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mapsthewanderer · 3 months ago

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Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb IX

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 3200 words of barista Caleb, coming in hot. Non MC!reader as the law student. Expect: premium flirting, a generous pour of banter, and a whole lot of feelings. Harv shows up. The newbie continues to be an absolute legend. And—no spoilers—but let’s just say this story isn’t closing its tab anytime soon heeeh

Parts: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 10, part 11, part 12

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101 @zukini-01 @ariakamil @zaynessdarling @gojosballsack69

Terms Pending | pt. 9

You were only planning on tea.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing reckless. Just a cup of something warm, maybe a quiet moment in your usual spot, and—if he was there—a little light flirtation.

And still—your brain, traitor that it is—flickers back. To Caleb. A few days ago. Saying he liked being around you. That it reminded him of someone he used to be, before everything got so heavy.

The last couple of times you’d been there, it had been… fine.

Nice, even. The drinks were still excellent. The lighting still soft. The newbie still mouthing silent commentary behind the espresso machine. But under the banter and half-smiles, something in the air felt tight. Like Caleb was trying to rewind.

Back to the beginning.

Back to when you were just another tired student with a caffeine addiction and a sharp tongue. When he was just a barista showing the newbie how to work the steam wand. Before the farmers market. Before her.

Before everything became something.

But maybe you’re just… the seasonal special.

Because you played along. Smiled. Sipped the drink he slid your way—a double macchiato with cinnamon, honey, and a dusting of powdered ginger that somehow tasted like winter break and bad ideas.

Perfect. Annoyingly so.

You caught his eye over the rim of the cup.

And for a second, you could almost believe he regretted it. Not kissing you. Not letting things shift when they wanted to.

Or maybe that’s just what you wanted to believe.

And maybe that’s why you never told the newbie what happened when he walked you back to campus that evening—because, painfully, at least to you, it felt like Caleb had been trying to rewind. To undo something you weren’t sure was even real yet.

But who knows anymore.

And just as you’re packing up in the library, sliding your laptop into your tote, you hear your name.

“Hey,” a voice says—low, confident, and not the one your brain’s been primed to react to.

You glance up.

Harv. Hair slicked back like he’s auditioning for a 1940s courtroom drama, green eyes sharp and easy.

“Heading out?” he asks, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

You nod. “Yeah. Just grabbing something hot before I crash.”

Without waiting for an answer, he falls into step beside you—like it’s already been decided. “Mind if I join? Thought maybe we could… consolidate cases.” He grins. “Two tired law students. One caffeine run. Efficient.”

You hesitate. Just for a second.

But Harv is… nice. And competent. And handsome in that effortless, second-glance-in-the-hallway kind of way. And bringing Harv along wouldn’t exactly hurt at this point.

Maybe it would help.

Redirect Caleb’s attention to a new target for his barista smugness. Let you drink your damn latte, get your shit together, focus on school.

And still—maybe—catch a glimpse of him.

Just enough to remind yourself that he was never yours to begin with.

And that he never will be.

So you nod. “Sure. Why not.”

The two of you head out into the cool evening. Your steps sync without effort, conversation light, easy. You talk finals. Professors. Nothing important. Nothing messy.

It’s only when you reach the café— lights glowing through the windows, familiar and golden—that you remember what you were actually coming here for.

You open the door.

The bell chimes as you enter, and Caleb looks up.

Standing behind the counter, he’s in a button-down today. Sleeves rolled to the elbows—his most lethal weapon, deployed with casual precision. The apron is perfectly tied and cinched at the waist, like always. His hair’s a little messier than usual.

And of course—the stupid apple charm is still there, catching the light like it knows you’re trying very hard not to think about it today.

For a second, his eyes warm—lit with that slow, beautiful smile.

Until they slide to your left.

To Harv.

And his smile doesn’t exactly vanish, but it shifts. Tightens.

“Golden Girl,” he says, hands already moving. “Figured you might show.”

You step up to the counter. “What gave me away?”

