#pushing buttons

Love was rare. Even with Heimdall's keen sight he seldom labeled a relationship or attraction as such, especially when it came to himself. But lust? Lust was plentiful. And in many ways, it was useful. Whether a distraction or a means to obtain information, sex was as much of a tool as it was a luxury. 

Skin to skin, with the opposite party begging for release, it was the perfect opportunity to draw out those dirty little secrets and desires that were hidden behind the everyday mask—

Clammy fingers pulled at his tunic, scrunching up the fabric as she all but took control. A sharp shove and he was on his back, laying atop a collection of furs and wool blankets. They had moved—he wasn't sure how, nor did it really matter, but they had ended up in her room, both equally hungry to devour the other.

She straddled him, lips crashing down onto his own again. Reflexively he placed his hands on her hips, holding her steady and in place as she feverishly deepened the kiss, sliding her tongue along his bottom lip, grinding her hips against his pelvis—

The action threatened to draw a moan from him, and he broke away from those pretty lips to allow her to catch her breath. "Keep this up and we'll be doing a lot more than kissing, Ditzy." Half-lidded glowing eyes opened to look up at her. Breathless, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips occupied his vision, but the fiery eyes looking back at him weren't embarrassed or even shocked by his taunt. 

Her shoulders and fingers trembled slightly as she took in a deep breath, "Good."

His smile wavered for a brief instant. Either she had done this before, or beneath that kind and playful exterior, she was very intune and unashamed of her carnal desires.

"Intent on sleeping with a god," He smirked, "Most mortals can only dream of it." Especially when it concerned him. He took great pride in his position as the most fair among the Aesir, and as such, he was a prize that very few laid eyes on, and even less who had the privilege of bedding him. But this scatter-brained mortal—this lowly vixen had frustrated and vexed him more than any other person. And to say that he was eager to let loose said frustrations was an understatement. "Well then, in that case," With a quick shove, the roles were reversed, and she was pinned beneath him, "Shall we indulge ourselves?"

She discarded her top first, and he followed suit. There was a break in their feverish kissing. Her fingers left behind burning trails as she explored, her brow furrowed slightly and her gaze focussed. As if she were looking for something.

"What?" He demanded, annoyed at the absence of her lips.

"Huh," Her mouth twitched, "I'm just...I don't know, surprised I guess? Figured you would've had tattoos hiding underneath all those layers." Her fingers nearly felt like ice against his heated skin, piercing deep yet somehow as light as a feather. "Hidden from the eyes of most," She mused, hands moving lower, "Uncovered only by a select few that the Scion of the Aesir deems special enough."

"Special," He all but scoffed, though a part of him was satisfied, satisfied that he finally got an insight into those vain and selfish thoughts that remained hidden beneath that kind and soft exterior. "You would really think of yourself so highly? To me?"

There was a flicker of something in those silent eyes—confusion but also a twinge of hurt, as if he had just sliced into her needlessly. But she breathed, inhaling and exhaling slowly through her nose. "Then what are we even doing here?"

He glared. It was an answer he expected, but one that even he himself didn't have a concrete answer for. Heimdall had asked himself that question several times, over-analyzing everything in an attempt to come to an acceptable conclusion. But the more he thought, the more frustrated he became. And for once, his mind was nagging him not to think, and just act. His hand reached for the back of her neck, fingers fitting the curve and contour of the soft skin. "Just stop talking."

She hadn't expected the kiss, but with each touch—each caress and graze of teeth against flesh—her shoulders relaxed, and she welcomed the intimacy that both od them had been craving. 

He wanted to draw out every manner of noise and reaction, find every sweet and sour spot to figure out just what made her tick. Her moans and mewls were simply divine, sweeter than any music that Asgard's composers could ever render with their instruments. 

She pulled at the bottom half of her clothes, though taking into account her current position and uncoordinated fingers, she was having trouble removing them. 

"Must I do everything for you?" Heimdall sighed. He didn't bother waiting for a response. With one swift tug, he removed the remaining stitched pieces of cloth that shielded the rest of her skin.

Bare, vulnerable, and at his mercy, he drank in the sight of her. From the arch of her ribs that showed with every breath, to the gentle curve of her hips, nothing was concealed from his piercing gaze now. 

The soft and heated flesh of her stomach shivered beneath his hand, muscles curling inwards the further down his hand traveled. The glistening evidence of her arousal coated her thighs and center, and he couldn't resist teasing her. "This excited already, Ditzy? I haven't even touched you there yet."

The "v" between her brows grew more pronounced, but the eyes looking down at him were still lost in a lustful haze. "S-Stop teasing me."

"What ever do you mean?" He asked, feigning innocence. "If you want something specific, Ditzy, then you need to tell me." He had placed his hands on her hips, thumbs massaging the supple flesh of her thighs.

Her eyes squinted shut, chest rising and heart quickening with every pull and prod at the sensitive skin so close to her heated center. "What's the point? You already know what I want."

