#they will put fire on dancefloor

[gloryride]

Tall Boys Squad

They are chooms and they wear same jacket style. So time to do pics and selfie ! Thanks @imaginarycyberpunk2023 to let me dressing The Vinnie(tm) ♥♥

[gracexthoughts]

the strong

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!oc

warnings; slight canon divergence, cussing, canon typical incest, fighting, implied smut at the end (i cannot actually write smut to save my life sorry), s1ep8 spoilers ig summary; after vaemond's petition, aegon’s jesting, and aemond’s taunts, jacaerys is furious and seeks solace and advice from his step-sister and betrothed. inspired by tyrion telling jon to wear his bastardy “like armor so it can never be used to hurt'' him in the first ep of GOT (I’ve been rewatching to feed the brainrot) a/n; daenera is daemon’s eldest daughter from his first marriage, in my head daemon didn’t kill rhea and she died in childbirth just before rhaenyra’s wedding so daeny is about half a year older than jace but you can use your imagination as it doesn’t really matter.

“I dare you to say that again!” Jacaerys growls from the dancefloor. Daenera turns in her seat to see Jacaerys with his fists clenched, his eyes dark and glaring daggers at his uncle. The feast had been amicable considering the events of the day, but while the adults’ words of peace ring honest between them, animosity between the young princes, princess and ladies nears its boiling point. Prince Aegon has spent most of the evening cooing foul and crude jests to Jacaerys and Daenera about their soon approaching wedding. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Prince Aemond has added his own taunt to the pile: a thinly veiled comment on the Velaryon brothers' true parentage. 

“Why? Twas only a compliment,” Aemond defends, lowering his goblet to face Jacaerys, stepping towards him as he does. “Do you not think yourself Strong?” Jacaerys answers by bringing his fist up to Aemond’s jaw, the sound resonating through the hall. Lucerys leaps up from his seat, Vaemond’s slanders still heavy in his ears, but Aegon intercepts him, slamming him down on the table and sending food and silverware clattering from the impact. Daenera, ever protective of her siblings, leaps from her seat and wraps her arms around the eldest prince’s neck, putting all her weight against him to remove his hands from Lucerys. He grapples with her for a moment before she is ripped off by a Kingsguard. Knights separate Aegon from Luceryrs, Jacaerys from Aemond, and Rhaena pushes Baela back from leaping into the fray as well.

The Queen pulls her second son back, muttering angrily to him but he pulls away from her as Rhaenyra moves towards her sons and Daemon to his daughters. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family. Though it seems my nephews aren’t so proud of theirs!” Aemond continues to taunt, leveling a snide one-eyed glare at Jace. Jacaerys wriggles out of the guard’s grip and steps menacingly towards Aemond. 

“Wait, wait,” Daemon says, holding a finger up and stopping Jacaerys in his tracks, forcing him back to stand next to Daenera. 

“Go to your quarters, all of you. Go now!” Rhaenyra commands sternly, her eyes holding a warning as she stares down her eldest son and motions for the rest of her children, by blood and by marriage, to leave. 

“Come on,” Rhaena says softly, pulling her sisters along with her and out of the hall by their hands. Daenera relents with a sigh but not before squeezing Jacaerys’ and flashing him a sympathetic smile. 

“Are you alright, Daeny?” Baela asks as they make their way to their rooms.

“Fine, worried about the boys,” she mutters in reply.

“I’m sure Jace and Luke are alright, sister,” Rhaena says softly, wrapping her hand around Daeny and Baela’s arms. Daenera nods agreeing but still can’t shake the worry in her chest.

Near an hour later, a knock sounds on the door to Daenera’s chambers, pulling her from the depths of the book in her hands. “Come in!” she calls expecting one of her maids and, not bothering to stand from her comfortable position on the settee in front of the fire, turns to see who enters. “Jace,” the lady says softly as her betrothed steps into her chambers, his eyes still dark with rage. 

The pair have been betrothed for nearly ten years, the announcement made soon after their parents married, and as they grew up together they have grown a deep love for each other: a bond of unconditional trust and adoration between the future King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Jacaerys comes to crouch in front of her, placing his hands on her knees and caressing the joint over the silk of her night gown. His tunic is gone, leaving him in just his white undershirt and trousers, Daenera’s eyes trail to the bit of collarbone she can from her vantage point. 

“Are you alright? Did Aegon hurt you?” the prince asks, searching her deep purple eyes that snap back to his face at his words. 

“I’m fine, Jace. If I can match you in a spar, I can handle myself against that drunken lecher,” she chuckles slightly, setting her book aside and reaching up to brush a stray curl away from his brow. “Are you alright?” She asks, reaching for his hand with its already darkening skin. She’d let her hair down to hang around her shoulders and even clouded by anger as his mind is, Jacaerys notices her etherealness. She has always been a sharp and unsettling kind of beauty, her eyes seeming to have the ability to gaze upon your soul, but Jacaerys relishes her softer side. The side she so rarely shows others.

“Wish I’d gotten more blows in,” he grumbles, standing and pacing in front of the hearth, his shoulders tight and face scrunched in anger. 

“Maybe you’ll have a chance before we return to Dragonstone,” she offers with a smirk. “The cunts deserve it, the pair of them.” 

“Will I never be free of this? Of these slanders that are whispered in my wake? Will they sneer at me when I sit on the throne? Ignore my rulings and snicker-” 

“Jace, breathe,” Daenera pleads, concerned with the rising panic she sees in his eyes. 

“I cannot, Daeny!” the prince exclaims, “How am I meant to be a King, a leader, when I am not respected?” 

“Darling, we are barely eight and ten, you are second in line at present. Respect will come with time. Once your mother is Queen the people will become familiar with you, with your grace, your kindness, your justness,” she says, placatingly, reaching out for his hand, forcing him to stop his pacing and look at her. “They will forget the slanders the Hightowers murmur because you will be a good and just King. Besides, it's your mother’s blood that makes you royal, not your father’s.” 

“And yet there will always be those who call me a Strong. The King cannot take every single one of their tongues,” he says with a heavy sigh, running a ringed hand through his hair in distress. Daenera considers this for a moment, knowing it is true enough, and Jacaerys sighs, turning to face the hearth, planting his hands on the stone and gazing down into the flames. 

“So make it a compliment,” the lady says after a long moment, leaning back on her arm on the settee, her deep amethyst eyes watching the prince. 

“Make the doubt of my paternity a compliment?” Jacaerys scoffs, turning to her. “How in the Seven Hells-” 

“If they shall call you ‘Strong’ no matter what, the more you rage against it the more power the slight has. The only way to take away its power is to show it cannot be used to hurt or diminish you. Take it as your moniker and wear it like armor so all know tis not a weapon they can wield against you.” 

“Jacaerys the Strong?” he asks slowly, the wheels turning behind his eyes, unable to deny the intelligence of her council. He sits down slowly next to Daenera, his eyes fixed on a point on the rug.

“King Jacaerys the Strong, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,” she purrs, leaning towards the prince, a smirk on her lips. She watches as a firelight dances in his eyes, his pupils dilating at her proximity. 

“Hm, not bad,” he smiles, and leans down, connecting his brow with Daeny’s, running a finger calloused from years of practice with a blade across her jaw. 

“What is it?” Daenera asks softly after a moment, pulling away to look into Jace’s eyes, sensing he is still feeling troubled. 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, not meeting her eyes. 

“Jacaerys,” she chides, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. 

“Just… fucking Aegon… I fear he is right in his jests. I have no idea how to please you as you deserve,” Jacaerys confesses shyly, pulling his face from Daeny’s hands as heat creeps into his face. 

Daeny cannot help the laugh that escapes her lips, of all the troublesome worries that the day has brought, her sweet betrothed worries of her pleasure. Sex is not something the pair have discussed in length yet, even though their wedding is a little more than a moon away. The pair tend to flit around such topics, even when they steal secret kisses in dark corners of Dragonstone and come away with scarlet cheeks and racing hearts. 

“And now even you laugh at me!” He exclaims exasperatedly and stands to move away but Daenera quickly stands as well, stepping in front of him and stopping him from leaving. She pushes him back to his seat and kneels before him, her hands on his shoulders. 

“No, my love, I’m not laughing at you, I’m sorry. Tis just that you should not concern yourself with such worries,” she says gently, running her hand from his broad shoulder to the toned expanse of his chest, feeling his heart beating under his skin. 

“But I-” 

“I have no more knowledge on how to please a man than you do a woman, Jace,” she continues, her voice placating and soft. “We shall learn together and be stronger and better for it.” Jacaerys meets her amethyst eyes, finding comfort in the truth and lack of judgment he finds in them. “Besides, I cannot believe that Aegon knows any more than you do. He has never had any care for anything besides his own pleasures and you heard poor Helaena’s toast. He targets you because he knows you are more generous and loving than he could ever hope to be.”  Jacaerys chuckles at this, knowing she speaks true of his uncle and melts into her touch at last. 

“You truly do not care?” He asks, toying with the ends of her silver hair that brushes against his knee. 

“Shall I prove it to you, my prince?” she purrs, a teasing mischief in her eyes as she runs a hand up his chest to the nape of his neck, pulling him down to meet her lips in a kiss. He sighs into her embrace, his hands finding purchase on her waist as he deepens the kiss, his tongue darting between her lips. Realizing she is still kneeling on the floor in front of the settee, he grips her hips tightly and pulls her to straddle him, pulling a gasp from her lips which eggs the prince on. Jacaerys’ hands brush through Daeny’s hair, pushing it away from her face, and trail down her back to explore her figure; Daenera weaves one hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the roots and eliciting a groan she feels through her other hand which rests on his chest. 

Without warning, Jace stands and without breaking their kiss carries Daeny with him as he makes his way to the bed, resting her gently on the linen sheets and covering her smaller body with his. All his insecurities and rage momentarily forgotten as he loses himself in her, the only girl he has ever had eyes for, and proves to her, and to himself, just how strong a lover he can be.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [31] - Secrets

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Keeping secrets from business partners can lead to issues.

Word Count: 3300

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Well if that didn’t prove your worth as a potential heir, you didn’t know what would.

For a couple of seconds, no one spoke. You could feel Bucky’s quizzical glances on you but you managed not to look at him or your father who was staring at you in shock.

Ian was the first to break the silence.

“Chicago?” he asked and scoffed. “I know you’re new to this whole thing and Bucky doesn’t share everything with you, but Chicago is impossible.”

You let a smirk curl your lips and turned to the rest of the table.

“A deal with Chicago would ensure—”

“We can’t get Chicago,” Ian cut you off and you arched a brow.

“You can’t,” you told him. “I can.”

“How?” Natasha asked and you shrugged your shoulders, leaning back in your chair.

“Rhett is an old friend.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the puzzled expression on Bucky’s face and as much as you wanted to explain it to him, you reminded yourself that it could wait. Steve pulled his brows together while Sam looked between you and Bucky, and Tony sat up straighter.

“You’re telling me you know the king of Chicago?”

“No Tony, I’m telling you the king of Chicago trusts me.”

“Why?”

“Because I made sure of that.”

“And you didn’t bother telling us about this?” Clint asked Bucky and that made you finally look at him. Bucky stared at you in silence, a fire burning in his eyes before he clenched his jaw and turned to Clint.

“Matter of trust I guess,” he said curtly, drumming his fingertips on the table and you could feel your stomach doing an unpleasant flip at the sight of carefully controlled fury on his face, then took a deep breath.

“The underworld in Chicago works a bit differently than here,” you said. “They never had the need to do business with any other cities and no, Rhett wouldn’t do business with any of you. Bucky knowing me or being married to me wouldn’t have changed anything either, Rhett will want to make a deal with someone he actually knows.”

“No,” your father spoke for the first time. “You’re not getting involved in this Y/N.”

“With all due respect father, your heir is obliged to listen to you,” you said and shot him a small smile. “I’m not.”

“But hold on,” Yelena asked. “How do you know him?”

You liked the night life in Chicago almost as much as in New York. While your and Becca’s surnames made sure you could get into any place in New York, it also meant that there was more of a chance of someone in the club letting your father or Becca’s father know you were there. More often than not, you’d run into Steve or Sam or Bucky—

No.

You weren’t going to think about Bucky.

Bucky was a fucking asshole.

“All I’m saying is that you broke up more than a year ago—” Isla shouted over the music as the bartender put your drinks in front of you. “And don’t get me wrong, Ethan is cute and all but he can’t keep giving you puppy dog eyes whenever you’re around.”

“He’s not,” you said, leaning back to the bar as you took a sip of your cocktail, keeping your gaze on your other friends who were still dancing on the dancefloor.

“Yes he is,” Isla said. “Even Bradley is aware of it.”

“Well Bradley was the one who introduced us,” you reminded her with a grin and she rolled her eyes.

“And I apologize for my boyfriend’s lack of foresight,” she said. “No seriously, you need to move on.”

“I did move on!”

“But you still feel guilty.”

“I don’t,” you argued as someone took the spot next to you by the bar and Isla repressed a grin, giving you a look. You turned your glances to the person to see him eyeing you up and down, and he smiled at you as soon as he realized you were looking at him.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Tommy.”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself and he nodded.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“I already have a drink,” you stated with a grin, holding up your cocktail glass and he hummed.

“Ah,” he said. “I guess I can wait until you finish that one then?”

“So you’ll just watch me drink?”

“Sounds like a plan—” he started but was cut off when another guy walked through the crowd to nod at you, then mutter something into his ear. Tommy’s eyes widened and he put his beer bottle on the counter.

“Sorry,” he said without so much as a glance at you, then walked away from you.

“The fuck?” Isla muttered while you arched a brow, glaring at the guy.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Kyle. My boss wanted me to tell you that everything you ladies drink tonight is on the house.”

Isla blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“And he asks if you’d like to join him upstairs,” Kyle told you, making your eyes narrow in fury. “Your friends are welcome to join as well, of course.”

Ah.

Well, that explained things.

This whole nonsense of getting someone intimidated with a mere order was way too familiar to you, and you clicked your tongue while Isla shifted her weight.

“Um, Y/N maybe we should go somewhere else…”

“It’s fine,” you assured her. “I got it. Kyle, isn’t it?”

He nodded, stealing a look at the mezzanine where a couple of guys were having a conversation on. You couldn’t exactly make out the faces from the club lights, but if you had to guess, the guy who didn’t look interested in the conversation and was instead leaning on the rails and watching the crowd had to be Kyle’s boss.

“And your boss’s name?”

“Rhett Davis.”

The prince of Chicago.

Lovely.

“Great,” you said. “Well Kyle, why don’t you go and tell your boss that I don’t appreciate him interrupting my conversations and I’m not a fucking dog to go to him when he whistles, hm?”

Kyle gawked at you. “He’s—”

“I know who he is, our fathers are in the same line of business,” you told him, making his eyes widen.

“Y/N?” Isla said and you waved a hand in the air.

“Everything is alright, don’t worry.”

“Whose daughter are you?” Kyle asked and you gave him a smirk.

“I believe you have a message to deliver, Kyle. Run along now.”

Kyle hesitated only for a moment before walking away from you to climb the stairs and you turned to Isla.

“What was that?” she asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Long story,” you said as your friends called out your and Isla’s names, motioning at you to join them on the dancefloor. You let out a laugh, and shook your head.

“I think I’ll finish my drink, but you go ahead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, go,” you said with a smile, pushing her gently and she walked to the dancefloor while you sucked on the straw of your cocktail. You pulled your phone out of your pocket to send a quick text to Becca, letting out a small laugh when you saw her response.

It was only when you lifted your head from your phone that you saw the bartender’s eyes widening before you felt someone step forward to take the spot beside you, making you look over your shoulder before you turned around.

The infamous prince of Chicago was hot, even you had to admit. He had to be only a couple years older than you; his disheveled curly hair giving him an air of nonchalance, and his blue eyes sparkling even under the club lights, reminding you of Bucky’s just a bit. There was a small smirk playing on his lips and when he motioned at the bartender for a drink, you could see the tattoos scattered along his muscular arms before you forced yourself to raise a brow at him, but that just made his smirk bigger.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he said calmly, then offered his hand. “I’m Rhett.”

You tilted your head, then shook his hand before introducing yourself as well and he pulled his brows together.

“The prettiest girl in the club is New York’s underworld princess,” he commented. “Figures.”

“And the cockiest guy in the club is Chicago’s underworld prince,” you said, your voice silky. “Shocker.”

That made him chuckle and he raised his hands, gesturing surrender. “I meant no disrespect.”

“Makes one of us.”

He looked genuinely entertained at your snappy retort as you finished your empty cocktail glass down and he motioned at the bartender for a refill which made him rush to prepare your drink as fast as he could. You raised your brows.

“I can order my own drinks, thank you.”

He hummed.

“Well, I can’t have you return to New York and tell your daddy Chicago was anything but nice to you.”

“And you want to be nice to me?”

“Depends,” he said, his unwavering gaze sending a fire your cheeks. “Do you want me to be nice to you?”

You could feel your heartbeat getting faster but you chastised yourself in your head, then scrunched up your nose.

“I don’t date or sleep with people in the business,” you told him as the bartender put your drink in front of you. “So you can go away now.”

Rhett’s amused smile widened. “Are you ordering me around in my own city, Y/N?”

A smirk curled your lips and you heaved a deep sigh.

“Someone has to,” you said. “Are you telling me you’re not good at following orders, Rhett?”

“I’m good at giving them.”

You pouted your lips, then took a sip of your drink.

“Well,” you said. “Turns out you and I have something in common then.”

“I went to college in Chicago,” you told Yelena. “We kind of ran into each other.”

Your father’s frown deepened. “And you didn’t think to mention that?”

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” you told him. “I met a lot of people in Chicago, Rhett just happens to be the most important one for business, that’s all.”

Bucky nodded to himself slowly, still keeping quiet as he fixed his gaze on the table, but you could see him clenching his jaw.

“And you’re confident that you can convince him to make a deal with New York?” Steve asked and you nodded.

“As long as we have a good offer.”

“I can show you the latest offer we made him,” Clint told you. “You can go over it so that you know what he refused the last time.”

“Yeah, that would be—” you started but was cut off when someone knocked on the door, then stepped inside. The bodyguard approached Natasha to mutter something to her ear, making her grit her teeth, then she pushed her chair back, Yelena jumping on her feet.

“Nat?” Steve asked and she took a deep breath.

“There’s been an attack on my territory,” she said curtly. “I must cut this short.”

“Of course,” your father said as everyone stood up as well, Clint already walking outside with Natasha and Steve and Sam going after them. Tony nodded at you before he walked away as well and you stole a look at Bucky who was walking to the door without so much as sparing you a glance but before you could say anything, you heard your father’s voice.

