#across torn tides

[maepolzine]

The Read-Cap: Week of March 9, 2024

Looking back on all the books I read/started this week and what I'm planning on reading next.

This week I finally finished reading The Scarlet Veil by Shelby Mahurin and the ARC of Across Torn Tides by Val E. Lane before starting The Prisoner’s Throne by Holly Black. I almost had all three completed too, and have a feeling I’ll technically have the third book finished before the week’s end but since this post goes live earlier I can’t exactly claim it as done just yet. If you are new to…

[guksvault]

THE TIDES OF US | JJK

Oneshot

pairing: firstlove!jungkook x firstlove!(f.)reader

synopsis: returning to Busan was never meant to be anything more than temporary. but when you’re faced with the boy who shaped your heart and engraved his initials upon it, are you able to pick up where you left off or will the tides of Busan wash away everything you once knew?

w/c: 8.6k

warnings: first love reunited, angst, angst snd some more angst, coffeeshopowner!jk, two dummies who apparently can’t communicate!, eventual smut (just one scene!), titty appreciation, unprotected sex (dont be silly!!), yummy make outs, crying :(, actually no! sobbing!, so many questions, matchalover!reader, both 22!!!, um um um, jjk has a shaggy mullet bc i cant help myself!!!, too many emotions that both characters r overwhelmed by! i think thats it lol idk, enjoy pls <3 mwah

!minorsdni!

It had been a total of 1614 days since you last walked through the city of Busan. Four years and six long months since your parents had uprooted your lives and moved to London after an opportunity to expand your father’s company at the age of 18.

The sun warms your skin, the scent of sea salt lingers in the air. It's all familiar, yet somehow all so foreign.

Passing by street food stalls where you once spent your last bits of change, benches where you watched sunsets over the sea with your first love, and photobooth stands you’d drag them into at every chance. It was all so familiar, yet distant, flooding you with a wave of emotions—nostalgia, longing, and a twinge of sadness for how those days had slipped through your fingers, leaving only memories behind.

You find yourself frozen inside a beachfront café, convinced the sun has given you heatstroke and that this is just a hallucination. It couldn’t be him. There’s no way.

A tall, doe-eyed boy stands across from you, one arm adorned with intricate tattoos, a shaggy mullet framing his chiseled face. He’s frozen too, staring right back at you.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook watches as you approach the counter hesitantly, his gaze fixed on you. He wants to reach out, to touch you, to see if you’re really here—or if you’re just an illusion his brain conjured up after that extra cup of coffee today.

“Shit- No fuckin’ way? What the fuck?” Is all his pretty little lips that were now adorned with a silver ring could say. His brain was racing, eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“You speak to all your customers like that?” you say playfully, a small laugh escaping your lips.

The smile that forms on Jungkook’s lips is almost painful to see—his old bunny-like teeth on display, the way his nose scrunches and forms those little wrinkles just like it used to, and that little dimple that peeks out, the one he used to say was from all the kisses you pressed to his cheek.

“Still a smartass, huh?” Jungkook teases, biting the corner of his lip and toying with the metal ring.

You hum in response, words getting lost. You’d forgotten you were standing in line, the sight of Jungkook in front of you after so long making you forget the patrons waiting behind you.

“I’ll just take a—”

“Iced Matcha, hm?” Jungkook finishes your sentence, not meaning to, just an instinct. Back when the two of you were inseparable, you’d always push him to try it, but it never worked. He still didn’t like it—at least, not until you left. Now, he ordered it on the days when loneliness got the best of him, or when anniversaries would roll around, the ones that you used to spend hand in hand.

You take a seat at a nearby table, staring out the glass windows that frame the view of the beach. Your thoughts are scrambled, knots forming in your stomach from the situation at hand. It had only been 15 hours since you’d returned to Busan, and already the world felt like it was playing some sick joke on you. Torn between wondering if this was fate or if the universe was rubbing everything you had lost in your face.

A takeaway cup, adorned with a sleeve that reads ‘Golden Hour,’ is placed in front of you.

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s as he stands there, a tight, closed-lip smile on his face. He looks down at you, half-thinking he might actually pass out if you keep looking at him like that—eyes round and innocent, like nothing has changed. When you stand up, only inches away from him now, there’s no counter between you. He could reach out, touch you, and see if this is real—or just another one of his recurring dreams. He decides not to, not wanting to risk it and find out this is all just his subconscious fantasies playing out.

Your lips wrap around the straw, the sweet liquid filling your taste buds—just how you always liked it. Sweet, not too bitter, with extra whipped cream.

“Pretty fucking good,” you say.

It’s silent for a moment, neither of you sure what to say or do next.

“When did you get ba—”

“I should get goi—”

An awkward laugh escapes from both of you, hands fiddling with the straw in an attempt to keep busy, while Jungkook rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, of course, I should get back to it. Coffee won’t make itself,” Jungkook rambles. You nod, he nods. You give an awkward smile, and he mirrors it back to you. It’s all a little juvenile, reminding you of when you were both in high school—too awkward to communicate, too caught up in the butterflies that fluttered in both of your stomachs.

You thank him again, turning to leave and heading back out into the heat of Busan’s air. Half of you thinks you should ditch the drink and dive headfirst into the ocean, trying to rid yourself of the emotions bubbling inside you.

“Hey—” Jungkook catches up with you just before your hand touches the door to leave. “Can we—like, catch up? I finish at 8:30? If you want… I know you’re probably busy. Could do it another time. If you want—”

Jungkook had always been a rambler—he’d ramble on and on whenever he was nervous, excited, or hiding something. It was a habit you picked up on early in your relationship, a tell that always gave him away. His words would get all jumbled and his speed of speech would increase, right before he’d admit something weighing on his mind.

“Did you change your hair? Did you curl it? Or is that more of a wave? Is your hair naturally like that? Did you have to wake up early to do that? Sorry—I mean, you look pretty.”

“The waves are big today, right? Wonder why. Probably something to do with the moon or something. Hey—did you know that sometimes female crabs eat their own babies if they get too stressed? Shit, sorry. I’m in love you.”

“You’re leaving? Okay, well, London is nice, apparently. Did you know Big Ben isn’t the name of the tower, just the bell inside? Weird, right? Fuck, please, stay.”

“8:30? By the benches?”

Jungkook lets out a small breath of relief. He doesn’t need to ask you to specify which benches—there were plenty along the beachfront, but he knows exactly which one you mean. The same one where he first told you he loved you.

“8:30. Benches. Perfect.”

Your fingers scrolled mindlessly over your phone as you sit on the bench, your foot tapping lightly against your other foot out of nervousness as you wait for Jungkook.

Two hands come to cover your eyes from behind you, skin cool against your warm cheeks, “Boo!”

Your own hand attempts to reach behind you, blindly trying to swat Jungkook, “Little shit.” You giggle.

Jungkook laughs, and the sound fills the air like a familiar melody you didn’t know you missed so much. He lets his hands fall away, stepping in front of you with that trademark half smirk.

“Wanna go sit on the beach?” Jungkook smiled, he was dressed in an oversized black tee, matching baggy jeans to match, his apron that was tied around his waist a few hours prior long gone now, dressed so casually yet, eyes from anyone passing by would automatically be drawn to him.

He’d always been that way—the main attraction in any room he entered. Girls would swoon over his doe eyes and pretty smile, boys would try to replicate his style and confidence, and grandmas would pinch his cheeks and slip in a good word for their granddaughters. You’re sure the attention’s only grown since then. He’d shed that baby face, swapped it for a bad-boy look with tattoos and piercings, and it only seemed to suit him more. You’d bet the creator of Jeon Jungkook had spent extra time perfecting him, as if to apologise for all the other men they had created. There was only one Jeon Jungkook, and he stood before you now, cocking his head towards the beach, waiting for you.

You find a spot on the sand to sit, the small waves washing onto the shore not too far from the two of you. Your hands dig into the sand beside you, letting the soft sand pour from between your fingers.

“Didn’t know you were back. Are you?,” Jungkook asks softly, his own fingers dragging back and forth through the sand in front of him, “Are you back?”

You let out a small laugh, “For a little I guess. Dad’s got a project in Seoul, so I decided to join him. Staying in a hotel just over there.” Your forefinger points to the side a little lazily.

“So, not back?”

“Back for a little.” You counter.

Jungkook lets out a small laugh, “Does anyone know? Surely Jimin or Hobes would have told me.”

“Nah, it was a last minute thing, just got here last night.”

Jungkook hums in response, was a little bummed that you weren’t here for good. He had secretly hoped that you had moved back, found his café, and came to find him.

“Can’t believe you own a fucking Cafè Kook.” You spoke with pride, he had always said he would open his own one day, and you knew he would, just didn’t expect it to be at the age of 22.

Kook. The nickname rolls off your tongue so easily. It fucking punches him in the gut. He could barely handle making eye contact with you, or how your hands brushed against his when you took the cup of Matcha from him. But that? No that was too much, he loved when you would call him that. It always sounded so delicate, so sweet. Memories of you calling out to him when you would spot him at the exit of the subway, how when the two of you would argue you would still say it with a tone so gentle, or when you used to whisper it into his ear late at night when he wasn’t being as gentle with you.

“You look good,” Jungkook almost whispers, his eyes moving towards you. When your eyes meet his, he physically cannot look away, locked in, whether he likes it or not.

“Yeah?” You smirk, a light warmth rushing to your cheeks. “You look like absolute shite.” You bite your lower lip, fighting the laugh threatening to escape.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Was tryna have a moment, you fuckin’ idiot.” He laughs, tossing some sand onto your lap as he shakes his head.

An hour passes, then two, then three. The two of you sit on the beach, a place that once defined the bond between you—where you spent the majority of your free time together. Holding hands as you walked the shoreline, chasing each other down the beach after one of you kicked cold water at the other unexpectedly.

Three hours lost in conversation, answering questions about London, Jungkook filling you in on the latest drama with your old friend group, reminiscing about the times you both shared.

“Did you get to meet the queen?”

“Remember when you got dunked by that wave and your fuckin’ swim shorts fell off?”

“Jimin is still a slut. Hoseok is still dancing. Joon owns a fuckin’ reading café with Jin—pricks are heavy competition.”

“You didn’t have to walk me all the way here” you giggle, fidgeting with the swipe card for your hotel room.

Jungkook scoffs, playfully. “Always have walked you home.” The glow from the lobby lights highlights his face, and you can’t help but notice the way his tongue toys with his lip ring. You know you should turn around, but that small action stirs something, turning the butterflies in your stomach into something more chaotic.

You hum, a soft laugh escaping. “Night, Kook.” You walk backward toward the door.

“Tomorrow. Don’t forget. Benches. Lunch.” He smirks, raising a brow.

You stop in the doorway, hesitating. “Goodnight” doesn’t feel like enough. Turning back, you catch him watching you, hands buried in his pockets, looking as if he’s watching you leave again, back to a place where he can’t follow you.

You walk toward him without thinking, wrapping your arms around his neck in an embrace that feels like slipping back into a dream. His hands find your waist instantly, like they’ve been searching for this moment just as long as you have. He holds you tight—too tight—but you don’t mind. Isn’t letting you slip away again.

His head tucks into the crook of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The scent of his shampoo, the same one you used to lather into his hair during lazy mornings together, fills your senses. Your fingers tangle into the soft strands, and for a second, it’s like no time has passed at all.

It’s dangerous, how familiar this feels. How easily you could sink back into this, into him. The weight of four years, the ache of everything unsaid, presses against your chest. You’re not sure if this hug is healing you—or breaking you all over again. But right now, you don’t care. All that matters is him, here, holding you like he’s trying to rewrite the past.

Neither of you move. Neither of you speak. The silence feels fragile, like if one of you breathes too loudly, the moment will shatter. You close your eyes, trying to memorise the way this feels. The warmth. The safety.

“Fuck—I’ve missed you.” His voice is muffled, but you feel the words more than hear them. They vibrate against your skin, settling deep in your chest.

Your throat tightens. “Me too, Kook.” Your arms tighten around him, just for a moment. “So much.”

For a fleeting second, you allow yourself to believe that this could be enough—that holding him like this could somehow fix everything. But then his phone buzzes in his pocket, a sharp reminder that the world outside still exists. You feel him tense, the hesitation in his hold. And when you pull back, his hands linger for just a second too long, like he’s reluctant to let you go.

You meet his eyes, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Just watch each other, silently wishing for the other to not leave.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

It’s been 9 days of feeling the warmth of Busan’s sun kiss your skin. 9 days of savoring authentic food that you missed in London. 9 days of hearing the sound of Jungkook’s laughter fill your ears.

The last week has been nothing short of a dream you once wished for. Most of your days are spent beside Jungkook—revisiting your old hangout spots, splashing in the cool water of the beach, or even letting him try to teach you how to use his extremely overpriced coffee machine at his café.

Today was no different. You both left the café side by side, iced lattes in hand, no real destination in mind—just happy to be beside each other.

“Ah! Kook! Look! We have to go, we have to!” You beamed, your finger shaking toward a photobooth stand just a few meters away.

Jungkook doesn’t need to look to know exactly what you’re pointing at. He already knows—your excitement was always a dead giveaway whenever a photobooth was in sight. He’d let you drag him in, spend too much time taking way too many photos. Would never say no, he loved it too, capturing moments between the two of you, sometimes he would purposefully plan dates in locations he knew would have a photo booth close by.

He laughs softly, shaking his head, “You haven’t changed a single bit. You know that, right?”

“That’s not true,” you tease, “My tits have at least doubled in size.”

Jungkook’s face freezes for a moment, a slight heat creeping up his neck. He’d noticed. Hell, he’d caught himself staring more than once, but he always tried to focus on your eyes instead, failing most times, told himself you hadn’t noticed. You had.

You slap the brim of his black cap gently, snapping him out of his daze. “Hello? Stop thinking about my tits. Can we please?”

“Wasn’t thinking about your tits, freak,” he laughs, his cheeks flushed. “Go.”

You slide into the cramped photobooth after Jungkook, closing the curtain behind you. It was an older booth, no fancy filters or props for you to use. Two options; Colour or Black&White.

Jungkooks fingers pressed against the screen, knowing you preferred black and white.

The first few shots are a little awkward. A small space forcing you and Jungkook to enter one another’s space, you had one of your legs hooked over his thigh, one of his arms around your back to stop you from sliding off the metal seat of the booth.

“These are all ridiculous, my fuckin’ eyes are closed in half of them” Jungkook whines, flipping through the strips of photos. He wasn’t wrong, they mostly were of you both laughing or pulling some very unattractive face.

“Fine, one more. Proper one.” You smile, sitting a little straighter in the booth.

Jungkook presses the settings again. The countdown begins. Your head leans against his softly, both of you smiling.

Snap.

Jungkook looks at you, takes in your side profile, the way your hair falls so effortlessly around your face, the small lines that form around your eyes as you smile and laugh.

Your eyes turn to meet him, he almost looks pouty. Taking all of you in.

“What?”

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty. Still so fuckin’ gorgeous.” He whispers.

Your eyes widen slightly, lips resting ajar slightly ready to say something but no words form to escape. His teeth tug on his lower lip ever so slightly as his eyes search yours.

Snap.

It's silent, both of you searching in eachothers eyes for something, anything. You swallow lightly, your eyes dropping to his lips where his teeth tug slightly, his lip ring flipping and causing your stomach to flip in unison.

His hand around your back moves to the side of your jaw, his thumb caressing over your cheek so softly you can only just feel it. You move in closer, your lips inches from his. Need this. Need you. Kiss me please.

Jungkook’s eyes shift to your lips, and his breath hitches for just a second. The usual confidence he carries falters, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable. His hand, resting near your cheek, twitches, as if torn between pulling you closer or pulling himself away. The silence between you stretches, heavy with unspoken words, but his eyes lock with yours again, and before either of you can think, his lips are on yours.

Snap.

Whatever thoughts had been running through his mind were quickly discarded. His lips crash against yours, you freeze for a moment, before your lips begin to work in partnership with his.

It doesn’t take long for Jungkook’s tongue to softly run against your lower lip, seeking entrance. When he’s met with your lips parting as an invitation he wastes no time. His tongue slides against yours, the way they work together makes it feel like no time has passed at all. So in tune with one another, knowing exactly what each other needs, exactly how one another like it.

The kiss grows heavier, soft grunts, light tugs of teeth against lips, pulling each other closer. No care for anyone passing by or if the curtain had moved. All either of you cared about was savouring this moment. Becoming one. Fuling eachothers fires.

Snap.

The faint sound of the photostrip being printed faded into the background, a distant reminder of the world outside. Neither of you moved, lips still entwined, reliving the taste of what once was. Touches so frantic yet familiar, hands grasping like they were afraid to let go, like holding tighter could stop time.

This was home.

Not a place, not a city—but this feeling. Safe, consuming, and so full of passion. London never offered that to you. And Jungkook lost the feeling of Busan being home as soon as you boarded that plane four years ago. But right here, in each other’s arms, it all made sense again. Like coming back to something that was always yours.

It isn’t until Jungkook’s phone starts to ring, the vibration rattling loudly in his pocket, that the moment shatters. His forehead rests against yours, as he lets out a quiet hiss of frustration.

“Fuck—sorry,” he mutters, eyes still half-lidded, voice low. “It’s probably work. I should take it.”

It’s not the first time his phone has stolen him away. You’d noticed it all week—calls that made him step aside, texts that pulled his attention mid-conversation. You told yourself it was just work, the demands of running a business.

Jungkook lingers a second longer, his hand brushing your knee as if reluctant to leave, before he finally slips out of the booth, leaving you alone with the aftertaste of a kiss that had ignited a fire that had been yearning for a flame for years.

You take the photos, pausing for a moment to flick through the dozen strips of memories captured on film.

Stepping outside, your eyes squint as they adjust to the bright sunlight above the beachfront. You scan the area, looking for any sign of Jungkook. It doesn’t take long before you spot him by a small gift shop, his fingers absentmindedly tracing over little beach-themed trinkets and keychains—miniature waves, seashells, and beach umbrellas.

“Everything okay?” you ask, stepping up beside him. Your fingers instinctively start to trace over the small ornaments, though your mind is still replaying the moments his lips were pressed against yours.

He slides his phone back into his pocket, offering you a soft glance before letting out a small sigh, which he quickly masks with a chuckle.

“Yeah, all good. Work,” he mutters, his lips tugging into a half smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sorry, again.”

You smile lightly, dismissing it with a wave of your hand. “It’s fine, Kook. Really.”

Then, with a small tilt of your head, you give him a silent cue to follow you. You turn and start making your way back along the strip.

He follows beside you, his usual confident, bubbly persona dulled slightly. His hands don’t reciprocate the small touches yours give him, and his laugh comes out flatter than usual.

It ties your stomach in knots. Maybe the kiss was a bad idea. Maybe he’d already come to regret it—scared of being left by you again, or maybe he’d come to the conclusion that you just weren’t his cup of coffee anymore.

His feet follow for a few steps, but then he falls behind again. “Shit, I’m sorry.” His eyes meet yours as you turn to face him, tilting your head slightly in confusion. “I gotta go take care of some stuff back at the café.”

“Oh. Yeah, no, of course,” you smile, though it feels strained. When Jungkook sees the corner of your lips upturn, he thinks he can physically feel his heart twist. “I get it, go.”

Jungkook goes to speak but bites down on his lower lip to stop himself. He lets out a quiet huff of breath through his nose before making his way toward you.

His long, muscular arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head. “Tomorrow? We’ll go to that hotpot place you used to froth over.”

His lips are gentle as they press a kiss to your forehead, and his hand holds your cheek as he gives you one last look before turning to head back to the cafè.

You wandered through the city, your feet tracing the familiar paths, but nothing felt quite the same. Every turn you took, every glance you stole at the places you had once visited with Jungkook, only deepened the ache in your chest. The weight of the kiss—the heaviness of the aftermath.

Jungkook’s absence was noticeable. The way he’d distanced himself after the kiss, the way he’d pulled back, had left you questioning everything. Was it something you imagined? Maybe he didn’t feel the same. Maybe for him, it was just a fleeting moment, a mistake.

You’re overthinking this, you told yourself. Maybe he just needs time. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m just reading too much into it. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t leave it like this.

The thought of leaving things unanswered felt wrong. You couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when you felt like something wasn’t. You needed to know if he had regretted it, or if he had changed his mind. The idea of him slipping away without ever acknowledging what had passed between you was something you couldn’t stomach.

With a deep breath, you turned towards the café. You didn’t know what to expect, but you knew you had to go. For closure, for peace, or maybe just to hear his side. You told yourself it wasn’t about getting back what you once had, but about understanding what this all meant now.

The small bell above the door chimes as you step into the café. It’s lively, filled with groups of friends and couples, some snapping photos of their colorful drinks and beach themed pastries, others simply enjoying the ocean view that stretches out in front of them.

“Hi, welcome to Golden Hour! What can I get you started with?” A perky brunette greets you from behind the counter.

“Is Jungkook in?” you ask, trying to keep your voice casual, but there’s a slight tightness in your chest that you can’t shake.

The brunette tilts her head, brows furrowing. “Jungkook? He hasn’t been in since this morning. Can I leave a message for you or something?”

A sudden weight settles in your stomach.

“Oh, no. That’s alright. I’ll just… come back later. Thanks anyway.” You force a smile, but it feels off—like you’re holding your breath, not quite sure what to do with the information.

Your mind races as you leave the café, your brows furrowed in confusion. He said he was going back to the café… So why hasn’t he been here? The questions circle in your mind: Is he okay? Why would he lie? Was it just an excuse to create some space between you two? Maybe he has an office away from the café? The doubt gnaws at you, leaving an uncomfortable feeling as you head back to the hotel, your mind nowhere near settled.

You chose to spend the rest of your evening wrapped in blankets, munching on some takeaway watching terrible reality TV, desperate to escape your own.

It had been working, your eyes and ears were glued to the catfight playing on the flatscreen on the wall opposite your bed, until your phone had chimed beside you.

| 8:40pm

kook: u free? need to see u.

A simple straightforward message, one that you didn’t need to read into, but you did. Perhaps he had come to the conclusion that he needed his lips on yours again, or was ready to tell you that it was something he didn't want to partake in again.

| 8:42pm

You: level 7, room 613 :)

A simple straightforward reply. You wonder if Jungkook was reading into all your words and actions. Questioning them and romanticising them too.

A soft knock echoes from the opposite side of your door 20 minutes later. You’re quick to make your way towards the door, opening the door to see Jungkook, his hair messily falling around his face, dressed in sweats and a tee that was complimenting his figure a little too well.

“Hi stranger.” You tease, pushing the door to open wider to let him in, “Long time no see.”

He enters, his eyes darting around the room. It’s a decent-sized hotel suite, the soft light from the bedside lamp casting a warm glow over the cozy seating area. The hum of the TV buzzes through the room as it flickers softly in the dim room. His eyes flicker between the bed and the small chair in the corner, unsure where to take his seat.

“I’m currently way too invested in Khloe Kardashian going to jail, so bed it is.” You laugh as you make your way into the room, sitting back into your side of the bed.

He rolls his eyes playfully, letting out a soft chuckle as he makes his way to the opposite side of the bed.

You both let silence fall upon you, eyes glued to the TV but neither of you are really listening.

“You still watch this shit?”

“If ‘this shit’ means ‘incredibly addictive and entertaining cinema’, then yes. Absolutely.”

This was probably the 9th time you’d watched this season. You could probably (no, definitely) recite the dialogue of the scenes yourself.

It was a quirk of yours to rewatch the same shows, the same movies, over and over again. You liked knowing how things ended, hated the suspense of being in the dark about the things you enjoyed—just like now, not knowing where things stood with Jungkook. It was easier to replay the past than to deal with the uncertainty of the present.

“Was everything okay at work?” You muse softly, eyes still on the TV, your eyes avoid Jungkooks, don’t want to see him lie to you.

He hesitates for a moment, adverting his gaze back to the TV, “Yeah, yeah. Was a bit of a shitshow, but it's fine.” He mumbles, shifting against the bed.

You hum softly in response, silence falling upon the both of you again. Jungkook is the one to break it this time.

“I’m sorry,” He turns to face you, “For having to dip, know we had plans and all.”

Your eyes meet his, they take in the look that’s rested on his face. His hair falling around his face, his hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt, his eyes are locked on yours. All big and doe-eyed that you get lost in them, forget that he left, forget that he lied about going back to the cafè, forget that he had been standoffish after his lips crashed against yours.

“Do you regret it?” The words leave your lips before you can stop them, “The kiss, I mean.” You almost wince, your head inches back slightly as if you’re bracing yourself for the answer Jungkook could give you.

Jungkook’s brows furrow, his chest tightening slightly at the thought that you had been thinking that he had been avoiding you because of regret.

“Oh fuck— No! Fuck, no of course I don’t regret it,” He sits upright, turning his body towards you and runs his hand through his hair, he can see your eyes searching his own for any reason to not believe him, “Are you kidding? Do you know how long I’ve been wanting that? I fuckin’ dream about it, have since you left. No, fuck, I promise, I would never regret it.”

You let out a shaky breath, not sure what to say or do. The answer he gives you puts to rest any anxiety you had been harboring about him regretting the kiss, but a feeling of uncertainty still lingers in your chest. Why then?

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

When Jungkook’s gaze falls over your face, a sick feeling coils in his stomach. Sick to his stomach? Maybe love-sick too? You look so conflicted—your eyes darting back and forth between his. A small smile graces your lips, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and that sends a sharp jolt of self-hatred down his spine.

His hand reaches out, takes yours into his, “I promise you. I fuckin’ swear, I have never and will never regret you. Never.”

“That makes one of us.” You joke, a playful tone in your whisper, your own fingers intertwining with his, a perfect fit.

Jungkook laughs, shakes his head and squeezes your fingers between yours, “Fuckin’ idiot.”

The air between you feels lighter, hands staying locked together. There isn’t much conversation, not enough words that feel significant enough to truly convey how you both feel.

As the mood shifts, the air grows hotter. Tension rises between you, one that could rival the heat of Busan’s sun. You inch closer, your eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips, both of you subconsciously leaning in. Your hands grow bolder, silently roaming over each other.

"Kiss me," Jungkook whispers, his lips barely grazing yours. "Fuck-please."

No need to be told twice. You've heard him loud and clear. Your lips meet his, softly at first, applying just enough pressure to let him know you're all in. His hand quickly finds the back of your head, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

Your tongue slides gently into his mouth, tangling with his in a rhythm that feels like it's been building for ages. His hands move to your waist, tugging you closer, pulling you into him. Without hesitation, you straddle his lap, your lips never disconnecting. The feeling of your body pressed against his, the heat intensifying, sends him into overdrive. A soft grunt escapes his lips, muffled against yours, as his grip tightens.

Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, bundling the fabric into your palms and pulling it up and over his head. As your lips pull apart to help remove his shirt, your eyes connect, his normal doe eyed look replaced with his eyes narrowing, desperation and need shining from them.

Jungkook's lips leave a trail down your neck, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer as you straddle him. You can feel his breath against your skin, shallow and quick, as if he's trying to steady himself.

"Wait, I-" He pulls back for a moment, his eyes locked on yours. There's something in them. Something he wants to say. But before he can, you pull him back to you, your lips crashing against his again, desperate for the taste of his lips.

He groans against your mouth, his hands pulling you in closer . The words from before, the hesitation in his eyes, are forgotten as the moment swallows both of you whole.

You can feel the firmness in Jungkook's pants pressing up against you, your hips begin to slowly grind back and forth against him, desperate for friction, desperate for some kind of release.

"Fuck, Kook," you whisper breathlessly between kisses, "Want you. Need you." Your words stir something in him, a tension so thick it makes his chest tighten with need. He groans low in his throat, hands moving to your waist to pull you closer.

His hands move from your hips up to your back, roaming chaotically, they come forward, they press against your chest and squeeze lightly. He pulls his head back, watches as his hands slightly dig into your breasts.

“Shit- Look at you,” He hisses between his teeth, his hands coming to squeeze again. His eyes lift up to you, your cheeks flushed with a soft blush from the heat of it all, lips slightly ajar, thinks you look so perfect. Too perfect. It makes his stomach flip, “Fuck, I need to te-”

His words are cut off as you lift your own shirt over your head, revealing your bare chest to him, his hands immediately coming to cup them again. A low, raspy groan leaves his lips, squeezes them again, harder this time.

Any words that were threatening to leave his lips are long gone, washed away in the tsunami of desire and adoration he has for you. Forgotten, swept away by the tide. The only words he’s able to muster up now are whispered curses through his teeth as you pull his head softly towards your chest.