He hummed, a devious smile tugging at his lips. She was correct, of course. Even without delving into that mysterious head of hers, her face and body were sinfully honest. There was a certain thrill in picking her apart piece by piece, figuring out which buttons resulted in the sweetest sounds and humiliating expressions. He leaned in close, lips at her ear, "But where's the fun in that?" Her muffled mewl only egged him on further; stretching his grin wider. "Now, tell me where to touch you."

"Arse," She huffed, but her stubbornness reigned back, as quenching her arousal took precedence over everything else. "Inside me."

"What was that?"

She grumbled something about his "enhanced hearing" under her breath. Cheeks flushed, those heavy lids opened, staring down at him. "I...I want your fingers inside me. Please."

He hummed, pretending to think it over. "Well, since you asked so nicely..."

Glassy eyes watched him, her chest rising and falling more rapidly as she anxiously waited with baited breath. His hand hovered over her dripping sex, prolonging her aching suffering just a tad longer.

The surprised yet longing cry that fell from her lips once he finally plunged his fingers inside only made him grin wider. Slowly he began sliding in and out. From the way her face twisted and contorted with every thrust, to the way her fingers and toes curled into the sheets and furs beneath her, he devoured every sound and sight. He flexed his fingers, searching for that one spot that would absolutely drive her up the wall.

It was as if an electric jolt had passed through her, and she rose. "There!" She gasped.

"There?" He repeated the same motion, earning a strangled cry in response. A rush of warmth flooded to his own groin as those pretty lips hung agape, panting and desperately chasing her release.

"More," She begged, "More~!"

"So greedy," He purred, tone absolutely condescending, though he removed his fingers, and she whined at the loss. "Tsk, tsk," The Aesir chided, his fingers slowing to a standstill, "Do you need to cum that badly?"

She whimpered, wet walls clamping down onto his fingers. "Yes, yes. Please, Heimdall."

His cock twitched, and he had to clench his jaw to stifle a groan. Every tight squeeze of her cunt had his head swimming with the fantasy of how it'd feel around the thick of him. He had planned on teasing her more—meticulously unraveling each string slowly and painfully to see just how desperate she would grow for him to grant her relief. But with a satisfied hum, he gave into her plea, plunging his fingers deep within and abusing the sweet spot that left her crying and begging.

"Heimdall—Heimdall!" Each desperate whine and sob of his name echoed in his perfect ears and sent blood pounding to his cock. He was drunk off her broken cries, ruthlessly pumping his fingers in and out just to watch her face contort and melt like hot wax. 

With a wail the chase came to an end, the winding coil in her core snapping and rendering her insides to a hot and fluttering mess. 

He grinned, glowing eyes flickering up to a flushed face twisted and contorted with the pleasure that he gave her. "Poor, poor, Ditzy," He lamented, "Shaking and utterly wrecked from my fingers, yet so painfully naïve to just how much worse it's going to get." His fingers curled inside her once more, sending a jolt of pleasure through her that threatened to push her over the edge again.

He watched her gradually come down from her high, using it as a means to remove the remainder of his clothes.

Those fiery eyes clouded and lost in a hazy mist widened. Realization dawned on that flushed face, and a choked gasp followed.

His abdominal muscles coiled, burning as the sight of her shaking and destroyed sent another rush of blood to his hardened cock. His fingers dug into the fat of her thighs, prying her legs apart even further. The jolt that went through her as his thumbs pressed into the supple flesh had him grinning from ear to ear. "So sensitive," He mocked, leaning forward, and positioning his tip at her entrance. 

Her fingers curled into the sheets, incisors biting her lower lip in anticipation. The increased pressure at where her torso split drew a low moan from her lips. Her hands came up to cover her face, shielding those burning cheeks and expressions he hungrily devoured.

Heimdall had acted almost on reflex, grabbing onto her forearm. "No, look at me."

She didn't resist, but rather peeked at him through her fingers instead.

"Eyes on me. And only me."

Her cheeks burned to an even more delicious shade of red. But her hands slowly slipped away from her face, returning to grip the sheets and furs once more. 

He eased his way in, drawing a sharp hiss as the searing heat of her insides seeped into his skin and her muscles clamped down onto him like a vice.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. No matter how much his fingers had stretched her, or how wet she was, nothing could have prepared her for the burning ache of so much of him trying to bully its way inside of her. Reflexively she latched onto him, whimpering and clawing at his back in an attempt to pull him closer.

Length sheathed completely, Heimdall tried to keep his head clear for just a moment. But the fingernails raking down his back, the lips and teeth biting and sucking on the tender skin of his neck, the muscles that pulled him deeper and threatened to milk him dry—

"Fuck," He hissed, arms trembling slightly. He swallowed the moan that had been building in his throat, because he almost came. It was pathetic, the last thing he wanted to do was tap out so quickly like a damn virgin. He started moving, using each sound from those pretty lips as fuel to draw this out as long as possible.

"Who's...sensitive...now?" She taunted, face contorting in pleasure with every thrust. 