“Y/N, a word?”

“Um,” you blinked a couple of times. “Bucky—”

“See you at home,” he said, still not looking at you and he walked out of the room, making your stomach do an unpleasant flip.

“Leave us,” your father told Ian and even though he looked like he wanted to protest, he heaved a sigh and left the room as well. You sat back on your seat, drumming your fingertips on the table.

“Yes?”

“Was it you?”

You tilted your head. “Hm?”

“The first attack on the shipment,” he said, making your stomach drop. “Before the raid. Was it you?”

Fear surrounded you so fast that for a couple of seconds, you couldn’t hear anything because of the blood rushing in your ears, making your hearing muffled. The invisible fist around your throat was getting tighter and tighter but you forced yourself to keep your expression as calm as possible.

“Is that what we’re doing now?” you asked. “Blaming each other?”

“Was it you?”

“No!” you exclaimed, a hysterical laugh escaping from your lips. “Is that what Ian told you? What, he wants to kill me now, is that it?”

“No one is going to touch a hair on your head, I just want to know—”

“I would be killed if anyone suspected I broke the truce!”

“I will cover it if you did break the truce,” your father told you, making you pull back slightly.

“…What?”

“Do you seriously think I’d let anyone harm you?” he asked. “Are you that blind? You’re my daughter, I would start a war against all these families if they tried to do anything to you.”

“Truce is important—”

“Anyone who tries to harm you will meet their death,” he told you, looking you in the eye. “No exceptions.”

You swallowed thickly. “Even Ian?”

“Even Ian,” he said without hesitation, making you gawk at him. “Tell me the truth. Was it you?”

 You dug your fingernails into your palms and took a deep breath, then shook your head.

“No,” you rasped out. “But I’m not going to pretend I’m not happy that it happened.”

He held your gaze in his as if trying to see whether you were lying or not, then leaned back on his seat as well.

“And this Rhett deal?”

“We used to hang out when I was in Chicago,” you said. “Simple as that. I know how he operates, me knowing him wouldn’t have worked if you or Bucky or anyone else tried to make a deal with him. He will want someone in the business.”

“And you are in the business now?” he asked you and you clicked your tongue.

“I am.”

“I don’t like this.”

“I don’t like most of the decisions you make when it comes to business,” you retorted. “Especially recent ones, but here we are.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before a rare smile curled his lips and he let out a loud laugh.

“Never the one to shy away from honesty, are you?” he asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Learned from the best.”

He reached out to squeeze your hand, making you smile as well.

“Wine?” he asked and you turned your glances to the door, biting inside your cheek before turning to him again.

“Bucky will be busy I guess,” you said. “Sure, wine works.”

                                        *

As you expected, when you returned home Bucky wasn’t there. In fact, he didn’t return home until early in the morning, and by that time guilt was already churning your insides. If it were him who pulled what you had in the meeting, convincing you to make him a part of the meeting only to reveal he had a different plan in mind, you would be furious as well so you understood why he hadn’t bothered coming home last night.

Didn’t mean you liked it though.

You tried not to get discouraged when he ignored your “good morning” and went straight upstairs to take a shower while you sat by the kitchen island, pushing your breakfast around, petting Alpine with your other hand. Being nervous wasn’t new to you but this was the first time you were sure that Bucky was actually pissed, and you didn’t know why it bothered you so much, but it did.

So when you heard him walking downstairs, you sat up straighter, doing your best to ignore the tension in the pit of your stomach.

“Buck?”

He only hummed, putting his cufflinks on and you licked your lips as Alpine jumped from the counter.

“Can we talk?”

“Now you want to talk?” he asked, still not looking at you and you bit at your fingernail.

“Yeah,” you said. “Listen, I know it looks like I went behind your back.”

“You did go behind my back,” he corrected you and you pushed yourself off the stool, clenching and unclenching your fists.

“I get that you’re upset,” you stated and he scoffed.

“No shit I’m upset,” he said. “All this time I thought we had a deal, that we were in this together but you…what, you just decided to keep me out?”

“What does it matter?” your voice was way too defensive and he stared at you.

“You can’t be that self-centered,” he said. “Right? No one can be that self-centered.”

“Bucky—”

“Newsflash Y/N, I’m supposed to be informed about your fucking strategy if I am a part of it!”

“You were informed about the strategy you were a part of,” you defended yourself and he gritted his teeth.

“And the rest?”

“I—you—” you stammered. “I have been planning this for a long time Bucky, I’m not going to just…”

“You’re not going to just trust me?”

You rubbed at your eyes, then took a deep breath.

“I need to prove myself to others,” you said, trying to keep your voice stable. “I need to make sure that everyone around that table prefers me to Ian—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Me having a direct connection to Rhett will ensure that,” you continued as if he didn’t cut you off. “And it will be good for business—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It will give a message—”

“Tell me why you didn’t!”

“Because you could take it from me!” you snapped back before you had the chance to stop yourself. “And it was my move, it was my strategy, it was my plan, okay? No one else’s!”

Pain flashed over his handsome features and he stared at you as silence fell upon the room. You closed your eyes for a moment, reminding yourself to be calm despite the tension clenching your muscles together and opened them again, clenching and unclenching your fists to focus.

“I didn’t—” you stammered. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

He was quiet for a couple of seconds before he took a deep breath.

“Nothing I do makes a difference to you, does it?” he asked, his voice low. “No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try to prove to you that I…”

You tried to fix your breathing. “You what?”

A dry laugh climbed up his throat and he shook his head. “Never mind.”

You could feel your eyes burning but you tried to focus as he ran a hand through his hair, then clenched his jaw as if trying to pull himself together.

“You’ll make a great boss,” he rasped out and your head shot up, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards.

“…Thank you.”

A painful smile pulled at his lips. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

Your brows pinched together in confusion and he shook his head slightly, grabbing his jacket off the hanger.

“You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met in my entire life,” he told you. “And there’s no one you wouldn’t waste just to get what you want. You’ll be the best among us, I’d say.”

An ache appeared in your chest. “Bucky, can we please—”

“You wanted to be business partners?” he asked as he put his jacket on, his piercing gaze pining you to your spot. “Fine. But don’t fucking come crying to me when I treat you like one.”

With that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving you there frozen.

Chapter 32

[themultifanshipper]

“You utter cunt!”

“Fuck you!”

That was how karting usually ended when you two were involved. No matter where either of you started on the grid, you and Liam always found a way to crash into each other.

I blacked out, and an hour later this monstrosity was born! Hope you enjoy

Also I used alpha tauri bc i refuse to put Visa Cash Card Paypal App Racing Redbulls in my goddamm fics.

Warnings: gn!reader, rough sex, lots of swearing, rivals to lovers, daddy kink, corruption kink, smidge of angst, like 2 seconds of fluff before it descends into madness

“That was my line!”

“You call that a line? Ha! My blind grandmother can see that’s a shit line!”

And you were only thirteen then. Now you were both in formula 1. But unfortunately, the insults hadn’t matured, and neither had you.

“You absolute wankstain! What the fuck was that?!”

“That was me having to crash into my teammate! Because my teammate is a shit driver who doesn’t leave me any room, you fucking prick!”

“Oh, dear! Looks like the alpha tauri duo are having a trackside screaming match... again.”

Crofty sighed. At this point it was almost a weekly occurrence. You and Liam were bitter rivals on track and had been since you started karting all those years ago. It always ended in a screaming match that usually lasted well into the evening, and sometimes all the way up the corridors of your hotel rooms, and one time, it ended with Liam shoving you into your room and fucking you right there on the carpet.

That was one time. And you and Liam had never talked about it. The next day you’d bickered on the private jet, as per usual, and just like that it was forgotten.

Except it wasn’t, not really.

The problem was that Liam had unknowingly taken your virginity that night. And it was, by default, the best sex you had ever had. But your relationship stayed the same and the two of you never even acknowledged what happened. You weren’t obsessed with the concept of virginity either of course, it was what it was, and he was you first, whatever. But it would be nice if he stopped being such a huge prick, you know?

Then came the end of season celebrations in Abu Dhabi. You’d been drinking heavily to forget this nightmare of a season and the fact that you (just you, not Liam) had essentially been threatened to stop fighting next season or you would be out of a seat faster than you could say ‘hypocrisy’.

You tried your best to avoid him all evening. But he kept appearing in your line of sight, on the dancefloor, getting drinks at the bar, shuffling off to the toilets every now and then. You kept drinking so that your vision would hopefully go so blurry you wouldn’t be able to see him at all, but of course with those drinks came the need to pee.

So, there you were in one of the stalls thinking about the face of the man you were trying hard not to think about. Then, said man walked in, crossed the room and the sound of him undoing his zipper was heard.

You knew it was him from his stupid shoes that you recognised very well, as he had once thrown them at your head. That was an incident worthy of getting fired....

Anyway, for some obscure reason (about 7 tequila cocktails) you thought it was a great idea to voice that thought out loud.

“I never told you, but those are the ugliest shoes on the fucking planet”.

There was a pause as he zipped his fly back up.

“Jesus, are you stalking me now? The fuck are you doing in there?”

“Pissing, obviously”

Another pause.

“Right” he said “anything else you want to tell me? Or can I get back to having fun now?”

You rolled your eyes “Yeah actually, you need to stop crashing into me, dickwad”.

He snorted. “And why the fuck would I do that”.

“Because I’m out of the seat next time we crash, and because you fucking owe me, so please just cool it with the- !”

“Wait, why the fuck do I owe you anything? It’s not my fault you can’t drive!”

“Because you fucking took my virginity Liam!”

Okay maybe you weren’t completely over it.

You could’ve heard a pin drop. You desperately hoped there wasn’t anyone else in the stalls.

“What?!”

You were so embarrassed you tried to get out of answering by flushing the toilet and waiting for him to leave.

Obviously, that didn’t work.

“Unlock the door, please” He sounded almost winded, which confused you so much you actually opened the door. He was leaning against the wall and as his eyes snapped to yours, you could see there were tears in them.

Your bewilderment must have been visible because he immediately wrapped his arms around you in a tight bear hug.

“I’m so sorry you’re first time was like that... I’m so, so sorry...”

You pushed him off enough to be able to breathe again “The sex was great Liam, what the fuck are you sorry for?”

He stroked your hair as he spoke, refusing to meet your eyes. “Because... I thought you hated me so I... Your first time shouldn’t be, you know, hate-sex. I thought that was the only way I would get to do it with you so I-   I didn’t know you’d never done it before- it was a spur of the moment thing”.

You were even more confused. “The only way you’d get to do it?  What the fuck does that mean?”

He finally looked at you and he seemed so weirdly vulnerable, so heartbroken that your brain started to catch up, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Do you...” your heart was beating fast as you scanned his face for a reaction “like me?”

He had a pained look on his face and just looked down at the floor. He didn’t like you. It went deeper than that.

“Liam look at me” He did. You didn’t know what to say so you just stared at him.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about that night, you know” he said softly. 

“Neither have I” you whispered, and your eyes met as he looked at you in shock.

You both moved at the same time, crashing your lips and bodies together as the years of tension finally washed away and you were on the same wavelength for the first time.

As you both caught your breath a minute later, he chuckled. “Come on, let’s get back to the hotel. I owe you a do-over”.

And do-over he did.

As in, he did you, over every surface.

It started out sweet enough. He carried you to the bed, undressed you slowly and took his time fucking you slowly, almost maddeningly so. But you both quickly realised that he’d already corrupted you the first time, and now you liked it rough. So he gave it to you. First he flipped you over on the bed, grabbed your hair and pushed you face down into the sheets as he pounded into you mercilessly from behind, occasionally leaving hand prints on your ass, then he took you standing up against the glass windows, one hand around your throat, the other sneaking down to touch you where you were making a mess of yourself.

“Fuck, you like it like this don’t you? You’re basically dripping onto the carpet”.

Then he flipped you and lifted you up, your legs hooking over his arms as he entered you again, the position giving you no choice but to just take it.

“Yes, take it baby, fuck- so tight around me, take my fucking cock” he growled and bit into your shoulder, making you moan. “You’d take anything I give you right? Such a fucking slut for it my god”

His hips stuttered as he had a thought.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it? My fault that you take it like you were made for it, fuck”  his thrusts became even harder as you both felt your highs quickly approaching, your hands were scrambling for purchase on his sweaty shoulders, settling in his hair to give it a sharp tug, his answer was a deep thrust that knocked the breath out of you.

“Fucking made for me. Only I get to see you like this now, don’t I? My little cockslut, all for me. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded quickly, but he made a noise of discontent.

“Words baby, I need words or I won’t let you come. Who do you belong to?”

“You Daddy, please I’m gonna come” you couldn’t help it, the name slipping out as his hips stuttered and he made a punched-out noise.

“Shit- say that again baby, that sounded good”.

You huffed out a whine, now was not the time to be embarrassed “Daddy please, please I need to come so bad”.

He groaned “Okay baby go ahead, come on daddy’s cock, now.”

You came so hard. All over yourself, and it ran down onto his thighs and the feeling of you dripping everywhere sent him over the edge, thrusting a couple more times before stilling, deep inside you as you felt him fill you up.

He carried you like that into the bathroom, setting you down gently in the shower, legs and hips sore from the position and you both spent an eternity in there, soaping each other up and kissing tenderly, trying to make up for lost time.

As you got into bed with him, you checked your phone and saw two things: the alarm for your flight was in 2 hours, and a text that read “does this mean you two will be cooperating from now on?”  from your performance engineer.

Your cheeks burned red, she had the room right next door.

[itwasthereaminuteago]

First date: Frank takes you dancing

Of course he comes to pick you up with a bunch of flowers in hand and a sweet kiss on your cheek.

He looks so good, shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows showing off the thick veins crossing his forearms, and you spend the whole ride in his truck yearning for the moment when he'll put those arms around you.

But first, when you get to the venue, he buys you whatever drink you desire, whether it's a ridiculously fancy cocktail or mocktail, a whiskey, or a bottle of beer like he's ordering, whatever you want.

You notice how he listens closely and looks right at you when you're talking, it makes you feel like you're the only person in the room. You can't help the slight heat from coming to your face whenever he catches your gaze and his lips spread into a handsome smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

The local band is playing something mid-tempo and catchy, and you find your fingers tapping along to the rhythm on the side of your glass.

When he gets up from the table, extending a hand, you're full of nervous excitement. His hands are warm and sure and he moves one to the small of your back to guide you onto the dancefloor sending little shivers up your spine, and when you get closer he smells so damn good you want to eat him.

He lets your fingers intertwine, his hands so big but he's gentle with you as you start to move together to the music.

Thoughts of him doing other things with them come unbidden into your imagination as he competently dances you around the floor, like how his fingers would feel pressing into the soft flesh of your hips, or maybe even his hand wrapped firmly around your neck as you're on top of him...

Your other hand is at his shoulder and you can feel his muscles flex slightly under his shirt as you trail your hand slowly down to rest on the broad expanse of his chest.

Then you laugh out in surprise as he suddenly twirls you in a circle and tightly pulls you back in to his embrace.

"You enjoying yourself, sweetheart?" He asks you earnestly, determined to ensure you feel comfortable, and you nod, your face lighting up with your smile.

"What if I told you you're doing everything right so far?"

"Anythin' more I can do?" he says, those warm brown eyes only further stoking up the flames of the fire that is burning at your core.

You're no longer really dancing, just gently swaying together, the tension between you both feeling like something could break at any moment...

"You could kiss me?"

It's as if he's been waiting for years for you to say those words the way his eyes instantly flicker down to your lips.

Frank brings his fingers up just under your chin, tipping your head towards him as he leans in. As your mouths meet in a soft, sensual kiss you cannot help the little noise of pleasure you make now that it's happening, and as you kiss back he's deepening it, fingers skating along your jawline to cradle the side of your head, pushing into your hair and guiding you with just enough control it makes your knees weak.

You both only pull away far enough for your foreheads to touch, the bustle of the dancefloor and the bar fading into the background.

Dancing then becomes dotted with your languid makeout sessions, eventually culminating in you leading Frank back towards the table so you can pick up your jacket and bag.

"So are you gonna take me home, Marine?"

Frank chuckles, shaking his head as he smiles, but evidently glad that you're game to continue this elsewhere.

"If that's what you want, then yes I am." he replies in a low voice, stealing another soft kiss from you, and you're met with a deep rumble from his chest as you playfully nip his lower lip with your teeth.

[lazywrites]

Midnight hour

Kurt Wagnerx reader (3.5k) a fix-it fic of sorts

You had always admired Kurt, admired his bravery and kindness even in the face of terrible obstacles, in a world that has never required you to prove yourself you must pay the price someday, Genosha's midnight hour has arrived.

A chilling whisper on the Wind, your gift was never apparent to the naked eye and it will never be, not in any way that matters.

In this world you are the only thing that matters, it seems, the clock will never strike it’s midnight hour for you, and you know it, did the others know? did he know? That this beautiful place could become hell in just a few moments or better yet, just one moment.

11:58PM

Your happy nation. It was never meant to be.

Something’s off

And it takes you forever to notice, forever, you could stay here forever.

That is your gift, eternity, once upon a time the man your friends called "the professor" came to you, he knew you were a mutant, only he and you could tell for some reason. Your mutation was never apparent, no moving objects with your mind, no extra appendages and no deadly rays coming from your hands or eyes, nothing.

It was in your 16th birthday that you realized then, the day of your birth, the day of your parent’s death, both of them in one fell swoop and you thought that you were about to join them but you were still there, suspended, mid-crash.

That is your mutation, time is always by your side, your only ally after your parents died and before Kurt came along to change your mind, Kurt was never priviledged like you, many would say he got the short end of the stick on his mutation while you were able to live normally, blissfully ignorant of the trials mutants faced, and you regret it now, regret of not even thinking of putting your gift to good use before. You could’ve stopped this, if time were truly on your side.

But i’ts not.

Something’s off

You should by all means be dead, the sentinel’s deadly ray would’ve reduced you to dust, but it didn’t and it never will, still it doesn’t mean it won’t hurt, it hurts and blisters your skin like nothing you’ve ever felt before and still you won’t die, you’ll live, The timemaker demands it. And these poor people, Madelyne, Dazzler, Anna, Katie and poor Kurt, you hope he’s made it or that he’ll make it before you get out. You stay suspended for a few moments, mid explosion, frozen, like a painting on some rich person’s wall, one with a penchant for tragedy that is, before you summon the willpower to actually get your feet on the ground and run towards the exit by the dancefloor, you see Anna and try to pull her with you, so heavy, like a stone in your arms when you try to pull her away, she’ll make it, she’s Strong.