His lips press against your skin, hungrily. He simply can’t get enough. You, you, you. It’s all he hears. All he wants. His eyes peek up to look at you as his lips wrap around your nipple, softly sucking.

The feeling of his soft lips wrapped around you makes you whine softly, your fingers tugging slightly on the ends of his hair. When you look down to see his round eyes looking right back at you, you’re sure you’re going to melt. Happy to let the tide consume you, will become one with the waves if it means having Jungkook like this.

He sucks, kisses, tugs slightly over your sensitive nipple, going back and forth between each one. Can't get enough. Is all in, all for you.

Your hips lift slightly, a silent plea for him to rid himself of his sweatpants. He notices-of course, he notices-but for a split second, his hands falter at the waistband, a thought flickering in his mind. It vanishes almost as quickly as it comes, overpowered by the pull of you. His hands move quickly now, tugging his sweatpants down and kicking them off in one fluid motion.

Grabbing your hips, he pulls you back toward him, his grip firm yet tender, presses a soft kiss against your lips. With a soft grunt, he flips you onto your back. There’s urgency in the way Jungkook moves, showing you just how badly he needs you right now.

He watches as your hips lift slightly, your thumbs hooking under your waistband, sliding off the last barrier between you and him.

He swallows, hard. Is in awe of everything that is you. His eyes trace every curve, every detail he had once memorised. He almost marvels at how well he remembers your body-every point that makes you tremble, every spot that leaves you breathless. But is he really surprised?

How could he be? He has carried you with him in every way possible, mimicking how he used to love you with everyone after you, always chasing the high you had once given him. It's always been you, all he's known.

As your hand comes to rest against his cheek, your thumb gently ghosting over his lower lip, you send him a small nod. Please. Let’s do this. Need you now. You, you, you.

His eyes search yours for a brief moment, as if to confirm this is real, that this is really happening. Then, with a softness that contrasts the heat between you, he tilts his head, pressing a delicate kiss onto the pad of your thumb.

The warmth of his lips lingers there before he lowers his head into the crook of your neck, where he pauses. He inhales deeply, letting your scent ground him. His lips press against your skin.

Your legs part, as he slowly lets himself fall into you. A low, desperate moan leaving his lips. “Ah—Fuck.”

The whine that leaves your lips is made up of a thousand different reasons— The slight burn of Jungkook sliding inside you, the release of built up tension of waiting for this moment, and above all, the most powerful: Love. All the feelings you had sworn you had moved past during the distance are back, as if they had never left.

His hips slowly begin to rock back and forth, finding a steady rhythm as the familiarity of your walls tightens around him. Heavy breaths fill the room, and he feels your nails dig into his biceps, a soft yet desperate plea. He wants you to leave your mark, to scar him, so that he carries a permanent tattoo made from you.

His hand moves from beside you, to your chest, cupping onto your pillowed tit. Is brave enough to look at your face now, and when he does and see’s your lips parted, brows furrowed— He’s done for.

His hips slam into you, the pace quickening, desperate now. Your legs part wider, your back arching against the mattress as the rhythm shifts.

"Fuck, Kook. So good," you whimper, almost pathetically, your hands gripping his arms. “So, so good, Kook."

He curses through his teeth, lifting his upper body between your legs as he keeps thrusting into you. His hand moves down your stomach, his nails grazing lightly, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

He watches himself sink in and out of you, the new angle making his heartbeat race. His finger continues its journey down your torso, finally finding your clit.

Soft, delicate circles are drawn over your sensitive bud. He wants to push you to the edge, overstimulate you, but he's not sure how much longer he can last like this. He's overstimulated himself, finally feeling you wrapped around him again-and it hurts. It hurts because it's been so long, hurts because he knows nothing will ever compare to this, and it hurts knowing he might never have this again.

"So fuckin' pretty like this, my baby," he grunts, the pet name slipping from his lips so naturally, it only pushes you closer to the edge. "So, fuckin' perfect for me, aren't you?"

Baby. It shouldn't sting, but it does. It reminds you of the tattoo needle that had pierced your skin five years ago, a thin line replicating a wave on your ribcage. The kind of sting that leaves you sore, but somehow addicted to the pain.

"Fuck, Kook, you're gonna-Ah, shit. You're gonna make me cum." You moan, your elbows digging into the bed as you struggle to hold your weakening body up.

His free hand presses against your inner thigh, pulling it forward as his other continues to rub tight, precise circles over your clit. "Cum," he groans, his brows furrowing so deeply you swear they'll leave a mark. "Cum for me, baby. Show me. Let me feel you, hm?"

Your stomach tightens, your elbows giving out, sending your head crashing back against the mattress. You try to push his hand away from your overstimulated clit, want to stay like this forever but it's no use-he's never been one to lose.

Your moans grow louder, more desperate, mixing with the wet sound of his skin slapping against yours, each thrust desperate and bold.

He feels you tighten around him, your walls pulsing in small, desperate spasms. Soft whines of his name leaving your lips that send him into overdrive. The sensation drives him wild, completely lost in the sin that is you.

It doesn't take long before Jungkook follows suit, his teeth digging into his lower lip as his eyes squeeze shut, his orgasm washing over him, emptying deep inside you.

His hips rock slowly, still moving against you as he rides out the waves of pleasure, his lips pressing desperate kisses against yours, drinking in your whines.

Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, his face finding comfort in the crook of your neck once more. The room falls silent, filled only with the sound of both your heavy breaths, struggling to regain normalcy.

"Shower?" You whisper into his ear, pressing a soft kiss against his lobe. He doesn't answer, only nodding against your skin.

You start the shower, letting the warm water cascade over your body. It tries to wash away any trace of his lips on your skin, but it's no use-his marks are invisible now, etched into your memory, and ones that only you two will ever know are there.

You’ve washed your body, your hair, your face, but Jungkook still hasn’t joined you in the shower. You dry off, throwing on the oversized tee that was hanging in the bathroom, and make your way back to the bedroom.

Jungkook is sitting on the bed, his figure dimly lit by the changing flashes from the TV screen. His back is to you, but his head hangs slightly between his shoulders.

“Kook?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t reply. You walk towards him, kneeling down in front of him, positioning yourself between his legs. Gently, your hands reach for his wrists, pulling them away from his hanging head.

“Kook? Hey—what’s going on?” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, the reassurance in it only making Jungkook feel worse.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “So, so fucking sorry, my baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your brows pinch together in confusion, your face full of concern. “Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. Kook—talk to me.”

He lifts his gaze to meet yours, letting his hands fall limply against his lap. His eyes are glassy, bloodshot, and his lower lip trembles as he tries to speak. “I fucked up,” he breathes out, almost choking on the words. “I’m so fucking sorry. You have to believe me, I’m so sorry.”

Your hand gently cradles his face, your thumb wiping away the stray tears as they fall. His face leans into your touch, a small kiss pressed into your palm, and that simple gesture sends him into a sob.

“What are you talking about, Jungkook? Talk to me— I can’t help you if I don’t understand.” Your voice is soft, trying to soothe his panic, but there’s a hint of fear to it.

“Kiss me. Please,” his voice cracks, eyes locked onto yours with a desperate plea. “Please, kiss me.” His words are broken by sobs.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure how to navigate this. He’s never been this vulnerable, and you’ve only seen him cry a handful of times—never like this. Gently, you kneel, brushing stray hairs from his forehead.

Your hand lifts his chin slightly, and you press your lips to his. It’s slow, painfully slow. Jungkook’s hands find their way to your face, gripping it with force, as though grounding himself. He tries to deepen the kiss, but all that escapes him is another sob.

You pull back slightly, sitting back on your knees, but just as you start to pull away, his hands catch yours, holding them gently before they can drop to your sides.

“Please, Kook.” You beg softly, your voice a mix of confusion and desperation.

“I didn’t mean to fuck this up. I really didn’t, my baby. I—fuck, everything just happened so fast. Everything’s been a mess, and then you showed up, and it just got even more fucked. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You’re still trying to make sense of what he’s so sorry for—kissing you? Sleeping with you? Regretting it? Not wanting this anymore? You have no fucking idea.

“Kook…I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to say.”

His eyes meet yours briefly before they dart away, unable to hold your gaze. His lips part to speak, but another sob escapes him, followed by a curse that cuts through the air.

“I— I have,” his voice cracks, “Fuck, I have a girlfriend.”

Your body freezes, stone cold. Your hands go limp in his, your chest tightening as your breath quickens.

His eyes meet yours, tears falling down his face, lips trembling as he tries to find anything to say. “Please— I can explain, I swear. I— Fuck, you know that’s not who I am.”

Your hands rip away from his, standing up and stepping back, your brain completely void of thought, overwhelmed by a gut-wrenching scream that echoes through your mind.

“What?”

He stands up, his hands reaching for you again, but you take another step back. The small distance between you feels painfully familiar.

“Please— me and her, we were already on our last breath before you showed up. I just didn’t have the balls to do anything about it. But then you, you came, and I—”

“You’re fucking joking, right?” You almost laugh, tears brimming in your eyes. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.”

His head shakes as he searches for the right words, hating the sight of your tears, but feeling utterly helpless. Seeing you cry because of him makes him want to dig his own fucking grave.

“Is that why your phone’s been blowing up? Is that why you didn’t go back to the café today? Because she was waiting for you?”

“Stop— Please, baby, I promise. I was going to end it tonight, but I needed to see you first, and then— Fuck, I got lost in you again, in feeling you. I— Please, baby.”

“Oh, it’s my fault?” Your voice cracks, bitterness cutting through the air. “I’m the reason you cheated? I’m the reason you lied?”

“Baby, no. It’s all fucking mine. I fucked it up. I wanted to tell you, was going to when we first hung out. Fuck—I just got so caught up, seeing you again, then I kept pushing it back, avoiding it. Didn’t want to ruin us.”

“Get out.”

He sobs, his voice breaking, “Please—fuck, please. We can figure it out. Please, baby.”

“Stop fucking calling me that, Kook!” You push at his chest, feeling like you’re being suffocated by the weight of his presence. London doesn’t sound so bad now. In fact, maybe it’s even too close.

He lets you push him, knowing he deserves it. Knows this is probably the last time your hands will ever press against his body. He stumbles back, letting you shove him toward the door as his sobs echo, watching helplessly as your tears fall.

“Please, get the fuck out. Fuck off, go. Leave.” You spit between the shoves. His back presses against the door, your pushes no longer having the same effect. Instead, you let your head drop against his chest, your shoulders shaking as you cry.

Your hands grip the shirt that clings to his frame, your voice quiet but cracked, laced with sobs, “Why the fuck did you do this?” You’re barely holding it together. “Why fuck me over? Why did you fucking do this?”

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your wrists, his thumbs rubbing over them softly, but nothing can ease the hurt between you. He can’t say anything to make this right, can’t justify why he kept this secret, why he didn’t tell you sooner.

He wants to—God, how he wants to sit you down and explain everything. He wants to tell you that his relationship with her had been hanging by a thread long before you even walked into his life. That it was a ghost of what it had once been, both of them too scared to be the one to end it. They hardly spoke anymore, both just avoiding the inevitable end.

But he knows there’s no point now. He fucked up. He’s still in a relationship, even if it’s nothing but a shell, and that’s a reality he can’t escape. He knows what he did was wrong. And even though the feelings for you that had resurfaced swallowed him whole when you walked into his coffee shop, he was greedy. He let himself want you, even though he knew this situation cursed any chance of a future between you two.

“I love you.” He whispers, broken.

And you know he does. You’ve felt it, felt what it’s like to be loved by Jeon Jungkook.

His hand reaches for the door, twisting the handle. Your hands fall from his shirt, your arms hanging at your sides as your breath shakes in your chest. You take a step back.

His hand gently cups your face, brushing away the tears that keep falling. When you look up at him, his sob is painful, raw. It only grows louder when your own hand rests over his.

He presses his lips to yours one last time, desperate, consuming. He breathes you in, as if trying to make this moment last forever, but the kiss ends too soon.

“I love you,” you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

The only response is the sound of the door locking behind him, his departure sealing the silence of your suite.

[fluentmoviequoter]

For My Husband

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jason Todd x fem!reader (no specific characterization for Jason!)

Summary: Jason has had a lot on his mind, including your relationship. You call him your husband on a night out and suddenly everything makes sense.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff, too many boat analogies? and completely justified grand theft auto

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest/WFA Webtoon (I love him)

It burns like a searing blade carving deep into him, leaving a scar in its eternally marking wake. The ring in Jason’s pocket grows heavier, weighing on him, and burning him like the scars lining his skin. The same scars you kiss and don’t see as marks but as part of the man you love.

As Jason sits across the table across from you, he thinks about an hour ago when you invited him on a date. He argued at first, not ready to go out in public and be asked about Bruce or see something that reminds him of the time before you. But then you smiled and told him where you wanted to go, your favorite place just outside of town that seemed to attract more tourists or people stopping on their way to Blüdhaven or Metropolis, where Jason wasn’t likely to be recognized or hear someone murmur looks like the Wayne kid. So, he agreed, and now his thoughts drift back further.

Two weeks ago, Jason returned home from a mission with the Outlaws. It was hard on him; there were moments when he thought he lost everything, and the only thing that gave him the strength to fight was the image of coming home to you. Once he was home, he talked about what he could and let your comfort carry away the rest like a tide pulling his worries away to make room for you.

Jason Todd has never felt more like himself than he does in your arms and at peace in your words, your comfort. The last few days of being with you have allowed Jason to realize just how perfect you are, how perfect you are for him. And then he remembers how much he doesn’t deserve you, and the ring gets a little heavier like an anchor, making those tides pointless to do little more than rock his once steady ship.

“What are you getting?” you ask, drawing Jason back to the present.

He looks over the top of his menu, and your smile tugs at him. “The pasta looks good,” he answers. “Hey, since you asked me out does that mean you’re paying?”

You lean forward to whisper, “Which one of us has a card attached to Bruce’s bank account?”

Jason tips his head in defeat, not that he would have let you pay anyway. He’s a gentleman through and through, something you know well, and most of the reason you get the idea to order for him. When the waiter approaches, Jason gestures for you to order first, as always, and you smile at the waiter as you request your favorite meal and a side to share with Jason.

Then, you say, “And my husband will have the pasta.”

You look to him for confirmation, but Jason doesn’t reply. He repeats your words in his mind several times, wondering what you could have possibly said that he misheard as husband. When he decides that there are no other words close enough to 'husband' that fit this context, he looks to the waiter, who is smilingly knowingly with his pencil poised over the order pad.

“Did she say husband?” Jason asks him. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, you lucky man,” the waiter answers. “Was there anything else I could get you?”

Jason shakes his head as you fight a laugh to say, “That’s all, thank you.”

Repeating your words and voice in his head, Jason can’t think about anything else. You watch him, torn between amusement and love, as he gets lost in his thoughts. Jason thinks of your soft gaze, the gentleness and genuine tone in your voice when you called him my husband, and the weight of the ring shifts. It’s not something holding him down, threatening to pull you down with him when you deserve anything but him, but a proposal that he needs to make. It is his anchor, but it’s anchoring him to you. Until he tells you that and asks you to be his wife, you won’t truly understand what you mean to Jason Todd or how you saved him from himself simply by loving him. So, Jason shakes himself out of his reverie and starts an easy conversation with you. But your voice in his mind continues to remind him of how much he means to you.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped before,” you offer. “Calling you husband.”

“I liked it,” Jason admits with a smile.

“Well, that’s good because I like you.”

After splitting a dessert, Jason excuses himself to pay the bill and tip your waiter.

“Are you proposing?” the waiter asks as he passes Jason the receipt. “We get a lot of people who propose in the restaurant. There’s a moment of clarity right before it happens, between the nervous movements and the actual proposal, where you can see everything shift into place and make sense.”

“I’m in that moment?” Jason guesses.

“Have been since you recovered from being called her husband, I think.”

Jason nods and answers, “I am proposing tonight. Can’t wait any longer.”

“Congratulations.”

“She could say no.”

The waiter smiles as he steps back and prepares to tend to another table. “She won’t. She had the look too, the undeniable love and desire to be with you long after this date. So, congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Jason returns to your table and takes your hand, gentle and kind as he helps you up and walks side-by-side with you. You’ve seen him fight, seen his scars, and know the level of violence he has and can inflict, but there’s something different in how he touches you. How he handles you, not like you’re fragile but like you are precious and treasured. It’s one of many things that you love about Jason.

“We need to make one little stop, is that okay?” Jason asks as he opens the passenger door of a car he borrowed from Bruce’s garage.

“Of course. But if you want to take the scenic route, you can just say so.”

Jason bends forward to buckle your seatbelt for you, and when his face is inches from yours answers, “Then let’s take the scenic route.”

Jason parks the car on a hill before he turns off the engine. You’re on Bruce’s property. You know that because Wayne Manor looms in the distance, a dark shape against the nighttime fog of Gotham. Yet you don’t understand why Jason brought you here, especially when you’re almost sure he didn’t get permission to borrow the car you arrived in.

The door beside you opens, and Jason lowers his hand to help you exit. Here, you can see more stars than anywhere else in Gotham, and your eyes find the sky as Jason’s gaze remains on you.

This hill was once an escape for him, one of the only places he could get far enough away from his family to breathe but be close enough to know where they were. When he returned from the Lazarus Pit and took up the mantle of Red Hood, he spent hours standing on the crest and watching Wayne Manor in the distance, as if it would grow closer or Bruce would throw open the door to welcome him home, broken pieces in tow.

“There’s so many stars,” you murmur. “I thought we’d lost them all to the smog.”

“Not all of them,” Jason answers softly, watching the small lights reflect in your eyes. “I’ve always liked it out here.”

You lower your chin away from the sky and turn to face Jason just as he kneels to be on one knee.

“I came out here a lot as a kid, even when I came back, it was one of the only places that I felt like I could belong. Since then, I’ve found that feeling in you. You’re not just who I think I belong with, though…”

You squeeze Jason’s hand gently and step closer to him, your joined hands against your hip.

“I don’t deserve you,” Jason admits. “You’re too good for me, more than I could ever earn or come close to being worthy of.”

You shake your head, but Jason smiles as he adds, “But you’re everything I want, need – crave – and so much more. The night that we met, I knew that you were special, I knew that I wanted to be your husband. I’d lost the ability to do anything good. I couldn’t even sleep without seeing everything I’d done or thought I would do; I couldn’t dream anymore. And then I found you, and you came to me like you knew there was something in me that I couldn’t see. You are my everything, but all I want to be is yours. Will you marry me?”

Wiping the tears falling down your face with your free hand, you answer, “Yes! Yes, Jason. I am yours.”

Jason stands and pulls you into his arms in one fluid movement. His arms are strong around your waist as he lifts you gently and spins you beneath the stars. You loop your arms over his shoulders and cling to him.

“Thank you,” Jason whispers against your shoulder.

After he sets you down and moves his hands to hold your waist, you spread your hand over his heart and ask, “For what?”

Jason smiles in the starlight and answers, “For being my wife.”

You slide your hands up and hold Jason’s jaw, leaning forward to kiss him as you murmur, “Oh, I could get used to hearing that.”

[angelremnants]

A TALES OF... l Tides and Mishaps

OR.. After your strange ordeal, you find yourself brought to Asgard, where you're to face a trial for your unusual bond with your necklace. With Loki forcing his company onto you, you both go through a tense encounter that leaves both of you soaked, disheveled and wondering what will happen next.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (+16), mild suggestive content, power dynamics, flirtation and teasing, unresolved sexual tension, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 11.4k

author's notes : I am back, baby! Finally finished with my exams, and we're celebrating with this ficlet! It adds more depth to the series' lore while sprinkling in some playful moments. Writing this felt essential to set the stage for the spicy plot I’ve been itching to dive into.

Find the continuation here.⠀(18+—MDNI.)

(ao3 version)

The Bifrost roared to life, a maelstrom of light and sound that seemed to swallow the world whole. For one heart-stopping moment, you felt weightless, as though the very air had been torn from your lungs. And then, just as suddenly, it was over.

Your feet hit solid ground, though it didn’t feel it as much—it didn’t have the same firmness as Earth’s soil. The surface beneath you was smooth, crystalline, and alive with shifting colors. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself against the closest steady presence, which just so happened to be Loki.

“Do try to stay upright,” he drawled, steadying you with a hand on your arm before stepping back with exaggerated grace.

You blinked, regaining your balance as you fixed him with a glare. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that look of sheer terror? Absolutely not,” he replied with a smirk, releasing you as if it were beneath him to linger too long.

Your retort died on your lips as your eyes took in the sight before you: Asgard. The city glimmered like something out of a dream, its golden spires piercing the heavens, the sky above it painted in hues you couldn’t name. Rivers of light wove through the air like threads in an invisible loom, casting an otherworldly glow over everything.

Your jaw dropped. “It’s… it’s…”

“Glorious?” Loki supplied, clearly enjoying your reaction based on the indubitable edge of pride in his voice. “Magnificent? Breathtaking? Go on, I’ve got all day.”

“Overwhelming,” you finished, still gaping.

“Ah, a new one,” he said with mock surprise. “How refreshing.”

Before you could formulate a response, the sound of footsteps echoed across the bridge. An imposing figure approached with the deliberate, measured pace of someone who carried the weight of millennia on his shoulders. His golden eyes swept over you, lingering for a moment longer than you were comfortable with before settling on Loki, narrowing slightly.

“Prince Loki,” he saluted with a small nod, his voice low and resonant.

“Heimdall,” Loki replied smoothly, his tone laced with feigned civility. “No need for that intimidating look. I am precisely where I’m supposed to be.”

“Rare, but true,” Heimdall said, his gaze shifting back to you. He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You are the one who bears the gift.”

You hesitated under the weight of his gaze. “That’s me,” you said with an awkward smile, trying for a tone that sounded casual but landed somewhere closer to nervous.

Heimdall’s piercing stare softened slightly, though a flicker of something unreadable danced behind his golden eyes. “Perhaps…” he murmured as if speaking more to himself than to you.

“Perhaps?” you repeated, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He ignored your question, instead turning his attention to Loki. “And you brought her here in due form? Color me surprised—perhaps your talk of redemption isn’t entirely hollow after all.”

Loki’s smirk deepened, as though the mere idea of Heimdall questioning him brought him endless amusement. “Oh come along, Heimdall, have some faith in me will you? Thor was otherwise occupied, so yes, I am the one who delivered our little anomaly to Asgard. Do try not to look so surprised.”

Heimdall’s gaze flickered back to you, and this time his expression was unreadable. “You assume much, Loki, as always. There is more to this one than meets the eye.”

You blinked, your brow furrowing. “Uh, hello? Cryptic much?”

Instead of gracing you with an answer, Heimdall turned and began walking toward the city, his stride as unyielding as the bridge beneath your feet. “Come. There is much to discuss, and the Allfather will not wait.”

You exchanged a confused glance with Loki, but he only shrugged, clearly uninterested in dissecting Heimdall’s cryptic words.

“Don’t let him get into your head,” Loki said, following after the gatekeeper with an air of feigned indifference. “He enjoys making everything sound mysterious and profound. It’s practically a pastime.”

But you couldn’t shake the weight of Heimdall’s words as you drew closer to the city. More than meets the eye. It was an idea that gnawed at you as you stared at the golden gates ahead, a growing knot of unease twisting in your stomach.

Whatever awaited you inside the halls of Asgard, you suspected it would be more than you were prepared for.

⠀⠀

Soon enough, the small group reached the golden gates of Asgard which opened with a slow, reverent creak, revealing the splendor within. As you stepped across the threshold, you felt your breath hitch. The palace was impossibly vast, its ceilings arching so high above that they seemed to disappear into the ether. Columns of gleaming gold lined the grand hall, their surfaces etched with intricate runes that shimmered faintly as though alive. Sunlight poured in from massive windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the polished floors.

“I’m starting to think you people don’t do subtle,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki, walking beside you with his usual swagger, smirked. “Subtlety is overrated. What you see here is the peak of sophistication and culture.”

“I get where your dramatic flair comes from now. Feels like you’re compensating for something,” you shot back, unable to resist to the temptation of the snark.

“Compensating?” Loki scoffed, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Darling, if Asgard were compensating, we’d have built two palaces and made them float.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Right, because subtlety really is your strong suit.”

“Subtlety,” he said, stepping ahead with a flourish while twirling his cape as if to make a point, “is for those who have nothing worth showing off.”

Ahead of them, Heimdall paused and turned just enough to give Loki a pointed look. “Do try to behave,” he said dryly. “We are in the presence of the Allfather’s court, after all.”

Loki sighed dramatically. “Always the stickler, Heimdall. I assure you, that my behavior will be exemplary. Can’t guarantee the same for our invitee over here.”

You raised an eyebrow but wisely chose not to comment. Instead, you focused on the grand hall ahead, where grand statures loomed at the far end seemingly watching over the entrance of the throne rooms. God, must all Asgardians be so tall?

Two guards in shining armor led you through the labyrinthine halls, their expressions stoic, their silence impenetrable. You clutched your neck where the artifact had affixed itself weeks ago, the golden runes etched into your skin glowing faintly under your touch. It hadn’t hurt, but it had refused to let go, as if it had claimed you. Those wretched SHIELD scientists on Earth had no answers. Neither did you.

A voice broke through your thoughts as you reached the throne room. "The Allfather will see you now."

The massive doors creaked open, revealing a short but intimidating old man seated on his throne, the ever-watchful Heimdall leading the troupe and striding to pay his respects. Guess not, after all. A gorgeous and graceful lady sat beside him, her serene expression offering a sliver of comfort amidst the tension. You stepped forward hesitantly, feeling like you had sinned for even letting your feet brush against the polished floor.

"Come closer," Odin commanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. You obeyed, feeling small beneath his gaze.

Even from a distance, his presence was imposing. Draped in regal robes of deep crimson and gold, the Allfather sat upon a throne that seemed carved from starlight itself. His one remaining eye fixed on you as you approached, sharp and unyielding. The queen beside him held an elegance that was a stark contrast to the weight of Odin’s authority.

As you drew closer, you felt the weight of their scrutiny settle on you. You were acutely aware of your attire—a basic white shirt, paired with a burgundy leather jacket and jeans, entirely impolite for the occasion. The contrast between the modern, casual outfit and the ancient, sacred setting was striking, and it felt as though you were wearing a banner of your inadequacy. The artifact bound to your neck—the ornate, ancient-looking jewelry you hadn’t been able to remove—seemed to pulse faintly under their gaze, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

However, beneath the surface, there was an almost surreal feeling tugging at you. You had been stripped of your usual layers, your defenses, your control—forced to stand before these gods and be judged.

You stopped at the base of the dais, and Heimdall stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Allfather. I present the mortal who bears the artifact.”

Odin’s gaze shifted to you, and the air seemed to grow heavier. You swallowed hard, unsure whether to bow, curtsy, or just stand there and hope you didn’t offend anyone. Your voice faltered as you glanced at the ground and stuttered, “Do I... Do I bow, or—?” Your words trailed off, feeling absurd in the silence that stretched between them.

Odin’s expression hardened, but there was a brief flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—before he spoke. “You stand as you are, mortal. Your presence here has already spoken volumes.”

The silence hung thick, and you straightened, hoping you hadn't overstepped, but unsure if you had done enough. Loki’s absence of protest was loud in its own way, though.

“You’ve brought her here safely,” Odin said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of eons. “Good.”

Then his gaze moved to Loki, narrowing slightly. “And you. I had expected Thor to complete this task, yet it is you who stands before me. Explain.”

Loki’s posture straightened, his usual smirk fading into something more restrained. “Thor is off-world, tending to a matter of great importance,” he said smoothly. “I was the logical choice to retrieve her. After all, who better to guide a mortal through the complexities of our realm than I?”

“Or to exploit her presence for your amusement,” Odin countered sharply, his tone cutting.

Loki’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t falter. “I’m here because I was entrusted with the task. And I fulfilled it.”

“You are supposed to be on house arrest, boy—”

Frigga stepped forward then, her voice gentle but firm. “And had he not gone, we wouldn’t have the chance to meet her, would we, my king? She stands before us unharmed.”

You sneaked a glance at Loki out of the corner of your eye, and for a moment you saw something entirely unfamiliar. The usual sharpness in his demeanor, the endless supply of biting wit and bravado, seemed dulled under Odin’s glare. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and his hands clasped behind his back as if restraining himself. You’d never seen him so repressed before, so small beneath someone else’s authority. It unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Odin’s gaze lingered on Loki for a moment longer before he shifted his focus back to you. “What do you know of the artifact you carry?”

