’ve devised a method for it

Uliana is in the middle so those on the side of her can use blankets (Uli sleeps hot, so she doesn’t use them)

Morgie and Hades are by the edge to lessen the chance of Hades hitting someone in his sleep, and Morgie from making someone fall off the bed (so it’s usually himself falling off now when it happens)

Once everyone’s in place and holding their respective plushies, Uli will bring out her tentacles and rest them over the blankets (it feels like a weighted blanket)

Then, Maleficent uses her sleeping spell she developed to put everyone to sleep, so that they don’t move around too much (it’s hard to fit everybody on the bed) and also keeps Uliana’s tentacles from moving and knocking into people

Once it’s morning time, Hook and Mali wake up first and go to bring breakfast back for the others

Morgie and Hades don’t wake up until Uli starts stirring and her tentacles begin hitting them

Then they laze around until noon, helping each other pick out outfits for the day, talking about the fun they had last night, and ideas for the next sleepover

[octavian-is-pretty-cool]

This story is a short fanfic about the second PJO series: Heroes of Olympus.

This will be written as a sequel where instead of dying, Octavian lives.

I had woken up in screaming agony. My skin felt like it had been removed from my body; my limbs were sore and numb at the same time. It was like I had been pelted with rocks while being burnt alive and was now facing the aftermath. I couldn’t figure out where I was at the time or what led to the state of injury I was in. My surroundings were hardly distinguishable due to the lack of light. I was able to make out some trees, a moon, and a soft dirt path (which he was laying on). It turned out that I was in a forest.

I was covered in my own blood and dirt, while what once was molten gold had fused to my burnt skin. I still don’t know how long I was in that forest before I woke, but I assume it was a good 4 days. I could barely walk. My one leg was terribly sore, while my other leg was broken. I had begun to crawl to a nearby rock. I remember praying to you to give me some clarity on the events that had led up to this. If I had been left for dead or if my own choices landed me here, I didn’t know and it was killing me.

I had crawled for what seemed forever, for the rock was just a bush and I couldn’t sit on that. I had begun hearing voices. Cheering and laughing and talking and moving around. Then I heard a name that brought back every memory that I had lost.

“Percy Jackson”

Normally I would’ve been engraved by his name, but at the time I felt fear. I remembered the war, the ship, the blood, Gaia, and the canon I was shot out of. Instead of anger, I felt fear. I knew where I was. I was in the forest of Camp half-blood with the Graeca. Those fuckers were going to kill me if they found me in the forest. But it was too late. I had crawled too close and someone found me. It was a mean looking girl, around my age. She went right up in my face.

“You’re Octavian, aren’t you?”

She asked me, although she said it more like a statement. I nodded my head and she grabbed my shoulder.

“Stand up.”

She spat at me. I shook my head yet again. The girl lifted me up, causing me to wince, and tried to force me to stand. I fell back down again. It’s not like I wanted to stay on the floor, I just couldn’t. She kept yelling at me to stand up, kicking me in the side and probing me with a spear. Some of the others were coming near, the rest of the graeca going quiet. I mustered up the energy to speak.

“Look, if you’re going to kill me, do it now.”

It hurt to speak. My mouth and throat were so dry. The words came out scratchy and slurred, since my jaw was hurting as well. The girl looked at me and laughed. The others were surrounding me, I noticed. They were mumbling my name and what I think was the other girl’s name, Clarisse. They began to poke at me, jokingly, trying to get my attention. Clarisse picked me and draped me over her shoulder.

“Can someone else take him?”

“No way, he’s cold as hell!”

“Jack Frost who?”

“Shut up and stay focused.”

“What are we going to do with him?”

“Take him to Chiron, obviously.”

“No we’re not. Will’s going to insist on treating him.”

“Yeah, this bitch can't even stand, what makes you think he can go to Chiron.”

“Some of his skin looks burnt.”

“There’s also gold on him.”

“He looks like an abuse victim.”

“Adam, you can’t just say that.”

“It’s true though.”

“I mean, obviously he looks like this. He was shot out of a cannon.”

“Him and Percy should kiss. They’ll have a heart-warming reunion.”

“I’d kill to see that.”

“You’d kill just for fun.”

I listened as they had a small conversation. I would have rather died than get treated at Camp Half-Blood. I heard the murmur of the rest of the group and could see the ground being illuminated by a fire. I was now in the presence of the rest of the Graeca. Once again, the collective question of “Is that Octavian?” Had started up again. I had been dropped on the ground near the pit. I didn’t even realize how cold I really was until then, the fire making me feel instantly better. I ignored the raging pain coursing through my body, the murmurs of the Graeca, and the possibility of being murdered just to soak up the new-found warmth. That girl, Clarisse, and Adam, I think, were explaining my condition as far as they knew.

At least one broken leg, severe burns, dehydration, bruises, and potential hypothermia. I felt someone kneel down to my face. I couldn’t open my eyes even if I wanted to. Whoever it was trying to talk to me. They were saying my name and poking my face. Everything after that was a blur as I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up on a hard bed in a dimly lit room. My body bandaged up.

I could lift one of my legs, but the other one was completely numb. I knocked my other leg against it, so I could make sure it was still there. I could see some light peeking through the curtains, meaning that it was now morning. I could feel my throat slowly killing me. I looked around the room. There was no chance of escape and I knew it. I was crippled and stuck in an unfamiliar place that I’ve only been to in a midst of chaos. The people here didn’t like me, and I didn’t like me.

‘I’m going to be poisoned. They’re going to kill me. These Graeca are only keeping me alive for information.”

I lied there in misery, overthinking my impending doom. I had failed to notice the voices outside the door. Their voices were muffled by the door, and with every passing minute my anxiety rose. Finally, the door opened, and my body tensed up.

In came an older looking centaur with silver hair and a rough beard. He was followed by some other kids around the same age as me. I didn’t recognize any of them at first. I did see Will and Nico, and later on Jackson. The person that surprised me was Jason. I pretended not to notice him as I stared the centaur in the eyes.

I won’t lie to you and say that I wasn’t scared, of course I was, but I can proudly say that I didn’t show it. Likewise, I refused to let myself appear vulnerable to those Graeca. The room was silent. No one dared speak. There was the sound of someone clearing their voice.

“How are you feeling, Octavian?”

I looked towards Will, whose voice I recognized. He didn’t have that same harsh glare as the others, instead he looked concerned. That didn’t stop me from being wary of his intentions.

“I’m fine.”

It was all I could manage. My throat was still dry as hell and my jaw hurt. He didn’t seem convinced by my claim, the scratchiness of my voice only confirming his suspicions. Will reached into his bag and pulled out a plastic water bottle. It was probably filled with someone’s spit or laced with magic of sorts. You should never trust a Graeca, especially in a moment of weakness.

I shook my head and tried my best to push his hand away.

“You need water, boy.”

The centaur took the water out of Will’s hand and gave it back to me. Normally I had more fight in me when it came to resistance, yet I caved in immediately when that man gave me the water. In hindsight, it was a foolish move. It could’ve been a poison or a drug. There was no real promise that it was water, or if the water was safe to drink. It didn’t matter, though. I remember drinking the bottle slowly, as if I was looking out for a weird taste or feeling as I drank it. As thirsty as I was, I only drank half the bottle, despite Will urging me to drink more.

“You’re dehydrated Octavian. You need more than that one water bottle, and a heck of a lot more than just half.”

“Will, leave him be. He’s not our friend.”

“Yes, but he’s my patient.”

“That tried to kill us.”

“So did the other Romans.”

“That’s different. It doesn’t matter if they did.”

“Well, I’m sorry for caring about people, Percy.”

I watched silently, growing more restless by the second. I desperately wanted the water, but I knew better than to finish the rest of it. Instead of listening to Will and Jackson, I studied the faces of the others. They were either focused on those two idiots bickering or studying my body. I suddenly became very self-conscious of my body. My shirt was off, exposing my chest and torso. My skin has always been paper-white and my body skinny. So skinny, in fact, that you could see my rib cage even when I’m wearing a shirt. I looked down at myself, disgusted by the burnt flesh and ugly bruises. I had a feeling that I would not be leaving this camp for a while.

Being so distracted by my own self, I failed to notice Jason coming up to me on the other side of the bed. He tapped my bandaged shoulder, making me flinch.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.”

“Sure.”

“No I’m serious.”

“Whatever. What do you want?”

“Some of the people in Camp Jupiter had dropped this off.”

Now listen here, no one will ever be able to imagine the mix of emotions that I felt when Jason pulled out my bear, not even you. His name’s Tiberius and he’s been with me ever since I got to Camp Jupiter. Tiberius is an old-stuffed bear that I carried around with me back in my Augur days. He remained latched to my belt at all times. I had left him at home (Camp) because I was convinced that we would’ve won the battle.

I shakily reached out to Tiberius with my good arm. I didn’t even notice the silence that now filled the room.

“I was going to wash him, but I didn’t have the time.”

“That’s okay, he’s perfect.”

“Why did you leave Tiberius at home?”

“I thought I would be going back.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that someone thought of you enough to bring here instead.”

“Yeah, it is. Thank you, Jason.”

“No problem dude.”

Looking back, I wish that I would have given him a more meaningful thanks during the few moments where we were alone. The time of my reuniting with Tiberius was certainly not one of them.

I put my toy bear right next to me in bed as the others continued to watch. Eventually, the centaur spoke again. He said that he thinks that I’m in the right headspace to be interrogated later on in the week. The rest of the group left shortly after we agreed on a time. The only people left were Will and Jason. Will pulled out a chart and began to check off some things as Jason sat down at the edge of the bed, twiddling his thumbs. There was a lot that I wanted to say to him at that moment. Like, “Why did you betray me?” “How could you befriend the Greeks?” “Are you still praetor in Camp Jupiter?” “Is my title as Augur still there?” “Do you see me as a friend or an enemy?” and most importantly, “I’m sorry.” Of course, I never spoke these thoughts aloud, and still to this day I wish that I had. Jason then turned towards me.

“Hey, Octavian. I need to ask you some-.”

He was cut off by that damn Graeca.

“Sorry to interrupt Jason, but I really need to fill out this medical chart for him.”

“That’s fine, Will, I’ll ask another time.”

But he never did. Here and there he looked like he was about to say something to me but would always stop himself. Other times, when around people, he would constantly get interrupted.

Days turned into weeks, and I was finally able to move around with more freedom. I hadn’t really interacted with most of the Graeca since I was kept in the Big House instead of the infirmary. I still had refused to eat with the others and was reluctant to talk to any of them. It didn’t seem to matter to most. It was decided that since they could forgive the rest of the Romans, they could sort-of forgive me too. The only part that I was happy about was not being treated like a criminal. I was too tired and weak to do anything anyway. I mean, what much can a crippled legacy do in a situation like this? That’s right, nothing.

Later on, I was given the “good behavior” sentence and was allowed to go back to Camp Jupiter. The only problem was that it was being run by Frank and Hazel, who didn’t want me back. And that’s what led up to where I am now. I’m at home with my parents and siblings. They were disappointed in the loss of the war, but pissed at my exclusion from Camp Jupiter. I continued my last year of high school and graduated 5 months ago. Now I’m in college and studying law. My leg had never fully recovered, and I have since lost all contact with Roman and Greek life.

Although just earlier today I received a note from Jason and Reyna asking if I was able to head over to Camp Half-Blood.

Apollo, I beg of you, just one more chance. You now know what had happened to me after the war. I had faced my punishment, and I’m now ready for redemption. You don’t have to write me back, or visit me in a dream. Just please Apollo, please give me a sign that you’re here and bless me with your guidance.

-Octavian

[supercap2319]

Baby It’s Cold Outside

A/N: Should I make a part 2?

Tyler’s face lit up like a Christmas tree as he handed the little girl her hot cocoa, along with a cookie shaped like Santa Claus. Her eyes shined with child-like innocence as she glanced down at the sugary treat covered in red, black, and white frosting. “Mommy look! It’s Santa Claus.”

The girl’s mother smiled. “It is, Reagan. Tell the nice man bye.”

The little girl waved. “Bye.”

Tyler smiled back. “Bye and merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

The girl and her mother left as Tyler went back to cleaning his counter before taking more orders for the people here at the Weathervane. He was in the middle of fixing a customer’s latte using the espresso machine as it created a thick, warm fog as he poured the steaming milk into the coffee. He looked up and almost spilled the hot drink all over his hand at the smiling face peeking out through the fog. The person had skin like a human’s, but the rest of him was quite different. He had green hues of color mixed in with his natural (insert hair color here.) His sunny disposition was one of the reasons Tyler loved him so much. His boyfriend, Y/N Munster.

“Holy crap, Y/N!”

Y/N didn’t seem bothered by the fact that he just scared the shit out of his boyfriend. It was cute when Tyler got all worked up and scared like that. “Hey, Ty. How’s it going?”

“Umm… it’s going well.” He glanced at the clock. It was 12 in the afternoon. “Shouldn’t you be at Nevermore? Not that I’m not happy to see you. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I’m finished with all my classes, and now I can enjoy my winter break.” Y/N moved away from the steamer as Tyler gave the customer their ordered latte, before turning back to Y/N. “So, what brings you by?”

Y/N held up a brown paper bag and held it out for Tyler to take. “Here. An early Christmas present for the Weathervane customers.” The barista took the bag and looked inside as he grabbed the contents of it. He held in his hand a bag of… marshmallows? Tyler looks from the white, puffy marshmallow to Y/N. “Marshmallows? Thanks, Y/N. That’s very sweet of you.” He flashed his boyish smile.

