#warmer in the winter

[rhaelynn]

Just wanted to share these today…

I genuinely forgot how therapeutic music could be until I listened to this today 😮‍💨 it is reviving teenage me who went crazy™️ over her musical medleys

And this girlie is just an absolute darling for giving us an mv to anticipate <33

[urfavsillydoll]

Received my baby pink legging 🎀

[skeletoninthemelonland]

ref sheet that shows the extent of his injuries (he's in his pajamas)

[societyfolklore]

The Golden Yule Hunt

Title: The Golden Yule Hunt Pairing: Loki x Asgardian Female Reader

Summary:   Asgard holds its annual Yule Hunt, a festive competition involving enchanted beasts and snowy landscapes. Loki and the reader team up to win- but Loki has eyes on another prize.

Word Count:  3.2k

Warnings:  Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, SMUT, Finger, Hunting Refs, Uprotected Sex (Don’t), Pet Names.. No Beta read..

A/N: Entry for @lokisgoodgirl  Winter Warmers collection

The great halls of Asgard glittered under the light of a thousand enchanted candles, casting golden reflections that danced across the walls. The annual Yule feast was in full swing-long tables laden with roasted meats, honeyed fruits, and overflowing goblets of mead and spiced wine. Laughter and music filled the air as Asgardians celebrated the season, their joy echoing off the palace’s gilded arches.

At the center of it all sat Odin, his lone eye scanning the room with measured authority. Thor laughed heartily beside him, a tankard of mead raised high as he regaled the table with one of his grand tales.

And then, there was him-Loki. The God of Mischief lounged lazily in his high-backed chair, emerald eyes sharp with amusement as he sipped from a goblet of wine. He seemed content to observe the revelry rather than partake, his black and green robes pooling elegantly at his feet.

You caught his gaze for only a second as you passed by, and even that brief look sent a chill down your spine. Loki’s smirk was faint but unmistakable, as if he were already scheming something-or perhaps he was just bored.

You took a steadying breath and turned your attention back to the feast. Tonight was not just a celebration; it was the eve of the Golden Hunt, an event as old as Yule itself.

The rules were simple: teams of two would be sent into Asgard’s enchanted forests to track and capture one of the legendary creatures blessed by the season. The winning team would earn a blessing said to bring prosperity, fortune, and love for the coming year. It was a test of wit, skill, and-if you were partnered with someone like Loki-a test of patience as well.

You had not expected your name to be paired with his.

“All hunters are to be chosen at random,” Odin’s booming voice declared, silencing the room. Scroll in hand, he called out the teams one by one, and your heartbeat faster with each name announced.

When Odin spoke your name, you stood quickly, your hands balling into nervous fists at your sides.

“And you shall hunt with…” Odin’s eye paused on Loki, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Loki, Prince of Asgard.”

The room fell eerily quiet for a moment before whispers began to ripple across the crowd like wildfire.

Loki, still lounging with an air of disinterest, raised a brow as if mildly inconvenienced. He looked at you, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. “Ah, what fortune. I’ve been given a charming partner.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And I’ve been saddled with the trickster.”

A few quiet snickers rose from the table. Loki stood with all the grace of a predator rising from its rest and approached you with long, unhurried strides. He towered over you slightly as he stopped, hands folded behind his back.

“Try to keep up, darling,” he murmured, his voice a low drawl only you could hear. “The forest is no place for the faint of heart.”

“Then you’ll have no problem keeping up with me,” you shot back, unwilling to let him get the last word.

Loki chuckled softly, his smile sharper than glass. “We shall see.”

The forest at night was alive with magic. Snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, undisturbed save for the faint shimmer of starlight that scattered across its surface. Massive trees loomed overhead, their branches heavy with snow and twisted with golden Yule wreaths that glowed faintly, enchanted to mark the hunting grounds.

You pulled your cloak tighter around your shoulders as the air grew colder. Beside you, Loki moved with quiet confidence, his dark silhouette blending into the shadows. His long coat swayed as he walked, the faint hum of his magic pulsing faintly around him, an invisible thread of energy that made the hairs on your skin prickle.

“Do you always walk like you own the place?” you muttered, your breath misting in the air.

Loki turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Darling, when one has earned their power, one doesn’t hide it.”

You rolled your eyes. “And yet, you’ve managed to lose every ounce of humility along the way.”

Loki smirked. “You’re lucky I find your insolence amusing.”

Before you could retort, a faint noise cut through the stillness-something soft, like the crunch of snow beneath hooves. You froze, and Loki’s gaze snapped forward, the teasing nature gone in an instant.

The two of you crept closer, weaving between snow-covered trees, your footfalls light against the forest floor. Emerging into a small clearing, you saw it: the Golden Hart

The Stag stood tall and regal, its fur shimmering like spun gold, its antlers glistening with frost. Its eyes glowed faintly, as though it were watching and waiting. The prize of the Hunt.

“I’ll go left, you go right,” Loki murmured, his voice low and sharp.

You nodded, circling around as Loki mirrored your movements. The creature watched you both but didn’t run, its head tilting as though considering its opponents.

Closer now.

Your pulse quickened as you reached out, ready to act.

Suddenly, the Hart turned and bolted, its golden glow vanishing into the darkness.

“Blast it!” Loki hissed, his illusion magic crackling in his palms as he spun to follow it. “Come on!”

Without hesitation, you tore after him. The chase was wild and chaotic-the Hart’s glow darting between trees like a living star as the two of you gave chase. Loki’s magic flashed ahead of you, forming illusions to corral the beast, but it was too clever, slipping past his tricks each time.

You sprinted faster, adrenaline roaring in your veins. Snow flew up around you, catching in your hair as you dove over a fallen log. Ahead, Loki leapt, his coat whipping around him as he skidded to a stop-too late.

You crashed into him, the force sending you both tumbling into a snowdrift.

You groaned as you pushed yourself upright, only to realize that you were pinned beneath Loki, his weight holding you in place. Snow clung to his dark hair, the faint moonlight catching the edges of his face.

Loki blinked, as though startled by the proximity, his green eyes locking with yours. His breath misted faintly in the space between you, his gaze flickering to your lips for just a moment before snapping back to your eyes.

“Comfortable?” you asked, your voice dry despite the fluttering in your chest.

Loki’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Immensely.”

You shoved at his chest, your gloved hands sinking into the fur-lined coat. He relented with a low chuckle, rolling off of you and into the snow.

“Are we done falling all over each other now?” you muttered, brushing snow from your cloak.

“Perhaps,” Loki replied lazily, propping himself up on one elbow. “Though I must admit, I’m starting to enjoy it.”

Loki’s words hung in the air, laced with teasing, but there was a darker glint in his eyes, one that made heat pool in your stomach despite the biting cold. You shot him a glare, determined not to let him get under your skin, but he only smirked wider, his gaze drifting over you in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Perhaps we should get back to the hunt,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended, as you pushed to your feet and began brushing snow from your cloak.

But Loki remained where he was, lounging in the snow like a satisfied cat. “Why rush?” he drawled, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm. “The Golden Stag isn’t going anywhere. And besides...” His eyes met yours, his smirk softening into something more dangerous. “I find myself rather taken with... other prizes.”

You froze mid-motion, his meaning sinking in as he rose fluidly to his feet, brushing snow from his coat. Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his tall frame looming over you in the dim light.

“Other prizes?” you echoed, your voice wavering slightly as your pulse quickened.

Loki tilted his head, studying you with that predatory intensity that always left you unsteady. “The kind worth savouring,” he murmured, his gloved hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your cheek. His touch was featherlight, yet it sent a shiver down your spine, and not from the cold.

“Loki, we’re wasting time-”

“On the contrary,” he interrupted, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped closer, backing you against the rough bark of a frost-covered tree. “I think this is the most productive use of our time.”