“Could be the look of superiority,” he says, popping open a box of tea like he’s testing the waters. He lifts it to his nose, inhales thoughtfully, then shoots you a smirk. “Or maybe it’s the way your hair’s practically glowing today. What are we feeling—spicy? floral?”

You blink. “Glowing?”

Caleb nods, grinning. “Yeah. Very golden. Very radiant. Not reflecting anything going on inside your brain, obviously, but still impressive.”

You snort. “Charming.”

The tea box tilts in your direction, Caleb raising one brow. “But you’re here late. So… tea?”

You lean in slightly, catching the warm, spiced scent, and raise an eyebrow while pretending not to be impressed.

“Chai latte,” he decides before you can even answer. “We got in a new spice blend. It’s borderline criminal, you’ll love it.”

Just as Harv starts to lean in beside you, curious—

Caleb calmly closes the box and slides it out of reach. Then turns to put it away—no rush, no acknowledgment. He doesn’t even glance up.

Over his shoulder, casual as anything:

“You look like a cortado guy. Double shot, splash of organic milk—something rare, expensive, and just pretentious enough to impress someone who doesn’t know better.”

He still doesn’t look back. Just reaches for the portafilter like he already knew.

You blink.

Harv tilts his head, caught off guard. “How would you know?”

Caleb finally turns then—only halfway—and his eyes find yours instead of Harv’s.

“I’ve got a sixth sense for predictable orders,” he says, slow grin forming. “Present company excluded, of course.”

His gaze lingers on you, warm and fond.

“Some people keep me guessing.”

Your stomach flips. You’re not even holding your cup yet and you feel caffeinated.

He turns back to the counter, reaching for a cup. The chai is poured smoothly, the milk frothed with an ease that almost feels personal. He sprinkles something light across the foam—cinnamon, maybe nutmeg—and sets the finished drink down gently like it’s a peace offering in ceramic.

Then, like it’s nothing, he adds, “Although you do always order for here.”

A beat. A tiny curve to his mouth.

“…Not that I mind.”

Harv clears his throat. “Uhhh… A cortado, yeah.”

Caleb nods once, already turning away—like the order just confirmed what he already knew.

Then he glances back at you, tone warm, familiar.

“How was your day?”

You open your mouth to answer, but—

“We had class together earlier,” Harv offers, lightly. “Contract law.”

Caleb doesn’t even blink in his direction. Instead: “What classes did you have?” he asks you, voice still soft. Still just for you.

You glance at Harv, then back at Caleb. “Uh… Just contracts. A lot of… brain drain.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Caleb’s mouth, like your answer landed exactly where he wanted it to.

Harv leans in slightly, muttering under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear:

“What’d I do to piss him off this time?”

You shake your head, honest and bewildered. “No idea.”

And you don’t. Because Caleb’s still talking—

“Remember Gideon?” he says, grabbing a filter, voice sliding right back into your orbit. “The guy I told you about?”

And just like that, Harv’s cut from the frame. Again.

But you don’t miss a beat. “Obviously. I don’t forget key witnesses.”

He grins, satisfied. “Last flight lesson? Almost threw up after push-ups. I’ve never seen a man flop that hard.”

You blink. “Why was he doing push-ups in a flight lesson?”

“Punishment,” Caleb says, voice light, eyes still on the milk he’s steaming. “Forgot his checklist. Again. He knows what he did.”

You laugh—too loud—and Caleb’s grin widens. Like you’re the only one here.

He froths the milk like it’s background noise, still looking at you. Still talking to you.

Still acting like Harv doesn’t exist.

And then, without a single beat skipped, he reaches for a to-go cup.

Pours the cortado.

Lids it.

Sets it gently on the counter like it’s nothing more than what it is.

“Cortado,” he says, without looking at Harv. “Enjoy.”

Harv follows you to your usual table like this is a normal study date, sipping from his very to-go cortado like it’s not an insult. He pulls out his laptop with a little too much confidence.

“So,” he says, settling in. “You wanna do a Cicero quiz or something? That history thesis isn’t gonna write itself.”