“Oh, they’re not regular marshmallows,” Y/N said.

Tyler frowned and opened the bag as he grabbed one of the fluffy spongy treats. He examined it close. It looks like a marshmallow. Even smells like a regular marshmallow. So, what did Y/N mean when he said…

Suddenly, without warning, the marshmallow opened its three eyes and grew six white legs as it began to crawl up Tyler’s arm. “Oh, shit!” He knocked the marshmallow spider from his arm as it rolled onto the counter. Tyler watched with curious fascination as the spider-like marshmallow got up and glared at Tyler with its three eyeballs. Y/N swiped the mutated treat and popped it into his mouth like it was no big deal.

Tyler honestly would have been sick or disturbed if he wasn't used to the different tendencies of his hybrid boyfriend. “Umm, what was that?”

“They're marshmallow spiders. Perfect for scalding cocoa. Especially the way they jump inside your cup. It’s the cutest thing.”

“Well, thank you for bringing them to me. I’m sure the customers will love them,” Tyler said.

“You’re welcome. Though, I must confess that’s not the only reason why I’m here,” Y/N said.

Tyler raised an eyebrow curiously. “Oh? What’s that?”

“What time is your break?”

“In 15 minutes.”

“Good. I’ll tell you then.”

“Sounds great. You want your usual?” Tyler asked his boyfriend.

“Yes, please. Scalding cocoa with a death by chocolate muffin. Extra death.”

Tyler chuckles as he makes his boyfriend’s order.

Fifteen minutes later, Tyler finds Y/N in the same position he had left him in when he brought him his order. The young man had chocolate all over his mouth as he wiped it away with a napkin. It was the cutest sight ever, as it made Tyler smile. It was unthinkable to believe that Y/N was the son of Frankenstein’s monster and a vampire, with a little witch magic on the side. He was honestly the best person that Tyler knew, and he didn’t deserve him after all he did as the Hyde.

Tyler took the seat across from him as the illumination of the Christmas lights bathed them in their spectrum of colors. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Y/N took a sip of his hot beverage as he looked into Tyler’s baby blues. “I wanted to ask if you'd come home with me for Christmas?”

Tyler looks at him like he misheard him. “What? You want me to come with you for Christmas?”

Y/N nods his head. “Yeah, I know this is probably a stupid thing to ask, because you probably already have Christmas plans with your dad, right?”

That question caught Tyler off guard. Sure, he and his dad celebrated Christmas, just not together. For as long as he can remember, Tyler and his dad have never spent Christmas in the same room together. Sheriff Galpin was always working, and the holidays were no different. He would leave Christmas Eve and wouldn’t return home until late Christmas Day. Leaving Tyler to open his Christmas presents and eat Christmas dinner by himself. It was very depressing.

Despite the unfortunate circumstances of the lack of family during the holidays, Tyler loved Christmas. The snow. The decoration. The wrapping of presents. He loved it all, and he was a bit surprised that Y/N wanted to invite him to his house for Christmas. According to all the dating sites and information on google; a person was supposed to wait six months before introducing their girlfriend or boyfriend to their family. And they have only been together for two, but it felt like a really long time. It made Tyler’s heart all warm and fuzzy inside. Sure, Y/N and his family were different from everyone else, but that's what Tyler loved about his boyfriend. That he didn't care that he was different from the normies, or that Tyler was half monster.

The Galpin boy must have been thinking for a really long time because when he looked at Y/N once again; he could see embarrassment and just a hint of sadness on his features. “I'm pressuring you, and that's not fair. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked.”

“No, it's okay, Y/N. I'm glad you asked me.”

Y/N looked at him. “Really?”

Tyler smiled his boyish smile again. “Really. And if the offer still stands, I’d like to go with you. If that's okay?”

Y/N smiled widely as he hugged his boyfriend from across the table. “Of course, it's okay. More than okay. This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

Tyler smiled. Yeah, it sure was going to be. Because for once he wouldn't be spending the holidays alone for the very first time.

[wackus-bonkus-maximus]

*stumbles drunk onto your porch* TRICK. TREAAAAAAT.

hi autumn I love your costume 💕 all those bells and braided cords and green hair... u really went all out 😍

sorry it's not ladywalker I hope some toxigriffe origins will suffice:

Rainwater soaked into her back and scalp, the hazy clouds rolling past as the sounds of thunder died. It was cold, and her joints hurt, and she was almost certain the bite-sized meteorites that had collided with her spine would leave craters on the skin beneath her suit. But, she was alive.  She was breathing. Gasping for breath, even still. Hesperia had recalled his Kamiko and Stormy Weather was restored to the blue-eyed girl who brightened Paris’s weather forecasting system with her sunny smiles, and Toxinelle was lying on a rooftop far out of reach of both of them, and didn’t even have the Butterfly Miraculous to show for it. But at least Griffe Noir didn’t, either.  She turned her head toward where he lay sprawled out several feet away. Frost still shone in his hair, his skin more pallid than usual, his lips more blue than black. Still wheezing and shivering, he turned to look at her too. Their gazes locked, the moment stretching with the silence. Either he was taking his time thinking what to say, or the exhaustion was getting to him too. “That was stupid,” Griffe said, point-blank. Toxinelle bristled. If she’d had the strength, she would have swung another kick at him. “What are you talking about?” “You could’ve left me there,” he pointed out, gesturing toward the wall of ice still blocking off the roundabout, a Griffe Noir-sized hole visible even from the safety of the rood. “You should have. I could take your Miraculous right now." Anger fired through her, sputtering like a broken engine. Her hand twitched, weakly, and only added to the flames.  "Come and get it, then," she spat. But Griffe Noir only laid there, staring at her, and Toxinelle glared back until at long last, they both looked away. They weren’t working together. They hadn't worked together to escape Hesperia's kamiko. It was only that Toxinelle had needed his Cataclysm to shatter the glacier in her way, and Griffe Noir had shoved her out of a stray tornado's path to protect the earrings. Nothing more, nothing less. They were staying out of each other’s way in the interest of a common goal. She would still fight him for the ring at the next opportunity. With the power of his Miraculous, she’d have a better chance at taking Hesperia's brooch. Maybe it was worth it, even if using the ring would kill her twice as fast.  But she was tired. She’d reach for Griffe Noir's hand another time.

(also ty for leaving me an ask for the game i was trying to make you play 💛 hopefully we both got something yummy out of it)

from the ask box trick-or-treat (fic writer edition)

[theealluringstoryteller]

It was Castin's 28th birthday he was granted a week long vacation by Rhett so he would have to spend what should be a happy day on his campaign against the imperial rebels.

Excited to spend his birthday with him Omorose ordered a personal cake that was heart shaped with "Happy Birthday, My Love."

Once the first light of morning peeked through their window she managed to get out of Castin's strong grip with "I have to use the bathroom,"

Just as she was done using the toilet,taking off her night gown, freshening up, and throwing on a rob a soft knock was heard. Quickly before they knocked again and woke the sleeping birthday boy Omorose hurriedly left the bathroom and crossed over the room to their bedroom door. Peeking over her shoulder she made sure her sleeping husband was doing just that...sleeping. A sigh of relief escaped her mouth seeing his body still lying there limply on his back, a position he turned to once she was out of his arms.

Turning back to the door she opened it to reveal one of the butlers holding up the personal cake she ordered out of his box and on a silver platter.

"Thank you." She whispered opening the door more so she hand take the platter out of his hand. The butler nodded peering into the room and seeing his other boss dead asleep. Smirking he left to go back to his daily tasks.

Closing the door Omorose began to put her plan into action. She made her way over to the upholstered bench in front of their bed sitting the platter down just for a second just so so she could strip out of her robe, leaving herself completely bare. Taking the platter back into her hands she climbed up onto the bench walking on to the bed care to not make the bed move to much. She would be upset if she woke him to early. It was hard being sneaky to a warrior Commander. She knew that and Castin knew that which is why he stayed still and kept his eyes closed. He knew something was up when she didn't come back to bed right away but, he was willing to play along. He bit back his smile and wondered what could she possibly be giving him in bed.

Finally Omorose straddles her husband's waist knowing that would 'wake' him. With a striking grin she held the silver platter that sat the cake right below her breast giving Castin a lovely view to set his eyes on.

"Alright what surpris-ohhh shit! Is this real?!" He asked voice rising in pitch towards the end of his sentence. Shamelessly Castin laid  there gawking at his wife's soft round breast and the cake right below it.

"Happy birthday, baby!" She cheered giggling at Castin's disbelief as she steadied her hands so the cake wouldn't drop on their sheets. His hands finding her waist to steady her from his sudden movements.

"Wait! You're completely naked! No clothes just cake?!" Castin continued, trailing his hands down from her waist to her hips finding no article of clothing but bare smooth skin under his rough finger tips.

"Well I wanted to surprise the birthday boy!" Omorose cooed leaning down to give her husband a kiss. Her body pressing into the cake coating her breasts in the vanilla buttercream frosting just like she planned.

(What man didn't want to have birthday sex? And what man wouldn't want their gorgeous wife to wake them up in completely nothing only for a few seconds later wearing nothing but sweet delicious frosting just for them to lick off?)

Pulling away she faked her disappointment at finding the icing to his cake ruined and smeared all over her breast.

"I'm sorry!" She apologized with a frown.

Castin didn't hear her apology though, his mind to occupied at the mouth watering site in front of him and his blood rushing to his cock.

"Come here!" He demanded taking the platter out of her hands and placing it on his bedside table with quickness.

An excited squeal leaving the Baroness as Castin rolled them over with in seconds.

Hungrily his tongue found his supple treat. Licking the icing off her soft skin until practically none remained, his mouth switching to suck in one of her nipples, his teeth lightly grazing it just to hear Omorose moan and gasp. Eager to get closer he spread her legs opened with ease due to her being more than willing to have him have his way with her.

Feeling the weight of her husband's cock on her stomach and it leaking precum on to her skin made her cunt ache for him more. She couldn't help but to moan and feel herself become wetter by the second. The wet and soft suckling sounds of her husband's mouth and the stimulation he was giving her were enough to make her heart pound in her ears.

And then butterflies erupted in her tummy as he began kissing down her stomach spreading her legs wider.

"N-no." She stuttered out pushing forward to stop him from going further.

"No? I thought it's law that the birthday boy gets whatever he wants on his birthday." Castin stated raising an eyebrow. Cake frosting smeared on his nose, the corner of his lip and chin.

"You do!" Exclaimed Omorose who fell back onto the soft sheets due to Castin tugging her by her hips.

Scoffing at his wife's audacity to try and stop him from smothering himself between her thighs "Alright then-"

"But it's your birthday! I should be the one pleasuring you."

Inches away from her glistening folds Castin looked up at her with amusement "You want to pleasure me, sweetheart?"

Nodding Omorose propped her self up on her elbows "yeah! I've been practicing." She admitted a bit shy. He smiled at her sudden cute demeanor due to her confession.

Hearing this Castin raised both eyebrows surprised.

"Oh really?" He asked even more amused and curious.

"You're going to make me beg?" She pouts up at him while giving him the 'eyes' that always aided her in getting what she wanted.

"Fuck..." Castin cursed in a breathless whisper. 'I don't know what I did to deserve this but thank you, Goddess!' Castin thought getting up.

"Naw! I'm not going to make you beg, sweetheart." He tells her as he begins to message his hard on.

"Good!" She smiles getting off the bed to stand in front of him.

"This day is about you!" She stated just as she was about to drop to her knees.

"Wait!" Castin interrupted stopping her by grabbing her by her upper arms. He laughs recounting their second encounter that Rhett set up.

"Remember when you got so upset at me when I suggested we skip the wedding and just fuck?" He asked his laughed turning hysterical when Omorose rolled her eyes and nodded.

"And now look at you! Wanting to get on your knees to suck my cock. I'm a bad influence!" He jokingly tsked at himself.

"Well to be quite honest with you this side of me was already in me before I met you! It's just I never had someone I loved and trusted to explore it with until now."

"Is that so?"

Nodding Omorose replaced Castin's hand with her's, stroking him teasingly while lowering herself.

"Little ole me was just waiting hopelessly for her husband to come along so she could play out all the nasty little fantasies she written in her secret diary!" She stated in a dramatic half jokingly manner.

"I'm gonna have to find that diary."

Omorose bites back her laughter as she looked up at him with a bit of mischief.

"It's on my book shelf."

Her soft lips kissing along the base and the tip, brought Castin curious eyes that wondered along her large selection of books back on to her. Feeling his eyes on her she teasingly gave kitten licks to his sensitive tip while making eye contact.

"Oh you're going to be a tease! On my birthday? Dirty girl!"Castin who didn't dare look away groans out.

And to prove that she had in fact been practicing Omorose began inching his cock into her mouth relaxing her throat and not stopping until she's gagging on majority of it. Something she wasn't able to do the last time he allowed her to do this.

"F-fuck!"

