#just an idea that’s been latched to my brain

[lyrakanefanaticwriting]

okay so i got this ask on my other acc and although im planning on writing a separate fic with grayson and lyra in their tgg stage, i had a new idea for a fic that i really wanted to write!! 🤭

Ill Struggles - grayson x lyra

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LYRA:

Lyra peeled off her sporty leggings and shirt from her body before stepping into the shower in her temporary bathroom, recalling what had happened just moments earlier.

Graysons lips on hers, his hands in her hair, hers on the back of his neck, and then— nothing.

Although, she was probably the one to blame, as it wasn’t Grayson who jackrabbited off the second they separated.

She shuddered in horror at her actions, before rubbing shampoo into her hair and rinsing it off. Showers were the only therapeutic thing in her life at the moment, and the warm water felt more like a hug than a mere liquid. Lyra stood in the shower for a few moments more, soaking in the heat, before she turned off the water and stepped out. She grabbed one of the towels and immediately froze at how soft it was. It was little things like these that reminded Lyra of the billions of dollars the Hawthorne family had to their name. She sighed and revelled in its texture, drying the water off her body. And then she was changing into clothes, and stepping out of the washroom, slipping in her shoes as she did.

She sat on her bed, tapping her fingers on the thigh. Alice Hawthorne. The name gnawed at her, until Lyra had to get up, walk over to the desk with the laptop that each contestant is provided in between phases of the game, and sit in the chair in front of the desk.

Opening up the laptop, she searched up the one name that hadn’t been able to leave her mind ever since it’d become relevant to her. Alice. Alice. Alice. Alice was a grandmother. She was married to Tobias Hawthorne. Her mother’s name is Pearl O’Day. That’s all Lyra could find.

But, her brain told her, latching on to one piece of the article she’d found, Pearl O’Day is still a lead. Lyra searched Pearl’s name, and after scrolling through media after media, finally found something that referenced her: “a porcelain antique lamp, donated by Pearl O’Day.”. Lyra read more. It appeared to be an auction site. Lyra kept scrolling down the site until she found the exact piece the website had mentioned earlier. It was donated two weeks ago. Which meant… Pearl O’Day was still alive.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins. This is how she would be one step closer to finding out what Alice did to her father. If anybody would know, it’d be her mother.

A sudden grumble from Lyra’s stomachs reminded her that she hadn’t eaten in a day. Lyra glanced back at her laptop, before sighing and standing up. Better to eat now than starve later. Opening her door, she stepping outside of her room, and walked down the long, circular staircase. At the end of the hall stood a kitchen. Lyra walked up to it, and then froze once her brain realized what she was seeing.

Grayson’s body limp on the floor.

His limbs were sprawled out in an awkward way, and the sight of it brought back memories of him. The broken accent. The hands that held out the calla lily and half eaten candy necklace out to her. Her father, Tomas Tommaso Thomas Thomas.

The flashback was so sudden and fervent, that Lyra had to fight back the sickly metallic smell of blood, and the feel of it sticking onto her feet. And then she was running, shouting his name as she kneeled before him.

“Grayson?” She called to him, her voice shaky. No answer. His eyebrows were furrowed, and there seemed to be movement under his eyelids. Did he pass out? Or maybe he hit his head? Lyra breathed in and out, trying to calm herself, before placing her hand under his head and immediately being hit with the heat coming off of it. Lifting it up slightly, she glanced under. No blood. Eventually, she let her hand trail back to his forehead, feeling its warmth all over his face. He’s sick, she realized, finally breathing. She went to pull her hand away, but Grayson’s hand grabbed her arm before she could. Lyra froze, staring at him as she gently brushed her hand above his brow.

“Grayson?” She asked again, softer than earlier. He didn’t reply, but his brows furrowed deeper. He really was sick.

Lyra spent too much time staring at him, at the sweat he was beginning to work himself to, at the lines of his face, before she realized that she had to do something. Slowly and softly, she patted down his pockets, feeling for his phone. Once Lyra found it, she pulled it out of his left pocket and opened it. She stared at his lock screen, which was a beautiful picture of a sunset over a lake, before feeling her cheeks heat up as she realized that this was far too personal.

She wasn’t the person who could open up his phone without a second thought. She wasn’t that person to him. She was, however, not going to run all over the house trying to find somebody to help her.

“Siri?” Lyra asked the phones robot. The robot replied, with a “Yes? How may I help you?” Lyra mulled on that for a moment. She knew she had to call one of his brothers or Avery, but she didn’t know who. Nash, she had never met, Avery was the Game creator and probably the best person to call, Jameson was… Jameson, and Xander she had danced with at the ball. He seemed nice enough, and honestly, even though she knew this wasn’t about her, the one thing that made her believe he was worth calling was the fact that he constantly wore a smile, just like Lyra’s four year old brother.

“Call Xander.” Lyra told the Siri, hoping that Grayson didn’t have some creative name for his brothers as their contact info.

“Calling Xander,” it replied. Lyra sighed with relief, sparing one last worried glance for the sick man lying beside her, before listening to the line keep ringing. And ringing, and ringing. And when Lyra was sure that he was asleep and that there was no point in continuing to call him, he answered.

“Hey-o, Gray! What are you doing up?” he immediately said, shouting loudly with something whirring in the background. Lyra immediately flinched, and was about to reply, before Xander spoke up again.

“Jameson and I are in my lab, because you know I had to beg Avery to implement a lab in the house design, just hanging out! Say hi, Jameson!” he shouted. Lyra didn’t hear Jameson say hi, but she did hear him tell Xander to “shut off the part of the Rube Goldberg that won’t stop whirring”. Uh, okay. Lyra grimaced, before finally speaking up.

“Uh, Xander?” she said, before he could go on again. There was silence, before the whirring suddenly stopped.

“You’re not Grayson.” Xander said slowly. Lyra sighed.

“It’s Lyra Kane. I found your brother in the kitchen and…” Lyra trailed off, finding her eyes going back to him yet again. “he seems really sick. He’s passed out on the ground, and won’t wake back up. Can you come?” She pressed his phone to her ear worriedly as she waited for his response.

“Yeah, yeah, of course! Is…” Xander trailed off just as she had, and she could tell he was worried. “is he okay?” Lyra mulled on that.

“Maybe not right now, but he will be.” she replied. Lyra wasn’t the best at comforting people, but the more Xander talked, the more she was seeing him as her brother. It had always been easy to comfort her brother. There was silence, before another voice answered.

“We’ll be there in a minute.” Jameson said, closer to the phone now than he had been earlier. Lyra didn’t say another word before hanging up. Somehow, her eyes always drew back to Grayson’s, and she wondered if he was fighting the deep sleep that he was currently in. He seemed to be, with his brows that kept furrowing and going back to normal, but Lyra wasn’t sure. And, well, maybe she just wanted to stare.

Lyra slowly placed a hand on his chest, feeling the heat that was coming off his whole body, and began to work his suit jacket off of him. She pulled it gently off his arms, before giving it a little tug, and yanking it from underneath him. There, she thought, now he won’t be so hot. Although, he was always pretty hot before-

Lyra cut that thought off with an expression of embarrassment before it could fully take form in her head.

“Lyra?” A voice called behind her. Lyra turned to see Jameson and Xander Hawthorne walking up to her, their strides quick and long as they walked up to their brother.

“Shit. He looks pretty bad.” Jameson swore, his face unreadable. Then he glanced behind him, staring at the living room that seemed to be a pretty close walk from the kitchen.

“Alright. Xander and I will carry him to the couch, since there’ll be no way of carrying him all the way back up to his room. Afterwards I’ll call Avery and Nash and see where to go from there.” He glanced back at Lyra. “You don’t have to stick around anymore. You should probably go back to sleep.” Lyra noticed how he used emphasis on the probably, as if it would be the smarter thing to do, but it was up to her. Lyra wondered if he was testing her from the glint in his eye, but Lyra just blamed it on her fatigue. Which, she couldn’t feel at all right now.

“No, it’s fine. It’s not like I’m going to be sleeping tonight, anyway.” Lyra said, glancing to the side as her brain sorted through what she’d learned in the Grandest Game escape rooms. Jameson just nodded, before he knelt down, holding Graysons feet.

“Hold his arms.” Jameson told Xander. Xander walked over to Grayson again, before wrapping his hands around Graysons arms as they both pulled him up. Lyra was going to walk behind them as a way to spot them in case they drop an ankle or an arm, but she decided on doing something else, and walked towards the kitchen.

Searching through the drawers, she finally found one with rags and towels. Picking one that she deemed good enough, she ran it under cold water, ringing the water out of it, before walking back over to Grayson’s unconscious body on the couch. Folding it in half, Lyra draped the cloth over his forehead, pressing it on. Immediately, Grayson’s face cleared the slightest bit, and Lyra, in all her internal struggles, forgot about everything regarding her father for a moment. Footsteps behind her dragged Lyra’s attention away from Grayson for a moment, and Lyra watched Nash and Avery approach, while also seeing Jameson and Xander share a look in the corner of her eye.

“What happened?” Nash immediately asked as soon as he walked towards the group that was huddled around the couch. Then, his eyes flickered to Lyra, and he seemed to be studying her. “Why’re you here? Were you with him when he passed out?”

“No.” Lyra immediately answered. She realized, too late, that she sounded defensive. Nash’s eyebrow raise deepened, and Lyra was quick to continue with her sentence so as not to spur the cowboy on more. “I went to go get something to eat, and found him lying on the floor in the kitchen. But he didn’t seem sick in the first phase of the Game.” Lyra furrowed her brows at Grayson. He was fine, earlier. Was he just suddenly hit with some kind of sickness? Was that even possible?

“He must have passed out from lack of sleep, or perhaps food. We all know he was spending all of his spare time catching up on work in preparation for the Grandest Game.” Avery interjected, giving Grayson’s passed out body a worried look. Lyra mulled on that. Honestly, Lyra was surprised she hadn’t passed out yet. God knows how long it’s been since she’s gotten a full night of sleep, or slept at all.

“Kid,” Nash Hawthorne said suddenly, placing a hand on her shoulder. Kid? Lyra thought. Really? “I think you should get some rest before the next phase of the Game.”

“I don’t need to,” Lyra replied stubbornly. “I’m fine with staying up.” Nash just fixed her with a look.

“Last time I checked,” He drawled, “‘staying up’ ain’t a synonym for ‘getting some rest’.” Staying up isn’t a synonym for getting some rest. Did he really think that Lyra could be easily deterred by corny made-up sayings?

“And last time I checked,” She replied, her pettiness in full force, “Kid isn’t a synonym for Lyra.” Behind her, Jameson snorted, but covered it up the second Nash gave him a look. He continued to fix her with a look, but whatever Nash saw in her expression caused him to relent.

“Listen, Lyra. Stay as long as you want, but know that you’re the only one that’s going to get the consequence from this. You need all the energy you can get for tomorrow.” He explained. “I’m not saying this just to continue with our petty disagreement. I’m saying this because you deserve to win, and I don’t want you to lose tomorrow all because you didn’t get a proper sleep.” Lyra’s brain caught on a part of his lecture: “you deserve to win”. Had he been the one to give her that note?

Lyra studied him just as he had done to her moments earlier, but she knew that he didn’t intend it in that way from the look on his face. It wasn’t knowing, or secretive. It was sincere.

“Fine,” Lyra finally relented, sighing. Nash gave her a pat on the back, before striding up beside her.

“I’ll walk ya’.” He told her. Lyra walked beside Nash and wrapped her arms around her chest, feeling the hollowness she had experienced before begin to creep back in. It wasn’t exactly what she’d found out about her father that disturbed her. It was what she hadn’t yet found out. God knows how cruel and terrible Tobias—no, Alice had been to her father. God knows how screwed she might be for complicating herself with the Hawthorne family the way she had.

But no amount of pain, or hollowness, or guilt took away the feeling that she found herself revelling in when she was around Grayson. And seeing him like that, on the floor and sick, gave her a numbing feeling that she could never even begin to put to words.

“Got something on your mind?” Nash interjected, cutting into the silence as he walked her back to her room. Lyra gave him a side-eye.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” She retorted, unsure herself why she was being so petty. Nash snorted.

“Yeah, right. Believe it or not, but just because you’re a contestant in the Grandest Game doesn’t mean that you have to fend for yourself. Tell a Game master what you’re going through, and we can try and help.” He told her, his Texan accent thick. He gave her another look, but this time it was more serious. “At least tell me one thing that’s on your mind today.” Lyra had a million different things on her mind, and none of them she could admit to Nash Hawthorne. Still, Lyra sorted through which would be easiest to admit. She was never going to tell him about her father, or why she couldn’t sleep, or even begin to explain how she felt about the whole Grayson-passing-out situation, so she went for an easier one. It was the slightest bit rude, but honestly, out of all her options, it was the safest.

“These titles that you give yourselves are pretentious.” she told him, not bothering to beat around the bush one bit. A sudden laugh burst out of Nash Hawthorne, and he seemed every bit intrigued as he grinned at her lazily.