You nod, half-distracted, pretending to pull up your notes while mentally replaying every smug flick of Caleb’s hand. Your chai latte is still warm in its cup—because of course it is.

The bell over the door chimes, and the newbie walks in. Two earbuds in, a hoodie with something unhinged in pastel script across the front. They spot you instantly, eyes landing on Harv.

Then:

A look.

One that says who the hell is this?

You shrug, subtle. Text under the table.

You: he’s just a guy from class don’t judge me. He followed me and i need a distraction

You see them snort silently before heading behind the counter.

And then—

“Cicero, huh?”

Caleb.

Off-duty now, apron gone, shirt still unfair, jacket on, hair even messier. He walks away from the counter where the newbie’s halfway clocked in and ruffles their hair like this is just part of the routine. The newbie glares but doesn’t flinch.

Then Caleb looks over at you.

And without missing a beat, recites: “Law isn’t just statutes and rules—it lives in us. Part of the human spirit. The human experience.”

You stare at him.

Harv blinks.

The newbie ducks behind the espresso machine to not laugh out loud.

Caleb raises a brow. “What? It’s Cicero.”

Then, like this is completely normal, he pulls out a chair. “Mind if I join your study session? I’m off now.”

There’s a long pause.

You blink at him, then tilt your head.

“Right. Because aviation school isn’t difficult enough—you had to casually minor in legal theory too?”

Caleb grins, completely unfazed. “What can I say? I like a challenge.”

You mutter, “Apparently.”

He hears you. Of course he does. And Caleb looks entirely too pleased about it.

Harv clears his throat. “Uh. I should probably head out, actually. Got another group waiting on me.”

You barely glance up. “Sure.”

Caleb is still seated. Calm. Like he was invited.

You sip your chai, watching him over the rim. “So Cicero, huh?” you say, voice light.

He smirks. “What, you didn’t think I was paying attention?”

“To my law history thesis?”

He shrugs, unbothered. “Heard you and the newbie talking about it. Thought I’d help out.”

You raise a brow. “Help, or show off?”

“Both,” he says. “Obviously.”

And just like that—he’s in. Sitting across from you. Grinning like he hasn’t just wrecked you and your very-much-doomed attempt at a study date.

You narrow your eyes at him over your laptop.

“Okay, philosopher-barista. Since you’re so fluent in Cicero…”

He leans in slightly, interested. “Go on, Golden Girl.”

Blinking once, done hesitating, you say, “Then what does Cicero have to say about someone who clearly has a person—someone carved into their story, part of their human experience or whatever—yet still shows up to ruin a study date in public?”

The grin flickers. Just for a second.

Then he recovers. Shrugs. Smirks.

“Probably that the soul’s complicated. And occasionally reckless.”

You sip your drink, not breaking eye contact. “And loud,” you add. “Let’s not forget loud.”

Caleb tips his head, eyes dancing. “So you’re saying you heard mine coming?”

You snort. “More like felt the turbulence.”

His smile deepens. “Then buckle up, Golden Girl,” he says. “We’re just getting into crosswinds.”

There’s a sharp hiss from the espresso machine behind the bar—too sharp to be accidental.

You glance over.

The newbie is standing perfectly still, one hand paused mid-wipe on a countertop that’s already clean. Their eyes lock with yours like they’re trying to send an emergency transmission using only their soul.

Your phone buzzes under the table.

newbie: you’re INSANE. are you flirting or litigating because either way i’m sweating

Another buzz:

newbie: also. is this what straight people call “study sessions”??

You press your lips together, fighting back a laugh.

Beneath the table, your fingers fly across the screen.

you: his necklace is still on. we’ve lost. let’s just close the case and move on. i don’t have anything left to lose anyway.

newbie: i hate this plotline. but also i’m obsessed.

Caleb glances at your phone, then back at you with a brow raised. “Is that my fan club checking in?”

You raise your cup, deadpan. “Control tower, actually.”