Your retort died on your lips as his hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. His thumb brushed your cheek, his eyes searching yours for the barest hesitation. When he found none, his lips descended on yours with a hunger that left you breathless.

The kiss was searing, a stark contrast to the cold air biting at your skin. His hand slid from your jaw to your waist, pulling you flush against him as his tongue swept over your bottom lip, demanding entry. You granted it without hesitation, your gloved hands gripping the fur of his coat as the kiss deepened.

“Loki,” you gasped against his lips when he finally pulled back, his breath warm against your skin. But whatever protest you’d been about to voice dissolved into a shuddering moan as his lips trailed down your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against your pulse.

“You’re far more captivating than any golden stag,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire as his hands roamed over your body, tugging at the clasps of your cloak and letting it fall to the ground.

His lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear, drawing a soft cry from you as his hands slid over your curves, deftly finding the fastenings of your armour. His touch was deliberate, almost reverent, as though unwrapping the most precious of treasures.

“You’re insufferable,” you managed to say, your voice breathy as his hands found bare skin, the chill of the air soon forgotten under the heat of his touch.

“And yet,” Loki replied, his lips curving against your collarbone, “you’re not stopping me are you?”

Your only response was a gasp as his mouth moved lower, his teeth grazing the edge of your tunic before he pulled it free, leaving you exposed to the icy night air. But the cold was forgotten the moment his hands found your skin, his long fingers skimming over your waist and hips before gripping you possessively.

The world around you seemed to blur as Loki lowered you onto the snowy ground, the chill seeping through your layers countered by the heat of his body. His coat fanned out beneath you as his lips reclaimed yours, his hands continuing their exploration with a hunger that left you trembling.

“You’re mine tonight,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with possession as his knee nudged your legs apart. “The stag can wait.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but your words dissolved into a moan as his hand slipped between your thighs, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure through you his long fingers sliding along the wet flesh between your legs.

“Loki...” you whispered, your voice raw with need as your fingers tangled in his raven hair, holding him to you. “Please.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest as his lips captured yours once more, his fingers teasing and tormenting until you were arching against him, every nerve alight with sensation. “Your far easier game then the stag my darling..”

You felt his fingers brush against your entrance, teasing the sensitive skin before sliding inside. The invasion was slow, deliberate, and utterly devastating. “uh-ah..”  Your body arched against him, your hips tilting upwards as his fingers slid deeper, filling you with a sense of fullness and completion, walls fluttering and gipping his fingers.

“Oh yes, a far better prize” 

His breath hot against your skin as he felt your response. His fingers began to move, stroking and caressing the slick inner walls, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You felt your muscles clenching around him, trying to hold him inside, but he was relentless, his touch expert and unyielding. “One I’m going to enjoy claiming.”

His thumb found your clit, rubbing gentle circles around the sensitive nub as his fingers continued their slow, sensual assault. You felt your body begin to build, the tension coiling inside you like a spring, waiting to be released.

"Loki- oh Gods," you whispered, your voice barely audible as his fingers worked their magic. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, holding him to you as your body trembled and shook.

His response was a low, husky whisper, his breath hot against your skin.

"Come for me my little doe," he murmured, his fingers stroking and teasing, pushing you closer to the edge. "Let go, my love. Let me feel you come apart."

As he spoke, his fingers quickened, his touch growing more insistent, more demanding. You felt your body respond, the tension building to a crescendo as his fingers drove you closer and closer to the edge. And then, in a burst of sensation, you were over, your body shattering into a thousand pieces as you came, Loki's fingers still deep inside you, his lips still locked on yours, his eyes blazing with triumph and desire. “Mmm, perfect.” You were still coming back to yourself when your barely made out the noise of Loki undoing his own hunting tunics, and you felt him back pressed upon you again, him taking his place back between your legs.

“Look at me Doe.” His eyes locked on yours as he filled you completely, it was slow and deliberate. The stretch of him was exquisite, a perfect combination of pain and pleasure that left you gasping his name. His movements were unhurried at first, savouring the way you clenched around him, but the need burning between you soon took over. “You feel better than I even imaged,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word dripping with reverence and possession. “Thought of nothing but this since I saw you in the hall.” As Loki's eyes locked onto yours, you felt a shiver run down your spine. His gaze was intense, burning with a fierce desire that seemed to sear your very soul. You felt his hips press against yours, his cock filling you to the brim, and you couldn't help but gasp at the sensation your breath letting out little puffs of steam into the fridged air. “Do you feel that, little Doe?” Loki’s voice was a low, velvety rasp, each word laced with dark satisfaction. “How perfectly you fit me? Like you were crafted for this-for me.”

The stretch of him was like nothing you'd ever felt before. It was as if he was claiming you, marking you as his own, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the thought. His movements were slow at first, deliberate and sensual, as if he was savouring the feel of you around him. “Loki…” you gasped, your voice trembling with need, “I-”

The snow crunched around you both as his weight held you under him,  his pace quickened, his hips thrusting against yours with a growing urgency. You felt his cock sliding in and out of you, the friction building to a fever pitch as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

Your hands were still tangled in his hair, holding him to you as his lips crashed down onto yours. The kiss was fierce, passionate, and all-consuming, his tongue probing the depths of your mouth as his hips pounded against yours. “I need you,” you gasped, your body arching into his as a wave of pleasure rippled through you. “I need all of you.”

His lips curved into a wicked grin against your skin. “You already have me,” he murmured, his pace growing rougher, each thrust sending sparks of heat cascading through your body. “Every piece of me is yours. And you…” He paused, his hand tangling in your hair, tugging just enough to lift your gaze to meet his. “You’re mine.”

You felt his hands on your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you, his fingers digging deep into your skin. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect combination of pain and pleasure that left you gasping for breath. “Let the whole forest know who owns you.”

As he fucked you, his movements grew more intense, more primal. You felt his cock slamming into you, the sound of his hips meeting yours echoing through the forest like a primal drumbeat. The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a sea of sensation and desire.

“Yes,” you choked out, the intensity in his emerald eyes making your breath hitch. “I’m yours, Loki.” Loki’s rhythm grew rougher, more frantic, as though trying to imprint himself on every part of you. His name spilled from your lips in a chant, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drove you closer to the edge. The sounds of your shared pleasure mingled with the crackle of distant frost, the only witnesses to your union the silent trees and the distant stars.

You cried out as his movements became even more urgent, the friction between your bodies building to an unbearable crescendo. “Loki, I-oh gods-”

When release finally overtook you, it was blinding, a wave of pleasure that left you trembling beneath him. Loki followed soon after, his hips snapping against yours as he spilled into you, his head falling to the crook of your neck with a low, satisfied groan. “Come for me,” he commanded, his voice both tender and unyielding as his lips captured yours in a bruising kiss. “Now, little Doe. Be mine.”

The words pushed you over the edge, your body trembling as waves of ecstasy surged through you. “Uah!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the stillness of the forest.

He groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your skin as his own release followed, his body tensing above you as he spilled into you with a shuddering breath. For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound your laboured breaths mingling in the icy air. Leaving puffs of steam in the air around you. Then Loki raised his head, a wicked smile curving his lips as he brushed a strand of hair from your flushed face. Your breaths slowed, your fingers still tangled in his hair, you met his gaze, the raw intensity in his eyes making your heart race all over again

“I believe I’ve found my prize,” he said, his voice low and rich with satisfaction.

You laughed softly, your chest still heaving. “I hope it was worth it.”

“Oh, it was,” Loki replied, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he leaned down to kiss you once more, the warmth of his lips chasing away the cold of the night. “Always next year.”

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers Day 28: Lactation + Day 7: Omegaverse. Maxiel (omega Max, alpha Daniel). About 2.6k words. Yes you read that number right. cw: mentions of mpreg (but not actual mpreg happens).

The doctor tells him it's just hormones, a combination of this stressful season finally being over and of the mating, and that he can't do anything about it, it will just go away on its own. Max tries his best to not roll his eyes at that, feeling like this was just an embarrassing waste of time.