You see Madelyne for the last time that day, you cannot save her, it would be like pulling the Mona Lisa out of its painting with your bare hands, impossible, every time you try to put your hands on anyone at that tragic scene, a chill runs through you like the timemaker himself telling you no, its a dreadful sensation that shocks you every time.

You don’t see Kurt, The first time you’ve seen him was not on genosha, it was a long time ago while you were still wandering the Earth and doing reckless things just to test yourself, you weren’t scared for yourself but he was, he saved you, saved you from even needing to start using your gift that day regardless of the possibility of you hating him just for being how he is, but you could never hate him, you loved him, loved him for having an open heart in spite of what this world did to him, he said things would be better for you both on Genosha and you believed him like always, and now look at you, Goddamit. But you still looked for him, looked until you found him on that crumbling rooftop and making your way down again, he wasn’t hit, Thank God.

His prayers really pay off more often than not.

So now you’re out, you see the terrible mechanical beast still howling after firing off that first shot, and you feel the Wind, hear the whistle all around you and see those poor souls reaching out to the sky for the last time. You stand and just observe it, powerless, your head feels like a terrible weight on your body.

Kurt is there to pull you away towards the rooftop garden, he’s always thinking of you first, that sweet fool.

"Liebling, you’re okay! you are..." Kurt’s concerned gaze is on you even before the trip is done to the rooftop, but then oddly enough he pulls away and takes a step back "what have they done to you? What is this?" You don’t feel hurt, you were hurting under the sentinel’s ray but now, nothing, until you look down and see yourself on the left side, skin partially peeled off around the charred remains of your prettiest dress and on the rest of your body a slightly green hue, as if the sentinel has corrupted you somehow, time’s twisted painting.

"I’ll be fine, go! Save as many as you can!" He’s still looking at you, hesitating, hands up as he’s about to touch you but can’t, reminds you of Rogue that way, these two can be birds of a feather sometimes "Go Kurt, they need you" these few seconds feel like hours to you, as happy as you are that he’s okay, hesitance will only bring regret.

"Go, we’ll save what we can" that’s when you see Remy waving and jogging in the direction of you both "go be a hero".

He glances at you one last time before disappearing in a cloud and leaving you in the care of Remy, But tonight you can see it, something in him has changed and he’s more Gambit than Remy right now.

"How many are there?" you turn back and meet him halfway, Gambit’s dark stare meets yours and he just shakes his head, already defeated "too many to count"

The ground shakes once that thing fires again, like some terrible and repulsive insect crawling around your home and destroying everything in its path, you feel the Wind and the world is peaceful once more, at least for you as you run your hands over your left arm, it’s as smooth as it’s ever been, the dress too is back to how it was. Like none of it has ever happened, you are still untouched by the carnage.

So you can go out there, that’s your conclusion. All the years wasting away wondering what you could have done with yourself, whispered confessions to your lover under the sheets of how you wanted to be more like him, brave and kind like his X-men friends, and Kurt always knew what to say, you might have not saved anyone physically he said, but you’ve saved him, saved him from his loneliness, he’s the best of them in your eyes, and this time you will be more like him. You turn back to Gambit, frozen, of course. But you’re not dying, far from it, you’re supposed to be dead, but now more alive than ever.

You reach out to him and the sentinel fires again before Kurt rolls back into the Garden, it’s devastating to see him like this but you somehow know he is alive, blistered, bruised and bleeding but still alive, there are others kneeling right by your side, Gambit and Magneto together with Rogue. They’re speaking but you don’t hear a thing over the ringing in your ears.

Your wedding was a simple affair, too simple, neither of you had any desire to share it with others, at a monestary’s chapel under the moonlight you and Kurt said your vows and you promised to keep him in your heart for the rest of your life, if you could choose a gift it would be that, to make it so your lover would be safe tucked away right between your palms, in your kiss, in your heart.

Perhaps it is true that Magneto was right, you never paid him much mind, never had any problems of that sort due to being so ordinary, and his reputation was never positive with Kurt anyway, but that’s the phrase you heard on the streets "Magneto was right" even the children were saying it, and this was the reason.

If anyone can figure out how to stop this thing it’s you, you can feel it in your bones, as many times as it fires at you it won’t kill you anyway, and the pain of it burning your skin is nothing compared to the pain of your regret.

"Save as many as you can, we shall not live our days wondering if we could have saved more!" And its your turn to say Magneto’s right, it didn’t take any convincing from you for Gambit to let you go with him, he’s seen you heal like your burns were nothing, and you both nod at each other before mounting the bike.

The streets are more than chaotic, Genosha is truly hell on Earth for you at this moment but There is only one escape, and its not for you.

Rogue and Gambit are there, brilliant, so much you wonder how is it possible that you don’t see them in the News every day, how can the X-men be so underrated for a lack of better word? They’ve saved the world countless times, Kurt has told you so, but seeing it with your own eyes is a whole other story, you have always lived in a world where the word “hero” is used every day like it’s mundane, but they are as heroic as you've imagine them to be, they ARE heroes, and you are unsure if you could ever measure up to that.

The effect of the rays the smaller Sentinels shoot at your people are unsubtle to say the least, death, quick but not painless death, this is what the X-men have been fighting every day, painful fiery death given two legs and a horrific voice. It’s coming towards you, and you see it, Gambit’s hair is no longer blowing back with the Wind, you know what you should do, what you are meant to do. That thing would have hit Gambit before it got to you, if you hadn’t reached out your hand in front of him.

You know what you should do, its centimeters from your hand and it will hit you before erasing Remy from existence in a fiery blast.

You know what to do, and you will, this is your gift.

You reach out.

The timemaker demands it. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

It consumes you, until you’re nothing, fearless but still burning.

The moment lasts forever until

"Holy, i’m... Gambit’ll make sure to avoid it mon ami, that does not look like it’s any fun" and it’s so like him to joke about this situation, it brings you back. The Wind is cool and soothing against your body and you can almost forget all about it, the only reminder of your ‘’death’’ is the tremble and rattle of your skeleton, like the sentinel’s energy is still coursing through your body.

“It’s fine, i’ll be fine” You avoid Rogue’s concerned stare, she averts her gaze from Magneto for a moment to look back at you "We’ll just have to keep that one from the furball, i reckon’ he’d be freaking out about it right now" and it’s a good idea, you might have even answered it, but Magneto crashes through another building and redirects all your attention back to the fight between him and the sentinel, between him and Genosha’s doom.

You know you should be looking for the Morlocks, that is the whole reason you are here, to take away their pain if needed. But all the destruction is disorienting.

Magneto beats it over and over again, he’s pulling on anything and everything he can, you can see the sentinel bend but not break. And the moment just stretches on and on before Gambit runs out of the building with those kids. And after that, well, its all over.

"OMEGA LEVEL THREAT DETECTED"

You step back violently like you could somehow run away from yourself, all of your body trembles in horror, disgust, the Sentinel’s terrible face turned towards you, towards all of you standing on the rubble of what used the be a nice and cozy plaza, You, Rogue, Gambit and the civillians, Magneto faces the thing, that skull, no mouth, empty eyes. You know its him, and you know he won’t resist for long.

If you could, you’d run, you’d save him. But you are just you, not a hero yet just someone who tries, a fledgeling barely out of the nest, and you are no match for the vacuum of Wind the clash between these two produce, so you just stand behind Gambit and Rogue, Stand and watch as Anna tries to save her former lover, and how the man who loves her saves her.

"Don’t you dare Erik, you hear me?" Rogue’s voice has never sounded so sad for as long as you’ve known her, your friend, she knows what’ll happen, to Erik and the others around him.

"He’s trying to protect us, Rogue." Gambit defends, even he knows that as troublesome as Magneto could be he held many others in his heart, at that moment he regrets hating the man, he can see Magneto as Erik for the first time, vulnerable, trying.

And you, you’re not in any danger, this moment does not belong to you.

Rogue breaks out of your metal cocoon, not like it would have been difficult considering its maker is gone, and Gambit goes after her as always.

As that thing turns back, you hate it, an uncontrollable urge squeezed your throat so tight you could barely breathe, an imperious desire of beating it, of breaking that face and killing that atrocious reverse of everything good.

It turns back towars the Garden, Kurt is there, your love and your friend. Your other friends as well. Your whole life, everything that’s left of you is there.

You see Gambit, you know what he can do.

You turn to him, and hold out your hand "Anything to wager on?" Remy has always been a fast thinker, its how he survives, he knows the right thing to do to keep himself at those he cares about safe, even in a situation like this he rarely slips up, he knew loving Rogue was the right thing to do from the very beginning, even if it cost him. He knew coming to Genosha was the right thing to do, he could’ve been fine on the X manor, but he is here now, and he is needed, Gambit knows what you mean, it’s terrifying, he’s never done it to another person, it’s a death sentence as far as he knows.

“Are you sure it’s what you want? Chér... this might not even work”

“Look at it Remy, we don’t have a choice, if the cards are truly in your favour, then wager that it'll work" And you’ve never really stopped to look at his eyes, they are truly something else, a gift just as special as him, you can see the hesitance, hesitance will eventually become regret.

He fixes his gaze on you, only you for the first time in the night.

“We have to Remy, we have to"

And reaches out to you.

“Gambit see your bet, and raise it” He holds you hand in a firm grip and you feel it, the heat and energy coursing through you are something else entirely.

“It’s...” Destructive, even more than that sentinel’s death ray, but it is also light, a pink and warm light, you never truly stopped to make much conversation with Gambit, its not like you see each other every day, but he is a friend to you at that moment, and you trust him.

And he trusts you.

He lets go of your hand, and you feel overwhelmed, more than in your whole life your body’s limits are tested, and time slows down to nothing, there is no melody and no whistle.

Even then it doesn’t stop, your brain feels like it could vibrate out of your skull.

You take off then, you know even someone with your gift can’t hold it in forever, you run faster than you’ve ever run before thanks to Remy, thanks to Rogue and Magneto, and to your Love, your Kurt, You would never be here if it weren’t for him.

Your heart beats fast, and you conjure up a memory, it needs to be a good one to work.

You leap up towards that impossible goliath, so so high, it’s terrifying and your heart is beating so fast. Are you going to die? Without even saying Goodbye? And is it going to be Worth it?

You’re flying, for the very first time you’re flying by yourself, your whole body feels electric, bathed in light and about to burst, and it most likely will. The sentinel has no way of reacting to you.

You must be facing it directly, but you don’t even see it, time is frozen and yet it passes by you so fast, it’s time. Gambit’s stronger than you, and his power causes strange effects you cannot describe on your body, its death, it’ll surely end up killing you at some point.

11:59PM

“CAUSE THE CARDS ALWAYS BE IN MY FAVOUR!” you hear him, and this time they are.

Gambit and rogue look up at you, you would only hear of this moment days later, Rogue had tried to fly after you when she realized, but of course, you were moving too fast for her to ever hope to catch up, they didn’t see you, only a vague silhouette emiting a warm light that bathed the ruins of your former home, like a powerful shooting star you leaped towards your goal and then, you were burning out like a real star. They held each other and watched, it felt right, might have been twisted at the time but it truly did feel right for them to be together at that moment, they knew you'd consider that a good thing.

You and Kurt spent a good part of your time together observing the stars, in the dark of the night, just the two of you no matter how cold it was, sometimes you’d both be surprised by snow or rain and Kurt would always just shrug it off and give you his coat, of course, not everyone is fuzzy like him you’d say. That’s the moment you think about, not the death and destruction, but the perfect nights spent with the perfect man.

His confession to you under the stars, it hadn’t been too long after fate had you two meet in a starry night just like this one, this was supposed to be a perfect night, and yet you had barely seen him today. He was so good to you, your hero, even before you got to know him as nightcrawler he had made a point to save you from being mugged, you knew it was a possibility walking around all by yourself, but the moment that mugger even thought about shooting, you’d disappear from his sight, not by just walking out of the alley while time was frozen, but by being pulled away by Kurt.

He had expected you to freak out and run, or to be scared or angered at him but you weren’t, you could have been, but something about him just captivated you, must have been love at first sight. And the moment you stretched out on the grass and invited him to stargaze with you, he was captivated as well.

Once for the explosion. Twice for the fall.

You are buried beneath the rubble where Goliath has fallen, takes a few hours to find you even with Anna digging around the rubble for any trace of you and Remy praying that he hasn’t killed you. Its dawn already and a crowd is forming around the crater formed by the fallen sentinel, the survivors all whispering among themselves trying to understand what is it that took that thing out, the first answer of course, its that it was the X-men, but Kurt is more concerned about your whereabouts, he’s been searching desperately from the moment he recovered consciousness, it took a while for him to find anyone who had even registered that they’ve seen you, but they told him you had been with Rogue and Gambit, and there they were, But no you.

He stands there for a minute, hesitating again, if he approached them he might just have to hear that his worst fear had come true, or not, you could be somewhere else...

Kurt swallows the lump in his throat and approaches the edge of the crater where Rogue is digging around the rubble, looking for something, or rather someone.

And then she unearths the stone right above you, she studies the state of your dress before anything, that’s what Remy has told her to look out for, he’s seen how that dress had been reconstructed a few times whenever you took any damage, It’s in a mostly acceptable state, just dirty from the rubble, no blood to be seen, and then she studies your face next and you’re smiling at her.

You reach out your hand, to your sister in law, she smiles back at you for a moment, and shakes her head. You've gambled and won.

I'll be the first to admit i didn't have much of an idea on how to end it, maybe i'll continue it sometime, i have a few ideas for a reunion with Kurt, this was a request by @please-ignore-me-in-general and @weebwholovesuchihasasuke so i hope they enjoy it even a little bit.

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

By fire and heart.

Pt. 5

Daemma Targaryen. Second daughter of King Viserys and queen Aemma, you're the living portrait of your mother with the character of a true dragon, as a second daughter you don't have right to the throne but certainly, you will protect your sister's succession by heart. (You are one year younger than Rhaenyra.)

Warning: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to! Grammatical and spelling errors, maybe this won't be good enough but In my head the story was a good one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Pt.4 and Pt.6 is here.

You heard about the news of lady Rhea's death, an unfortunate event for a lady of an important house and suspiciously there's no news of your uncle, he wasn't there apparently.

You've been flying with Whitefyre, you do not wish to talk with your sister and neither to be in a ship with her.

You felt pity for Alicent, she is now on her own in that big castle, no friends, just her and her children.

You arrived earlier with the Velaryon, Laena and Laenor Velaryon received your father and sister.

You were eating breakfast when you saw Laena and Rhaenyra coming in, you stood up and excused yourself mentioning that you were ready to practice with Laenor, but it was really a lie since later Laenor and Rhaenyra were walking on the beach the same morning.

The visit was quick at least for the king and Rhaenyra, but you stayed, you convinced your father you were going to start your own search for a husband and occasionally you would visit him, he was hesitant but in the end he felt like he owed you that, Rhaenyra had her opportunity, it is fair that you have it too.

It was just to be away from home, until your anger and disappointment passed, while that happened you would continue your studies learning and getting better in your battle skills.

You assisted in the royal wedding just because it was one of your father's conditions, there you are walking around the hall, a beautiful light blue dress, you're just expecting to lose yourself in the crowd so you can go back to your chambers as soon as possible.

The entrance of your uncle is always a scandal, but not unexpected, your father always has a seat for him, his discourse is interrupted by Alicent, wearing the colours of the Hightower house, everybody knows what it means, war, your sister looks at you, confused expecting for some kind of signal that can helps her to understand what happened. But there's no relief since you avoid her look.

You're too focused on Daemon, the way he looks at your sister, hunger and desire, but also Alicent, perhaps you're angry with your sister, but you will not break your promise, you will approach Alicent to know what is going on, you think will it be easy since your distant attitude with your sister is evident.

While everybody dances you go to Alicent to compliment her for her dress.

- Thank you princess, perhaps this is not the right moment but I would like to have a private audience with you later.

- Of course my queen, if I can be honest with you, I've been feeling lonely, as you can see, my sister and I are not in good terms.

Both smile at each other and you leave her to talk with some other ladies, it's an enjoyable night until you see your father's eyes focused in the middle of the dancefloor, your sister and uncle, talking really close to each other, you're approaching when you suddenly hear screams and a lot of people pushing each other, you're dragged by the sea of people.

Ser Harwin Strong takes your sister far from the battle and then Daemon saves you, putting you away too. Everybody is in silence leaving the room as everything ends. There are no more festivities, the wedding takes place that same night.

You went to sleep that same night thinking about everything, your father's health, your sister's marriage, your uncle saving you, Laenor's pain and Alicent's actions. The dreams you had that night were full of blood, young boys with brown and silver hair, dragons and storms.

The next morning you joined Alicent, breakfast with her and her children, you don't know yet who could be an ally or an enemy, but at the moment you have to be on both sides.

You continued with your own plans of traveling around the seven kingdoms, you're not visiting houses to find a husband, that is not your principal objective, you want to find allies in case of those dreams you have become true.

With time you became close to Alicent, it hasn't been easy but the treatment you have with her children has been useful.

You discovered Aegon is undisciplined and emotional, a constant headache for Alicent, the other two are different and you put effort to know them too, but since Aegon is the older, you try to keep an eye on him, keeping him in that way, impossible and hard to control.

You heard the news of your sister's pregnancy so you went back home to meet the new member of her family.

You could hear the pain through her door, then a baby crying loudly, you get inside, it was such a beautiful view, your sister was smiling holding the tiny form in her arms, you never thought you would actually see her so happy with pregnancy and newborns, but she has been a good mother.

- Congratulations sister, another beautiful and healthy baby.

- Thank you Daemma, would you like to hold him?

You were ready to hold him when a servant intervened «The queen demands to see her grandson immediately»

- Why?

You demand but there's no response, your sister holds the baby and stands up.

- I'll take him, help me to dress up.

She's in pain, she should be resting but refuses to. All the maidens are helping while you're asking where Laenor is.

He appears happy as any father has to be, his face changes when he sees her walking out of the room. He offers to help but she neglects the help. You know what Alicent wants to see, if this baby finally will have silver hair or will it be another brown haired boy.

You will not join there, you will have plenty of time to meet the new little prince instead you decide to pay a visit to the other young members of the family.

The dragon pit, is a dark and fresh place, but you could sense the presence of the dragons miles away, the power they emanate is magnificent. You were at the entrance of the place when you heard laughs.

- What is it so funny? (You said)

All the boys turned back except for Aemond. As you got close you saw a pig in front of the poor boy.

- Who did this?

You feel like it is not fair and it is not funny, you were reprimanding them for such a horrible joke when you lost Aemond.