“Go on,” he told her, smiling. Lyra went on.

“I mean, seriously? ‘Game masters’? It might not seem like it to you guys, but to me, it’s honestly sounding like either a power play, or just an inability to create titles that don’t make you seem like an otherworldly being.” She explained. Nash just seemed to laugh more, and gave her a Cheshire Cat grin.

“Well, alright. I’ll take that up with Avery and em’ and see how they feel about changing up the names.” Nash said, shaking his head with laughter. “What do you propose, since “Game Master” is too pretentious of a nick name? Game Bros?” Lyra mulled on that.

“I think “Game Runners” has a better ring. It’s still similar to “Game Masters”, but there’s less of an overlord feeling to it. It’s a title that still means one who’s first in command, and still let’s everyone know that you are the “leader of games”, or whatever nonsense you tell yourself, but diminishes that otherworldly aspect that the little nickname entails.” she replied. Nash cocked his head to the side, before giving her a shrug.

“That’s not too bad of an idea. Thanks for the tip, Lyra.” he told her. And then, he stopped walking, and Lyra’s fatigue-riddled mind wondered why for only a moment before she realized she was standing directly in front of her room.

“Thanks for walking me back.” Lyra told him awkwardly, as she felt she had to say something. He replied with a firm nod, and gave her a cowboy smile as he walked away.

“G’night, Lyra.”

“Goodnight.”

Lyra waited for his footsteps to slowly fade into silence before opening her door, slipping off her shoes, and collapsing into the bed. She hadn’t realized how tired she was until she melted into the soft sheets, the mattress comfy and soft in all the right ways.

Pearl O’Day, her mind repeated. But somehow, above all that, came another voice. Another worry.

“Grayson.” She whispered. The anxiety about his state came crashing back to her, and Lyra squeezed her eyes shut. Somehow, she couldn’t stop remembered the feeling of her hand on the back of her neck. In her hair. His voice, bringing her back to the light after wading through thick darkness.

Lyra.

Come back to me, Lyra.

You will come back to me, or I will make you come back.

It was with his grounding words that Lyra felt herself slipping into sleep, focusing on a voice so close, yet so distant.

————————————

Lyra jolted upwards, her mind foggy as she tried to blink herself into consciousness.

She was dreaming— the dream, the one with her father, when suddenly, just when the guns about to go off, she hears his words.

Grayson’s.

And then, she knew. While asleep, Lyra remembered the way she saw him collapsed on the ground, and that worry pulled her out of the thick haze of a dream she was in. She didn’t know what exactly it was that compelled her to sit up. She should go back to sleep. It was only 4:13 AM. Yet still, Lyra slipped her shoes back on, brushed out her tangled hair, and padded down the hall to the living room.

Once she made it there, her eyes immediately went to the couch, and to the man on the couch.

Grayson was shirtless, with a blanket straddling his lap and one of his arms hanging off the couch. Lyra’s eyes began to travel down his body, from his biceps to his defined abs to his v-line just barely peeking out from the sweatpants he had apparently changed into, before immediately catching herself, her eyes darting back to his face with shame and embarrassment. Still, he was in a deep sleep, and Lyra was thankful for that.

She didn’t know why she was here. He wasn’t awake, just like earlier. It didn’t matter. Lyra finally turned around, ready to walk back to her room, when her knee accidentally hit the table, causing her to stumble forward the slightest bit. Lyra immediately catches herself and straightens, before seeing a metal decoration globe knock over. She barely had time to catch it when it slammed down on the table, creating a loud noise. Lyra mentally cursed herself and immediately reached to set it back up the way it was before, when she heard somebody stir behind her. Lyra set the globe down slowly, being as careful as possible, before slowly turning around.

Her amber eyes met his greyish-blue ones immediately.

“Lyra?” he asked her softly, his voice deep in a way that rang through her body as he sat up. Lyra could see more of his bare chest now, and she hated how her eyes kept begging her to give it just the barest glance. Lyra refused to though, and kept her eyes on his.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” she told him quietly. Grayson was silent for a moment, before meeting her eyes again.

“It’s fine.” he replied. Lyra was about to walk back to her room, when Grayson’s sleep-riddled deep voice slowed her movements to a halt.

“Stay.” he ordered. Lyra froze.

“I’m sorry?”

“Stay,” he repeated slowly. He didn’t seem like he was going to continue, before he finally sighed and gave in. “please.” Lyra mulled on that, before providing herself, and her reddening cheeks, a distraction.

“Why’d you pass out?” she asked him. He tilted his head slightly.

“The doctor just said I need more sleep, and food. My brothers and Avery have been forcing me to rest, but I can’t bring myself to eat.” he explained. Jaw tight, he went on. “Food just… doesn’t exactly seem smart for me at the moment.” Lyra stared at him, an idea forming in her head, before walking off.

“Stay here.” she told him, although she was unsure where else he would go. Walking to the kitchen, she headed inside the huge pantry, and got some snacks from there on a plate. Walking to the fridge, she grabbed fruits, cheeses, and some other finger foods, before grabbing two more new plates, and filling up a glass of water. Walking back over to Grayson, she kneeled by the coffee table, putting her plate of foods down, as well as the two empty plates and his cup of water.

“I’d rather not eat all of that.” He stated, his voice dry. Lyra put two strawberry’s on the empty plate she put in front of herself, and then two on the empty plate she put in front of Grayson.

“It’s just two strawberries. I’d be more impressed if your body couldn’t handle two strawberries than shocked.” Lyra said, starting to bite at one of her own strawberries.

“Any ideas for what we’re to expect for Phase 2 of The Game?” she asked Grayson. Grayson stared back at her, seemingly searching for something in her face, before patting the spot on the couch beside him. Lyra raised a brow at him.

“Don’t kneel on the ground. It looks uncomfortable.” He stated coldly. Lyra just blinked at him, before snorting and continuing to eat her strawberry. Grayson sighed.

“Sit beside me on the couch, and I’ll eat the strawberries.” he told her. Lyra’s eyebrows raised. That wasn’t a bad offer, considering food wasn’t all that reliable of a substance to him currently. Getting up from the ground, Lyra took her plate, and joined Grayson on the couch. This time, she couldn’t stop her eyes from straying to his chest, but she darted them away before he could look at her.

“You didn’t answer my question, Hawthorne boy.” Lyra told him, her brow raised to give him an accusing look. He returned her brow raised with one of his own, his head resting on his hand, turned towards her. He almost smiled.

“I haven’t got a clue. Believe it or not, but my brothers aren’t cheats, and would never drop hints to me about what’s to come in The Game,” he said, shrugging. “I’m just as in the dark about all this as you are.” Lyra sighed. Then, remembering his offer for if she were to sit on the couch, she gestured to the strawberries on Grayson’s plate with an expectant look. Keeping his eyes on her, Graysons careful fingers reached out to grab one of the strawberries, taking a bite out of it. Lyra cursed herself as her body let out the slightest, almost unnoticeable shiver from the sudden eye contact, unable to control herself. However, Grayson’s prodding eyes noticed it immediately. Grayson, misreading the sudden shiver, took the blanket that was draped across his hips and draped it across Lyra’s shoulders instead.

“Thanks.” Lyra muttered, not meeting his eyes lest heat rises to her cheeks.

“No worries.” He said, his voice firm yet quiet. Suddenly, as if realizing he wasn’t wearing a shirt from the blanket not covering him anymore, (although it wasn’t covering his upper body either anyway) he seemed the slightest bit awkward. Lyra, never having seen Grayson awkward, snorted. His eyes immediately darted to hers.

“What?” He asked, from her sudden snort. Lyra met his eyes.

“You’ve been shirtless the entire time we’ve been talking. I’m surprised it’s only started to bother you now.” she said, laughing. Grayson looked surprised, before actually smiling at her. It was soft, and barely noticeable, but there.

“Very well then.” he replied, and straightened again. Conversation began to start up again, with expectations for the next phase of The Game, and comments on the last phase. Grayson ate the strawberries on his plate slowly but surely, and once he did, Lyra added 2 more foods on his plate, saying “It’s only 2 more. You really can’t eat that?”

Every time Grayson finished the tiny portions of food on his plate, Lyra added small bits onto hers and his, until the main platter, the one that held all the foods in the first place, was nearly empty. Lyra didn’t feel the hunger from earlier anymore, and her stomach was probably thanking her for finally providing it with something. She was sure that Grayson’s was as well.

Finally, now that he and Lyra had gotten some food in them, she couldn’t stop her mind from straying back to what she’d found out. About Pearl, and most importantly, her daughter. She didn’t know why her mind always strayed back to her father whenever she was around Hawthorne’s. Around Grayson.

“I wish….” Grayson started, before suddenly shaking his head firmly. “Never mind.” Lyra turned to him, momentarily intrigued.

“What?” She asked him in a soft tone. His eyes always found themselves straying back to hers, and Lyra couldn’t read the the expression on his face as he held her gaze.

“I wish your mind didn’t always go back to that place whenever you’re around me. I know why, but I……” he trailed off, his voice so quiet Lyra had to strain her ears to listen to his words. “I just wish it wouldn’t.” His words made Lyra immediately freeze, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

“What place?” Lyra asked, playing dumb. But she knew. Her father. A Hawthorne did this. Alice Hawthorne.

She knew, and she hated that she knew. She hated this so much. The torn feeling in her bones that wanted to pull him in and push him away all at once.

“You know.” He finally told her, his voice low. She did know. Finally expelling a breath, she turned away from him, not wanting him to have to see the look that was currently on her face.

“What do you want me to say, Grayson?” Lyra finally said, cutting into the silence, her voice no longer quiet. He looked down.

“I don’t expect you to say anything. I myself just needed to say that.” Grayson told her. Her mind began to go elsewhere, not to her father’s death, but to the kiss.

The one she ran away from.

“I’m sorry about running. I don’t even know why-“

“It’s fine.” Grayson cut into her previous statement, his voice less gentle than earlier. Lyra felt ashamed as she turned her head, when out of the blue, she feels Grayson’s fingertips under her chin, turning her head to face him.

“Lyra. It’s okay.” He told her, his voice more gentle compared to his last statement. Lyra saw in his face the self control that he was battling with. At a loss for words, Lyra licked her lips, and immediately saw any piece of it that Grayson had left crumble. He slowly pulled her closer, lowering his head. Lyra didn’t know how to feel. She didn’t know why she felt the way she did. Push him away, her brain pleaded, he’s a Hawthorne. Forget what Odette said. He could never be your Hawthorne. But still, there came another order, one that resonated in the beat of Lyra’s heart. One she heard vividly the moment she saw Graysons eyes tick to her lips.

Go on, it whispered. Why did she feel this way?

“Grayson...” She finally whispered, her tone a statement, an accusation, and a question all at once. He closed his eyes, before finally opening them again, and Lyra could see now that the icy grey blue of his eyes earlier was now stormy, a thundercloud over a grey sea. Lyra saw, in the way that he held her eyes, that he was trying to be natural, but she could see past that to the desperation in the set of his brows. His body was rigid, so rigid, but his hand was gentle as it took the back of her neck in its soft grip.

“Please,” he whispered, his hoarse voice somehow a match for his desperate eyes, “don’t run away.” And then he was lowering his head, his eyes full of questions as it held hers. But she knew what he was asking. Lyra didn’t know what possessed her to fight down any voice of reason that was currently battling with her heart. But she did. And, as her hand gripped his shoulder, feeling his muscles, she whispered, “go on.”

Grayson didn’t hold back this time. Lowering his lips, he kissed her softly, feeling her lips like it was a temporary treasure. But Lyra didn’t want slow. The adrenaline now coursing through her body reminded her of that. Lyra responded to his gentle kiss by kissing him back more passionately.

The kiss escalated, from soft, hesitant brushes, to a need to kiss deeper. To be closer. Lyra was hyper aware of every inch of skin on her body as Grayson took her waist in his hands and pulled her closer, to the point of her almost being in his lap. Lyra separated from his lips for only a moment to catch her breath, before Grayson was pulling her back, his hands circling her waist. Her body was half draped across her lap, his hands in her hair, and every one of Grayson Hawthorne touches on her body felt magical. Suddenly, Grayson deepened the kiss, his teeth gently pulling on her lower lip before he continued to kiss her breathless. His lips were starting to trail down her face to her jaw, leaving a trail of fire everywhere he touched, and-

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..” came the sudden babbled interruption, the strangers voice confused and… familiar. Lyra grimaced as she immediately separated from Grayson, flying backwards from him on the couch, and locking eyes with Xander. Hawthorne. Oh no, Lyra thought, her terrified eyes a match for his awkward-yet-scared-yet-intrigued ones, kill me now. Xander stumbled back awkwardly, even as his brother quickly got up from the couch.

“I just wanted to come and check on you.” Xander stammered, his eyes still wide as he stared at his brother now walking away from the couch.