“Not much,” you admitted, your voice steadier than you expected. “I found it during a trip to Sweden. The moment I picked it up, it latched onto me. I’ve tried everything—pulling it off, cutting it, even letting some organization poke at it with their fancy tech.”

Loki smirked beside you. “Charming.”

You ignored him. “It doesn’t hurt me, but sometimes it feels like it’s… alive. Like it’s trying to tell me something.”

Odin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eye—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition. “It is no ordinary artifact,” he said at last. “Its origins are older than even this realm. We will determine its purpose and its bond to you, but the process will not be easy.”

You frowned, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the artifact. “What does that mean?”

Instead of answering directly, Odin raised his staff, Gungnir, and tapped it once against the polished floor. The chamber darkened, and the golden light of Asgard’s magic rippled through the air. A projection began to form before you—a shimmering, ethereal image of Yggdrasil, its vast branches stretching infinitely. At its roots coiled the immense, terrifying form of a serpent, its scales dark and glimmering with an otherworldly sheen.

“This,” Odin began, his voice reverberating through the room, “is Níðhöggr, the wyrm who once gnawed at the roots of Yggdrasil, threatening the very balance of the Nine Realms. Long before my reign, even before the reign of my father Borr, the great serpent clashed with my grandfather, Búri. Their battle raged for days, shaking the very foundation of existence.”

The projection shifted, showing an imposing figure clad in ancient armor, wielding a glowing axe as he fought the massive serpent. As the battle raged, one of Níðhöggr’s scales fell, pulsing with the chaotic energy of Yggdrasil’s roots.

“When Níðhöggr was finally defeated by my grandfather the late Búri and cast into obscurity, this single scale remained—a fragment of its power, imbued with the raw magic of Yggdrasil itself,” Odin continued. “It was believed lost, hidden from both gods and mortals alike, until now.”

The projection faded, and the light returned to the chamber. Odin’s gaze fell heavily on you, his expression unreadable. “That scale, the Wyrmscale, has bound itself to you. Why it has chosen a mortal remains to be seen, but its attachment is no trivial matter. It may seek to awaken something within you—or to serve as a harbinger of something far worse.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as you processed the weight of his words. “And… what does that mean for me? What happens now?”

“That is why you’re here,” Heimdall interjected, his tone solemn, stepping forward. “To be tested.”

Odin nodded gravely, his expression unwavering. “The Hollow of Trials. It is a place where the balance of the realms is tested, a sacred site known only to a few. It is said that those who enter must confront the deepest parts of themselves, for the cave reveals not only your strengths but your weaknesses, your fears, and your potential. It is a place of transformation, where even gods must face their trials to gain wisdom and power.”

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing the seriousness of Odin and Heimdall before turning to Loki, whose face was as unreadable as ever. You had to admit, that the description sounded intense. But you weren’t about to let the solemn atmosphere throw you off. “So… it’s just a cave, then?”

Odin’s eye twitched, his gaze shifting from the projection of the cave to you with a sharp, piercing look. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as if trying to decide whether to address the disrespect or simply let it pass. He chose the former. “It is not ‘just a cave,’ mortal,” he said, his voice low but carrying the weight of centuries. The side-eye he gave you was cold and unimpressed. “The Hollow of Trials is a place of great significance. It tests those who enter in ways you cannot yet comprehend.”

You met his gaze without flinching, but there was no hiding the slight grin tugging at your lips. You leaned toward Loki and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Guess it’s not just a cave then.”

Loki’s lips twitched into a brief smile before he straightened, looking back to Odin. “It is a place of trials, yes. Much more than a mere cave.” His voice was smooth, but there was a slight edge to it, the kind that came from having spent too many years around Odin’s more… imposing presence.

Odin’s side-eye lingered for a moment longer before he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. “You will see for yourself soon enough. But remember this, Midgardian,” he added with quiet authority, “you are on sacred ground. Show it the respect it demands.”

You gave him a nod, not entirely convinced, but fully aware that disrespecting him further would probably not end well. “Got it. Big, serious cave.”

Heimdall stepped forward, eyeing you now with a hint of disapproval, though he didn’t speak. Odin’s gaze shifted to Loki then, seemingly dismissing you for the moment, though the weight of his earlier words still hung heavy in the air.

Frigga, who had remained silently observing the exchange, finally spoke, her voice light but with an undercurrent of motherly warmth. “You are brave to face this trial,” she said, her gaze flicking over you with a faint smile. “The cave will bring out what you least expect, but it will also show you the truth of yourself. Be prepared for what you may learn.”

You weren’t sure if you should be reassured by Frigga’s words or if they were meant to prepare you for something worse. You gave a tight smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, Your Majesty.”

Frigga’s smile deepened at the respectful tone. “Good. Trust in the process. And remember, you are not alone in this, no matter how it feels in the moment.”

Before you could respond, Loki stepped forward, his usual swagger replaced with a more persuasive tone. “And while [Y/N] faces these trials, surely it would be wise for me to accompany her. As her guide, I could—”

Odin’s piercing gaze snapped to Loki, his expression unreadable, but the tension in the room thickened. “You will do no such thing.”

Loki’s smile faltered for just a moment. “But father, surely my presence would be—”

“No,” Odin interjected, his voice cutting through Loki’s words like a sharp blade. “This trial is hers alone to face. You will remain here, where you are needed.”

Loki hesitated, pressing his lips together as if weighing his words. There was an unmistakable flicker of reluctance in his eyes, one that wasn’t lost on either of his parents. Frigga’s brow furrowed slightly, and she exchanged a rapid glance with Odin before turning her attention back to Loki.

“You seem... unusually determined to accompany her, Loki,” Frigga remarked, her tone soft but laced with concern. “Is there a reason you are so reluctant to let her face this alone?”

Loki’s smirk faded, his posture stiffening. He quickly recovered, though, leaning into his usual charm. “I’m simply looking out for her well-being,” he said smoothly, though the edge in his voice suggested there was more beneath the surface. “Surely you both can see that this trial will be taxing on her. It’s only natural for me to ensure she isn’t harmed.”

Odin’s eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding his expression. “And you think you are the best one to protect her in this trial? You, who has only recently earned back our trust?”

Loki didn’t flinch at the accusation, but there was an almost imperceptible twitch in his jaw. “I am capable of more than you know, Father. You needn’t worry about me.”

Frigga studied him with a piercing gaze, her motherly instincts keen. “Loki,” she said gently, “it’s not the protection of [Y/N] we question. It’s your reasons for wanting to accompany her. You’ve never been one to shy away from danger or intrigue. What is it that you fear in her doing this alone?”

Loki’s eyes flickered toward you, his voice lowering. “It’s not fear. It’s caution.” He looked back at Odin and Frigga, his expression a little more guarded now. “This is a unique situation. One I believe requires a guiding hand.”

Odin’s piercing gaze remained fixed on him, his silence speaking volumes. There was no anger in the god’s eyes, only a quiet understanding that Loki’s behavior was anything but ordinary. Frigga placed a hand gently on Odin’s arm, but her eyes never left her son.

“You are not to accompany her,” Odin finally decreed, his voice firm. “The Hollow of Trials requires solitude, and it is not your place to interfere.”

Loki’s face remained neutral, but his eyes darkened with unspoken emotions. “As you wish,” he said flatly, stepping back. “But I’ll be close, Father. You know where to find me if you need anything... or if the trial proves too much for her.”

Odin and Frigga exchanged another look, their suspicion deepening as they watched Loki’s retreat. Frigga’s voice softened, though, as she turned back to you.

“Do not mind him,” she said, her tone comforting. “Loki’s path is… complicated, but his concern for you is genuine, in his own way.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of sympathy and wariness toward the prince. Loki had certainly been a puzzle to you so far, but right now, you had more pressing matters at hand.

“Well, I guess I’m off to this ‘Hollow of Trials,’ then,” you said, a nervous smile creeping onto your face. “Hopefully I can avoid turning into a snack for whatever’s in there.”

⠀⠀

As you stepped into the lavish room, Frigga followed close behind, her presence both comforting and commanding. The regal chambers felt foreign to you, the walls lined with intricate tapestries depicting ancient battles and victories. It was strange to be in a place so full of history, knowing you were now a part of it, however briefly.

Frigga smiled gently, her warmth radiating in the cold, cavernous room. “You must be feeling overwhelmed,” she said softly, watching you as you looked around.

You gave a weak smile, your hands still nervously twitching. “You could say that. I never expected any of this. One moment I’m just a regular exchange student on a school trip to Sweden, and the next I am here, about to enter a sacred cave... and probably face some weird, magical thing."

Frigga’s eyes softened, her smile never faltering. "This is a lot to take in, but you are stronger than you realize. It is an honor to be here, and this trial will help you find out what you're truly capable of."

You glanced at Frigga, then down at yourself. You were still dressed in the simple clothes you had worn for the journey, and though they were practical, they wouldn’t do for such an occasion. "So... what exactly am I supposed to wear? Not that I’ve had much time to go shopping for sacred cave attire."

Frigga chuckled, the sound rich and full of warmth. "Fear not, I will take care of that." She moved toward a large wardrobe at the far side of the room, filled with gowns and outfits woven from fine silks and materials that shimmered like the night sky. "These aren’t the usual gowns of Asgard," Frigga explained, "but they are practical for such a trial."

She motioned for you to sit as she began pulling out garments, her eyes assessing the materials with a practiced hand. "I know it may seem strange, this idea of dressing up for a trial, but appearances can be important in Asgard. There is honor in how we present ourselves, even in the most difficult of moments."

You chuckled, tilting your head slightly. "Seems a bit... extra, don’t you think? For a cave trial?"

Frigga smiled knowingly. "Perhaps," she said softly, as she began to unfold a simple yet elegant outfit made of light fabric. "But this trial will reveal your inner strength. You must present yourself as you truly are—strong, capable, and unafraid of the challenges ahead."

Frigga laid out the attire, a soft, flowing robe of pure white that shimmered faintly under the dim light of the room. The fabric was delicate, like the finest silk, but not overly elaborate—its simplicity lent it an understated elegance that would suit your unassuming nature. The robe draped down from the shoulders in soft folds, the design was minimal but graceful, with no heavy embellishments to distract from its quiet beauty. The sleeves were long and fluid, cinched at the wrist with a thin silver band, and the hem barely brushed the floor, giving the robe an ethereal quality, like a soft cloud in a moonlit sky.

Around the waist was a subtle, golden-threaded sash that tied loosely, giving the robe shape without constricting it. It didn’t cling to your figure, but the soft weight of the fabric promised to mold your body in a way that would emphasize the graceful movement of your form. There was nothing ostentatious about it, yet the robe exuded a regal aura—its simplicity accentuated by its luxurious fabric.

It was clear that Frigga had chosen this robe not just for its beauty, but for its practicality. The lightness of the fabric made it seem almost weightless, yet its soft sheen caught the light in a way that would make it appear even more beautiful when wet, the material clinging gently to the skin, tracing every curve in a way that was both delicate and stunning.

She held up the clothes and turned back to you, who was still seated, unsure of how to approach the situation. "I know this is unfamiliar," Frigga continued, her voice warm and soothing. "But let me help you, child. You don’t have to face this alone. Not truly."

As you began to change behind a nearby screen, you felt an unusual sense of comfort in Frigga's words. Despite the regal atmosphere, the queen’s presence was grounded, maternal even. It was hard not to feel a little at ease.

Frigga, seemingly reading the mood, smiled faintly. "You have a strength about you, dearest. Something I see, even in the way you carry yourself, the way you’ve managed to survive what you’ve been through. You may think you’re just a mortal, but I sense something different in you."

You peeked out from behind the screen, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? What, you mean I’m some kind of hero-in-the-making?"

Frigga’s eyes glinted with wisdom, a knowing smile on her lips. "Not exactly a hero. But there’s more to you than meets the eye. The bond between you and the artifact... It’s no coincidence. There’s something in your soul that the artifact recognized. Something ancient and powerful." She hesitated for a moment before speaking again, almost as if she were considering the weight of her words. "And something that might be more connected to Asgard than you realize."

You tugged the tunic over your head and emerged from behind the screen, feeling more yourself in the simple yet elegant clothes. "Connected to Asgard? You mean the whole ‘grand destiny’ speech? Because I’m still waiting for the part where I get my cape and superpowers."

Frigga’s smile softened. "Not quite that. But there’s a connection in you, something unseen. My gift of sight allows me to see beyond the surface—into the hearts and souls of others. And I’ve seen it in you."

You paused, looking at Frigga in surprise. "Wait, you’re telling me you can see... beyond your eyes? Like, the future? Or some deep, dark secret about my life?"

Frigga chuckled gently, her gaze never leaving yours. "No, nothing like that. But I can see the essence of who someone truly is. And you... you have strength that even you don’t fully understand yet. It’s as though you’ve always been destined to walk a path that will lead you here, to this moment. You may not see it yet, but I do."

You were quiet for a moment, letting the weight of Frigga’s words settle in. "I guess I never really thought of it that way," you murmured. "I’m just a regular-sized human being from Earth—or, Midgard as you say. Never thought I'd be standing here, in the middle of a royal family’s palace, about to face some huge trial... and all because of a shiny rock I picked up on vacation."

Frigga smiled warmly, her eyes full of understanding. "You may not see it now, but perhaps the journey you are on will help you understand your place in this world—here, with us, with the Asgardians. And in time, you’ll understand why the artifact chose you. Everything happens for a reason, my dear. Even if that reason is something you can't yet comprehend."

There was a long silence as Frigga finished adjusting your outfit, and then stepped back to admire her work while you studied yourself in the mirror, noting how the robe cascaded around you with almost divine grace. The robe felt both foreign and natural on your body. The cool fabric against your skin gave you a sense of being part of something larger—something ancient. It was as if you were wearing a garment that had been crafted not for you, but for a version of yourself you hadn’t yet discovered.

Frigga’s eyes softened as she gazed at you. “It suits you,” she said gently. “Simple, yet powerful. A reflection of your true strength.”

You smiled faintly. "Strength, huh? I might need a lot of that. Mentally, especially."

Frigga laughed softly, a sound full of affection. "Yes, perhaps you will. But you are capable, and you will face this trial with courage. Trust in yourself."

You gave a hesitant nod, feeling a mix of nerves and determination wash over you. "Thank you, Your Majesty. For everything."

Frigga placed a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but kind. "It is my duty, child. Know that you are not alone, no matter what happens in that cave."

As you turned to leave, the queen's voice stopped you for a moment. "Remember, this trial is not just about strength. It’s about finding who you truly are."

You gave her a small smile. "I’ll keep that in mind." With one last glance at Frigga, you walked toward the door, ready to face whatever awaited you in the Hollow of Trials.

Frigga led you through the palace, her presence calm and steady despite the looming uncertainty of what was to come. The tension from earlier still hung in the air, but Frigga’s quiet confidence was a grounding force.

“You’ll need to remain calm,” She said, her voice soft but firm as you walked down the stone corridors toward the cave. “The sacred cave will reveal to you the truth of the artifact, but it will test you. Tests are not always kind, but they are necessary.”

You nodded, trying to steady your breath. You hadn’t expected it to feel this real, this heavy, despite the absence of a clear threat. It was as though the cave itself was waiting for you, and you weren’t sure you were ready to meet whatever it held.

“The trials within will challenge your mind, your body, and your spirit. But most importantly, it will reveal the bond between you and the artifact, and the deeper purpose it holds for you. To the land of Asgard, to the ancient power that lies beneath,” Frigga continued, her gaze distant for a moment. “The scales of Níðhöggr are not just a relic of old, they are a key to understanding the future. You must enter the cave, and what you see may shock you, but you mustn’t lose yourself in it.”

The more Frigga spoke, the more you felt the weight of the task before you. “What exactly will happen when I enter?” you asked, your curiosity mixed with an edge of nervousness.

“You will be shown what lies dormant within you,” Frigga explained, “The cave is connected to the heart of Yggdrasil itself, and it will guide you through what you need to see. Focus. Don’t let fear take hold.”

You reached the entrance to the cave—a massive opening, shrouded in mist. The walls seemed to breathe, pulsating softly, almost as if welcoming you into their depths.

You swallowed hard. “I’m ready.” You weren’t sure if that was true, but the words felt like something you needed to say.

⠀⠀

They arrived at the entrance to the cave—an imposing archway shrouded in mist and darkened stone. The air felt thicker here, charged with an almost tangible energy that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Frigga paused, giving you a steady, reassuring glance before stepping back to lean against the stone just outside the entrance.

“You must enter alone,” Frigga said, her voice gentle but firm. “You will know when the time comes to act. Trust yourself, and remember what I’ve told you.”

You gave a nod, a mix of apprehension and determination in your heart. You stepped forward, crossing the threshold of the cave. As your foot touched the cool stone floor, a slight chill seemed to seep into your bones. You shivered but didn’t stop.

The inside was dim, shadows stretching from the walls as if the cave itself had a life of its own. The faint glow from the artifact around your neck illuminated the path before you, casting eerie reflections against the wet stone. You continued to move deeper into the cave, the silence pressing in on you like a weight.

As you ventured deeper, you could feel the air grow colder, and you felt the pulse of the artifact beneath your skin. The longer you walked, the stronger the pull—it was as if it was calling you, urging you toward something deep within the cave.

A sudden voice broke the stillness, echoing off the walls.

“Are you really planning to do this alone, little mortal?”

You spun around, startled. Before you could even process who—or what—it was, your instincts kicked in. A sudden rush of panic and irritation propelled your fist forward, swinging at the mysterious figure standing in the shadows.

But just as your punch came within inches of its target, you froze, your eyes going wide.

Loki stepped forward into the faint light, a sly smile curling at his lips, completely unfazed. The blow had missed him by mere inches, and he watched with amusement as you lowered your fist in realization.

“Loki?” you asked, voice tinged with irritation. “What are you doing here? I thought your mother said I had to do this on my own.”

Loki didn’t skip a beat. “Oh, she did, didn’t she? But I thought I’d just... make sure you’re not getting yourself into trouble. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get lost in here or something of the sorts.”

You blinked, still trying to steady your breath. “You’re not subtle.”

Loki’s grin widened, clearly unbothered. "I already told you, subtlety is overrated."

Suddenly, you felt a surge of irritation—at yourself, for being startled so easily—and without thinking, you swung out with a fist, aiming straight for him.

You didn’t even land a punch.

Loki’s grin only grew as he effortlessly dodged the swing, leaning to the side with the fluid grace of someone who had seen this kind of thing before. "Is that your idea of defending yourself, mortal?" he teased, standing completely still as your fist missed by inches.

You froze for a moment, eyes wide with embarrassment. "I wasn’t... I was just—"

"—Trying to punch me? Well, I suppose it was a valiant effort," Loki said, unruffled, his expression mocking yet somehow fond. "But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to hit me."

You scowled, rubbing the back of your neck. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep that in mind, thanks."

Loki chuckled softly at your annoyance. "You’ll need a lot more than a surprise swing to face what’s ahead, mortal. But don’t worry—I'll be here to help," he added, his voice turning more serious, though there was still that underlying amusement in his tone.

You scowled, feeling your blood rise to your cheeks. “Great. First, I punch a god, now I’m being scolded and tailed by one.”

Loki smirked, clearly entertained by your flustered reaction. “And here I thought I was the deranged one.”

You crossed your arms, doing your best to hide your embarrassment. “Well, you are.”

“Only on special occasions.” Loki chuckled, his grin widening. “Now, let’s get on with this, shall we? I’ll stay close in case you need me... even if you insist on attempting to hit me again.”

“Oh trust me, I’d love to make you my personal punching ball. But you’re not supposed to be here, Your Highness,” you said, your voice firmer this time. “This is my trial, not yours.”

Loki’s smile faltered just slightly, but he quickly recovered, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and something else. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m not here to interfere. Just think of me as an... observer. I’m actually quite good at observing, you know.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Fine, but you stay out of my way, Peeping Tom. I’m not in the mood for your tricks.”

Loki’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he stepped closer, seemingly unbothered by your resistance. “I’m just making sure you’re safe. Who else could keep you company on this grand adventure? Your noble Asgardian family? Heimdall is too busy watching the horizon, and moth—Frigga, well, she’s always so proper.” He gave a dramatic roll of his eyes. “You’re stuck with me.”

You didn’t know whether to be frustrated or amused, but you felt a little of the tension in your chest ease up. “Fine. But if you do anything to make this harder than it already is, I swear I’ll—”

“—you’ll what? Throw me out of here?” Loki interrupted with a soft chuckle. “You can try, but I’m rather skilled at slipping past... inconveniences.”

Just then, they heard Frigga’s voice echo from outside the cave, calling out in a tone that barely masked her amusement. “Loki, if you’re going to follow her, at least try to make yourself discreet.”

Loki’s grin widened as he turned to you. “See? Like I told you, not subtle at all.”

You huffed but followed, rolling your eyes as you muttered under your breath, "I’d rather be doing this on my own."

Loki’s soft laugh echoed around you. "Oh, I’m sure you would, but where’s the fun in that?"

You gave him a pointed look before stepping deeper into the cave, determined not to let his presence distract you. The further you ventured, the more the air seemed to hum with energy, the walls of the cave narrowing around you as if closing in, but you kept your focus.

Loki followed closely behind, his presence bringing a mix of annoyance and reluctant comfort.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here,” you said after a moment, your voice a little softer.

Loki raised an eyebrow, the humor in his voice fading for just a moment. “You’ll know. Trust me. The artifact has a way of showing you what you need to see.” He paused, then added, “And if you don’t, well, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t do anything... rash.”

You sighed, your eyes scanning the dark cave around them. Whatever was about to happen, you were ready—or at least, you hoped you were.

The further you ventured into the cave, the more surreal it became. The air grew cooler, and the light seemed to dim as you descended deeper into the cavern. Soon, you emerged into an expansive, otherworldly space. The chamber stretched high above you, the walls lined with shimmering minerals that cast faint glows, giving the place a mystical feel.

At the center of the cavern was a clear, glowing pool of water, rippling ever so slightly as if something ancient and powerful stirred beneath its surface. The water shimmered with an eerie blue light, reflecting the faint beams of light that filtered through cracks in the ceiling. The surroundings were so calm, so peaceful—it almost seemed too good to be true.

“This is it?” you asked, taking in the sight. You felt a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Loki, who had been walking in silence beside you, stopped a few steps ahead, eyeing the pool with a thoughtful expression. “Yes. The pool of trial,” he said, though his voice was laced with a touch of amusement. “Step into the water. It will reveal what you need to face.”

You froze, your heart sinking as you stared at the pool. “Wait, step in? That?” You gestured toward the glowing water, the nervous energy creeping up your spine. “What if it’s, I don’t know, scalding? What if it burns me?” You glanced at him with wide eyes. “I’m not exactly in the mood to be turned into a crispy bacon today, thank you very much.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your concerns. “You’re overthinking this,” he said, his voice laced with mild amusement. “It’s not as dangerous as it looks.”

Your anxiety didn’t seem to ease. You slowly stepped toward the water, your eyes scanning the surface for any signs of heat or danger. “You’re sure it won’t burn me? Because I’m really not equipped for magical burns.”

Loki watched you, fighting back a grin. “You’ll be fine. It’s not as dramatic as you're imagining.”

Still, you hesitated, your heart racing. Your mind ran wild with all the possibilities—maybe it wasn’t just water. Maybe it was some sort of curse in disguise. Maybe it was boiling acid that would eat through your skin. Or worse, maybe it was a test to see how long you could stand the pain before... You shivered at the thought.

As you took a tentative step forward, Loki raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Scared of a little water?”

You shot him a glare. “I’m not scared. I’m just being cautious. There’s a difference.”

Loki rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh, please.” Before you could respond, before you even had the chance to think it through, he took a sudden step forward and with a swift motion shoved you into the pool, sending you stumbling into the water.

“Loki!” you yelped, flailing in surprise, your feet slipping beneath you as the cool water splashed around you. The shock of the sudden fall took the breath out of you as you splashed into the pool, sputtering as you broke the surface.

Loki stood at the edge, watching you with a satisfied grin, arms crossed. “You were taking too long,” he said, unfazed by your glare. “Besides, you were overthinking it.”

You glared at him, brushing your wet hair out of your face. “I wasn’t overthinking! You just pushed me in without warning!”

“Really now,” Loki drawled, his smirk widening as he noticed your flustered expression. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you would have acted on your own? Consider it a favor—one I’m sure you’ll thank me for later.”

You were drenched now, water dripping down your clothes, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit of a sting in your chest at the sudden, unexpected splash. “I was thinking about it... slowly.”

Loki chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No time for slow thinking. Now, let’s see what happens next, shall we?”

⠀⠀

As you mourned your state, the cold rippled across your skin, but it wasn’t the chill that caught your attention. The water around you began to shimmer, glowing brighter with every passing second. The air itself seemed to hum, pulsing with an energy you couldn’t quite comprehend. Slowly, an aura of light began to envelop you—faint at first, but growing steadily stronger. Your body began to glow, not with harsh light, but with an ethereal radiance, as though the northern lights had taken form within you. Soft, shifting hues—pink, green, blue, and violet, colors reminiscent of the Bifrost—wove through your skin, with a faint touch of gold cascading across your form like the flowing branches of a great tree, stretching to every inch of your being.

The glow, fluid and seamless, surrounded you in ribbons of light, as if you were the very embodiment of the auroras themselves. For a fleeting moment, it was as though you were no longer entirely tangible. Your edges blurred, your form rippling like water, the colors of the aurora intertwining with the essence of your very being. You seemed weightless, suspended between realms, as though the cave had absorbed you into its ancient roots, your presence melding with the very magic of the place.

Your glow was hypnotic, a thing of beauty and power. You seemed both present and absent, solid and ethereal, bathed in the light of a thousand unseen stars. The colors shifted and swirled, weaving through you, a dream only half-remembered, a story half-told. The entire cavern seemed to hold its breath, caught in the magic radiating from you.

Loki barely noticed the way his breath caught in his chest. “By the Norns,” he muttered under his breath.

For the first time in a long time, Loki felt small.

His gaze was locked on you, entranced. He had seen many forms of magic before, but nothing like this. It was as if you were a bridge, a living conduit for powers older than time itself. The air around you thickened, vibrating with an ancient force that seemed to pulse in time with your heartbeat. It was a weighty energy, something primordial, something far beyond the grasp of any ordinary god.

There was something more, something familiar, yet elusive. A pull, deep within him, that resonated with the core of his being. For a moment, he almost felt as though he were standing before something divine, something ancient beyond measure. The glow around you flickered briefly, revealing an intricate symbol—tree-like, its roots sprawling across your form like a reflection of your nervous system. It was so subtle, so fleeting, that Loki almost questioned if it had been real. A vision? A trick of the light? But the connection, the sensation, was undeniable. You were tied to something vast, something far older than anything he had ever encountered.

Then, as the colors of the aurora deepened, he could have sworn he saw it—the roots of Yggdrasil, stretching across the cavern, whispering through the light, intertwining with your very essence. The vision was brief, but the connection between you and the great tree was unmistakable. You were no longer merely a mortal. You were something far more. Something much greater.

Loki snapped out of his trance, shaking himself from the dizzying pull of your presence. His thoughts needed to settle, but the image of you, radiant and unknowable, had left an indelible mark on his mind. You weren’t just a mortal anymore. You were tied to something far greater than any of them. Something even he couldn’t comprehend.

But then, there was a shift.

The air in the cavern crackled with magic, and for a moment, Loki could only watch, intrigued, as you glowed with an otherworldly light. Your body shimmered like the northern lights, colors shifting in mesmerizing waves, casting ethereal reflections across the water. He couldn’t deny the effect it had on him—your beauty was undeniable, but it was the strange, potent magic swirling within you that truly captured his attention.

A subtle distortion rippled across your body as the pendant around your neck began to pulse, glowing with an intensity that made the air around them feel charged. Loki narrowed his eyes, sensing something was about to happen. This wasn’t just a glowing display of power—it was something deeper.

The pendant’s magic stirred, and from the center of your chest, a shadowy, serpent-like form emerged. It moved sluggishly at first, as though testing the air, then, with an unnerving speed, it coiled outward, slipping from the pendant like a living nightmare. Loki’s eyes flashed with surprise as the serpent’s body unfolded, scales shimmering with a dark iridescence, its glowing eyes narrowing as it circled the room ominously. It didn’t seem like a natural creature; more like a manifestation of some ancient magic.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Loki mused, his tone light but edged with intrigue. He watched the serpent glide through the air, its tail cracking against the cave walls with a hiss that seemed to rattle the very stone. “Should I be worried?”