@themonotonysyndrome

[mwebber]

Ooh now Im having thoughts: Imagine birthday sex with girl!Seb (post-2013)

like, imagine ME having birthday sex with girl!seb? i'd rock her world... i'd treat her so well she forgets she ever knew a webber. move aside, mark.

i kid, i kid. i wrote a passing mention of birthday sex in the universe, if you want to know what they were doing in/before 2011..

and things have changed quite a bit! mark's 47 now and thinking, for how much he's done in his life, he's not even 50 yet. girlseb is still seb--36, happily retired, and spending her days caring for the martian kids i've treated like a hypothetical plot point until now and don't care much to linger on.

anyway. birthdays get less spectacular as the years go by. this one is relatively quiet: cards and calls and texts from extended family and friends, and homemade cake from seb and the twins. there's a little too much frosting, but it reads "HAPY BIRTHDAY DADdY" so. the only way out is through.

that night, after the rest of the house is asleep and they're both settling under the covers to pass out after a long day, seb teasingly rubs mark's tummy and presses a kiss to his shoulder. neither of them are as trim as they were in their 20s, but they both like the way age shows on their bodies; the laugh lines on seb's face, the crow's feet by mark's eyes, the familiar and comforting feeling of solidness that comes when they cuddle no matter how they change. eighteen years is a long time to love somebody.

gone are the days where they'd fuck like rabbits any chance they had, so sex has become a much slower (and lovelier!), if less frequent, affair, at least in the last five to ten years. mark is almost surprised when he shifts in place and finds himself stirring. seb is--well, she's seb. less surprised, and more calculating when she slings a thigh over his stiffening cock.

"do you wanna," mark still mumbles, even as seb closes the small gap between them to cup his jaw in a gentle hand and kiss him properly. he tastes like mint toothpaste and home.

the story usually goes like this: mark rolls them over and fits himself between seb's thighs, and they rock against each other as quietly as possible so as to not wake the kids, and it's all very romantic.

the way seb pushes mark onto his back and climbs onto his lap now, it's like 2014 all over again.

she makes quick work of their underwear, tossing the articles carelessly to the side. it's just the two of them in their sleep shirts, then mark rucks seb's up to hold her by the waist and tug her over his hips. call him a freak, but he loves her tummy: the stretch marks, the looser skin, the physical evidence that they made a life together. he'd kiss her all over if he could.

as it is, seb has a plan. she reaches into the bedside drawer to grab the lube, and mark rubs his hands over her thighs, giving her room to work. handjobs used to seem uninspiring when he was younger--he's since learned to appreciate every little thrill seb gives him. she works him with practiced hands, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration like she's turning in a difficult chicane.

but then she smirks at him, and turns her attention away, and her eyelashes flutter minutely with the relief of finally touching her cunt. slowly, she eases herself to sit over the length of his cock, and spreads the lips of her pussy so he's nestled comfortably between them, sandwiched along her folds. seb keeps herself spread and bucks her hips experimentally. like this, the head of his cock pokes out tantalizingly every time she draws back, and rubs deliciously at her clit when she fucks forward.

it should probably seem like she's using him to chase her own pleasure, but mark can't feel anything except bone-deep contentment while watching her work. besides, she feels incredible. lazily, he worms his fingers between them to stroke around her clit, just the way she likes it.

of the two of them, seb's the one who's still got the stamina of a world-class athlete, and she knows it. she slows the pace, lets mark play with her pussy until he's so hard he's aching, before finally lifting her hips and guiding him inside.

even after all this time, the first stretch is mindblowingly good. she doesn't wait for him to bottom out before lifting herself and fucking down again--just rolls her hips on his cock the way he likes it, allowing her vision to blur as she operates on feeling and experience. her thighs burn, but miraculously hold.

mark doesn't much mind being a passive receiver when they make love; seb is sexiest when she rides his cock with abandon, lost in everything but the pursuit of her orgasm. but he knows that this is a gift, and that the best gifts are shared.

so he pulls her down to lie on top of him and flips their positions. he messily pushes seb's shirt up to her armpits so he can lick and suck at her tits while he hunches over and fucks her. her hands twine in his hair and pull him up--and then they're locked at the lips, superimposed on one another like they'll crumble if they let go.

seb squeezes around him perfectly when she comes. it's not long at all before mark follows, burying himself to the hilt and hiding his face in the crook of seb's neck to stifle his groans. when the white heat of his high fades away, he burrows closer against her, and simply enjoys the feeling of her fingers against his scalp.

"happy birthday," she punctuates the sentiment with a quick peck to his cheek.

"you too," mark says, and he's out before he can process why seb is laughing.

[kitkatt0430]

1, 4, 12, 18 and 23 for the salty ask game?

1.) What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?

Harry/Barry

Harry and Barry's relationship just lacks any kind of non-platonic chemistry to me. I kind of feel like Harry becomes the mentor to Barry that Eobard pretended to be? I dunno, they just don't click in my brain in any manner other than platonic, so I can't see them being QPPs or romantic partners.

4.) Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?

Caitlin/Cisco & Frost/Cisco

Killervibe - specifically the Caitlin/Cisco flavor of it - is a fairly popular OTP. And while I can get it as Caitlin ~ Cisco QPPs... I just really don't like them as a romantic ship. I attempted to get in the ship and while there were a couple of fics that were good, I just... got less and less interested in the ship until I reached a point where that ship showing up is often enough for me to close the tab if an otherwise interesting sounding req list fic I click on includes the ship.

Frost/Mark

WTF were the show runners thinking. I avoid this ship like the plague.

12.) Is there an unpopular arc that you like that the fandom doesn’t? Why?

Maybe? I think I tend to like the Nora 1.0 story line in S5 more than average. Yeah there was a looot in that season that was not handled well, but I think for the most part Nora was pretty well done. She definitely should have been younger - college aged maybe? - though I get that there was a comparison was being made between Nora and what S1 Barry was like, as well as a look at how far S5 Barry had come in maturing as a person yet still had to go before becoming a father.

Iris' side of the the story line deserved better, but that's basically a repeated refrain for every season.

18.) Does not shipping something ‘popular’ mean you’re in denial and/or biased?

Not inherently, no. But it is important to be able to interrogate yourself a bit to determine why you don't like something.

Take the Barry Allen/Iris West ship. There are a lot of reasons people don't ship the tv show version of these characters. Some people prefer Iris with Eddie because he treated her better in S1 than Barry did. Some people don't like the psuedo incest vibes that come from Barry and Iris being foster siblings - foster sibling romance is understandably a bit squicky for some people regardless of who is involved. It could be that Iris' lack of agency in the relationship is too uncomfortable for some people to enjoy the ship. But if the reason someone doesn't like Barry/Iris is solely because they only ship Barry with Caitlin or Patty or Linda - two of whom are white women and one who is a very light skinned asian woman - and no other reason than that (or the only other reason is they dislike Iris for reasons that boil down to misogynoir) then that person may want to consider that they've got some internalized racial biases or colorism to unpack.

Not shipping Barry/Iris isn't an automatic sign of biases that need unlearning, but it's important to understand why you don't like something because sometimes we internalize things like 'stuff that squick us out are morally bad' or racial biases. Learning to recognize those parts of ourselves in every day life - including social arenas like fandoms we're active parts of - is important in order to unlearn them.

As for being in denial, that tends to be more about non canon ships. There is a lot of amatonormativity wrapped up in that particular assertion. "of course I ship these two, friends don't act like that" :/

I really just can't be bothered to give people who argue that people are 'in denial' for not shipping a popular ship the time of day as a result.

23.) Unpopular character you love?

Ralph Dibny. He does start off as a misogynist asshole and he definitely deserved to get fired from the CCPD in his backstory, but his character growth is really impressive and... honestly? I think we need more stories where someone is an unlikable asshole but grows out of it. Complex characters who, when given support and kindness, realize they don't like who they are and take active steps to correct that. Stories that remind us it's not to late to turn your life around, if you're willing to take responsibility for yourself and unlearn the bad habits that weigh you down. And that if you're already in a good place yourself, supporting people trying to change, even when they stumble along the way, is an important thing to do to make the world itself a better place.

I mean... that's what the show the Good Place was all about and I loved it so very, very much. So it's really not any wonder that Ralph - who is kind of a male version of Eleanor Shellstrop in many ways - is a character I enjoyed as he learned to grow as a person.

[separatist-apologist]

The Wildest Winter

In the cracks of light, I looked for you

Summary: Viviane had not been Under the Mountain. As her childhood friend, Kallias had been protective of her to a fault over the years- had placed the sharp-minded female on border duty to avoid the scheming of his court. He didn't let her near Amarantha, either. Didn't let anyone get a whiff of what he felt for his white-haired friend, who had no clue- not one- that he had loved her his entire life.

Read More: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | AO3

[six months before the curse]

“Are you sure about this?” Viviane asked, eyeing the curved blade in her hand. Not with distaste for the crystalline steel glimmering beneath a full sun, but because it was inherently an unfair fight. She had to wonder if Nikolai, who had remained behind after Calanmai, was even aware of what she could do with carefully timed ice alongside a Winter Court blade.

Nikolai had stayed to help her train more sentries they hardly needed. Autumn wasn’t so desperate they’d stage an invasion, though Kallias was unnerved after the ice bridge had gone tattling to the High Lord, who of course had money for more soldiers. Nikolai was to oversee and Kira had been begrudgingly called back to court. 

That, Viviane supposed, was for the best. Nikolai had come home that morning coated in blue, his eyes wild, his skin practically frosted over. Whatever had happened had unnerved him enough he refused to speak about it and Kira had sworn up and down nothing had happened.

Viviane wondered which was worse—they had sex and it was so good it freaked them out, or it was so bad they couldn’t make eye contact any longer.

That was how she felt with Einar. All that build up only to be fucked on his dining room table for the better part of two hours. She hadn’t dared tell Kallias the reason she couldn’t finish wasn’t because Einar was no good—he’d done his best with his lips and tongue and teeth—but because she couldn’t get her friend out of her mind. She’d tried. Viviane had taken control, had climbed into Einars lap, eyes locked on his.

Not Kal, not Kal, not Kal—

For all the good it did. In the end she’d faked it and gone crawling home like a miserable, terrible friend. Viviane still didn’t know what had possessed her that day. Maybe Calanmai merely heightened the tension growing between them, twisting it into lust. It had faded by morning—faded with each new carefully drawn sheet he’d made for her where he detailed how much it cost to treat the water each month. She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder and woken alone in bed. Kallias had likely put her there before venturing into the city himself, because when Viviane woke, he smelled as though he’d been drenched in arousal not long before and his hair had been wrecked. 

It didn’t inspire jealousy in her, at any rate, which made it easy to write the whole night off as a one off. 

“Square up, Viv,” Nikolai ordered. She almost rolled her eyes at the command. They stood down in the valley in a makeshift training ring Kira had erected decades before. It would have been the perfect place for expanded barracks and an armory, had the High Lord ever allowed her such a thing. Perhaps Nikolai’s influence would change all that. It was the second to last missing puzzle to crafting her city as a major player. The very last was convincing both Kallias and the High Lord that the emissary from Hybern should be allowed to visit—to trade with them. Not just Hybern, of course. Autumn, Spring, and Summer, too. And with even a fraction of the High Lord’s court coming to live in Wegen, even if it was just to ski when the weather was mild, was enough. 

Barracks first. 

Nikolai pulled his icy blade from its sheath, the metal singing in the air. Viviane ignored that Einar had come to watch, his dark eyes blazing with curiosity. She also ignored that Kallias had said he’d come three days before and still hadn’t. All of those things were distractions.

She twisted her blade, offering a show of her teeth that wasn’t quite a smile. She waited for him to lunge before offering her own strike. Nikolai, she’d been told, had some magic of his own. Viviane wanted to find out just how much. And, perhaps, wanted to show off to the people she oversaw, if only a little.

 It was a careful dance of her feet and body, of knowing how she moved against the wind and the squelching mud. Nikolai was a warrior, trained just as she had been, though not quite as quick on his feet.

Not as careful with his magic. He was the first to strike, panting as he sent a blast of skin shredding ice her way. Viviane barked out a laugh, dodging it easily.

And then rained a torrent upon him. Nikolai had to choose between defending his person with his blade and risk her icy wrath or block the ice and risk her blade. It was the oldest trick in Viviane’s book. She thought that because she used her magic so infrequently, and never at its full intensity, that people often forgot what hummed in her veins.

Forgot why a future High Lord courted her attention. 

“Mother save me, Viv,” Nikolai panted. “Were you trying to kill me?”

Her victory was short-lived. As she walked to her friend, offering him a hand and noting where the blood staining his lips and cheeks, a new voice called through the mountain air.

“Now me.” Nikolai’s smirk told Viviane everything she needed to know. She turned, her eyes finding Kallias as he swung his powerful body over the fence with ease. Just to the left of him was Einar, watching her friend with guarded, almost distrustful eyes. She’d forgotten he’d only been interested in her when he learned Kallias was up at the palace.

It was a question for another day. Kallias had never once let her beat him and Viviane didn’t relish being beaten into the dirt in front of all the people she was supposed to oversee. 

“Where’s your sword, Kal?” she taunted, annoyed when Nikolai handed his over before leaving them alone in the muddy pit. 

“Miss me?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. The cold air ruffled at his white air, all but kissing his fair cheeks red. 

“Were you gone?” she replied blithely, pretending to examine her blade.

He shook his head, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I missed you.”

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m funny, I’m pretty, I’m smart…all the things you lack—”

His blade sang through the air before she could finish, crashing into hers with such force it made her bones vibrate. Gone was Kallias’s easy amusement–those eyes were practically granite against his glacial face. She had to remind herself that this was how he focused—this was how he’d always been in the ring.

Your enemies won’t smile when they kill you, Viv.

She smiled, noting how he stumbled ever so slightly—not enough to turn things in her favor but enough to remind her that Kallias was so easily distracted by someone acting in a way he didn’t expect.