A quiet laugh escapes him—soft and surprised—and it lands somewhere dangerous in your chest. Then he leans in a little—close enough that you feel the warmth roll off him like steam from your chai.

“I just don’t get it,” he says, voice low. “Why you’d want to flirt with someone else.”

A pause.

Then: “Especially not here. In my café.”

Your brows lift, a smile flickering despite yourself.

“Relax,” you murmur. “I never sullied this sacred flirting arena.”

He doesn’t smile back. Not fully. “So you’re saying you and Harv didn’t flirt here?” he asks, tilting his head. His tone isn’t angry. Just sharp.

You set your cup down. “Correct. No flirting happened in the café.”

His eyes narrow—mock offense softening the edge.

“Oh,” he says. “So only at school?”

You blink. “Caleb.”

“Just clarifying,” he says, hands lifted like he’s so innocent.

“I need you to settle,” you say flatly, staring him down. “There’s no logical resolution to this.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. And then—softly, deliberately—his thumb slides over his lower lip, ring finger trailing after it, slow and calculated.

“Is that suggestion still on the table?” he asks, voice dipped in something you’re not ready for. A pause. Then, quieter—rougher: “Or has Harv claimed it now?”

Your brain shorts out for a second.

You stare. Then—deadpan: “Are you actually jealous right now?”

Caleb’s smile is slow. Crooked. A little dangerous.

He doesn’t answer.

Just holds your gaze.

Then—quietly—he mouths:

Yes.

Before you can recover, Caleb reaches out and tugs the end of your braid, like it’s his version of a period at the end of a derailing sentence.

Then he stands.

And walks off.

Frozen in place, the warmth of his touch still clings to your hair—like it might whisper something if you listen closely enough.

A moment later, the newbie appears, slipping into the chair Caleb left behind. They don’t say anything at first. Just hand you a fresh napkin and a stare that says talk.

You press your lips together. Exhale.

“I wasn’t totally honest with you,” you murmur, fingers knotting the napkin. “About… him.”

Their eyebrows lift, but they wait.

“There was a moment,” you say. “Well, a lot of moments. And then this almost-kiss. And he said he liked being around me, and I said he could kiss me goodnight, kind of as a joke, and then he said we’d fail the test because he wouldn’t want to stop—”

They blink, slow.

“Okay, wow.”

You laugh, hollow. “Yeah.”

A beat.

“So,” you say, glancing at them. “If it were you. What would you do?”

They bite at their tongue piercing, thoughtful. Then shrug.

“I mean… I’m shy,” they say. “But even I’d kiss him.”

Your mouth opens, then closes.

“Because it’s basically there,” they add, eyes locked on yours. “Right? The tension? The orbit? You’re just circling.”

And maybe it hits harder because just five minutes ago, you texted them: his necklace is still on. we’ve lost. let’s just close the case and move on. i don’t have anything left to lose anyway.

Apparently, you do.

And it’s walking away from the café—still managing to rearrange your gravity as it goes.

You stare at your chai latte, heart still skipping like it’s on trial.

Yeah.

That’s the last straw.

You’re up before your brain catches up—grabbing your coat, nearly tripping over a chair, the newbie calling after you with a startled, “Wait, are you actually—”

But you’re already out the door.

The cold air hits you like a closing argument. You scan the street—there. Caleb’s halfway down the block, hands in his pockets, the wind tugging at his jacket.

You run.

Call his name. Once. Twice.

He turns just as you reach him, breathless and probably flushed to hell.

Fingers hook into his sleeve, tugging him toward you with zero ceremony. You meet his eyes and look him dead in the eyes.

“Okay,” you say, barely thinking. “Listen. We’re exclusive.”

His brows lift. “What?”

“Flirting partners in crime,” you clarify, breath still catching. “You and me. That’s it. Forever. No substitutions. No refunds.”

There’s a beat.

Then he laughs—low and stunned and real—and shakes his head.

“You’re trouble.”

Your smile curls. “So are you.”

And somehow, that feels like the most honest thing you’ve said all day.

“You’re ridiculous.”

You nod, eyes still on his. “And you like it.”