“Xander.” Grayson immediately started, his tone every bit the power-wielding man that Lyra had known in the beginning of The Grandest Game. “This wasn’t something you were meant to see.” Lyra grimaced again. Understatement wasn’t even a strong enough word to define that sentence. Xander eyes kept darting from Lyra’s to Grayson’s to Lyra’s to Grayson’s again, as if he was confused, yet unsurprised at the same time.

“I won’t tell Avery and the others……” Xander started, his shot-up eyebrows finally beginning to lower and the ends of his lips lifting. “But, you owe me big time, Gray.” Grayson’s eyes darkened heavily, and he told Xander something in a different language that Lyra assumed was Latin, his tone threatening. Xander replied in that same language, but his tone was high pitched and excited. Lyra had never wanted to speak Latin more in her life than now.

Finally, they both stopped and were staring each other down, or, Grayson was staring Xander down and Xander was beaming at him, when Lyra finally decided she had enough of this.

“I’m going to assume that this is some brotherly antics thing.” she said, cutting into their long and awkward eye contact. Xander beamed at her, squealing “yup!” the same time Grayson countered “no”. Lyra took that as her ticket to leave. Grayson did ask that she didn’t run away this time….. but did it count if she walked respectfully away?

“I should get ready.” she awkwardly said, darting up from the couch and away from Grayson. “Phase 2 of The Grandest Game is supposed to start today, anyway.”

“I’ll walk you to your room.” Grayson stated, ignoring his brother’s excited giggles at his words. Lyra remembered how Nash had said nearly the same exact thing as Grayson, and had to stifle a laugh, lest Grayson sees her randomly start laughing and thinks she’s a lunatic. Same people, Lyra thought, different forms.

She started walking before Grayson did, but after only a few moments, she heard his footsteps coming closer, before he was walking beside her. Lyra had her shoes on, and the outfit she planned to wear today, but he was only in socks, sweatpants, and nothing more.

“Do you only have these two outfits?” she eventually asked when they were just a couple feet from the door to her room, eyeing down his clothing—or lack of them. “A suit, and a pair of sweatpants?” Grayson sighed, giving her a look.

“Am I ever going to hear the end of this?” he asked her, curtly. Lyra snorted.

“It’s a genuine question.”

“No,” he replied, smiling ever-so-softly, “I somehow have more clothing than just a suit and a pair of sweatpants.” His words just kept reminding Lyra that Grayson was shirtless, and, when she turned around to give him a doubtful look, her eyes immediately were pulled to his chest. Lyra’s eyes were begging her to stay put on his defined abs, to gaze just for a moment more on his v-lines that were barely peeking out of his sweatpants, and the biceps on his arms, but Lyra ignored their demands, not letting her eyes linger on his chest for even a second before darting them back to his. As annoyingly long as the look at his torso felt, it was only a quick glance.

But she knew Grayson was perceptive.

So when his eyes immediately went from neutral to teasing and he stopped walking forwards to walk towards her, she knew that he could see right through her.

“Is what I’m wearing a problem with you?” he asked, crossing his arms with a teasing look. The ends of his lips lifted just the slightest bit from the look on Lyra’s face when he took a step closer.

“No,” she immediately replied, her cheeks growing red, “why would it be?” He did a small half-shrug.

“I could ask you the same thing.” he retorted, his curt voice coming back. Lyra realized suddenly that he was beginning to close in on her. She had her back to the wall, not yet touching it, but she would be if she took a step backwards, and he was only a foot away from her, his arms crossed as he stood over her.

And the closer he got to her, the more she found her eyes trailing right back to his body.

There had to be something wrong with her. Maybe it was just science that made a girl do a little double-take on a guy with some subtle-strength. But nothing seemed subtle about Grayson’s strength.

“You’re overdramatic.” Lyra deadpanned, stepping away from him and closer to the wall. Grayson saw right through her, and why she was trying to get away from him.

“You’re staring.” he replied, as he took a step forward. His tone was simple, as if he wasn’t accusing her, but just stating a common fact. She pushed down the urge to look away and instead just gave him a look, pushing past him and walking towards her door. Grayson followed her movements, taking hold of the knob before she could and opening the door for her.

“Such manners.” Lyra said, pretending to be in awe.

“Well, I’m trying to be polite as possible to you. I wouldn’t want to ruin my chances with the woman who couldn’t pry her eyes away from my chest all morning long.” Grayson retorted, testing her to see her reaction. She was sure that he didn’t get his answer from her slacked jaw and incredulous eyes, as those screamed “hello? vain table for one?”, but rather from the blush that crept up onto her cheeks. “Ah,” was all he said.

“You’re ridiculous.” Lyra stated with an incredulous laugh. He gave her a doubtful look. That only got Lyra angrier.

“I mean it, Grayson. You are. Maybe that sickness is causing your eyes to see things oddly.” He gave the slightest shrug, as if to say, “maybe”, but Lyra could see the humour in his eyes. He always could rile her up. Something about him just seemed very anger-inducing. But Lyra realized, that in her last kiss with him, and all the way up till now, that she hadn’t even thought of her father once. Was her mind straying from what really mattered here so quickly?

“What Odette said…” Lyra said suddenly, the topic changing rapidly. “About you and I being “the right disaster just waiting to happen”…” Lyra couldn’t help but trail off, as she didn’t know exactly how to say what needed to be said. But Grayson knew what she meant.

“I don’t believe it will impose a threat of any kind in the future.” he immediately shut her suspicions down. Lyra side eyed him.

“You wouldn’t, Hawthorne boy.” she retorted. He held her gaze, not speaking. Not until he finally did, anyway.

“It’s a chance we should take, no matter what kind of threats may impose,” he said slowly, causing Lyra’s heart to race, “for your father.” Lyra swallowed, looking down. He took a finger and nudged her chin upwards gently, his touch gentle, yet brief.

“We should take it.” he said, his voice more certain than earlier. We. For once, Lyra didn’t shy away from that word.

“We should.” she said, meeting his eyes. His own held hers, a million prospects of an acceptable form of justice for her father, and his unfortunate death. For once, she didn’t push down the desire to get that justice with Grayson.

Neither did she push down the determined look in her eyes that seemed to match his.

“Get ready, Lyra. Phase 2 of The Game is starting today.” he finally told her, smiling—truly smiling—as he pushed open her door. She smiled back at him.

But this time? Instead of it being like all those years ago when she was younger and had to continue playing the role of a perfect, happy lyra?

It wasn’t fake.

“Same goes for you, Hawthorne boy.”

————————————————————————

yes lyra may have gone a bit crazy drooling over graysons chest, but not enough writers in this fandom talk about it, so i figured i had to do you guys (MYSELF I GIGGLED WRITING ALL THOSE PARAGRAPHS ABOUT HIS ABS 🤭) a favour 🥰

also i can’t be the only one who thinks that lyra would like an old video of grayson when he was swimming and shirtless from like 2018 by accident. just me? okay 😢

ALSO YES I WILL EVENTUALLY GET AROUND TO THE ASKS IN MY INBOX. I HAD ONE I WAS WORKING ON BEFORE THAT A MOOT SENT ME BUT I NEVER GOT AROUND TO DOING IT BC I HAD TO WRITE THIS AND I KEPT GETTING STUCK AND COULDNT THINK OF AN ENDING AND ARGHHHHH IM SO GLAD ITS OVER

also @littlemissmentallyunstable this is kind of (REALLY) embarrassing but i DEFO looked through your entire blog to see how u finish off fics and write an ending for them bc when I tell you i was stuck… I WAS SO STUCK!!! i felt like all my endings r usually cliche and corny and BORING so yeah i had to get inspiration from the master 💋💋

[burning-academia-if]

Hello and welcome to me yapping about BA. I know this is late, but better late than never! (I have been sick since the end of November, so I also didn't get anything done during December fasdfja). This is pretty long, and I mostly wrote it for myself, since I like giving myself something to look back on in the future + reflect on my work. Feel free to skip this, especially because it is over 2k words LMAO

Brief content warning, there will be a very brief mentioning of health at the end. It won't go in to any detail since it is personal, but it is present! There will be a warning right before I talk about it, but I just wanted to give a head's up! Now onwards, to my 2024 look back: Burning Academia edition.

But first 14 years ago

It's the summer of 2011 (or 2010), and you've just discovered the Persona series for the first time. One day, at the mall, you see a copy of Persona 3 Portable on the shelf in the store, and you beg your very Christian mother to buy it for you, watching as she gives a very hard stare at the blatant "M" rating on the case. By some miracle, you manage to convince her to buy it for you, and then proceed to binge and finish the game in 5 days. Your mom promptly takes away your PSP, which is fair enough in hindsight. You'd played at least ten hours of it each day.

It's the summer of 2011 (or 2010, my memory is Bad), and you also discovered flash dating sims on DeviantArt, which also led to your discovery of otome games in general. Both this and P3P merge together into a story idea. One that you note down in a document full of other story ideas. The notes look like this:

Back then, thirteen year old me imagined an otome game mixed with the classic turn based RPG combat system, but made at a much smaller scale. There were 7 boys, and whoever you romanced changed what the final boss looked like.

It was also centered in a high school, and MC was a lot more of a blank slate sort of character, with no real background. They just happened to find a Weird Book at their private high school and got dragged into nonsense. There were still Wraiths (originally called Night Specters) who you fought during the three month span of the game. Said Night Specters were also controlled by the Resident Voice, who was not a love interest in the original.

Baby Em daydreamed about this idea a lot, for most of summer and throughout eight grade honestly. But it fell to the wayside for things I could actually do (basically, just my writing) and that was pretty much the end of that.

Until it wasn't

Flash forward to 2023, where I was having a rough time and unemployed and to give myself joy I went back through a lot of old files on my Google Drive. I'm not really someone that's ever been ashamed of my creative work, and questionable stories and art I drew are things I'm more fond of than anything. When I stumbled upon this, my brain latched on to it, so I took it, and ripped out it's guts to create the current version of Burning Academia.

Rook and Beck are the only "original" ROs from all that time ago. But even then, they've been changed A Lot, to the point where the two of them are completely different from what they used to be. Rhea was always a character (originally named Wish), who acted as the Best Friend/Guide for MC. She also completely changed to the point of being unrecognizable to the original. And Zoe was a random NPC who worked at the library. I took them, reworked them, and decided on these four as the love interests. Four was a perfectly manageable number, and BA had also changed a lot storywise that romance wasn't even the point anymore.

Of course, there clearly isn't four ROs LMAO

So, the Voice. They were also in the OG as the Villain controlling the Specters and manipulating your heart as a means to get whatever they were after. I'll be honest, I don't remember what they were originally after. But I've always liked villains whose connection to the hero is one where they dig their claws deep into them. It's how I got the idea of making them essentially 'haunt' MC. Then, the more I developed that, the more it just made sense for them to be an LI to me. The reason they're the only gender selectable one is because they're the one most reflective of MC (and the one who would change the least regardless of gender). And then that was it! We had five, I was done.

Which leads to Lars, I guess.

He ended up becoming a RO at the last minute, as in, a week before the launch of the blog last minute. He was kind of just this antagonist asshole whose primary job was to make sure you didn't do anything too stupid and who hated your guts. I'm going to be honest, I'm not that big of a fan of the asshole archetype, especially as a romance option. But then I got to chapter 5 in the outline of the story and it objectively just made sense. I can't say why because of spoilers, but I think I've mentioned all the ROs and MC are interconnected with each other and are meant to reflect certain aspects of each other in some way. With Lars, it would have felt off to me not to add him in, considering the type of character he'd grown into. So, with a sense of reluctance, I threw him in.

I think Lars is the funniest RO to me, because there was a point in time where he was the most popular on the blog, and I was like 'woah, him.' asldfakjldfjka. Over the past year, he's definitely grown on me in ways I haven't expected, and I think I almost find his awfulness endearing somehow. (To be honest, I think writing the scene of punching him in the face did wonders for my own perception of him).

As for the story changes, this clearly isn't set in a private boarding school ft teens. The original idea was just Persona 3 Portable all over again, because 13 year old me had a problem (I would proceed to replay the game over a dozen times over the years, so I still have a problem). And while I love the themes in P3P, I also feel like some of the things I wanted to write about just made a lot more sense with people within the college age range. I also decided to tie it in to a long standing world of mine, so that way I already had a solid basis of world building and lore. Placing it in what I dub the 'World of Fairytales' really anchored the story in my brain. I looked at all the other stories I'd written or developed that took place here, and I realized I'd yet to write one about death. And that's the focal point of BA:

It's a fairytale about death.

The Reception

I'm going to be honest, when I released BA I just expected it to get the same reception as anything else I'd written up to this point. I think when the demo dropped back in October 2023, I'd released two games, a game demo, and I think my novella and short story collection were out at the time. I'm terrible at marketing myself because I'd much rather vibe and make things than have to talk about it online, which is definitely part of the reason most of my work didn't even hit five hundred plays, save for one which had hit a thousand at that point. But you know, that does make it easy to keep making things when you don't feel like you have a bunch of eyes watching. (At least, for me. I know a lot of creatives feel the weight of loneliness of creation, especially when you pour so much into something only for no one to pick it up. I personally tend to release things on a whim though lol there's plenty of finished works I have laying around that I have no intention on sharing.)