She sent him that first blast of ice, catching him against the cheekbone. He snarled, flinging his own magic viciously back at her. He was so much stronger she couldn’t avoid it all—she felt the burning sting against her exposed neck. She smelled the salt of her blood in the air but didn’t dare touch it. Not when Kallias’s blade came singing towards her. Viviane slammed to the ground, her whole body squelching into the cold, muddy ground in an effort to block him. 

It was easy to forget what Kallias was beneath his refined clothes and his fascination with numbers. He’d taught her to fight, afterall. His body was a weapon—he was an animal. He snapped his teeth against the cold, one of his thighs pressed between her legs as he bore his blade closer and closer to her wound.

Viviane took a risk, letting go of the hilt of her sword to press her frosted palm against his face. He roared against the pain, distracted just enough for her to plant her boot into his chest and push away. There was nothing fun about this fight anymore—it wasn’t quick like with Nikolai, nor was it particularly like a dance. It felt like a true battle where only one of them could walk away with their pride unwounded. 

Kallias sent another vicious blast of ice and wind directly at her, one Viviane offered up in equal measure. He cut his face again, though not half as bad as his own shards, which sliced through her jacket, exposing her skin to salty mountain air. 

She hissed, slammed right back to the ground as Kallias snarled in her face. His teeth were inches from her neck, his thigh wedged between her leg so hard she could feel the radiating heat. The only thing keeping him from pressing his body wholly against her was her blade between them.

Her arms shook from the effort.

“Surrender, Viv,” he whispered. “Let me clean up the blood.”

“You’re a bastard,” she replied. It didn’t matter. He wrenched her blade from his hand, tossing it to the ground and then pressed his own gently against her skin.

“An admirable effort,” he murmured, removing his blade and replacing it with his hand. All at once his body was off hers and Viviane couldn’t decide if she was angry or she was disappointed.

She took his hand, her body aching as she stood. No one made a sound—not Nikolai, who watched with eyes rounder than saucers.

And not Einar, who had gone ashen in the wake of their brutal showdown. 

“What’s with them?” she whispered, letting Kallias brace her body against his own.

“They’ve never seen your kind of raw power,” he offered charitably. And maybe that was true. Maybe they hadn’t expected that kind of magic to blow out of her.

But privately, Viviane thought it was Kallias who had surprised them. She’d forgotten what he was like when he was unleashed—how uncomfortable the High Lord had once been of him and the magic glowing silver from his skin. No one had ever dared voice those concerns out loud, but Viviane understood them as she looked from the shocked faces of the warriors around them.

Kallias had all the markers of the next High Lord. 

She reached between them for his arm. She didn’t want to think about how she’d lose him should that ever come to pass. 

“Take me home,” she murmured, pressing her head into his shoulder. 

He was just her friend—at least for now.

KALLIAS: 

[five months before the curse]

“Kal–” Kallias cut off her breathless plea, his tongue delving back into her mouth. More, he needed more. He couldn’t stop the desperate glide of his hands over her naked form, mapping her skin beneath his palms. Beneath him, Viviane moaned, grasping at his hair so viciously she was in danger of pulling the strands out by the root. He didn’t care. 

Still clad in his pants, he ground against her, desperate for relief. Kallias was drowning in the scent of her arousal, drinking it down while he tasted every inch of her mouth. Kallias needed to put his tongue between her legs, needed to know if all of her was sweet. She was warm here, open and inviting and he was so wrecked he couldn’t get his stupid body to catch up with his screaming brain.

He was running out of time. He couldn’t explain it. Something was ticking loudly in his head, some countdown to his doom he wanted to avoid. Wanted to ignore in favor of his female clawing at his back. 

“Kal,” she panted, arching her neck so he could nip kisses down her skin. His fingers tugged and teased at her pebbled nipples, drawing more of her arousal into the air. Burying his face between her breasts, Kallias inhaled deeply. This was what he’d been missing. This was what he needed.

He’d never felt so wild in his life. He was unrestrained for perhaps the first time in his life and it was all Viviane’s fault. He pushed apart her legs roughly, taking a moment to admire the splayed out form of her on his silken silver sheet. 

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, lifting her leg to press feather soft kisses up her thigh. She squirmed, eyes locked on his face. She wanted to watch? Kallias held her gaze, lowering his face until he could kiss the pale, pink lips of her cunt. Viviane exhaled, whimpering for more.

It was a dream, he thought. She was a dream, spread open for him to taste. He went to take that first hot taste of her, to slick his tongue over her clit—-

A banging on Kallias’s bedroom door dragged him from an all too familiar dream. He’d never gotten that far before. Usually Kallias woke just as he was about to remove her clothing. To find his head between her parted thighs was a new, almost exciting development, at least where his imagination was concerned. Nothing had changed between him and Viviane. As far as he knew, she was still seeing the disappointing male in Wegen and he was…well, Kallias was doing the world's shittiest job courting her. Unless, of course, utterly obliterating her with his magic counted as some romantic overture.

He very much doubted it. Viviane might have forgiven him for it, but the people of Wegen certainly hadn’t. They’d watched him with narrow-eyed suspicion the following day, as if he might turn her to a block of ice if she displeased him. As if Viviane wasn’t capable of removing his balls should he ever deserve it. 

That vicious knock forced Kallias to snarl. Night still poured through his half open drapes and his cock was throbbing with need. “What?” “Get up,” Kira’s voice whispered from behind the door. “Right now, get up.” He shoved the blanket off his naked body and stuffed himself in the first pair of pants he could find, artfully arranging himself so it wasn’t entirely obvious he had an erection. Kallias pulled open the door, shrugging a shirt over his head.

Kira looked scared. Wide-eyed in the flickering hall light, she lunged for his wrist and began dragging him down the hall. Kallias was barefoot, though so was she, a robe hanging off her small frame.

“What is happening?” he hissed, running a hand through his messy hair in an attempt to keep it from falling into his eyes.

“Gunnar,” she whispered. “Oh Gods, Kal….he…”

A mournful wail interrupted what Kira had been about to say. He knew that voice.

“Gunnar?”

“Killed his wife,” Kira managed, practically shaking as she led him towards the throne room. “She wanted to leave him, too. And I guess…”

Kallias’s steps slowed as he imagined it. Wanting someone so badly you would have done anything to possess them, only to realize they didn’t want you back. The females at court had been lobbying hard, but Gunnar’s wife had been against them. 

“What changed?”

Kira shrugged. “Special treatment for her, hell for everyone else? I’m sorry,” Kira added softly. “I shouldn’t…he killed her.”

Kallias started to ask Kira how she could possibly know that, but the scent of blood flooded his senses. He understood why when he came into the vividly bright throne room, joining the other courtiers flooding in to witness the spectacle.

The High Lord stared at his son with lifeless eyes while his son clutched at his wife's bloodless body, kneeling half naked in her blood. It was the gravest offense in their court—to take a life, especially one as defenseless as Gunnar’s wife had been. 

All Kallias could see was Viviane laying there, her silver hair stained red as her blood cooled beneath Gunnar’s naked knees. She would have wanted the same—maybe not to leave him, given how dutiful Viviane could be, but the autonomy to be more than just the High Lord’s wife. She would have been vivacious and, when angry, vicious. 

She would have died, too. Kallias put his hand over his chest, unable to get the image out of his mind. He might have winnowed straight to her had the High Lord not taken a step towards his hunched over son. 

Everyone fell silent. Even Kallias didn’t believe the High Lord would kill his own son, law or not. Gunnar made no move to defend himself and Kallias wondered if he even realized what his father meant to do until it was too late. Gunnar twisted, eyes wide as he took a gasping breath of frigid air.

Kallia couldn’t watch this. He turned, pulling his arm from Kira’s grasp. He didn’t need to be present to hear that frigid death rattle or to know the High Lord had turned his son's lungs to ice. It was the end of a dynasty as old as their territory, ruined over one spoiled male too unused to being told no. 

Kallias flexed his fingers as warmth twanged through his body. He stumbled, almost crashing into a wall in an attempt to steady himself. His palm caught against the smooth surface, steadied by Kira who had followed him out.

“Kal—”

“Don’t,” he rasped, hating himself for the first time in his life. The High Lord would realize, would know the truth of the matter soon enough. His son might have inherited had he been a better father. And now a new line would rise through Winter, assuming Kallias lived long enough to see the High Lord fade. 

“Kallias—!”

A woman's high pitched scream forced a groan out of Kallias, his knees buckling beneath the weight of a vicious, violent cascade of magic. His palms stung, bracing his weight against the smooth floor while raw, unstemmed magic raced through his veins unrestrained. He looked over his shoulder to Kira, who knelt beside him. Her face was etched with her terror, the screaming in the throne room just behind him ringing in his ears.

“What did he do?” Kallias managed, bowing his head against the onslaught. 

“Could you survive the loss of your own child?” Kira whispered. The scent of warm blood filled the air, driving out all other thoughts. Had the High Lord truly chosen to kill himself rather than live with his grief? Kallias forced himself to stand, his legs shaking. Kira helped, bracing him against her body while he got his runaway heart under control.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Kallias whispered, flexing his fingers. 

How would he ever explain this? To the court, his people…to Viviane? 

“Go,” Kira told him. “The longer you make them wonder, the longer they have to plot against you. Shore up your power now.”

He had only a second to make a decision. It should have been Nikolai, he lamented. Kira ought to have remained with Viviane. 

“Get your sword,” he ordered. Kira’s eyes widened, and yet she nodded, racing down the hall. He had moments to get himself together, to step into that blood-soaked throne room and pretend this was normal–that he was normal. Kallias flexed his fingers, reveling in the feel of his magic, of the newness thrumming beneath his skin.

He took a step, swearing the world around him seemed to tremble. The screaming stopped and, with a breath, Kallias stepped into the room. The sight laid before him threatened to turn his stomach. Gunnar knelt before the corpse of his once beautiful wife, a block of frigid, blue ice. Beside him, the High Lord lay in his own rapidly cooling blood, his heart half torn from his body. It was all so gruesome, so unnecessary. Kallias knew that even if he lived for a century more, he’d never forget the sight. Not of the court that now belonged to him, all staring with wide, mistrusting eyes. 

Kira skidded into the room, flanked by several sentries. She still wore her blue night dress, comical against the vicious look on her face.

“Kneel,” Kallias ordered, watching those sentries from across the room. He needed their support if he didn’t want to die in the next few days. The transition between one family to the next was rocky—or, so he’d been told. Winter had always avoided those kinds of shifting power plays. His eyes drifted back to the High Lord, who loved his son so much he couldn’t tell him no. Would have seen all of Winter crumble beneath one spoiled lordling's whim then govern as he should. 

It was a reminder for Kallias, who turned his back to the kneeling nobility, of what he stood to lose. How things could go wrong so quickly—how he might lose focus if he wasn’t careful.

It felt strange, ascending the white cut dais to the glittering blue and amethyst throne. Kallias seated himself atop it, sweeping his eyes over the room. 

High Lord. 

He’d never wanted it.

[weeping-gospels]

The snowstorm kicked up as the hours trudged on, nipping at the already low temperatures until it had reached a near freezing point.

Exhausted from a recent brawl, the beast slowly trekked through unforgiving sheets of snow, each drop like a sharp needle to the face. Her body weakened as her muscles strained, the icy experience slowly but surely solidifying her entire vessel and death was soon to arrive should she remain outdoors any longer. Damn her hypothesized forecasts and their hidden meanings. She was a woman of science, not of the odd weather in an already bizarre setting. She had spent cycles studying Skaven psychology and physiology, not the fucking weather.

Damn it all to hell. She’d sooner let her body rot where it stood rather than catch even a glimpse of Negoro’s face yet again as her soul passed over into a temporary emptiness. The amount of times she’s died was humiliating — and now the fucking weather would do her in. She’s gone soft.

Yet…the snowfall cleared if not for a fleeting moment, allowing the drifting beast to witness the beauty of Jerdano’s creation through the veil of foggy white. Morrslieb’s moonlight graced the lands blanketed in frost, the pine trees still standing stubbornly resilient despite such the nasty climate and a blissful silence remained. When was the last time she had welcomed the feeling of tranquility instead of calamity? When was the last time her mind was as quiet as this picture-still moment? Had the Gods finally spared her merciless demises and began to gift her with more pleasant ones for atoning to her sins?

Perhaps dying wasn’t as bad as she presumed. If dying was always like time had stopped just for her to take in the world around her at it’s most vulnerable..then maybe, just maybe, she would like to die just a bit more.

…

…

…

Softness. Softness, as if resting on a rug of fur thawing by the fireplace. Was this a new feeling of death as well?

“ Corpse-thing… “

Ah, that’s a familiar voice. It’s distant and muffled, but it is amicable. Her senses are still shot from the snowstorm and her eyes feel glued shut.

“ Carcass-thing? “

There it is again..but her ears feel as though they are underwater.

“ …Betty. Betty, wake up.