He wasn’t exactly concerned—it was just another magical oddity—but there was something about the way it moved that made his curiosity flare. He had seen many strange things in his long life, but this? This was unlike anything he’d encountered before.

He looked to you for a reaction, but your gaze was locked on the serpent, your expression a mixture of awe and hesitation.

For a moment, the serpent paused, hovering directly above you, its eyes fixated on your face. It was as if it was waiting for something—waiting for you. The air grew thicker, charged with a tension that Loki could almost taste. Then, without warning, the serpent lunged, its massive body streaking toward you like a bolt of lightning.

Loki’s eyes widened, his reflexes kicking in as he moved forward, his hand outstretched, ready to intercept. But before he could act, the serpent vanished into your body, slipping right through you with eerie ease. The force of its intrusion jolted you, and you were thrown backward, crashing into the water with a splash that sent ripples across the surface.

Loki stood at the edge of the pool, momentarily stunned. His pulse quickened as he peered into the water, watching you disappear beneath the surface. For a split second, he wondered if he'd misjudged the situation—if he had waited too long to intervene.

The seconds stretched on like an eternity before, finally, you resurfaced.

Your appearance was… quite different from before. The faint glow that had enveloped your body earlier remained faintly, but now it clung to you like a second skin, subtle and ethereal. Your hair, damp and flowing around you, cascaded in waves down your back, each strand catching the light in a way that made you look almost unreal—like a siren from the depths of myth. Your robe, soaked through, clung to your form in a way that left little to the imagination and left the god breathless, and the water that trickled down your skin only seemed to enhance the otherworldly glow that surrounded you.

Your eyes met his, their usual sharpness now softened by the strange, lingering magic that swirled through you. There was a quiet moment between them, one that felt far too heavy for the situation at hand. Loki’s gaze lingered on you—on the way the water clung to your skin, tracing every line of your form, on the way your wet hair shimmered in the dim light.

For the first time, he felt something stir within him that wasn’t just idle curiosity or his usual inclination to tease. His eyes flickered downward, and a rush of warmth settled in his chest as the realization hit him like a force of nature.

You were stunning. No—more than that. You were... captivating.

It was the kind of attraction that came suddenly, like the snap of a string. He didn’t want to admit it, especially not to himself, but there it was. The light clinging to your skin, the way your body moved through the water, the delicate way your robe shifted, revealing more than it concealed—it was impossible to ignore.

Loki swallowed, his pulse quickening before he could rein in his thoughts. Focus, he told himself, but it was harder than usual.

His mind raced as he forced a casual smirk on his face, his usual playful tone returning. “That was... certainly a display. You might want to be careful about who—or what—you attract next time.” His gaze flicked over you, lingering just a second longer than he intended, before he shifted back to his usual playful teasing.

He wasn’t sure if he was still speaking about the magic or the effect you had on him. Maybe both.

You stared at him, your expression unreadable, still trying to compose yourself, but the moment of vulnerability—the way your eyes still held that same faint, ethereal glow—stuck with him. It was difficult to keep his mind from drifting back to the image of you, glowing like some otherworldly being.

Loki scoffed softly to himself, shaking off the sudden jolt of desire that had swept through him. He was Loki, after all. He was in control. But as he turned away, he couldn’t deny that something had shifted in his perception of you. Whatever power you had, whatever strange magic clung to you, it was only amplifying the attraction he hadn’t quite wanted to acknowledge.

It was a dangerous thought, one he didn’t dare explore too deeply just yet.

Your voice, though still shaken from the strange encounter, snapped him from his thoughts. “What just happened?”

Loki stepped closer, his gaze sharp and laced with amusement as he took in your glowing form. “Well, it appears you’ve made quite the impression,” he remarked, his tone light but tinged with intrigue. “I’d say I’m almost envious. Whatever that... entity was, it seems you’ve caught its attention—and perhaps more. Care to explain, or shall I start guessing?”

He crossed his arms, his mind already working through the possibilities, analyzing every detail. His gaze lingered on you a little longer than he intended, noting how the glow still radiated from your skin, subtle but undeniable.

You shook your head, trying to regain some semblance of control. “That’s not exactly comforting, you know.”

“Not my problem,” Loki quipped, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “But I will admit, it’s an interesting little magic show you’ve got going on. I’m curious what comes next.”

Your eyes flickered with frustration, but you took a breath, regaining your composure as best you could. “I don’t know how many times I’m going to say it, but it seems it’s never enough: I didn’t sign up for this.”

Loki shrugged, his smirk curling wider. “Oh, I’d say you did more than that. At the very least, you provided some amusement.” He crouched near the edge of the pool, his gaze locking with yours, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “But I suppose you’ve earned a passing grade. It appears you’ve won its favor—or at least its tolerance.”

There was no immediate danger—just a strange, powerful magic coursing through you—but Loki’s mind spun with questions. And if he was being honest, there was something about you now, something different that made you undeniably more intriguing than before. He wasn't sure if it was the magic or your new... presence, but he couldn’t look away.

You wiped a droplet of water from your chin, your eyes still narrowed, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. You didn’t appreciate being mocked, especially when you'd already gone through whatever strange ordeal had just occurred. But Loki, of course, couldn’t resist taunting you.

"Yeah, real funny, Loki," you replied, rolling your eyes. "I’m sure you're quite entertained by this, aren’t you?"

His grin widened, the gleam of mischief in his eyes unmistakable. "I’m simply admiring the show," he teased. "You know I’m an amateur of the fine arts. I barely get to witness such dramatic performances these days."

You stood there in the water, trying to reign in your frustration, a slow smile tugging at the corners of your lips. He was so confident—so smug—like he didn’t have a care in the world. You had a feeling he wasn’t quite expecting what was coming next.

"You do love a show, don’t you, Loki?" you said sweetly as you stepped closer to the edge of the pool, your posture shifting in a way that was almost predatory.

Loki, caught off guard by the tone of your voice, tilted his head, arching an eyebrow. He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking over you with the same playful smirk. There was something about the way you moved—too graceful, too calculated—that gave him a sense of unease, but he couldn’t quite place why. His curiosity only deepened. You were as unpredictable as always, and that made you endlessly fascinating.

You braced yourself on the edge, pushing yourself up with a fluid motion, lifting your body out of the water slightly. Your eyes met his, and you leaned forward just enough for your faces to be mere inches apart. The air between you was charged, and you couldn't resist the chance to tease him back.

"You should really try it for yourself. It’s quite refreshing, being all… dripping wet," you murmured, your voice low and sultry, your lips barely brushing his as you spoke.

You tilted your head just slightly, allowing the water droplets on your skin to catch the light as you took another step closer. Your robe, still clinging to your form, glistened with water, and the ethereal glow clung to your skin like a second layer. Your eyes glinted with something so peculiar, and the slightest smile curved your lips. The air between you shifted, charged with tension, and Loki’s smirk faltered for a brief moment as you leaned forward just enough to invade his personal space.

"Hmm, I think you have," you teased, your voice low and enticing, drawing him in closer. You raised yourself a little higher, leaning just that bit more, your lips almost too close to his. "Maybe you even like it. Maybe you like watching me struggle helplessly..."

For a moment, Loki forgot the situation entirely. His gaze drifted downward to your lips, and he barely noticed the slight shift in your posture. You were so close now that his heartbeat was racing, his body nearly responding before his mind had a chance to react. It was that subtle, but enough to get Loki utterly captivated. She had ensnared him with a soft look, a playful gesture, and it was all too easy to get lost in your presence.

He wasn’t sure what was happening, but you were so close now—close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath, your scent all around him. Your lips were mere inches from his, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if you were actually going to kiss him. Without thinking, his gaze flicked up to meet yours, and your eyes sparkled with a knowing gleam, as if you’d caught him.  You could see the effect you were having on him—how his usual sharp gaze had softened, how the mischievous glint in his eyes had been replaced with something distracted, almost dazed.

"And maybe you don’t mind being part of it every now and then."

Loki's eyes widened as he snapped out of his trance, a sensation of weightlessness overtaking him in a split second. "Wait, what—"

Without warning, you grabbed him by the arm, your grip surprisingly firm, and yanked him toward you. With a sudden, swift motion, you pulled him into the pool with you, his startled yelp cutting through the air as the water splashed around them. He stumbled in the wetness, head first.

“How’s the water temperature?” You now sat perched on the edge of the pool, smirking, the faint glow still clinging to your skin like a siren’s call. You casually flicked a few damp strands of hair from your face, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Loki gasped and blinked, dripping water from his hair as he pushed himself up from the surface, wide-eyed and dripping wet. "You—" he sputtered, glaring at you in disbelief. "You tricked me!"

You tilted your head to the side, your smile widening. "Oh, I think you let yourself get tricked," you teased. "You were too busy being entertained to notice what was going on right in front of you. I must say, I now understand your point; truly a sight for sore eyes."

He shot you a glare, but the heat that had flooded his chest earlier was still there—this time, it wasn’t just irritation. His pride had taken a hit, but there was something else too. A burning sentiment that he desperately tried to repress now more than ever, should he let his impulses rise and take over to provoke something regrettable.

"You’re lucky I’m feeling generous," he muttered under his breath, but his gaze lingered on you just a moment too long.

You chuckled, your eyes dark with amusement. "Maybe you should pay attention next time," you said casually, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. "You can’t keep mocking me and not expect a little retaliation. But for now, I’d say that’s a win for me, don’t you think?"

He didn’t respond right away, his mind already racing with plans for payback. But as he stood up in the water, still dripping wet and irritated, he couldn't deny the stirrings of something else—something that was entirely more complicated than just his usual urge to tease you back. The whole encounter had left him... flustered, unsettled, and, if he was being honest, curious in a way he hadn’t expected.

As he clambered out of the pool, water dripping from his clothes, he realized that this little game between them was far from over. And next time, he was going to make sure you regretted it.

"Enjoy it while you can," Loki muttered darkly, locking his murderous gaze onto yours.

You simply grinned, your eyes sparkling with that same mischievous light that had drawn him in from the start. "Oh, I sure do."

Loki, still dripping wet and clearly irritated by the prank, stood tall, his posture rigid with the lingering desire to regain control. But instead of moving to challenge you, he took a moment, eyes narrowing, scanning you with an almost predatory intensity.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, no longer the teasing trickster but something sharper—darker. “Your boldness is gonna lead to your imminent downfall,” His voice was low, but the air around them crackled with energy, his irritation mixing with something else.

Your grin faltered for just a moment as you met his gaze, unsure of what to make of his sudden change in demeanor. “Oh come on, I’m just having a bit of fun,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Loki’s lips twitched upwards, but it wasn’t a smile. More like a challenge. “You’re playing a dangerous game, and I’m starting to wonder if you even know the rules.”

You tilted your head, taking in his shift. He was still teasing, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes—a sort of curiosity, an intrigue he was trying to hide behind his usual bravado. And perhaps, for the first time, you were sensing a crack in his usually confident demeanor.

As you stepped back, just a little, you could feel the weight of the moment, the tension in the space between you. Your earlier confidence began to waver as you picked up on the way he was looking at you, no longer merely amused but almost calculating.

"I’m not afraid of games," you said, your voice a little quieter now, with a faint edge to it.

Loki watched you for a long moment before he spoke again, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “You should be.”

Before you could react, he turned sharply, as if ending the conversation, and started to walk away, leaving you to wonder if that’s really the end of their playful rivalry—or if it was something else entirely, lurking behind a charade of endless banters. 

⠀⠀

As the last echo of their footsteps in the cave's entrance faded behind them, Loki and you stepped into the bright light outside. The sun bathed the landscape in soft golden hues, a stark contrast to the strange, eerie atmosphere they'd just left behind. But both of you were still drenched, Loki’s clothes dripping with water and your posture slightly stiff from the tension of the ordeal.

You’d barely exchanged a word as you emerged, the weight of your previous interaction hanging between you. Neither of you could deny that something had shifted, something unresolved that neither was eager to discuss. Loki was lost in his thoughts, glancing sideways at you with an unreadable expression.

But as you approached the clearing, standing against a large stone formation was none other than Frigga. Her presence was calming, and yet there was a knowing look in her eyes that immediately set both of you on edge.

“You’ve both made it out, I see,” Frigga said, her voice gentle but carrying an edge of authority. “I trust everything went well?”

Loki’s lips twitched into a wry smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As well as can be expected, Mother,” he replied, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. The last thing he wanted was a conversation about what conspired within the confines of the underground chamber, or how the whole ordeal had affected him.

Frigga’s eyes shifted to you, a soft smile curving her lips. “And you, my dear? How do you fare after all that?”

You slowly met her gaze, still processing the surreal events of the day. “I’m... fine. Just a bit shaken, I think,” you said with a small, tight smile, the weight of the strange magic still lingering in your bones. “It was unexpected, to say the least.”

She nodded knowingly. “Magic always has a way of testing us when we least expect it. It’s not just about strength, but about understanding oneself in the face of the unknown.” She turned back to Loki, her expression softening. “You both seem... changed. A little more different than you were when you entered.”

Loki’s eyes flicked away from her, unwilling to admit anything. He didn’t like how much she could read into his silence. “We handled it,” he muttered, but it was clear to Frigga that he was brushing aside something deeper.

Her gaze softened, but there was a flicker of something serious in her eyes. “I can see that. But you seem… distracted.”

His shoulders tensed, and he tried to evade her penetrating stare with an insistent tone. “There’s nothing to tell, Mother.”

Frigga’s gaze sharpened for a moment, and she placed a hand on Loki’s arm, holding him there.  “I can see the truth in your heart.” Her voice softened, as though speaking only for him.

His eyes flitted to you, then back to his mother. He couldn’t seem to hold her gaze for long, the truth of his feelings hanging just out of reach, even from him.

Sensing his reluctance to speak his mind, the queen decided to take a different approach. She raised her hand slightly, and with a simple wave of magic, she reached into Loki’s mind, transferring a glimpse of his own emotions to her. His confusion, his attraction, the pull that was impossible to ignore. She felt it all, a brief but powerful connection.

When she released him, Loki staggered slightly, blinking as though coming out of a trance. His gaze shifted uncomfortably. “You’re always meddling in my head.”

Frigga smiled gently, a knowing gleam in her eye. “It’s my job, my son. And sometimes, it’s necessary.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest, but halted his movement as she raised a hand. “Not now, Loki. Not yet.”

He was silent for a moment, his frustration clear. “Fine. But I’m leaving.”

She allowed him that moment, her expression a mixture of understanding and mild amusement. “Go, then. But I will be waiting for you when you’re ready to talk.”

Loki nodded curtly, shooting one last look at you before turning to leave in a hurry, no doubt eager to escape whatever thoughts his mother had stirred up within him.

Frigga turned to you with a soft smile, one that carried a quiet weight. “You’re handling this better than he is, I think.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the weight of everything you had gone through. “I’m not so sure about that,” you said. “But... it’s certainly complicated.”

She placed a hand on your shoulder as you began walking toward the throne room. “Indeed. But I have no doubt you’ll handle it well. Now, come. I believe there’s something we need to discuss regarding what happened.”

As they walked side by side, her voice rose again and took on a slightly teasing tone. “Though, I must admit, you two are quite the pair. Loki doesn’t often find himself so... ruffled. It seems you’ve caught his attention in more ways than one.”

You looked at her, surprised by the comment. “It’s not like that.”

Frigga raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling up. “Isn’t it?”

You smiled wryly, unsure of how to respond, but the playful look in Frigga’s eyes made it clear that this conversation was far from over.

And as you approached the throne room, you couldn't help but wonder just how much Frigga truly saw.

⠀⠀⠀

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[sungbeam]

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

ji changmin x gn!reader

1.3k words, est. relationship au, hurt/comfort, minor fluff but more angst?, a bit of silliness, mentions of work pressures, neck kisses, intimacy, mentions of playful biting, pretty much not beta'd or proofread (past my bedtime; written in an hour)

a/n: @kimsohn saw some of the goofiness first <3 ily (*breathes in deeply* idk what im doing guys. anyways, this belongs in the category labeled "i get yappy and sappy when im existentially exhausted")

In the dark, the clock on top of the oven screamed “3:22AM” in angry, red light. You stumbled past it, vision blurry and footsteps as quiet as you could make them against the hardwood. Your bones ached to the marrow and you could feel the blood throbbing violently in your skull; you could not sleep.

It had been three hours of tossing and turning before you completely gave up and slipped out into the kitchen. Usually, it wasn't too difficult for you to fall asleep, but alas, there would always be exceptions.

You managed to find the opened bag of tangerines on the kitchen counter, the orange, wiry mesh already torn from the last person who'd grabbed one to snack on. As your eyes grew accustomed to the dark, you dug your nail into its skin and began to peel it open.

Through your daze, you just barely registered the sound of the bedroom door opening—footsteps followed after and came closer; they weren't trying to stay quiet like you were, as there wasn't any reason to anymore. Hands patted you down from your shoulders to your arms until they could settle comfortably around your waist; his body slid flush against your back like a puzzle piece, still warm from being in bed. Hair tickled the underside of your jaw as he nestled his chin into the crook of your shoulder, the ghost of his breath fanning across your skin like a caress, relieved.

“Did I wake you?” You murmured, forcing yourself awake a little as you felt him lean more of his weight against you.

A low hum. “Bed got cold.”

The corners of your mouth tilted upward as you stuck a piece of fruit into your mouth—it was summer; the bed couldn't have been cold. Juice spilled over your tongue in a comfortingly sweet tang, and you went for another. “Sorry, love. Do you want some?” You asked, holding onto a piece of tangerine.

“Mm-mm,” Changmin hummed, shaking his head with a slight movement. You felt his arms give your body a squeeze. “Are you okay?” He asked, voice small.

You shoveled the remainder of the tangerine half into your mouth, hands reaching for another one to keep yourself busy as you chewed, then swallowed. “Tired.”

“Is it the thing?”

Just the thought of the thing—the project you were given charge of at work—made you wish the ground would swallow you up. Your hands stilled on the orange.

The project was the first you were given a manager role for, as they thought it appropriate because you came up with the idea, but it seemed to only be an excuse to overload you with every Herculean task they could think of. You were practically chained to your cubicle desk until day's end, only leaving to go to the bathroom and attend another god forsaken meeting. Where home was supposed to be for rest, you were often slumped over the dining table, stressing yourself silver.

The thought of Monday… no, you couldn't think of Monday. You'd gone so long working on this thing—how could they make you loathe an idea that you proposed?

At your lack of an answer, there came a small breath against your neck. His thumb gently rubbed your side back and forth, the ebb and flow of the tide. “I'm sorry, baby. I know it doesn't mean much, but I'm proud of you.”

“It does mean something,” you countered quietly, and moved one of your hands to place it over his that rested over your stomach. “I'm just—I hate it here sometimes.”

The two of you seemed to sigh at once, your chests raising up then deflating in tandem. It made the knots in your shoulders loosen for just a moment, and you could release some of the strain keeping you tight and awake.

“One more,” he coaxed lowly. “In—”

You both slowly pulled air up through your nose to fill the caverns in your chests.

“—Out.”

As all things came and went, so too did this breath.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips pressing something sweet against your throat.

You were too tired to cry, but you might have just then. Sometimes it was just a project, but other times it was everything to you. It was born from your two hands, your brains, your back, your bones. Plenty of blood, sweat, and tears had seeped into every proposal and presentation, but you could never tell if it was enough. Would it ever be enough?

Changmin's head shifted as you snuck another piece of orange past your lips. “Remember,” he said, “when we were in college, and I let you text girls on my Hinge?”

Your mouth sweetened into a smile at the memory. “It was only because I let you text the guy who'd given me his number.”

“He was so lame—he clearly just wanted you to go see that new Stephen King movie so he could hold your hand.” You could feel him roll his eyes in the dark, though his voice remained syrupy with sleep.

You held back a snort. “That's the point, hon. If I remember correctly, the pick-up lines I used on those girls actually worked.”

“Crazy.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. You chewed on the next piece of fruit, swallowing it down before speaking again. “At least one of us has game.”

You felt the light pressure of his teeth against your shoulder, and you let out a surprised laugh. You didn't jerk away though—awfully used to your partner's strange language of affection—but you did push back against his forehead in lighthearted reprimand. “We talked about the biting.”

“Yeah, and you said you liked it.”

It was a good thing you didn't have fruit in your mouth. You warmed the slice of orange in your palm as you let the heat leave your cheeks and your neck. He could undoubtedly feel how flushed you were, and he seemed to preen at it.

“Gotcha,” he said smugly, and the smile on his lips molded against your skin as he left a kiss behind your ear. He nuzzled his nose there, too, fingers dancing along your side.

“I love you,” he said next. These words were quiet again. “I hate seeing you like this.”

You knew he meant the state he found you in—hunched over in the dark, eyes glazed over, and dread thrashing in your ears to fill the silence. The laughter that lit up your face just now had been his doing, his attempt at easing all of that burden.

You laid your head against his. “I love you, too.” You hated feeling this way, but some things had to be done. You had to see this one through, and you would.

“Don't run yourself ragged for this,” he said, as if reading your mind. “Can't let you lose yourself.”

The corners of your eyes prickled, your vision going blurry again. Your chewing slowed and you finished the last of the orange in your hands to clear the way for him to grab your fingers to intertwine them with his. He rocked your bodies slowly, dreamily—he was the gentle swaying of the waves beneath the raft you laid upon—and he was keeping you above water.

“Senior year of high school—” a miniscule break in his own voice, “—when college decisions came out… you didn't speak for so long, didn't eat. It was so quiet, and I—I didn't know how to help you.” Back then, the two of you were only labeled as best friends; you still hadn't decided if what you had back then was what you had now, but it was love in some form of the word and feeling. You supposed in every phase of knowing Ji Changmin, what you felt for him was love. “Can I help you now, please? How can I help you?”

You sucked in a breath and it came out trembling. “I'm just tired.”

“Yeah.”

“Just—that’s all. Just be here with me.”

You could feel his slight nod that turned into a tuck into your shoulder. Your pulse fluttered beneath the brush of his lips, his hands tightening around you. (I'm not going anywhere, not without you.)

In a night quickly dissolving into daylight, he held you and held you and held you.

tbz m.list

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[szariahwroteit]

Doll House: A Jude Bellingham + Orginal Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 11

Although Tori was thankful for the life she was currently making for herself in Madrid, as optimistic as she tried to be, sometimes she felt a little lonely. She had friends in Spain, shoulders to cry on if need be, but it was in moments like these where the loneliness she felt was a void too big to patch over.

Despite the undeniable chemistry she shared with Jude, she couldn’t sit and talk with him about problems that revolved around him.

The weather outside seemed to reflect Tori’s inner turmoil, the rain had been non-stop since the early hours of the morning and based on the forecast showed no signs of slowing down.

Tori watched a particular raindrop as it meandered down the glass of Jude’s bedroom window overlooking his sprawling backyard.

A soft knock sounded against Jude’s open bedroom door, causing Tori to startle slightly, breaking her focus from the rhythmic dance of the raindrop. She turned to see Jude standing there, a quizzical look on his face, flooded with concern. The dim light from the overcast sky illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw, making him appear even more ruggedly handsome.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice low and soothing, as he stepped further into the room. The way he cared, yet remained distant, left Tori feeling both comforted and conflicted. She took a deep breath, quickly brushing aside her swirling emotions.

“Yeah, just watching the rain,” she replied, forcing a lightness into her voice. “It’s so peaceful out there.”

Jude followed her gaze to the window, his brow furrowing slightly. “It is. But it’s also a bit gloomy. How about we find something to cheer you up?” He stepped closer, leaving just enough space for her to feel at ease while also making her heart race.

Tori smiled, trying to mask the heaviness inside. “I’m fine, really. Just a little nostalgic, I suppose. It happens.”

His piercing eyes searched hers, a mix of understanding and concern glistening in their depths. “You know you can talk to me, right? Even if it’s about… what happened with Eliza at dinner last night.” He gestured between them, the unspoken tension radiating like electricity across the room.

“I’m okay,” Tori smiled, hoping the gesture was enough to convince him.

Deep down, she was far from okay. A storm of emotions swirled within her, each one more tumultuous than the last. She felt as if she were walking on a tightrope, teetering on the edge of despair. The idea of allowing herself to truly open up filled her with dread; it was as if unleashing her thoughts and feelings would cause her to shatter like fragile glass. The tension coiled tightly within her, a constant reminder that one misstep could lead to a complete collapse.

Jude stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between them like an unbroken cord. The rain tapped relentlessly on the windowpane, almost in sync with the rapid heartbeat in Tori's chest. She could feel him weighing his next words carefully, an unspoken understanding lingering in the air.

Finally, he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating into the cool space between them. “Tori, come here.”

With an internal battle raging in her mind, Tori felt the pull of Jude’s invitation wash over her like a warm tide. She hesitated, torn between the urge to retreat into her shell and the simple longing to be near him. The very idea of letting him in was terrifying; on the other hand, the comfort of his presence offered a reprieve from the solitude that had clung to her heart.

As she crossed the room, each step felt both exhilarating and terrifying, a delicate dance of anticipation and fear. When she finally stood before him, the heat radiating from his body was undeniable.

“Tori,” he murmured, gently placing her hands on her hips, drawing her body against his so he could wrap his arms around her, pulling her into a comforting hug.

She melted into Jude’s embrace, the world outside fading into a distant murmur. His warmth enveloped her, and for a moment, the heavy weight of her loneliness dissipated. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, a reassuring rhythm that grounded her amidst the chaos swirling in her mind.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” Jude whispered, his voice soft and steady. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Tori closed her eyes, a single tear escaping down her cheek. It surprised her, the sudden release of pent-up emotions, but she couldn’t hold back the floodgates any longer. “I just… I feel so lost sometimes,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “I thought coming to Madrid would be this amazing adventure, but it’s not always like that. I miss home, I miss my friends, and I miss feeling like I belong somewhere.”

Jude tightened his grip as if he could shield her from the weight of her worries. “You belong here, Tori. You’re not alone in this. You have me, and I… I care about you. A lot.”

His confession hung in the air, charged with meaning. Tori’s heart raced a mix of hope and fear swirling within her. Could she let herself believe that? Could she allow someone in when she had built up so many walls to protect herself from hurt?

“What if I can’t be what you need?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “What if I’m just a mess?”

Jude pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his gaze unwavering. “Then we’ll figure it out together. You don’t have to have everything sorted right now. Just take it one day at a time.”

Tori nodded, her heart swelling with an overwhelming mix of gratitude and fear. She realized how desperately she wanted to trust him, to believe that she could lean on him without the weight of expectation. But the scars of past disappointments whispered doubts in her mind.

“Come downstairs,” Jude suggested, breaking the heavy silence. “Come and watch a movie with me.”

“Okay,” she finally replied, managing a small smile that still felt laced with apprehension.

As they made their way to the cozy living room, the atmosphere shifted away from introspection and into something lighter. Jude dimmed the lights and handed Tori a neatly folded blanket, instructing her to get comfortable on the sofa.

Tori wrapped the soft blanket around herself, feeling its warmth envelop her like a gentle hug. She sank into the cushions of the couch, her body relaxing as she settled into the space.

Jude took a seat beside her, his hands immediately finding her waist as he pulled her body on top of his wanting to be closer to her.

Despite Tori’s lack of clothes as she lounged on top of him, sex or anything of that nature was the furthest thing from his mind. Her legs rested on either side of his as she straddled his lap, her face pushed into the warm curve of his neck as she allowed herself to be held.

The feeling of Jude's body beneath her was both comforting and electric, a mix of intimacy and safety that left Tori's heart racing in a way it never had before. She felt enveloped in his warmth, like a blanket that shielded her from the chill of the outside world—all the loneliness, the hesitation, the fear. For a brief moment, her concerns faded into the background as she savored this closeness.

Jude's hands rested gently on the small of her back, his fingers tracing patterns that sent shivers coursing through her. As she nestled further into him, Tori inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent—a rich, earthy aroma that felt like home.

"It's nice to have this moment," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just us, away from everything else.”

Tori nodded against his shoulder, a quiet acknowledgment of the sanctuary they had created together at that moment. She could feel the tension within her begin to unravel, each heartbeat synchronizing with Jude’s soothing presence. Yet, a flicker of worry crept in—was it too good to be true?

“What are you thinking?” Jude asked, his tone gentle but curious as he tilted her chin up so their eyes locked. The intensity of his gaze sent her pulse racing.