Anyway, I thought Burning Academia was going to be much the same. So imagine my surprise when I post the intro post and I got eight hundred followers in a week.

My immediate thought was "I'm deleting the blog." After a year of making things no one paid attention to, eight hundred followers in a week for something was an overwhelming jump. At the time I'm writing this, we have apparently just crossed two thousand followers(???), which again, I was not expecting lol

I've been reading IFs for years now, dating back to about 2015. I was aware of the general community and vibes, although I wasn't fully in the community and just followed authors I liked. Still, I didn't realize how quick word gets around for a new IF. Especially when all I had was an intro post. Granted, I'd at least already had most of the prologue written and just needed to figure out Twine to code it in, so there was a sense of relief there that I wouldn't keep people waiting. But I did genuinely want to close up shop as quickly as I started.

Part of me is still a bit surprised I'm at where I'm at. I don't really care about numbers, be it mine or others, but I think at this point I'm closer to a mid sized author(?), which I can't comprehend. BA is more of a vibes story, with heavy themes that aren't for everyone. I also know there are certain aspects of BA that just aren't appealing to the overall IF community (it not really focusing much on romance, or the RO options being what they are, or just how bleak the first few chapters are).

I don't necessarily think it's like a niche idea, since it's just a fantasy dark academia, but I just assumed some of the details would make BA not noticed.

Anyway, clearly I'm normal about it now and my blog still exists. I do think if I knew where I'd land at, I might have waited longer to post everything, so I had a bit of backlog and more for people to play in the long run and it would have felt like a shorter wait on the player side. But also, in my defense, I did not expect 2024 to go the way it did.

What I wanted to achieve vs what I actually achieved

So, I wanted to have chapter 3 done before the end of 2024, and maybe even have chapter 4 started. It was a perfectly reasonable goal for me, in any other year where my body was better at being a body. I won't go into detail with health since I know it's a heavy topic for some, but I will briefly mention it since it was a major component to my creative output. Just skip the next paragraph if you don't feel like reading.

//

I got sick pretty much every month in 2024, with multiple of them being pretty bad infections. The second half of the year was a lot worse than the first half of the year, and that's why if it seems like everything slowed down after June/July, it's because of that. From November to now, I've been sick to varying degrees. It's why I did nothing in December because I spent it split between working still, the holidays, renewing various certifications for work, and trying to get some degree of rest between it all. My sister in law is a nurse, and she said I probably have an auto immune deficiency. Whether it's that or not, I'm going to get some tests done, and hopefully 2025 is a better year for me health wise!

//

Of course, I'm not upset with myself. Perhaps a little annoyed because I could have hit the goal I wanted if I hadn't been feeling awful for so much of the year, but I'm not annoyed with myself. Just the circumstances. I'll always be the type of person to take care of myself instead of forcing myself to do anything. Especially with something like this, which would just last to potential burn out.

So, I released 2 chapters of BA, a handful of the RO backstories, and a little short about MC's sister Marlowe. Including the unreleased chapter 3, I managed to write over 150k last year for BA. Which is a pretty solid number, honestly.

Depending on how life goes, I'll be aiming for up to chapter 4 this year. It'll also be a shorter(?) chapter than 3, or at least a little more manageable since chapter 3 just ended up having a decent chunk of branching. I won't give any estimates for chapter 3 since when I did, I missed all of them LMAO It'll release when it's ready, and I'll be chipping away at it during the times I feel alright.

Final Thoughts

This is already pretty long, so I'll bring it to a close here. If you read this far, thank you for listening to my yapping. And also just thank you to anyone whose played BA and decided to follow along for the ride!! I love BA a lot, and its both very fun and amazing and weird to see others enjoy it with me. The fact I've gotten so many asks, or fanart (please know if you drew fanart, it has been imprinted in my brain forever and also saved in a little folder on my desktop lol) is still a little surreal. So uh yeah, thanks for being here.

For my last trick, since you made it this far you can have an assortment of mindless doodles I have made of BA in questionable quality because I'm bad at photographing my art LOL

(Some of the few digital art doodles I haven't shown. Ft. mirrored Rooks and an unfinished comic page of Rhea)

The Rook pages

The scribbles ft Beck and Lars

The kinda mirrors ft Beck and Rhea

Aaaand that is all because I hit file limit (sorryyyy to Zoe I think I've already shared all the doodles of them I liked throughout the year sjsjsk)

[call-me-casual]

So I’ve been thinking about the TAG “behind the scenes” skits, they cross my mind almost daily.

It’s just so brilliant the way they did it. The idea of having the characters wander around at a side proportional to the sets is way cuter than it has any right to be and the 100% done film crew is just hilarious.

It makes me want to build a whole au around the concept, just the Tracy boys being tiny and causing chaos. Like, imagine you spent years studying film or something and your new job consists of trying to prevent Virgil from burning himself on the coffee machine, or stopping Scott from trying to steal the director’s car keys to go on a joyride (probably @idontknowreallywhy ‘s dream job lol)

Bonus points if they can’t talk at first and instead sound like baby alligators!

I’ve also been letting a TOS version marinade in my brain for a while, but that one is kiiiind of leaning into horror territory rn-

[fatedroses]

More than just the Demon.

[walkman-cat]

hands up tell me abt Your star trek au right now!! on the double bro. what are the tensions it all looks too kind & magical i don’t trust it yet

(if it is literally kind & wonderful i am grateful i am thankful i am honored i’d just like to hear more)

-@jack-kellys

i'm ngl my star trek au au is mostly running on vibes wbwbwb so it is pretty kind and happy and warm (i just really like how much everyone in the enterprise's crew has such a respect and care for each other yknow. found family and all that innit).

that being said, here are some funky things about the characters ive been thinking about lately (under a cut because i'm incapable of being concise):

the stars were essentially jack's santa fe. he grew up surrounded by stories of starship captains and space and it became his lifelong dream and ambition to captain a starship, something which he dropped everything to attain. now he is captain of a starship– one of the youngest in starfleet's history– and it's wonderful and fantastic and he's never felt more alive! but there's always something gnawing at the back of his mind (he's based his entire life up until this point around this moment, it was a driving force and a beacon to look up to when times were tough. what if the experience is nothing like his dreams and he ends up disappointed? what happens when the mission's over? what'll become of him?).

also starfleet's assigned him a galaxy-class starship with families onboard and he's having a Time because of it (what if they get hurt under his watch. what if he gives the wrong order and a child dies. starfleet officers know the risks of space travel and are aware of this but the families. the children). other than that he's having a great time !!

kath's half-betazoid on her mother's side, but she never knew her mother nor has she ever been to betazoid (i really went woe! being mixed and only connected to one of your cultures but still being unable to fit in even there because of the fact that you're mixed be upon ye!). she's trying real hard to learn more about betazoid and who her mother is even though she knows she won't really feel like she "belongs" in betazoid either. she's working on understanding and using her empathic/telepathic powers more.

oh also!! pulitzer is a notorious and not-well liked admiral, when kath joined the acedmy she officially had her name changed to plumber and has since told no-one that they're related (this surely won't backfire terribly on her in the future)

also because this is the spot (cat) show, kath loves spot (cat) and wants to babysit her and play with her but alas. she is allergic to cats

race cannot catch a break– he's got a massive losing streak at senior officer poker night, spot (cat) hates him, he can't grow a beard but every time theres an impostor/clone/mirror universe situation the other version of him always has a beard (this is half in jest but also it amuses me wbwb)

jokes aside, i've been having a whole bunch of race as first officer thoughts (and a lot of riker and race parallel thoughts but. that's another story). i don’t really know how to explain it other than the way riker acts in the last episode of tng season two (yes, the riker montage episode) when facing death (joking around and keeping up the appearance of flippancy and courage in the face of agonising death because he’s first officer and there are people who look up to him and he has to set an example) seemed very race and very kony to me, in a way. (youve got this to blame for riker beard race. im not sorry)

race is also one of the first people to advocate for les becoming acting ensign. he makes it very clear that he's in les' corner and makes himself responsible for his studies and sometimes his training (and he teaches him poker).

OH ALSO! sarah and davey didnt know les ws going to be onboard and only found out about his presence after they'd set off. did he sneak onboard?? mayyyybeee (he just really wants to be a starfleet officer). after the initial shock (and notifying their parents) sarah and davey start the Let Les on the Bridge campaign (letting him watch the bridge from the turbolift, helping out in sciences and engineering, etc etc) the that eventually leads to les becoming acting ensign. it reaches a point where most of jack's senior officers would probably mutiny all for this kid.

there's more stuff but i'll stop rambling now because, again, i have a problem with being concise wbwbw. thankyou soso much for the ask rizz once again i love your star trek au so much and am always eager to hear more wbwbw!!! :D

[segernatural]

two fears:

my mri says something

my mri says nothing

[watery-melon-baller]

there is something so funny about me pulling up to tumblr after vanishing for a few weeks, losing my shit over spiderverse, only to log in and find every single one of my mutuals losing their shit over nimona instead

[whysamwhy123]

Seeing as I'm not going to ever write it now due to Recent Events, I've decided to babble on here about this terrible idea I had for a big, elaborate comedy/crack fic. If I had been able to pull it off, I would have wanted to post it on either Halloween or April Fools Day because it's very much supposed to be dumb. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!

Keeping with my inability to come up with good titles, it was tentatively called ''Who Killed Tony Khan? A Hookhausen Mystery!''. At a company party where most of the AEW roster are gathered, Tony's giving a speech where he makes a mean joke about Danhausen, who decides to curse him. Tony then promptly dies on the spot, so now everyone thinks Danhausen is a murderer, no matter how much he insists the curse wasn't supposed to do that. He swears he's innocent. But no one's convinced. Other than Hook, that is. Naturally, Hook wants to clear the name of the man he loves so he and Danhausen have to team up once again, put on their detective hats and try to figure out what really happened to their boss and who's the true culprit. So the whole fic would have been a goofy romp with these two looking for clues, interrogating their co-workers and slowly piecing together the mystery. Obviously, it's not gonna happen now - I probably wouldn't have written it anyway because I'm nowhere near talented or smart enough to write a compelling mystery, but given the Stuff That's Happened recently, the whole inciting incident to that story now seems a lot less goofy and a lot more...distasteful. Plus, the dumb joke I was going to make at the end as a way to Deus Ex Machina the conflict away wouldn't work at all now (if you're curious, DM me about it, but fair warning, it's probably not funny to anyone other than me. And it's outdated now, anyway.)

Also...there were gonna be so many cocaine jokes in this fic. Like, enough that you could have made a drinking game out of it...

The thing is though...I still really want to write some kind of Hookhausen mystery fic! I don't know why but I really like the idea of Hook getting dragged into a situation so out of his element (like solving a fucking murder case - not exactly something in his usual wheelhouse) but willingly throwing himself into it because he just has to clear Danhausen's name. Why, yes, Acts of Service is one of my love languages, how did you know? So the more extreme examples of that, the better!