- Where's Aemond?

- He went to take a ride with his new dragon...

Jace murmured and the Three of them laughed, a roar echoed around and Aemond appeared, he ran away.

- It is not funny, Aegon, he is your brother, it suppose your job is to take care of him, not make fun of him! And you, young boys, would you laugh if the joke was for you? I expected the three of you to offer an apology to Aemond.

The boys pretended to feel guilty, you left the dragon pit to look for Aemond. Unfortunately it was too late, he was already with Alicent, the attitude of boys does not help to stop creating tension between both families.

Aegon was reprimanded by his mother after his joke at the dragon pit , he is constantly under the watch of the queen, punished for all he does and does not.

You were on your way back to your chambers, you paid a visit to Aemond and Helaena and once you were in your door you heard the sobs and sniffing of Aegon, he was sitting in the chair looking at the floor as if something interesting was there.

You sighed and walked to him, you know you have to treat him well, he has to trust you.

- Aegon? What's wrong, sweetheart?

You were going to sit next to him but he quickly wrapped his arms around you and his face hid on your abdomen.

- Aemond told mother about what happened at the dragon pit, it wasn't me! It was Jace's idea! We were just having fun, but she told me something about defending my family and me manipulating them!... Who cares about Rhaenyra's place in the throne?

- Shh, calm down, What about Rhaenyra?

- She says... me and my siblings life will be in danger, I don't want her place, I don't want to replace her, I don't want to be a king! I swear I don't want to!.... I'm sorry I know I shouldn't cry.

- Shhhh, it's okay Aegon, you're fine here with me.

He continues sobbing and your dress is already wet with his tears, you simply caresses his hair looking at your window too focused on what he said and how to use it on your sister's favor that you couldn't hear what he asked you.

- Daemma?

He looks at you, his cheeks are red and his eyes are puffy and filled with tears.

- Sorry, what did you ask, my dear?

- Rhaenyra... would she do that?

- Oh my sweet brother, of course not, she won't ever dare to hurt you or your siblings, the queen is just paranoid, don't believe in those lies.

You gave him a kiss on his head, you feel disgusted by your actions but you discovered Aegon constantly craves for the love and caring that his mother never shows him, it's pretty much the same with Aemond, a lonely boy who just needs comfort when the world is cruel to him. As a woman you know the power you possess over men and you have learned how to use it to obtain whatever you want.

Aegon hides in your chambers at every opportunity he has, it's one of the few places where the queen doesn't look for him, he feels like you're his safe place. He fell asleep on the chair, you were leaving the room to go to your sister and talk, when Aegon's voice caught you by surprise.

- Are you leaving?

- Sorry, I didn't want to wake you up.

He stands from the chair, anxious and afraid.

- Are you leaving again? Where will you go this time, huh?

- Rhaenyra requested my presence, I was on my way to her chambers, I'm not leaving... I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye.

- Why do you always leave? I barely see you.

- Aegon, I leave because I have to find a husband, it's my duty to find a good Match that can benefit our family.

- A husband?

He stays with his head full of thoughts, you nod and excuse yourself, leaving him there. The rest of your evening you spend it with your sister, gossiping about some lords and ladies of the court and then you mentioned what Aegon told you.

- How dare she!? I wouldn't do such a thing!

- Listen, we have to find a way to keep everything in order or at least neutral. I know Jace and Luke are merely children but we have to find a way to calm Alicent's paranoia.

- What do you mean?

- A marriage, between one of your boys with her daughter, maybe that will keep everything in peace, maybe she will agree.

Your sister considers your proposition but she's not very convinced, you know her, every time she doesn't completely agree with something you say she prefers to change the conversation.

- Where will you go this time? I suppose you will leave soon enough.

- Indeed, I think my next trip will be to the north, I heard Cregan Stark is widowed, his poor lady wife got the fever and didn't survive, the princess will be there to show how much the future queen cares about her 'friends'.

You blink an eye and she smirks before taking a sip of her tea, it's a good excuse to visit the north and since you're very charming, probably the wolf in the north will find your presence enjoyable.

The next morning you hear the news about the triarchy returning to the narrow sea, the council meeting is tense as ever before, Alicent continues attacking your sister and the legitimacy of her children and your sister tired of all this tension finally decides it is time to fix it, proposing a marriage alliance between Jacaerys, her son and Alicent's daughter, Helaena. While your father celebrates your sister's proposal, his wife doesn't share the same excitement, your sister looks nervous and anxiety is eating her alive so she proposes to give Aemond a dragon egg, but the face of Alicent says for her it is not enough, and then the next words coming from your sister takes everyone including you by surprise.

- Additionally I propose a marriage between Daemma and Aegon, both will reside in dragon stone.

Everybody looks at you, and your sister's look is a clear ask for help, you suddenly smile at everybody in the room.

- As the Targaryen tradition marks, I would be pleased to take Aegon as husband, I'm pretty sure Aegon and I share... A good connection.

Alicent's face is so serious and full of anger that you're sure she will explode at any moment, instead she simply indicates Rhaenyra is having trouble with her dress and her breasts and finishes with the simple words of «Thank you, the king and I will consider your offer».

You found invaders in your chambers, the two boys were sitting, waiting for you.

- Good morning my dear brothers, what do I owe your visit?

You say walking to the table full of lemon cakes in the middle of your room.

- We heard about the council meeting. What happened there? Mother was furious.

- Oh, nothing just proposal marriages and battles and a dragon egg.

You mention it as if it was not important but you know for them it is.

- An egg?

- Marriage? Who?

Aegon talks anxiously.

- Between Jace and Helaena and between You and me, and the dragon egg for Aemond. Oh, Aemond don't forget we will take a ride on Whitefyre this afternoon.

Aemond smiles, you know the boy only cares about flying over a dragon's back, he runs away without paying more attention in your conversation leaving you with Aegon.

- Are we going to get married?

You're still eating, not looking at Aegon who is waiting for your answer with excitement.

- Unfortunately for us, my dear brother, your mother wasn't very happy with the proposal, so, probably not, that's why I will leave tomorrow.

His face passed from happy to disappointed and angry, just the reaction you were expecting, you approached him and offered him a hug that he immediately accepted. You can feel how he melts in your arms, you have him under your spell.

- Don't leave Daemma, I can convince mother. You're the only one who treats me well.

He hides his face in your abdomen, like a little boy, you smile at yourself and plays with his hair.

- I do not wish to leave you, our sister tried to keep the family together, but the queen rejected the proposal my dear, It is necessary for me to look for another suitor.

Lies, you know Aegon will believe you, if he was fine with the idea of not intervening In your sister's succession now he will continue in the same path, going against his mother because after all, she is the one who separates him from you.

There has been a lot of conflict in the last few days, you don't want to look like you're escaping from all the familiar drama but it is time to leave, you can't stay there for so long since you had the freedom to go wherever and whenever you want to, you would stay a few more days your sister had a bad presage, you're not a believer of superstitions but if that gives her some peace you will stay.

The conflict between the young boys in the training yard was a good excuse for more trouble, Harwin Strong was too dumb, forgetting his place and letting his feelings for your sister's sons intervene on the way. This action obligates the hand of the king to leave his place in the court.

At least this man was honorable, more than any other who sat at the king's side before, recognizing his son's fault, talking about integrity and how he and his family failed the crown, your father rejected the idea, unfortunately the greens had a different idea, Lord Larys Strong the man behind the crime against his father and brother murder, now walks through the halls of the castle observing everybody, every action and interaction between y'all with the favor of the queen he walks freely, learning about everybody's secrets so now you have to be more careful when you're in Kings landing, you will have to spend more time out of home avoiding to be under the eye of the greens but at the same time staying close.

And as your sister predicted, the conflict between both sides of the families, the murdered of the Strong family, the rejection of the marriage proposals and the returning of Otto Hightower as the hand of the king was enough, your sister invited you to go with her, the boys and Laenor to Dragon stone, you agreed, leaving some of your maidens to be your eyes and ears at kings landing, soon enough the news of Laena's death echoed in the whole family. Greens and blacks mixed in a funeral, what could go wrong?

[akitasimblr]

ooohhh!! more good omens! who will be returning??

tempest graves-vatore returns to the game!! welcome back, girl!

dodo's flirting words were so hot that martha set herself on fire 🔥🔥🔥

and stop everything! we have the first kiss of our bachelor in the game!!! araminta is the lucky one ;)

but dodo is feeling quite inspired today so he keeps on flirting with martha and tempest, because it's as they say, don't put all your eggs in one basket 😏

daily chores for everyone! our lovebirds, alejandro and daisy f are assigned with wood work! anselme is gonna be incharge for fishing and cooking. lucy is working on her painting skills and alejandro needs to keep an eye on that fish trap too.

paranoid virus attacks again and dodo and tempest are trying to keep it cool. anselme is very full of himselg for being the cook today ;) let's hope his cooking skills match his self-esteem!!

the day ends with a small party by the fire, with dodo and sierra pretty much in love and lucy-celeste killing the dancefloor 🪩🪩🪩

🌴previous | next🌴

@flocy-sims @demonicrosebush @igotsnothing @ethicaltreatmentofcowplants

@simsinfinitylt @agena87 @tipsy-clouds @panicsimss

[sitp-recs]

oh fuck you’re right that trope is unparalleled. do you have any fics that fit that “it isn’t like this with other people” feeling? for drarry 🥺

I know!!! Such a delicious Drarry trope 🤌🏼 I got a couple recs but am sure there are more out there and I need all of them!

The Things They Never Say by @bixgirl1 (E, 9k)

Harry and Draco don't know how to talk. So they do other things instead.

Five Weddings and a Potions Accident by lauren3210 (E, 19k)

In which Harry thinks he’s a playboy, everyone else knows better, and Hermione will kill Seamus if Ron tries to collect on that bet.

Famous by @fw00shy (E, 24k)

It's a couple of years after the war, and Harry's bored of models now, the same way he's bored of Ron's constant nagging, bored of his Weasley monogram knitwear, bored of the same fucking grin that greets him when he hands his fire-truck red Bugatti over to the valet every night. He wants to find—well, he isn't sure what he wants. Anything but models. Harry is in the mood for...messy. And Draco Malfoy's looking like a walking disaster in the making.

I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry felt lit up from inside as soon as he entered the bar. There were blokes dancing together, their bodies close to one another, not keeping a wary distance as Harry was always careful to do when he was near another man. God, he wanted this – wanted it so much he could taste it, a metallic tang of heat and desire. He suspected nothing would ever be the same again – especially when he saw who else was in the room.

Embers by @shiftylinguini (E, 41k)

Werewolf Alphas aren't meant to be alone, or to suppress their ruts indefinitely like Draco has been since he was bitten eight years ago. He needs company, companionship, to knot ― he needs an Omega Heat Companion. At least, that’s what the Healers say, and even Draco can admit contacting the person they’ve referred him to might be nice. Of course it turns out to be bloody Potter.

In The Red by bixgirl1 (E, 45k)

When Harry goes looking for a vampire at a Creature club, the second-to-last thing Harry expects is to find Malfoy working there. The last thing he expects is to fall in love with him.

Harry Potter Gives a Shit by talithan (E, 58k)

“Where are you headed?” “No place special,” Draco fumbled, and flushed further. But then: “I can change that,” said Harry Potter.

We Are Young (I'll Carry You Home Tonight) by Femme (E, 70k)

Harry and Draco have been falling into bed on and off again since the last election five years ago, much to the amusement--and financial gain--of their circle of friends. But when Harry agrees to work with Draco to put Kingsley Shacklebolt into the Minister's office, they can't work side-by-side again every day and sleep together; that would be courting disaster. Wouldn't it?

Grounds for Divorce by Tepre (E, 122k)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (E, 234k)

Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along.

[captainsophiestark]

Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

Bill Weasley x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Bill Weasley and his new wife have their wedding reception interrupted by Death Eaters and news of the Ministry falling. Things look bleak when they escape to Shell Cottage, but they find a way to keep each other going.

Word Count: 1,015

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Weddings were supposed to be happy. They were supposed to be joyful celebrations, with all the people who mattered most. Even in the midst of a brewing war, I thought Bill and I would get that. One night of a break before returning our attention to all the terrible things going on in the world.

I guess I should've known better.

One minute, I was twirling across the dancefloor in the arms of my new husband, sharing a smile as the rest of the world faded away. In that moment, despite everything going on outside of our wedding, the world felt perfect.

The next minute, a glowing lynx had burst through the ceiling and into the middle of the dancefloor, announcing the fall of the Ministry of Magic and the death of the Minister along with it. The reception descended into chaos, people screaming and running as the protective enchantments around the giant tent fell one by one. It had been absolute chaos, and I barley remembered Bill grabbing my hand and getting us both out of there as the Death Eaters arrived.

Now, I sat on the sofa in Shell Cottage, where we were supposed to start our honeymoon. The place had glowed with warmth and coziness the first time we'd visited, but now it seemed all too dark, cold, and deserted.

"I just let my dad know we're alright," Bill said, coming back into the living room. He'd stepped outside to send a Patronus to his dad, to make sure the family wouldn't worry about us. "Hopefully we'll hear back from him soon."

I nodded, a little numbly, as my new husband crossed the room and waved his wand to start a fire in the fireplace. Once he'd finished, he came to sit next to me on the couch. We both stayed there for a few long moments, shoulder to shoulder and staring into the flames. I have no idea how long we would've stayed there on our own, but another glowing Patronus shot into the room not much later, this one the familiar shape of a weasel.

Bill's dad's voice came from the Patronus to tell us the rest of the family was safe, and that they'd be in touch when they could. A bit of the weight lifted off my chest, but a lot of it still remained. As the light of the Patronus and Arthur's voice faded, the darkness crept back in, despite the fire.

"Y/N?" I looked up to see Bill's concerned face. "Love, you're crying."

I raised a hand to my cheek to find he was right. Tears were streaming down my face, and the second I was forced to recognize it, a dam broke inside me.

I fell forward into Bill's chest as I sobbed, and he wrapped his arms around me. He held me tight, rubbing one hand soothingly up and down my back.

"It's going to be alright," he muttered into my hair, his own voice miraculously calm. I just cried harder.

"How can you say that, Bill?" I wailed. "We almost got killed at our own wedding, and now the Ministry has completely fallen. How can you possibly say that we're going to make it through this alright?"

He took a deep, shaky breath, then gently pulled me back from him enough that he could look me in the eye. His eyes shone and his eyebrows were furrowed, mirroring the distress I felt. But there was a grim set to the line of his mouth that signaled a quiet, unbreakable determination.

"We will make it through this," he promised. He gripped my shoulders a little tighter, leaning in until we were almost nose to nose. "We will get to our happy ending, no matter what."

I laughed a little through the tears, Bill's absolute conviction so ridiculous it brought a smile to my face.

"How can you be so sure?" I asked. He grinned.

"Because it's us. We just got married. That means we're a team, for the rest of our lives, against anything else the world wants to throw at us. And I happen to know that we make a fantastic team. I personally pity anyone who bets against us."

I giggled again, leaning into Bill as he leaned into me. No one else in the world could've lifted my spirits in this moment, other than the man sitting beside me. Which, of course, was no small part of the reason I'd married him.

"Come on," Bill said after a minute, standing and holding out his hand to me. "I believe we were in the middle of something before those bastards crashed our wedding."

I shook my head, still smiling anyway as I took his hand and he pulled me to my feet. Still in my wedding dress, and with Bill still in his suit, we came together in the middle of the living room in Shell Cottage to finish the slow dance that had been interrupted. His arms wrapped tightly around me and I rested my head on his chest while the last of the tears dried on my face.

"You're right," I mumbled, my voice barely loud enough for him to hear. "You're right, we will get through this. And I'll personally make sure anyone who tries to hurt us comes to regret it."

Bill huffed a laugh and tightened his arms around me.

"I have absolutely no doubts about that."

I pulled back to smile into the face of the man I loved, and after a moment, he leaned in and kissed me. We stayed like that for a long time, swaying in the middle of our living room, kissing occasionally, but mostly just enjoying the fact that we were still here, together and whole, after everything that had happened.

In the warm, flickering glow of the firelight, the darkness of the cottage started to regain its cozy feeling, and a tiny spark of joy for the thought of the future rekindled itself in my chest.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

Harry Potter Taglist: @valkyriepirate

[biteofcherry]

No such thing as finality

vampire!Curtis Everett x reader; Dracula!Curtis Everett x reader

summary: When Curtis returns to his newly acquired mansion in London, he's greeted by an unexpected sight...

warnings: angst; so so much angst; and feels; dark-ish; a bit of blood (there are vampires in this story, after all); mention of death;

Author's note: This is my small contribution to @witchywithwhiskey's Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon. The classic horror movie I based my inspiration on is Bram Stoker's Dracula. Though, me being me, I put a wicked twist to it. Hope you enjoy! The title "No such thing as finality" is also a quote from the Dracula book.

Lush scent of roses, bowing their graceful necks as wind gained momentum, didn’t fully cover the sweet, decadent smell of freshly spilled blood. 

It would lure him in curiosity in any other circumstances, but since he didn’t expect anyone to be willingly bleeding inside his mansion, it made him wary. 

Curtis wasn’t scared. There was no human, nor creature in this universe that could truly harm him. Any attack that may happen upon him, would be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. He could rip them apart with bare hands; move so fast and snap their neck before they even blinked; sink his fangs into an artery and rip it out; take the shape of a beast and tear them inside out.

He should do it for the sheer audacity of breaking into his household, as newly acquired and not yet fully lived-in it was.  

Taking measured steps, Curtis walked through the open wings of the glass, orangerie doors. Moonlight reflected in crystal chandeliers. Shadows crept along the walls, attempting to intimidate, but quickly withdrawing in submission to his own, chilling darkness. 

There was a faint glow of warm light seeping from beneath the double door leading to the ballroom. The sound of crackling fire announced someone’s preparation for his return. 

Curtis lifted a hand and the door opened in a burst, a gust of wind rubbing against his cheek affectionately before it whipped inside in a cold snap. 

His gaze instantly fell on the crumpled body in the middle of the polished, hardwood dancefloor - a decorative gore centerpiece of blue silk, soft skin and pool of ruby red blood. 

He recognized her. 

Mina.

That dress was the one he gifted her; as inappropriate as it was, since her engagement ring still shined on her slender finger and she had made no promise of breaking that word to Jonathan Harker, even if her lips trembled to say more than just a thank you to Curtis. Her lovely face of soft lines and ethereal delicacy, which he drew obsessively in the past weeks, remained angelic as her life slipped away.  

Curtis knew her, craved her and now he felt… mildly irritated.