He doesn’t answer.

Not right away.

Because your eyes have dropped—to his neck.

The necklace is gone.

The chain, the charm—not there.

Your gaze flicks lower.

He’s holding it in one hand. Loosely. Like it’s no longer tethered to him. Like it’s just a thing now, not a weight.

“Noticed,” he says quietly.

You nod once. Breath caught. “I’m a law student. I notice everything.”

He steps closer.

His hands come up cupping your face like he’s memorizing it. The chain is still looped around one of his fingers, the charm cold against your cheek—something old brushing against something new.

And he’s looking at you like this—you—might just be the thing worth choosing after all.

“Do we seal the deal, then?” he murmurs, voice low and reckless and completely unfair. “… Legally speaking.”

You open your mouth. No words arrive.

He exhales, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “I should’ve kissed you that night.”

The words fall somewhere between confession and apology.

“I regret a lot of things,” he adds softly. “But not this.”

And then he leans in, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips.

The moment you’ve both been circling for weeks.

And finally—he kisses you.

Like he means it.

Like he’s sure.

Like he’s sealing it in writing.

Your fingers curl into his jacket before you even realize they’ve moved. His hand’s at your waist, the necklace clinking faintly between you.

Just like that.

The chain slips from his fingers—not to the ground, but into yours.

He lifts it gently, his eyes never leaving your face, and with a quiet sort of reverence… fastens it around your neck.

A silent exchange.

No trial. No verdict. Just a temporary recess. Terms to be negotiated later.

“I should really be more careful around lucky girls,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours.

You shake your head, smile flickering. “No. You should be careful around me.”

His breath catches—just slightly.

Then he nods once, like he already knows.

And leans in.

Breath against your cheek.

Mouth brushing yours.

And then he kisses you again—deeper this time, like he’s sealing something in place. Your fingers find his, resting at your collarbone now—right over the charm.

Whatever this is, it’s real.

Real enough for a date.

Real enough for a another chapter.

He pulls back, just enough to meet your eyes again. “This doesn’t fix everything,” he murmurs. “But maybe it’s a start.”

You nod. And try to breathe.

His past.

Your present.

Not forever. Not yet. But something real enough to hold onto—at least until the next latte.

——————————————————————————

Chapter 10

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Sooo… What was meant to be the end is starting to look a lot like a beginning. Because love stories don’t end with a kiss. Not when there are study halls, texted legal hot takes, suspicious baked goods, and way too many feelings left on the counter. So yes—we’re keeping the café open. We’re not done yet. Not even close. See you in Chapter 10. I might need a lil extra time to make the outline of where I want the story to go next hehe. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

#ye ye yeeee barista booooi #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #lads caleb #you x caleb #non mc x caleb

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boop-le-snoot · 10 months ago

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kinktober #5

Brown Sugar

“We must?” You gave your boyfriend a cheeky grin.

“Mhm,” he nodded decisively, although his stormy blue eyes were sparkling with mischief. “'tis would be a good omen.”

“God of Fertility and all that?” You snorted, bringing up one of Thor's lesser known titles.

Well, lesser known on your home planet of Midgard. Here in Asgard, everybody was well-acquainted with the numerous titles and duties appointed to their crown prince. And while the ruling had effectively been transferred to Brunhilde, the House of Odin was still very active in the life and courts of the realm.

Which you had to partake in, as well, being Thor's long-term girlfriend. Some customs were pretty normal (smile and wave, smile and wave...), some a little strange and some had you completely understand why Jane, Thor's ex-girlfriend, had ultimately decided to balk on him. Asgard certainly wasn't for the shy and self-conscious.

For you, that ship had sailed and sunk a long time ago. How could you be anything else than smug with a God hanging off your arm? Passing on an opportunity to show him off was like a dog turning down a bone. And - you bit into a delectable fruit with a name you could not even hope to pronounce correctly - what kind of person would you be if you deprived Asgard of the blessings Thor was obliged to bestow upon his realm?