"Just—shut up." His rhythm grew more sloppy and uneven as he chased his release. Blood pounded in his ears, and fireworks burst behind his eyes. The white hot euphoria that consumed them both rose higher, and higher—

Her tight cunt and sweet mewls pushed him over the edge. He pulled out at the last second, his release spilling over her stomach.

While his mind gradually began to clear, the Aesir tried to catch his breath. Norns, he struggled to keep himself propped up. It certainly wasn't helping that her arms were wrapped around his torso, practically coaxing him to collapse into her embrace. Jeweled eyes stared down at the glistening sheen of his release against her soft skin. The coil in his stomach had moved to his throat, constricting and searing as he realized just what he had done. What consequences would follow from this.

Breathless, utterly ruined, and drunk off of him, the image of her sprawled out onto the furs and blankets would forever be sealed into his memory. 

Before he knew it he was moving, reaching for his clothes and hastily shrugging them back on. 

"Heimdall?" 

He stilled for a moment, only to move even quicker. He didn't like the way her voice stirred something in him. How it made his stomach coil and his heart beat erratically in his chest—

"Heimdall!" Her voice had grown more forceful as she grabbed his arm. 

With an irritated growl, he pulled his arm free, glaring down at the woman who had managed to worm her way into his head and drive him mad.

Her hand hovered in place, a mix of different emotions twisting and contorting on her face. 

His chest heaved as he took in a trembling breath, "Speak of this to anyone, and I'll cut out your tongue."

The menacing threat didn't appear to land, however, much to his dismay. A brow still covered in a glistening sheen of sweat furrowed, but her hand slowly lowered back to her side. "I wasn't planning on it."

"Hey, Pretty Boy."

The nickname left him more flustered than he cared to admit, and the fingers that squeezed his shoulder sent a subtle electric jolt through him. His own reaction annoyed him, but that smile! That damned smile. 

It somehow made his blood boil and his heart beat faster at the same time. Regardless of how...flirtatious their banter had turned, she was still the enemy. He had to remind himself of that. And while not as much of a physical threat as Loki, she was still a spy. Heimdall refused to think otherwise.

Every encounter since their...training session several days ago, had him on edge even more than usual. His hardened gaze turned towards her, but despite the glare that would send even the most brave Aesir running, her sweet and cheerful smile remained. 

She didn't even bother to ask anymore as she sat beside him, finger poking at a plate of untouched goat cheese. "What's with all the brooding lately?"

He sighed, looking down at what was left in his pint, "Is it really any of your business?"

She hummed. "You're not still mad about our little scuffle, are you?"

His face must've said it all, as her expression turned from playful to confused. "It upset you that much? Don't tell me you've never been knocked down into the dirt before?"

Knocked over, hit, touched without him allowing for it to happen...Heimdall could count the times he had been caught off guard on one hand. And all of them involved her. 

Realization seemed to dawn on her face, but he was already standing up and abandoning the conversation before she could say anything else. He had work to do.

From running errands for the All-Father, to his duties of guarding Asgard's wall, to babysitting a manipulative and chaotic half-breed, Heimdall scarcely had any time for anything else. But she seemed to keep busy regardless, and played the part of an innocent and curious mind almost perfectly. 

He wouldn't let his guard down, he told himself. No matter how much her smile made his insides twist, how those fiery eyes made his heart lodge in his throat, or how those hips drew his eyes every time she passed...he would remain focussed and more vigilant than ever. He would not let some girl—a mortal no less—distract him. 

"Seven." 

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

He wasn't surprised to hear her in the Great Hall, but to hear his drunken half-wit of a brother was certainly a surprise. He figured the brute to either be piss poor drunk or beating the living daylights out of someone at this hour.

It was almost a comical sight, watching her of all people scrutinizing the God of Thunder, who could easily snap her like a toothpick if the wrong thing slid from those pretty lips.

The hulking brute lifted the cup, peeking at the contents underneath. A curse swept under his breath, and he tossed another penningar onto the growing pile.

"Only two lives left," She reminded him. 

"I know." He grunted, placing his hand over the open end of the cup and shaking it. The rattling of dice filled the empty hall, accompanied only by the occasional laugh or disgruntled sneer from either parties. Thor peeked beneath the cup, nodding to himself before sliding it back to her. "Eleven."

Her lips twitched into a small smile, "It's funny, never in a million years did I ever think I'd wind up in Asgard, much less playing a game of Meier with the God of Thunder in the Great Lodge. And winning."

"Don't get your hopes up just yet. Game's not over."

She hummed in agreement, but before she could make her next move, a pair of hands had clamped down onto her shoulders, nearly making her jump sky high.

"Well, well, dear brother I have to say, this certainly is a new record for you." Heimdall jeered, unable to stand watching the two of them any longer, "Playing games with a mortal instead of passing out drunk in a tavern?" He laughed, "This calls for a celebration!"

Any bit of joy that the God of Thunder had slowly dissipated from his eyes. He didn't even bother to greet his younger half-sibling, and instead reached for Mjolnir, plucking it from the table and twirling it around in his hand. "I fold. Take the damn pot and be done with it."