Hell, maybe I go even more out there and make it some kind of Film Noir AU. Hook as this young but still hard-boiled private eye, roped into some strange criminal plot with a heavy supernatural twist, thanks to Actual Demon Danhausen. I don't know, I just love dumb stuff like that, feels like it could be fun to play around with *shrugs*

[arolesbianism]

I have written a bunch of test inner dialogue for Odile at this point in hopes of being able to write some duo looping stuff but the more I write her the more I realize that I think my main issue is that I am just not feeling Odile second person narration. I see "you" and go ah yes Siffrin. Unfortunately this means I might have to bite the bullet and try writing with the dreaded "I"

[pigeonperch]

Of course I think about your characters without prompting!! Espír and cami in my head constantly, I actually listened Nothing again recently and lost my mind even more than the first time <3

TEEHEE <333 I HAVE INFECTED YOU WITH THEM LIKE A PLAGUE<333333 this is so delightful I love that they make you go crazy too. I need to think about them more

[vorfreudevortex]

apologies

✧.* gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, yuji, megumi, noritoshi, ino, inumaki, yuta

notes: a somewhat happier resolution and part two of arguments! thank you for reading <3

✧.* check out the fun facts after the attachments for background info about their fights and a look inside my brain hehe!

my masterlist

© vorfreudevortex | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, repost, or otherwise share my work.

satoru cried in his office when he realized that he blamed you for something that wasn't your fault.

suguru's coworker sat on his lap as part of a weird inside joke everyone else at the school has between the two. he has no idea why he was so defensive to you and he truly wasn't cheating. he was so angry that you would believe he cheated that he started calling you out for the first thing he could think of, wearing revealing tops in public. satoru had to call you 8 times before you picked up and let him explain it to you. he's forcing her to transfer to kyoto so she never has the chance to hurt your relationship again (remember that suguru never left and became a teacher alongside satoru in my aus). the pictures sent to the reader leave out how suguru uncomfortably asked her to get off of him shortly after, since they were around other sorcerers and teachers (as politely as he could).

kento came home with so many flowers for you and he still feels awful.

toji's dumbass freaked tf out when you took home your clothes from his place. he was out drinking and gambling and didn't want to tell you. your relationship is rocky for a while but he hasn't gambled since.

choso is still learning communication skills and cried when he realized that he was being mean to you over nothing.

sukuna is a terrible texter and does NOT communicate his feelings well. this is him being vulnerable af with you because he really does love you and has no idea why he was grabbing another girl's ass at the bar. he tried to chase you down after you threw a drink on him, slapped and yelled at him, and ran out.

yuji completely panicked when a curse attacked him out of nowhere when he was out with you. you can't see them and you were so confused and scared that you couldn't move. he just cares about you so much and couldn't stand the fact that you could've died. he made megumi listen to him cry about how mean he was to you for like 3 straight hours.

megumi has no idea how to deal with his emotions and has never been in a relationship before so he literally thought you guys were broken up LMAO. he's trying really hard for you.

in my au toge can speak, just not direct commands, so he still rarely talks unless necessary. i thought it would be nice to have the reader understand that all of his communication skills are terrible and help him work on them.

noritoshi has a terrible outlook on love and relationships from his upbringing so it took him a minute to understand how awful his words were. he truly does love you and wants to marry you. he lowkey constantly thinks about cutting off the kamo clan so they can't control his life anymore.

ino literally cried to nanami after your argument. he's so used to putting jujutsu responsibilities before his own life and feelings, and struggles with having to take care of something that can't be fixed with his power or strength. nanami also called you and apologized for meddling in your relationship, he realized it was inappropriate but he just really cares about you and ino and wants the best for both of you.

yuta literally didn't even realize how insane and controlling he was being until you called him out. after he took you home, he latched onto you with his head crammed in your lap because he was so upset thinking that you might leave him. he swears to himself that he will kill himself before he treats you like that again, and he never does it again.

i don't like when big argument smaus end with "no biggie i forgive you! <3" so i tried to make sure that the reader either made sure they know they fucked up big time, apologized and talked to them face-to-face, they'd never do it again, or you wouldn't forgive them so easily, etc.

sorry this was so long! but i love knowing the background info and author's thoughts for smaus since they can be kind of limiting in content! i think i'll add background info and fun facts after all my future smaus for those who are interested. as always thank you so much for reading ♡

[8n53]

i finally had the bobby fulbright conversation™️ with my therapist IM FREE !!! IM FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YAHOOOOOO

[coryosbaby]

ꜰᴜᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴘ !

♡ content warning . dubious consent, mentions of drugging, sex work, breeding kink, cum play, weird usage of condoms, dom! Coryo

You didn’t know how you ended up like this.

Being an escort wasn’t an easy job. There were times when you were completely disgusted at the men who approached you (if not all of them). Coriolanus was supposed to be a normal client— someone that would fuck and go. Even with his ranking, you never suspected that he would… keep you.

You had had a few weird clients— some asked for the most vulgar, filthy things. Some of them followed you around before your boss had told them off.

But none of them have ever took you home.

You usually weren’t this stupid, this hazy minded, but Coriolanus had scooped you up with his wit and his charm and a bottle of something you hadn’t had before the economy went downhill. You had heard of him— of course you had—- the powerful, handsome, and extremely intelligent, Coriolanus Snow. And before you knew it you were being tossed onto his king sized bed and his tongue was scraping against the roof of your open mouth. You didn’t even have time to gape in drunken wonder at his enormous bedroom— all you could think about was the cock gliding in between your legs, meaty and thick and wet. He had become completely bare to you, regardless of your opposing position. You were still clothed in your pink floral dress and your basic cotton panties.

Coriolanus’ lips grazed over your jugular, his tongue nipping at your skin. You had never been this hot for anyone, especially not a client. Your panties were soaking, your clit was throbbing and you needed to cum. What was happening to you?

“Cor…” you tried to slur out, as your eyelashes fluttered.

“I know.”

His voice was incredibly gentle, and his big hands groped your tits through your dress. He lifted up the hem, made sure to expose your panties to him, and groaned. You could feel his precum smear against your thigh as he ground his aching member against you.

“Can’t even say my name, can you?” Coriolanus continues. “I have an idea. You can just call me Coryo. Short enough for your little brain to remember, yeah?”

Coryo. It was a nice name. A perfect name.

You moaned out when you felt the cool air hit the peaks of your puffy and swollen nipples. Coriolanus—Coryo— was peeling your dress off of your body. When the fabric was thrown across the room his mouth latched to one of your nipples. You mewled, hands going up to grasp his blonde curls, your chest very sensitive all of a sudden. You could feel that familiar organ probing at your folds, and— when did he put a condom on? You didn’t know, but relief would’ve coursed through you if you weren’t so aroused that you were practically drooling.

“Want it,” you whined out, scraping his scalp with desperation. “Coryo. Please.”

Huffing out a laugh, he reached down and wrapped his hand around his shaft. He gave it a few tugs, made sure the precum pearled over and made a sticky white stain on the inside of the latex. He used the tip to part your pussy lips and find your hole. He pushed in, slow at first, but your pussy was so wet from whatever he slipped in your cup that it was almost easy. Even with his overwhelming size, your cunt accepted his cock greedily, sucking him inside your tight canal. Coryo groaned, practically going cross eyed at the feeling of your warm, wet pussy.

“Never had a cunt so tight,” he grunted against you. “even with all the men you sell yourself to, you’re still squeezing me like a fucking vice, sweetness.”

Your mouth dropped open, his words making you impossibly hornier. Usually you would be offended by such a vile statement, but his big cock was throbbing and wading through your walls with such precision that it had your legs shaking.

And Coriolanus had this charisma about him— something that made his words even more powerful than most. And after that statement, he just kept talking.

“Oh, Angel. My good, special girl,” his thrusts were impossibly fast now, the plap plap plap of his balls slapping against your sore and raw fucked pussy making you cry. “You’re mine now.”

His. His, his, his. Your fingernails dug into him, his chest touching yours sending tingles all throughout your body, and he kept spewing out dirty innuendos. You never thought being fucked could feel this good. His fingers reached down and rubbed your swollen clit, and it was like magic, the way your pussy spasmed and your orgasm washed over you. Seizing up, you mewled out his name as you came on him.

Coryo was mesmerized by your cunt squeezing him so tightly. Your pretty folds, lips spread out and wet, your hole sucking him in like he was meant to be there, like he was meant to fuck his cum into your womb, it was all so much. No amount of classism could keep him from you. Not after this. District or not, he would make you his gorgeous little wife. He would give you everything, love for you, kill for you. With the thought of this possession towards you, his hips began to stutter. Your eyes were closed, but you were still humping yourself against his awaiting thrusts. His balls drew taught, and he could feel his awaiting cum begin to flood the condom wrapped around his length.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t right.

Not to Coriolanus. Not now— your pussy needed to be fucked full of his hot cum. You needed to be bred. And he was going to keep you and make sure of it.

Coriolanus watched your fluttering eyelids, the small smile grazing your features as his thrusts slowed. Something primal coursed through him, and he slowly pulled himself out of you. Watching your gaping hole made his cock twitch again, and he used his fingers to slowly twist the condom off of his cock. Full of his cum, he spread your lips with two fingers and turned the latex upside down. His spend dropped out of it and onto your used little hole, and you whimpered out as his cum splashed against your cunt.

“Coryo? What’r you doing?”

“Just getting you nice and wet for me, little bird. Close your eyes.. let me fuck you again.”

And like clockwork, his cock was probing your entrance for a second time— his sticky cum being pushed into your fertile womb by the tip of his pink mushroomed tip, his balls making more seed for your perfect pussy, and he was claiming your spent body with everything he had. <33

[mameillieureennemie]

you and me (let's make something great)

author's note: so i had an idea, and originally, it was gonna be a ficlet mainly focused on debauchery. BUT THEN my brain decided to turn it into something longer with plot, so here we are. it's very soft in the first bit but don't be fooled, it gets filthy as it progresses. please enjoy!

cw: gp!vi, afab!reader, pregnancy talk, breeding kink, dirty talk, nsfw 🔞 (primarily in the second part)

wc: 3.3k

dividers: @/cafekitsune

part i: let's talk about it

There’s always been talk of starting a family.

Kids with the white picket fence and a garden large enough for them to run around. Maybe a dog or two and a cat because you’ve always spoken about how much you want one. It’d be everything that’s so simple and expected of a family, something so ordinary that it’s almost laughable. But you and Vi never had the opportunity to experience what the ordinary family is.

She grew up an orphan with only her sister by her side, only able to survive due to Vander’s kindness.

You had your own set of problems; a family that didn’t listen or could listen but choose not to.

So to have a family where you can give your children the life you weren’t able to have, that means the whole world and more.

Vi toys around with the idea of asking you again, about the possibility of starting your family as soon as possible. You’ve been together for ten years and married for two, and life has never been as perfect as this.

You’re both doing well at work, bills are being paid on time and there’s even some savings in your joint account. Even savings to potentially look into starting something if that is what you want.

You’re swaying around the kitchen, speakers blasting your playlist as you cook up dinner for tonight. You’ve settled on a simple pasta dish, warm and spicy with delicious herbs. The sauce is bubbling away on the stove and your hips follow the stir of your wooden spoon. You bring the spoon up to your lips, blow gently before having a taste. A hum leaves your lips as your eyes flutter shut, pleased with what you’re creating.

Vi’s enchanted by you and one might call her silly, to be captivated by you merely making dinner. But it’s the mere act of it, the domesticity of it all and how you show your love through everything you do. Even if it’s cooking a dish that you’ve both eaten a hundred times before.

That’s what being in love is and Vi is greedy to share that with someone who’s both her and you.

“Taste this for me?” You ask, facing where she’s sat at the kitchen island. Vi’s quick to hop off her stool and make her way towards you. Her arms encircle you the moment she gets close and your smile brightens at the touch. You lift the spoon up to her lips and even though she knows it’s delicious, Vi goes in for a taste. She mimics your pleased hum from before, swaying you to the slow beat of the song that now plays.

“Babe, you crush it every time,” Vi reveres, causing you to roll your eyes fondly. “How do you do it? Were you a famous chef in your past life or what?”

“It’s pasta sauce,” you respond, voice deadpan but expression vibrant. “The same pasta sauce we’ve been making for five years and can make with our eyes closed.” You turn around in her arms so you can attend to the sauce, Vi taking this opportunity to latch onto your back. She nuzzles into the curve of your neck, pressing a kiss into the sensitive spot there just so she can feel you shiver. “It’s hardly Michelin star worthy.” You pause. “Wait, can dishes be given Michelin stars?”

“Fuck if I know,” Vi murmurs, hooking her chin over your shoulder and settling in. From here, she can see a pot full of water boiling for pasta and the sauce thickening nicely in its pan. “So I want to talk to you about something.”

“We can’t go to the water park next week,” you say, amused. “We’ve had this discussion like six times and as much as I would like to go and hit the wave pool, there’s no—”

The laughter that bursts out of Vi’s mouth is enough to hurt her chest. But it doesn’t stop her from cackling, burying her head into your shoulder in an attempt to muffle how loud she is. She can feel the shaking of your body and hear your lovely laughter as you join her, fully leaning into her chest for support.

“No, you idiot,” Vi manages to say through her chuckles. “Oh fuck you, this was supposed to be a serious thing.”

“Why do you think I said what I said?” You retort playfully and Vi falls even more in love with you, as if that’s even possible. “But tell me what’s on your mind, baby. What’s going on?”

Vi takes a deep breath, closing her eyes for a second to gather herself. When she opens them, you’re turning off the burner for the sauce and reaching for the fettuccine to the side. Just as you’re pouring the pasta into the bubbling water, Vi’s thoughts spill out.

“I want to have a family with you.”

You go still for a moment, your arms poised above the boiling water with the empty pasta box in your hands. Vi’s unable to see your face but she isn’t necessarily worried about your reaction. It’s a conversation that you’ve had multiple times over the span of your relationship, but today is where you start taking steps towards putting it in action.

“Well, yes,” you start, placing the pasta box back on the counter. Then you’re turning in her arms so you’re facing each other again, your eyes peering into hers. “We’ve spoken countless times about this.” You smooth your hands over the rounds of her shoulders, your face soft. “I’m still very much onboard with this because I want to have a family with you too. But I’m guessing you want to talk about a timeline.”

Vi nods, momentarily speechless because you always just get her, even without her having to say anything. She pulls you away from the stove to sit you on one of the kitchen island’s stools. She notes how you eye the pasta and makes a mental note to attend to the pot after five minutes.