WAKE UP. “

SLAP

Gasping sharply, it felt as though her soul had been slammed right back into her body. Nearly jumping out of his own skin, Hemlock squealed and shoved both paws onto her hips to keep her down, noisily bruxing out of stress,

“ STAY DOWN, STAY DOWN-DOWN, YOU FLEA-RIDDEN CADAVER! “

“ Wha — ?! Oh. Oh, it’s you. “

Sneering up at the overweight rat’s face, the now humanoid Dhampir’s body deflated in both relief and irritancy. Sneering right back, the Black Bull let out a rumbling hiss,

“ Like that is any way-form to treat your savior-hero, undead-thing. If it wasn’t for Hemlock’s GRACIOUS, MERCIFUL PAW, corpse-thing would have been icicle for ‘nother Skaven to shatter-destroy. “

“ Mhm. “

“ Undead-thing should thank Hemlock. “

“ Mhm. “

“ That isn’t-not an apology OR thank. “

“ You are not getting jack SHIT from me, Hemlock. “

Snarling, the rat shoved her off of him and stood up on all fours,

“ BAH! SHOULD’VE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO BE NICE-KIND TO STUPID DEAD-THING! WOULD’VE BEEN BETTER TO LET DEAD-THING FREEZE TO DEATH! “

“ Must you always insist on being so loud, you roach-infested blob? I never asked to be saved, thank you very much. “

Dusting herself off, the red head started her journey out of the den — only to come face to face with nothing but misty white. The snowstorm had reached it’s climax during her slumber and now the two were trapped.

As her expression fell, Hemlock cackled, soaking up his past mate’s disappointment.

“ KEHAHAHA! AS IF CORSPE-THING HAS A CHOICE IN THE MATTER! CORPSE-THING IS TRAPPED-STUCK WITH HEMLOCK UNTIL STORM BLOWS OVER! KEHAHAHAHAAA!! “

“ Oh, let it all out, you fucking comedian. I hope you choke on your own annoying laughter and suffocate slowly — “

Her insult was cut short whence karma stabbed her stomach, the woman abruptly doubling over in a horrible coughing fit. Wracked with hoarse gagging and coughing, Betty sunk her nails into the earthy walls for balance, blood spilling from her lips as her sore throat chapped up and burned from the cold. Hemlock’s laughter instantly died out at the scene and he found himself hobbling over to yank the creature back down into her original position against his bulky chest, providing the warmth she desperately needed but refused to ask for. His lasso-like tail proceeded to coil around the two to lock her in place, silently observing the coughing fit continue rather than dissipate.

“ Betty… “

The rat quietly murmured, recalling the memories where she had aided him when he was ill. Awkwardly, he pat her back, his paw flinching away as she started wheezing sharply — he hit too hard. Right, his strength was immense compared to her slender frame.

“ Betty? Are — … is….is undead-thing going to be dead this time? “

It’s been a while since he’s witnessed her die. His memory isn’t good to begin with. He can’t remember how it went.

Ears flatten in frustration and now he uses his paw to carefully massage over her chest, being mindful of how much pressure he was using. Betty’s hand shakily rested over his much larger one, halting his rubbing but not rejecting his touch. Her coughing fit stopped after a few more painstaking minutes, leaving her bloody and shaking tremendously. Too tuckered out to move away, the woman remained in Hemlock’s arms, huddling in for more of the warmth she craved — and the rat provided it, wordlessly cradling the undead and spending the remainder of the night watching her.

The snowstorm continued.

[reallygrossstuff]

your stuff is so button-pushing! maybe clothing on day 7(? my memory is like a fruit fly's) with diapers or unaware with weight gain (perhaps someone is hypnotized to believe theyre very skinny and on a diet while being huge and gorging on fatty foods) if you like!!

Sorry for the delay! I'm going to be trying to catch up before the end of the month, so hopefully there'll be some double-posts soon.

John hummed to himself, hips shimmying slightly to his own internal soundtrack as he finished icing the batch of fresh cupcakes. On someone a bit thinner it would’ve been a funny quirk, but at John’s size, the sight was... distracting.

John was, to put it politely, a doughball. His khaki shorts were strained to their limits by his wide thighs and lumpy ass, his legs disastrously squashed together as he stood at the counter. His shirt had ridden up, now half-buried in the rolls of his stomach, and the plain apron he wore only covered the middle third of his belly - the strings dug deeply into his love handles, disturbing the largest rolls and sagging slightly with each minute shift. In the warmth of the kitchen, his dark skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, most concentrated around his love handles and the thick layers of his neck.

“And... done! Sorry Dave, I didn’t realise those would be ready so soon.” John smiled guilelessly at Dave, his flabby face wobbling just at the change in expression. Setting the cupcakes aside, he trucked over to the dining table where he’d invited Dave to sit, lowering himself into an already-abused chair - Dave could hear the wood creak dangerously, the sound muffled under layers of shapeless ass.

“Nah, we’re cool.” Dave kept his eyes up as much as he could, though the protection of his shades gave him some cover to ogle. “How come you backflipped on the Crocker shit, though? Didn’t think you ever would.”

“Backflipped?” John’s brow furrowed as he reached for one of the cupcakes already on the table, pulling it from its liner with his teeth to munch down on. “I haven’t even thought about any Betty Crocker stuff lately, why bring it up?”

Dave gave a long look to the discarded cupcake liner, clearly printed with what John had previously called the ‘red spoon of evil’. “I just mean, why’re you cool with eating their stuff now all of a sudden?”

“What? I’m not, why would you think that?” John asked with his mouth full, loudly mashing the cupcake back into paste.

Dave leaned to one side to look past John (it was a long way to lean, and a lot of his view was still blocked by wobbling brown flub), into the kitchen where he could see numerous boxes filling the wastebin. He could count five Betty Crocker logos just from the one angle, ready-mixes for everything from angel cake to shortbread.

“Anything the Batterwitch makes is awful for you, Dave,” John continued unprompted, picking up a second cupcake. There was a slight smear of icing across his doughy fingers, but he seemed unaware of it even as a careless gesture wiped flecks of it across his belly. “I’d never eat anything she had her hand in!”

“Dude, you’re literally eating Crocker cupcakes right now. Like, there’s one in your hand.”

John paused with the cupcake halfway to his mouth, actually looking at it, to Dave’s relief. He turned it around fully, looked at the bottom where the liner still clung to it, even swiped a finger through the frosting on top. As he did so, a reflection of light off the red liner caught his eyes strangely, seeming to linger for longer than the angle should have allowed.

Eventually, though, John shrugged and popped the treat into his mouth. “I have no clue what you’re talking about! All of this is homemade, they’re family recipes. How would Betty Crocker be part of my family recipes?”

Dave leaned back slightly, concern outweighing curiosity now. “Where’d you get the family recipes from, then?”

“My dad, obviously! Or, well, he gave me a book of them and I’ve been making whatever catches my eye. There’s actually a lot of good health food in there, it’s really helping me slim down!”

As if timed to do so, the chair beneath John groaned its death knell, collapsing under him and sending him WHUDding to the floor. His whole body rippled and shook at the impact, large tears ripping open in his shorts as the apron’s strings snapped off around his waist and neck. Dave had to look away entirely to avoid an embarrassingly readable expression, but when he dared a glance back, John’s face hadn’t changed at all. He simply continued to eat cupcake after cupcake from the table, as if not noticing he now had to reach upwards for them.

Noticing Dave looking, John raised an eyebrow, holding one of the cupcakes out. “Sorry, I’m being rude, do you want one? It’s my first time making these, so they might be a bit lumpy, haha. But I think they taste okay! The almonds really add a lot of flavour, so it’s not as bland as most oatmeal stuff.”

Shaking his head, Dave nudged John’s hand back towards him to refuse the cupcake - which he doubted contained either almond or oatmeal, with its creamy consistency and delicate white filling. “I ate before I came, promise. You just... enjoy those, I guess.”

“If you insist!” As if spurred into action, John ate even faster, both hands now occupied with ferrying cupcakes into his fat face. Smears of white icing stood out clearly across his cheeks, but it was easy to believe from his behaviour that John didn’t even notice the mess as he gorged himself.

Taking in the sight a little longer than was polite, Dave resolved not to eat anything from the Egbert kitchen for a while.

[redrobin-detective]

the only ghost in Amity Park

Continuation of Half Of

______________________________________________

Only in Amity Park did the revelation that a local teenager was sorta, kinda a ghost just blow over in a few days. Sure, people still stared at Danny Fenton as he walked by and everyone was still wondering what exactly he was, but overall life had moved on. Star sighed to herself as she organized her notebooks, waiting for class to begin. Just another day.

Star herself really didn’t want to get involved in whatever was going on with Danny. She didn’t like him before he was a celebrity and didn’t plan on starting anytime soon. While Paulina still relentlessly, and vainly, pumped him for information on her dead boy crush, Phantom and he and Dash formed some weird macho bond or whatever, Star avoided him. He’d given her the chills since the day he’d walked into Casper High. When Danny’s secret had been exposed mid-attack, Star hadn’t been surprised. She didn’t need some ghost to tell her that there was something deeply, unsettlingly wrong with Danny Fenton.

Danny didn’t seem particular bothered, by his inhuman nature or by suddenly having his secret exposed. If anything, the nerd looked more relaxed than ever. Star had been watching him, they all had, but Fenton kept his ghostly antics to a minimum when in public. The occasional flash of green eyes when emotional, a grin of sharpened teeth. He made Mikey’s locker lock intangible the other day when the kid had forgotten his combination and he floated down the stairs instead of walking sometimes. It had been a week and it was  frightening how quickly such strangeness had become almost normal. 

“Alright kids, phones and notes away we’re starting class with a pop quiz. Hope you’ve all kept up with your weekly readings,” Faluca announced cheerily. The whole class, including Fenton, moaned and packed up their bags. Star supposed being an undead being haunting his own life didn’t make him immune from normal human problems. She was biting her lip trying to remember which antibody caused allergic reactions when she got an uneasy feeling. She looked up and was not surprised to see Danny Fenton looking around too. It had been a solid week without ghost attacks, looks like Fenton’s supposed vacation time was up.

Star stopped her writing and adjusted the bag at her feet to prep for evacuation. She briefly wondered what Fenton would do, what he could do? Did he also hunt ghosts, like his parents? Like Phantom? There were no blasts, no screams, no monologues but the dread increased when a ghost shield descended over them. Actually, it looked like it was just covering their classroom. Now everyone was looking up from their quizzes and out the window at the flickering, green shield.

“You’d think the administration would’ve warned me we were going to do a drill,” Faluca said but his voice was hesitant. Clearly this wasn’t planned so despite the lack of alarms, there was a good chance this was real. “Pencils down for the moment while I figure out what’s going on.”

“Mr. Faluca, I need to go,” Danny said, raising his hand. Star was so used to hearing the request she almost ignored him but the dread curling in her stomach made her look again. His face was pinched, sharp and his eyes burned with an icy fury like a sudden storm blowing in without warning. 

“Mr. Fenton, I don’t think...” Faluca murmured uneasily. Danny frowned harder.

“It wasn’t a request, actually,” Danny said roughly as he stood up and began walking towards the door. He was almost there when the door slammed open and Fenton had no less than 3 ectoweapons pointed in his face. A few kids jumped back in alarm but Danny held his ground as half a dozen Guys in White agents entered the room and surrounded him.

“Spectral scum formerly known as Daniel Fenton, you’re coming with us,” one of the agents said. 

“Danny not Daniel and it’s still my name,” Danny quipped, eyeing each of the government officials and their weapons. “And no, I’m not. I’m still alive, somewhat anyway, so I have rights. The courts backed me up.”

“Everyone who signed for your freedom doesn’t know ghosts like we do,” Another agent said so forcefully, some spittle flew out of their mouth and hit Danny’s cheek. Star watched it freeze and fall away the instant it hit his skin. “Your kind are too dangerous to wander around, you need to be contained and eliminated. Don’t worry, your parents will receive a sizable check as recompense.”

“I’m the one who needs to be contained?” Danny said slowly, evenly but there was a static to his voice that caused the hairs on the back of Star’s neck to rise. When she breathed out, she saw her breath was misting. Everyone’s was as the room temperature continued to plummet. “When you come in here and take hostages to threaten me?” Danny hissed, he took a step forward and his eyes took on a neon green glow. “You didn’t come to my home or on the streets, you came to take me in the middle of biology when I’m surrounded by civilians, kids.”

“You delude yourself into thinking you’re still human,” another agent scoffed. “Everyone knows ghosts are weaker when giving into their obsession.” Danny laughed, it was loud and mocking and like fingernails running down a chalkboard. Faluca, stuck in between Danny and the agents, was white as a sheet and gripping his desk like it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

“You know nothing,” Danny hissed, his voice barely recognizable as human. His hair and shirt floated in an invisible but angry breeze. Frost crawled up his arms and his face. Various ecto alarms were ringing on the belts of the agents and they started to look a bit nervous. He looked nothing like the kid who, minutes before, had clearly been struggling with their bio quiz. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with. You cannot come into my haunt and threaten my people to get to me. Protecting what is mine will always make me stronger!” 

“This whole town is constantly under attack because of things like you!” One particularly brave agent said even as a few others had backed up. “Amity Park is on the verge of collapse because of all the ghosts!”

“There is only one ghost in Amity Park,” Danny said, he tilted his head, his black and white hair dangling in his face as he gave a sharpened smile. “There is only me and the ghosts I allow, ghosts who know the rules, who respect my authority here by keeping damage to people and property down. I am the only ghost haunting this town and why do you think that is?” One agent threw down his gun and ran through the open door.

“You’re-you’re a monster!” Another woman shouted, shaking as she stepped back before fleeing.

“I’m not the one who needs to threaten innocents to get to their target,” Danny sneered. “It’s a good thing you did though, I wouldn’t hold back if I wasn’t worried about collateral.” Another three agents turned tail and ran. Until there was only one left. His gun was still trained on Danny but his hands were shaking. 

“You don’t scare us,” the agent trembled through the obvious lie having been abandoned by his comrades. “We’ll get you monster, if it’s the last thing we do.”