A frown marred his face as he searched his feelings. Surely he should feel something stronger. Rage that would fly him across the room. Despair that would turn him into a wailing beast. 

There was a flicker of annoyance - both at having her snatched from his grasp before he got to explore this madness and at being challenged so obviously. 

As an apex predator he didn’t entertain any form of challenge. 

Slowly, his eyes moved from Mina’s dying body to the hem of your shimmering gown inches from the dark pool of blood. 

It was one of your favorite dresses - an almost translucent, pale fabric lined with exquisite sparks that gave the illusion of your body being encrusted in diamonds. Yet you didn’t seem bothered by the fact it bore stains of blood where it splashed when you sunk your teeth into the woman’s neck. 

Red essence still dripped from your chin as you boldly stared at Curtis across the room. 

“Hello, husband.” 

Beads decorating your hair caught flickers of amber glow as you tilted your head in greeting. In that moment you were the epitome of a dark goddess from centuries ago; one he turned you into when he promised you an eternity at his side. One who walked with him through the darkness and filled it with your own light. 

Light he forgot about in the fleeting moment of obsession. 

“Beloved.” Though Curtis’ voice bore an undertone of reprimand at what you have done, his term of endearment didn’t change. “You’ve overstepped.”

Your eyes flashed red glow at his admonition, as it hinted at the importance of the dying, pathetic reflection of a woman from eons ago. She was not important! She couldn’t be important to him. You were! 

“Overstepped?!” You hissed, your fangs elongating as you turned abruptly. “I was left in the castle, foolishly dreaming of and preparing for the move to the estate my dear husband went to secure. Meanwhile he fucking romanced a silly, mortal goose!”

“Mortal she may have been, but Mina wasn’t as unimpressive as you make her to be.” He didn’t know why he was defending his betrayal, since there was still not a single flare of rage urging him to snap your neck. 

Curtis didn’t think there’d ever be a time the mere thought of ending your immortal life entered his mind. Though he felt a pang of pain, somewhere in the hollowness of his chest where a heart should beat, when he realized the weight of hurt he must’ve caused you as he prowled after Mina.

“I’m sure her face resembling your dead first wife was a truly impressive genetic lottery win,” you snorted, “but have you become as all those pathetic mortal men, ready to cheat on their actual wife with a new hot piece of ass?!” 

“Do not accuse me of something that didn’t happen.” His irises splintered; red scythe filling over the blue iridescence like an eclipse taking over the sun.

A broken giggle bubbled on your lips. Your gaze shifted away from him, staring at the flames in one of the fireplaces. 

“Oh, have I come just in time to prevent you from giving her the biggest fang?” You asked bitterly.

In a flash, Curtis was across the room. Fingers curling around the front of your neck and slamming you into the opposite wall. He pressed you against it, his grip on your throat not loosening and the heat of his body enfolding yours.

Curtis was considered a dead creature, but he burned as if the hellfire itself ran through his veins. It was only him, though. He created you, but you never felt your own warmth. There were others whom he sired over the centuries and who sired next generations of vampires. They all ran cold, too. Only Curtis’ dark flame burned eternal.

“You’re treading on thin ice.” He warned you, even as he delighted in the intense emotion you provoked. With you everything was always intense. 

Always… alive.

Curtis was angry that you would accuse him of such a disgusting act like cheating. Angry at himself for giving you the reason to think the worst of him.

His obsession with Mina was unhealthy and borderline stalking. He was gifting her with attention and this one material present. But he didn’t have a plan of what he wanted from her exactly. Even as he played with the verbal seduction she was slowly falling for, not once did he imagine bedding her, or turning her.

It was more of a need to keep her, explore her, hold on to whatever she represented for his tortured soul. 

But he was blind to how his madness made him act towards you.

“What will you do?” You asked in a hushed tone, redness of your irises receding to the natural color of your eyes. “Are you going to destroy me? The woman you vowed to love for eternity? The woman you turned, branded in every possible way as yours?”

It wasn’t a spiteful challenge of a scorned queen, but a fear of a lively woman who stole his evil heart five centuries ago.

One who often walked barefoot, even before vampirism made you immune to the cold. Wearing simple dresses, with pockets filled with flowers and herbs and shiny stones plucked from mountain rivers. He bought you many stunning dresses over the centuries and you loved them, but most of the time you still wore the simplest ones. 

Curtis could only assume you dressed in the finest gown and adorned yourself with jewels to impose your power over Mina. To carry yourself as the queen about to crush a threat to her kingdom.   

There was never a threat. Not once did he consider leaving you behind and never returning. 

“I’d sooner meet my own end,” his fingers clenched on your throat as he squeezed his eyes in pain. 

When he vowed to love and care for you for eternity, until the sun burnt human cities down and reached to scorch your entwined bodies, he meant it with every fiber of his cursed being. 

“I haven’t cheated.” Curtis sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t think I would have.”

“And yet here we are…” Your cool breath still carried the metallic scent of blood.

He wouldn’t allow these thoughts to linger, to hurt you with doubt and resentment. He’d rather have you angry with him than broken. And there were ways to stoke your fire, keep it burning and warming him.

“Yes, here we are, Beloved.” Curtis’ tongue flicked out to lick away a drop of blood from the corners of your lips; his tone dropped an octave, vibrating with a beastly timbre. “With you in my grasp. With her dead body getting cold a few steps away and me not even being angry about it.”

Because he really wasn’t. There was that irritation at not having fully figured out what it was exactly that he chased in Mina, but none at the loss of her. Not from your hands, anyway. 

You cupped Curtis face with your hands, showing him softness that he claimed he never deserved (but which you taught him to accept, adamant in your decision that he was worthy of your love). 

“What was it that you searched for with her?” You asked, even though you were scared of his answer.

“I don’t know.” Curtis admitted; his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. “A memory? A man I used to be? The humanity I lost?”

Mina looked like the exact image of Elisabeta - the wife he had as a human, whose death led him to do unspeakable things that cost him his soul. She was a reflection of the young, impulsive human man, who was too naive and too desperate in his love. 

Perhaps Mina’s angelic face brutally reminded him of the crushing pain and being the self-punishing bastard that he was, Curtis clung to her to hurt himself over and over again. Staying away from you, too, because he spiraled down into thoughts of unworthiness once again.  

“I didn’t know you at twenty one springs,” you said, “but the man I got to know at his honed one hundred years of vampirism and then spent centuries with? I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.” 

Curtis was a vampire king. The oldest, the first to ever be made. At least the first either of you encountered. He fed on blood, could be brutal about it, or very gentle. Depending who the victim was. There were streaks of ruthlessness and cruelty in him, you witnessed him drown villages in blood then watch it sink into the ground with grim satisfaction. 

But he also carried the children from said villages in his arms, finding them new homes in places where humans weren’t as rotten and wouldn’t hurt them like the people of their hometowns had. 

Curtis was the monster parents scared their children with; but that monster saved those kids when their parents were the ones abusing them. Or when they allowed others, holy men included, to hurt them. 

No, you would never trade Curtis for any other man. 

“Not even at this moment of weakness?” Curtis’ deep, low voice resounded with a soft uncertainty.

You were still mad at him, but you couldn’t help that need to comfort him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, scratching lightly at the back of his head in a caress that always made him shudder and melt into your embrace.

“Why do you think I’m still here, facing you?” You sighed, tilting your head back enough to look Curtis in the eyes. 

“I could’ve ripped her to pieces and then fled. Leave you alone in the misery you would have brewed for yourself.” That was what Curtis did at least once every decade - sink into a really low mood and break your heart with how vulnerable and helpless he was at the time. 

“But, my dear husband, I love you too fiercely to let you go. The heart that you claim is void of humanity and care is one that made me say yes when you offered me immortality at your side.” 

“I feared…” You dropped your gaze down. “I feared you went after her, because you grew bored of me. That I was so easily replaceable.”

Throughout the centuries not once did Curtis stray away, nor did he isolate himself from you. Sometimes, when he was in his depressive mood he’d often space out, sinking into his gloomy thoughts, but even then he was physically nearby. Mindlessly caressing your body as you cuddled him and anchoring himself to you.

This trip across the sea took long, but the time kept stretching and stretching as Curtis worked on all the formalities of buying a mansion and re-settling onto a new soil. Impatient for his return, you decided on visiting him.

It was supposed to be a surprise for him, but turned into a shock for you when you saw that woman’s starstruck gaze as he escorted her to the carriage. 

Curtis gripped your chin between his fingers and gently tilted your face up. Sadness in his gaze crumbled way to determination. 

“Never.” He vowed. “It’s a burden I have to carry now, knowing that I’ve hurt you.”

“I’ll give you centuries to make it up to me.” You allowed your lips to curve in a small smile, then leaned to press a soft kiss to Curtis’ mouth. 

“Most gracious, Beloved.” Curtis smiled against your lips. He let go of your chin, sneaking that hand down your body and gripping your thigh. His other hand was still wrapped around your neck, fingers pressing a tad harder. Just the way you liked.

In a swift move, he hoisted you up. Your legs wrapped around his hips, the snick of ripping fabric making you giggle. 

“I’ve yet to welcome you properly to our new mansion.” Curtis purred, licking a broad stroke across your bloodied chin. “You’ve already christened it with blood. Now I want to fill the walls with your sounds of pleasure.”

[qveerthe0ry]

What Means to You, What Means to Me

Summary: Max Phillips changes everything. Written for @perotovar 's offering of Frith Word Count: 8,046 Pairing: Max Phillips Loki (The Trickster God of mischief and chaos) x afab! NB! Bisexual! Reader Rating: 18+ mdni Warnings: smut, talks about gender non-conformity, talks about gender dysphoria as it relates to sex, GENERAL GENDER FUCKERY Beta: My sweet angel @for-a-longlongtime of course A/N: Under the cut

Author's Note: First of all, I just want to thank Erin for putting together this writing challenge and sharing SO much about Norse Paganism. The effort you put into this, from the moodboards to educational resources is incredible. And the fact that you've shared something so close to you with all of us made this writing challenge feel like getting a warm hug <3

Second, see the author's note I wrote at the end (as to not spoil the story) if you want to know the ways Loki ingrained himself in this fic.

_

You’ve heard of this queer club before, but you’ve never been inside. You’d thought the descriptors were exaggerations, but you find out quickly that you were wrong. 

Security is tight at the door, and they ask you questions as they scan your ID that sound like small talk but are a bit more probing once you think about it. Your pockets are patted down and you walk through a metal detector before you even breach the front door. 

You’re wondering if it’s even worth all this. You’re by yourself, no one’s meeting you here, and you don’t plan on going home with anyone. 

Really, you’re just bored, in a fairly new city with no one familiar but your new co-workers to converse with; those are the last people you want to be around on a Friday night after a long work week. 

So you’re here. Are there a dozen other queer bars you could have gone to on this rainbow-lined street? Yes. But none of them really feel right. So you’re here, finally in clothes that you feel comfortable in, around people who aren’t going to make you feel uncomfortable in them. 

And its reputation precedes itself. 

Gaudy. Over-the-top. 

There’s three floors, the top two cut out to overlook the dance floor in the middle of the ground level. There’s chandeliers everywhere, far too ornate for a fucking nightclub. Candelabras litter every tabletop with flaming wax that you’re sure is a fire hazard in an establishment like this. There’s fuzzy, cozy-looking lounges and really hot people walking around serving complimentary waters on gold trays and maybe it was a mistake, coming here. 

But you’ve already been through the TSA of nightclubs, and so you might as well grab a drink while you’re here and make the uber ride home worth it. 

At least the drinks seem to be cheap. You take too long staring at the specialty cocktail names when a bartender asks how you’re doing, and end up ordering your favorite drink anyways. At least they seem nice, unlike some of the bars you’ve been to at the not-mandatory-but-suggestively-obligatory happy hours after work. 

You sit at the bar, a little intimidated by the fancy decor and skilled dancers that overwhelm the club. 

The music is unsuspecting, something soft and melodic that you only realize is live music when your eyes settle on her. 

Her fiery red hair cascades down her shoulders, igniting all the skin exposed by her backless dress. She’s sitting at the piano in the middle of the dancefloor, obscured by couples and others dancing around her. 

She’s everything. The most gorgeous woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Her nose is strong and her jawline juts and contrasts with those soft brown eyes. You’re yearning before you can even realize it, a kind of consumption that leaves you breathing heavier than normal as you sip your drink probably way too quickly. 

You focus on her long, nimble fingers, painted red at the nails and fluttering so skillfully over the ivory keys that it makes your cheeks feel hot. 

The ringing of the keys doesn't register over the thumping of your heart and the blood rushing in your ears, which feel like molten lava. Perhaps that’s why you don’t notice she’d finished her set until she’s a foot away from you, placing an order you’d only know if you were able to read lips.

Christ, her lips. Plump and painted in the same shade of red as her hair and nails, they purse as she sips from a champagne flute. She’s so dainty, and poised, everything you’ve never had the desire to be. 

And she’s staring right at you. 

“See something you like?” 

Your breath gets stuck in your lungs and your heart flutters in a medically dangerous way. 

“You’re incredible.”

The words roll off your tongue without any go-ahead from your brain. 

She laughs anyway, with her head thrown back, and the sight of her throat elongated makes your own go bone-dry. 

“If I had a nickel,” she jokes with a wink. 

Your half-melted brain scrabbles for something to say so you can be graced with her presence for even one more second. 

“How long have you been playing?” 

She quirks her perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, and she smirks, and something about the way she can see through you like cellophane turns you on and it makes you feel wicked. 

“You don’t really care, do you?” 

From your peripheral, you see her long, toned arm inching closer to yours on the bar. Her fingers touch yours, feather-light, and you shiver before you freeze in place. 

“I— No, I do.”

You can barely hear her low chuckle over the house music that’s started to play in her absence, but you do, and it sounds like heaven and hell all at once. 

Slowly, torturously, she leans closer to you, and her bubbly breath ghosts across your cheek, your jaw, and then gusts in your ear. 

“Don’t lie to me, handsome.” 

Her tone is teasing, sing-songy in a way that might be annoying if you weren’t so aroused. 

Your fingers clench around the glass you’re holding, and her own do the same over yours. 

“What do you want me to say?” 

You don’t know if you’re more scared, horny, or irritated. They’re all three tied for gold, at this point, with tipsy coming in second and way too warm bringing up the rear. 

And the pure audacity this woman has is impressive, as she places her lips so so lightly under your earlobe. You hope to god her lipstick stains. 

“Ask me if I wanna get out of here.”

Your lungs inflate too quickly, and your eyes close, and you lean into the touch of her lips. 

“Where would we go?” 

It’s a stupid question. Why in your right mind do you give a flying fuck? She could drag you to the DMV and you’d happily follow like a pup. 

She stands from the barstool, tall, taller than you realized, and the proximity puts her between your spread legs. 

Your thighs flex involuntarily, and your fingers twitch and ache to touch her. 

“I know a place. If you want?” 

Her eyebrow is quirked at you again as she leans back. You can’t find your words, so you stand in answer, and now you’re too close. Every delicious curve of her body is pressed against your front and you unhand your drink to dig your nails into the top of the bar. 

“Please.” 

Her grin is so mischievous that it startles you, those sharp canines on full display. You think about how they’ll feel against your skin as she nods her head and prompts you to follow her. 

You might as well be wearing a leash, the way you trail her so closely. You twist your fingers as the nerves start to pick back up, and all of a sudden you’re in front of some elevator doors with a very huge and intimidating bouncer guarding the buttons and staring you down. 

“Before we head up, just so you know, I’m working with a… different set of equipment than you might expect.”

You nearly ask her to repeat herself, a bit too overwhelmed with the eyes on you and the situation you’re about to get yourself into. But your brain plays a game of catch-up, and somehow this little fact makes you feel more comfortable. 

“That’s cool— me too. I mean, maybe? I don’t know what— uh, what you’d expect me to have, but… yeah.”

Your voice trails off as the big burly bouncer chuckles at you, and your face could probably melt off of your skull with how hot it feels, but then she grabs your hand and squeezes to tug you into the elevator with her. 

The club sounds are nearly all drowned out now, and you’re certain she can hear your heartbeat in the silence as she crowds you against the back wall. 

“My name’s Max,” she says, speaking all breathy and low against the skin of your neck. 

You shiver, barely eke out your own name as her body presses against yours. 

It’s heavenly, the way she feels against you, but the way she teases your earlobe between her dark cherry lips feels hellish. You still haven’t touched her, even though your hands are burning to feel the silk of her dress over her waist. You’re intimidated and horny and mentally working yourself up to do anything on your own without her giving you direct orders.

There’s a ding, and all momentum is lost when she turns away from you to enter the snow globe of a penthouse beyond the open elevator doors. You follow eagerly.

“This is your place?” 

Your voice is awe-filled as you look around. The walls are just windows, and the city lights and the last few minutes of sunset brighten all the dark wood and leather around you. 

“Yeah, so’s the club.”

Her tone is nonchalant, and you gape at her as she steps out of her strappy, expensive-looking high heels. Maybe you shouldn’t be so surprised. She has all the confidence of someone who owns the world, and her cockiness is reflected in the ostentatious nature of the club and her penthouse. 

But you’re still shocked. Maybe you’re shocked because she’s chosen you, out of every other patron, to come up here with her. 

“It’s nice— the club. And here, too.” 

She chuckles and shrugs but she thanks you as her bare feet bring her close to you once more. You feel your hackles raise as she approaches, along with your heart rate, but she walks right past you. 

“Follow me.”

As if you’d dream of doing anything else. 

Her bedroom is all windows, too. The bed is huge, much bigger than a normal king, and the space itself is fairly empty of any personal touches. It suits her mystique. You feel like you have a million unanswered questions, but none of them matter when she shoves you down onto the mattress and straddles your thighs. 

Your mouth drops open, but she steals the words from your breath when she grabs your hands and places them on her hips.

Finally. 

Fuck, she feels incredible under this silky dress as you squeeze her waist and arch your hips up into her. 

You tell her as much, and get another one of those cocky chuckles that goes straight to your center. 

“Do your worst, handsome.” 

And maybe you’ve never been the best at getting into someone’s bed, but you’re certain you’re the best once you’re between the sheets. 

It’s no exception, with her. You’re so eager to please. You worship every last inch of her body once it’s revealed to you. You take note of all the places you kiss and lick that make her breath hitch, you tease her until her cock weeps, and you take her so far down your throat that tears sting your eyes. 

Her nails dig into your scalp, and you feel like the cocky one when she begs you to pull off, when she tells you that you’ve damn near sucked her soul out through her dick. 