They way you saw it, it was a win/win scenario for everybody. As you submerged yourself in a hot bath swirling with aromatic oils, your heart raced with excitement and trepidation. Deep in the pit of your belly, a coil was beginning to tighten, further filling your limbs with a pleasant, weightless sensation. Floating in the spacious pool, your eyes traced the hard lines of your boyfriend's body with lazy interest.

Pre-gaming an orgy with your godly boyfriend had been the right choice.

Droplets of clear water ran down Thor's pronounced pectorals to soundlessly drip into the pool. You followed each one where it sent ripples across the shimmering surface of water, distorting the generous vision of his twitching heavy cock. He shrugged moisture off his blonde hair. You smirked.

“I fear we may not make it if you continue looking at me like that.” He rumbled, coyly watching your reaction through wet eyelashes.

“I am getting in the mood!” Objected you, but nonetheless ceased your staring to take care of yourself. You fully intended to leave a lasting impression on the people of Asgard and looking fresh and smelling nice was just the first step. Even if Thor's continued, very naked presence proved to be very distracting...

No less distracting was the cacophony of pleasure and bliss that reached your ears as soon as you entered the designated area for the ceremony. Clad in the finest silks and gemstones Thor had gifted you for the occasion, you held your chin up high even as your eyes lingered on couples, throuples and moresomes scattered across a multitude of surfaces.

Warriors and nobles, gods and regular folk, all lost in the haze. White-clad women danced with flowers in their hair, chanting something sweet and melodic in tongues All-Speak could not translate. The same fragrant blossoms hung in long, colourful garlands from the ceiling as fading sunlight reflected a fine golden dust that saturated the air in the room.

You passed Fandral surrounded by no less than five men and women. Thor had snorted and you responded with a smirk, knowing well of his friend's penchant for amorous conquests. Volstagg was here with his wife and he looked to be having a great time observing a slender Valkyrie busy herself with his wife's bosom as he snacked on some berries and nuts.

Posted at Thor's arm, the other attendees limited themselves to quick, respectful once-overs when it came to you. A human, an exotic curiosity for many, but strictly off-limits. You were more than content to be just Thor's.

The God led you to an elevated platform on which lay a bed of the fragrant blossoms; sitting down gently at the edge, you could not resist touching the soft, shimmering petals. They were surprisingly warm and springy, returning quickly to their undisturbed state as your hand came back tinted with gold. The petals seemed welcoming, somehow, and as Thor rumbled something low and quick into the open room, you fell back easily onto the flowerbed, marveling at the sensation.

Better than anything you'd ever laid on, even Stark's multiple-thousand-dollar memory foam mattress.

The sound of Thor's outer robes falling to the floor attracted your attention. You lifted your eyes and focused on his bare chest: the god looked down on you with mischievous fondness, studying your face for any sign of discomfort. There was none to have. All of the people and their couplings fell into the background as you beheld him, beginning to scent a subtle change in the air.

A distant storm. Bittersweet smell of ozone and fresh rainfall. Crackling of electricity somewhere nearby, the kind that raised the fine hair on your arms and sent a pleasant tingle all over your scalp. Thor's thick thumb traced the bottom of your mouth, spreading the sensation over your lips.

He sat down at your side, taking the time to simply study the lines of your face: the curve of your Cupid's bow, the arch of your nose and warm apples of your cheeks. Every inch of skin sparkled alight under his touch. Parting your lips, you breathed wetly over his fingers, taking his godly nature wholly into yourself.

Holding the side of your face in his large palm, Thor pulled you upwards, easily dragging you to sit over his lap. His blue eyes stormy, a spark of electricity shot out when your mouths connected, adding sensation to the softness of your lips and the scratch of his beard. Your tongues mingled, familiarity and sweet spit pouring molten desire into your bloodstream.

For a while, you two got lost in the sensual dance of your tongues. Background noise tuned out, you felt and had Thor. His large palms stroked your bare back and legs, toed the lines of your revealing tunic without quite breaching them. Unconsciously, you had began to inch closer and closer to the growing bulge beneath his loincloth, your budding arousal just shy of exactly where you wanted it.