“I don’t know,” Tori admitted, battling the mix of emotions swirling inside her. "I just feel… overwhelmed, I guess. It’s like I want to open up to you but I’m scared.”

Jude’s expression softened, his eyes searching hers with a depth that made her feel seen. “You don’t have to share everything at once. We can take our time, and I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, brushing a strand of hair back from her face.

Tori felt the familiar ache of longing deep inside her, the gnawing desire to let him in. But letting him see her vulnerabilities felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to plunge into waters unknown.

“Sometimes I think that if I open up too much, I’ll just drown in my own mess,” she confessed, her voice quivering slightly. “And I don’t want to burden you with all of that.”

“You are not a burden to me,” Jude replied firmly, his hands sliding to her waist, thumbs gently rubbing circles that calmed her racing heart. “It’s okay to be messy. Life is messy. But you don’t have to go through it alone. You’ve got me.”

His words wrapped around her, comforting yet intimidating. The sincerity in Jude's eyes and the warmth of his embrace made Tori feel fragile yet strong all at once. In that moment, she could almost see herself in a different light, not just as the girl struggling with her loneliness, but as someone deserving of connection and understanding.

Tori swallowed hard, taking a breath that felt deeper than the ones she’d taken before. “What if I end up drowning you too?” she whispered, the vulnerability of her words hanging between them like a delicate thread.

“Then I’ll learn to swim,” he replied, his voice steady and unwavering.

Tori felt something shift within her, that weight of doubt giving way to a glimmer of hope. Maybe Jude was right; maybe she didn’t have to navigate this storm alone. Just the thought was enough to coax a small smile out of her, and she leaned into him a little more, grateful for the strength of his resolve.

“Okay, just… be patient with me, okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost shy.

“Always,” he promised, his thumbs now brushing lightly over her hips in a soothing rhythm that sent sparks dancing beneath her skin. “Let’s just enjoy each other’s company for now. No expectations.”

Tori nodded, feeling lighter as she took in that promise. The tension that had held her captive began to dissolve, and for the first time in a long while, an unguarded smile broke across her face. She could let herself be in this moment, to let Jude’s presence seep into her layers of worry.

As he leaned back against the couch, Tori settled against him fully, her head resting on his shoulder. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her, grounding her in the present. The faint sounds of rain pattering against the window melded with the rhythm of their breathing, creating a serene soundtrack that enveloped them.

Jude reached for the remote, flicking on the television to find a movie that would serve as a backdrop to their emerging intimacy. But the film was less significant than the arrangement of bodies—her small silhouette resting snugly on top of him, feeling both helpless and enveloped in his strength.

Tori let out a deep breath as she felt Jude's hand come to caress her bare thigh, the pad of his thumb gently tracing circles that ignited warmth beneath her skin. The touch was innocent, yet it held an unmistakable tension, a teasing promise of something more that lingered in the air around them.

The movie flickered to life, but Tori found it hard to focus on the screen. All of her senses were heightened; the way Jude’s fingers brushed against her thigh sent shivers along her spine, making her heart race in a symphony of exhilaration and uncertainty.

"What's on your mind now?" he asked, his voice soft and smooth like silk, drawing her attention back to him. His eyes were warm and inviting, and she could see the underlying desire swirling just below the surface.

"I'm just… thinking how nice this is," Tori admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Being here with you."

“Just here, no pressure. Just us,” Jude repeated, his fingers still dancing across her skin, each stroke igniting something deep within her that she had kept suppressed for far too long. The touch was light, almost feather-like, and she wished he would press a little harder.

She swallowed the knot of uncertainty in her throat, allowing herself to lose herself in the moment—to indulge in the feeling of being desired, understood, and safe all at once.

As if sensing her thoughts, Jude’s hand slipped beneath the blanket, his fingers moving higher, brushing against the curve of her hip. Tori gasped softly, a thrill running through her as his hand explored her body with a delicate yet possessive approach.

"What if you could let go of everything outside this moment?" Jude murmured, his voice thick with tantalizing urgency. “What if just for now, you focused only on us?”

Tori’s breath quickened at the suggestion, her heart pounding against her ribcage as the reality of his words began to seep in. The noise of the outside world—the rain, the chaos, the loneliness—faded further into the background as she considered his offer.

She shifted slightly on his lap, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she tested the waters of intimacy that surrounded them—so foreign, yet alluring. There was a potent mix of excitement and fear, a sweet tension that had both of them teetering on the edge of something new.

“I want that,” she confessed softly, her voice trembling with honesty. “I want to forget everything else.”

Jude’s eyes darkened, filled with an intense warmth that made her heart flutter in her chest. “May I?” he asked as he reached for the hem of the T-shirt she wore.

Tori’s breath hitched in her throat as she felt the gentle tug of his fingers. It was both thrilling and terrifying, the weight of the moment grounding her as she considered his request. “Yes,” she whispered, barely able to meet his gaze, her heart racing with a mix of eagerness and fear.

With a carefulness that felt intimate in itself, Jude lifted the shirt, baring her skin to the cool air. The contrast sent goosebumps rippling across her body as her nipples stiffened, each touch igniting a fire that pumped through her veins. He took his time, his hands gliding over her bare waist, exploring her curves with reverence as though she were a fragile piece of art.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, his voice steady, as his eyes lingered on her breasts for a few ticks before finding hers again.

As beautiful as her body was and as much pleasure as he took in it, in this moment Jude wasn't looking for sex. All he wanted was to be close to Tori, to have her understand that she was wanted.

The intensity of his gaze sent her heart racing, and Tori felt a warmth envelope her that had little to do with the blanket. The weight of his admiration made her feel vulnerable—exposed to the very core, yet wrapped in layers of tenderness.

Each brush of Jude's fingers aainst her skin felt like a promise, a gentle exploration that ignited the building desire within her. Tori's breaths quickened, the air thick with anticipation as she let herself succumb to the moment. She wanted to memorize the way he looked at her—like he could see into her soul like every inch of her was beautiful.

“While your with me the last thing I want is for you to feel alone, I know our situation is the furthest thing from normal as is my life, but I am here for you if you let me be.” Jude leaned closer, his breath warm against her skin, a soft caress that sent tremors through Tori’s entire being. Each word he spoke felt like an invitation to unravel the walls she had meticulously erected around her heart.

Tori shivered as she gazed into his eyes, trying to decipher the sincerity that lay within. There was a magnetic pull between them, one that threatened to ignite the spark of something deeper, more profound. Yet the ghost of her insecurities whispered doubts, urging her to stay guarded, to retreat into the familiar shadows of solitude that had become her refuge.

Tori’s arms instinctively went to cross over her chest in an attempt to cover herself only for Jude to gently catch her wrists, pressing them down to her sides. “Don’t hide from me,” he encouraged softly, the warmth that radiated from his touch sending trembles along her skin. “You’re breathtaking.”

She met his gaze—a mingling of intensity and tenderness, an invitation wrapped in a promise. The vulnerability washed over her in waves, and she fought against the instinct to shield herself. Instead, she pushed back against her insecurities, allowing herself to revel in his admiration.

“Look into my eyes,” Jude whispered, his voice deep and resonant. Tori swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest as she obliged, gazing into the depths of his eyes.

“Trust me,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering, the sincerity in his expression inviting her to step further into the unknown. “You’re safe here with me.”

With each heartbeat, she felt the barriers she had so carefully constructed begin to crumble, loosened by the unwavering strength of his presence. She couldn’t deny the way her body responded to him—how every brush of his fingers, every whisper of his voice sent her senses spiraling.

“I want to trust you,” Tori admitted, her voice filled with a mix of longing and vulnerability. “But it’s hard for me.”

“Then let yourself feel,” Jude encouraged gently. “Let this moment be about you and me. No past, no expectations—just two people finding their way.”

The intimacy of his words wrapped around her like a soft embrace, and she allowed herself to breathe in the moment. Tori’s heart raced as she leaned in closer, feeling the heat radiate from both their bodies.

Tori clung to Jude as his body relaxed into the plush sofa, his fingertips gently tracing invisible patterns along her bare skin. Each stroke sent shivers down her spine, a reminder of the fragile line they were treading between trepidation and desire. His touch was tender, yet ignited a fire within her, a longing for something deeper than mere connection.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as she surrendered to the sensations pooling within her, the warmth of Jude's body cradling her own. It wasn't until she had to fight against tiredness to keep her eyes open that she realized how drained she truly was.

She'd spent the previous night in Jude's bed struggling to put her racing mind at ease. Now in his arms, chest to chest it was as if her body was finally exhaling the tension that had been bottled up inside her since the night before.

When Tori's eyes fluttered open a while later, she was in Jude’s living room alone, her body snuggled beneath the blanket he had given her earlier.

The warmth of the blanket engulfed her, a stark contrast to the chill of the rain still tapping against the window. The soft glow of the television flickered in the dim light, a reminder of the movie she’d half-watched before sinking into an unexpected slumber. Tori blinked groggily, the remnants of sleep drifting away as she registered her surroundings.

Sitting up, Tori held the blanket against her chest as she looked around for the T-shirt she previously wore before being disrobed by Jude.

She noticed Jude lounging in an armchair across the room, his attention captivated by the flickering screen. He had a pair of sweatpants on, the fabric clinging well to his toned legs, and despite the casual attire, he exuded an effortless charm that made her heart race.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips as he caught her gaze. “You gave in and fell asleep on me. I didn’t want to wake you.��

His voice was warm and inviting, a soothing balm against the remnants of her earlier anxieties. Tori stretched, trying to shake off the drowsiness, but as she did, she became acutely aware of how the blanket slipped to her waist, leaving her exposed.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep,” she stammered, blushing slightly as she tugged the blanket back up to her chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her half-clothed state. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

Jude chuckled softly, the sound melting away her embarrassment. “No need to apologize. You looked peaceful. I could tell you needed the rest.”

As she settled back into a more comfortable position, a peaceful silence enveloped the room. Tori’s heart fluttered with a mix of vulnerability and warmth as she took in the sight of him—the way the dim light accentuated the contours of his face, the way he watched her with a glimmer of something deeper in his eyes.

“What are you watching?” Tori asked, her curiosity piqued.

“A classic,” Jude replied, shrugging slightly, seemingly engrossed by a young Denzel Washington on the screen.

“Enlighten me,” Tori said with a playful grin, eager to distract herself from the flutter of nerves in her stomach as she leaned forward slightly, making her way to the edge of the couch so she could grab her top from the floor and slip it back over her head.

Jude chuckled, his gaze shifting back to the film briefly before landing on her once more. “It’s Man on fire. He’s pretty phenomenal in this role.”

With a shy smile, Tori settled back down, her curiosity piqued as they both turned to watch the movie together.

As the film played on, the distance between them seemed to evaporate. Jude moved from the seat he sat on back over to the sofa Tori occupied, settling in next to her.

His presence was magnetic, and she couldn't help but lean into him, seeking the warmth and safety that filled the air between them. As he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, Tori felt a rush of comfort wash over her. The tension from earlier had faded, leaving behind just the two of them and the flickering screen.

“If you're willing to brave the rain, we could go to dinner later?” Jude suggested as he nuzzled closer to her, his breath warm against her hair. The invitation hung in the air, both enticing and daunting, like stepping out from under the protective cover of their shared moment into the chaotic world outside.

“Or we could stay in?” Tori suggested, hoping he'd be okay with the latter.

Jude's eyes sparkled with a playful glint as he turned his head slightly to look at her. “You’d rather stay in, huh? Just the two of us?”

Tori bit her lip, feeling the warmth of his gaze. “I mean… it’s cozy here, and we still have the movie. Plus, the rain is relentless outside. I wouldn’t mind staying in and making dinner for ourselves, unless I'm ruining any plans you made.”

Jude's smile broadened, a hint of mischief lighting up his eyes. "No plans ruined at all," he said, his voice low and inviting. "I like the sound of that. Just us, cooking together ...a bottle of wine?"

Tori's heart fluttered at the thought. The idea of being in the kitchen with him felt warm and intimate, a natural progression from the cozy moment they were sharing. “That sounds perfect,” she replied, a smile spreading across her lips as she settled deeper into the embrace of the blanket and his arm.

Jude's fingers lightly skimmed her back, a gentle touch that made her skin tingle. “Do you have anything in mind, we can make a grocery list.”

“A few nights ago I was in bed salivating over a homemade pizza recipe I saw on tiktok,” Tori grinned, feeling a spark of excitement.

Jude chuckled, his eyes brightening at her enthusiasm. “Pizza it is, I’ll even let you pick the toppings. Just promise not to go too wild,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

Tori giggled, her earlier worries beginning to fade as the warmth of the moment enveloped her. “I can’t make any promises! Although I am not a Pineapple on pizza girl.”

“It's not that bad,” Jude retorted with mock seriousness, prompting a laugh from Tori.

“Debatable,” she replied, playfully grimacing.

“We should probably go and grab what we need now before the sun begins to set,” Jude said with a hint of practicality.

Tori nodded with an eager grin. “Let’s do it! I’ll just throw on some clothes and be ready in a flash.”

As she stood, the blanket slipped off her shoulders, reminding her of the carefree intimacy they had shared moments ago. She hurriedly went upstairs to Jude's bedroom and rummaged through her things, locating her leggings and a cozy sweater. After quickly changing, she felt more grounded, thougha rush from earlier still lingered in her chest.

“Ready?” she asked as she joined Jude in the living room, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending the evening with him.

“If you are,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with warmth as they headed towards the door.

Before stepping out into the cold, damp air, Jude stopped Tori in her tracks, gently taking her hand in his, grabbing her attention.

“Kiss me,” he murmured as he bowed his head to her lips, his breath just a whisper away. The invitation hung in the air, electric and charged with possibility.

Tori felt herself blushing furiously as she looked into his eyes, searching for hesitance after their earlier conversation, but all she found was a deep desire that mirrored her own.

“Now,” Jude urged softly, closing the distance between them, his eyes holding hers captive.

Tori's heart raced, anticipation pooling in her stomach as she felt a magnetic pull towards him. “Okay,” she breathed, her voice nearly a whisper. She leaned in, feeling his warmth envelop her as their lips finally met.

The kiss was soft and hesitant at first, a gentle exploration that sent a spark racing through her. Tori felt herself melting against him, utterly consumed by the moment. Jude’s lips were warm, and as he deepened the kiss, she felt a rush of emotions flooding over her—an intoxicating mix of exhilaration, relief, and a sense of belonging that she had been longing for.

Tori wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his hands slide to her waist, pulling her closer. Time felt suspended as they lost themselves in each other, the outside world fading away until all that existed was the warmth of their connection.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally pulled away, foreheads resting against one another, panting slightly. The intensity of his gaze held her captive, and she could see the tenderness reflected back at her—a promise that they were in this moment together.

Tori laughed quietly, feeling giddy from their shared moment. She had been nervous about letting him in, but with each passing moment, she felt her walls melt away.

Taking her hand so he could lead her towards his car, Jude grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with an energy that ignited her own excitement. “Let’s go make some pizza,” he said, his voice buoyant.

As they stepped outside, the cool, fresh air brushed against their skin, invigorating and alive. Tori could hear the rain gently tapping against pavement, a steady rhythm that felt comforting, almost like a promise of a cozy evening ahead. She glanced at Jude, who was shaking off an umbrella from a quick jog from the car, and couldn’t help but smile.

The car ride was filled with laughter, the rain blurring past the windows in a hazy dance. The tension of their earlier conversation slipped away, replaced by the familiar banter that had pulled them together in the first place.

“Okay, what toppings do we need?” Jude asked as they navigated through the aisles of the grocery store. He was pleasantly charming, his hair slightly damp from the rain, while the low lights of the store highlighted the attractive angles of his face.

“Definitely cheese dnd maybe some mushrooms?” Tori replied, her voice bright as they browsed the selections.

“Mushrooms?” Jude teased with a playful grimace. “What else?”

She giggled, feeling light-hearted. “I feel like I’ll just grab stuff as we go, but I am definitely having mushrooms on my pizza.”

As they continued down the aisle, the mundane task of grocery shopping grew into an intimate experience, each shared laugh and playful argument over toppings deepening the bond between them. Jude would sometimes reach out to brush against her arm or lightly bump her hip with his, and each touch sent delightful jolts through her.

“We need a bottle of wine, right?” he asked as they neared the wine section, his eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Absolutely,” she replied, her heart racing at the idea of sharing a bottle with him while they cooked. “I’ll choose it, but if we’re cooking, it has to be something light.”

“You choose, I trust you,” Jude said with a grin, stepping aside as Tori searched the shelves for a suitable bottle.

After a few moments of perusing, she grabbed a crisp white, satisfied with her choice. “This should pair nicely with our culinary masterpiece,” she said, holding up the bottle triumph.

“I’ll take your word for it, wine is never my first choice.” Jude smirked but accepted the bottle from her, giving her a playful wink.

Continuing on through the store, they gathered ingredients: a mix of colorful bell peppers, spicy salami, and two types of cheese—mozzarella and a sharp cheddar that Tori claimed would elevate their pizza to gourmet status. The excitement bubbled between them, an undercurrent of flirtation and shared joy that was impossible to ignore.

As they approached the checkout line, Tori glanced at Jude, her heart flickering with a mix of affection and vulnerability. “Thanks for doing this with me. I really appreciate it,” she said, her voice sincere.

“Of course,” Jude replied, his expression softening. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. I like seeing you happy.”

A warmth blossomed in Tori’s chest at his words. She was starting to believe that he genuinely enjoyed her company—more than just a diversion from his own life.

After they paid for their groceries, they loaded the bags into the car, the rain pattering steadily on the roof. Tori couldn’t help but smile as Jude turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, a backdrop to the comfort that was beginning to feel like second nature between them.

As they drove back to his place, the rain created a serene ambiance, the world outside a blur of colors and sounds. Tori felt a lightness in her chest, the growing familiarity between her and Jude felt like something she had been craving for but hadn’t known it.

When they returned to the house, Jude and Tori rolled up their sleeves, washing their hands so they could begin to prepare their dinner.

What started out as what was supposed to be a simple relatively fun task had quickly taken a flirtatious turn.

Jude paid more attention to his lips on the crease of Tori's neck and the skin behind her ear as his pizza base lay half done on the counter. Each kiss ignited a spark within her that sent a wave of heat flushing through her body.

“Are you sure this is how you make pizza?” Tori teased, trying to keep her voice light despite the butterflies swirling in her stomach.

“Absolutely,” Jude replied with a playful smirk, leaning in closer, his warm breath brushing against her skin as he placed gentle kisses along her neck.

“Your pizza is not going to make itself,” Tori pointed out as she continued sprinkling toppings onto her pizza base.

“You can make it for me,” Jude said hotly against her ear as his hands reached down to caress her waist, tilting her body just ever so slightly towards his.

Tori felt the breath hitch in her throat as his hands roamed playfully, teasingly, exploring the curves that lay bare under her sweater. The warmth radiating from him was intoxicating, and she found it hard to focus on anything other than the delicious tension simmering between them.

“Was this your plan all along?” Tori asked, her tone playfulas she looked over her shoulder at him.

“Maybe," Jude replied with a smirk, his gaze locking onto hers with a teasing intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "I thought if I got you into the kitchen, I might get a bit more than just pizza."

Tori felt her cheeks flush with warmth, the air between them thickening with a pleasurable tension. She turned back to the counter, trying to concentrate on the task at hand, but Jude's presence was all-consuming. His hands continued to roam, trailing along her sides, sending waves of warmth cascading through her.

"You're distracting me,” Tori playfully protested, her voice slightly breathless as she tried to focus on the pizza dough now spread out on the counter before her.

Jude chuckled, the sound deep and inviting, and she could feel him moving closer behind her, his warmth radiating against her back, before he stepped away from her allowing Tori to making his pizza for him before he helped out them into the oven and set the timer.

Dinner went by in a blur of laughter and good, hearty food. When they were done, Jude offered to clean the kitchen while sending Tori upstairs so she could begin to unwind for the evening.

Tori took a deep breath, feeling a mix of satisfaction and warmth as she leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Jude work. He moved with a casual confidence, wiping down the counters and washing the dishes with ease. It was an everyday scene, but to her, it felt special—a glimpse into a life she never knew she wanted.

As she made her way upstairs, Tori felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach. She had enjoyed their time together, the intimacy they shared over cooking, but the night was still young, and she wondered what else lay ahead.

In Jude's bedroom, sheremoved her clothes before making her way into the bathroom, stopping in her tracks as her mind went back to the warmth of Jude's embrace, the way he had kissed her so softly that it felt like time itself had paused. She could still feel the heat radiating from her skin where his fingers had danced, igniting a fire within her that was hard to ignore.

As she stood there, the steam from the shower began to curl around her, creating a soft fog in the mirror. Tori looked at herself, the reflection showing a girl who was both scared and exhilarated. Never had she allowed herself to feel so vulnerable with someone else. The thought of being naked—both physically and emotionally—made her heart race.

She knew she could easily slip into the shower and wash away the day, but something tugged at her, urging her to reach out to Jude. A wave of spontaneity washed over her, and she couldn’t shake the idea of inviting him to join her. The thought sent a thrill through her; the intimacy of sharing such a private moment felt like a natural progression of their connection.

With a determined breath, Tori stepped out of the bathroom, her heart pounding as she made her way back to the bedroom. Jude was still in the kitchen, his back to her as he wiped down the kitchen counter.

“Jude?” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned at the sound of her voice, his expression shifting from concentration to surprise as he took in her appearance.

“Shower with me,” Tori murmured softly, her gaze intensely fixed on Jude's. She stood before him in his kitchen, completely bare, the warmth of her skin glowing under the soft lighting. The hint of vulnerability that once flickered in her eyes had vanished, completely replaced by a palpable, electric desire that filled the air between them. Her confidence radiated, inviting him closer.

“Baby,” Jude breathed out as his hands found her hips, his brow slightly furrowed as his eyes drank in Tori's figure as she stood before him, her caramel skin glowing under the soft lighting of his kitchen as she offered herself to him.

The words hung in the air, charged with an undeniable chemistry that made every nerve in Tori's body hum with anticipation. She could feel the heat radiating from Jude’s body as he stepped closer, their proximity intensifying the moment.

“Come on,” she coaxed, tilting her head slightly, a teasing glint lighting up her eyes. Tori turned on her heel, a playful sway to her hips as she led the way to the bathroom, glancing over her shoulder to catch Jude’s gaze filled with both desire and awe as she led him upstairs.

Jude followed behind her, his eyes glued to the soft jiggle of her ass with each step she took, the curve of her hips that gave way to her petite waistline. He was simply in awe.

Unable to stop himself, Jude raised his hand and sent a rough, stinging slap against the curve of her backside. The sound echoed in the stillness of the house, a sharp contrast to the soft whisper of the water running in the bathroom.

Tori gasped, her eyes widening in surprise, but the flush of excitement that spread across her skin was unmistakable. She turned to him, her breath hitching at the mix of pleasure and pain at that moment.

Her lips curved into a smirk, a challenge glinting in her eyes as she stepped closer, her body itching for contact.

Before she could form another lust-filled sound from her mouth, Jude lifted Tori into his arms carrying her the rest of the up the stairs and into his bedroom, using the door to kick the door shut behind them.

Using one hand to hold Tori’s body, Jude used the other to rip his t-shirt off, carelessly throwing it to the floor as they made a rather messy beeline towards his en-suite bathroom, a clash of lips and teeth as they indulged in one another.

After spending most of the day with such heightened emotions, all Tori wanted to do was forget. She wanted to allow herself to get lost in Jude as he took her to heights unknown.

Placing Tori down on the bathroom counter, Jude sunk down onto his knees as he pushed her legs open, coming face to face with her warm, slick pussy.

Tori's breath hitched as the cool marble of the countertop kissed her heated skin, her heart pounding in anticipation. Jude's rough hands gripped her thighs, parting them wide to reveal her most intimate place. His hungry gaze raked over her, and she could feel his eyes drinking in every inch of her exposed flesh.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me already," Jude growled, his voice low and rough with desire. His thumbs parted her slick folds, exposing her swollen clit to his heated stare.

Tori whimpered, her hips canting forward seeking more of his touch. "Please, Jude," she breathed, her voice heavy with need. "I want your mouth on me."

With a groan, Jude leaned in, his breath hot against her aching core. Tori's head fell back, her eyes squeezing shut as his tongue delved between her slick folds, lapping at her essence.

"Oh fuck, yes," she cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair. Jude's tongue was sinful, his mouth hot and gluttonous as he devoured her.

His talented mouth was relentless, his tongue delving deep to stroke along her fluttering walls, drawing out more of her sweet nectar. Tori's hips bucked against his face, desperate for more of that delicious friction.

"Just like that," she panted, her thighs clenching around his head. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Jude hummed against her, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine as he roughly pushed her thighs apart, his head thrashing as he feasted on her.

Their eyes met as Jude lifted his gaze to hers, his eyes dark with lust and his lips glistening with her juices. Tori's pulse jumped at the intensity of that look, her body burning under his heated stare.

She watched, awestricken as Jude puckered his lips allowing a bead of spit to fall from between them onto her pulsing clit.

“Play with it,” he instructed hotly.

Tori's eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and arousal at Jude's command. She swallowed thickly, her pulse jumping as she reached down to circle her clit with the pad of her finger, her slick essence mixing with his spit.

"Good girl," Jude groaned, his voice low and gravelly. His praise sent a fresh gush of wetness to coat her fingers, her touch sending sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine.

Tori's breath came in shallow pants as she worked herself, her hips rolling in time with the movement of her fingers. The obscene sounds of her arousal filled the bathroom, mixing with the sound of the shower running in the background.

"Show me," Jude demanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Fuck yourself for me."

A whimper fell from Tori's lips as she complied, sinking two fingers knuckle-deep into her aching core. She fucked herself hard and fast, her fingers pumping in and out of her slick heat as she chased her release, unable to keep her eyes from rolling shut.

"That's it, baby," Jude encouraged, his fingers tangling in the back of her hair as he raised her head a little, making sure she was also audience to the show she was putting on for him between her thighs.

Tori's breath came in shallow pants as she worked herself, her fingers pumping in and out of her slick heat as she chased her release. The obscene sounds of her arousal filled the bathroom, mixing with the sound of the shower running in the background.

"Look at you," Jude groaned, his voice low and rough with desire. "Fucking yourself for me. You love this, don't you?"

Tori's eyes clenched shut, her hips bucking wildly against her hand as Jude's nasty words pushed her closer to the edge. "Yes," she whimpered, her voice broken and needy.

"Fuck, baby, you're so perfect," Jude growled, his praise sending a fresh gush of wetness to coat her fingers. "Come for me. Come all over those pretty fingers."

Tori's back arched, her body tensing as her orgasm crashed over her. "Jude!" she cried out, her inner walls clenching around her fingers as she came undone. Her vision went, stars exploding behind her eyelids as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Before Tori had the chance to come back to reality, she was under the showers spray, clinging to Jude as he pinned her overstimulated body against the shower wall, rolling a condon down his thick cock.

He had no intention of rushing anything beyond this point, his eyes drinking Tori in as he towered above her, taking his length into his hand.

Tori's body trembled, her skin flushed and tingling with postorgasmic bliss as Jude pinned her against the shower wall. The hot spray of water cascaded over them, steam rising around their entwined forms. She gazed up at him through hooded eyes, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

Jude's eyes raked over her, taking in every inch of her glistening skin, his own chest rising and falling rapidly with desire. His large hands gripped her hips possessively, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh.

"Are you ready for me, baby?" Jude murmured, his voice low and rough with need. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her slick folds.

Tori whimpered, her hips canting forward seeking more of that delicious friction. "Yes," she breathed, her voice heavy with want. "I need you inside me."

With a deep, guttural groan, Jude thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Tori's tight heat. "Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes squeezing shut at the exquisite sensation of her walls gripping him like a vice.

Tori cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders as she was stretched and filled by his impressive length. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, drawing him even deeper.

For a moment, they remained still, savoring the feeling of being so intimately connected. Jude's forehead rested against hers, their ragged breaths mingling in the steamy air between them.

Slowly, he began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained before slamming back in, setting a deep, powerful rhythm. The wet slap of skin against skin echoed obscenely in the shower, mixing with their moans and gasps.

"Baby, look at me," he grunted as his eyes bore into hers, his hips snapping forward to meet hers. Each powerful thrust sent sparks of pleasure shooting up Tori's spine, her inner walls clenching around his thick length.

Jude's hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pounded into her. The water cascaded over them, steam rising around their entwined forms.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jude groaned, his voice low and gravelly. "Tori, you’re so fucking tight around my cock."