Your clit is throbbing and you’ve soaked through your underwear by the time she hastily pulls them off of you. She kisses you breathless and bites your lip with her sharp teeth as you roll the condom down her length. The way she whimpers when you finally straddle her sends you reeling. Your hand finds her tit, and your palm rolls against her taut nipple as you finally get her cock to slide through your slick folds. She arches into your touch and she begs and there’s no force powerful enough to keep you from giving in to her pleas.

Her face twists up so fucking beautifully as you impale yourself on her. Inch by inch, so slowly, teasing her like she’d teased you earlier in the night. You feel satisfied and hungry at the same time when you’re flush with her thighs. Her hips buck when you pinch her nipple, and she hits the perfect spot, and neither of you have any resolve leftover. 

It’s a give and take that lasts too long and is over far too quick. You ride her, and she thrusts up into you, back and forth until you both crumble at the same time, blinding and intense and loud. 

You might black out. 

One moment you’re stroking her skin with your fingertips and thanking her over and over, and the next you’re sitting up against her headboard with a glass of water in one hand and her fiery hair in the other. 

She’s sighing in your lap, nuzzling into the heat of your thighs with her aquiline nose. 

“You’re incredible,” you say for probably the millionth time that night. 

She chuckles again, just like she did when you first told her, but her pretty brown eyes shine when she looks up at you. 

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

Your face gets all hot again, and you feel shy, eyes darting around the room to focus on anything but the gorgeous woman resting on you. 

“Does it bother you when I call you that?” 

You huff. 

“Not at all.”

“Are you trans?” 

You huff again. 

“No. I— I don’t know. I’m just… me. In-between. I don’t really feel like I fit any one description.”

She hums and presses a kiss to your mound through your underwear.

“I understand.” 

“I’ve always been like this, you know? Before I knew what it was. I just didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. Not in an insecure way. Just that it didn’t feel right.” 

“Do you want a dick?”

Her bluntness makes you laugh. 

“Sometimes I do.”

She nods, and the way her silky hair feels against your bare thighs makes you shiver. 

“It’s actually kind of awesome, I’m not gonna lie.”

She laughs with you. 

“Don’t rub it in.”

“I’ll rub it in if you give me another five minutes.”

She does.

You fall asleep in her arms, exhausted and sated and happy.

She’s gone in the morning. All the shades are drawn, those same hazardous candles from the club lighting the apartment dimly. Your clothes are dry cleaned and hanging in a bag you’re certain costs more than your entire outfit. There’s a note next to your half-empty glass of water on the nightstand.

See you around. 

Except you don’t. 

You wait eight whole days to go back to the club. You wear something nicer, go through the tight security, and saunter up to the bar with much more confidence than your first visit. You wait for her. You drink one too many and hope to find her walking around or playing the piano. 

A few people come up to you and ask you to dance, and you refuse each one with the bitter taste of irony on your tongue, and then you go home alone after last call with a headache and queasy stomach. 

Maybe she’s just out of town, you tell yourself. She owns an entire nightclub, she’s clearly a very important woman, probably quite busy, too. 

You go back the next weekend, and the next, and you don’t see her once. 

So after a month, you go again and this time you accept the offers to share a dance, grind against people with a weird confidence you know comes from the woman you hope to see tonight. You share meaningless kisses and buy a few people drinks but refuse an offer or two to ‘get out of here.’

You start to lose hope when the dim lights flicker brighter and last call is announced. But as you bid goodbyes to a group you were hanging with, that very large and scary bodyguard from the elevators is walking towards you, and this time his presence is more exciting and less intimidating. 

“Max would like you to come upstairs.”

And while it’s kind of annoying, and seems pretentious— why didn’t she come down here and tell you herself?— you follow. Eagerly. Once again. 

He lets you take the elevator up by yourself, and this time the anxiety is more anticipation than it is fear. 

Though, when the doors open, you’re face to face with a guy.

He’s got a familiar cocky smirk on his face, messy gelled hair, and he’s leaning up against a wall with his arms crossed. 

Panic, is what your body tells you to do, leave, run. But you’re frozen under his thick gaze. 

The elevator doors start to shut, and you take a step back when he moves to hold them open, but he chuckles. 

A cocky little chuckle. 

“Who are you?” 

“I’m Max.”

“No you’re not.”

“C’mon, handsome. It’s me.”

You shiver when he calls you that, but not in the same way you did when she said it. 

“Is this some kind of joke? Listen, she didn’t tell me she was exclusive with anyone—”

He cuts you off by saying your name in a pleading tone. 

“Come in, please, just give me a minute to prove it to you.”

Panic. Run. Leave.

You ignore every instinct to finally step out of the elevator. 

“You told me, last time, that sometimes you wished you had a dick. Right?”

You nod before you can think better of it. 

Who is this guy?

You’re no stranger to genderfluidity, the way a haircut or makeup or different clothes can drastically change someone’s look— but this isn’t that. This can’t be that. While they have similar features, her sharp noise was still softer, her eyes were less crinkled at the edges, her brow bone was much less prominent. If this is smoke and mirrors, she’s one hell of a magician. 

“Do you wish you had one right now?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. Are you guys twins or something? What’s going on?” 

He chuckles again, and you have to say, it’s much less arousing coming from him than it was from your Max. He reaches out to touch your arm, and you want to shove him away, but you can’t.

Your body feels frozen, again, but not from fear. There’s a strange sensation that courses through you, some unexplainable energy that makes your bones feel like they’re vibrating, makes your blood feel thick and heavy in your veins. 

It scares you, but the newly soft look on this Max’s face is just comforting enough to keep you from a full-fledged panic attack. 

That, and the fact that it’s over just as quick as it started. Your body loosens back up as Max’s hand on your arm rubs reassuring circles. 

But then you feel weird. A strange turning low in your gut, kind of like arousal, but not quite. And your pants feel tighter, more constricting than they did earlier. 

You look down. 

There’s a bulge in your pants, like there would be if you were packing. But you’re not. You’re certain you made the decision to leave it at home when you left earlier in the night. 

You look back up at him. He’s smirking. 

“You can touch it.”

You do, despite your brain screaming how weird it would be to touch your crotch in front of a man you’ve never met before. 

You have a dick. 

You feel it now, and while the feeling of it in your hand isn’t foreign to you, the fact that it’s sensitive and fucking actually attached to your body is. 

You pull your hand away like it’s been scalded. 

“What the fuck?! How did you—“

You stare at him open-mouthed and terrified and maybe a little bit turned on.

“Does it matter? I gave you what you’ve always wanted.” 

He looks from your face to your… dick, and back again, smirking, admiring, like he’s just finished an art project.

“Will it… Will it go back?”

“Do you want it to?”

“I— I don’t know.”

Max chuckles that damn chuckle, all full of himself. But this time, it’s her. You know it is, now. As crazy as it sounds, it’s the only thing that makes sense. This is your Max. 

“Why don’t you take it for a test drive? If you don’t like it, I’ll change you back.”

You gape at him. It’s all clicking. This is your Max, and they’ve listened to you and done something so fucking weird but so fucking sweet. You don’t know how, and you honestly are starting to care less and less the longer Max keeps staring at you like he’s proud. Of you or himself, you’re not so sure, but it’s working. 

“It’s— it’s you, isn’t it?” 

“I told you so.”

“Fuck,” you sigh, “where have you been? I came back. Every weekend.” 

Max hums. 

“I was a little caught up. Got into a bit of trouble, as I do. But I’m back, and I wanted to see you. I’m glad you came.”

“Are you— I mean… you look a lot different?” 

He shrugs. 

“Do you still think I’m hot? I can change back—”

“No! No, sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I was just confused. You’re still—”

“Incredible?” 

You huff a laugh, and finally relax for the first time since you got into that elevator. 

“Yeah. Incredible.”

His cocky demeanor falls to the wayside to make room for something more sincere. He takes a few steps until you’re face to face with him, and places a suspiciously cold hand on the back of your heated neck. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles. 

“I— I missed you too. That night… I’ve thought about it so much.”

“Mmm, yeah? Me too.”

You kiss the stupid smirk off of his face. 

He tastes the same as you remember before, like champagne and sweet mint and her. His teeth are just as sharp, scraping your tongue as it explores every bit of his mouth. 

His free hand grabs your hip and pulls you even closer to him and fuck, that feels better than it has any right to. Your cock stirs in your pants and you buck your hips again, fiending for this new type of friction. 

“Come to bed with me?” 

All you can do is nod and follow. 

The bedroom looks just the same as it did last time, but the lack of sunlight makes everything feel quieter tonight— slower, more serene. 

He turns down the covers slowly, and you stand at the foot of the bed, extremely uncertain about what happens next, even though your dick throbs with anticipation. 

“You still into this?” 

Max’s voice startles you out of your own head. 

“Yeah, sorry. Nerves.”

He hums and steps closer to you. 

“Nothing to be nervous about, handsome.”

You nod and let your eyes trace up and down his body, noting his broad shoulders in that crisp white dress shirt and his thick thighs under the satiny sheen of his slacks. He’s still just as gorgeous in this masculine form, and it’s as irritating as it is enticing.

“Do you wanna fuck me?” 

“Shit.” 

His words go straight to your cock, and you’re unashamed to palm it in your hand and press and curse at the completely new sensation. 

“I’m assuming that’s a yes,” he chuckles. “Do you want my ass or my pussy?” 

Your hand on yourself stills. 

“You— you have a pussy?”

“I can.”

And it shouldn’t surprise you, after everything else that’s happened in the last ten minutes, but it still does. Your breath stutters in your chest and your dick fills out even more against your hand and you distantly wonder how big Max made it, if it’s exactly what he wants. 

“Can I— Will you show me your pussy?” 

He leers at you when you ask, and it only turns you on even more. 

“I was hoping you’d go for that.”

He starts unbuttoning his shirt, but this whole mad situation has you feeling much more comfortable, in a fuck it kind of way. You step into his space and work the buttons free, and follow with your mouth. His skin is cold under the heat of your lips, and by the time his shirt hangs free from his shoulders you’ve made it your personal mission to warm up every inch of him. 

It’s easy to work his belt open, undo his fly and watch it open to a thick thatch of pubic hair. You pause to press your lips to his again, to reach around to cup his pert asscheeks as his slacks fall to the floor. 

You can’t stop grinding against him, even as you press him back and down onto the bed. You just follow, fully clothed, hesitant to deny yourself this new heady feeling of pressure to your cock. 

It’s only when he suckles your top lip and reaches down to palm you that you realize you’re teetering on the edge of embarrassing yourself. 

Your hips jolt away from him and it hurts a bit when you rip your lip out between his teeth, but all the better to take your mind off the intense, heavy arousal in your gut. 

“Okay?” 

He asks it with a smirk, like he already knows the answer, so you don’t give him one. You just stare down past your heaving chest to see the damp spot on your pants and start to unfasten them to relieve some of the pressure. 

“You’re gonna want to chill out. Refractory periods are annoying with those things,” he warns. 

You huff. 

“That’s kind of you,” you joke. 

It’s better, just in the thin fabric of your underwear, less resistant. You want to take them off too, but you’re afraid that the euphoria from seeing yourself with a dick will really conflate the issue at hand. 

So you shuffle down the bed a bit, and press your lips to Max’s flat chest, to his nipples that are half the size they were last time. They pebble quickly under your attention, and you bite down on one when you accidentally drag your cock along the mattress. 

He groans and arches into you, goads you on with a hand on the back of your neck. 

“Are you as good at eating pussy as you are at sucking dick?” 

It’s almost comical, the way he applies pressure to urge you further down his body. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You nip at his sparse happy trail as he pushes you down with his large hand on your shoulder and delight in the way his muscles twitch under your mouth. 

“Some time this century, yeah.”

You hum, nose at the wiry curls on his mound and grab the wrist of his hand that’s still pressing on you. 

“You’re not very gentlemanly,” you tease.

He laughs as he stares down at you with his dark eyes. His hand moves to cup your jaw and you let it, let him trace your bottom lip with his thumb. 

“Is that what you want? A gentleman?”

You suck his thumb into your mouth as you shake your head, grinning around his knuckle. You bite down a little harder than you mean to and he hisses. He yanks his hand from your mouth to grab the back of your head and tug until your face is buried between his thighs. 

You relent, breathing in the scent of him, bypassing any preamble to shove your tongue inside of him. The way his hips buck into your face makes you smirk into his folds and dig your nails into the skin of his thighs. 

He still makes the most beautiful noises, when you get down to it. Desperate, hungry, eager. For as cocky as he is, he sure writhes against you like a shameless whore as he whispers curses into the dark room. 

You savor the taste of him, the warmth and tightness of him around your fingers, the scratchy feeling of his bush tickling your nose. The way his strong thighs tense and relax under your grasp makes you want to feel them do the same around your waist. 

You look up when he starts clenching around your fingers like a vice, and the thought of that feeling around your new dick makes you whimper into his pussy. You focus even more on the way you suckle and flick his clit, to try and set the arousal aside so you don’t come before you can even slip into him. 

He’s got his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his back arched off the bed when he finally shudders and comes. You work him through it, lapping at his dripping hole, letting him grind against your tongue until he’s squirming away from your touch. 

You’re dragging this out. Stalling. You press little biting kisses to his thighs and his mound as he’s coming down. Maybe if you just worked him through one more, you’ll be calm enough to—

“C’mere already.”

You roll your eyes at him as he tugs on you, but you go willingly to hover over him and let him lick his taste from your mouth. His hums are lower and more subdued in the aftermath and they rumble deep in your chest as you try your hardest not to grind into him. 

It doesn’t matter. 

His free hand wraps around your cock and the feeling turns you on so much that you almost feel nauseous. You can feel all five of his fingers there, even with how big his hands are. He’s around you, and the familiar sensation on the inside mixed with the foreign sensation against your skin is a bit confusing but so hot. He squeezes and you jolt, bite down hard on his lip, but it only makes him chuckle. 

“That good, huh?” 

You groan into the crook of his neck in answer, completely at a loss for words. 

“I’d like to say the novelty wears off, but I haven’t found that it does.”

You feel like you’re on fire, honestly, like you’re trapped in a burning building with no way out. It’s hard to speak or breathe or think with his hand wrapped around you over your underwear. You can’t even begin to imagine how good his skin is going to feel against yours. 

“C’mon, handsome, lie back for me.”

You do, with his help, reclined back against his decorative pillows. Your breathing is ragged as he takes his time getting your shirt off and pressing surprisingly sweet kisses to everything revealed to him. 

You ground yourself by petting his hair, coarse and a little sticky from hair gel but thick enough to be extremely satisfying to card through. For a moment you’re able to focus on the feeling of it slipping between your fingers instead of the throbbing of your prick. 

But then his thick fingers find the elastic waistband and creep underneath. It shocks you out of your false sense of security. When your panicked eyes meet his, they’re so warm and soft you think you could maybe cry a little about it. But he speaks up instead. 

“Are you still okay with everything going on?”

And you are, even though you’re hanging by a thread and preemptively embarrassed by what’s about to go down; you want it so bad. 

So you nod. 

“Words, handsome.”

You huff. 

“Yes, Max. Please.”

He hums and smiles. 

“Good boy.”

You’re engulfed by embarrassment when your cock jumps dramatically at his words, right beneath his hovering face. You feel even hotter when he huffs out a laugh.

But then he’s pulling your underwear, and it’s there, in plain sight, a gorgeous cock. It’s perfect, it’s how you’ve always imagined yours would look if you had one. Like Max knew, somehow, was inside your brain and could see the same fantasies that you could. 

It jerks again in the cool air. You can feel the blood rushing there, a powerful gush that makes it twitch when you think about how it’s your dick, on your body. He hasn’t even touched you yet and you can feel pre-cum dripping down your shaft. 

“Can I taste?” He asks. 

You nod, then remember your words. 

“Please.”

You can’t produce more than a whisper as you watch him lean forward, like slow motion, with his tongue hanging out dramatically and his eyes locked on yours. 

The first touch of his tongue against your skin has your hips flying off the mattress at a speed that you’re sure defies laws of physics. 

He just looks so fucking gorgeous with your prick eclipsing the middle of his face. Your prick looks so gorgeous. God, you’re starting to understand where cis men get their audacity from. 

You tighten your grip on his hair for no other reason than you need something to hang onto or you might just float off into space. He teases you with more kitten licks, up one side, then the other, and you watch in awe. You can’t take your eyes off it, even though it may delay the inevitable if you could. 

He kisses the head of it, and his tongue does something wicked right underneath it that makes you tug his head back by his gelled locks. 

“Too much?” He asks, even as he winces at your tugging. 

“You’re teasing, and all that’s going to lead to is disappointment on your end.”

God, why do you sound like you’ve just run a marathon?

“I’ll never be disappointed by making you come, handsome.”

He’s so fucking annoying. You want to fuck his face just to shut him up, but you know that would only last about ten and a half seconds. 

You curse and close your eyes and dig your head back into the pillows. He must take it as a signal to continue, because bright, staticky stars burst behind your eyelids when he takes you into his mouth for the first time. 

Fuck. You’re inside him. It feels hot and wet, kind of squishy, but so tight when he sucks and sinks his mouth down even farther. 

You yell. The dramatic noise is ripped from your vocal chords without your consent, and your eyes fly open to look down at him. Those plush fucking lips look so goddamn good wrapped around you, all wet and red and swollen. You squeeze his hair in your hand. You’re so torn between wanting to chase the warmth of his mouth and wanting to arch away from it. 

Then you feel it, that familiar twisting deep and low in your gut, only it’s ten times as intense as it usually is. You start to panic. 

“Max! Max, please, I’m—!”

He pulls off quickly, and squeezes the base of your jerking dick. It kind of hurts, and you hiss and watch in horror and wait for something to come out. But it doesn’t. It’s so weird, the way he’s manually shut down your orgasm with one touch. Completely different than the way you would have had to hold back without this new dick. 

“That’s—”

“Incredible, right?” 

You huff in the midst of catching your breath. You still feel like a hair trigger, but without someone’s finger hovering over it now. 

“Oh my god,” you sigh. 

He laughs and lets go of you. You watch him wipe the corners of his pretty mouth and distantly think that you can’t wait until you get used to this, so you can make him gag and watch his drool and your cum seep from it. 

Your dick jerks at the thought, and it’s strange to have the evidence of your arousal be so obvious. It’s like a damn car alarm. 

“Wanna fuck me now?” 

You laugh, delirious. 

“My new nickname’s gonna be One Pump Chump.”

He slithers up the bed to lie beside you. 

“It’s totally understandable. Normal, even.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. 

“How big is the sample size?”

He shrugs and smirks but his eyes focus on the bedsheets between you. 

“I know I seem like a douchebag, but I really just wanna help.”