Thor pulled you in. Dipping under the waistband of tour garment, he thumbed the skin there, and finding no more barriers, firmly kneaded the plump cheeks of your ass. Each movement rubbed deliciously between your legs, the touch of soft silk causing more and more moisture to flood your cunt.

“Mmm, Thor,” you moaned, having had totally lost yourself in the moment and forgotten the large audience gathered below your designated space. Not that they cared, if judging only from the noises: the air had gotten thick as Thor's arousal grew and it seemed to echo in other attendees.

A low growl left the god's mouth as his hands held onto you firmer, tighter. His bare chest glistened with the same golden dust and sparks of it settled deeply within his yawning pupils. The restraint he showed was truly incredible for that you knew that look: any other time your clothing had already been ripped off in tatters and your legs hung over his shoulders.

Thor became deliciously feral when properly riled up.

With great effort, he unwrapped himself from within your arms and turned you towards the room, settling your legs open over his spread knees, your back to his chest. Your head immediately fell back to rest against his shoulder: the world came in and out of focus as you fought with the fog that always came after Thor's stormy kisses. It was not meant to be: a wet gasp tore out of your lips as your eyes lidded from the possessive nature of his palm gathering and squeezing your breast.

Rolling your nipples between his fingers, Thor grinned into your hair as tiny sparks manifested on his fingertips and hardened the tender buds. You jerked.

He held on strong. “Easy.”

You felt the rumble of that deep voice within your guts and whined, discontent with the pace of your activities. He'd barely started and your cunt was already aching to be filled.

“We must do this properly,” he explained, breathing hot ozone into your ear. “Your body must be receptive to my offering.”

What was that, exactly? Neither of you were on board with having children, at least now. But it did not mean you couldn't practice... Petulant, you pushed your ass back towards his hips and were rewarded with a particularly well-aimed tweak. You squealed. Several attendees raised their heads from various body parts and places and gave appreciative smirks.

Fine, you decided. Two can play that game.

Reaching behind yourself, your back arched as you buried your hands into Thor's hair, pushing your breasts out in the process. The loose silk garment fell apart to the sides, baring your chest and breasts along with Thor's palms kneading the meat of them. The God gave an appreciative rumble at the sensation of his hair being pulled, bending over to mouth at the shell of your ear.

“I can smell you,” he faux-whispered. “Your cunt is dripping.”

No shit, you wanted to say, but all that came out of you was a moan as he released your breasts from his sweet, ardurous clutches and went for your inner thighs instead. Sparks danced all across your flesh, caressing the soft skin there and brining a strong scent of a budding storm into your coupling.

Candlelight flickered into life as twilight fell upon the room. Thick, dark clouds gathered above the palace and behind glass panes constituting most of the roof. Fat, clear raindrops began to tap against the glass. Rich smell of plants in bloom and alimentative petrichor seeped through the cracks in-between doorways and windowsills.

Arousal sat low and heavy in your belly, curling, coiling like a snake. Every spark borne on Thor's fingertips stoked the fire. Glowing embers blossomed into a roaring fire as your blood rushed into your ears. It was incredible your body had any to spare in the first place with how wet and swollen your sex felt.

Thor had come to a personal conclusion as his hands finally traversed a path towards the front clasp of your garment. It fell apart easily, silken curtains gliding over your sensitive skin. You shuddered, fine hairs rising. They were soothed by Thor's hands brushing over your nakedness, undoing the frontal sash.

Noise had picked back up. What started as clear rainfall and rolling thunder outside the walls turned into a damp, fragrant cacophony of sex. Through lidded eyes, you spied a throuple of lovers engaged in a passionate dance of bodies. There was no discerning where one began and other ended, but one blonde head took note of your attentions and winked at you brazenly, causing you to flush.

“'tis a blessed time indeed,” Thor's rumbling chuckle came from the crown of your head. “Tell me, beloved, how do you feel?”

Forming coherent thoughts was difficult. “Hmm,” you arched further into Thor's hands, “electric.”