Tori whimpered, her head falling back against the shower wall as she lost herself to the sensation of Jude's merciless strokes. "Harder, baby," she panted, her nails raking down his back. "Fuck me harder."

With a feral growl, Jude obliged, his hips snapping forward with a boundless force. The wet, nasty sounds of their coupling filled the bathroom, mixing with the patter of the shower spray.

Tori's body trembled, her skin flushed and tingling with building pleasure as Jude pounded into her. She could feel her climax building, coiling tighter and tighter in her core.

Tori's body trembled, her skin flushed and tingling with building pleasure as Jude pounded into her. She could feel her climax building, coiling tighter and tighter in her core.

"Jude," she whimpered, her voice broken and needy. "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum for me, baby," Jude growled, his hips snapping forward with a boundless force. "Fucking soak my cock."

Tori's inner walls clenched around him, her body tensing as her orgasm crashed over her. "Fuck, Jude!" she cried out, her vision going white as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

Jude groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "Fuck, I'm cumming," he grunted, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside her. Tori could feel him throbbing inside her, his hot seed spilling into the condom that sheathed his length in thick ropes.

They remained like that for a long moment, clinging to each other as they rode out the aftershocks of their release. Slowly, Jude lowered her legs, holding her up as he pressed soft kisses along her neck and shoulder. “I want to cum inside you so fucking bad,” he breathed, the revelation surprising him as much as it did Tori.

[lemon2099]

A little fluffy ode to Miguel's pretty face <3

When it comes to Miguel O'Hara, there are many wonderful features you can stare at.

His eyes, a bleeding crimson that brings back tides of the painful consequences of his behavior. His recklessness and selfishness turning him into the man he is today, trapping him in his new predicament: Atlas of multiverse, when all he wanted was family. Now if he so much turns his back, millions of families will be torn apart, and it will be all his fault. But to you? Those eyes are the warm red of leaves falling off the trees in fall, floating down gently in the crisp breeze as their time passes, resting softly on the grass to be reabsorbed into the soil, resting and waiting for Mother Nature to welcome them home in her warm embrace.

His supple, plump lips that in recent times have only used for guzzling down coffee and yelling to his AI assistant. Before you, he would let them dry out, sit and pick at the cowlicks of dead skin and pull them until they bled all over his mouth, before wiping them off on the back of his palm. It's far from the first time he's ever had blood on his hands. To you, they are large pillows, a gateway to his most vulnerable wounds: the ones invisible to the eye and mind. The ones with no blood, no scars, but the source of plenty of tears. With every stream of air push between those gorgeous gates gives you more insight for how you can help him heal and feel better than the happy man he used to be. Thanks to your loving instance, he now has a small stick of plain chapstick in his desk drawer, right between his scientific calculator and precision screwdriver set.

But you always took to a different feature, placed large and proud in the center of his face. It is the centerpiece of a beautiful buffet to the eyes, unmoving as if sculpted by marble. Often flooded with destructive barrages of smoke emanating from the infrastructure collapsing into the streets after being smacked down by the anomalies, suffocating the suffering populations that have already lost everything and more. The heavy scent pushes him out of the rubble just one more time, to swallow up pungent gobs of soot in hopes of retrieving a pinch of oxygen, to make sure the civilian’s last breath isn't as acrid as the one he just took.

It picks up the scent of the heavy, iron-scented blotches smeared across the concrete. The tangy smell of lost life hopelessly across broken schools and subway stations, a heavy reminder of his impossible responsibility. His enhanced senes usually were usually an essential tool to his missions, but his large nostrils intake information that only make his job harder. A faint metallic scent means blood on the walls, but a stifling one means injury. A blockade cuts off his oxygen, causing him to wheeze, each cough a fight for breath, getting closer and closer while dodging punches and flying debris. But he doesn’t have time to slow down, and even if he physically could, he couldn’t bring himself to do anyway. In the intricate web of the multiverse, his life is meaningless, and he understand that more acutely than anyone. After whipping his head to avoid a broken jaw, warmth slides down his face and blends into the sweat under his mask, coating his face in a warm, sticky substance. His suit is dark for a reason.

But to you? It is absolute perfection. The bridge has the slope of a rolling hill in the countryside, teeming with plant life. Combined with the upward turn at the tip creates the feeling of sliding down before being shot up right back to the top to do it all again, letting yourself get trapped in the loop of its beauty. Wide nostrils create prominence, almost perfectly symmetrical but not exact, like the patterns a spider weaves in its web. Should you chose to look to the side, the stark structure gentle creates the perfect attachment to the rest of his face, carrying your vision down gracefully. There is not a single wrong place to look. Even the clogged pores look like like freckles and the dry skin is more akin to snowflakes. Both are evidence of his hard work. And even after all the turmoil, it still stands large and proud on the center of his face, slicing through the air, the amber light of his monitors and code gently cupping the structure.

"What are you looking at?" He asks bluntly, turning his head to face you.

“You." You reply softly, your eyes still loyal to his beautiful face.

“I can see that." He turns his body towards you. "But why?"

"I never thought someone so beautiful would look my way. And yet here you are.” He blinks once. Twice. Three times before scoffing and turning himself back to his work. A smile starts to form on his face, but right before it can, his nose scrunches up and shoves it back down into his chest.

It was just his way of telling you that he felt the same.

Sorry for the lack of updates, been in a funk lately Please please PLEASE reblog if you enjoyed and feel free to come into my ask box with any questions or requests. Thank you, and have a great day!

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

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5

Y/N

The morning sunlight feels too bright as it spills across my room, illuminating everything in a way that feels almost accusatory. My head feels strange, like it’s stuffed with fog, and my throat is dry, scratchy. For a moment, I just sit there, trying to piece together what feels like fragments of a half-remembered dream.

Then, like the tide rushing in, it all comes back.

The lake. The joint. Jinx.

I let out a breath and rub my temples. I’ve never felt like this before—untethered, like my mind isn’t quite my own. I think of the way the smoke had burned going down, the way my chest had tightened, and the strange, floating clarity that had followed.

And then there was her.

Her laugh, sharp and biting, but somehow not cruel. The way her knee had bounced, restless, and her voice had softened, just for a moment. The way she had looked at me when I said I was sorry—like she didn’t quite believe it, but also like she wanted to.

I drag myself out of bed and stand in front of my mirror. My reflection stares back at me, hair messy, dark circles under my eyes. I don’t look like the version of myself I’m used to seeing: polished, composed, prepared.

I think of what I said to her.

“I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

It feels heavier now, in the harsh light of day. Not because I regret it—I don’t—but because it feels like the start of something I don’t know how to finish. She’d told me I’d drown if I tried to save her. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I would have.

But I didn’t even try.

The thought twists in my chest.

Last night feels like some strange, otherworldly moment, the kind that doesn’t belong in the real world. And yet, I can’t shake the memory of it: the lake, the stars, the soft ripple of water, and the way, for just a heartbeat, it felt like we were connected again.

The thought lingers as I go about my morning routine, though routine feels like the wrong word. Everything feels slightly off-kilter, like I’m moving through a world that isn’t quite real. I brush my teeth, but the minty taste feels muted. I splash cold water on my face, but it doesn’t chase away the warmth still clinging to me from last night.

Her words echo in my mind, over and over.

"You’re here now, aren’t you?"

It wasn’t forgiveness, not entirely. But it wasn’t rejection, either. It was something in between, a place I’m not sure how to navigate.

As I stare at the mirror, toothbrush abandoned in the sink, the weight of her words settles deeper into my chest. "You're here now, aren't you?" They linger, stubborn and unyielding, like a riddle I can't solve.

The person staring back at me looks like me but doesn’t feel like me. My hair’s still a mess, my skin pale in the unforgiving light of the bathroom. The faint redness from the weed still lingers in my eyes.

I trace my finger along the edge of the sink, the smooth porcelain grounding me in a way my thoughts can’t. It’s strange—how last night feels both impossibly distant and uncomfortably close, like I could reach out and still touch the ripple of the lake’s surface.

And her.

Her outfit from last night comes to me in sharp flashes, each piece a quiet reminder of her refusal to be anything other than herself. A cropped black top, with her bright blue bra peeking out, so unbothered by convention, leaving her arms bare to show off the wispy blue of her tattoos. The short, plaid skirt swung with every step, the bold pinks and purples clashing in a way that almost made me frown, but it somehow fit her perfectly. Like she was daring you to see her, truly see her, and not look away.

The torn fishnet stockings ran up her legs, disappearing beneath worn, slouchy leg warmers, and those boots, scuffed and heavy, told a story of a thousand steps taken in places I would've never dared to follow until last night. They weren’t made for dancing, but for standing firm, for walking through chaos. Her tiny, ridiculous purse, a cartoon animal with an angry face, hanging low on her hip truly a bizarre touch, but it made sense on her. She didn’t need it to make sense, and that’s what made it hers.

Those long, impossibly messy braids—swinging behind her like streaks of wild blue, tied off with bows that looked like they’d been thrown together in a rush. And her makeup… dark, smudged lipstick and eyeliner like she’d put it on in a haze of laughter and frustration. It was a little all over the place, but she looked beautiful.

I catch myself mid-thought, the word beautiful lingering too long in my mind. I clench my jaw and press my lips together, willing it away. No. That’s not what this is about.

I'm not attracted to her, I'm simply observant. There's just something compelling about her, she gathers attention, I'd be a fool not to notice.

And I'm not a fool.

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Jinx

I’m sprawled out on Silco’s desk, knocking papers everywhere.

He’s too busy with whatever shady crap he’s dealing with, so he doesn’t even flinch. He’s used to this shit by now.

Not that I care. I’m busy with my own thing anyway.

“So like—Y/N, right? Last night? You remember her, right?” I swing my legs up, now dangling upside down off the desk.

“Or, you probably don’t, you’re busy and all that... but whatever.” I wave it off with a lazy shrug, but I can’t stop grinning.

"But she, like... totally caved.”

I catch his good eye for a split second before he looks back at his paperwork.

Like he’s trying to ignore me, but he knows he can’t, he's actually the biggest softie

“She totally, totally, smoked that joint with me,” I announce, watching him carefully.

Silco stops.

There’s a pause.

Like he’s trying to process my words. His eyes narrow as he stares at me.

“Jinx, I give you those drugs for your business entrepreneurs, not for yourself. You know you’re not supposed to be smoking,” he practically reprimands me.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, sure,” I interrupt, waving my hand like I’m shooing off a fly.

“Let me stop you right there, Dad. It wasn’t technically a joint. It was a—uh—lollipop.” I smirk, daring him to call me out. “Yeah, a lollipop. Cherry-flavored. Totally innocent.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about patience. “Jinx.”

“What?” I sit upright, hands spread wide. “I’m being honest! Honest Jinx, that’s me.”

His sigh is so long and drawn out I think he’s going to pass out.

But nope.

He’s still there, looking at me like he’s trying to figure out why he puts up with this.

“Anyway!” I barrel on, kicking my legs against the desk.

“She took it. Like, I held it out, and she just... grabbed it. Like, no hesitation. Well, okay, a little hesitation. But then bam! She’s holding it. And then she freaking smoked it—well, tried to. Looked like she was about to fucking puke Hilarious.”

“Language,” Silco mutters, shuffling his papers like he’s pretending to work.

He’s not fooling anyone.

“Right, right. My bad. She looked like she was about to violently combust,” I say, snickering.

“And then, guess what? She laughed. Laughed, Silco. Like, this cute little giggle thing. It was... weird. But, like, in a good way? Made her seem, I dunno, human.”

I flip onto my stomach now, chin resting in my hands.

“And then, for, like, a split second, I thought she was gonna kiss me. Like, what the hell, right? Y/N? Kissing me? Insane. But it was there. The vibe. The moment.”

Dad- Silco looks up from his paperwork. “And did she?”

I throw my hands up, nearly knocking over a paperweight.

“No!"

I scoff.

Silco leans back in his chair, giving me that annoying, knowing look. “You have feelings for the girl.”

I scoff, loud and dramatic. “Like her? Please. She’s just... interesting, that’s all.”

“Mmhmm.” His smirk grows, and I know I’m losing this battle.

“Okay, fine, maybe I like her. A little. But don’t get all weird about it, okay? She’s... complicated. And I don’t do complicated.”

“Jinx,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “You are complicated.”

I blink at him, thrown off for a second.

Then I roll my eyes, flopping back onto the desk like a starfish.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just don’t tell her I said any of this, okay?”

His chuckle is quiet, almost fond. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

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Y/N

After the oddity of the party last night, I found myself sitting at a booth in Piltover’s diner, the kind of place that pretended to be casual but was just polished enough to remind you it wasn’t cheap. Across from me, Caitlyn was sipping tea, her posture as straight and proper as always, while Mel flipped lazily through a menu.

I was quiet. Too quiet, probably, because Mel eventually glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “What’s with you? You look like you’ve been exiled from your own kingdom.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a small smile. I stirred the remnants of sugar into my coffee, avoiding eye contact. My thoughts kept drifting back to the lake, to Jinx, and to… everything about last night that I couldn’t quite make sense of. But I wasn’t about to bring it up. Caitlyn’s feelings about Jinx were less of a mystery—they weren’t feelings; they were pure, unfiltered disdain.

I sipped my coffee, letting the warmth ground me as the memory of last night tried to creep back in: Jinx’s laugh—sharp and unpredictable—the way her eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t quite name. Her voice, teasing and cutting but... not unkind.

I shoved the thought aside.

“So,” Caitlyn began, setting her teacup down with a small clink, “I kissed Vi.”

My head snapped up at the same time Mel practically shrieked. “You what?”

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” Caitlyn said, though the faint pink in her cheeks betrayed her attempt at nonchalance.

“Okay, hold on.” Mel leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “I need every detail. Where? How? Was it good? No, wait—start from the beginning.”

Cait sighed, but the smile on her face told me she wasn’t bothered by Mel’s theatrics. “After you two left, we were standing by my car. She made some comment about how I should loosen up more often, and before I could reply, she kissed me.”

“Shut up,” Mel said, grinning ear to ear. “That’s amazing. Was it good? Don’t lie.”

“It was... unexpected,” Caitlyn admitted, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “But yes, it was good. Very good.”

I tried to focus on my coffee, letting their conversation fill the space between us. Cait deserved this. She deserved something uncomplicated, something sweet and warm and full of possibility.

Unlike whatever was clawing at the edges of my mind—something messy and confusing and entirely unwelcome.

“Are you two a thing now?” Mel asked, leaning in like a gossip columnist.

“I don’t know,” Cait said, her tone thoughtful. “Vi doesn’t seem like the type to want to label things. And, honestly, I’m fine with that. For now.”

Mel looked impressed. “Wow. Look at you, Miss Go-With-The-Flow. Who are you, and what have you done with Caitlyn Kiramman?”

Cait rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t falter.

As their laughter filled the space between us, I tried to hold onto it, to let it distract me. But my thoughts were already wandering, back to the lake and the way Jinx had looked at me when I’d apologized.

There was something unsettling about the memory, not because of what she’d said, but because of how it had made me feel. Like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t understand.

As they resumed their chatter, I let their voices fade into the background, my mind returning—despite my best efforts—to Jinx. To the way she’d leaned back on her elbows, her grin sharp and teasing. To the strange softness in her eyes, fleeting but undeniable. To the way my stomach had flipped, unbidden and entirely unwelcome, when her hand had brushed mine as she passed me the joint.

I stared into my coffee, its surface rippling slightly as I shifted in my seat. This was nothing, I told myself. Just residual adrenaline from an unexpected night. That’s all.

But the quiet flutter in my chest told a different story.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hope you enjoyed it, the complicated feelings are only just starting ;)

please like and reblog!

[doliacuddles]

SHADOWS OF A MARRIAGE.

𝖱𝖾𝖽.

𝖧𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗇! 𝖠𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11

❝In our gazes lie the secrets of a love that never had its chance, trapped in a silence that screams the tragedy of what could have been and never was.❞

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆:

𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗁𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌, 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗎𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖨𝗍 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽.

Red. A color that evokes intense passions, capable of igniting a fiery blaze in the heart while simultaneously reflecting the brutality of violence. It is a hue that fascinates and hypnotizes, wielding an almost hypnotic influence over those who behold it, infusing a peculiar and disturbing calm in its presence. It is said that red is universal, harmonizing with anything and symbolizing the power and vitality of life itself. Yet, for you, red was not just a mere shade but a repugnant vision that disturbed your sense of aesthetics and provoked a deep aversion.

The pain began as a deep sting in your abdomen, a wave of agony that left you breathless. You doubled over, trying to stifle the scream rising in your throat, but the pressure only mounted. It was then you felt it: a warm, wet fluid sliding between your legs. You looked down and horror settled in your chest as you saw the pool of blood spreading beneath you.

Your body was engulfed in a sea of red, a tide of your own blood slowly spreading across the room's floor. The coldness of the floor mixed with the warmth of the blood gushing from you, creating a disconcerting and almost surreal sensation. Each spasm of pain ripped through your soul, a brutal and constant reminder of the cruel reality you were living. The baby, your dear baby, was fading away, snatched from you before even having the chance to experience life. Every second felt like an eternity as your child's life slowly slipped away, leaving you with an indescribable sense of loss and despair.

You clung to the edge of the bed, trying to stay conscious as darkness threatened to engulf you completely. How did you end up here? Was this divine punishment for attempting to keep Alastor all to yourself, for desiring what wasn’t yours? Answers eluded your mind, clouded by pain and desperation.

You couldn’t think clearly. The world around you had been reduced to a single color: red. You saw it in your trembling hands, in your torn dress, in the pool spreading to your feet like an unrelenting tide. Each heartbeat resonated with the echo of your life slipping away, and amidst the growing darkness, red became increasingly oppressive, devouring everything in its path.

The air grew thicker, harder to breathe, and your vision blurred with tears of helplessness. You tried to scream, to call for help, but the words choked in your throat, smothered by the unbearable pain that seized you. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind, the notion that all this was some sort of divine punishment continued to beat, like a venomous snake coiling around you, squeezing until you could only surrender to the darkness.

Your trembling, weak hands pressed urgently on the wound. You tried to stem the bleeding, your fingers slipping in the warm blood flowing uncontrollably. In your mind, a silent prayer repeated desperately: you begged for someone to come to your aid, for a savior to emerge from the shadows of darkness. Tears flowed endlessly, a cascade of hopelessness flooding your face and staining your cheeks. You murmured Alastor’s name over and over, each whisper laden with the hope that he would appear, that he would come to rescue you from this agony. Yet, deep down, where a glimmer of rationality still lingered, you knew it was an illusion. You knew salvation was beyond your grasp.

As the pain grew more acute and enveloping, your memories began to fragment, like a broken film unfolding in painful flashes. You recalled your life in heartbreaking fragments: your early years of innocence, the awakening of your dreams, and finally, the encounter with Alastor. His presence had been like a whirlwind in your life, his dark and enigmatic charisma wrapping your world in a complex and fascinating web. You remembered your wedding day, an event that should have been the epitome of happiness, now distorted by the tragedy that was looming. The day you had envisioned as the beginning of a future full of promises was now revealed as the prelude to a series of misfortunes that had led to this moment of desperation and pain.

You longed with an overwhelming desperation to turn back time, to undo the decisions that had brought you to this point of agony. If only you hadn’t resorted to those rue teas, if you had understood the true implications of your actions… You felt trapped by your stubbornness and fear, caught in a nightmare from which you could not awaken. Your obstinacy had sealed your fate and that of the life within you, dragging you into this irreversible tragedy.

As the pain intensified, your world began to crumble into a painful and oppressive twilight. The room faded into darkness, and the blood spreading across the floor seemed to swallow every ray of hope. Amidst this overwhelming despair, a sound began to echo through the gloom: footsteps. They were footsteps approaching with an unsettling urgency, as if time itself had rushed toward you. You tried to scream, but your strength was waning, and the sound of your voice faded into a nearly inaudible whisper.

Through the veil of shadows covering the room, you glimpsed a figure standing out against the faint light filtering from the hallway. It was a tall, elegant silhouette, a presence that seemed to defy the darkness itself. Your heart beat with a faint glimmer of hope as you strained to focus your vision.

It was Alastor.

A fleeting relief enveloped you upon seeing him, a breath of hope amidst the torment. Alastor had arrived, just when you needed him most. But when his eyes met yours, the relief turned into terror. In his gaze, there was an unyielding coldness and a distance you had never seen before. That expression held an icy void that cruelly contrasted with the desperation you felt. At that moment, you understood that, despite his arrival, the certainty of your salvation was fading into uncertainty.

"It seems fate has decided to be particularly cruel to us, my dear."

Intellectual property of @doliacuddles.

𝖳𝖺𝗀𝗌; @catticora @mo-0-o @alastorthirsty @its-a-dam-blue-brick @speedycoffeedelight @eris-norwega

[astra-ryuusei]

"Awakening the Sleeping Giant"

-----------------------

flings my creation into the unknown

the brain worms have gotten too powerful and I’m simultaneously dying of skystar disease of so have this 1400-ish-word Fucking Thing™ based on @keferon's mecha AU featuring human!starscream as the the little bastard you can't live with but also can't live without, and skyfire/jetfire as the unfortunate victim of Fate Being a Real Bitch Sometimes and accidentally deciding the outcome of the Space Race

"ulchtar" as a name for human!Starscream was borrowed from starscream's early name (and also Skybound)

also i don’t remember if the corporation that produces mechs in this au was ever properly given a name so i just kinda. gave them a generic one lol

-----------------------

Ulchtar is a mechanical engineer working on developing spacefaring mecha. He’s climbed through the ranks based on his expertise (and, occasionally by sabotaging other peoples’ work). Nobody really likes working with him; he’s kind of an ass at the best of times. But his experience with these systems makes him a danger if the company ever lets him go. He could sell his knowledge to anyone else in the world, creating new competition in a sector they’ve more-or-less monopolized. This keeps him from being kicked out…up until Mecha-Corp’s first voyage into the stars goes horribly wrong. After the disappearance of Jazz, the fingers are pointed at him, even though—for once in his life—he’s actually not to blame. It’s decided that he’s no longer useful, and he needs to be disposed of.

Ulchtar doesn’t know this, of course. Not until—after being called into a meeting in one of the downstairs labs—the door to go back upstairs locks itself, and he hears the telltale, unholy screeches of alien beasts around him. The beasts he has helped contain for years.

“…shit. Shit shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit—”

He starts running. Not upstairs, that’s not an option, but maybe there’s another way out of here. He finds that the door upstairs is locked, but not the way down, and that means there’s still a chance, because if there’s anything the higher-ups here right about, it was the fact that Ulchtar knows way too much.

In a last, desperate attempt to survive (or at least go down swinging) Ulchtar decides to unleash his final gambit. He runs down long-forgotten halls, hurls himself downstairs until he reaches the lowest floor of the facility—a floor where nobody goes. It’s down here that he’ll make his stand and wake up an old “friend.”

The few who know it exists call it the “Sleeping Giant.” Corny name, but it made sense, given it's…well, fucking gigantic, maybe even bigger than Vortex. It was found buried in the Arctic in the mid-1950’s—what looked to be an ancient, alien shuttle, lost under the ice for perhaps millions of years. It was all kept hush-hush, but in secret, its discovery had turned the tides of the Space Race…and when it fell into the hands of what would soon become Mecha-Corp, they quickly learned it was much more than a vessel. It was alive.

Some of the earliest mechs? The huge, bulky ones that never ended up getting mass-produced because it wasn’t economical enough? They owed their design to the Giant. They owed their existence to the many times it had been torn apart and put back together to see how it worked, to the many years it had laid on a table inert, unaware of what humanity had done to it. It was their greatest trade secret.

And the Giant owes its currently-intact state to Ulchtar, who’d thought studying it as a whole was more useful than research on individual parts. Which is the only reason he knows, at least in theory, how to power it on. Hell, he’d even done some refurbishments when nobody was looking. He runs across a table far too big for him, pulling out cables and unlocking restraints. He doesn’t have time for final checks, not with a horde of kaiju bearing down on him. He just has to hope, to scream until he makes the stars hear his name—or he dies trying.

"COME ON!" He shouts. "WAKE UP, YOU OVERSIZED SUNOVA--"

At that moment, the stars respond.

-----------------------

He can’t move.

He’s freezing cold.

Is he dead?

How did he get here?

He’s…he was…looking for something, he’s pretty sure. Something very important.

Something so important he’d risk getting trapped under an ice sheet over it.

Who is he? He's not sure.

He wants to go home, but he can’t remember where that’s supposed to be.

Trying to remember hurts too much.

It’s hard to think like this, when he’s so cold and everything hurts and he’s so tired.

He lets himself drift, fluttering in and out of death-dreams that he can barely recall.

Eventually, after he’s lost count of the cycles, something happens. The dim light filtering through the ice gets brighter. Small creatures—the lifeforms of this planet, he thinks—peer down at him, pointing, shouting, but he is too weak to respond.

He has hope, for a brief moment, when he sees the sun again, but those hopes are quickly dashed—once more he’s trapped in walls and ceilings of white and gray. This time, the prison is own body. He’s escaped the glacier, only to find himself paralyzed and comatose. Occasionally he laspses into consciousness just long enough to steal a few kliks of awareness before he falls back into darkness.

At some point, he feels himself revert to ‘bot mode, which is something he'd forgotten he even had until then. He’s vaguely aware that he is being picked apart and put back together by the scavengers, again and again and again. The dull ache of not being whole is the only reason he knows he’s still alive, if this can still be called living.

And then…something changes. Everything goes dark for a very long time. The next time he’s aware of anything, his first realization is that he doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t feel broken. His arms respond when he tries to move.

What?

He sits up, still in something of a daze, taking in the surroundings. It’s a room seemingly sized for mechs, and yet the furniture strewn about is far too small—maybe meant for the scavengers? He has little time to wonder about the whole situation, because he soon hears them—the distant, telltale sounds of Quintessons approaching. He remembers what those are, in a way that’s almost instinctive.

To his right, though, he hears a small screaming noise. A lone organic is shouting something at him almost hysterically, pointing at the entrance before gesturing wildly, and then pointing up at the ceiling. It runs over to a set of controls, pushing at buttons furiously until the ceiling begins to open up. Once again, he sees the sky and feels something like hope.

Then tentacles lash out from behind the entrance, and he remembers this is no time for sentiment. He picks the organic up, deciding to just plop the creature inside his cockpit where’s it’s relatively safe and jump for it. He doesn’t trust the creature, not for a second, but he needs someone to explain what’s going on. Engines flare to life for the first time in millions of years, and he hears horrific screeches as Quintesson flesh is cooked under the heat from his thrusters.

They sail up and up and up until there’s no walls anymore and that feeling of suffocating is gone and it’s warmer than anything he’s felt in millions of cycles and he’s alive.

He lets himself spin a few times in the air. He’s above the clouds and the sun feels like fire on his still-frigid wings but somehow that’s good, it feels right. He wants to just hover here and bask in it forever.

He realizes why the creature is kicking him when gunfire whizzes past his face, followed by a pair of aircraft piloted by the scavengers.

Are the scavengers after him? Or the one he’s holding onto? He’s not really sure, but he also really doesn’t want to find out.

He transforms, looking for any way to shake them off. It becomes a mad, spiraling dance as he tries to avoid getting shot, to mixed results.

He considers the enemy’s design—these aircraft don’t look like they’re meant for spaceflight. Knowing that, he climbs higher and higher, looking to get above these things’ maximum operating altitude. He flinches as a few bullets scratch and tear at him, but doesn’t stop. This eventually pays off, as he sees his pursuers begin to stall out, dropping away behind him.

He hopes his scavenger didn’t get too sick in the cockpit. That’d be a mess to clean up…

…Primus, why am I worrying about that at a time like this? He laughs to himself, though this high up, the air is so thin that it’s barely audible.

He looked down at the planet below—dusk was soon to fall on this side of the world, and he needed to find somewhere to hide.

“…where do I even go from here?”

A knock from the organic, who held up what looked like a tiny datapad with a nervous grin.

Maybe they had an idea?