“We always did say that we’d really start considering it once we’ve gotten our lives sorted,” Vi says, standing between your thighs. “And I’d say that our lives are pretty solid. We’re no longer in debt and we’ve got a decent amount saved away.” Her fingers play with your hair, causing you to lean into her touch. “So I thought that now would be a good time to try.” Vi then shakes her head. “Obviously, it’s your choice because it’s your body and I’d never want to pressure you into doing anything because of me and—”

Vi doesn’t notice she’s rambling until you’re pressing your finger against her lips, fond amusement colouring your features.

“I married a good woman,” you say, so tender that Vi feels her heart swell so much that it hurts. It presses against her ribs, pushes up on her lungs making her breathless. It makes her cling to you, hiding her head into the curve of your shoulder. Your hands come around to run soothingly down her back and she melts. “I know it's my choice, baby. You've never made me feel like it wasn't.”

Despite Vi knowing that, the relief that hits her is cool and instant. It's always nice to hear that she isn't pressuring you; that she's allowing you to make your own choices regardless of what she wants.

“I've always wanted to have children with you,” you continue, still running soothing patterns down her back. “That's something that has never changed and probably never will.” You then lean back and Vi's graced with the excitement in your beautiful eyes. “I imagine a little kid who's a mixture of me and you. Maybe my hair and your eyes or vice versa.”

“I hope they get your personality,” Vi says softly. “That they get your kindness and empathy. Your patience and wisdom.”

You laugh quietly, closing your eyes to hide from the blinding of Vi's earnest gaze. You're embarrassed, she can tell, and that makes this moment all the sweeter.

“Well, I hope they get your strength and conviction,” you reply, tilting your head up so the tip of your nose catches the softness of Vi's cheek. “That they get your loyalty and ambition. Your sympathy and empathy.”

Vi's cheeks burn at the compliments you dress her in. Compliments that you would call truths because that's how you see her. Even under all the mess and mistakes, you see the diamonds that rest beneath the dirt.

She'll never understand why someone as special as you forever wants to be with her.

“So…what are you thinking?” Vi asks, eager to see where your head’s at. She watches as you purse your lips with a hum, eyes rolling upwards to stare at the ceiling in thought. Then you’re looking back at her with a smile and that’s how Vi finds her answer.

“Really?” Vi has to double check, to be sure that you’re both on the same page; that this is what you want to do from this moment.

“I’ve been wanting to suggest it for a while but—Violet!” You exclaim out of surprise, laughter startled from you when Vi pulls you in for a tight hug. But your arms are wrapping around her instantly, holding on with a solid grip.

“Thank you,” Vi whispers into your neck, planting a delicate kiss over your pulse. “Thank you so much.”

“No need to thank me,” you say quietly, returning the kiss to the curve of her ear. “I want this too.”

Vi nods and gives you a firm squeeze before pulling away, but not too far so she can still keep you in her arms. She’s so overwhelmed; there’s so much she wants to say but all of it is tied at the back of her throat. The words aren’t coherent but they have meaning and Vi will try all she can to convey how precious that meaning is.

“Okay so,” you begin after you both sit in relaxed silence for a while. “I love you so much and you’re my everything but if that pasta’s mushy, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You lie,” Vi replies, nuzzling at your cheek. “You love me too much to hate me.”

“But I love pasta more,” you tease, your soft laughs muted by the gentle press of Vi’s lips against yours.

The pasta has gone soft but you don’t seem to mind, all too distracted by Vi's sweet kisses.

“So you’re officially trying for kids now?”” Jinx says one afternoon in the small cafe they often frequent. It's raining outside and there's a chill in the air that seeps into your bones and makes you want to stay in bed. That's where Vi wishes she was now, all curled up underneath the sheets with you.

“Yeah, we had a proper talk about it a few days ago,” Vi says. “Not that all the other talks weren't proper but our plans didn't have a start date.” She swirls the remaining dregs of coffee in her mug. “Now we're both ready and soon there's gonna be a kid in the picture.”

Jinx hums, taking a sip of whatever iced concoction she's gotten today. “I mean, it's a big thing,” she says around her straw. “Bringing a small human into the world. Plus babies are kinda gross with their uncontrollable bowel movements.” Her nose scrunches up. “Not to mention the crying and screaming and inability to talk for the first two years.”

Vi shrugs. “Yeah, but I don't give a shit about any of that.”

“Well, duh. Because you're with someone who's gonna make it worthwhile,” Jinx replies matter-of-factly. “It's kind of like being in love with the person of your dreams makes you more tolerable to things. Shocker.”

“You're already falling into your Cynical Aunt role.” Vi says, deadpan but smiles when Jinx chuckles.

“Don't get me wrong, I'm gonna love the shit out of that little goober,” Jinx says strongly. “Gonna be the best auntie in the world. Much better than Caitlyn or Mel, that's for sure.”

Vi makes a doubtful expression, an eyebrow raised, and raises her hands to placate when Jinx aims her butter knife at her.

“No, you'll be great,” Vi tells her and despite their jokes, she means it. She sees how Jinx is with kids; how she may not seem interested at first but then slowly opens up. Not to say that she connects with every child but when Jinx cares, she cares with her entire heart. So Vi knows that her children will be loved.

Jinx eyes her and takes another sip of her drink before saying, “There's something on your mind.”

Vi huffs. “How can you tell?”

“I'm your sister, we grew up together,” Jinx lists off. “I mean, ignore the fact that we didn't talk for seven years but I know you.” She finishes off her glass and pushes it to the side. “What's going on?”

“Do you really wanna know?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

Vi chuckles, running a hand through her hair, before leaning back in her seat.

“I just…worry that I may not be a good parent.” She confesses after a moment.

“Why?” Jinx asks straight away, not giving Vi the time to wallow too deeply.

“Because…I mean, look what happened with us,” Vi says, gesturing between them. “I left you alone for seven years over a misunderstanding that took ages to fix. I was supposed to be there for you when our parents died. When Vander died and I…” Vi stops for a second, a heavy knot in her throat. “...I wasn't there and I'm just scared that I'm gonna fuck all of this up.”

Jinx stares at her for a bit, her expression unreadable, before she gives a big eye roll.

“You're so stupid,” she says loudly.

“Gee thanks.” Vi replies.

“You're so stupid because I don't think you realise how good of a big sister you were,” Jinx continues. “How good of a big sister you are. Life sucked for us for a long time, Vi. Especially after our parents and Vander died. Then the hits kept on coming and we had no say in how we survived for a long time. Yes, we got separated and yes, it made me so fucking mad at you, but you came back for me.” She takes a deep breath. “If we could redo the past, we would. But we can't. But things have been fixed and you've shown me time and time how capable you are.” She then laughs. “I mean, you've been in a committed relationship for twelve years, Vi. Most people don't last up to the five month mark.”

Vi tries to ignore the sting behind her eyes, the tears that slowly blur her vision.

“Plus you guys are totally in love,” Jinx says, a slight smile curving her lips. “It's absolutely nauseating but it's also kinda beautiful. You'll make a really good parent, Vi. You got the best of mom and our dads. And your partner kicks ass and is one of the best people I've ever met so…” Jinx shrugs. “Your children are gonna be so lucky to have you two as parents.”

There’s then a lull that falls between them and Vi's trying so hard not to cry. So she swallows back the knot in her throat, chasing it away with her last bit of coffee.

“Saying all of that must have driven you nuts,” Vi jokes weakly, reaching out to give Jinx's hand a grateful squeeze.

“Yeah, I feel gross and need to take a shower,” Jinx jokes in return, weak too and she squeezes Vi's hand just as tight. “Consider that your birthday and Christmas gift.”

Vi laughs loudly, eyes crinkling and mouth wide with the joy she feels.

“Fair enough.” She concedes, knowing damn well Jinx will surprise her with a homemade gift regardless.

“...So, gonna go home and blast your baby batter into—?”

“Jinx.”

A week or two pass after those conversations are held. Life maintains its norm, leaving you and Vi to continue your existence in its blissful way. It's comforting as it is confusing, because Vi knows that everything’s on the table now. Left wide open for the both of you to bask at.

Vi waits for your move, watches you with a keen eye as you drift throughout the days. She cooks the both of you dinner every other night, picks you up from work every day without fail and holds you close at night so you fall asleep. She does what she knows to do, does it because it has that essence of normalcy.

But that doesn't stop the urges from arising. It doesn't halt the need that bubbles in her stomach every time she sees you. It's overpowering, overwhelmingly so, and Vi fails to understand it until one late evening.

You're curled up beneath Vi’s arm as a movie plays on the television. It's a standard comedy, nothing utterly hilarious but enough to pull a few chuckles from both of you. Vi has hit optimal relaxation, all loose and soft due to you being so close. She can smell the scent of your body wash, drops her face into your hair so she can inhale what lies there. Your shampoo and something so uniquely you.

Her focus has since shifted from the movie, all of it on you as she notes how you’re barely paying attention to the screen. You’ve got this faraway look in your eyes, seemingly lost in thought and Vi wonders what's going through that pretty head of yours.

Then you do something unexpected; you shift a hand towards your stomach and…gently rub at it. The arc of your hand graceful as you follow the slope of your covered flesh. It looks soothing, similar to how you rub Vi's muscles on the days the flare-up of old injuries is too much. But it's also different and Vi's quick to notice it; she sees how your hand comes to lay at your lower stomach and—

Oh.

Vi's suddenly feeling a bit flustered.

A minute goes by, slowly ticking, and Vi tries not to give herself away. She tries not to reveal how the simple act of you rubbing your stomach has her heating up. How she's instantly imagining your stomach round with her child and the way your hand would look caressing the bump.

So tender, so gentle.

Something hot within Vi stirs, causing her to grow a bit restless. The movie captures her attention for a bit, but it hardly does much. Especially when you're pressed into her, still rubbing at your stomach and fuck, her sweatpants feel a little tight.

Because it isn't only about your stomach growing with life inside you. It's also about the transformation you'll grow through. How you'll get softer, how your scent will become a little milkier. How your breasts will swell in preparation and how you'd be a stunning image of how you belong to.

Vi.

Because it's Vi who'll do that to you; it's her who will fuck you full until you can't take anymore. It's Vi who will come and come and come in you until it takes and she sees the fruits of her labour.

It's her who'll…who'll breed you until you’re tongue's tied and your body's a wreck.

So beautiful and pilant and hers.

“...Vi?” Your voice calls her home, like a siren's song, and she's retrieved from her debauched thoughts. “Vi, sweetheart, the movie's done.”

Vi blinks at the television, the credits rolling down the dark screen. How long had she been spacing out for.

“Oh,” she says lamely and you chuckle, standing up from the couch. You tug at her arm, smiling tiredly, as you tilt your body towards the bedroom.

“I'm sleepy,” you say, giving one more tug before Vi’s standing on her feet. “Let's go to bed, we've got work in the morning.”

“Uh huh,” is all Vi can manage as she allows you to lead her to your bedroom.

Something new has clicked in her brain.

Something deep and primal at its core.

...She cannot talk to Jinx about this.

[meanbossart]

Sorry if you’ve already answered this, but I’ve been wondering what would happen if DU Drow and Astarion were the only people in their party. If they never met any of the others and only had each other for company on the way to Baldur’s Gate.

Btw I love your art! I’m obsessed with the way you draw characters and their expressions in your style.

Ohhhhh god. I think that would be disastrous.

My personal belief aside that Astarion is by no means an idiot (not that I'm opposed to participating in the smooth-brained jokes - but, generally speaking, I think I might give his intellect more props than most), he is obviously not at his best at the start of the campaign at all. He is operating out of desperation and it's only halfway through the game that you get to see some of that emotional intelligence that I'm so fond of. And even so, he still requires a successful persuasion check at the end of his quest not to commit undead genocide (and I think he's the only companion who needs a check at all regardless of circumstance or approval).

Then we have DU drow who has no attachments to anyone around him, a penchant for murder, very little skill for self reflection and a proclivity towards latching onto one person and falling obsessively in love, assuming that the person in question knows how to play him - and Astarion would know how to play him.

Lest we forget, Astarion had practically no influence on DU drow's decision to oppose Bhaal. He just kind of goes along for the ride until you hit the point of no return, and only THEN he's like "Oh, uh, maybe this wasn't such a good idea". Shadowheart is the biggest factor on DU drow's decision to oppose Bhaal, with Aylin and Jaheira making for honorable mentions.

Ironically, DU drow's "base" personality (which he has access to thanks to his memory loss) tends to oppose religion, gods, and organized systems as a whole, but I think if it were only him and Astarion alone, they would feed each other's hunger for strength and power enough that DU drow would arrive into act 3 with absolutely no doubt about what he must do. He would very easily revert back to his old, domineering personality and do whatever he thinks he must to establish his status, and most importantly his power over his loved ones, lest what happened with Orin ever repeat itself.

This circumstance would be perfect for the eventual Bhaalist DU Drow + Spawn Astarion scenario. Which just makes it all the worse that Astarion would have had a HEAVY hand in steering him in this direction. And the cherry on top; he has no one else to turn to here.