Your godly boyfriend laughed as he parted your legs to rest over his wide thighs. His hand made a sizeable bump under the flimsy curtain of fabric that covered your arousal, the entirety of it covered by Thor in a posessive gesture. His middle finger slid over the seam of your lips, finding it wet and sticky. Thor rumbled in satisfaction as thunder roared outside, mirroring the god's satisfaction.

Periodic flashes of lightning added an ephemeral spotlight effect onto the inhabitants of the room. It seemed like everyone was watching you. Waiting, with their unhurried movements and lovemaking at a leisurely pace. You found it hard to focus on anything else besides the throbbing in your cunt.

“Almost ripe for the picking.” Thor stated with authority, an unusual grit to his voice. And he felt larger than ever behind you, hot and slick with budding sweat, cock swollen to a steely hardness under your ass. He flicked your clit with resolute precision, coaxing your cunt into dripping more of that sweet nectar.

In the slippery mess of it, you did not notice him switching his fingers out to nudge at your entrance, the side of his thumb taking their place to stroke at your clit. Three of his large fingers slid in with next to no resistance. Your back arched with a loud moan, reticence momentarily forgotten. The walls of your cunt spasmed, trying to suck him further in. To go places only his long, fat cock could reach.

Thor was stretching you with long, fluid strokes as your cunt wept approval, sash bluntly pushed to the side, all of you on full display. Your eyes had long stuck themselves shut for that the assault of sensation had become unbearable: contrary to normal way of your activities, Thor's actions only deepened the pit in your belly. You feared it would grow bottomless, forever unable to be sated by anything you've ever experienced before.

The stares or attendees only served to darken that pit, widen the jagged edges of it. As you held on to Thor's shoulders, your legs fell further and farther open with each stroke. What little clothing had remained on your body felt strangling, suffocating on your skin. You needed to be bare as you were born, placed before your god-partner for there was nothing else you wished but him to ravish you and everyone to bear witness.

“It is time!” Thor declared, voice booming. It carried through the room effortlessly, preceding a rapid change in atmosphere and frantic rustling of clothing as people shed everything save for their birthday suits.

The God unhanded your pliant body, briefly, to thunder something in Asgardian, and laid it plainly upon the marble altar. Sounds of seams ripping joined the roaring storm outside. Heat like molten iron spread through your limbs, and when you opened your eyes to see Thor sat on his haunches, your partner's eyes glowed a brilliant white. Sparks shot from his mane and fingertips.

His large cock, erect and proud, released a drop of clear fluid. Unconsciously licking your lips you watched it trickle down the shaft, along the prominent pulsing vein. Your cunt flexed, too, seemingly having attained a mind of it's own. Thor grinned. A smile that would have been unsettling in any other situation, for it was all shiny white teeth, sharp as a wolf's.

“...!” He spoke, again in Asgardian, and you shuddered at the resonant nature of his grovelly voice. All the others cheered, sound a cacophony of moans, yelps and shrill exclamations.

Whether it was the thunder outside or the ever-present storm within him, you did not know, but with a loud rumble, Thor threw himself atop you, slamming into your swollen, open cunt in one long, smooth stroke. Powerful muscles in his back rippled under your waiting palms. Your eyes rolled back into your skull as your body went limp.

This Thor did not hold back.

Vikings had ritualistic orgies, so why the hell not Asgard? I read this fic some four years ago that since had been deleted with a similar core idea and it has sort of cemented in my brain. Latest MCU has us thinking that Thor is just some guy with a hammer but I like fics that - not necessarily delve - but tie in his divine aspect. Like, he is a God even on his own planet. Additionally, I've always been dead set on Thor having a brown or a black S/O. Not sure why exactly... But this was written with black girls in mind. Especially the gold dust part. Have y'all seen how beautiful golden shimmer looks on dark skin? 🥹

#thor x reader #thor x you #mcu thor x reader #thor x y/n #thor smut #mcu smut #thor #sparkly booooy i love youuuu

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