-----------------------

part 2

[lorre-verie]

heyyyy there, how are you? was just thinkinggg 😝🧟 ---

may I please request an enemies to lovers ao'nung x fem!metkayina!reader fic where reader ventures out beyond the reef with bestie tsireya in their rarely found free time in order to decompress from their stressful routines --- evident in readers duties of teaching the young many things like weaving and breathing, helping ronal collect medicinal resources, and tsireya being tsakarem. reader vents about ao'nung being a pain and how hard she's pining for him regardless and tsireya, being all knowing, tries to hint to reader about ao'nungs feelings. some more banter before reya rushes off to meet with lo'ak for their date. not long after tsireya leaves, readers gets attacked and badly injured in the leg by something (I can't think of anything 💀) and rushes back to awa'atlu riding an ilu, bleeding out, where ao'nung (previously training) takes notice of her limping out of the water barely conscious. ao'nung rushes to her, reader collapsing in his arms, ao'nung delivering a cutsie little panicked "don't worry, im not gonna let anything to happen to you, 'm gonna take care of you" just before readers loses consciousness 😝😝😝😝 perhaps some cutie fluffy tearful confessions after she wakes in ronals healing marui

“Living, breathing, nightmare.”

word count: 4.4k

pairings: aonung x fem!metkayina!reader 

author notes:  - the prompt IS enemies to lovers so i decided to make it a HEAAVY emphasis on the enemies part of that (😏), so this is gonna be a wild ass ride. love you for this request, thanks for bringing me back onto this platform, anon! - 2nd person (love it too much) - NO you are not short you’re a little taller than tsireya but aonung is just a tall mf

masterlist

“So, they hate each other?” Ewie asked curiously, her curiosity piqued as her gaze remained fixed on the two na’vi bickering aways from her and the tsakarem-to-be of her clan.

“...Not exactly,” Tsireya answered, grimacing.

She sighed, patting the little one’s back, who stood there confused and still staring, eyes wide as seashells. Tsireya knelt down on one knee atop the damp, warm sand, offering the little girl a reassuring smile as she reached out to place her hand to Ewie’s shoulder, encouraging her to meet Tsireya’s gaze. “Why don’t you go on and play with your friends now, Ewie? You can resume your lessons with [name] tomorrow,” she said softly, promptly turning her head to smile at Ewie’s friends who ran wildly across the coast, screaming and jumping joyously.

The little girl’s eyes brightened as she looked at her group of friends, one of the boys in particular waving her over to join. She let out a small excited squeal, her mind now totally torn away from the sight of you and aonung, running to join them. Tsireya smiled as she watched Ewie scamper away, leaving only the older girl and the ocean in her wake. For Tsireya, now was one of the calm moments that no one could take away from her. 

She inhaled, the ocean breeze carrying a freshness that was tinged with the ancient salt of countless tides. Its age-old whispers danced through the air, brushing against her skin with a coolness that– if she concentrated enough, she could almost hear….yes…Eyw-

“You are an ABSOLUTE NIGHTMARE!” Your voice pierced through her thoughts, her ears flattening as she winced.

She whipped her head around to look at you and aonung in what seemed to be a private, yet full-blown war between the two of you, Aonung laughing in your face as you gave him a piece of your mind.

She let out a breath to calm herself. Happy thoughts…happy thoughts…she repeated in her mind as to not kick both you and her older brother in the back of the knees. 

“Yet I still show up in your dreams every night, eh?” he smirked even wider at you (if that was even possible).

To that, you didn’t know whether you wanted to scream, cry, cringe, throw up, or shove a kick so far up his ass he would never be able to talk out of it again. 

So you just stared at him silently, your silent screams bouncing off the insides of your body.

He towered over you, seemingly amused by your lack of response. 

You hated that. Why did Eywa give the males the unfair advantage in vertical length? (the answer is cause they need it boo or else they’d cry themselves to sleep every night) If you wanted to meet his eyes you would have to give yourself a strained neck, compared to all the other boys your age.

“You…wish.” you said, internally groaning at the less-than-satisfactory response you gave him. 

Should’ve been something kickass like “yeah, the haunting presence of your mediocrity,” but of course you’d only think about something like that far later, when it was way too late.

Tsireya walked towards the two of you, making sure to sigh mentally instead of in real life, bracing herself for whatever outlandish thing you two were bickering about now.

“Ah, sister, how kind of you to join us!” aonung raised his eyebrows slightly, “Would you kindly tell your friend here that she would absolutely not hold up in a battle between her and an Akula?” 

Before Tsireya could even open her mouth, you scoffed. 

“That is not what I said!” you seethed, crossing your arms. He had this tactic of taking whatever you were saying and twisting it so that he’d seem in the right at all times.

“I only said that I’ve been training for it, and I think that I could handle it! And also, that wasn’t even your conversation to listen in on!” and you didn’t want to admit that you were just trying to make yourself seem the teeniest bit more impressive to one of the younger kids you were teaching. In moderation of course!

*record scratch* (for all my lovely readers who’ve no idea/don’t remember what an akula is, that's the scary 3 jawed monster that practically almost killed our boy lo’ak. but that hasn't happened yet in this story)

Tsireya contained her urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, instead resorting to pinching aonung’s wrist, earning a ‘hey!’ from the metkayina while you smirked, satisfied with her response which was clearly a ‘i-don't-want-to-get-into-detail-about-the-topic-of-conversation-but-my-brother-is-incredibly-annoying-and-i-know-that-so-i’ll-just-do-this’ stance, but hey, at least it humbled the gargantuan himbo in front of you, even if by the smallest bit.

“[Name], how about we just get going?” she said, her hand rested on your shoulder, looking at you with an awkward smile.

“Great idea,” you smiled at her, willing to do anything to get away from the disproportionate frog. 

Before you could even take a step away, he obviously had to get in his bit.

“Hey wait, where are you two going?” he looked at you both, confusedly.

This was strange for 1 reason.

Why the hell does he care??? He never cared before, so why does he care now???

You turned your head and gave him an annoyed look, while Reya, ever the peacekeeper, answered his question for you. 

“We’re going beyond the reef. We want to see if we can catch a glimpse of the nrr payoang migrating for the season.” she said.

And even though she was the one who answered, he kept his eyes fixated on you for a solid extra few seconds, before finally switching to her. What in the motherfu-

“It’s optimal timing. Plus, this is one of the rare occasions where me and [name] are both free at the same time.” she said, smiling brightly. “It must be Eywa clearing the path for us.”

Right then, he smirked. 

Oh no. 

He was going to say something else to keep your blood above a healthy pressure, wasn’t he?

He looked at you again, and you felt your muscles tense. His mouth opened– no– here it comes– mayday, mayday!

BRACE FOR IMPACT!!!

“I also happen to be free. Can I come along?” 

You felt yourself die.

“NO!” you said a little bit too suddenly. “Go find some other people to bother!” you turned on your heel and stomped away from the situation before he could burden your mind further, grumbling at the sheer audacity.

“He literally insulted my capability of surviving like any normal metkayina could, and then he wants to “cOmE AlOnG?” Forget it!” you pressed a wrist into your left eye, trying to rid it of the image of the colossal amphibian as you rode on the ilu with Tsireya by your side, who was dipping gracefully above and below the water on her own ilu.

She emerged from the cerulean blue waves, her hair carrying beads of water in them, before she turned to look at you, back straightening.

“I think he just wanted to spend more time with you, you know.” she suggested, trying her damndest to hint to you what everyone else except literally the two of you could see. 

“Ha! As if! The last time I tried to ask him something, he said “don’t talk to me, my people might think that we’re friends.” Like what? Who says that? WHY would he say that?” you started, your ramble being nothing new to your best friend, who only sighed as she dipped a hand into the water as her ilu moved her through it.

Together, you headed to the point where the glowing fish were most spotted, waiting above the water for any signs of movement as you continued on.

“And I do not like him at all, despite what that skxawng Neteyam might say. He’s annoying, loud, obnoxious, and the way he carries himself differently when I’m in the vicinity is dumb. Almost like he’s trying to make himself seem better than me! Who does he think he is, puffing his chest out like a-” hold on.

You went silent, backtracking. 

Everytime Aonung noticed you were near, he stood up straighter than usual.

Your mind thought back to all those little moments in flashes. During training, at your cousin's coming-of-age ceremony, the harvest celebration, and today.

He constantly looks at you even if there are others around, but if you look back at him (more like glare), he looks away immediately. 

He always initiates the conversation first, even if there’s nothing to talk about.

Okay hold on [name], none of this necessarily means that he likes you.

And then, your whole world came to a stop. You swear even the wind became silent, leaving only you and the sounds of the cool ocean water rippling against your body, the evening painting a blur of pinks and oranges in the sky.

As if she knew every bit of the revelation you just had, Tsireya, who was a little ways in front of you, turned her head, looking at the blank expression on your face.

Am I the one that likes him? you thought to yourself.

No. It couldn’t be. There was no way, no possible way, that this was happening.

“Reya?” you blurted out, your body (and your stupid mouth) acting on instinct.

I mean, she was your best friend. Obviously best friends have to tell each other about their crushes, right?

“I think I like-” you stopped yourself short as you looked at her face. 

Her face, which was trying to hold back a smirk.

“Yes, [name]? Do continue?” she said, her tone a lot more singsong than you’d like it to be.

Perhaps telling your best friend that you had a crush on her literal BROTHER wasn’t the best course of action.

Fuuuuuuuuu–

“You know, if you like him, it’s totally alright with me.” she said, shrugging as she turned her head back to the front, smiling as she knew exactly what you’d say next.

“WHAT??” you screamed, startling your ilu, to which you whispered rushed apologies, soothing the back of its neck. 

“I’m just happy you’ve finally realised it.” she said, still not turning back, acting as if this was the most normal conversation to have.

“Wha? Who???” you asked, suddenly getting the idea she was having the wrong idea.

“Neteyam.” she said, her tone sarcastic, but unfortunately you were too startled to catch on.

“Hah! You’re wrong, I do not like him.” you said, silently revelling in the relief that she didn’t catch on.

Oh [name]. Sweet, oblivious, [name].

“Yeah I know, that’s why you have a crush on my brother.” 

To that, you completely stopped in your tracks, jaw slack open. She’s done it. She’s broken you.

She finally turned around, guiding her ilu to the left so as to block your track. 

“He likes you too. And I think you know that already.” she smiled, narrowing her eyes mischievously.

‘For the love of all things good and beautiful, why was this happening to me?’ you screamed on the inside, not wanting to relent.

Okay, if you were denying it, then maybe you actually didn’t like him! Right??

Yeah. That was it. You were giving yourself the delusion of liking him, because he’s the one that liked you first and you felt bad for him, and that’s why you were only considering liking him back.

Wait, does he even like me? What??

“Okay, no, that’s not what I-” and just as you were starting to deny everything, because that was 100% the truth, Tsireya waved you off as she submerged her head in the water, already off her ilu. 

You quickly realised what you were here for in the first place, hopping off and following suit, taking a deep breath before you dipped your head below the cool waves.

Deep below the two of you on the surface, you could see hundreds of bioluminescent jellyfish wading in one path, weaving through the floating rocks and plants, the vividness of the glowing colours acting as if a kaleidoscope in your vision.

You had to pull your head out from the water to take another breath, using your hand to push away some of your hair that decided to stick itself onto your face. You were absolutely stunned at the beautiful sight. It took your breath away, literally.

Dipping your head below the surface of the water once more, you decided with Tsireya to take a closer look. You dove your body forwards into the water, Reya following closely behind. 

It was quickly becoming darker, night was falling and you knew it was time to turn back, but the jellyfish illuminated your surroundings almost mesmerizingly, as if pulling you into a beautiful vortex. 

You hid your body behind a set of rocks, watching the jellyfish swim in their little path, smiling as you watched a small one lag behind the others before a bigger one pushed it forward, practically propelling it through the water as it sputtered around before finding its place again.

Tsireya, who was a little bit above you in the water, turned and dipped her body downwards to touch your shoulder, to signal that it was time to return to the surface and go home before it got too dark.

Her hand was a mere millimetre away from you when a sudden jolt of agony rips through your leg. It's as if a thousand needles pierce your flesh all at once, and panic surges, rising through your veins like wildfire.

Instinctively, you kick and thrash, but the unseen assailant's grip tightens like a vise, dragging you mercilessly downward. Darkness engulfs your senses and you're plunged into a void, robbed of sight and hearing, your lungs screaming for air..

You can’t even see Tsireya anymore, nor the prismatic glow of the jellies.

Bubbles erupt from your lips in frantic bursts, mingling with the surrounding darkness, further obscuring your already impaired vision. Each gasp for air feels like a futile struggle against the inevitable, your chest burning with the agonising need for oxygen. What is this? What is this that’s grabbing you? What is happening? The questions flood your mind and sear the corners of your vision as you're dragged deeper, darkness enveloping you fully. 

With each passing second, your panic intensifies. You can't tell which way is up anymore. The ocean presses in around you, a suffocating weight. It’s still pulling you down.

Down…

..down…

and down…

In a last, thoughtless attempt, you reach out, fingers stretching toward the abyssal void, but there's nothing to grasp onto, nothing to anchor you in this sea of darkness. Panic tightens its grip around your throat, threatening to choke the life from your trembling body.

Desperation claws at your soul, pounding on your chest, as you realise the seconds are slipping away. Any moment now, and you’ll be dead. Any moment now, and everything you yourself have worked for, would be gone. You let yourself close your eyes. Maybe because of the weight of the void pushing onto your body, or maybe you’re tired from fighting this thing around your leg for Eywa knows how long. When you outstretched your hand you hoped that someone, anyone would pull you out of this..nothingness. You wanted it so badly you almost thought that he would. That he’d save you.

Your body jolts awake, only to find yourself in an unfamiliar place. 

The cool, steady flow of the breeze unnerves you. It’s the first thing you notice besides the wild racing of your heart in your chest, your head whipping around in this empty space, trying to ascertain where you are. Is this Eywa? The place feels like a void, but it’s far different from the blackened one that suffocated your being. It feels calm. Peaceful. You can see the dark purple sky above you, glittering with stars and moons that you’ve never even seen about it. But it looks… strange. 

Otherworldly. Like it is impossibly distant, yet so close to you at the same time. You kneel in an extraordinarily shallow pool of cool water, the surface reflecting the celestial display above you. Though it is rather shallow, like a puddle almost, it stretches endlessly into the horizon as far as your eyes can see it. As you look around, time seems to stand perfectly still. 

It’s unnerving. Realising that you can, in fact, move your desensitised limbs, you slowly get up, your feet creating small ripples in the water. “Hello?” you call out. 

Nothing except your own echo responds to you. Just then, you hear something in the distance. Like someone’s there, in the hazed distance. They’re close to you, then they’re unimaginably far away. What is that? “[Name]!” It’s calling out your name. How do you respond? A. Call out for help

B. Cry C. Curl up into a ball and give up D. Walk towards the source Just kidding, you don’t have a choice. As if your legs had minds of their own, you start walking towards the source. You can’t quite make out that voice. It changes every time you hear it, showing up in intervals of about 5-8 seconds of space in between. “[Name]?” Gosh, and the change in tone too. It’s filled with fear, then anger, then happiness, then…huh? “[Name]... I’m so sorry.” Sadness. The voice is filled with a type of sadness that almost stabs your chest. Regret. Guilt. So many emotions in this strangely familiar, choked-out voice. The voice continues sobbing, sniffling, but then it stops. Leaving you whipping around in the darkness, unsure of where to go. You turn around, then you slam face first into something really tough. “What the fuc-” your voice rings out, angered, in the void. Rubbing your nose, you look up. “What the fuck?” you whisper. It’s Aonung. 

How delightful. But seriously, how de-fucking-lightful? Finally, another person in this endless, pitch black space of darkness. You almost want to scream. Of horror or joy, you’re not exactly sure, but you contain yourself, mostly due to the fact that he’s looking at you.

And he’s crying. Tears stream down his cheeks as he looks at you— actually, not quite you. His eyes aren’t exactly focused on yours, but they’re focused on…you. If that makes any sense at all. “Please wake up…” he croaks out. 

And that voice! It was him. That depressing, bleak voice from before that was calling out your name. It was him. But why? And how? 

You’re about to do something but then your heart jolts in your chest because he’s lifting up his right hand and cupping your cheek softly. Gently. Like the real Aonung would never do. This is some sick hallucination isn’t it? Oh gosh you actually went to hell, didn’t you? Before you realise it, he uses his thumb to wipe away a tear that somehow appeared on your face. You’re not crying. So what is this? What’s going o– NO. He’s leaning in. WHY IS HE LEANING IN? Fuck all “[NAME], DO SOMETHING!! YOU STUPID-” you scream at yourself, fighting your inanimate body. WHY COULDN’T YOU FUCKING MO- *SLLAAAAAPPPPPP!!!*Now you’re scrambling to your feet on what you realise to be the sickbed of Ronal’s healing tent, your hand stinging after delivering the most horrible sounding slap you have ever slapped…

…to the side of Aonung’s, now incredibly shocked, and incredibly offended, face.

Ronal sighed, but the remnant of a smirk lingered still on her cheeks, avoiding both you and Aonung’s gaze. “There you go, [name]. Next time, you should be much more careful,” she said softly, her hands leaving the cooling bandage now wrapped around your still aching leg and extending to your ankle, a sore reminder of whatever the hell it was that you experienced the night before.

You sat on a woven hammock, propped up by the trees that supported the healing tent. Ronal stood in front of you, “I am grateful that Aonung was there to help,” she said, turning towards the discombobulated walking-disease she called her son, who had a big bandage over his cheek, glaring down at you. She grabbed Aonung’s ear, pulling his body over very clearly painfully, making him yelp in pain with incoherent pleas of ‘ma’ and ‘please’  coming from his lips.

“What in Eywa’s name were you thinking? Trying to kiss a girl while she’s injured and unable to say anything about it! You are lucky that she slapped you first, or else you would not live to see another day if I had anything to do with it! My son, you are many things, but you are not an idi–” she scolded, promptly dragging him out of the marui still by his ear to deliver his well-deserved punishment outside, an amused smile making its way onto your face. Sigh, justice.

But okay, the incredulity of the day, of course, has not worn down on you. 

Tsireya came rushing into the tent with a bowl of…whatever, her face the guiltiest it’s ever been. It kinda made your heart hurt. “[Name], I am so, so, so sorry!” she said, kneeling down by your hammock and taking your hand in between hers. “As soon as I heard you were awake I rushed over,” she quickly mumbled, grabbing a rag and dipping it into the bowl and pressing it over your forehead gently, “I am so sorry for yesterday, I never should have suggested going there, let alone–”

Oh, here we go… It’s the Tsireya cycle, you call it. Whenever something goes wrong, she infinitely feels bad as if it’s her fault that something nearly killed you. 

She kept on rambling, trying to explain herself, but all you did was squeeze her hand tighter. She stopped, looking at the small smile on your face. “Hey, no harm done Reya. I’m fine, you see?” you reassure her, the small beads of water gathering under her eyes slowly going away as she blinked rapidly, containing herself as best as she could. She couldn’t say anything, although words were at the tip of her tongue. You could see she was struggling to add something, but she finally relented, settling for a gentle hug. “I’m glad,” she smiled. 

Okay, now it was time to figure out what the hell happened. “So…who saved me?” you asked her, using your arms to prop you up a little bit higher on the hammock. “Well, it’s a long story. Aonung kind of…followed us to see the nrr payoang. He was planning to surprise us, he said.” 

what

“He said he saw us, and as he was swimming down he saw you get pulled down by the creature. He dove in immediately and saved you.” she offered a small smile, like anything she was saying was making sense at the moment.

The only thing that came into your mind was the blaring red siren that screamed “STALKER! STALKER! STALKER!” but unfortunately, the pufferfish on legs had just saved your life so you were probably going to have to shut up about that for a while.

Woah. He just saved your life, [Name], shouldn’t you be more grateful? Maybe hug him? Maybe-

NO! Inner thoughts, shut up. Nobody likes you.

Tsireya turned around in response to the sound of someone being pushed through the entrance to the healing tent. 

Aonung. 

Wait nonononono Tsireya please don’t get up please don’t leave me here with him he looks like he’s about to kill me please

Aaand she’s gone. 

He took a pained breath, as if what he was going to do next was going to bruise him for the next couple centuries or so, sitting cross legged beside your, now that you realise it, very lowly hung hammock.

You were positive the look on your face wasn’t very inviting. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally said.

You had half a mind to burst out laughing because you were the one that had to get saved in the middle of the deep dark ocean. But he did violate you so obviously you weren’t going to do that, it was well deserved. A non-consensual move is still a non-consensual move.

“For the record, I only wanted to….” he basically whispered the next word, “kiss” (you felt your whole body cringing and twisting and turning on the inside and screaming to be let go from this horrible situation) “the top of your head.”

Oh. 

‘kayyyy… that makes it the tiniest bit better. 

Still not forgiving though. 

“I’m sorry too.” you said to him, your eyes now avoiding his face. Damn, did you slap him good.

He let out a small smirk. Oh no, you slapped his smirking cheek. You could see him wince in pain a bit before he stopped his expression abruptly.

“For what? I mean besides the slap. I deserved that. Although, I have no idea how you knew-” his eyes widened, stopping mid-sentence.

“Were you pretending the whole time?” he asked, eyes scrutinising your face.

“Okay hold on! I know it sounds crazy, but I had this dream, and you were in my dream–” you started explaining, ignoring his smirk at those words, “and I saw you lean down to like, kiss me, or something, and then I slapped you in the dream but I slapped you in real life.”

“All I got from that was ‘I dreamed about you kissing me, Aonung, please kiss me now, Aonung, I love you, Aonung’ ” he joked, smiling down at you.

Gosh, those dimples. 

FUCK nononononnnonasonfiwbjberhblvhaqnerovnav

Okay but he was kinda attractive as hell right now.

The hair too.

You weighed your options for a bit, the tension in the air crisp.

“[Name]? Did I say something wro–” he started. 

Ughhhhh, just shut up already.

Before you knew it, you closed your eyes and pulled him in by his neck, pressing his lips onto yours, kissing him.

He sighed into the kiss, before smiling really widely, pulling away.

“So I was right after all–”

“Just shut up before I give you a matching bruise on the other cheek,” you threatened. But a super wide smile was evident on your face, and your hands still clasped together on the back of his neck.

“Yes ma’am,” he smiled, whispering softly, looking into your eyes and then your lips again.

“Thank you for saving my life, ‘Nung.” you say. 

You don’t know why the hell you’re doing this.

 But it just feels right.

 And isn’t that what we’re all looking for in the end?

“No problem. Would do it again,” he smirked, “Know how you can repay me?” 

You rolled your eyes before pulling him in once again.

masterlist

Omg screaming crying WOOO it’s over it’s done! I’m so so sorry if it didn’t turn out to be exactly what you asked for, anon. Harder than I thought it would be to complete a fic after a solid 10 months of not writing (and also unfortunate circumstances arising). I made sure it was longer than my usual so that it’s not too bad 😭

I hope you guys enjoyed the fic, I know I definitely enjoyed writing it lol. I tried a different style of narration this time so do let me know what you guys think! Hope it’s not total doodoo to future Lorre when she rereads this back again. 

As always, feedback is much much appreciated and any interaction with my posts helps a lot! In case anyone has more requests please feel free to leave them in the inbox, I will get to them eventually. Thinking of writing for a lot of characters and fandoms but this is getting way too long so I'll cut this short lmao.

see you later!

much love, lorre

[maepolzine]

My Thoughts on Across Torn Tides (From Tormented Tides, Book 3) by Val E. Lane

Sharing my thoughts on Across Torn Tides by Val E. Lane, the final book in the From Tormented Tides series.

Across Torn Tides is the final book in the From Tormented Tides series by Val E. Lane. If you haven’t checked out this series or haven’t heard of it, and are a fan of Pirates of the Caribbean, Percy Jackson, The Little Mermaid, and Outer Banks you will love this series. You have ancient magic in a modern world that combines pirate adventures, enchantment, ancient lore, and romance together…

[milkytheholy1]

Shadow Generations: Part 1

A/N: briefly based on Shadow Generations, this will eventually contain an x GN reader.

"Shadow, wherever you are, I'll always be with you."

There was certainly something strange happening today, at least that's what Shadow thought. Though now thinking back to it, there were definitely some red flags: being invited to Sonic's birthday party was the first one.

It wasn't unheard of that the two hedgehogs sometimes fought, and sure, on the occasion Shadow would help the blue faker out. But to be invited to his birthday party? That was another level of torture Shadow didn't know if he could handle.

The second red flag was receiving a message from G.U.N first thing in the morning, some old tech on the ARK had blipped back online and was sensing some bizarre anomalies. Shadow often dreamt of the ARK, tormenting himself on the ways he could have saved the Professor and Maria.

"You doing alright, Brood-o?" Rouge hummed, a small smirk dancing on her lips. She held some birthday decorations in her hands, Shadow couldn't believe she had actively volunteered to help out.

"Hmpf, I told you to stop calling me that." he hissed, Rouge couldn't help the devilish cackle that fell from her lips. Nodding her head to the G.U.N transponder, she got closer to Shadow so the others couldn't hear, "What's that all about? Do they need us already?"

"No, Towers wants me to head to the ARK."

"The ARK? Haven't they got better things to do than to send us up there?" Rouge didn't often get mad, she got frustrated but never mad. Shadow shrugged his shoulders, "Not we, just me. One of the Professor's computers came back online and started reporting a strange energy, G.U.N wants me to go check it out."

Rouge glared at the hedgehog, of course he wouldn't sit around and wait for the party to start, god forbid he'd actually help them to decorate. Placing one hand on her hip and balancing the decorations in the other, she pulled an expression Shadow had rarely seen from her before: Worry.

"Jus- Just be safe, okay? I know it's...difficult for you up there."

"I'll be fine, Rouge." For once Shadow didn't pretend to be the tough guy, he reassured his friend and she appreciated that. Shadow and Rouge's friendship was a weird one, one minute they'll be at each other's throats and then next they'll be thinking like one.

The time for goodbye quickly ended as Shadow jetted off, ready to start his mission.

--- Time Skip to the ARK ---

The ARK, a place where the world's best scientists were set with the task of curing mankind. A place of innovation and excitement, my first thoughts were here, my first memories. I can only wonder what great things the scientists would have accomplished in time, if not for what happened.

I remember the first time I opened my eyes, my first time seeing the world I was created into. Those blonde locks and big blue eyes were my first introduction to humans.

Maria...

Shadow raced around the familiar route of the ARK, speeding down hallways he would often walk along with her. Before checking the main console where the device lay, Shadow took a detour to the Professor's lab. On the way there he dashed past an all too friendly room. Drawings dawned on every wall, the bed was made neatly like it always was, there were hair brushes and headbands on the desk and a small teddy on her bed.

He couldn't help himself but stare into the darkened space, never stepping foot in there for fear he would never want to leave.

Remember the mission.

Arriving at the Professor's lab, Shadow noted all the torn documents haphazardly strewn across the room, he picked up the first thing he saw, a newspaper clipping torn at the edges:

Professor Gerald Robotnik, lead scientist on the Space Colony: ARK, has once again proved science is the future with new weapons to be sent to American Troops to win the tide of war.

While not much is known about the scientist or his work on the ARK, the United States Government seems impressed by the research and work Robotnik is carrying out.

When asked for the reasoning about the massive space station, Robotnik had this to say: "While science is always a big motivator, my biggest reasoning for the creation of the ARK is to find cures for those who need it, and space is the cleanest and safest place to do so."

It is no surprise that the safest place 'off of Earth' houses Gerald's granddaughter, Maria Robotnik. Not much is known about her condition, but it is safe to say she will be alright and in the best hands of the team of scientists in the Space Colony: ARK.

How foolish he was to think they were untouchable up here, no matter where they were they would have always been targeted. Placing the clipping back down, Shadow turned to the testing tube he once called home. Shuddering at the things he had to endure and suffer, he eventually left and headed to the main console.

The vast expanse of space was almost as scary as its immeasurable scale of beauty, large windows encapsulated the ARK's main sector, and lying in the middle of the room was a large pillar with a yellow shine shimmering in the broken lighting of the ARK.

"It can't be..." Shadow whispered, approaching the object. Pulling out his own chaos emerald he compared it to the one that lay before him, "Tails' fake emerald, we used this last time we came to the ARK. You were very clever, Fox. But it will never compare to the real thing."

Radio static disturbed his momentary peace, "Shadow, Shadow, can you hear me-"

"Rouge? I hear you, I've made it to the ARK, not much has changed since we last paid a visit."

"Did you find -Zstz- the console? What's the -zTsZ- anomaly?" Rouge's voice fizzled in and out. Shadow approached the machine, tapping away though he soon learned the computer was completely inoperational.

"How strange? Rouge, the ARK's computer isn't fully active, I can't access information on this anomaly."

"Do you think it's just a bug?"