On the flipside - this could potentially turn into a situation where Astarion keeps DU drow small enough to where he's able to Ascend, while his Bhaalspawn partner either refuses his father out of fear or loses the duel against Orin. I don't know how viable this is, since Astarion very much needs a strong and confident DU drow if he wants Cazador to die - but I guess anything is possible.

The point is, if left to their own devices there would be nothing stopping either of them from pursuing their very single-minded goals, and I don't think there's a scenario they BOTH come out on top either. Between DU drow's obsessive behavior and been-burned-before attitude, and Astarion's distrust and fear of losing control again, they would constantly wrestle for the opportunity to keep the other under their own thumbs.

And hell. All of this assuming they didn't kill each other on night two.

Thank you for the ask and for your kind words! Hopefully this isn't too depressive/disappointing of an answer, LOL.

[sarahscribbles]

First of all, I love you 💜

Second of all, I have a drabble idea!

Loki and reader have been in a romantic relationship for a bit and everything’s been pretty vanilla so far. How would Loki react to reader telling him that she’d like to explore more kink in the bedroom? Specifically that she wants him to be in control?

Can’t wait to see what you do with it, if it inspires of course 😘

I'm rereading this after just finishing the fic and realising that it doesn't touch on the reader wanting Loki to take control. I'm sorry! But I hope this is enjoyable nonetheless!

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐛

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 & 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓.𝟑𝐤

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦!𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Six months, three weeks, and four and a half days. And counting,” you breathe out so softly that you don’t think Loki hears you. 

He’s tangled around you tightly in a warm cocoon of cream sheets, as he has been for the past few hours. You had other plans for this afternoon, but when Loki coaxed you back beneath the blankets with those big green eyes and award winning pout, those plans suddenly became very unimportant.

He’s good at that, you’ve come to notice, but you’re equally as good at knowing when to push and when to bend. An unfolding crisis somewhere deep in South America? He’s on his own. A Sunday afternoon of grabbing a coffee and wandering around your favourite second hand book shops? That can wait. 

For Loki, nearly anything can wait. 

The heat of your lovers body is seeping pleasantly into your own, as is his endless affection. That head of beautiful black curls is dipped beneath your jaw, errant strands brushing lightly over your exposed skin, and the low, quiet sounds of content that have flowed from him in an unbroken stream have only placed more of your heart in his capable hands. 

It’s difficult to focus on anything but the warm, heavy weight of Loki on top of you. He’s safe and solid and as familiar to you as the beat of your own heart. His hand has been gripping one of yours for as long as his cock has been hard and brushing against your stomach, desperate to take you, but not without first fulfilling his promise to worship you.

Your beautiful, benevolent god.

You take a shaky breath in, preparing to try and speak again, but the words get lost in transit between your brain and mouth when Loki’s warm lips latch onto the sensitive skin below your jaw. It pulls a ragged moan from deep in your chest, and makes your fingernails curl into the soft skin of his shoulders. You have no idea how many bruises now cover your neck and collarbone, but you know that it’s not enough. 

You want everyone who looks at you to know that you belong to Loki body, mind, and soul. 

“I hadn’t realised you had been keeping count, dove,” Loki replies, running his tongue soothingly over the area he’s just marked. Already, you can feel the first petals of a bruise begin to unfurl beneath your skin, and it makes you thrum with need. 

There’s an undeniable smile in his voice, which you mirror happily against him. His skin is warm and flushed when you press a chaste kiss to his temple, and you swear you hear him purr when you tangle a hand in his hair to lightly scratch his scalp.

“Of course I have. I’m calling it my longest spell of unbroken happiness,” you reply through a grin, unable to stop your hand running down his naked back to squeeze his ass. 

His hair tickles your collarbone when he lifts his head. Loki says nothing as his eyes find yours, but you watch - almost transfixed - at how they sparkle above you. He’s looked at you like this countless times before, yet butterflies still erupt joyously in the depths of your stomach.

It’s a feeling of joy that mingles with a quiet sadness that he’s so unused to being loved. He’s not familiar with being loved on and adored and treated like the most important thing in the universe - something that you fully intend to change. You’ll love him for as long as he’ll have you; you’ll love the good, the bad, and everything in between.

You’ll love him exactly as he is. 

You notice the faint tinge of pink that creeps beneath his cheeks even in the golden half light of your bedroom. It’s endearing, really; this stoic and aloof god blushing because of a few soft words. 

Because of you. 

“Darling thing,” Loki whispers eventually, and presses his lips gently against yours. 

His mouth is warm and soft, but it’s still insistent and you yield easily to his touch. He’s almost flush against you - so much so that you can feel the steady thump of his heart in his chest - but you still need him closer. You pull your hand reluctantly from his to twist it greedily into his raven curls, clamping him firmly to your lips like it’s the last kiss you’ll ever share. Before long, you feel the warm press of his palm against your cheek and the silken softness of his thumb on your chin, gently pressing down so he can kiss you deeper. 

This is what heaven is, you imagine; lying beneath the man you love more than life itself while he worships you so ardently. He looks at you like you hung the moon and if your sands of time ran out tonight, you would greet death happily.

You whine weakly when Loki’s lips leave yours, but it melts to a moan when those same lips find your jaw once more. His hand stays curled around your cheek for leverage as his lips press to your skin again and again, and you can’t help but to gasp at the dull drag of his teeth as he continues lower. 

Loki begins a lazy trail of wet kisses along your collarbone and between the valley of your breasts, but ignores how your nipples harden and beg for his attention.

“Lovely, lovely thing,” he murmurs quietly against your stomach, sliding his hands to your hips to hold them firmly in place when they lift upwards in search of more. 

“Bastard,” you say airily.

Loki silences you easily with a slow drag of his tongue from your navel to the crease of your right hip, something you know he’s chosen to do intentionally. Your cunt aches madly for him, for his fingers, his tongue, his cock - whatever he’ll give you. You only want him. 

You’ll only ever want him. 

He starts to suck bruises into your inner thigh so attentively that you swear you could cum from that alone. His hands are still locked firmly around your hips to keep you pinned to the bed and, no matter how much you squirm, there’s no way to escape his vice like grip. 

It’s an intoxicating thought - having Loki be in control - and a long held fantasy that you know he shares. It’s one you’ve both tiptoed around for the past few months, one you’ve spoken about only the other night, and one you no longer think you can ignore. 

“Wait,” you say softly, quickly, when two warm hands begin to press your thighs further apart.

Those same hands are off you in an instant and you try not to protest at the sudden loss of their familiar, comforting warmth. 

“Alright?” Loki asks, that smooth, deep voice laced with concern and apprehension. 

Quickly, you cup his cheeks in your hands and trace your thumbs soothingly over his flushed skin. “I’m fine.” You promise with a small smile. “I was only thinking about something.” 

The worry etched in his face slowly melts away as he studies you, and he eventually raises one elegant eyebrow in question. “Oh? Do continue, dove,” he replies, turning his face to place a kiss to the palm of your hand. 

Your skin tingles pleasantly in the wake of his touch, as though your soul recognises its mate from the briefest of caresses. “I was thinking that I’d like to try something different, like…like what we talked about the other night,” you say quietly, feeling your cheeks begin to burn. 

Loki is silent for only a moment, but you watch his eyes gradually light up with desire and sparkle with excitement. Against your stomach, you feel his cock twitch. “Are you sure?” he asks intently, curling his fingers around your wrist. 

You nod quickly, already feeling the first twists of anticipation deep in your stomach. “Yes. I trust you.” 

Something in his eyes softens and he leans in to kiss you slow and gentle, like nothing in the world matters to him more than tasting you. “I do so love you, my darling girl,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. “You remember the system we discussed, yes?”

You nod again. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for ok,” you repeat back, already thrumming with excitement. 

It’s something you’ve wanted from the very first time Loki took you to bed. You trust him more than you’ve ever trusted anyone. You trust him to be careful and considerate. You trust him deeply enough to submit to him. 

At hearing you repeat his system, Loki smiles widely at you. “Good girl,” he says, and kisses the tip of your nose. 

You wriggle with anticipation beneath him. Loki sits back on his knees and reaches to take both of your wrists in his grip. He holds them loosely and slowly strokes your skin with the pads of his thumbs.

“This may feel a little odd at first,” he says before a gradual soft tingle courses through both your arms.

It feels like a warm summer rain shower, like the first pleasant lick of a fire after a day in the cold, and then you watch as your wrists are encased in shimmering ropes of green. It’s bewitching to watch Loki’s magic at work. So often, you’ve seen it in the throes of battle and watched how easily he can bring an enemy to their knees, how ruthless he is in wielding magic as weapon of torture when the lives of his friends are at risk. You’ve seen first hand how it can destruct and destroy.

To then watch as he creates something so beautiful…

Gently, Loki then folds your arms back until they touch the headboard and another pleasant surge of warmth locks them in place. You tug experimentally at your bindings, but your arms don’t move. You’re fully restrained to the bed.

And fully at Loki’s mercy. 

He drinks you in as you lie bound before him. There’s a new intensity to his gaze that makes you ache for his touch and burn for his kiss. Sparkling green eyes run slowly over the length of your naked body - like a predator eyeing its prey - and you have to swallow a moan when the tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

“Colour?” Loki asks softly, ghosting his fingertips along the outside of your thigh. 

“Green,” you answer immediately. 

He gives you a devastating wink. “That’s my girl.”

The pride in his voice is so palpable it almost makes you weep with love for him. The list of things you’d do to make him proud, to be his good girl, is endless - something you have no doubt that he knows. 

Nervously, you wait for what’s to come next, but Loki seems in no rush to move things along. Your arms flex impatiently against the headboard, making the wood creak quietly, and it pulls a smirk across Loki’s handsome face. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, dove, not until I say so.” His voice rolls over you like liquid silk. 

He sounds menacing tonight, like you’re his captured prisoner, but your love for him is burning through your blood. Despite the restraints binding you securely in place, you know that you’re safe. Loki would sooner see the world burn than let any harm come to you - it’s one thing you’ve never been surer of. 

“You’re making me nervous just staring at me,” you say through a laugh. 

Loki begins to slowly trace the tip of a single finger along the inside of your thigh, and it’s enough to make a trail of goosebumps erupt in its wake. His touch is soft and sweet, yet somehow still menacing enough to make your heart rapidly pick up speed. 

“Good,” Loki purrs. “I want you to be nervous. I want that brilliant mind to run wild with the possibilities of what I might do to you next.” 

His finger stops just shy of where you’re throbbing for him and he throws you a wicked smile. It’s dazzling and seductive and pulls a near guttural groan from deep in your chest. Hot arousal is searing through your veins and blazing ferociously through your core. The man before you is sin and salvation, he’s thrill and torment, and you aren’t sure you’re going to survive this night. 

Before you can reply, Loki is silently leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. “We’ll take this slow, dove. Colour?” he murmurs against your flushed skin. 

You breathe in shakily because the raw need to have this man has all but robbed you of the ability to speak. “Gr…green.” 

Loki lifts his head to catch your lips in a deep, chaste kiss. “I love you, my darling.”

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s said those three words in the past six months, but each time you hear them a golden glow of warmth expands deep in your stomach. This beautiful, wonderful man loves you, an unremarkable little mortal. 

He sits back on his knees again and you take a moment to appreciate the beauty of his body. The defined chest, the tight stomach, and those firm thighs that are slightly parted atop the bed.

He’s also achingly hard. 

You drink him in hungrily until your attention is pulled to his hand where that same shimmer of emerald green is dancing softly in his palm. When it fades away to nothing, and you take a few seconds to study the scrap of black silk that remains in its place, you realise that Loki is holding a blindfold between his fingers. 

It sends a shiver down your spine. 

“I’m going to place this over your eyes. Alright?” he asks, intently studying your face. You nod your consent, but Loki doesn’t move. “I need you to say it, dove.”

His voice is so gentle that it almost makes you weep. How did you get so lucky as to call this man yours?

“It’s alright,” you assure him quickly. 

Loki moves closer and leans forward to raise your head off the pillow. With care, he slips the blindfold over your head and, in only a matter of seconds, your entire world goes black. You stiffen at the sudden darkness, but quickly feel Loki’s lips press firmly to your forehead. 

“I’m right here,” he soothes you, cradling your head to his lips in one large hand. “Tell me your colour.”

Your answer doesn’t come immediately. You hate the dark - always have - but you can feel the heat from Loki’s body as he holds you close, you can hear his steady breathing and the beat of his heart in his chest. You haven’t been cast adrift into some endless void - you’re in your bed and safe in your lovers arms. You’re ok. 

“Green,” you tell him honestly. 

Loki places one last kiss to your forehead. “Good girl.”

He lays your head back on the pillow and you hear him sit back on the bed. There’s a sudden coldness from the absence of his body, but then his hand is curling around your hip in silent reassurance that he’s still right there. 