“Looking forward to it,” Danny drawled sarcastically as some of his horrifying aura dissipated along with the freezing grip on the room. Within moments Danny has settled back into more human form. While he’d been angry before, now he looked almost bored. At no point had he seemed afraid. 

“You take your people and your equipment and you leave Amity’s borders by sunset tonight,” Danny declared resolutely. “If you have continued problems with my existence, you take it up with the courts. We settle this as humans but if you treat me as a ghost then I will fight back like one.” His eyes turned green again as a threat. As a promise. 

“I don’t take orders from spooks!” The agent shouted, securing his finger on the trigger and preparing to fire. Star had ducked to avoid the blast so she missed exactly what happened. All she saw was the green glow and heard a strangled scream from the agent followed by a series of thumps. By the time Star had gotten back into her seat, Danny was aggressively pulling apart the ectogun with his bare hands. There was no sign of the agent and, around them, the ghost shield fizzled away. 

“Jerks,” Danny grumbled, kicking at the remains of the ectogun he’d destroyed. “Sorry about that, Mr. Faluca. I knew they’d cause problems but I didn’t think they’d come to school.” Their teacher stared at Danny like a rabbit facing down a lion. “You okay?”

“Fine, Mr. Fenton, just fine!” Falcua grinned in a high pitched voice. “Shall we get back to our quizzes?” The bell rang just then and Danny did a little fist pump.

“Tomorrow then? After I get a chance to study more?” Danny asked with puppy dog eyes. It looked wrong on his face that had just threatened the government with bodily harm. Faluca just nodded dumbly, not sure what else to say. “Yes! I’ll pass tomorrow for sure. The attention kinda sucks but it does come with some perks.”

He walked back to his desk, ignoring the wide-eyed looks of the class when he stopped and gasped, his breath fogging in front of him. His lips pursed again with annoyance. A few people jumped in surprise as the Box Ghost, a familiar annoyance, poked his head through the wall.

“Child! Your requested reprieve is up and the Box Ghost is here to cause insurmountable square shenanigans!” He laughed heartily, stopping when the room temperature dropped again. Danny didn’t even turn to face the ghost. 

“Your watch is off, Boxy. I have another 10 hours before I have to deal with you annoyances again,” Danny growled. “I’m feeling good right now, take advantage of it and leave in one piece.”

“Uh right okay then,” the ghost stammered, sinking back into the wall. “See you tomorrow.” Danny cracked his neck before he walked to his desk, grabbed his things and walked to the front of the room.

“Late bell’s gonna ring any minute, you guys should hurry if you don’t wanna be late,” Danny said as he left. Falcua’s strength gave out as soon as Fenton was gone and he hit the floor, one hand clutching at his chest.

“Jeepers,” Mikey surmised appropriately before stuffing his things in his bag and leaving as well. Star watched everyone loosen up themselves and begin gathering their things to leave. No, she would never like Danny Fenton but he and his ghost weirdness was just part of the deal now, whether they wanted it or not. Such was life in the most haunted city in America which was only haunted by a single ghostly entity.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Two

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

content warnings: secondhand embarrassment, i dont know how skiing works, poor editing, NSFW 🔥

***

To Nesta’s horror, Cassian was serious when he said he’d teach her how to ski. Nevermind the fact that it’s his birthday, and they should be having a lazy morning together filled with cuddles and breakfast in bed. Instead, they’ve been up since six in the morning without food or drink, just to shuffle around in the snow while Cassian repeats the same instructions over and over. By late morning, the rest of their group has gotten up and joined them at the beginner’s trail to be firsthand witnesses to Nesta’s humiliation.

She stares down at the blinding white slope before her and inhales a breath of frigid mountain air, trying to steel her nerves before she has to push off the ground and take flight.

Cassian sees her hesitation and sighs. “Come on, Nesta,” he urges. “It’s thirty feet to the bottom of the hill.”

“Why is it so steep?” she demands, even though she knows this is a practice hill. Toddlers in skis are shuffling around them, hand in hand with their parents.

“You’re not falling to the bottom,” Cassian says, growing impatient. “You’re gliding.”

He’s already shown her how to maneuver with skis a dozen times already, and Nesta can see that he doesn’t have another dozen times left in him. Unfortunately for him, Nesta’s own patience was used up hours ago. Her stomach pangs with hunger, and she has a pounding headache from the cold and lack of sleep.

“Oh, come on, Nesta,” Gwyn calls from behind her. She hops up and down in her snow boots like a cheerleader. “You can do it!”

Nesta does not want to do it. She looks down at the hill, then back at Cassian with pleading eyes—eyes that he can’t see under her ski goggles anyway.

“I can’t take this anymore,” Azriel mutters from somewhere. He picks up his ski poles and points to Emerie. “Ski lift?”

“Sure—” she starts to say, and then remembers that she’s here to support Nesta. “Not now,” she amends.

“Just go,” Cassian turns to tell them. “At least some of us will be having fun.” Nesta watches as he goes over to Emerie and Az to give advice on the trails, the same frustration from last night building in her chest.

Stupid ski trip. Stupid uninvited guests. Stupid birthday that Cassian isn’t even treating like a birthday.

Gritting her teeth, Nesta jabs her ski poles into the ground. She’ll conquer this hill, and then she’ll conquer the rest of the trail, and then she’ll take her skis and set them on fire.

With everyone briefly preoccupied and no eyes on her, Nesta pushes herself downhill. Her skis slip a little as she takes off but she readjusts her feet the way Cassian showed her, regaining control. She takes a deep breath, realizing the height isn’t as scary as she thought it would be. Testingly, she bends her knees and pushes herself farther, gaining speed.

“Oh, oh, look!” she hears Gwyn say from behind her. “She’s doing it!”

The voice breaks Nesta out of her precarious concentration, and she almost misses the kid right in front of her skiing at the pace of a turtle. Gasping, Nesta swerves at the last second to avoid running him over.

Her skis clack into each other and she feels her ankle twist, and then she’s down. Hard. Her face meets snow and her ski gear jabs into her body as she tumbles down the rest of the hill, until she finally meets flat ground and rolls to a painful stop.

Nesta only hears a dull roar in her ears as she slowly pushes herself upright. Ignoring alarmed looks from stray skiers around her, she reaches forward and unstraps one ski from her foot, then the other. Her goggles fall to the ground next. Once free, she stands up and walks away, ignoring the calls of her friends from the hilltop.

She walks until she loses sight of the trail and then the resort, until the flattened and trampled snow piles up into powdery mounds untouched by human presence. A cropping of towering evergreens appears before her, and she heads straight for the thicket without pausing.

Once safely entombed by the dark tree trunks and frosted branches, Nesta releases a breath and screams. Screams until the frustration and anger within her bluntens just a little.

The forest absorbs her fire and answers with silence.

“Better now?” Cassian’s voice comes from behind her.

Nesta whirls, ready to fling her next scream at him for having the nerve to follow her, but she only restrains herself because it’s his birthday. Guilt and humiliation nips at her; she shouldn’t be doing this on his birthday. “Leave me alone.” Her voice is raw from shrieking.

Cassian only takes a step closer to Nesta, eyeing her up and down. “You’re not hurt, right? ’Cause that would be embarrassing for you.”

Any edge that was taken off starts to build up again, and Nesta really doesn’t want to look at him right now. “Cassian—”

“Your face is turning red,” he suddenly gasps, pointing. “You should try yelling again, babe. I don’t think the entire resort heard you last time.”

Done with her boyfriend’s shit, Nesta releases a growl and rushes at him. He’s a lot closer than she realized, and in a blink she slams right into his broad chest and shoves him with all her might.

Cassian laughs, short and blunt, and pushes her right back. Her back hits hard-packed snow and then he’s on top of her, pinning her wrists loosely beside her head. Icy wetness seeps past the neck of her jacket.

“Do you want me to fucking bite you?” Nesta snarls, getting in Cassian’s face.

“Always,” he says without hesitation, pressing closer to her. “But first you gotta take a breather.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she seethes back. At this rate, she really might bite him. She wants to see his smug face drop when he realizes he pushed her too far.

“You might have an aneurysm at this rate with your anger issues.” He pouts prettily. “Imagine how sad that would make me.”

“I DON’T HAVE ANGER ISSUES!” she shrieks.

Cassian barely blinks. Nesta breathes heavily in the ensuing silence, realizing how embarrassing this is for her. Yet she doesn’t know how to stop.

Closing her eyes, she drops her head to the ground and turns away. Wishing she could sink into the ground and vanish for a few minutes, at least until she gets herself under control again.

After a moment of quiet, she feels the back of Cassian’s fingers brush her neck. “I wondered where that spitfire girl went,” he says lowly. “She didn’t die. You just hid her very well.”

Nesta’s body doesn’t know whether to feel soothed or incited by the touch, the words. “Does it make you happy?” she breathes, her eyes still closed. “That she’s still there?”

“It would be murder if you ever got rid of her. Don’t you dare,” he threatens.

Nesta huffs a derisive laugh. It’s easy for him to say, when he isn’t the one that has to live with it. “I bet you’re enjoying this.”

“Only if you are.” He sounds completely genuine, and Nesta feels him pluck something out of her hair—likely a snowflake.

Realizing Cassian has long since released her wrists, she opens her eyes and stares at the column of his neck. She doesn’t see the regret and concern on his face when he says, “I ruined today, didn’t I?” She watches him swallow before he adds, “I’m sorry, Nes.”

“It’s your birthday,” she mutters, looking away. “You can do whatever you want.” Even if it’s spending the whole day skiing.

“You’re right about that.” His warm breath hits her nose, and now that Nesta’s head is somewhat clear, she can feel every place where his body settles into hers.

Before she can betray herself and forget how upset she was at him only a few minutes ago, Cassian pushes up and off of her. Frigid air replaces where he was just sprawled, and then he’s holding out a hand to Nesta. “We’re going back to our room,” he says, watching Nesta’s feet closely as he helps her stand. “You can ride on my back.”

“Why?” Nesta grumbles, brushing herself off. “I can walk fine.”

“You twisted your right ankle on the way down that hill, and you started limping as soon as you thought you were out of sight.” Cassian turns around and points at his back. “Get on while I’m being nice.”

That makes Nesta scoff, because he’s always nice, but she has little fight left today. She tries to reach up to wrap her arms around his neck, but Cassian grabs her legs and hitches her up onto his back before she can struggle.

She responds with a scowl, clasping her hands across his chest and getting comfortable. “You noticed I was hurt but didn’t have a problem with tackling me to the ground?”

Cassian squeezes her thighs and holds her closer, tossing a blinding smile over his shoulder. “Sorry if I wasn’t expecting you to try to jump me with an injured foot. You took me by surprise.”

“Bullshit,” Nesta says as they start walking out of the trees. “You did it on purpose.”

“Do you like starting fights, Archeron?”

“Do you?” she retorts.

They bicker back and forth like that until they reach the resort, and even once they’re inside the lobby, Cassian doesn’t put Nesta down. The exhaustion of the day has settled over the both of them by then, and the elevator ride up to the penthouse is peacefully quiet.

Back at the empty suite, Cassian carefully lowers Nesta to her feet. “Take your clothes off,” is all he says before heading for the bathroom, shedding his heavy outer jacket as he goes. Nesta has no problem listening; she’s all too happy to take her snow-drenched gear off and breathe air-conditioned air again.

She only realizes as she’s removing her boots that her overwrought emotions must have dulled the real pain of her fall. Her entire body aches down to the bone, and her twisted ankle has it the worst. Inspecting the swollen skin around her foot, she wonders if Cassian will make her see a doctor when the sound of a running faucet pulls her attention. Still dressed in her thermal underwear, Nesta pads over to the bathroom.

Inside, the room is dim, and the only light comes in from the single window panel at the far end of the room. Cassian sits on the rim of the clawfoot tub as it fills with heated water, already naked.

Nesta coughs, caught off guard. The sight is far from unfamiliar to her, and yet she hates to admit that she’ll never not react to it.

Cassian looks up at her, meeting her eyes head on, and a giggle almost escapes her.

“What’s that dumb look on your face?” he says with high brows. “Take your clothes off and get in.”

Nesta firmly schools her face into obedience. Is she a grown woman or a schoolgirl? she chides herself as she strips naked. But as soon as she’s free of her top and leggings, Cassian stops her. “Turn around,” he says.

Is this a sex thing? She hopes it’s a sex thing. She does as she’s told, and hears Cassian hiss in a breath. Glancing at the mirror over the sink, Nesta winces when she realizes what he sees. “Damn.” Her back is peppered with still-forming bruises from her fall, along with her legs and ribs.

Getting up, Cassian approaches her and cautiously runs his fingers over a reddened spot on her ribs. “I think a ski pole stabbed me there,” Nesta says, frowning down at the bruise. She looks like shit, and not at all in a desirable way.

“How’s your ankle?” Cassian kneels to check for himself, handling her like a porcelain doll. He presses gently above the bone where she twisted it. “Does that hurt?”

Nesta considers saying yes, just so he can keep fussing over her like this, but she shakes her head. “I’m fine. Just a little achy.”

A sudden chaste kiss between her legs makes her yelp, and she twists to find Cassian still on his knees, grinning sheepishly up at her. “You know what can help with those aches?”

Nesta blanks as Cassian runs a calloused hand up her inner leg. “Uh…really good dick?”

Cassian is visibly trying not to smile when he says, “A bath.” He stands and turns the faucet off, before going to help Nesta into the tub.