Her eyes widened, watching as the towering god lumbered away. She protested, but it fell on deaf ears. Those fiery eyes turned to glare at Odin's loyal lapdog, disapproval written all over her face. "What was that about?" It was more of a demand than an optional question.

Heimdall groaned, rolling his eyes. "Calm down, Ditzy," His hands left her shoulders, and stepping around the table, he sat down directly across from her. "You mean to tell me that you never bore witness to sibling rivalry?"

"If that's how you normally treat him, it's no wonder that he dislikes you so much."

"You're assuming that I care."

"Don't you?" Her brow furrowed. "He's your brother."

"Half-brother." The correction was swift, and surprisingly harsher than he had intended. But it was the truth nonetheless. What had been a casual environment had escalated to borderline hostile in a matter of seconds. And after a few seconds of those silent eyes glaring at him, she sighed, looking away.

"I see." She reached for the pile of coins that had gradually grown throughout several rounds, and divided it, pushing what appeared to be half of them towards him.

"What are you doing?"

"You shouldn't ask questions you already know the answer to. It's not polite." She chided instead, though she looked up through thick lashes, jaw set as she reigned back her emotions and changed the subject. "Since you decided to chase Thor away, you're going to take his place."

He scoffed. "You want me to play against you in a game that involves telling a truth from a lie?"

"Yes."

He stared at her for a few seconds, but ultimately laughed, golden teeth glinting as he rolled his head back. "Oh Ditzy, just when I think you can't get any denser, that scattered brain of yours decides to one-up itself."

She merely shrugged, "Then this should be quite easy for you. A round or two won't take very long, and you can be on your merry way."

"You're actually serious." Heimdall was still in a state of disbelief. Though, he had to admit, rubbing in her defeat once this was over would be immensely satisfying. He grinned. "Alright, Ditzy, I'll play along."

Her face remained impassive. "Six rounds per game. Winner gets the pot at the end." She pushed the wooden cup and dice towards him, "You first, Pretty Boy."

"Don't get your hopes up, Ditzy," He warned lightly, "I never lose."

"Just shut up and roll."

The game began. He didn't even bother to look at the dice before pushing the concealed pieces of carved bone back towards her. "Three."

Her eyes narrowed, sizing him up on whether or not he was telling the truth. "You're using your foresight, aren't you?"

"Am I? You never said I couldn't."

She hummed, "That's true, I didn't. Still, I think you're lying."

"Me? Lie?" 

She peeked under the cup, muttering a swift curse under her breath. He was practically grinning ear to ear when she begrudgingly gave up a penningar. "One down, only five more to go, Ditzy."

"Twelve."

"Even Loki can lie better than that."

"Nine."

"Two."

"Cynical arse. You're lying."

"Hm," Heimdall grinned. "Six to one. I wonder how this is going to end?"

She sighed and took her turn, peeking under the cup. "Ten." She pushed it towards him.

He eyed her carefully. It was frustrating to have to focus on clues rather than simply knowing the answer straight away. From her body language, to the rhythm of her heart, he watched and listened more so than he usually would. "Liar, Liar~" He practically sang, and lifted the cup. "Game over, I'm afraid."

Her face turned sour as she glared at the dice. But, with a defeated sigh, she pushed the winnings toward him. "Good game. Your ability to read a person is truly unmatched."

"I should hope so."

"Yes," She nodded, her voice casual and nonchalant, "Even when not using the Bifrost."

It took a few seconds for him to process her words. He tensed, glowing eyes snapping up to glare at her. "What are you implying, Ditzy?"

She pocketed the remaining coins she had, "I may be clumsy and a bit scatter-brained, but I'm not stupid. Though to be honest...I'm not quite sure if you did it in order to make this more of a level playing field or...if there's something more to it."

The silence between them grew tense. But she stood from the table with a sigh, effectively ending the conversation right there. "Anyways, I'm just rambling at this point. Thanks for playing with me. It was...fun."

He rolled his eyes. While he didn't believe she was lying to be polite, fun certainly wasn't the correct word. "Well," He stood as well and stretched, "as entertaining as it was to watch you slowly grow frustrated and eventually lose, I unfortunately have better things to do with the rest of my evening."

"Right," Her tone and expression conveyed that she wasn't convinced in the slightest. 

But there was a shift, a miniscule change he caught a glimpse of only when he had turned his back to her. "Heimdall?"

He paused, and glanced back at her.

It was obvious that she wanted to say something. Lips pursed, and a slight color in her cheeks, her hands had reached toward him. But she hesitated. And looking away, they fell back to her sides. "Nothing—er, nevermind. I'll um...catch you later, yeah?"

Her combat skills were deplorable. It was a wonder just how she had managed to survive for this long.

Heimdall lost count as to how many times she had been knocked onto her behind, but it was still a hilarious sight to witness.

Thrúd was trying her hardest to offer instruction without marring the mortal too badly, but it was obvious that things weren't going well.

"You'd have better luck training a house to fly than for the likes of her to use a sword, guppy!" Heimdall called out to his niece.