The doctor tells him to keep hydrated, and that being close to his mate might help. And that a pump might help as well.

Max is not going to buy a milk pump, thank you very much. No matter how sore and full his chest feels, it's not going to happen. He's going to grit his teeth through it until his body remembers that he's not pregnant, and stops this lactation nonsense.

He gets out of the doctor's office in a worse mood than he went in with, which is made even worse when he realises halfway home that he's leaking through his shirt, the damp material rubbing against his already sore and swollen nipples.

Embarrassing, is what it is.

He's always prided himself with the fact that he's not a normal omega, he doesn't let his hormones and instincts control him, has never panted after an alpha. He's always wanted Daniel because he is Daniel, not because of his designation. He doesn't do silly omega stuff, like begging for pups, or getting pregnant.

Not that there's anything wrong with it, he loves pups, he just isn't that kind of omega. And yet here his body is, betraying him by producing milk that isn't even needed, just because he is finally mated.

Embarrassing.

When he gets home he has one email from Christian, one from the doctor's office, and three missed calls from Daniel. He wants to deal with exactly none of those things, so as soon as he's inside he strips off his top, glaring at the wet spots on the front as if they're personally offending him, which they are, grabs a towel because he is still leaking, and climbs into his nest.

Even with the comforting scents of home and Daniel wrapped around him, and the cats purring near his legs, he's still in a terrible mood when his phone pings again, with yet another call.

He knows that if he leaves Daniel without an answer for much longer he'll just worry him, and as upset as he is, he doesn't want to do that, so he forces himself to reach over and grab the phone, taking a deep breath before answering.

It's good, to hear from Daniel. Even when he's feeling like this, hearing his mate's voice is always good, especially since he's been in Los Angeles for more than a week, and Max misses him.

Misses him, but not enough to not feel horrified when Daniel tells him he's coming home early. Tomorrow.

"Tomorrow?" Max asks, hoping he doesn't sound as choked up as he feels. Tomorrow is not enough time to make his stupid problem go away. If Daniel really comes tomorrow, Max will have to tell him, and explain, and it will be embarrassing and horrible and...

"Baby? Are you okay?"

Max takes a trembling breath, blinking tears out of his eyes, realising he must have missed Daniel's question. He doesn't even know why he feels like crying now, yet another omega thing he doesn't want. Stupid body. Stupid hormones.

"I'm fine, just...the cats are fighting and jumping on things." It comes out weak, and Max doesn't blame Sassy for blinking up at him from where she's curled up with her brother next to his hip, perfectly calm.

It makes Daniel laugh though, and it gives Max an excuse to wrap up the conversation more quickly, even as guilt eats at him. He hates lying, hates it especially when it's to Daniel, but he just...he can't deal with everything at the moment.

As soon as he hangs up, dropping his phone somewhere in the nest, he feels more tears track down his cheeks, unable to stop them, as his chest throbs, heavy and painful.

He hates this. It's not fair. He wants to be happy to know his mate his coming home, he wants to enjoy the feeling of being freshly mated, he doesn't want to feel like this, sore and all over the place.

If at least he was pregnant...he doesn't want to be pregnant, but at least it would make sense, to be such a mess. But he doesn't even have that excuse. He's just fucked up.

--

Max doesn't go get Daniel at the airport.

He had half heartedly suggested it, but Daniel had told him not to worry, his voice a bit weird, and to just wait for him at home.

So that's what Max is doing, curled up in the nest, purring softly and tugging at his own hair, trying to self-soothe. His chest really hurts today, nipples sore and oversensitive, sending sparks of pain through him every time he moves and the material of his shirt drags over them. He has thrown one of Daniel's hoodies on top, one of the thick ones that are actually way too warm from him, hoping the added material will stop any damp patches to show through.

He knows he should get up, go to the living room, at least try to look normal, but he's upset, and he's hurting, and he's...scared. He's scared.

He doesn't know how Daniel will react to his body being so fucked up, doesn't know if he'll be disgusted, if he'll leave again, if he'll leave forever. He knows how much unmating hurts, he doesn't want to go through that. He doesn't want Daniel to leave.

He loses track of time, cuddling a towel against his chest, under his shirt, trying to breathe, and he jumps when he hears the door clicking open.

"Max? I'm home!" Daniel's voice rings through the apartment, and Max feels torn. A part of him wants to jump out of the nest, run to him, let his alpha fix this, but the other wants to hide, burrow further into the nest, curl up in a tight ball until nothing hurts anymore.

"Max?" Daniel calls again, and this time his tone is different, worry clear in his voice.

Max is not wearing any blockers, and he knows the stench of distressed omega must be sticking to every corner of the house by now.

He knows he won't be able to hide.

The bedroom door opens slowly, and Max looks up, feeling himself flush, knowing how he looks, curled up in his nest. A weak, scared omega.

Embarrassing.

"Baby," Daniel breathes, concern and confusion mixing on his face, "what's wrong?"

Max blames on the hormones the fact that he feels himself tear up again, sharply bowing his head to try and hide it, without much success if Daniel's punched out sound is anything to go by.

"Maxy, talk to me. Can I..." Daniel takes a step forward, stopping right next to the bed. "Can I come into your nest?"

Daniel usually doesn't ask.

He used to, because it was the polite thing to do, but he stopped after Max made it clear that he was always welcomed, in any nest, at any time. But he asks now, and it makes Max whine, feeling shaken and out of place.

He nods, and a moment later Daniel's arms are around him, humming deep in his chest, trying to soothe him.

"Your scent is different," he murmurs after a second, nose dragging along Max's neck, lips brushing over his mating bite, making him whine. "Are you sick?"

And Max could lie, he could make up an illness, send Daniel out of his nest, but he's just. Tired. And scared, and so so done with this.

So he shakes his head, gently pushing Daniel away.

He knows he will have to tell Daniel, and sooner is better than later.

"I am not sick," he whispers, hating how his voice trembles, "but there is something wrong with me."

He watches as Daniel's frown deepens, his hands twitching like he wants to reach out for Max again.

"I went to the doctor, and he said it will pass." The words taste bitter in his mouth, but he needs to say them anyway, needs to make sure Daniel is not feeling forced to stay. " I understand if you want to not be here until it's over."

"Max, baby, if something is wrong I will be here with you. Why would I leave you? You're scared."

Max closes his eyes, overwhelmed by the love and confusion on Daniel's expression. Daniel doesn't know what he's saying, but Max can appreciate it anyway.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Daniel asks, hesitant.

Max nods, but then he shakes his head. He can't say it. He doesn't know how to say it.

Instead, he just pushes further away, and takes off his hoodie and t-shirt in one move.

For a second, nothing happens.

Daniel looks at him like he's trying to figure out what he's supposed to be looking at, eyes moving back and forth between Max's face and his naked skin.

And then Max feels the now familiar feeling of liquid swelling in his nipple, and slowly trickling out.

He stops breathing, watching as Daniel's eyes, huge and unblinking, follow the drop as it tracks down his chest.

When it reaches the waistband of his sweats, disappearing there, Daniel looks up again.

"You're...pregnant?" his voice sounds hollow, all color drained from his face.

"No," Max manages to choke out, swallowing around the heart beating in his throat. "It's just...my body is fucked up."

Daniel just blinks at him, mouth still half open.

"The doctor," Max rushes to explain, feeling like he's running out of time before Daniel will just get up and leave, "he said it's just hormones. And it will go away. I swear, it's not...it will pass."

He knows he sounds like he's begging, a whine making its way into his voice, but he can't help it. He doesn't want Daniel to leave. He doesn't want to lose him.

"Max..." Daniel starts, but then he seems to not know how to continue. Max can't blame him.

He feels more liquid, milk he forces himself to think, dribble out of his nipple, and he instinctively brings his hands up to cup his chest, trying to alleviate some of the ache.

