#however its still a whirlwind | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

finelinefae · 27 days ago

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friends [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: bambi meets harry's best friends.

word count: 8.8k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, fluff, age gap (9 years), drunk harry, shy reader, boyfriend!h

this is part 3 of Bambi, read part 2 here

. . .

Y/N was slowly but surely finding her rhythm at Pleasing. Thanks to Harry’s advice on making the most of each day (advice he apparently wrote a book about—though when Lindsey mentioned it, Harry had quickly shushed her and changed the subject), she had developed a solid morning and evening routine.

Her workdays at Pleasing fell on the busiest days of Harry’s schedule, which meant she was there three times a week. Those mornings began promptly at 7 a.m., with her clothes already laid out from the night before. After waking, she’d prepare breakfast for herself and her brothers, speaking to Harry on the phone as they went about their respective routines in separate homes. Once breakfast was done, she’d brush her teeth, do her makeup, and style her hair. By the time the school bus arrived to whisk her brothers away, her car would be rounding the corner to take her into the city.

Despite her hectic schedule, Y/N was managing to juggle her studies—though she couldn’t ignore that they were beginning to take a backseat. Lately, she’d found herself questioning whether she even wanted to continue her course. But with life moving at such a whirlwind pace, the thought of making a definitive decision felt overwhelming. For now, it was easier to just focus on the day-to-day.

To her surprise, Y/N was actually enjoying her job—something she’d never expected. She’d never been a fan of “adulting”; being forced to grow up quickly didn’t mean she had to like it. Paying bills, going to work, and worrying about the future had always felt like too much. But having a steady job offered her a rare sense of stability—one she appreciated more than she wanted to admit. It kept food on the table, gave her some consistency, and most importantly, brought her closer to Harry.

Keeping their relationship a secret, however, was proving to be a challenge. Surprisingly, Y/N was the more professional of the two, maintaining her composure in the workplace. She kept her hands to herself and avoided lingering glances, even when they were in the same room. Harry, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as disciplined. He had a knack for initiating little interactions that straddled the line of propriety—always claiming they were “accidents.”

Like the time he held her hand just a second too long. Or the time he “accidentally” kissed her in the elevator right as the doors were opening. Then there was the incident during a meeting when, as she served tea, he tugged on the hem of her dress—apparently needing a refill.

Y/N couldn’t help but adore how infatuated he was, but she was determined to keep things professional. The last thing she wanted was for her coworkers to think she had an unfair advantage because of her relationship. Still, Harry’s innocent looks and playfulness made it hard to stay mad at him for long.

“I need to ask you something,” Harry said from his desk.

It was Wednesday evening and everyone had gone home. Harry had needed to catch up on some work so Y/N stayed behind after some convincing with the proposition he would drop her home afterwards. Y/N was sitting on the chair opposite, her notebook open and laptop screen. Her laptop was on its last legs, taking forever to load and lagging every five seconds but she could never afford a new one and having one was better than nothing.

“What’s wrong?” She looked up, wearing her glasses and face framed by wispy bits of loose hair that had escaped her messy bun.

Harry’s face brightened when she looked up at him. “C’mere, Bambi. Too far away.” He pushed himself away from his desk and gestured to his lap.

Y/N smiled and walked around the desk to sit in his lap. She straddled herself across his lap and wrapped both her arms around his neck, “Y’ smell good,” He murmurs, smelling her gingerbread cookie perfume even though it was Autumn, she was already excited for her favourite day of the year.

“What did you want to ask?” She pouted.

As if remembering he bought her over for a purpose, he continued, “This weekend, y’know you’re coming to stay the night?”

How could she forget? It was all she had been thinking about since he asked her. She had even bought brand new pyjamas with the remaining paycheck from her old job because her usual ones were worn and not as pretty. She had never been to a sleepover before let alone one with a man. She was’t sure what to expect but had seen movies where girls would sleepover and they’d paint each others nails and eat ice cream. She knew that wouldn’t be the case with Harry but she had made a list of other things they could do together that he’d enjoy too.

“I know,” Y/N nodded, brows furrowed as she waited for him to continue. Part of her couldn’t help but worry. Did he not want her to sleep over anymore?

"Some of my friends are having a dinner get together type thing," Harry said, his tone casual but hopeful. "I haven’t said I’ll go yet because I knew you were coming over, but I wanted to ask if you’d like to come with me?"

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. "To the dinner party? With you?"

Harry smiled, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Yeah, with me. Who else?"

She blinked, processing his words. "I’d be meeting your friends?" she asked cautiously. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why wouldn’t I be sure?" he replied, his brow lifting slightly.