Said teenager rolled her eyes and sighed. "Don't listen to him," She extended her blade, motioning to her opponent's feet. "You're quick, but your timing is off. Look for an opening, and don't hesitate."

She nodded, and readied herself again. Their sparring continued, accompanied by unnecessary and downright degrading comments from the God of Foresight.

"Behind you, Ditzy~."

"Wow, you are hopeless."

"I've seen toddlers handle a sword better than that."

It was only when Thrúd disarmed her that the tired mortal turned to face him. "Ever heard the phrase, 'if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all'?"

"Ha!" Thrúd scoffed, "Trust me, the day a nice word comes out of my uncle's mouth is the day trees start growing in Asgard. And not even Vanir magic could help with that."

"And with this little rat training you, you'll end up dead the next time you step foot into a real fight." He taunted.

She ignored him, and raising her weapon, turned back to face Thrúd. "Again." A few swings of her blade later, and she was stumbling face-first into the mud again.

Heimdall laughed, much to their obvious annoyance. "Oh, it would seem that you truly cannot teach an old dog new tricks."

Despite her humiliating defeat, she pushed herself back up, looking down in disdain at the amount of mud clinging to her clothes and skin. An irritated growl escaped her lips. Thrúd had called her name, but she waved the teenager off, muttering, "I can handle this myself," under her breath.

Her eyes turned to him, but he was still positively tickled pink by her clumsiness and misfortune. "You know, between you and the little half-breed, I'm not entirely sure who's more useless." His wide grin refused to fade, even when she sauntered towards him. 

"Having fun, Heimdall?" She asked, her tone almost sickeningly sweet.

"Much," He all but purred.

Those pretty lips pulled into a soft smile. "Hm, good." 

Her movements were natural, but precise. A glimmer of mischief had sparked in her eyes, but by time he had realized what she was actually going to do, it had been too late. Her hand, caked in a fresh layer of mud from her previous fall, smacked onto his forehead, and wiped down the front of his face in one long and drawn out motion. But oh no, no, to add insult to injury, she had grabbed his tunic with her other hand, smearing and swirling the dirt all over his chest. 

Thrúd's gasp had pierced the silence. Though, the hand that quickly covered her mouth was more to hide the smile and muffled laughter that was slowly rising in her chest.

Hands on her hips, she took a step back, looking over her handiwork. "Oh," she feigned shock, "Heimdall! You should really go and clean that off. There's no telling what kind of gossip might arise if you continue to walk around looking like that."

He ground his teeth, fury washing away any sense of mirth that he had previously felt. His fingers flew to his face, wiping away a particular thick smear running down his nose. Bifrost eyes glared at the gritty consistency coating his fingers. 

"If you're such an expert swordsman, then why don't you take over for Thrúd?" 

He actually had to make a conscious effort to reel in his anger. As much as he would've loved to crush that confidence and wipe away that triumphant smile, he found himself remembering his father's encouragement of diplomacy. The word made him sick, but like it or not, he was on a leash, and did not want to warrant the All-Father's anger again. 

Before he could respond, she had grabbed his hand and pulled it towards her, "Come on, if anyone can teach a hopeless person like me to handle a blade, surely it's you?"

He could see exactly what she was doing. From tarnishing his clothes to now buttering up his pride, that innocent smile was a mask for a secretly devious and manipulative person. And in all honesty he was...mildly impressed. He matched her coy grin. "Thrúd, run along and play. The mortal and I are...going to have a little lesson."

The teen's brow furrowed, her untrusting gaze flickering between the two. But after a quick nod from her, the valkyrie in training swung her own weapon over her shoulder and left.

Heimdall leapt the fence, trying his best to wipe off any dirt that he could. Oh he was going to wipe that triumphant smirk off her face—show her that unlike Thrúd, he wouldn't be so merciful. He didn't waste any time and drew his sword, swinging right off the bat.

She reacted just in time, blocking the blow with her own blade. 

He pushed against her strength, testing to see just how far he could take this without getting in trouble. He laughed, "Ooh, I'm so scared," He taunted, flawlessly shoving her back. "A pathetic and clumsy mortal facing off against the Scion of the Aesir." He dodged a wide swing, her growing frustration only making his smile grow. "I wonder how this is going to end?"

She was pathetically predictable. He almost didn't need to rely on his gift of foresight, not that it would've worked with her in the first place. But despite every frustrated swing, every kick, hit, and legsweep that landed her flat on her ass or face, she got back up.

"Persistent little shit aren't you?" He taunted. "You should probably quit before you lose an arm or leg!"

She huffed, sweat dripping down her forehead and mixing with the dirt clinging to her cheeks. Her wrist extended as she took a direct stab at him, shifting from wide swings to blows quick in succession.

"Sorry, that won't work either." The snide comment was followed by a knee to the chest, and she stumbled backwards, hand flying to the injured area. "Give up, Ditzy?"

"Not by a long shot." She hissed and charged, sword raised.