You pout at him, but fix your face before he looks back up at you. You run your hand through his hair, gently this time, and something about this whole situation is making your heart feel all gooey. 

“You only seem like a little bit of a douchebag.”

He grumbles at you but smiles. 

“Besides, there’s like, a billion things you’re gonna want to try with that thing. You’ll get practice.” 

That thing suddenly doesn’t feel as pressing anymore. You’re still hard as rock, but it finally feels like it would take a little more than a gentle breeze to make you spill. 

“Let me fuck you, then.”

“Yeah?”

You nod and smile; and some of that eagerness comes back to light up his devious eyes. He reaches for the condoms in the bedside table and you admire all of the taut muscles under his tan skin. 

“You want help with this?” 

You roll your eyes, but it’s kinda sweet. You’ve never actually put one on at this angle before. So you get between his thighs when he lies back and let him roll it on you. 

“You can definitely get someone pregnant with this too, so… be warned. Don’t sue me about it, it won’t go over well in court.”

Your dick bobs in his grasp as you laugh. It feels so weird and fascinating.  

“Noted, thank you for the disclaimer. And sorry about the lawsuit?” 

He squeezes your prick around the condom and smiles up at you. 

“No worries, that was decades ago.”

You laugh until the words catch up with you. But you don’t have time to question it much, because he’s lying back and spreading his thighs for you, getting a pillow under his hips so his glistening pussy is tilted perfectly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him so aroused and ready for you, and at the thought of how much more wet and tight and hot it’s going to feel compared to his mouth. 

You sigh and play with his little clit, still wet from your saliva. He keens and seeks out more friction and you have to fuck him. His pussy is even more enticing now, knowing you can slide your prick inside. 

You shuffle closer and try to remind yourself to take your time. You purposefully glide your hands up his thighs, feeling the way the hair gets more sparse and fine the further up you go. You’re delighted by the little goosebumps that form under your fingertips and the way he sounds so relaxed when he sighs. 

Shuffling even further now, you settle those thick thighs over your own and let your knees cage his slim hips. When you look up, he’s watching you through hooded eyes with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You really are gorgeous,” you tell him, softly, afraid to disturb what’s becoming a very peaceful calm before the storm. 

His breath hitches a little and you see it as it ripples his chest. 

“You really are handsome,” he winks back. 

Your hand wanders up higher, across his ribs, and your thumb presses against his stiff nipple and rolls it. You feel the small noise he makes under your palm and smile. 

Your other hand grabs the base of your cock, sure to keep the base of the condom from slipping down. The subtle move kind of makes you feel like a pro, and you’d snicker about it if the euphoria that flooded through your body didn’t overwhelm you. 

It’s kind of like an out of body experience. But you’re also painfully aware of your body and this new appendage and the way the feeling of it is wreaking havoc on your entire being. 

You slide your cock through his wet folds and even just this feels incredible, the way every bit of him feels rubbing against your sensitive cockhead. You can’t drag it out any longer, you know. 

“Are you ready?” You ask him hesitantly. 

“Are you ready?” 

You snort and roll your eyes and pinch his nipple. His back arches and the movement makes your dick slip down, press just barely against his opening. You suck in a breath and it takes every ounce of willpower not to shove yourself inside to chase that wet heat. 

“Okay, okay, I’m ready. Just fuck me already. Gonna feel so good.”

For him or for you, you’re not sure which he means, but it doesn’t matter. 

You try to take your time. You really do. But as soon as the head of your prick slips in it’s like you have no self control. 

You chase the warmth, plunge all the way into him, and stay. 

Oh my god. 

“Oh my god.”

Max chuckles at you and you can feel it. You’re so fucking wrapped up in him. Every little move, shift, clench, it surrounds you and overwhelms you. 

“You feel so fucking good, Max.”

You’re sure you look absolutely wild. Your jaw is permanently dropped, eyes wide as you try with all of your might to hang on. 

“Ditto,” he breathes. 

His eyes look dark and intense, when your eyes can finally focus in. 

“Do you— did you make it exactly how you like?” 

It’s so stupid to be asking questions right now but it’s the only thing you have to keep you somewhat composed. 

“Yeah,” he admits, a little breathless. 

“You get off on that?”

You know he does before he answers, can feel him clench and contract around you. You muster up the dexterity to find his clit with your thumb and press. 

“I do! I do, fuck.”

You finally start to inch out of him, slowly, afraid that too much friction will send you over the edge. 

“Are you using me like a toy?” 

He whimpers, and the sound alone makes you snap your hips back into him. 

“No, no, that’s not it.”

Your brows rise up in question, and you pull out again as you wait for him to explain. 

“It’s— I dunno. I like that you… hah, shit, like that, don’t stop.”

You feel smug that you’ve derailed his thoughts by starting to fuck him with a slow rhythm, if only because he’s derailed yours a million times in the two nights you’ve shared. 

You circle his clit and groan at the way his pussy squeezes you. It’s hard to even pull out of him, it’s like he’s sucking you right back in. 

“You were saying?”

And it doesn’t sound smooth coming from your mouth, your breathing labored and your voice strained. 

“I like that you’ll think of me when you fuck. I like knowing I made you like this for me even if others get to enjoy it. I like knowing— shit— I like knowing I’m the one that makes you feel good.”

You balk at his confession. Such a beautiful explanation for something so possessive. From anyone else it would sound so objectifying. But with this strange relationship the two of you have, it makes your entire body burn. 

You collapse on top of him once the words really sink in. You hide your face in his sweaty neck and begin to rut into him with the knowledge that you’ll probably crumble far too quickly, but you don’t quite care. 

“You do, you make me feel so good,” you tell him. 

He whines and works his hips against yours to meet your frantic thrusts. You grab his hair again and bite faint marks into his neck that make him writhe and squirm against you. 

“You do too— harder, please, fuck me harder.”

Man, your hips are starting to ache, just like with your strap, but this time the sensation of feeling him wrapped around your very real cock keeps the discomfort at bay and it’s just pure bliss. 

So you double down, raise back up to put more of your back into it. Your sweaty hands slip against his skin as you try to grab his hips for leverage. 

“You gotta touch yourself for me,” you pant. 

The way he scrambles to comply just turns you on even more, gives you one more tick in the ‘power tripping’ column. He looks so fucking beautiful under you, back all arched in pleasure, his face scrunched up in concentration. His bicep is bulging as he slides three fingers back and forth across his clit, so frantic but so practiced. 

You fuck him and try to think about anything other than how good he feels. You’re plunging into the world’s softest, warmest hole and he’s moaning for you, you’re making him feel just as good as you do, and you’re going to lose it. 

“Gonna come, Max. I can’t—”

“Do it, come for me. Wanna be the first.”

Your hips stutter as the wave finally, finally crashes over you. You try so hard to fuck through it, try to make him come again, but as the first shock of your orgasm spikes up your spine, you can’t think to do anything but try to bury yourself as far as you can into his tight cunt. 

You know he’s saying something encouraging by the tone of his voice, but his words go in one ear and out the other as you grind into him and rest your sweaty forehead in the middle of his chest. It feels so good you could cry. 

Your fingertips dig into the flesh of his hips as you ride it out, and your chest starts to burn and your throat starts to ache and your eyes start to burn.

You are crying. 

“Shit.”

It comes out as a broken sob, muffled into his chest, and he starts at the sound. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe.”

You shake your head against him. 

“I’m fine.”

“I know, just breathe though.”

The breaths you suck in are all shuddery and stilted, and there’s snot, and it’s so embarrassing but comforting all at once. 

He urges you to slip out, and he even holds the condom for you, pulls it off, and ties it while you try to reel yourself in.

You don’t, not right away at least, because once you get over the crazy rush of endorphins and serotonin and dopamine or whatever that’s flooded your body, you start feeling extremely self conscious about the whole sobbing during sex thing, and the fact that he didn’t get off, and—

“Come snuggle?” 

You’re not sure when he got up, but he’s holding up a robe for you in one hand, and cradling your head in the other, and ushering you out into the living room. His fireplace is on now, and there’s a tall, snobby glass bottle of water on his end table. 

You’re tired, now. Like, bone-deep exhaustion. You slump into him where he’s sprawled out on his leather couch and close your watery eyes. 

“I’m sorry.”

He shushes you gently, pets your head that’s on his chest that definitely has your dried snot on it still. 

“Don’t be sorry. As long as you feel good, I feel good.”

You nod, and taking a deep breath comes easier to you this time. You brave a look up at him, and his eyes are warmer than ever as they reflect the orange-yellow flames.

“Thank you.”

He smirks then, and you feel the tension in the room shift. 

“So how was it?”

You grin and hide it in his pecs. You’re hyper aware of your spent dick lying soft and sticky on your thigh. You’re so much more tired than you ever usually are after an orgasm. It was all so different, every little bit of it. And there’s this calmness you feel now, after all the commotion, and it hits you all at once that it all feels right. 

There’s no cleaning your strap, putting away your toys, no sliding on your underwear to hide the thing that just gave you pleasure. There’s no awkward dissonance. It’s just… normal. Normal in a way it’s never been before. Effortless bliss, like a sensory deprivation tank. Nothing. 

“It was everything.”

-

Author's Note: I wanted to share a bit about what really resonated with me as I learned more about Loki. The one thing that stuck with me throughout this writing challenge is that Loki is not a bad guy. I will be honest, the only thing I knew about Loki before this was from the MCU, which to me seems like an oversimplification of the norse god from everything I've learned about him. Erin provided me with this very thorough video that analyzes Loki and his myths. To me, he seems like someone who liked to 'stir the shit' for the sake of curiosity. I didn't find much ill will at all in these tellings of his trickery, just a guy who wanted to fuck around and find out about things, someone who did more than just wonder what would happen.

Second, Erin said he's Like a fun older brother. Very playful and mischievous. Very straight-forward. Protector of outcasts; lgbtq+ folks, disabled people, neurodivergent people, etc. This was another driving force behind this fic. It wasn't a coincidence that Max met reader their first night at the club, they founded the club for the sole purpose of creating a safe space for queer people and takes an active role in making sure their patrons feel like they belong.

Lastly, Erin said their pick for me would be Max / Loki because of the gender fuckery, which excited me as much as it made me feel honored. When watching the aforementioned video, I learned about Loki turning himself and Thor into a bridesmaid and a bride, respectively. Loki himself was unrecognizable and was the exact image of a woman. However, Thor pretty much just looked like himself in a dress (this is paraphrasing.) I loved the idea that Loki's shapeshifting could not only be directed toward other people, but could vary in vagueness. These undefined rules for Loki’s gender felt like how I personally view gender in general, as well as how I relate it to my own identity, and I really took that idea and ran with it.

Anyway, thank you again @perotovar for this writing challenge and the piece of yourself you shared with all of us. I love you so much! <3

[aza-writes]

All Night

Hogwarts Parties Series

Draco Malfoy x reader, Past Harry Potter x reader

Requested: no

Summary: Reader invites her boyfriend, Draco, to a Gryffindor party. What happens when she means to put on a little show for Draco, but Harry enjoys it a bit too much himself? 

Warnings: alludes to smut, actual smut, dirty talk, Draco’s hands, vague description of a female body, drug use mention. Use of y/n

A/N: This was my therapy. Also, I watched the “10 Things I Hare about You” table dance scene sooo many times prepping for this. Also, this is my first smut so feedback is welcomed. The use of drugs relates to upcoming fics, all a part of a mini non-related series that focuses on parties at Hogwarts, so Hufflepuffs smoke, grow, and sell while Slytherin is their top seller. It’s like that TikTok trend from March. 

Gif: @love-above

Draco’s POV

Never in a million years did I think I would be at a Gryffindor party, nor would I fall in love with a Gryffindor who would invite me to a Gryffindor party.  Nonetheless, here I am, sipping on fire whisky as a mix of red and yellow figures swirl around me, but none of them matter. What matters is the giggling girl in front of me holding a ⅔ full bottle of fire whisky with her house tie wrapped around her head. And I only had a glass and a half, and she’s managed to drink the rest by herself. And no, she can not hold her liquor well. 

Even now, when we are standing close to the wall, she swayed her hips while singing along to the muggle song blasting throughout the common room, only stopping momentarily to take a swig out of the bottle. She manages to capture the attention of every guy in the room, yet she doesn’t notice. All she cares about is knowing all the words to the song, and when she doesn’t, she drinks. But I can’t even concentrate on that. All I can see is her tight, low-rise jeans that barely sit above her hips and a shirt that exposes her whole midsection. She loves the attention, and she thrives in it. No wonder she’s in Gryffindor. 

“Drayyy,” she turns around and gives me puppy dog eyes, “let's go dance! Come dance with me!” She takes a swig out of the fire whisky bottle, allowing the alcohol to give her even more confidence than she already had, causing an “I can do or say anything” mentality. 

“I’m not sure, darling; I think they’ll boo me off the dance floor.” 

Y/n frowns at this. “But yoou dance at the Sslytherinn oness.” She then wraps her arms around my neck, never stopping the movement of her hips. “Please dance with me, Dray.” 

“In a minute, my love, I need a bit more of anything in my system before I have a fraction of your courage.” 

She sticks out her tongue like a child and returns to a dopey, drunk smile before sloppily kissing me. “Okay, baby-” As soon as she was about to say something else, she pauses. She focuses hard, then gasps. “Draco! This is my song! I’m dancing with or without you.” Before I could answer, she heads off to the dancefloor. 

Y/n meets up with her friend, whose braids have appropriately incorporated red and yellow, and dances with her. More accurately, dances on her. I’m mesmerized as her hips sway to the beat, and she uses the bottle as a microphone. I don’t even recognize the song, but y/n doesn’t miss a word, even in her drunken state. 

I’m amused at her little dance and have gathered enough courage to go out and dance with her when I notice her eyes light up as the lyrics sing, “What’s wrong with right here on the counter?” Right next to her is a table that previously hosted a beer pong tournament that now sits vacant. It was like Merlin was speaking to her, telling her exactly what she had to do next. Before I could even register what was happening, with fire whisky in hand, y/n climbed onto the table and began dancing again. 

With her new stage, she gained a lot more attention. She never missed a beat, her hands, head, and hips moving in sync. As the cheers grew, so did her confidence, allowing her to do even more provocative moves. But her eyes never landed on the many boys and girls around her. No, they landed on me every second they could. And her attention enough to pull me in. 

I stride over to the table, starting to feel the effects of the fire whisky slowly sink into my system. I worm my way through the crowd, pushing people out of my way to get to the edge of the table. If this is a show for me, I want a front-row seat. 

She runs her hands over her body, keeping eye contact with me as she performs for her whole house. She throws her hair back and swirls her hips around, all aimed at me. As the first chorus comes to an end she raises the bottle to her lips and sings along. 

She keeps me up

“I keep you up!” 

She keeps me up

“I keep you up!” This time, it wasn’t just y/n but the whole common room. 

All night

“All night!”

All night

“All night!” 

As I watch her begin to dance to the second verse, I can’t help but notice one figure across the table. Staring right up at my girlfriend, my y/n, was fucking Potter. His mouth was gaped open, mesmerized at her movements. Usually, I wouldn’t be that upset; most people realize y/n is mine and back off immediately, understanding they are just making trouble for themselves. But this is different because it’s Potter, my enemy Potter, or even worse, y/n’s ex-boyfriend Potter. 

He’s so enamored with her that he doesn’t even realize I’m glaring daggers at him, but y/n notices. She looks down at me, realizing my attention isn’t on her. She follows my gaze, landing on Potter. When she makes eye contact with him he blushes, knowing he's been caught. I expected him to stop staring at her and go anywhere else, but no. All he does is smile and wave at her. 

Potter fucking smiles and waves. 

At MY y/n.

Y/n continues to dance, making her moves flow to the beat, but instead of her eyes on me, she keeps them on Potter. My jealousy forces me to keep my eyes on Potter too, watching his reaction to my girlfriend dancing. Fucking Potter couldn’t be bothered by me. He doesn’t care about how he’s staring at another man’s girlfriend. 

I’m so consumed by jealousy that y/n’s face across from mine startles me a bit. She’s all I can see. She places her hand on my chin and forces me to look at her. 

“Hi.” She smiles, her eyes glimmering with mischievous and lustful intent. 

“Hello, darling.” I can feel my face and eyes soften while looking at hers. There’s something about her, I can’t tell if it calms me down or riles me up. 

She winks at me then gets back up and dances again. She then returns her attention to me, no longer looking at Potter. Her eyes trained on mine. Her dance moves were intentional. It wasn’t until the song ended that she got off the table. The crowd that formed around her started cheering and going wild at her performance. They whistled and begged for “just one more song!” Despite everyone around her cheering, my eyes fall on Potter’s. 

He doesn’t even notice I’m there until y/n stands next to me and kisses my cheek. The whole Gryffindor common room becomes a bit quieter upon seeing me in there. I’ve been able to go unnoticed until now. Everyone just stares at me, giving me confused and disgusted looks. I’m unsure how to feel. I don’t even care. I didn’t come to insult them or to cause trouble, I came for y/n. 

She kisses my cheek again and turns my head to look at her, wrapping her arms around my neck. Instinctively my hands landed on her waist. I can feel the heat radiating off her arms. The heat of our bodies was circling between us two. 

Between kisses on my cheek, neck, and nose she giggles and says “How did you like it?” 

“I liked it when you were looking at me.” 

“Really? Cause you paid more attention to me when I looked at Potter.” She moves her arms from around my neck to hold my hand and leads me away from the middle of the room and up to her dorm and away from the scowls in my direction. 

I pause, unsure of what to say. Was this her plan? I knew she was trying to make me jealous with Potter but did she know I would become this upset? Did she know I would react this way? 

“You tricky little minx.” It’s all I can manage to say, especially when she starts to run her hands over my arms, wiggling my jacket off my shoulders. 

Y/n still faces me as she opens the door behind her back. “You weren’t watching me, so I made you.” She brings her leg up and kicks the door in with one foot, walking backward into the room as she pulls me by the collar of my jacket. As soon as the door is closed she fully takes my jacket off my body, then slowly unbuttons my shirt. 

“Like I said, tricky little thing aren’t you?” I let out a small chuckle at her boldness. Typical Gryffindor, in all the right ways.

“I know what I want, what I want is your attention.” She turns us around and pushes me onto the bed, my shirt fully unbuttoned. She smiles at me as she strips off her shirt, discarding it somewhere in the room. I couldn’t be bothered to look where it went though, my eyes were trained on y/n’s. 

“You have it love, I couldn’t imagine taking it off of you.” 