"I don’t know, I just..." she trailed off, suddenly unsure of how to explain the nervous flutter in her chest.

"Ah, there y’go, Bambi," Harry smirked, leaning in just enough to make her cheeks burn. "Getting all flustered."

"I’m not flustered!" she protested, though the warmth in her face betrayed her.

Harry chuckled, his gaze warm and steady as it met hers. "It makes me happy, you know—thinking about introducing you to my friends. They were excited when I mentioned you."

"They were?" Y/N asked, her brows lifting in surprise.

"Mhm," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. "They know it’s rare for me to bring someone I’m dating into the mix this early on." He leaned in, nuzzling against her neck and pressing a soft kiss to her skin. "So, will you come? We can head back to mine after."

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Okay... but I don’t know if I have anything to wear."

Harry smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Y’know I can sort that," he teased.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed instantly, and she bit back a shy smile as his confidence and charm worked their usual magic.

. . .

Y/N glanced down at her suitcase, biting her lip. Did I overpack for one night? Probably. She always did.

Growing up, money had been tight, but once Y/N started earning her own at sixteen, she’d developed a habit of indulging herself. Not extravagantly—there were no designer handbags or flashy purchases—but enough to feel like she was treating herself after the grind of a day. Skincare, makeup, clothes—her modest earnings often vanished in the blink of an eye.

Fashion was her weakness. Her clothing rack groaned under the weight of her ever-expanding wardrobe, frequently collapsing as if protesting her relentless shopping habit. Packing for this overnight stay at Harry’s had been no exception. She’d started with a backpack, then upgraded to a duffle bag, only to realize that wouldn’t fit everything she might need. Now, her suitcase sat by the stairs, practically mocking her indecision.

“Whoa.” Sammy’s voice broke her thoughts as he sauntered into her room, a chocolate bar in hand. “Are you moving in?”

“No,” Y/N huffed, hands on her hips. “I just want to be prepared.”

Sammy raised an eyebrow. “You know, he could just stay here instead.”

Y/N stilled. The boy’s first night without her had everyone feeling uneasy, and she knew Sammy wasn’t looking forward to it. His gaze was guarded, but she could see the vulnerability underneath.

“It’ll be fine,” she reassured, stepping closer. “It’s just one night. If you really hate it, we’ll—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, his voice breaking slightly. “There’s going to be a day when you move out. And leave me. With Mom. Or... without her.”

The words hit harder than he intended. Y/N swallowed the lump forming in her throat, reaching out to him. She saw the sadness etched in his eyes, a reflection of her own fears. “Wherever I go, you go,” she whispered firmly.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Sammy leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. Y/N held him close, closing her eyes for a moment before pulling away.

The sound of a knock at the front door jolted her. She glanced at the clock, muttering a quick, “That’s Harry,” as she rushed downstairs. She wanted to intercept him before Archie could get started—her little brother’s chatter had a way of turning quick visits into extended stays.

Yanking the door open, she froze. Harry stood there, a beaming smile lighting up his face despite the chill in the air. He wore a puffer jacket and shorts, his casual confidence making her heart skip.

“Hi, Harry,” she greeted, cheeks tinged pink, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or his presence. Without thinking, she leapt into his arms, her sock-clad feet barely touching the doorstep.

“Hi, Bambi,” he chuckled, steadying her as his arms closed around her. “Y’ready to go?”

“Mhm.” She pulled back, slipping on her shoes. “Let me say goodbye to the boys.”

Harry’s gaze shifted behind her, landing on the suitcase by the stairs. A laugh bubbled from him. “Are you planning on moving in?”

Y/N furrowed her brows, following his line of sight. When realization dawned, she flushed. “Oh, that. I, uh... didn’t know what I’d need.”

His grin softened as he stepped closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “S’alright, Bambi,” he murmured. “M’just excited to have you over.”

She smiled, her heart swelling as he leaned in for another kiss. Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed her suitcase and carried it effortlessly to the car.

After she had bid goodbye to her brother’s and promised them some much needed one on one time with them once she came back from Harry’s house, Y/N took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for the next twenty four hours.

. . .

In the car to Harry’s apartment, Y/N sat in the passenger seat with one hand intertwined with Harry’s whilst he drove with his other. The radio played through the car speakers, avoiding complete silence on the journey. The dulcit tones of Marvin Gaye playing throughout.

“Y’ hands are freezing,” Harry said. Y/N instinctively tried to pull away as though her hand being cold was a bad thing but Harry clung tighter, raising both their hands and kissing her knuckles before blowing his warm breath over her hand. “Do you need me to up the heater?”