"So predictable." Heimdall jeered, raising his own blade to block the blow. The fire in her eyes was a raging inferno, and her arms shook as she struggled against his own strength. With a swift movement of his blade he disarmed her, but she took advantage of the opening it created, and barreled into him.

His back met the mud, and his own sword fell from his hand. He was mildly stunned, though that was slowly becoming a habit whenever she was involved. 

Breathless, exhausted, and utterly filthy, she straddled his hips, using her weight to hold him down. Eyes that had harbored a raging inferno were now terribly smug. "Not quite what I was going for, but it works. It's so nice to finally see you lying in the mud."

She was damn proud of herself, and her words only bruised his ego further. "Luck, that's all it is," He objected.

"Luck, skill, whatever you wanna call it, I'm just glad you're covered in as much dirt as me, Pretty Boy."

He didn't like this one bit. He never lost, nor was he ever humiliated by someone that didn't lead to swift retribution. Oh had she not been a guest of the All-Father, not immune to the effects of the Bifrost, and not smirking down at him with those pretty lips and fiery eyes—

He stopped that train of thought right there. The heat slowly creeping up his neck and to his cheeks was slightly disguised by the dirt clinging to his skin, but whether his face gave him away or she somehow noticed, that grin only got wider.

"Did I manage to fluster the Scion of the Aesir?" She teased, fingers tightening around his bracers, "Tackling you was a last resort, I figured you would've seen that coming at least."

He growled, pushing her back with just enough force to get his point across. "Get off."

She complied, though that cocky smirk remained. "Seems I was right," she hummed, "Crushing pretty hard aren't you, Pretty Boy?"

The line between diplomacy and discourtesy was one Heimdall treaded carefully. He usually left the politeness and charisma to Odin. He wasn't a destroyer like Thor, but he was an enforcer. Crushing rebellions and picking apart someone's mind was very much his forté. 

So the fact that someone was trying to get close to him raised a visceral response. What was she plotting? Was she hoping he would slip up? Was she trying to find something to use as leverage? Spring some sort of trap or attack on the All-Father? Although he doubted she could do very much on her own, Heimdall wasn't the type to leave a stone unturned.

He brushed off her kindness, taking any opportunity to push her away with rude comments and harsh banter. His job as the Watchman of the Aesir was more important than ever with the threat of Ragnarök looming beyond Asgard's serene landscape. But she was a persistent little weasel, he had to at least give her that.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily." She teased with a witty grin and a playful punch to the shoulder. 

Bifrost eyes narrowed. Regardless of her smiles and overall lightheartedness, he wasn't convinced. "Whatever attempt you are thinking of making to foil the All-Father, it won't work."

She paused, arching a confused brow. "You think I'm just talking to you in order to get to Odin of all people?"

"As they say, if the shoe fits, Ditzy."

Her lighthearted grin faltered. "You know, just because someone is trying to get close to you, doesn't mean they're trying to use you."

Her words hung in the air, creating a rift in the otherwise usual banter they had going back and forth. He had a hard time believing her words. But what was even more frustrating was that he could tell that she believed them. His face must've given away his own thoughts, because there was a slip in her gaze—a shift and look that he knew all too well. She had opened her mouth to speak, hand moving towards him. But he put a stop to it all before she could utter a single syllable. "Don't." Any sense of sardonic joking had vanished from his voice, replaced by a raw warning. 

Her hand stopped, fingers grabbing at nothing but air before they limply fell at her sides again. She exhaled shakily, a bitter and pitying smile plastered onto her face. "The way you turned out must really say a lot about people, huh?"

That...definitely wasn't the word choice Heimdall had been expecting. But that sad and forced smile only made him angrier. He was a god. He pitied mortals. It wasn't supposed to be the other way around.

"Are most people that rotten deep down?" Her voice was small, fearful almost. Eyes that were usually so assured and strong were wary, searching his face for an answer. For the truth.

"All people are liars," He corrected. Cold, unapologetic, and without hesitation, he continued, "Whether consciously or unconsciously, to the world or to themselves, no one ever says what they really want to say."

Her lips curled inwards, pressed into a taut line. With a hum she looked to the floor, rolling back on her heels. "I see. So which are you then?"

"What?" 

She laughed. Laughed. "Don't tell me you've divided the world into two categories but consider yourself an exception? That's bold and naïve, even for you." 

All he could do was stare. Of course he was an exception. That was the whole point of his "gift". Seeing through the lies and to the bitter and ugly truth placed him in a whole other category. Surely, it did? But solely for the sake of worming his way into her head and getting an insight as to just how she thought, he begged the question, "What do you think?"

She took a step back, brow furrowing as he purposefully invaded her personal space. Her eyes darted, but she didn't cower or squirm beneath his intense gaze. Her shoulders gently rose as she took in a deep breath, no doubt preparing for an actual answer. "To be honest, I can't say for sure. Apart from being incredibly condescending, arrogant, and more sour than a bushel of crabapples...I really don't know all that much about you. But I would guess that you're more of the lying to yourself type."