Steaming hot water just beneath the point of being uncomfortable hits Nesta’s calves, then her hips and chest. She might moan in relief as she sinks into the bath.

Cassian settles in across from her, taking up most of the tub space as Nesta twists her ponytail into a bun. He takes her ankle onto his lap and starts massaging above the injury. He notes, “We haven’t been alone like this in ages.”

“I remember when it was my job to be the chill guy,” he continues, rubbing circles into her leg. “I was the one doing stupid shit, and now I have to tell other people to knock it off when they do stupid shit. Since when did Azriel take my role?” he mutters to himself.

Nesta tilts her head against the lip of the tub and watches Cassian, taking in the barely visible lines of weariness on his face. She was once in a similar boat, too, where she had no one to answer to but herself. “Do you miss it?” she asks hesitantly. “Life before we got to know each other?” A life spent in the company of his friends, meeting different women every other week and being as free as possible.

“No,” he says easily. “I miss life before we had to share each other with other people.” He meets her eyes and smirks. “Who knew monogamy could be so exciting?”

Nesta’s stomach curls at his honesty, and she doesn’t know what to say. In the silence, Cassian reaches for a washcloth and lathers it with a bar of pine scented soap. But before he can reach for Nesta, she snatches the washcloth from him and pulls herself forward into the cradle of his limbs. What she can’t say, she’ll just have to show.

She starts soaping up his arms, granting extra attention to his tattooed biceps.

“You’re hurt—” he tries to protest.

“Shut up.” She runs the washcloth over his shoulders, across his collarbones.

When Nesta reaches his chest, she starts, “Earlier in the woods...I lost control.”

Cassian looks wary, but she goes on, “I don’t know why I did that. I thought I didn’t do that anymore.”

“I know why,” he says simply. “You were having a bad day. It was overwhelming.” He shrugs.

“But I’m better than that,” she insists. “You might think it's cute or funny when I—lose it, but I spent years training myself not to fall apart at the slightest inconvenience.” She takes in a breath, her movements slowing. “I learned how to escape reality, remember? I climbed into books and TV and songs, and at one point my entire life passed me by because I refused to participate in it. If I didn't participate, I couldn't be hurt.” She wrings out the washcloth, and Cassian carefully pries it out of her grip.

Nesta places her empty hands on her thighs, avoiding his touch, his eyes. “I think you were one of the only people who ever made me want to come back to real life,” she offers awkwardly. “That's why you made me uncomfortable at first. There were times I would look at you and think, He's better than anyone from the books. If I start living on the same plane as him, I can have him. Does that make sense?”

Cassian swallows visibly, but nods.

“It seemed like an impossible thing to do at the time—participate in the real world, make real friends. But have you noticed? I don’t read as many romance novels anymore.” Not because she doesn’t love them, but because she no longer needs them to remind herself she's alive.

She looks up at him, searching for his thoughts and opinions. Cassian looks like he's doing the same with her face, but then he says, “If you need to scream, even if it’s at me, tell me. I’ll take you somewhere far away, or I’ll let you have it out right in front of everyone. Whatever the hell you want, as long as you tell me. Please.”

Nesta starts to shake her head, adamant, but he stops her with the most pitiful look he's ever given her. “There’s nothing I hate seeing more than you trying to swallow down your rough edges. Even in the woods, you were about to tame yourself before I provoked you.” Cassian holds out a pinky, completely serious. “Consider it my birthday gift. Don’t do that shit anymore.”

Nesta stares at him, his plea warring with years of conditioned self-restraint. “I already got you a birthday gift,” she finally grumbles, but hooks his pinky with hers.

He seems satisfied, but doesn't let go of her pinky. With surprising strength, he uses their hooked fingers to pull Nesta into him, and she just barely catches herself on his chest before he brings her head down and kisses her deep.

Nesta already has her legs adjusted around his waist and his cock pressed against her stomach before she can pull away far enough to choke, “What’s this for?”

He leans up and catches her lips with his again, dipping his tongue just far enough inside to flick the roof of her mouth before retreating. “For existing. And for those aches.” He presses down lightly on a bruise at her back and runs a soothing thumb over it right after. Between her thighs, she feels him growing hard.

Nesta huffs a distracted laugh, the steam from the water sending a red flush up her chest and neck. It's suddenly very hot, and she unconsciously squirms in his lap. “I just realized I’ve never had sex in the bath before,” she says out of nowhere, rubbing her chest and quickly dropping her arms. She’s babbling, she knows. Contrary to popular media, being a seductress is harder than it looks. Half the time she has no idea what to say, and she considers herself lucky that Cassian is driven wild by it anyway.

Cassian entertains her, nodding along while his fingers slip past her ass, brushing her folds. “That sounds like something that should be amended, don’t you think?”

“Well, in terms of comfort I’m not sure if it’ll be better than the shower—” She’s cut off by a finger teasing at her entrance, making her jerk. “Yes,” she says quickly. “Yes, it should be amended.”

He hums thoughtfully, leaning in to nibble and suck at her neck. Her hardened nipples brush against his chest, and Nesta pushes closer into Cassian’s embrace. She’s half-rocking against him when she rasps, “How do you give head in the bath? Do I, like, have to hold my breath underwater?”

“You don’t need to know how,” he mutters, grasping her by the hips and tugging her up so that he’s eye level with her chest. He starts leaving a trail of openmouthed kisses across her breasts. “You’re not doing anything I don’t tell you to do today.”

“What do you mean?” Nesta’s grip on Cassian’s shoulders tightens when he brings a pink nipple into his mouth, sucking hard and pulling off with a flick of his tongue. She can’t move her hips for fear of climaxing at the slightest touch. “It’s your birthday,” she manages to get out. “And I like seeing what I can do to you.”

“Then save it for your birthday.” He pulls her back down firmly into his lap, making her thighs clench with restraint. “Because I like seeing what I do to you more.”

To prove his point, he parts her legs and slips one finger inside her. The smug pride on his face at what he finds makes Nesta move to grip the rim of the tub. Having a pretty boyfriend might have been a mistake, she thinks. That kind of face will get away with anything. Right now, for example.

“Tell me what you want, then,” she pleads.

Cassian leans back, pretending to think. “Sit on my cock,” he finally says.

An easy enough order, one Nesta is all too excited to carry out in only a few movements. It takes a minute to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, and the water doesn’t help in dousing the fire in her veins at all. With heat pounding deep in her core, Nesta releases a terse breath. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip, and Cassian watches.

“Now don’t move,” he orders.

“What?” Nesta’s knees involuntarily clench around his hips, her body already craving the feel of moving against him, on top of him.

He levels her with a look. “No clenching, no rocking, no touching.” He hisses in a thoughtful breath, combing a wet hand through his hair. “Actually, that isn’t very fair, is it?”

Nesta is about to nod furiously when he says, “You still need to wash yourself.” He hands her the washcloth she used on him earlier and leans his elbow on the rim of the tub. “Be quick about it. No games.”

Nesta’s eyes widen, looking at the washcloth, then back up at Cassian. Excitement tingles in her fingers and toes, and she doesn’t want to argue with him.

Gulping tightly, she soaps up the washcloth, then smooths the lather over her arms. It’s hard to focus on what she’s doing when there’s a pounding pressure between her legs, and the only thing that keeps her going is that she’ll be rewarded when she’s done. Cassian doesn’t bother watching her, instead tipping his head back against the tub and closing his eyes. From this angle, the tendons in his neck stand out clearly, and the hard line of his jaw looks tense. Nothing on his calm face reveals that Nesta is the reason for his tension, though.

Bringing the soapy cloth over her breasts, Nesta looks up to see if Cassian is secretly peeking at her through his lashes. His eyes remain shut, the perfect portrait of a man at rest.

Suddenly, his hips shift beneath hers, and Nesta nearly drops the washcloth. Straightening up, she has to use herculean strength to force her inner walls to relax around him. “You moved,” she accuses him.

“I was getting comfortable,” he says, still not opening his eyes.

“Why can you move but I can’t?”

That gets him to look at her. His eyes are hooded and lazy when he says, “You’re still talking?”

“Maybe if you had clearly explained the rules—” Nesta starts to grumble, but shuts up when he quirks a brow at her. She won’t lose this game, not for anything—even if she’s split at the seams with Cassian inside her and is one thread away from completely snapping.

Now fully alert, Cassian watches Nesta finish washing up. He hasn’t touched her once since he pulled her onto his cock, and now Nesta tries to make up for the aching lack by pretending her roaming hands are his.

It’s not until the washcloth reaches her tummy that Nesta pauses, her hand frozen over her lower abdomen. Because there, even past the cloth, she can feel him. The skin just slightly bulges, and she looks down at herself with her lips slightly fallen apart. She didn’t realize he was nestled so deep in her, but now she swallows past a lump in her throat. “Cassian…” she starts weakly. Every last muscle is trembling with the effort to stay still. Can he really be unaffected by all of this? Is she really the only one dying right now?

Without intending to, her hand drops the cloth, slipping toward her clit. She can only brush the sensitive nub before Cassian says quietly, “Don’t.”

So this is against the rules, too. She can’t even bring herself to look at him, she’s strung so tight. Taking a shallow breath, she grabs the pitcher from the shelf by the tub and fills it with water, using it to rinse off the suds. When she’s done, with water droplets running down every inch of her, she dares to look at Cassian again. Her anxiousness to get this over with must be written all over her face, and yet.

“Good,” Cassian says, voice just a little grated.

Nesta’s heart rate picks up a beat. She’s finally getting her reward.

“Now sit still and pretty while I rest,” he says, sinking even lower into the tub—and causing his cock to dig even deeper into Nesta. “This is a bath, not a splash pad.”

Nesta chokes. “What—I thought—”

“Hm?”

She presses her lips together tightly, refusing to protest. He can’t make her warm his cock like this forever, can he? Soon enough he’ll crack.

Four minutes in, and he doesn’t crack. While Nesta gets closer to crying by the second, she has yet to find evidence that he’s even aware of her presence. Her only proof is the fact that he’s still rock hard, occasionally twitching against the depths of her walls.

At five minutes in, Nesta can’t help it. She breaks, and her inner muscles clamp around Cassian with a viselike grip. She half-sobs in pain and relief, and her hips jerk of their own accord.

Cassian’s eyes fly open at that, the pupils blown wide, and Nesta has to catch herself on his chest to keep from crumbling. If she had half a working brain left, she would have noticed the trembling restraint that lines Cassian’s limbs, or the way his eyes burn with welling desire and even sympathy. Instead, she turns her face into his chest and begs weakly, “Pleasepleaseplease.” Her thighs keep shifting, rubbing back and forth to create friction, but she can’t give herself permission to move the way she truly needs until Cassian gives her permission.

Nesta feels Cassian’s broad hand come up to carefully brush her back. She nearly weeps with relief at the touch, but he doesn’t go any further. “What do you want, baby?” he says roughly.

“You,” she forces out. She doesn’t care if this is losing.

“Me, what?” He sounds like he’s about to lose, too.

“I want you to fuck me.” She’s nearly whimpering, trying not to squirm on his lap.

Cassian, the horrible bastard, has the nerve to snicker in her ear, though he sounds more than a little wrecked when he says, “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

In a flash, he has Nesta pinned against the porcelain tub. And before she can decide whether to laugh or moan or cry at the turn of events, Cassian covers her mouth with his and thrusts into her, giving her everything she wants.

***

Hours later, after they’ve sated themselves on sex and food and Cassian is napping sprawled out across Nesta’s back, she receives a text from Azriel telling her he won’t be there to celebrate the rest of Cassian’s birthday.

Az: You two deserve the alone time. Also I didn’t get him a present.

Another text pops up before Nesta can reply.

Az: I did order a cake to be sent up to your room, though. Don’t worry, there’s not a picture of your boobs on it.

Nesta’s eyes widen at that, not knowing why—or how—that would be an option. But she completely forgot about getting cake in all the unexpected hassle of their vacation, and not for the first time is she grateful that Azriel came along with them on their trip.

Typing back a quick thank you, Nesta clicks her phone off and curls further into Cassian’s warmth. He shifts on top of her, hugging her closer, and a moment later she feels his nose poking at the crook of her neck. “Good morning,” he murmurs thickly, sleep coating his voice.

“It’s six p.m,” she snickers. The sun slipped behind the mountains just a few minutes ago, leaving the room a blue dark.

Cassian responds by slipping his hands under her oversized tee, rubbing the muscles along her back. “Where’s everyone else?” They haven’t seen Gwyn, Emerie, or Az in hours.

Nesta turns around in Cassian’s arms to face him. “Consider them gone. We’re by ourselves for the rest of the night.”

He perks up at that. “Really?”

A knock sounds from the penthouse door, and Nesta remembers Azriel’s text. She squirms out from under Cassian’s weight with some difficulty and stands off the bed. She points a stern finger at him. “Don’t move from here,” she orders. “I’ll be back.”

Cassian leans back, looking questioning and amused, but Nesta has already jammed her feet into slippers and left the room by then.

She accepts the covered platter from room service at the door and leaves a tip, before carrying the cake over to the coffee table in the living area and setting it down. Within ten minutes, she has an entire setup arranged: the fireplace is up and roaring, the fur throw she stole from Cassian’s couch to bring on vacation is spread out before it, and the cake candles are lit. The Italian dinner that she ordered earlier also arrives by then, and once everything is laid out, she calls for Cassian to come downstairs.

He’s fully dressed in a sweater and jeans when he appears at the top of the short set of stairs, and he looks so excited to see her that he doesn’t notice the cake or the dinner until he’s only a few steps away from her. Very slowly, his smile freezes. “What’s all this?”