“Oh, my darling girl, you do look so beautiful like this,” Loki says, lightly running his thumb back and forth over your hip bone. “So beautiful and all mine.”

Mine. 

His.

It’s all you ever want to be, it’s all you have been since the very first time he kissed you. Your heart belongs to Loki, and you know now that it will belong to Loki until it beats its last. 

“Kiss me. Please,” you half whine, suddenly overcome with the need to have his mouth on yours. 

You hear his quiet laughter and feel the soft tickle of his hair over your breasts as he leans back in. “How could I possibly deny you that, my darling.” 

Seconds later his warm mouth is on yours. He kisses you deeply, so deeply that you try to wrap your arms around him before you remember. Loki grins against your lips and you squeal into his mouth when a finger and thumb then flick your nipple. 

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you goad him breathlessly when his lips leave yours. 

“And you’ll take every second of it,” he replies easily, and you can hear the smirk that’s spread wide across his face. 

You feel his lips at your neck again as he continues adding to his patchwork of bruises, and each time he sucks at your skin, you become increasingly aware of the searing need burning between your thighs.

As best you can, you turn your head to give him more access and he happily obliges. “Mine,” he says firmly before running his tongue along the column of your throat.

You moan shamelessly beneath him, arching off the bed and locking your legs tightly around his hips. “Yours,” you reply easily, digging your heels into his perfect ass. 

“Good girl,” Loki purrs, beginning to move further down your chest. “Very good girl.”

His lips are featherlight as they explore your skin, and the gentle caress of his hair along your abdomen keeps you grounded in the darkness. It’s all too easy to get lost in the haze of his worship, to fully relax into the soft sheets while he lavishes you with attention. You’re so blissfully drunk on this man and the love that he drowns you in…

“Fuck!” you yelp when Loki decides to sink his teeth into an erect nipple and pinch the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

There’s a quiet roll of amused laughter, and then his warm tongue darts out to soothe while the pad of a thumb runs softly over the other. “Sorry, my darling. I couldn’t resist.” 

You wish more than anything that you could see his face, especially when he repeats the previous action over and over. You want to watch his beautiful face and sinful tongue, you want to run your hands over him and twist them in his hair, but no matter how much you tug at the restraints, your hands remain frustratingly locked to the headboard. 

“Ah, ah, darling. That isn’t going to help you at all tonight,” Loki teases, and you feel him stretch up to kiss you again. 

You allow it, but still whine desperately into his mouth. “Please. I need to touch you, Loki. Please.”

He only kisses the tip of your nose. “Not yet. Colour?”

You huff out a sigh, but eventually mumble, “green.” 

“Good girl.”

There’s a quiet rustle of sheets as Loki sits back on the bed, but the soft touch that you’re anticipating doesn’t come. You’re aching for the caress of his hands or the teasing brush of his lips, so much so that you can almost feel their phantom touch if you concentrate hard enough. It’s easier in the darkness the blindfold provides - the cool silk acts like a film screen for all the filthy scenes your mind plays on a loop, each one more depraved than the last. Loki, you’re coming to learn, has a deliciously filthy mind, and he’s all too content to leave you thrumming and squirming at the endless possibilities of what he’s going to do next. 

His silence continues, making you strain to catch even the quiet sound of his breathing. You can’t and it makes your heart begin to race unpleasantly. 

“Loki?” you call out, hearing the hitch in your voice. 

Instantly, a large, warm hand is settling over your knee. “I’m here. Forgive me, I lost myself admiring the beauty before me,” he murmurs, running his thumb soothingly along the side of your knee. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you say through a smile. You can’t see him, but you know he’s gazing at you with those soft eyes that never fail to make you blush. 

“I don’t believe you truly want that,” he replies quickly, a smile evident in his own voice. His palm slides easily round to your inner thigh and you feel the other mirror it. Slowly, he pushes your thighs apart on the bed, opening you fully to him. “All for me, dove?” he purrs, shifting on the mattress so you feel it dip beneath you.

The sound of his voice - deep and dripping with desire - has you slick and aching for him. Your need for him is so fervent that your hips roll off the bed in a desperate search for him, but the only thing you hear is Loki’s quiet, amused laughter. He runs his fingertips teasingly along the inside of one thigh, pulling a groan from deep in your chest and lighting a blazing fire in your blood with just a simple touch. 

Such is the power of a gods touch. 

You whine loudly and yank at the magical bonds of Loki’s restraints. They haven’t budged an inch all night, yet you still pull at them ceaselessly. You desperately want to see your lovers face, to see the intent look in his eyes that promises pleasure you can only dream of, but Loki doesn’t move, doesn’t make any sign that he’s ready to free you just yet.

“Please,” you whimper pleadingly, feeling so wildly aroused that the simple brush of his fingertip could send you hurtling over the edge. 

“Patience,” Loki purrs smoothly. 

A string of curses slips swiftly from your lips in tandem with your hips bucking off the bed in frustration, but Loki’s warm hands move quickly to pin them back against the mattress. 

“I believe a gag may be in order next time, dove,” he says. His voice is teasing, but there’s a quiet undercurrent of warning running beneath that he will gag you.

It sends a fresh rush of heat straight to your aching cunt. 

“Fuck. Do you promise?” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, already close to dizzy at the idea of Loki gagging you. 

This time, Loki’s laughter is wholly unrestrained. “I love you, my darling little minx. You have my word that there will be many nights of exploration after this one.”

His hands are still curled around your knees, and the next thing you feel are his lips pressing to your inner thigh. He works slowly, methodically, kissing and sucking and nibbling your sensitive skin until your eyes roll back in the darkness. It’s something he’s done countless times before, but the addition of the blindfold only amplifies the sensation. 

In the darkness, you focus on the warmth of his lips and the wetness of his tongue as they move along your thigh. You feel the tickling caress of his hair and the way his fingers push your thigh closer to his lips. You feel his love for you in every sweet and teasing nip of his teeth. 

This man loves you, and you couldn’t ask the stars for anything more. 

His lips continue a warm path along your thigh, making you tingle beneath each touch. He takes his time sucking bruise after bruise into your willing flesh, ensuring that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. His touch is intoxicating and you can’t help but to part your thighs wider as he edges closer to your aching cunt. He’s so close that you brace for the first electrifying feel of his warm, sinful tongue. 

But it’s a touch that doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel his lips press to your other thigh to begin the same slow, torturous ascent.

“Loki, for fuck sake!” you groan with another frustrated buck of your hips, but it’s so perfectly Loki that a laugh is soon to follow. 

You feel him grin against your thigh. “Perhaps a lesson on patience is needed tonight, yes?” he replies smoothly and nips gently at your skin. 

Loki doesn’t wait for your answer and, purposefully slowly, works his way along your thigh. This time, though, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of your impatience. You moan his name shamelessly and sigh blissfully at each warm press of his lips. As expected, it doesn't take him long to finish marking you. 

“You’re going to be the end of me, you little vixen,” Loki teases, though now his voice is heavy with lust and raspy with need. 

Although you can’t see him, you know exactly how he looks on the bed before you. You know that his usually immaculate curls are now falling haphazardly across flushed cheeks, and that his eyes are glittering with desire. You know his cock is stiff and aching to be inside you, only made bearable by swift, short strokes while he’s ravished you. 

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s craving you just as desperately. 

“I have no idea what you mean,” you reply innocently. “You said - oh, fuck!”

An affectionate taunt had been taking easy shape on your tongue, but the words fall into the air when Loki finally presses his sinful tongue to your cunt and licks a slow, firm line all the way to your clit. It pulls your back off the bed and makes the headboard groan loudly with how forcefully you yank against your restraints. You need more. 

“Yes, dove?” Loki asks, an unmistakable smugness dripping from two words.

You swiftly shake your head against the pillows. “Not important. Do that again. Please!”

Every inch of you is crying out for him, burning for him, and you don’t think you can stand another second without some part of his body inside yours. You need him.

“But of course,” Loki murmurs.

You don’t have time to entertain how easily he obliges you because he buries his tongue back in your cunt, licking and sucking and teasing until that coil of arousal begins to wind tighter and tighter in your core. 

The blindfold is still snugly around your eyes, but you can perfectly picture your lover in your minds eye as his head bobs between your thighs. You want to pull him closer as your climax builds, or have the simple, reassuring feel of him beneath your fingertips, but all they caress is the night air of your room. 

Between your thighs, Loki continues to expertly propel you towards release, and the sounds of his contented moans only adds fuel to the flame. His name slips easily from your lips in a breathless chant as your orgasm crests and, quickly, your entire body tenses in preparation, read to fall through the freefall…

But then Loki’s tongue is gone. 

You flail wildly on the bed and your hips buck desperately in a fruitless search for Loki’s mouth. “Loki, what the fuck!” you whine. 

“Shhhh,” he soothes you quickly, laying a warm hand across your thigh and stroking your skin with his thumb. “Tell me your colour, darling.”

Despite the absolute frustration he left bubbling in his wake, you can’t deny that you enjoyed it. “Still green,” you answer after only a moment of hesitation.

The bed frame creaks beneath you and then you feel the warm press of Loki’s lips on your forehead. “Good girl,” he whispers, then moves to position himself back between your legs. “Then consider this your lesson in patience.”

His mouth returns to your cunt and this time he takes his time building you back up. You want to roll your hips against his tongue in encouragement, but two hands pin them firmly to the bed, forcing you to endure whatever he decides to give you. 

Loki does everything he knows you love - every pattern and every rhythm - and when he then slips two fingers inside you, you feel the beginnings of what promises to be a cataclysmic release.

“Loki…,” you whine out a warning, balling your hands into fists so tight that your nails pierce your skin. 

Just as you’re about to tumble over Loki stops again, ensuring that your orgasm slips from your desperate fingertips. A frustrated sob catches in your throat, but Loki soothes and praises you through it, peppering your face in sweet kisses and cradling your cheek in his hand. 

“You’re sick for making me enjoy this,” you half laugh while he continues holding you. 

He laughs freely and deeply and presses yet another kiss to your temple. “I’m terrible, I know. Only twice more, my darling, I promise,” he murmurs softly in your ear. 

Easily, you allow him. 

By the fourth time, your thighs are shaking and a single tear of frustration leaks down your cheek from behind the blindfold. 

“Loki…please,” you beg him softly as the pad of his thumb gently brushes it away.

Little more than a second later, the familiar warm shimmer of his seidr trickles through your body, effortlessly dissolving the silk of your blindfold and the dancing green glimmer of your restraints. You lower your arms gratefully and blink a few times until Loki’s handsome face comes into full focus before you.

“There she is,” he says quietly, taking both of your wrists in one large hand to bring them to his lips. He runs the other gently over your skin until the dull ache that had settled into your bones fades away to nothing. “I am so very proud of you, my darling girl. You were magnificent,” he continues, swiftly dipping his head down to kiss you deeply. 

You pull your hands from his to greedily wrap them around him, taking in every inch of him beneath your roaming fingertips as though you had never touched him before. 

“Please,” you repeat, twisting a hand into his hair as he rests his forehead against yours.

He captures your lips in another quick kiss. “No more begging, dove. I am yours.”

Loki holds your gaze as he lines himself up and finally, finally, inches inside you. You’re more than ready for him, and he groans deeply at the feel of your cunt clenching around him. 

“Perfect,” he grunts. “Fucking perfect.” 

He shudders as he bottoms out and you see how his fingers dig into the mattress at your side. He’s as pent up as you are - perhaps even more - and you know that neither of you are going to last long after the last hour. 

Brazenly, you run your hands along his muscled back to squeeze his ass, biting back a smirk at the look that crosses his face. It’s the final straw that breaks him, and finally his hips begin to roll against yours. 

“Mine,” he rasps in your ear, arching his back to roll into you in long, deep strokes that have you moaning his name like a prayer. 

“Yours,” you breathe back, clutching him to you like a life raft as your orgasm begins to crest. 

All it takes is a few more thrusts of his cock to send you soaring off the edge. You grasp at him wildly and cry out his name so loudly that it rings off the walls. Your climax consumes you, makes the edges of your vision dance white with stars, and it drags Loki under only seconds later. 

Your name is an unbroken melody on his lips, a prayer of adoration to the goddess who granted him his salvation. Through half lidded eyes you watch how he loses himself to his release - jaw slack, eyes closed. The sight of him consumed to pleasure because of you is enough to have a second wave of your own pull you deeply beneath its surf. 

Vaguely, you feel Loki bury his face in your neck and you stretch a limp arm over his shoulder to hold him to you. He’s panting hard and you place a lazy kiss to his temple as you both bask in the golden afterglow of love. 

You smile as Loki nuzzles in closer and traces nonsensical shapes along his back. By all accounts you should be exhausted, but you’ve never felt so invigorated and hungry for the man lying in your arms. 

A turn of your head prompts Loki to lift his and glittering green eyes lock lovingly with yours. 

You smirk up at the man who you fall more in love with every single day. “Again?”

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