His brow furrowed. When her words had set in, he couldn't help but laugh. Him? Lie to himself? What would even be the point in that? "Looks like you're really putting that scattered brain of yours to good use after all, Ditzy." He patted her head, much to her immediate annoyance.

She waved him off, fixing her now tousled and messed up hair. But her expression turned serious again, and a twinge of worry lingered in her eyes. "For someone who supposedly sees everything, you're conveniently blind and oblivious when it comes to those around you."

"Hm," He hummed, though that mocking smile turned more menacing. "Careful, Ditzy. Run those pretty lips anymore and you might wake up with them sewn shut."

"Funnily enough, Heimdall, I truly can't tell if you're trying to intimidate me or flirt with me."

"Flirt? With you?" He scoffed, "Don't flatter yourself." But a light hum and the fact that she decided to invade his personal space caught him by surprise. 

"Somehow I don't believe that." The corners of her lips pulled into a coy and teasing grin, "You've been bothering me nearly every day since I've been here. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had a crush on me."

He sighed, and placing a finger on her forehead, pushed her away. "Friends and now crush. Honestly, I've been 'bothering you' only because along with that half-breed, I refuse to believe that you won't end up causing a mountain of trouble," He corrected.

Nearly every other building in Asgard was a tavern. Then again, with a population that consisted mostly of undead Einherjar, drinking and fighting were really the only two things they knew and loved.

Music played, people drunkenly jeered and laughed, and the mead flowed like honey. Even amongst the drunk and merry, she was out of place. Like a shrinking violet she kept her head down, avoiding any and all eye contact with the drunken warriors around her. 

Pint in hand, Heimdall decided to leave his own secluded corner and join her unannounced. So lost in her own head, she didn't even notice him sitting next to her. He debated on saying something, but where was the run in that? Instead, he sat back and patiently waited for her to notice.

The seconds ticked by. But she ultimately glanced to her right, only to do a double take and jump less than two seconds later. "Gah!" Her hand flew to her chest, a glare settling in on what had previously been a stoic face. "Do you always have to give me a heart attack?!"

"It's not my fault that you are so incredibly oblivious and unaware of your surroundings." He countered. The way her cheeks burned and her nose scrunched practically tickled him pink. His jests obtained more reactions than ever from her, and in turn, she didn't hold back.

"A simple, 'hello' would have sufficed."

"But where's the fun in that, Ditzy?"

She sighed at the use of the degrading nickname. "Yeah, fun." Arms folded onto the table, she continued, "Likewise, I've realized that I haven't given you an endearing nickname yet."

"Endearing?" He repeated with a single syllable laugh, "I'm flattered you think a simple pet name constitutes...well, anything above strained diplomacy. And another thing, since when does a scatter-brained wallflower like you find herself in the company of drunkard Einherjar lowlifes?"

"Would you believe me if I said that I actually came for the music?"

"No."

Her lips twitched, but the amused smirk didn't reach her eyes. "It's my attempt at being quote on quote, 'social'," She sighed, "Apparently Atreus wants to make sure that I'm not just twiddling my thumbs when he's not around. 'Make friends,' he said," She gestured towards the drunken warriors, none of which had even bothered so much as to glance her way. "You can see how well that's going."

"I'm green with envy." 

Surprisingly, she laughed. Genuinely if his ears served him right. His brow furrowed. An indirect insult at her inability to make normal conversation. "You do realize that wasn't meant to be a joke?"

"I know," She smiled, "Still, that's the most I've laughed in days so...thanks."

"Ugh," He rolled his eyes, fingers tightening around the handle of his drink. A jeer gone wrong usually left a sour taste in his mouth, but strangely enough, it was only just mildly bitter.

"I guess I can hold onto some pride. I did manage to make at least one friend here."

Heimdall raised his drink, relishing in the flood of alcohol that coated his mind in a blissful haze, and washed away any trace of unpleasantries lurking there. "My darling niece hardly constitutes a celebration, Ditzy. She'd befriend a rock if given the chance. 

She turned towards him, looking utterly confused. "I...wasn't referring to Thrúd?"

The buzz of the tavern hadn't dulled in the slightest, but Heimdall heard her words just the same. He turned to face her, looking into those deep pools that he knew held countless thoughts and secrets. But all he saw was his own reflection, staring back at him. Mocking him. "Oh no," His lowered voice transitioned into a patronizing chuckle, "Don't tell me that you honestly believe we're friends?"

She shrugged, "Why not? You're the one I talk to the most here. Even if our conversations consist mostly of petty insults, ambiguous flirting, and downright slander, we still listen to one another."

"And you think that alone constitutes friendship?" He laughed, "You're even denser than I thought."

Her brows lifted, "You really don't think the same?" Even she sounded unconvinced.

"So long as you and the half-breed runt continue to aid the All-Father, I'll consider us allies." The Aesir god corrected, "Nothing more."

"Tomayto tomahto," She sighed, pushing away her own untouched pint of mead. She stood, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Regardless, thanks for listening." 

Heimdall didn't need to look into Odin's mind to know he was angry. Though the All-Father seldom let his emotions get the better of him, at least when it came to his own kin. Detecting when something was off had almost become an artform with him.