A little smile pops up on her face, a light blush creeps across her cheeks. She unbuttons her jeans, pulls them down, and steps out. “Good boy.” She climbs onto my lap and sits herself down. Instinctively my hands land on her hips, gripping tightly to ensure she doesn’t leave my sight. “You’ll keep being a good boy for me, right baby?” 

“I need to be a good boy?” She nods. “You’re the one that needs to be taught to behave. Showing off like that in front of Potter.” 

“Oh yeah?” She giggles lightly. 

“Yes darling, now be my good girl and lay down on the bed.” 

Her smirk stays as she gets up from my lap and onto the bed, resting against the perfectly propped-up pillows. “Only for you.”

I step out of my pants as I climb onto the bed. It only takes a light tap on y/n’s calf for y/n to prop her legs up and spread them. She’s still wearing the smirk on her face, naughty little thing thinks she’s won. 

“Since I danced for you, you should dance for me.” She giggles a bit. Poor girl thinks she’s going to get away with her little stunt that easily is she? 

I let out a small chuckle, not wanting her to know my true intentions for tonight. I waste no time with my plan and kiss the inside of her thighs. Even though I want the plan to start quickly, the plan is nothing but fast. This will be a very, very long night. I slowly kiss the inside of her thighs, slowly inching toward her pussy. Her breath hitches. One heel drags down the length of the bed before going back up to its prompt-up position. 

I kiss closer and closer to her clit, teasing around it. Y/n’s moans turn lighter, airier. Her hands drift down and grip my hair. I sit up and pull away, causing y/n to whine. 

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, darling. Only good girls get to and you were so, so naughty tonight. Do you understand?” I look up at her lightly, her smirk and any pride drops. All she does is nod, I need more. “Use your words, princess.”

Her eyes turn soft, making puppy dog eyes at me. “Yes, I’m sorry.” The way she gave in too quickly isn’t enough. She’s planning on doing something again. She hasn’t learned, she’s only saying that to get her way—such a naughty girl. 

“No, that isn’t going to cut it.” I get up, causing her to whine even more, such a pathetic slut. “Stop it, or don’t. Depends on if you want to get punished. I can not make you cum tonight if that’s what you want.” That got her attention. She shakes her head, worry fills her eyes. “That’s what I thought.” 

I walk to the top of the bed and rip the Gryffindor tie off her head. “Hands.” She immediately puts her wrists together above her head. I love how submissive she becomes. She projects such a confident, independent persona that all crashes down as soon as I call her a good girl. Merlin, I fucking love it. 

I wrap her wrist tight on the headboard, making sure she can’t get out but wanting to avoid unnecessary pain. 

“Use your words, darling.” I stand at the end of her bed, facing her. “What do you want me to do to you?”

“Touch me Draco.” She keeps her eyes on me and raises her voice a bit more, trying to keep some control. 

I smirk at her, causing her to let down her guard again. “Such a confident girl, yet you can’t ask me properly how you want me to fuck you. If you just want me to touch you I can put my clothes back on and we can cuddle all night, but I think you want more.” I get on the bed, placing my hands on either side of y/n, hovering over her. “What do you want?” 

“Fuck me.” there’s a pause. I’m waiting for a complete response. She knows better. “P-please.” 

I kiss her softly. As I pull away I gently bite and pull her bottom lip a bit before letting go. “Good girl.” 

I sit up and grab my wand from the pocket of my jacket and point it at the door. “Muffilato. Colloportus.” I set my wand back where it was then hover back over y/n. “I don’t think any of your friends downstairs will notice with all the noise, but just in case.” I slowly crawl down to the edge of the bed, returning to my previous position. I kiss around her pussy again, inching closer and closer to her clit but carefully avoiding it. “ I want you as loud as possible for me.” 

She nods, but it’s cut off by her throwing her head back as I lick a long stripe up the length of her folds. Although I’m getting some sort of reaction, the lack of noise from her is very upsetting. I am the first one to admit it, I’m greedy when it comes to this. I need her screaming and shaking by the end of this. 

I move one of y/n’s legs so her thigh sits on top of my shoulder, giving me a better angle of her soaked pussy. She’s glistening at this point. Her buzzed state amplifies the teasing, making every touch linger longer. 

Every time my nose brushes against her clit, a loud, resounding moan leaves her mouth. Her eyes closed tight and she yanks on her tie, trying to escape the makeshift binding. 

After teasing her clit for a while, leaving small kisses on it then going back to tongue fucking her pussy, she squirms a bit. 

“Dray, please.” She swallows. “I need more. Quit teasing.” 

I sit up, causing her to whine even more at the loss of contact. “I’m sorry darling, I thought you said you would be good for me?” I lightly bite the inside of her thigh, instigating more little yelps and whines from y/n. 

“You’ll get what I think you deserve.” I bite the inside again, this time a little higher up. “Besides, you’re clearly enjoying this. Even though your thighs are covering my ears, I can hear every little sound you make.” I slap the outside of her thigh and make her open up her legs again. She complies almost instantly, and I go back to devouring every inch of her I can get my mouth on; this time though, I pay a bit more attention to her clit. 

She continues to pull on the restraint and buck her hips up. I had to result in holding her hips down tight against the bed so I could continue. 

She’s lucky I love her or I wouldn’t put up with this defiance. 

But she knows I like the cat and mouse just as much as she does. 

Her eyes stay shut tight as I suck on her clit and slide one finger into her dripping pussy. I curl my fingers before she gets to adjust to the new sensation. After only a few seconds, I slowly pump my fingers while feverishly sucking on her clit. Her moans went from soft and quiet to loud and breathless. Her brain is turning to mush as her walls tighten around my fingers. She’s close, but I want her on the edge. I want her on the cusp before I finally…

There it is. 

I pull my fingers out and detach my lips from her clit. She whines again, trying her hardest to buck her hips up to get some form of contact. I kiss along the inside of her thighs and up her torso, giving extra attention to her hip bones and in between her breasts.

I can feel her breath becoming increasingly rapid, her chest rising and falling faster. Little whines escape her lips as I leave hickeys all over her breast, collarbone, and neck. There wasn’t a surface unmarked when I made it to her lips. 

I pull away, making her whine even more. I go back to marking up her neck. “You won’t cover these up tomorrow. I want everyone to see them.” She nods as I suck on the spot behind her ear that makes her weak every time. “A painting just for Potter to see.” 

I can feel myself growing harder inside my boxers. Y/n can feel it too dragging against her thigh, or I assume so from the groans she lets out whenever I accidentally brush my hips against her. Even I can’t help myself from letting out a groan. 

I can’t wait any longer, I need to be in her. 

I pull away from her, shoving my underwear off before she even has the chance to complain. I get back on top of her and smash my lips onto hers. She smirks during the kiss, I do too a bit. I slip my tongue in gently as I ease myself into her dripping pussy. I hand my head down and moan, relieved to finally be inside her. Her high-pitched moans bring me so much confidence, it’s a nice ego boost knowing I get this reaction out of her. 

After giving y/n some time to adjust, I start to thrust slowly. 

As much as I love the control and dominance I have over y/n I want her hands clinging to me. I can’t just untie her hands and let her think she can be bratty whenever she wants. Right now, I would kill for her nails scratching my hair and down my back. I need the sting that mixes with the pleasure. As much as she needed my hands on her, I need hers on me right now. 

“Fuck it.” I reach up and untie her hands. Thankfully, she immediately brings her hands to the nape of my neck, letting her nails scratch my scalp and a little down my back. That little action intensifies the moment. Her hands know exactly what to do. I can feel them scratch down my back, causing me to let out a loud grunt and go faster. Her moans continue, each one ringing and lingering in my ears, my head. 

I can feel my hips faltering, stuttering with every thrust. I’m getting close, so is y/n. I lift one leg up to rest on my hip, letting me reach a better angle. 

“Dray,” her voice is so airy, “I-I’m so close.” 

“Me too darling,” I pick up my pace even more, “let go for me.” 

Almost instantly, she does. She squeezes around me and arches her back as she cums all over my cock. With two more thrusts, I cum as well. I stay in that position for a few seconds before carefully pulling out. As I do, y/n takes a long deep breath in. She only releases it when I lay down next to her. 

“I love you Draco.” I turn to look at her, her chest rising and falling, working hard to catch her breath. 

“I love you too darling.” I lean over and kiss her head. “I love you so, so much.” 

I get up to try and to get something to clean her up with, but she pulls me back into the bed. 

“Just,” she takes another deep breath, “Just stay here, with me.” 

I just nod. I don’t know what else to do, this moment is so perfect. I have everything I’ll ever need whenever I’m with her. Right here, right now must be the definition of heaven. She is my heaven. 

Taglist:

@alinefrank

[dovabunny]

When your heart goes 'Padam'

Soap hated unplanned leave and he hated this fucking club.

Price had walked into his room three nights ago to inform him that due to a security threat tip he was to be 'sent on a solo mission' so they can track who has their sights on him, while he is actually shipped home to lay low.

To make it worse, he swore someone has been following him all week, but everytime he tries to catch them, even in a subtle reflection - there's nothing.

So between his apparent paranoia, irritation of being sent home while they have all the fun, and being separated from Ghost - you can understand how the last thing he wants right now was to be in a fucking club. But his sister has the hots for the DJ and didn't want to come alone so she BEGGED him to tag along.

He caved cause he could never say no to her. He tried to stay at the bar but the constant swarm of sweaty bodies had him ducking out. He tried to keep to find a seat or table to lean on, but that apparently signaled that he was lonely and looking for company. When this one persistent bloke with terrible mullet and gold chain couldn't get the fuckin message that he wasn't interested - he figured his best bet was the dancefloor.

Maybe this was good for him. To just close his eyes and move to the rhythm of the music. He had always loved music since he was a boy, always found peace in it. Maybe it could even get his mind off the one thought that haunted him the most - Ghost.

He was so sure that the flirting and the looks might mean something more, that the way his heart thumped painfully in his chest when Ghost chuckled at his bad jokes might just be reciprocated. But then the lieutenant suddenly turned cold. Not just cold, icey. His gaze was cold and distant, he responded to Soap's usual attempts at banter with "focus on the mission, sergeant." And didn't that sting. He hadn't been "Johnny" in two weeks and it fuckin hurt. Had it all just been a bit of fun for Ghost? Had Soap just been a plaything, a distraction he grew tired of when he realized how much he could be? How needy?

Soap bit his lip, eyebrows drawn as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to drown out his spiraling thoughts that had no right to hurt him as much as it does. He focuses on the beat of the music, the rhythm of the base he feels in his chest. Slowly he loses himself to it, not caring that he's dancing alone, not caring what he looks like - swallowed by the sea of pulsing bodies moving around him.

He feels the occasional hand on his hip, even grope of his ass or thigh, but smoothly slips away with a quick glare. Some men, some women, all looking disgruntled by the fact that Soap doesn't want to be groped by a stranger.

He was just getting lost to the music again when an arm slips around his waist in a way that just had him feeling repulsed. He whips around and it's mister mullet gold chain. His strong cheap cologne and smell of terrible beer like a fog and somehow it makes Soap feel dirty. He pointedly pushes his arm off and tries to slip away, but the clown grins like Soap is playing hard to get, gripping his hips to pull firmly to his crotch.

Soap has had enough, he elbows the man in the stomach and turns around to- but then suddenly it's like the man is yanked into the crowd. In a blink and a faint yelp smelly mcMullet has just vanished.

Soap feels uneasy. A man that persistent won't duck out that fast. He tries to put it out his mind. Moves to a different spot just in case, still in the sea of people dancing but closer to the fire escape.

He had just gotten himself convinced to close his eyes and clear his mind again when there's another touch...

But this one is different. It's light, a warm hand brushing against his arm, and he senses a heavy presence behind him. But they're not on him, not grinding on his leg or letting greedy hands roam over his sweaty t shirt. No they're... Asking. Cautious.

He can't explain why he leans into the touch. He had missed dancing with someone, hasn't done so in years, but it had to be someone he felt comfortable losing himself with.

At his subtle acknowledgments, another hand settles on his other arm, a warm breath falls over the back of his neck as those hands slowly move grip his biceps and move down along his arms.

A new song comes on, the new Kylie song. It's low, seductive, and rhythmic. Soap tilts his head to the side, a less than subtle sign that he accepts his mystery partner.

Strong hands wrap around his wrists and pulls him back against a huge, firm body. He feels the breath on his neck Ghost over his exposed skin, a soft brush of lips and he sighs. He pressed more firmly into the undulating body behind him, letting his back feel warm wide shoulders and a soft chest, he feels daring and rolls his hips, feeling the clear bulge in the man's jeans.

It should make him feel repulsed, dirty, too old for this. But why does it make him feel brave, naughty, wanted. He tilts his head and noses along a thick neck, the scent of bourbon, smoke, and something manly and dark has him shuddering.

Accepting Soap's daring advance, the man let's his big hands fall to his hips, monetarily returning Soap's tease with a roll of his own hips that has the smaller man give a broken moan at how hard and hungry the man feels. Those hands roam over his stomach, pressed flat against the thin sweat soaked shirt like they're mapping out his body. One hand travels up to settle just below his neck, the other wrapping possessively around his waist.

Soap is bodily anchored against the man, to the point that their movements are perfectly in sync. Soap grinds his hips and back against the huge, hard body and is reward with teeth scraping his neck.

"Yyy-ess", he chokes out. And then there's fingers on his chin tilting his head back just enough for warm lips to meet his.

Soap melts against the strong arms and chest keeping him up as they move in harmony to the beat. The kiss is gentle and dirty in equal measure and he gets lost in it.

They dance like that - or rather it would be more accurate to say they just moved like that, undulating and together to the music, pressed together to give and feel pleasure. Lips and tongues come together like they're choreographed, every lick, nip, and kiss matched like they've done it a thousand times and Soap has a hand in the man's hair holding him close.

He feels drunk on his stranger's scent and touch and taste, drowning in the best way. But then he feels it...

A sensation that hits him harder than any other he's felt all night.

Against his back, where the man's chest is pressed firmly to his skin, their t-shirts barely a barrier, he feels a clear thumping heartbeat.

It's too hard and too fast to be just from the music, but too steady to be from alcohol or drugs. No, it's sincere.

Soap let's their kiss end, just breathing each other in for a moment, before he turns and opens his eyes to gaze up at his stranger.

Lust lidded eyes stare down at him, a soft whiskey brown barely a ring around dark pupils blown wide, his steady gaze heavy with desire and possessiveness. Pale skin flickers in the pulsing lights of the club, revealing a blush bright and heavy over his strong nose and cheeks. Lips kiss swollen and split slick are parted as they pant in tandem. Short blonde hare stands messy where Soap had grabbed it, and tucked under his chin is a black face mask...

...it's the mask that sets it off. Suddenly Soap blinks himself into wakefulness and takes a closer look at his beautiful stranger.

The man seems to have gone through the same awakening, but instead of curiosity he seems to be taken by nervousness and panic.

Before Soap can even respond there's a mumbled apology and the man turns to flee.

[magpiefngrl]

book/fic acronym

Ooh i had an idea, have we done this one before?

Spell your name with the titles of your fave books and/or fics.

I liked this game so much I did it with both books and fics. (can you tell school term is almost over?) It was interesting to see which letters were easier to find titles for and which not. Consider everything below a huge rec.

Mo Dao Zu Shi by MXTX || Misethere by Astolat

Autobiography in Red by A. Carson || a better happier st sebastian by halsinator

Game of Kings by D.Dunnett || The god of scraped knees. by spqr

Prince's Gambit by CS Pacat (i debated putting Pawn here) || parley by cafecliche

Introducing Mr Winterbourne by J. Chambers (this was hard!) || I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor by birdsofshore and IDK My BFF Hermione? by lettered and In the dark, the light by phrynne and in the blossom season (in the pouring rain) by varnes (and I could rec a few more! What is it with the letter i and fics?)

Empress of Salt and Fortune by Nghi Vo || Every Me and Every You by Bixgirl1

Fellowship of the Ring by Tolkien || Fire Burn and Caldron Bubble by pastapug

Northern Lights by Pullman || Need by @bixgirl1

Girl, Woman, Other by B. Evaristo || Ghost in the Garden by thistle verse

Role Model by Rachel Reid (how was this the hardest one??? Took me ages to find a book) || run all the lights by fahye

Lolita by Nabokov || Let Me Have You and I'll Let You Save Me by frayach

Tagging anyone who wants to do this! Maybe @bloody-wonder, @doh-rae-me, @unhelpfulfemme, @sitp-recs and @wolfpants can get the ball rolling, if they feel like it?

[sky-kiss]

I want Raphael to clear his dinning room and put a piano there for me in front of the fire. I’ll play for him while he sits on the bench facing away. Then he summons a mage hand and we dance together alone

Raphael x Reader (GN): Sing us a Song, You’re the Devil Man

A debtor's loss is your gain. 

You try to think in these terms as rarely as possible. But tonight, the wonder of the gift overwhelms any residual guilt. The manor and all its riches are yours, a tribute from the devil himself. Raphael lingers by the ornate fireplace, his red skin warmer in the flickering light. It adds an intimacy to the scene that the ballroom's size would not typically allow. By all accounts, it should be lonely. 

It's only the two of you. Well, you and the ghosts. A hint of iron fills the air, mixing with the scent of burning wood. Corpses litter an otherwise lovely scene. It doesn't matter; you've developed a talent for overlooking these little faux pas. 

The piano is his greatest gift. Ornate doesn't begin to describe it; the noble spent a small fortune on the piece, and it shows. It's reflected in the richness of the notes. Your fingers dance over the keys, playing songs you've half-forgotten. A waltz, a more somber sonata; Raphael looks up at the latter, nodding in time with the music.  

"Do you play?" You ask him, not looking up from the sheet music. You hear him gross the ballroom, slow, almost dancing. Raphael always has a touch of the theatric; you're unsurprised to see it more pronounced in such an environment. 

He settles beside you on the bench. His size makes the fit tighter than comfortable, your left arm fetching up against his side every time you try to play a chord. "I play, compose, sing, and dance… you'll find me a truly accomplished devil." 

"Truly." You smile, concluding your song. "A benefit of long life?" 

"And application, pet. Even I must refine my craft." 

"Would you play me something?" 

He chuckles, standing and offering his hand. He snaps the fingers, a pair of mage hands settling into position at the piano. Dramatic and befitting his nature. You shake your head, allowing him to pull you into him. 

His composition differs from most mortals: an undercurrent of otherness, a discordant note. It swells to dramatic highs and dips to crushing lows, more similar to the motions of waves or the tides. It is beautiful but an acquired taste. Raphael leads you across the dancefloor with practiced ease, humming his song. 

And you lose yourself in the warmth of his hold and the enormity of his gifts.