Suddenly the left-hand side of the ARK started dissolving into nothingness, Shadow's eyes widened, his grip on the computer loosening. Pulling the radio closer to his mouth he spoke his final words to Rouge, "I found it." Before Rouge could continue, Shadow was ripped away from the console, powerless to do anything to stop himself from falling.

[thesassypadawan]

Distracted (Master Anakin x PadawanFemReader)

Summary: During a sparring match with your master, you get just a little distracted.

Warnings: 18+, because all the lovely smut. Size difference, age gap (about 20 years), and Ani’s magic fingers. Padawan reader is of age.

Anakin ignited his lightsaber. “All right, padawan of mine, why don’t you show me what you got,” he said with a sly smirk.

“With pleasure, master,” you practically purred, igniting your own.

It was hours ago that Ani and you had started your friendly sparring match. You were both panting and sweating, you more so than him. And, despite the feeling of exhaustion setting in, you continued to dodge his attacks. Striking at every possible opportunity, even though your arms were growing heavy.

Pausing for a moment, you stared intensely into each other’s eyes. Sensing his own fatigue, you boldly go in for a feint attack. Thinking you would be able to finally finish him off and end this. “It’s over, old man!”

But Anakin being Anakin… With a powerful pull from the force, your saber was torn from your hand and sent sailing across the empty training room. Effectively catching you off guard and allowing him to easily pin you to the mat.

“Care to say that again?” He playfully scolded, a look of satisfaction on his handsome face. One of his big hands wrapped around your wrists, the other with a firm grip on your hip.

“Get off me,” you whined, wriggling beneath him. “You’re too heavy, you’re squishing me.”

Leaning down, he teasingly brushed his lips against yours. “Only when you address me properly, little one.”

You wanted to kiss him back so badly, but the chance to give him a taste of his own medicine was too great. And Ani always said that you should use every opening to your full advantage. “Fine,” you pouted. “Get off me…daddy.”

That certain spark flashed in his eyes. “See, that wasn’t so hard,” he chuckled, beginning to shift his weight off you. “Now, let’s go-”

With the combination of a swift movement of your limbs and a quick summoning of the force, you turned the tide. “Losing your touch?” You asked coyly, enjoying the sight of his large form sprawled out under you.

“You think so?” Anakin muttered, running his hands up and down your thighs. “Guess, I’ll just have to show you how wrong you are.” He emphasized his point by cupping and squeezing your breast tenderly.

A soft whimper escaped you as you felt the warmth build between your legs. Craving more, you began to slowly grind yourself against his very hard and very prominent bulge. “Daddy…”

“Naughty girl,” he groaned, rolling his hips upwards. “I should punish you for such behavior, but I think I’ll reward you instead.”

In an instant, you found yourself pinned once more. His organic hand resting on your needy pussy. Rubbing it gently, making you squirm and mewl desperately. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” He skillfully slipped his hand under your skirt and past your lacey underwear, fingers brushing against your clit. “I’m going to take real good care of you.”

Shivering at his touch, you let out a loud moan. That was quickly silenced with a searing kiss. “Sshhh, got to be quiet…don’t want the whole temple to hear you scream like that.”

Part of you really could care less. In fact, the very thought of someone discovering the two of you like this excited you even more. But you were daddy’s little girl, and you didn’t dare to disappoint. “Yes, daddy.”

“That’s my sweet baby,” Ani cooed, sliding a finger into your sopping cunt. “Unless…” He slowly began to pump in and out. “You do want everyone to know that you belong to me…”

Another thick digit and you were practically a writhing, hot mess. Gripping tightly to his broad shoulders, clawing at him frantically as you bit down on your lip.

“And only me,” he growled, the sound deep and husky. All the while curling his fingers teasingly against that wonderful spot deep inside of you. Trying to make you cry out as his pace quickened.

It was all so blissfully overwhelming and yet you still hungered for… “More,” you whispered, gazing up into his blue eyes pleadingly. “I need more.”

“More, huh?” He added a third finger, his thumb pressing down and rubbing small circles on your neglected nub. “All right, whatever my little girl wants…she gets.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you were so deliciously stretched. The burning ache made you clench around his digits, your release so painfully close. “Da-Daddy, m-may I…”

“Cum?” Anakin sped up more; his gloved hand covering your mouth, anticipating what would happen next. “Yes, you may…cum.”

Pounding hard into you one last time, he drove his fingers even deeper. Your back arched off the ground and your vison filled with stars. Your cries muffled as wave after wave of raw pleasure crashed over you.

Once your breathing returned to normal, he removed his hand from your mouth and his fingers from your warm pussy. Groaning as he licked them clean of your slick. “Come on, angel baby,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s go finish this match in our quarters.”

“But, Skydaddy,” you huffed. “I want you right here…right now.”

Scooping you up off the ground, he effortlessly tucked you under one arm. While using the force to bring both sabers to his free hand. “Hey, now,” he swatted your butt with them. “None of that sassiness or else you’ll get a good spanking.”

Sometimes you forget how strong he really was. “Promise?” You giggled, smiling up at him.

A wide grin crossed Ani’s face and he gave you another swat. “Yeah…I promise.”

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 The Remarkable Machine Who Learned How to Love

♡ featuring: toji x f!reader

♡ cw/tw: none, a little angst but a whole lot of fluff! wc: 1.6k+

notes: i was thinking about this all day and decided to whip up somethin in a couple hours. hope u like :P art by manuel_juju on twitter! comments and reblogs are appreciated!

In a kill-or-be-killed world, Toji reached the top of the food chain—unfortunately, staying at the top is a thousand times harder than the climb. And when he looked down, there was no one to catch his fall.  

Before Toji met you, he was as aimless as a speck of dust, carried endlessly by an unpredictable tide of winds. He followed the cracked and crumbled path bespoken for lost souls like himself. Destined to be nothing but a vessel, a hollow man of sturdy muscle who worked himself to the bone, filthy jobs common men wouldn’t dare consider, because who was there to stop him anyway? Was there anything left for men birthed from hopeless circumstances, raised by broken homes to turn to lives of criminality? He couldn’t find an answer. He wasn’t equipped with the empathy to understand why guilt gnawed at his conscious; why whenever he ate takeout in his dimly lit apartment, it spilled out the chasm in his chest.  

It was much easier to complete the task, to trudge to a check cashing facility to retrieve money he couldn’t care less about. Perhaps he’d walk this earth alone forever, constantly watching over his back from a fear of daggers shooting from every direction, waiting to strike at his most vulnerable. It was only a matter of time.  

Or maybe he’d allow his sins to surpass him. Accept the peaceful release of death and pay the price of a vacant funeral service.  

It was all but irreparable, until he walked into his usual convenience store and encountered the new clerk at the register. It was past midnight, and Toji placed the quick meal on the counter. When his tired eyes panned up from those frozen noodles, his heart reset, a part he thought died amidst the torment. It skipped across his ribcage, stopped until a fleeting breath pulled him back to reality, to the intense fluorescent lights and your warm welcoming smile. There wasn’t a single altercation that stole the air from his lungs the way you did.  

Life hadn’t torn you apart yet.  

Your eyes didn’t break away, unexpected, as Toji was used to people hanging their heads near him. He’s aware of his threatening stare and intimidating stature; it’s what keeps him alive. And you were unbothered. You scanned his item, and flashed those pearly whites that sent a nosedive straight to his stomach, “I’m a big fan of this brand!”  

Toji remained tight lipped, unwilling to sift through difficult emotions and experience a feeling he believed himself to be undeserving of. He nodded, and somehow you continued, “Shouldn’t eat so late, though. Messes with your stomach.” A puff of wind pushed from his nose before he could stifle it. “Are you a doctor in the daytime?” You chuckled and bagged, “Sorry, slow day.”  

He arrives the same week, searching for a couple of beers to bring back to his apartment. You were in an obviously dangerous position, with one foot off the step ladder as you attempted to push a bottle of cleaner onto the highest shelf. It was a fight between gravity, and the opponent nearly won before his hand grabbed the handle. “Oh! Thank you” you smiled. It was sunnier than the last and reopened the stitches he’d been struggling to sew since that moment.  

Toji suddenly had countless excuses to go to the convenience store. Sometimes he’d enter for a snack, and you’d discuss your favorite chips, other times he pretended to need items just to hear your voice ramble about a niche topic you knew too much about. When his heart thrummed off kilter, and his mind became consumed with thoughts of the pretty night-shift cashier, a piece of him demeaned. How embarrassing it was, to be attracted to the scripted kindness of a service worker. Toji barely recognized he had favorites, let alone desires. So why did he have such an unwavering desire to see you?  

He’d snatch a pack of noodles one day, a subconscious grin at the joining of your eyes. It didn’t matter if the twinkle in your gaze wasn’t exclusive to him; for a second, it felt like someone cared, and it was fulfillment he couldn’t shake.  

You leaned over the counter on your elbows, “Did you know there’s over 35,000 ramen noodles restaurants in Japan?”  

“I didn’t, but that sounds like a lot of options.”  

“Mhm, you should try one. The real thing is way better.”  

“I’m sure. I don’t really go out to restaurants often, so…”  

“Me neither”, there’s a lengthy pause, and you finally blurted, “maybe we could go together!”  

He was stunned. Lost for words, really. It wasn’t possible, a girl as beautiful as you who wants to be seen with a stone-cold machine in public. It had to be a prank, a fabrication by fate to taunt him. You grew an anxious smile, “Hah, sorry, I overstep-“  

“I want to.” You stiffened, and he found solace in your shared nervousness. “O-oh! Great!” 

Toji’s first date with you had been a disaster, though. He’s heavy handed by design, and it’s no different in his daily life. His strength leads to instances of clumsy behavior. He expected you to be appalled, disgusted, or at least judgmental.  

You never shunned him. When he held your hand too tight, you slightly unclasped it. He wanted to retreat, to stuff them in his pockets and remain at a safe distance. But you interlocked hands and spoke soft, “It's okay, just try not to hold so tight.”  

He swung the door open for your entry and almost shattered the glass door on the opposite wall. “I appreciate your enthusiasm” you giggled.  

He was afraid to even hug you—he might underestimate his strength and crush your sternum. Toji walked you back to your place and turned to leave. “I’ll see ya around.” Despite that, you guided his calloused hands around your waist, slinked into his broad body, and embraced him.  Every aspect of you, foreign but comforting—little breaths fanning his shirt, fingers brushing along his back, sugary perfume wafting in his nose.  

It was heaven on Earth.  

Now years have gone by, and instead of bleached walls and silence greeting him as his eyes crack open in the morning, he smells the familiar scent of pancakes, pans clattering on the stove. He waltzes into the kitchen in a hazy state and admires the aching back of his very pregnant wife. You have a hand assisting your lower back and another on the wooden spatula scrambling eggs. 

Toji dropped his past for you after the engagement.  He cashed his last check and disappeared from the underground circle without a trace. He was aware if he continued the path he was heading, the result awaiting him was six feet under. The outcome was unimportant, however, you—the image of tears streaming down your face at his poor volition, your figure keeled over his gravesite under dewy grass and wailing for his return to no avail. He couldn’t stomach it. He had to protect you and commit to the next stage of his life. He’d never tell you about his previous work. It was for the best. He’d be selfish, just this once. 

One sock is different from the other, wearing loose shorts and a random shirt sitting above your massive belly. It’s his preferred version of you. Your stomach and thighs adorned in stretch marks, shaped like tiger stripes that declare your strength through each dip and curve; It's his greatest honor. You’d take on the complications, unending exhaustion, and hormone imbalances to bless him with a child. Toji hasn’t let you lift a finger since you got pregnant, opting to handle all the household tasks, borderline subservient to the mother of his child. So, his mouth twists when he sees you up so early.  

He stands behind you, hands trailing from your upper thighs to your stomach, then the small of your back. You lean into him while he massages circles and whisper a tiny “Good morning.” 

“Ya could’ve woke me up” Toji mumbles, kissing your temple. He wraps around to the underside of your belly, mindful of his muscle, and lifts it carefully. His respect for you increases tenfold with the heavy weight on his palms. You hum a pleased noise, sudden relief from your back. He carries it and smooths his thumbs over the taut skin. 

“You’re a late sleeper, and I haven’t made breakfast in a long time.” 

“Ya don’t have to do a thing, y’know.” 

“I know. But I wanna do this for you”, and he grins. It’s quiet, standing in the warmth of your bodies, sunshine glowing through the window to cast an angelic gleam on your face.  

Then he feels an imbalance of pressure along his fingers and mild wriggling within your tummy. Toji traces the movements, seeking to play a game with his unborn child. Sometimes it scares him, to bring new life into a world that almost smothered his light.  He worries that he’ll end up on the same road as him or he won’t be a good enough father. The journey of parenthood is a long, laborious one. You’re always learning, and Toji’s still processing the basics. It’s complicated, he trips and falters; yet you’re there to support him, through thick and thin, sickness and in health.  

What was he if not for you—his pillar, his source of happiness and comfort. You’d given him everything to wish for and infinite reasons to stick around. An iron criminal, bested by no mortal, chipped away by compassion and gentle hands. 

“You can let go if it’s too heavy.” 

I can stay here forever. 

[watersofmars]

ᴡᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ…

(Aegon Targaryen x OC!Reader x Aemond Targaryen). Torn between love and duty, Visenya Targaryen, daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, has a choice to make. Bound by the loyalty to her mother, her love for her husband Aegon, or the desire she feels for her uncle Aemond...

(A/N): This is my first Hotd fic so please bare with me lol... I also changed some of the canon story slightly, but its mostly in timeline.

WC: 2.9k

In the heart of Dragonstone, beneath the shadow of the ancient castle, the air was thick with whispered secrets and unspoken desires. The ocean bristled like a dragon's breath against the cliffs, roaring its eternal song, while inside the castle's stone walls, tensions of love and duty collided like fierce combatants upon a battlefield.

Born of two fiery souls—Rhaenyra and Daemon—Visenya was a product of ambition and dark passion. Her mother had once grasped for the Iron Throne while her father fought like a dragon to claim his birthright. Now married to Aegon, the younger half-brother of Rhaenyra, Visenya was both a queen consort and a pawn in the ancient game of thrones that twisted all destinies in Westeros.

Visenya sat in the sunlit chamber where she had spent countless hours nurturing the seeds of her family. Her marriage to Aegon had sparked hope for peace. The union represented a fragile balance between factions, a flowering of loyalty amidst the ashes of war—the Dance of the Dragons, as history would one day name it. In the months following their union, Visenya had found solace in Aegon’s gentle affection. Her husband, Aegon Targaryen, was handsome as he was gentle, and their three children; Aerion, Daenys, and Rhaegar, were a living testament to their union. 

The corners of her lips would turn upward when they called out for her, a joy that sparked within her from their mere presence. Still, there lay something untamed and restless within her, a longing that cast a shadow upon her heart like the wings of a dragon. Yet, as much as her heart had sought refuge in Aegon’s steadfast presence, it remained restless. For in the shadows of their shared chambers roamed Aemond Targaryen, the younger brother of Aegon and a tempest of unbridled passion. Aemond, with his sapphire eye that glimmered like a dragon’s flame, drew Visenya to him with an intensity that overshadowed her more subdued affection for Aegon. There was something primal about their connection, an undeniable pull that threatened to shatter the fragile peace she had constructed around her heart

Aegon had won her heart first, as young hearts often do, swept away in the fervor of courtship and familial duty. They had shared a betrothal grounded in tradition, as their family’s legacy demanded, by order of the late King Viserys in hopes of mending this broken family. Loyal and kind, he had been a constant source of warmth, a beacon of security amidst the chaos that lingered at the edges of their world, on the edge of a bloody war. Together, they forged a love that should have been flawless, yet beneath the surface, tides churned dangerously.

It was Aemond, Aegon's younger brother, who filled Visenya's dreams with passion and despair. His dark, brooding presence was intoxicating, a force of nature that unnerved and exhilarated her all at once. Their bond was close since childhood, where Visenya was often Aemond’s only source of comfort. But he was a dragon in his own right, wild and untamed, unburdened by the weight of responsibility that Aegon often bore. When their eyes met across a crowded hall or during the muted hours of the night, an unbidden fire ignited within her, and she felt the pull of a forbidden fruit she could never quite resist.

One fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, laying hues of crimson and gold across the sky, Visenya found herself wandering into the garden—a refuge where the laughter of her children mingled with the scent of blooming roses. It was there that Aemond often sought solitude, brooding beneath the heavy branches of the ancient tree in the Godswood. The air was thick with anticipation, the moment charged with unvoiced words.

“Aemond,” she whispered, approaching the shadowy figure cloaked in darkness. “You should not be here. It isn’t fitting for us.”

His gaze, fierce and steady, locked onto her. “Fitting or not, sister, it does not change how I feel,” he replied, drawing closer, his words a tantalizing promise.

“Do you ever wonder what might have been?” Aemond softly spoke in the shadows, his voice low and conspiratorial. “If the blood of our house did not bind us, what would we be to each other?”

Visenya’s heart raced at the question. She had long grappled with this truth: was it Aegon’s love she cherished, or was it Aemond’s wild spirit that called to her, igniting a fire that threatened to consume her whole? When she looked into Aemond’s depths, she saw a future of unfettered desire, while Aegon’s steady presence offered comfort and stability. 

“But to carry the sins of desire is to bear a heavy burden,” she murmured, her voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “If the truth of our hearts were ever revealed, what then?”

Aemond stepped closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Do not fear the chaos of love, Visenya. We are Targaryens; chaos is our birthright.”

In that moment, their lips met—a union forged of hidden desires and dangerous secrets. In that sacred space, amidst the hidden life of the garden, time weaved itself into a tapestry of stolen moments. Visenya’s heart raced as Aemond took her hands in his, the warmth of his touch igniting embers hidden deep within her soul. They spoke of their dreams, their fears, the weight of their lineage, and the bittersweet bonds of family ties that pulled them in opposite directions.

Visenya was aflame with passion, yet guilt gnawed at her, whispering memories of her children, the purity of their innocence. She recalled Aerion's laughter and Daenys's dreams, and Rhaegar's fierce loyalty. Visenya's thoughts turned to her children, to the simple joy they brought her, and the duty she held to Aegon, who remained blissfully unaware of the tempest brewing within his wife’s heart. The gnarled roots of her love for Aegon intertwined with the fervour she felt for Aemond, a duality both beautiful and torturous. Each time she laughed with her children, each time she looked into Aegon’s earnest eyes, the weight of her choices bore down.

When her children had been born, rumours had already sparked in the desperate halls of the Red Keep and at court. As autumn leaves began to fall, rumours swirled within the court, each speculation carrying the weight of uncertainty. Whispers drifted like smoke between courtiers: were Aegon’s children truly his, or was there more to Visenya’s love than met the eye? The truth remained hidden, an enigma cloaked in Targaryen secrecy.

As seasons waned into years, the children grew, each embodying different facets of their lineage. Aerion, with the spirited bravery of a dragon, beloved by all; Daenys, who carried an ethereal grace that warmed hearts, often resembling her namesake, Daenys the dreamer; and Rhaegar, whose brooding intensity mirrored that of his Uncle Aemond. The question of paternity began to murmur through the corridors of Dragonstone, insidious as wind-wrought flames, though none could be sure. At least Visenya’s children bore the silver Targaryen hair that seemed to fail in her brothers. Whispers tainted her children’s innocence, and every shared glance between Visenya and Aemond seemed to ignite suspicion in the minds of their kin.

As the truth hovered like a specter, looming over the Targaryen family, Visenya stood at a precipice. Would she give in to her longing, embracing a passion that pulsed as fiercely as dragonfire? Or would she bind herself tightly to duty, choosing the path carved out by blood and obligation?

Visenya stood before a new dawn, knowing she must confront the echoes of her choices. Whether she chose to remain tied to Aegon for the sake of their family or succumb to the intoxicating pull of Aemond’s allure remained unanswered. She sought her mother’s endurance and her father’s unbridled will, but it was her own heart—a heart torn between love and loyalty—that would ultimately shape her fate.

In a moment of desperate clarity, Visenya understood that love was never meant to be simple. Each heart she held belonged to the tapestry of her life, entwined in ways that were as complex as the spirals of dragonfire. And as her children grew, so too did the weight of her choices, an unbreakable knot she must learn to navigate, balancing love and treachery, loyalty and longing.

—-------------------------------------------------

In the growing darkness of the evening, Visenya stood by the window, her long, silver-gold hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight. She gazed out over Blackwater Bay, the waves crashing like the thoughts inside her mind. Her husband, Aegon, approached with a gentle smile, though the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air.

“Visenya,” Aegon said, his voice soft, “what troubles you this evening?” 

She turned to him, her heart swelling with love for the man who was both her husband and a symbol of duty. “Naught but the uncertainty of the morrow, my dear Aegon. The realm feels restless. I fear storms are brewing, but not of the kind we prepare for,” she replied, feigning a smile. 

Unbeknownst to Aegon, Visenya felt her heart pulse hotly for his younger brother, Aemond. Aemond, with his fiery spirit and sharp wit, ignited a flame in her that she could not extinguish. Though she loved Aegon fiercely, it was Aemond who stirred her soul in ways she was hesitant to admit.

Just as she suffocated under the weight of her thoughts, the door swung open, and Aemond strode in, his sapphire eye glinting with mischief. “Our dear brother broods while the world turns, as always,” he remarked, casting a quick glance at Aegon before fixing his gaze on Visenya. “Shall we not partake in the joy of life while we can, my sweet sister-in-law?”

“Always the jester,” Aegon replied, though his smile was strained. “What joy can be found in revelry when the realm readies itself for war?”

“War, duty, duty, war,” Aemond mocked lightly. “You sound like our mother, brother.” There was a lingering tension in the air that Visenya felt too keenly.

“Stop this, Aemond,” Visenya interjected, speaking in High Valyrian, which Aegon didn’t entirely understand, looking to temper the air between the two brothers. “We should not jest of such things. We have each other; we have our children.”

Aegon nodded, the weight of concern still visible on his brow, while Aemond’s expression shifted to one that danced on the edge of something more dangerous. “And what will become of them?” Aemond’s voice dropped, a hint of something darker lurking beneath. “Are we to allow a sea of disputes to wash away their future?”

Visenya bristled at the thought. Her children needed a world of promise, not shackled by the chains of the past. Yet the more Aemond spoke, the more her heart wavered between affection for her husband and the forbidden pull towards the younger brother, whose ambitions were vast and whose eyes shone with desire. 

Weeks passed where words remained unspoken, but a certain tension was brewing in the Red Keep, there would be fire and blood, but the war within Visenya Targaryen still raged on.

—----------------------------------------

In the candlelit chambers of Aegon and Visenya, the air was thick with both warmth and tension. Visenya Targaryen sat at her vanity, the reflection of her silver hair bouncing off the polished surface. A soft knock interrupted her contemplation.

“Aegon,” she called, turning to fully face her husband, Aegon II, who stepped into the room. His presence filled the space with an uneasy mix of familiarity and distance.

“My love,” Aegon began, his voice a gentle rumble. “I’ve been thinking—”

“Thinking?” Visenya echoed, arching a brow. “You have a talent for that.” She offered a teasing smile, though her heart was heavy.

“Visenya, I wish to discuss… us.” He paused, searching her gaze for something he couldn’t quite define. “You hold the realms in your heart, but I…”

“Is it my love for our children that frightens you?” she interjected, the warmth in her voice slowly fading.

“No, no. It’s Aemond.” 

Visenya’s breath caught. Aemond—his younger brother—was both a flame that flickered dangerously close and a comfort that beckoned like an undertow. “What of Aemond?” she asked, trying to mask the tremor in her voice.

“He has grown reckless.” Aegon’s irritation surfaced. “He challenges authority as easily as he commands Vhagar. I fear—”

“Fear what? That he will dethrone you?” Visenya leaned forward, her emerald eyes piercing through the dim light. “You rule as king of Westeros, and he bears no crown.”

Aegon stepped closer, his brow knitting in concern. “Yet, in his heart lies the blood of the dragon—a flame that may consume what we hold dear. Our family is at stake, Visenya; our children… they deserve stability.”

“They deserve love,” she replied, her expression hardening. “Not just the kind you give, but the kind that includes passion.” The confession hung in the air like an unspoken vow, opening a chasm between them.

Aegon stiffened. “You love him, then?”

Visenya’s gaze fell to the floor. “Love is a flame, Aegon. It can warm the spirit or burn down all that you hold dear.”

Time passed slowly within Dragonstone as familial ties began to unravel. Aegon’s jealousy morphed into a simmering resentment, while intrigue danced around Visenya’s heart like a delicate waltz. 

Meanwhile, Aemond Targaryen, an embodiment of youthful ambition, found solace in the open skies, where his dragon, Vhagar, soared. He had always admired Visenya’s caring nature and what she brought to the family. Their secret meetings kindled something deep and forbidden, and as days turned into weeks, their connection intertwined with destiny.

Days turned into weeks, and then into months, shadows gathering around the Targaryens as they prepared for the inevitable clash between Rhaenyra's supporters and the impending forces that rose against her claim. Then came a day that would change…

—----------------------------------------------------------

The sun crested the horizon, shrouded in a soft blushing hue, contrasting the stormy clouds that loomed ominously nearby. Aemond rode Vhagar, chasing shadows and draconic dreams, unaware of the imminent collision path with tragedy.

“Lucerys!” Visenya’s brother, Lucerys Velaryon, tore through the skies riding his dragon, Arrax, defiance resonating through every flap of his wings. He was young, fierce, and willing to protect his mother’s legacy.

They met mid-air, the whispers of the firmament charged with the feud brewing below. 

“What brings a Velaryon to confront a Targaryen?” Aemond bellowed, a fierce grin etched across his face. The thrill of battle had summoned him; perhaps Fate would grant him the victory he craved.

“I will not yield to you or your brother, I stand here in honour of the Queen, Rhaenyra!” Lucerys shouted back. Behind him, the storm swelled, becoming a tempest to mirror their raging emotions.

“I have been waiting for this for a long time, my dear strong nephew.” Aemond spoke with his teasing nature, his eyepatch now removed with his sapphire eye shining in the moonlight of Storms End.

The two young dragons immediately headed for their fierce beasts, Vhagar and Arrax. With a fierce roar, Vhagar took flight, challenging Arrax with a display of power. Fire spewed forth as the dragons collided, the sky igniting around them.

“Enough Nephew!” Aemond cried out in their mother tongue, but exhilaration coursed through him and the storm clouds raged amongst him, losing sight of Luke for that moment. Cloud and fire danced in chaotic beauty as dragons unleashed their fury upon one another.

Lucerys, desperate, urged Arrax higher, staying vigilantly aware of his surroundings. “This is between us, Aemond! Fight like a man, not a beast!”

“A man?” Aemond mocked, fire swirling beneath him. “I choose the beast. Will you embrace your fate?”

The moment hung in the air, heavy with unfulfilled promises, desires unvoiced, and a storm of blood in the making. Suddenly, Aemond lunged forward, Vhagar's jaws seeking victory. Arrax couldn't evade; flames engulfed the sky, and with a chilling cry, Lucerys plummeted, joining the chaos below.

—------------------------------------------------

Upon hearing the news of her sweet, young brother’s death, Visenya’s world shattered. She could not escape the curtain call of sorrow nor the memories shared—the teasing laughter around a hearth now replaced with the chilling howl of anguish.

“Aemond, how could you?” she cried, her heart torn between love and despair as she confronted him.

He stood before her, fury and regret clashing within his gaze. “I did not seek this! The bloodlust of dragons consumed all”—his hands balled into fists—“he attacked me. You must understand.”

“I don’t wish to understand!” she shot back, tears trailing down her cheeks. “You have taken my brother. Do you know what you’ve ignited?”

“I have ignited nothing but truth, Visenya!” Aemond retorted, the air crackling between them. “We are Targaryens; we are destined for fire and blood!”

“Fire and blood,” she repeated, a bitter taste rising to her tongue. “You didn’t even see the flames consume his soul. Will it be my children next? I cannot let this continue.”

“Inaction will be their doom, just as Lucerys’s defiance led to his downfall.” Aemond stepped closer, anguish straining against the mask of confidence he wore.

Visenya turned away, lost within the storm surging in her heart. Death birthed a cycle; she would either embrace it or be consumed by it.

As she stood at the precipice of war, Visenya felt the first stirrings of the Dance of Dragons begin, a catastrophe whose burning embers loomed ominously above, threatening to set her world ablaze. 

What was once filled with love now echoed with battle cries, and the dance had begun, fueled by loyalty, passion, and heartache—a cycle that would devour them all.

(A/N) Let me know if I should do a part 2.