"Does it hurt?" Daniel's voice is rough, and Max can't bring himself to look at his face anymore, feeling already too close to tears to be able to bear any disgust.

"They are very sore," he nods, no point in hiding anymore.

"The doctor couldn't help?"

Max can just shake his head, shrugging a little.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." he doesn't know how to apologise properly for this. What do you say when your body betrays you?

Daniel shifts, and Max closes his eyes, not wanting to see him leave, but instead of moving away, he feels him come closer, his scent rich with something Max can't quite place.

"Can I?" Daniel asks, hushed.

Max nods, not really knowing what Daniel is asking for but knowing he would say yes to anything right now.

And then Daniel's cold fingers are on his chest, cupping it like...like tits.

Max shivers, but doesn't move away, feeling himself flush, unable to sort through everything he's feeling.

"Fuck, you are so swollen," Daniel says, his fingers still careful on Max's skin.

"The doctor said," Max swallows, shaking a little as Daniel's hands shift, "that a pump might help."

It's embarrassing to admit, to say it out loud, but Daniel makes another little punched out sound, breathing out another curse.

"Yeah, I bet it would. You're so full, baby."

Max swallows again, more shivers traveling down his spine. He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know if he has any word to describe what he's feeling.

"Would it help if I..." Daniel doesn't finish his question, but cups one of Max's tits with his hand, bringing his index and thumb next to his nipple, and then squeezes.

Max jolts like he's being electrocuted, milk spurting from his nipple with the motion, and it feels so good he can't help the moan that falls from his lips.

"Shit, does that feel good?"

Something in Daniel's voice makes Max's eyes snap open, and he shivers again when he meets Daniel's, his pupils huge. His scent is deep with arousal, and with a start Max realises he's getting wet too.

It's overwhelming, going from being scared to being so turned on, and he'll blame it on the relief, or on the hormones, but he just wants Daniel to do it again.

"Yes, I...please," he whines, bringing his trembling hands up to Daniel's wrists, pressing them harder into his chest.

"Fuck, I got you, baby. Shit."

Daniel shifts slightly, and then he's squeezing both Max's nipples, and the feeling is so strong he moans again, so loud it's almost a scream. He can feel his chest getting more and more wet, and the ache that has been plaguing him for days is less severe now, relief mixing with pleasure.

Then Daniel leans forward, taking a nipple in his mouth, tongue gentle on his oversensitive skin, and sucks.

And Max comes with a shout.

It curses through him, quick and violent, leaving him shaking and panting, dazed and confused. He's never come so fast in his life. He didn't even know he was close to coming.

Daniel is still sucking at his nipple, liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth, and all Max can do is writhe on the blankets, clumsy hands reaching for Daniel's waist, dragging him closer.

"Fuck," Daniel chokes out, letting go of his nipple. There's a sheen of milky white on his lower lip. Max feels like he's going to shake apart.

"You taste so good, fuck, Max."

Max moans again, tugging at Daniel's clothes, trying to get rid of them, wanting Daniel closer now.

"In me, Daniel, alpha, please," he's whining, babbling, torn between wanting Daniel to go back to his nipples and wanting him to get naked already.

Daniel solves the conundrum for him, getting rid of his clothes and tugging away Max's sweatpants too, moaning at the sight of the wet patch in his underwear.

"You're going to kill me," he groans, bowing down to bite at Max's thigh, making him jump again, hips grinding against nothing, before taking his underwear off.

"Inside. I need...inside, please," Max begs, feeling half crazed. His chest hurts again, and he is too empty, and he wants Daniel to fix it.

And Daniel does.

Daniel snaps his hips forward without teasing, sinking all the way inside in one smooth stroke, and then he gets his mouth on Max's nipples again.

Max doesn't know what to focus on. Daniel's dick inside him, grinding in an irregular motion, all his attention somewhere else. Daniel's mouth on him, sucking, his milk dribbling down into his beard. The pleasure and relief of finally having his breast emptied.

He doesn't know what sounds he's making, doesn't know if he's crying, or begging, or moaning, or everything at the same time. He feels like he's coming, over and over again, or maybe only one never ending time.

He feels it when Daniel comes, knotting deep inside him, and when he doesn't have any more milk to give. He feels light, for the first time in days, floating somewhere above himself, lost in a daze.

When he comes back to himself, Daniel is mouthing along his collarbone, his scent sweet and satisfied.

"We will have to talk about this," he says, voice slightly hoarse, "but I promise you, I will not be leaving until this goes away."

Max laughs, tired and spent. Yeah, he sort of figured that out already.

[fourmula1]

If you're still looking for prompts: "marking" for the baby alpha Max verse. What feral and insane things is Max going to do to mark Daniel as his now that he's finally allowed to? Maybe also low-key exhibitionism cause he wants everyone to know that he bagged the omega of his dreams

winter warmers day 7: omegaverse + this anon

max/daniel. 451 words. eager baby alpha max universe.

-

“Oh my god, Max!” Daniel yelled from the bathroom, where he was getting a look at himself after the first night he’d spent in Max’s apartment.

Purple-red bruises had bloomed up his neck, splotches in the shape of Max’s mouth, where he had nibbled and sucked and kissed his way up and down last night, doing his best to not actually bite.

Daniel leaned in across the counter and tilted his head to inspect the damage. The hickey bruises were huge, and plentiful, and Daniel really should have been more with it to put a stop to it last night but the heat of the moment was hard for both of them. Even if he was much older and more experienced and responsible.

He knew better than to let Max bite him, knew to step on the brakes when he felt the little nips of Max’s teeth practically testing the water.

But.

It wasn’t so easy for him, either. When there was a pretty, eager, baby alpha on top of him and scenting him and touching him and kissing on him. It wasn’t so easy to stop it all together when it felt so good to be touched and scented and grinded against by a hot alpha who was desperately into him.

At least he didn’t let Max fuck him, yet, either.

Even if he wanted to.

Max was too young and feral and needed to relax a little into actually being in the presence of his omega before Daniel could let that happen, no matter how wet and wanting he got.

Which was a lot.

A lot wet and wanting.

“Jesus,” he curses, running his fingers over the bruises on his neck. There is no hoodie big enough to even come close to trying to mask this and everyone is going to know Daniel’s hiding something. Someone.

Except that probably won’t be much of a secret either because even if he showers he knows Max won’t be able to stop himself from rubbing up on him and marking Daniel with his scent again. God. Baby alphas.

But Max is his baby alpha. Eager and pliant and willing.

It’s a powerful feeling.

Max’s head pops around the doorway to peek into the bathroom, no amount of shame whatsoever to the big grin on his face. He’s proud of himself.

“But it looks nice, this,” Max says, reaching out to touch the hickies as well. “You all marked up because of me.”

“You’re insufferable,” Daniel says, fond as he rolls his eyes and lets Max squeeze past him into the bathroom.

If Daniel lets Max add a few more in the shower… well, the damage is already done, and he’s undeniably Max’s.

[messiergalaxy31]

My piece for @hotguycalendar The Views of Hermitcraft! I drew The Astral Library, Season Nine's Nether Hub for the month of August. I've always wanted to draw it, so this was the perfect opportunity! This was a lovely experience.

The calendar is already out, so go check it out here.

[rotinmycore]

I am treading through cold. I am treading through all I know.

[ewwww-what]

Holding onto your Archdevil friend’s hand because she is a self-contained radiator!!!

Closup below

[faunandfloraas]

Who needs 50 Kim Seungmin when you talk about one (1) Kim Seungmin this much

[chilling-seavey]

Winter Warmers: Day 31 — Overstimulation & NYE Countdown

↳ A/N: Thank you all for sticking with me through my first writing festival! It was certainly a challenge but a fun one and I hope you enjoyed reading these little daily blurbs. Here is a doubly long final blurb to close out our festival x Happy new year, everyone :)

↳ Summary: New Years Eve in the Monte Carlo clubs is a force to be reckoned with.