“It’s your birthday,” Nesta says. “Duh.”

“But I thought we already celebrated,” he stumbles, looking around. “With the skiing, and the bathtub—”

Nesta makes a face. “You thought that was celebrating?” She shakes her head and beckons Cassian over to the fur throw, right before the table decked out with food.

He sits down beside Nesta, looking over her in nothing but her thin white shirt. “Are you cold? Do you want my sweater?”

She rolls her eyes as far back as they can go. “No, I want you to focus and make a wish before 6:27.”

“How do you know my birth time?”

“Will you do it or not?” she threatens. The candle wax is melting onto the cake.

Cassian stares at her for a moment longer before finally facing the cake. Closing his eyes, he mouths something unintelligible and blows the candles out.

Nesta claps softly. “Happy two years away from thirty. What did you wish for?” She leans closer.

He leans away. “It doesn’t come true if you go around announcing it.”

Nesta’s shoulders drop. “Wishes aren’t real, Cassian.”

“That’s what you say.” He swipes a dollop of chocolate frosting off the cake with his finger and holds it out to Nesta.

Smiling, she wraps her lips around his finger, scraping the chocolate off with her teeth and licking it clean. He sucks on the same finger when she’s done, chasing after her taste and the lingering frosting. “What do you want first?” he asks. “Dinner or dessert?”

“This.” Nesta pulls out a small box from under the table, placing it in front of Cassian. She didn’t have time to find wrapping paper or a bag, but she’s a bit proud of herself anyway.

Cassian once again looks taken by surprise. “You didn’t have to…” He trails off as he reaches for the box. It’s already obvious what it is, but he still opens it carefully, hesitantly.

He stares at the silver watch for a little while and then looks back up at Nesta. “I…” He clears his throat.

“What do you think?” In all honesty, Nesta already knows. But she needs to hear it from him.

He meets her eyes. “It’s so…normal. Do you know what I mean?”

It’s the type of gift that Nesta’s mother would have given to her father, the type of gift that wives would give to their husbands. Not necessarily original or thoughtful, but domestic.

“Since you like to spend your time thinking about taxes and minivans and stuff,” Nesta says, remembering their last conversation about the future, “I thought you’d like something normal.”

Cassian laughs at that. He takes the watch out of the box and turns it over in the firelight, still a little dumbstruck. “I love it,” he says roughly.

Nesta kicks him in the knee. “It’s a watch, not an engagement ring.”

But he doesn’t hear a word, already clasping it onto his wrist.

***

Their last day at the resort starts early with Gwyn, Emerie, and Az banging on the suite door at five in the morning. Though Cassian is already up by then, Nesta snarls and snaps like a bitch at being dragged out of bed to watch the sunrise.

With everyone’s bags packed and waiting at the door, they all gather on the balcony connected to the suite in content silence. Azriel nurses a thermos of coffee that he refuses to share with Cassian, and Nesta is wrapped up in that fur throw she loves, half-asleep against Emerie.

When the sky starts lightening, Cassian pulls Nesta away from Emerie and into his body. “You’re gonna miss it,” he murmurs onto the top of her head.

She blinks awake, looking out at the sky slowly being streaked with a dozen colors. From here, the view over the mountains and the quiet town some miles beneath the resort is breathtaking. Easily better than any sunrise Cassian could have shared with Nesta back home.

It’s beautiful, and in that moment he decides he wants to see even more beautiful places than this with Nesta. Someday.

“Pretty,” she yawns, tilting her head back against his chest. Cassian feels guilty for keeping her up so late the night before, but he’s not ashamed of how she rests in his arms right now.

After the sun climbs past the lowest peak, the group of them slowly but surely come more alive. Emerie asks Az to go inside with her and do a final check before they leave, and Nesta shakes both the blanket and Cassian’s arms off herself.

“Some coffee will wake you up,” he promises her, leaving her outside in the dewy morning air with a kiss on the temple.

When Cassian returns to the balcony with two freshly brewed cups, he finds Gwyn and Nesta in deep conversation. “I never apologized for crashing your weekend,” Gwyn is saying.

“You don’t need to,” Nesta responds, watching the world wake up below her.

“Still,” Gwyn says, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I acted out of character, didn’t I?”

Nesta turns to her then, the sun haloing her face, and the look of understanding she wears makes Cassian take a step back inside.

“He does that to me,” Gwyn goes on, looking lost as ever. “I don’t know why he does that to me.”

“First love will do that to anyone,” Nesta says.

This isn’t a conversation Cassian should be overhearing, he realizes. Turning around with his coffees, he goes to find Emerie and Azriel instead.

In the living area, Emerie realizes at the last minute that she’s missing her phone charger. By the time she finds it, Nesta and Gwyn have rejoined the group.

Cassian hands Nesta her still-warm coffee with a warmer smile. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Hell yes, baby.” She slings an arm around his waist.

They barely make it to the resort lobby before Azriel and Gwyn start arguing over which route to take home.

“Why would you add an extra hour to your trip for no reason?” Azriel is saying.

“It’s none of your business!” Gwyn retorts.

“She’s scared of highways,” Emerie inserts.

While they bicker on the way to check out, Cassian finds Nesta’s hand and runs a finger down her palm. “Hey, Nes?”

“Hm?” She looks up at him.

He curls his fingers around hers. “Thank you for doing this.”

***

a/n: i cant keep posting chapters right before i sit down to cry in front of kdramas

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea

[strawwritesfic]

Loki Laufesyon x Female!Asgardian!Healer!Reader: Reliance

Summary: Royalty must always put the good of the realm above the good of their heart.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (set pre-Thor)

Challenge: "160 Collective Drabbles" challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Reliance

“A-Ah!”

“Hold still.”

“It hurts.”

“Don’t be such an infant.”

“An infant? You are making my skin smoke!”

“It’ll hurt worse if I don’t. Here. Bite down on this if you’re going to whine about it. I’m almost done.”

A coarse wooden block roughly shoved back the protest on the tip of Loki’s tongue. He gagged on it for a moment.

The girl in front of him had her face hidden as she kept her eyes focused on the deep gash across his lower arm, or else he would have glared at her. Maybe you wouldn’t have seen it then, either. The cozy bedroom surrounding you both was utterly dark. It had to be. No one was to know who was visiting this healer in the dead of night–many nights, for years now. The darkness was for his benefit, and yet he found himself annoyed by it more often than not.

You were prettier in the moonlight. That had to be it. The shadows turned your [color] hair inky blue, and when you looked back up at him, your eyes were full of starlight. Loki’s mouth turned to sand long before you’d taken the block from his mouth.

“There,” you said, and surely it was his imagination that made you sound a little hoarse.

It did things to his body and his head, being so close to you, seeing you like this, things he should not like to admit. A peasant girl had no right to be so enchanting. He had to get a handle on things, sooner rather than later.

“If this is how you treat your rulers, I should hate to see how you treat your other patients,” he said–but he had to force the snide tone that always came so easily to him otherwise.

Was the look you sent him irritated or knowing? The latter. It must have been the latter. You took his arm so tightly that that was the only option, and you did not look away as you began to loop a bandage around his recently repaired flesh.

“Princes mend the same as peasants, I’ve found,” you said.

Finally, you looked away. This allowed Loki to swallow the worst of his nerves, or try to. It did not help as much as he had hoped.

“They pay better, too,” you went on, “or at least tell other people they should come by with their own money.”

“It should be–”

“–‘honor enough to house Loki Odinson,’” you finished for him.

Loki glowered stonily at you until you shot him a grin.

“You take everything too seriously, ‘your highness.’” The way your lips quirked up around his title made something burn in Loki’s chest. Frustration was what he decided to convey.

“I could have you locked up for that.”

“And then who would patch you up after your midnight trips to Jotunheim, my liege?”

The last word seemed to end on a purr, but Loki was too startled to notice.His eyes went wider than he wished them to; he blinked as he battled off the desire to shout.

“How did you…” he began, but by then you had looked back down at your work and he was distracted once again by the way the silver moonlight flowed across your skin. This you did not notice.

“I know you,” you answered.

Loki let out a scoff, the sound of which was so softened that it sounded much more like a low chuckle. Damn him. He was letting himself get lost here; he should not have ever allowed himself to come back. Unfortunately, you were like a magnet: No matter how many times he swore to never return to this cramped home in the middle of a tiny Asgardian village, there would come some time, some wound when he could no longer resist your pull.

Then you had to go and ruin the moment by adding, “I thought you would have learned your lesson the first time you went there.”

He stiffened, his fingers tightening around his knees. Your voice had been mild enough, but that did not stop him from feeling the sting of betrayal in your rebuke. Did you presume that he enjoyed spending his time with those monsters, freezing his bones to the core in the constant snow while the Frost Giants lumbered about his plans with all the grace of those half-wit carnivores sitting at their gate? That you were so far removed from court that you could not understand politics was a given, but Loki had thought you had some grasp of tact.

“You do not understand,” he snapped. Being quiet was the farthest thing from his mind, his voice rising as he continued, “There is so little time. Thor’s coronation is two weeks away. If I don’t do something, no one will. I cannot stand by and let him have the throne. You know Thor, [Name].”

The tirade might have been shorter than most of Loki’s speeches, but he spoke it with such feeling that he was breathless by the end of it. A faint feeling of chagrin flashed through him at the sight of your reaction: None at all. In fact, once he was finished, all you did was lean forward to wipe his brow with a soft cloth and answer:

“No.”

“No?” Loki repeated.

“No.” You shrugged and settled against the back of your hard wooden chair. “I have never met your brother, Loki. I do not know him at all.”

For a moment, Loki was nonplussed. Not know Thor? How was that possible? And then he remembered the important detail that kept slipping his mind: You were not of high or noble birth. The people of Asgard in this distant corner of the realm weren’t likely to hear much other than the codswallop spread by the rest of the populace, all about Odin’s golden child, winner of a thousand battles, worthy wielder of Mjolnir. He felt certain that if you just met Thor, you would be on Loki’s side–which shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow it did.

He allowed himself to imagine for one moment. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself taking you to the palace, introducing you to his family, declaring his intentions. Father would throw a fit over your low birth, to be sure, but Mother wouldn’t mind, and what could they do to stop him? Thor would have the Realm; Thor would need to marry for the good of all. Loki could stop this plan of his right now and take you home. Assuming you were amiable, his happily ever after was right within his grasp.

“[Name]!” This illusion shattered like glass underneath the insistent fist against your door.

Despite himself, Loki started and felt blood rise to his face in embarrassment. Whether this embarrassment was due to his thoughts or his jumping hardly mattered. You, too, had frozen, one hand still gently holding Loki’s wrist as you twisted toward the door.

“[Name], are you alright? I heard shouting.”

“Fine, Father,” you called back. This was not the first time Loki had nearly been caught in your bedroom after the moon had risen, and he was not surprised to hear your cool lie next. “I had a bad dream. I’ve calmed down now. I will try not to wake you again.”

There followed another long silence. Though Loki could not be in any danger from a man like your father, he still found that he could not force his tensed muscles to relax until he heard your father’s tired response: “Very well. Let me know if you have taken ill and need anything. Goodnight, [Name].”

“Goodnight, Father.”

Loki’s ears strained to hear the sound of bare feet softly padding back up the hall. At last it did, and at last he could let out his long-held breath and relax. When he looked back at you, your eyes were still glued to the door.

“[Name].”

Blinking, you turned your face back to him. Once more he felt as though he had been punched in the stomach. You really were so beautiful. Perhaps he was being foolish, trying to take the crown for himself–or delay Thor getting it until he had matured a little. There were fruits that could be enjoyed only by those that did not have the weight of an entire realm on their shoulders, after all. Could it be that Loki had not thought his plan all the way through?

No.

His shoulders tightened once again. He could not simply stand back and let Thor be king. Thor was every kind of reckless under the sun, and hardheaded and ignorant to boot. He would have Asgard at war with all nine realms within the first nine months of his reign, Loki was sure of it. To choose his own happiness over the good of Asgard would make him every bit as selfish as his brother.

As though you could sense that he had come to this sort of conclusion, you let out a short, soft sigh and smiled as you released his arm. Loki pulled it protectively to his chest, and your smile widened slightly. Then you turned away, hiding your face again to put up the rest of your healing supplies.

“Well, your highness,” you said once you were finished, “it will be difficult to sneak out of here, now that my father will be listening out. Will you be wanting to stay the night?”

For once, Loki did not answer. He merely gazed at you, wishing that he had never made the mistake of coming here. Why did this choice have to be so difficult? You were not worth this sort of heartache, except that you were, or else he would not feel heartache to begin with. When he did not speak, you moved past him to settle on the bed he was already sitting on.

“Suit yourself,” you murmured as you pulled the sheets back over your shoulders. “Do keep in mind that there is room on the bed here, if you are not averse to sharing with a lady.”

He did not point out that you were not a lady. Loki did not even point out that, as he was the prince, you should have been happy to take the floor while he slept on the bed. Instead, he wordlessly slipped into the blankets next to you, as he always did on such nights when escape became impossible or undesirable.

As he listened to your breathing lengthen in the dark, Loki thought that you had been enough of a lady to him from the beginning. Always you had been there to patch him up and hear his troubles, without pay and always with a touch of sarcasm. He knew that your attitude wouldn’t change even if he did continue his secret meetings with Laufey. It was just that now he realized that couldn’t matter. The realm came first, and his heart second.