"Loki is determined to leave."

It was a simple statement spoken amidst note-taking, but Heimdall knew well enough that it was more of an accusation. "Is that so? Then the little traitor finally decided to act on his true intentions."

The old man hummed, quill continuing to scratch along the thick roll of parchment. "Can't blame him I suppose. Family sticks together, especially when one is...insulted." One single eye looked up, staring directly at him. "You uh, wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Heimdall knew this game well. If there was anyone who knew the All-Father best, it was him. Beneath his calm exterior, he was nervous. More than anything, he wanted answers to life's biggest questions. And the key was at risk of slipping away. 

"Heh, thought so." Odin smirked knowingly. "Once again, those eyes have rendered your actual brain useless."

He had seen it already—what the All-Father was going to order him to do. But despite his unwavering loyalty, pride reared its ugly head. "But All-Father—"

"You made a mistake, so what." The old man shrugged nonchalantly, "We can't all be perfect, or know when to keep our mouths shut," He muttered the last part, but his voice still retained the authority that he had been endowed with, and he wasn't going to make an exception even for the God of Foresight. "But I still expect you to fix it."

Avoiding eye contact was a rarity for Heimdall. But if there was one person he feared, it was the All-Father. He knew from experience that the king of the Aesir always found a way to deal out punishment, regardless of power or in his case, foresight. "Yes, All-Father."

He felt like a dog running with his tail between his legs. Diplomacy was something he left to his kin. And apologies to mortals was one of the lowest forms of humiliation in his eyes.

But she was predictable, and tracking her down was easy. The door to Baldur's former room had been wide open. She was sitting on the windowsill, leg swinging over the edge and a book in her hand. 

A part of him just wanted to hurry up and get it over with. But his pride was strong, and honestly, he couldn't resist the urge to antagonize her a bit before attempting to be...nice.

She didn't bother to look or speak until he was practically leering over her.

"Don't you know how to knock?" She turned the page, eyes steadily glossing over the written text. 

"The door was open." He plucked the book from her hands, ignoring her annoyed look. 

"And that gives you the excuse to lack common decency?" 

He ignored her question, instead looking over the small book she had been reading. "One of Kvasir's poems? Honestly, do you enjoy boring yourself to death?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Was there something you needed? Or did you just wake up and say to yourself, 'hey, it's been a while since I picked on the mortal, I should be an absolute pain in her ass today'?"

"Who says that wasn't what I needed from you?" He asked, holding the book out of her reach. 

"Little shit."

"Klutz."

"Know-it-all."

"Pathetic damsel." He was smirking already. Try as she might to be the bigger person, she was just like everyone else. Easy to provoke and manipulate.

She glared at him, but ultimately shook her head and caved. "I swear, I grow less intelligent every time I talk to you. It's like trying to reason with a toddler."

"Growing less intelligent is implying that you aren't already at rock bottom, Ditzy."

She rolled her eyes. "It really would kill you to give a compliment, huh?"

"Honesty is more valuable than sweet lies, wouldn't you agree?"

"Who said anything about lying?" Her head inclined to one side, and a single brow raised in confusion. "Not all compliments are lies you know." She moved quickly, snatching the book from his hand and hugging it to her chest. 

"Really?" Heimdall gasped, voice dripping heavily with sarcasm, "You're going to enlighten the god of Foresight with that argument?"

"As much as I would love to hurl insults at you, giving you a true and genuine compliment isn't that difficult."

"Well then," He gestured for her to continue, "I await your compliment, Ditzy. And do be aware, I will know if you're lying." 

She took a step back, and placed her book on the bed. Then she started to circle him, scrutinizing gaze looking him over from head to toe. "Hm," The hum rumbled in her chest. 

It was glaringly obvious that she was going to pay a compliment on his appearance. A fitting subject, he supposed. After all, in addition to his useful gift, he was regarded as the most handsome of his kin. 

The floorboards creaked as she came to a halt. Finger tapping her chin, her eyes met his. "I'm sure you get this a lot, but you have very nice hair. Better than anything I could ever hope to accomplish with mine."

As much as he hated to admit it, her words appeared to be honest. He had expected some sort of backhanded or sarcastic comment. But it tickled his ego all the same. "Why thank you, Ditzy. I suppose you're expecting an equally fitting compliment for yourself?"

"Are you capable of giving a genuine compliment?"

Heimdall feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. "You make it sound as if I'm some sort of heartless and self-absorbed jackass."

"And?" Her arms folded across her chest, "Am I wrong?"

His teasing grin faltered. Her ability to stoop to his level of pettiness was...almost impressive. And while he considered that an honest compliment, he doubted she would see it that way. Shoulders sagging, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "I suppose for the sake of the subject matter and the All-Father's request to be diplomatic…"

She shrank back as he invaded her personal space, though her eyes widened when he placed a hand above her brow and pulled the skin taut. "Beneath those bushes you call eyebrows, your eyes are...rather attractive."