↳ Word Count: 2070

↳ Warnings: 18+, exhibitionism, grinding, fingering, countdown 

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

The thudding of the music from the club echoed in your skull with every beat. Around you, bodies swayed and danced under strobing neon lights that flickered through thick haze of shadows and fog. You couldn’t tell if you couldn’t see straight from your alcohol consumption or from the smoke machine that was positioned uncomfortably close to the corner of the dancefloor where you and your group had claimed. Even still, your attention was far more focused on the man in front of you, chest to chest with you, hands all over you. 

In your short shimmery cocktail dress, you had somehow stumbled yourself into some club with your boyfriend to ring in the New Year. It wasn’t generally your scene but with your group of friends with you and George never leaving your side, it felt drastically more enjoyable than you had once remembered. George in his black slacks and white button up tucked into them, two buttons undone from the top—he had a tendency to start to unbutton his shirt the drunker he got. 

All of your senses were peaked in the insanity that was the Monte Carlo club scene and the expensive alcohol that just kept coming. From the music that rendered conversation impossible to the limited visibility in the shadows and flashing neon lights to the ache of your feet in your heels and the stickiness of your skin from sweat and spilled drinks. Everything was so much. 

But George was all you could focus on, keeping his gaze and sharing in his smile, dancing ungracefully together in a way that you would look back on with a sober mind and cringe. His hands were on your waist, sliding over your hips and dangerously close to your ass, holding your body against his to move in rhythm. You couldn’t get enough of him, hands gliding up his chest and over his shoulders and biceps, accepting his lead and the gyrations of his body until you were arching into him. 

Somehow you ended up turned away from him, his hands yanking you back against his front. In any other mindset maybe one of you might have been concerned over someone from the public being nearby to snap a picture but your cares had long since disappeared that night. Instead, you let yourself grind back on your boyfriend to the rhythm of the beat-heavy song, following the greedy guidance of his hands. His breath against your neck was hot and sticky—everything felt sticky—and you tilted your head back with your eyes fluttering closed to bask in his fiery touch and the feeling of his semi pressing against your ass in your tight dress. 

You hardly remembered leaving the dancefloor before your back was pressed hard against the dark painted wall of the club hallway that led towards the bathrooms, George’s lips chasing yours as he leaned in after you. Your hands framed his face, kissing him like he was the sweetest drink of the night, an intoxicating concoction mixed just for you. The flood of music chased after you into the hallway; still just as loud and just as throbbing. You couldn’t hear your kisses, your moans, the way George spoke into your mouth in words you would never hear. 

His eyes locked on yours as if expecting an answer. All you could do was nod.

Bursting into the bathroom; it was a momentary refuge from the club music, your ears ringing from the sudden quiet as the door shut behind you and muffled the sound. In the single room bathroom that was no larger than a closet with just a toilet and the smallest sink known to man, you had no choice but to be in each other’s personal space. It was where you both much preferred to be anyway: impossibly close to each other. 

George’s hand was clammy on the back of your neck as his lips captured yours in a filthy kiss again, his tongue pushing its way into your mouth. Your fingers gripped onto the damp fabric of his shirt, creasing it in your grasp in your feverish need to get him closer. He already had you trapped back against the graffitied wall of the cramped bathroom, pinned there by his body, the sequins of your dress scratching against the poorly painted drywall. 

You could taste the bitter alcohol on his tongue and as you grabbed onto the edge of his collar, you couldn’t help but suck on his tongue a little to taste every ounce of him. George groaned lowly into your mouth, eyes half-lidded and full of lust, his thigh shoving between yours in an unspoken need to get you closer. That simple action was all you needed to start to grind on his thigh, causing the tight fabric of your dress to ride up up to your hips. George bit your bottom lip between filthy kisses, giving it a tug as he pulled away for just a moment. 

Both of you were breathing hard and had yet to speak a proper word to each other but, after almost two years together, words weren’t necessary in moments like this. Instead, George helped himself up your dress and he linked his fingers in the edge of your underwear and shimmied them down your legs. You held onto his shoulders as you stepped out of them—and only got one heel stuck in the leg hole in the process but your balance was kept by your boyfriend so close to you—and then George was slipping them into the pocket of his slacks. 

And before you knew it, he had his lips back on yours and two fingers knuckle deep inside you. The thudding music rattled the wall on which you were pressed back against, muffled by the bathroom door but still strong through the foundation of the club, setting your senses ablaze with a reminder of where you were. George kissed you breathless, your arm slung around his shoulders with your other hand grasping his bicep and pressing your nails into his muscle. He swallowed your moans and whimpers up with his plush lips and tongue, tilting his head to deepen the kiss until you were almost licking into each other’s mouths. 

Your hips kept nudging towards his hand as if trying to path the pace of his fingers and their firm but gentle curls. Being intoxicated, his movements weren’t as entirely practiced and precise as they otherwise might have been but you were also too drunk to notice. Everything felt so good. You felt like you were tingling all over. All of your senses were on overdrive, succumbing to him with ease, kissing him back like your life depended on it no matter how clumsy it was. 

When you finally had to break away to breathe, you tilted your head back against the wall behind you with a pitchy groan, eyes fluttering shut. The single light bulb from the ceiling that illuminated the cramped bathroom had you sheltered in the shadow from George’s body, only the sequins of your dress along your sleeves shimmered in the warm light as you held him around his shoulders. George breathed against your cheek, hard panted breaths that reminded you of his presence. 

“That’s it…” George spoke lowly, barely heard over the muffled music through the walls as he fingered you a little faster, “Fuck, that’s it…”

“Yeah—” you choked out in encouragement. “Yeah, baby, please—”

At that moment, George raised his left hand up to check his watch—classic George to wear a $80,000 watch to a club but perhaps that was normal in Monaco. He then looked back at you, setting his hand flat against the stick wall beside your head, announcing, “One minute to midnight.”

“Ohh,” you writhed against his hand still up your bunched up dress, his fingers still working magic inside you, and you slurred out a pitchy, “I don’t care.”

“Uh huh? Yeah, you do.” George said firmly, staring at every expression your face made, “Because I’m gonna make you cum for me in sixty seconds.”

He checked his watch again.

“Fifty seconds now.”

Your fingers tugged at the fabric of his shirt, whining and whimpering to the walls of the cramped bathroom. Your hips pushed towards him, wanting and needing more, entranced by his determined pitch.

And then his lips were back on yours and your hand tangled in the back of his hair, right at the nape of his neck where the soft brunette waves were damp with sweat. Despite the fact that every ounce of the club had your senses on high alert, at that moment all you could focus on was George. He fingered you a little harder, a little faster, building that burning warmth in the pit of your stomach like a man on a mission. 

You broke away from his kiss to press your cheek to his, crying out his name with a gasp, toes curling in your heels. George groaned against your ear, pinning you right against the wall with his body so you could hardly move, his fingers meeting all the right spots and the heel of his palm giving you just the right friction against your clit. 

“Fifteen seconds.” he spoke lowly, “Are you close? Can you cum for me?”

“Uh huh!” you answered quickly, clinging onto him. 

“Yeah? Gonna be a good girl for me and cum all over my fingers at midnight?” he taunted, “Welcome the new year in with a nice little orgasm?” 

“George—” you quivered. 

“Ten…” he started, eyes focused on his watch as he leaned on his forearm against the wall beside your head, his other hand keeping its pace between your legs, “Nine…eight…”

Through the bathroom door, you could hear the music fading slightly to be replaced by the crowded club starting their own countdown to the new year. Despite how the music quieted, your ears continued thudding but this time with your pulse, fast and anticipatory. Your arm tightened around George’s shoulders.

His voice was rich against your ear, “Seven…six…five…”

You almost had to hold yourself back to make it through the countdown, trying to squirm under his strong presence and the rising pleasure. His two fingers deep inside you had your thighs quivering, struggling to stay standing in your heels. 

“George—” you cried again, all you seemed to be able to say was his name. 

“Four…” he continued, a hint of a smirk in the sound of his voice, as if he could feel you throbbing around his fingers and knew just the effect he was having on you, “three…two…”

“Yes—” you squeaked, fingers tugging at the roots of his hair, “Yes, please—”

“One…”

And as the crowd shouted “Happy New Year!” from the dancefloor, you clung onto George in the privacy of the cramped club bathroom and came on his fingers. He groaned into your neck at the pressure of your embrace and the way your body squeezed around his fingers as he kept them going inside you, desperate to work you through it and addicted to the way he could feel you drip down his hand with every thrust. 

You shuddered in his arms, hips jumping in sensitivity, but he just kept fingering you. Despite how sensitive you were, you didn’t stop him. Instead, you sunk your teeth into his shoulder to smother your cries, tugging at his hair and his shirt and anything you could reach, torn between wanting him close and pushing him away in oversensitivity. He made you come again in a few seconds, a little weaker than the first but just as enjoyable until you felt like you were completely hazy and dreaming. 

George let you ease out of it and he pulled his fingers out of you and tugged down your dress back into place, smiling at your expression. You slumped back against the wall as your face broke into a pleasured grin, legs trembling in your heels and still needing something to keep you standing. Unbothered by the dampness of his fingers, he grabbed your waist over your dress and leaned in to steal a breathless kiss from you.

You shared a few soft kisses like that before he pulled away again and rested his forehead against yours, whispering out a gentle and yet somewhat prideful, “Happy New Year, my love.”

With an intoxicated but love-sick smile, you stroked your thumbs over his flushed cheeks, “Happy New Year, sweetheart.”

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[pankakeperformer]

supposed to be doing homework instead drawing these silky monkey's helpppp

[societyfolklore]

Yulefire and Shadows

Title: Yulefire and Shadows Pairing: Loki x Asgardian Female Reader (hinted established relationship)

Summary:   The Asgardian solstice tradition of lighting a great Yulefire is meant to drive away the lingering shadows of the past year. Loki, haunted by his own shadows, takes part reluctantly until the reader coaxes him into a private moment of vulnerability by the flames.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings:  Warnings // Explicit Content //18+, Minors DNI, Angsty, Kissing Unprotected Sex (Don’t do this!) (No Beta read)

A/N: Entry for @lokisgoodgirl  Winter Warmers collection The great hall of Asgard was alive with the warmth of the midwinter celebration. Golden light spilled from chandeliers overhead, reflecting off the polished stone floors and the ornate decorations that adorned the room. Yet, despite the laughter and the music, Loki stood on the periphery, a shadow among the revelers.

You noticed him immediately, leaning against one of the marble columns, his arms crossed over his chest and his emerald-green tunic catching the light of the massive Yulefire in the centre of the hall. The fire roared, crackling and snapping as it sent golden sparks into the air, but Loki’s gaze remained fixed on the flames, his expression unreadable.

“Not in a festive mood?” you asked, approaching him carefully. You held a goblet of spiced mead in your hand, offering it to him with a small smile.

Loki’s sharp blue eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the fire. “Festivities are for those without burdens,” he replied, his tone clipped. “I’ll not pretend to revel when I have no cause to.”

You sighed but didn’t press him. You knew better than to challenge Loki directly when he was in one of his moods. Instead, you stepped closer, glancing toward the massive bonfire that served as the heart of the solstice celebration. Asgardians gathered around it, tossing small tokens into the flames—pieces of parchment, scraps of cloth, even bits of broken weapons. Each offering represented something they wished to leave behind: regrets, pain, grudges.

“It’s supposed to be cleansing, you know,” you said, gesturing toward the fire. “A way to start fresh.”

Loki’s lip curled into a faint sneer. “Do you truly believe a bit of fire can burn away one’s regrets?”

“Maybe not entirely,” you admitted. “But it’s symbolic. A way of saying, ‘I’m letting this go.’ It helps, even if just a little.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze still fixed on the fire. You studied him for a moment, noting the tension in his jaw and the way his hands clenched at his sides. Loki often wore his pain like armor, hiding it beneath layers of wit and sarcasm. But tonight, the cracks were showing.

“Come on,” you said gently, tugging at his sleeve. “Let’s give it a try.”

Loki arched a dark brow at you. “You expect me to partake in this asinine tradition?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “And you’re not getting out of it.”

To your surprise, he didn’t argue further. Instead, he allowed you to lead him toward the fire, though his steps were reluctant. The heat of the flames washed over you as you approached, and you pulled a small piece of parchment from your pocket.

“What’s that?” Loki asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

“Something I’ve been holding onto for too long,” you said. You didn’t elaborate, and Loki didn’t press you. Instead, he watched as you folded the parchment carefully and tossed it into the fire. The flames consumed it instantly, the edges curling and blackening before it disappeared entirely.

You turned to him, offering a small smile. “Your turn.”

Loki hesitated, his gaze flicking between you and the fire. “I have nothing to burn,” he said finally.

“Everyone has something,” you countered, looking over at the raven haired man. “Even you.”

For a long moment, he stood there, silent and still, sometimes he was stone. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he conjured a small token—a delicate silver chain, tarnished and broken in places. You recognized it immediately as one of his childhood trinkets, something he’d once treasured but had long since discarded.

“This is meaningless,” he said, holding it up. But there was a tremor in his voice, one you doubted anyone else would have noticed.

“Then it should be easy to let go,” you said softly.

Loki’s fingers tightened around the chain, his jaw clenching. For a moment, you thought he might refuse. But then he stepped forward and cast the chain into the fire. The flames leapt up, consuming it in a flash of brilliant light.

When he stepped back, his expression was unreadable, but there was a faint, almost imperceptible shift in his posture. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his gaze softened as he turned back to you.

“There,” he said quietly. “Satisfied?”

You smiled. “It’s a start.”

As the hours passed and the celebration wound down, the great hall began to empty. The laughter and music faded into the background as guests retired to their chambers or ventured outside to enjoy the solstice night. You wandered through the now-quiet hall, searching for Loki, only to find him seated near the dying embers of the Yulefire.

The golden glow illuminated his features, casting shadows across his sharp cheekbones and the faint crease between his brows. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring into the fading flames with an intensity that made your chest ache. The glow of the fire seemed to burn in his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, settling down beside him on the cool stone floor.

“Something like that,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the embers.

You were quiet for a moment, the two of you sitting in companionable silence. The air was still and heavy with the scent of wood smoke, and the warmth of the fire lingered, though it was fading fast. Finally, Loki broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think it’s possible to truly let go of the past?”

The question caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him. His expression was unreadable, but there was a vulnerability in his tone that you rarely heard.

“I think it takes time,” you said honestly, your own voice getting a little heavy. “And effort. But yes, I think it’s possible.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze distant. “Perhaps.”

Reaching out, you placed a hand on his, the warmth of your skin grounding you both. “You don’t have to do it all at once,” you said gently. “But you’re not alone, Loki. Not anymore.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours. The gesture was small but significant, and it sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the fire.

“Darling,” he said softly, his voice almost breaking.

The two of you sat there for a while longer, watching as the last embers of the Yulefire faded into ash. The hall was quiet now, the echoes of the celebration long gone, but the silence was comforting rather than oppressive.

Eventually, Loki spoke again, his voice steadier this time. “You’ve always been annoyingly persistent, you know.”

You smiled, leaning your shoulder against his. “Suppose that’s better than you calling me stubborn. We balance each other out.”

A faint chuckle escaped him, and the sound was so rare that it made your heart swell, it was velvet sound.

“Perhaps we do,” he said quietly.

The moment lingered, and you felt the pull between you shift. Loki’s eyes flicked to yours, searching for something, and you didn’t look away. The shadows of doubt and pain that so often clouded his gaze seemed to soften, leaving only raw vulnerability.

“I’m still haunted by them,” he admitted, his voice breaking the quiet. “No amount of fire or tradition will chase them away.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek, the touch light but grounding. “Then let me help,” you said softly.

Loki’s breath hitched, and his hand came up to cover yours. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine as his sharp features softened, his barriers lowering. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing yours with an unexpected tenderness that melted into something deeper, hungrier, as the kiss deepened.

The dying glow of the fire cast flickering shadows across the hall as Loki shifted, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. Your back pressed against the cool stone floor as his weight settled over you, his lips never leaving yours. His kiss was a mix of desperation and need, as if trying to silence the ghosts that haunted him with every touch.

“Darling,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and filled with longing. “Let me lose myself in you.”

You nodded, your fingers threading through his raven hair, holding him to you as your breaths mingled. Loki’s hands roamed over you, his touch reverent yet possessive, as though he feared you might slip away. The heat between you built steadily, eclipsing the dying embers of the fire as he poured every unspoken word, every buried emotion, into his actions.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of searing kisses that made you arch beneath him. His voice was a rasp against your skin, a broken prayer that sent shivers through your body. “You’re my light,” he murmured, his words raw and unguarded. “My only light.”

Your breath caught at his confession, the raw honesty in his voice sending a tremor through your chest. “Loki…” you whispered, unsure of how to respond to the weight of his words.

His eyes met yours—stormy blue, filled with turmoil and yearning. For a moment, you saw the bare truth of him, stripped of his bravado and sharp edges. The God of Mischief was not a god here, but a man aching for something real, something to hold onto.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, though his voice held no bite. His forehead fell to rest against yours, his breath mingling with yours in a fragile pause. “You’ll ruin me.”

“Perhaps you need to be ruined,” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your hands traced the line of his jaw. “And perhaps I do too.”

Loki groaned softly, a sound of surrender as he tilted his head to kiss you again—this time slower, as though memorizing the feel of you. His hands wandered with a gentleness that belied his desperation, caressing your sides before sliding up to cradle your face. The weight of him grounded you, and the fire between you burned hotter than any embers in the dying hearth.

“I need you,” he whispered between kisses, his voice a husky plea that made your pulse quicken. “Let me forget.”

You nodded, your chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths as you pulled him closer. “forget together.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile—brief, fleeting—before he dipped down again. His kisses trailed lower, his movements deliberate, reverent, as though committing every inch of you to memory. Your body responded to his touch instinctively, arching into him as soft sighs and whispered words filled the empty hall. The cool stone floor was forgotten as Loki's warmth surrounded you, his every caress chasing away the chill as His hand started bringing up the fabric of your gown. His face buried in your neck as his weight shifted on top of you on hand working between your legs, teasing though aching wetness while he freed himself from the leathers holding him. “Norms I need you pet.”

His voice demanding you make it better, make him better. It was all the warning you got as he bit down on you neck at lanced himself into you his hand over your mouth the moment you cried out. Muffling the noise before you nipped his fingers.

“Shhh darling..” He purred before slowly pulling his hips back moaning into your ear, your eyes going back as you felt every ridge of him pull along your slick walls. “got to be quiet..” His own voice shaking in whisper, his hand bringing your thigh up higher, letting him sink further as your hands gripped tightly to his shoulders. To be full of him was all you wanted. You walls holding him as your own body responded to his.

The shadows on the walls flickered like living things, dancing in time with the rise and fall of your bodies. Loki’s name slipped from your lips like a prayer, and he shuddered against you, his hands tightening on your skin.

“Say it again,” he pleaded softly, his voice trembling as he kissed the hollow of your throat. “Say my name.” AS she push into you again.

“Loki…” you whispered, threading your fingers through his raven hair and holding him close.

His response was a broken sound—one you couldn’t decipher, though it clung to you like a promise. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his body moulding to yours as though you could banish every ghost that haunted him. His movements long and fluid as his hips rocked back in forth, taking his time.

Hours seemed to pass as the two of you moved in tandem, unspoken words conveyed through every kiss, every touch, building heat and need that seemed to rope through both of your so tight it seemed ready to break. “Loki…” You couldn’t hold it anymore, your body thrummed now. As you whispered his name again, Loki's body tensed, his hips freezing for a moment before he began to move with a newfound urgency. His strokes were deeper, harder, and more insistent, as if he was trying to claim you, to mark you as his own.

Your body responded in kind, your walls clenching around him, holding him tight as you felt the tension build to a crescendo. The shadows on the walls seemed to grow longer, darker, as if they were feeding off the energy between you.

Loki's hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, and claiming. His mouth was on your skin, kissing, biting, and sucking. You felt like you were being consumed, devoured by his passion, his need.

And then, in an instant, it was too much. Your body shattered, breaking apart into a thousand pieces as you came. The sound that escaped your lips was raw, primal, and unbridled, a scream of pleasure that was muffled only by Loki's hand over your mouth.

He followed you, his body jerking, convulsing, as he emptied himself into you, his breathing tight and strangled.

 And when the embers in the hearth finally gave way to darkness, the two of you lay tangled together, the stillness broken only by the sound of your breathing.

Loki’s hand found yours, his long fingers weaving between yours as though anchoring himself to you. He said nothing, but when you glanced at him, his gaze held a softness that spoke volumes. He looked at you like you were the answer to a question he’d been too afraid to ask, the balm to a wound too deep to heal.

You reached up, brushing your knuckles against his cheek once more. “You mine to carry..” you said quietly.

Loki’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yours,” he murmured, pulling you closer until his forehead pressed against yours. “Mine.”

For tonight, at least, the ghosts that seemed to haunt his eyes were chased way.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers Day 31: NYE countdown. Maxiel. About 1.5k words.

"Max, Maxy, Maximum, Maximus Prime!"

Max turns away from his conversation with Alex just in time to catch Daniel around the waist as he stumbles into him, the drink in his cup sloshing over his wrist.

"Hello, Daniel," Max says, unable to stop himself from smiling, readjusting his grip so that he can hold Daniel more comfortably.

From the corner of his eye he catches Alex moving away, probably deciding that their conversation is over now that Daniel has Max's attention. Which is a very fair assumption, given that in all the years they've been friends, Max has always dropped anyone and anything to focus on Daniel.

Some might call it pathetic, to still be in love with his best friend after so long, but Max doesn't really care about what other people think. He just cares about Daniel's warm weight in his arms, and the fact that when all the people at this party will have left their house, Daniel will still be there, probably moving stuff around to pretend he's helping with the clean up.

"Are you having fun, Daniel?" he asks, trying to maneuver them towards the kitchen, both to clean up Daniel's wrist before he complains about the stickiness and to not feel like every single person is staring at them.

Well, every single person other than Charles and Carlos, who seem to be trying to get acquainted with each other's tonsils.

"Yes," Daniel answers, letting himself be dragged away, stumbling unhelpfully on his own feet.

Once they're in the kitchen, occupied only by Logan and Oscar, heads bent over a phone, a half empty bottle of wine next to them, Max hoists Daniel on the counter, right next to the sink, swiping away a few empty paper plates.

"Stay still, please," he tells Daniel, grateful he doesn't have to shout as much over the music anymore. They should probably start lowering that actually, if they don't want the cops called on them again, but it's new year's eve, for sure old Meredith could let it slide this once.

He plucks Daniel's cup from his hand, something of not clear nature inside it, and wets a couple paper towels, gently wiping at his wrist and hand.

"Maxy," Daniel says, dropping his head forward to rest it on Max's shoulder. He's making Max's job harder like this, but Max is not going to complain. He just hums, showing Daniel he's listening.

"I have decided on my resolutions list," Daniel tells him, sounding slightly more sober than he did before.

Max drops the paper towels and grabs an empty cup, filling it with water from the sink and handing it to Daniel, coaxing him to raise his head to drink it.

Daniel had been talking about his resolutions list for more than a week. Max is not sure why he's so set on having new year's resolutions, since in the past eight years he's known him not once Daniel has been the kind of person who follows a plan, but he's been listening anyway every time he brought the topic up.

Max doesn't understand why he's having so much trouble creating the list either. Sure, Daniel does have his moments of perfectionism, but seeing him actually get stressed about this had been puzzling.

"Yeah? Can I know it?" he asks, dropping the now empty cup when Daniel hands it to him before opening his arms, letting Daniel comfortably slump into him again.

Somewhere on his left, Logan and Oscar leave the kitchen, closing the door behind them, cutting off a little more of the noises of the party, making Max feel like he's in his private Daniel bubble for the first time this evening.

He's not ashamed of saying that he's a bit possessive, greedy about having his fair share of Daniel's time, but he's gotten better with the years. The last time Daniel had been in a relationship, Max hadn't even tried to scare them off, but they had gone anyway after a couple of months, leaving a very mopey Daniel behind. Max had keyed their car.

"First thing, I want to learn how to play the banjo," Daniel says, way too loud way too close to Max's ear.

It makes Max smile anyway, knowing this point will be abandoned in a few months at most, just like every other instrument Daniel had tried to learn, getting bored with each one of them.

"Good start," he encourages anyway, because he's nothing but disgustingly soft when it comes to Daniel, even worse when he's tipsy like tonight.

He gets rewarded by Daniel pulling back to beam at him, before going back to Max's shoulder.

Sometimes holding himself back from kissing him takes all of Max's strength.

"Then, I want to improve my handwriting."

Yep, just as Max had thought. Another task that will be abandoned, like all the other times Daniel had tried before.

"I can read your handwriting," Max tells him, because it's true. No matter the kind of drunken chicken scratch he finds on the grocery list, Max has learned to interpret it all. It's not that hard really, when you manage to recognise the subtle differences between the squiggles. Part of the game is actually learning what is supposed to be a word and what is a doodle.

"You can, because you're great," Daniel mumbles against his shirt, as Max tries to pretend he can't feel himself blushing, "but I am so tired of people complaining about it."

"People should just learn how to read," Max tells him, unhappy with someone making Daniel feel like he should change. Which is very stupid, because Daniel is perfect, chicken scratches included.

It makes Daniel laugh, waist moving under Max's hands, his wet bottom lip dragging against the exposed part of Max's shoulder.

"Do you have any more?" he rushes to ask, trying to distract himself from the feeling of it.

In the other room, the music gets lowered, and for a second Max thinks it's the cops again, until he hears someone scream two minutes!

They should probably rejoin their friends, celebrate midnight with them, but Max is quite comfortable where he is, and he doesn't want to see Daniel grab someone to kiss, even if just to laugh about it afterwards.

He had long learned his lesson, after one year he had tried to angle himself in Daniel's line of view, just for him to reach around him and grab Charles instead. Max had gotten way too drunk that night.

"One more," Daniel says, voice even lower now that the music is off and they're so close. He sounds more hesitant suddenly, nervous fingers fidgeting with the hem of Max's shirt.

"Do you want to tell me?" Max asks, just to be sure. Sometimes Daniel needs a little push before he opens up, but it's always a very thin line between getting an answer and being shut out with a joke instead. This time Daniel nods.

"I want to suck your dick."

Max chokes on his spit, trying to push back Daniel to be able to see his face, feeling his eyes go wide.

It wouldn't be the first time they joke about it, but Daniel doesn't sound like he's joking, and if this is a prank Max is going to get very drunk again and probably go cry in the bathroom, but...

But when he manages to push Daniel's head up, he's blushing and he's looking at Max from underneath his lashes, fear and determination mixing on his face.

"You mean it?" Max forces himself to ask, sounding breathless. His heart is beating too fast, so loud he's sure Daniel can hear it too.

Daniel nods, one corner of his mouth turning up in a shadow of his usual smile.

"My last resolution is to stop lying to myself about my feelings for you," he says.

It echoes around his brain, bouncing around and amplifying: feelings for you feelings for you feelings for you feelings for you.

In the other room someone starts the countdown, and Max reaches forward, cupping Daniel's jaw with his hands.

"Are you gonna buy me dinner first?" he asks, just to see Daniel smile properly.

"Can I do it next year?"

Max rolls his eyes, but he still chuckles, weak for Daniel always, even when it's his bad jokes.

Three, two, one...

On the other side of the door sound explodes, their friends cheering and screaming, but Max barely hears it as he presses his lips against Daniel's.

(George screams when he opens the door to come grab the champagne chilling in the fridge and finds them making out against the counter, Max's thigh between Daniel's. The new wave of cheers that follows it is so loud Max starts mentally preparing his apologies for old Meredith and the cops, even as he copies Daniel in flipping them all off.)

[fourmula1]

winter warmers day 11: virginity

max/daniel. 592 words.

-

Daniel’s never taken someone’s virginity before.

He’s never stressed out about the details because he’s only ever had partners who knew what they wanted, what to do, where they were going.

Max has been with girls. Daniel knows this because he’s been with girls with Max.

But the last time they’d done it, Max had been kind of quiet and withdrawn when it was just the two of them in the hotel room, after the woman had left.

“I do not think I want to do that again,” Max had said.

And then he’d said more.

He doesn’t like girls. He doesn’t like seeing girls with Daniel. He doesn’t like pretending the girl isn’t there.

And Daniel had been floored, because. Well. He knew guys had to be at least a little bi to do a threesome with another dude but he figured Max was just. A little bi.

“I am anyhow pretty sure I am gay, Daniel,” he’d said.

The floor felt like it’d fallen out from under Daniel. He was definitely extremely bi and all this time he’d been bringing girls back to their hotel rooms for them when really.

It could have just been.

Them.

So.

Max’s virginity.

Daniel was gentle and easy and careful when he opened Max up; using a ton of lube and getting him soft and pliant and relaxed and whining. Daniel was stunned at the way Max, and his body, so happily went with it all. If he didn’t know better he’d have believed Max had done this plenty of times.

“Daniel,” Max’s breathless gasp fills his ears. “Please.”

Daniel has never been able to resist anything Max asks or wants or says or does, and this is no different.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Daniel says as he pushes Max’s thigh open a bit wider, reaches down to guide himself forward, and presses slowly, gently, carefully into Max’s body.

He watches Max’s face closely but it’s almost too much for him. Max’s big, beautiful, blue eyes are locked right on Daniel’s face. Watching Daniel watch Max. Intense and connected and full of.

Daniel has to break their gaze before he tumbles into toomuchtoomuchtoomuch territory.

Max is nineteen. This is not. Not love. It’s not love.

But the way Max clings to his shoulders, and the way Max’s beautiful moans fill the room, and the hotwarmperfect clutch of his pretty body has Daniel feeling like it is.

Like he’s older and should be more responsible because Max is so young and Daniel’s the one who’s going to get hurt, here, and it’s all his own stupid fault for agreeing to do this with Max in the first place.

Max is young, and successful, and attractive, and he’ll have no shortage of opportunity to hook up and meet people and explore this new sexual side of himself, and Daniel’s going to be approaching 30 and jealous and hurt when it happens. Max is way too young to commit to anyone and Daniel knows he’s going to get hurt.

But in this moment he can pretend. He can pretend that the way Max pulls him down chest to chest, wraps his arms tight around Daniel’s shoulders, keeps their bodies pressed together, means something. He can pretend that the soft, breathy way Max sighs against his neck when Daniel rocks deep inside him means something. He can pretend that Max whispering ‘stay’ after they’ve both come and Daniel goes to pull out means something.

“Please,” Max says, nuzzling his face into Daniel’s sweaty neck.  “Don’t go.”

[pointofescapism]

weather broke down, and new year has begun with not January, but March.