Y/N shook her head, “No it’s okay, my hands get cold when I’m nervous.” She confessed.

Harry frowned, “Nervous? Are you okay?”

Y/N cringed, “M a little worried about meeting your friends. What if they don’t like me?”

Harry gave her a comforting smile, “Bambi, they’re so excited to meet you. You have nothing to worry about. They’ve met other girls I’ve dated and trust me when I say you’re a walking angel in comparison to them.”

“H-Have you dated a lot of other girls?” Y/N felt awkward bringing it up but her curiosity was getting the better of her. Harry had only mentioned briefly of the other women he had dated. Of course he had dated other women, he was a successful, handsome millionaire with a fashion company. It would be pointless trying to deny it.

Harry thought for a moment like he was trying to think carefully about his response, “I’ll be honest, I used to date a lot of women when I first started making money. I wasn’t very good when I started getting attention from the press. I drank a lot and spent money on buying out nightclubs and bars for the night.”

Y/N was shocked. She tried to picture her Harry being the version of himself he spoke about. “But my company was no where near as successful as it is now so even though I was spending a lot, I was losing a lot too. I nearly went bankrupt at one point which really gave me a kick up the ass. My sister, she’s an accountant back home in England, she came to visit and helped me get my act together.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N didn’t really know what else to say. She couldn’t seem to envision her sweet, soft and wholesome Harry being a party animal and spening nights in bars for days on end.

“Did that put you off?” Y/N immediately shook her head.

“Of course not, we’ve all got things we’re not proud of.” Y/N replied.

Harry smiled, “What about you? Any psycho ex-boyfriends I need to worry about?”

Y/N laughed, “No lucky for you, I don’t think a single guy has ever taken interest in me.”

“I highly doubt that Bambi but you’re right, I am very lucky.” Harry flashed a cheeky grin, turning the wheel around the corner and stopped outside the tallest building she had ever seen that looked as though it was completely made of glass.

Y/N’s was unable to say anything when her eyes gazed up at the towering stack of apartments. “You live in this building?” Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off, her neck permanently craned to look up. She was pretty sure the hjgihest point of the building resided in the clouds.

Harry said nothing, parking his car in the private parking spot. He went to the back to grab her suitcase, Y/N stepping out of the car and walking around to meet him.

“C’mon Bambi,” Harry chuckled at her awe-struck expression.

They walked hand in hand through the lobby which looked as glamorous as you’d expect. Harry gave a nod to the security at the door as they went past and headed towards the elevator. Y/N’s eyes widened when his finger pressed the button for the top floor.

The doors to the elevator opened and Y/N thought she might actually pass out.

She stepped into Harry’s penthouse, her breath catching as her gaze swept over the space. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, all the people and cars down below looked like ants. The open layout was both elegant and inviting, with warm ambient lighting casting a golden glow over the neutral-toned furniture and rich wooden floors.

“Wow,” she whispered, taking a hesitant step further inside. The plush cream sofa, the sleek coffee table stacked with books, and the faint scent of vanilla in the air all felt so Harry—effortlessly stylish and welcoming.

Harry chuckled behind her, setting her suitcase by the door. “You like it?”

“Like it?” she breathed, turning to face him with wide eyes. “Harry, this is... incredible.”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “M’glad you think so. Wanted it to feel comfy, y’know? Somewhere I could actually relax.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes drifting back to the view. “Sometimes I forget how rich you are.”

Harry chuckles from behind her, “I’m actually very glad to hear that.”

She walked over to the windows, pressing her hands gently against the glass as she looked out at the city sprawling beneath them. For a moment, it felt like they were floating above it all, separate from the noise and chaos of the world below.

Harry joined her, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “S’better with you here,” he murmured, his voice soft.

Y/N��s heart thudded in her chest as she leant into him. Harry kissed her shoulder, turning her round to face him. He smiled when her eyes met his, “We have some time before we need to get ready, do you want to go unpack?”

“Oh of course, am I sleeping on the couch?” Harry furrowed his brows before bursting out laughing, water almost fell from his eyes. Y/N frowned, confused at his reaction.

“You don’t want to sleep in my room Bambi? With me?” Y/N’s cheek scorched red but Harry just continued to laugh, “I mean I’m happy to sleep on the couch and let you sleep in my room if that’s what would make you comfortable.”

“No, it’s okay! I was just messing around,” She was all flustered. The idea of sleeping in Harry’s bed with him hadn’t crossed her mind like it maybe should have.

“Are you sure? Y’ know I wouldn’t do anything to make you uncomfortable.” Y/N’s shoulders sunk at his sincere concern, she stood on her toes and kissed his lips. This time it was his turn to be surprised since it was rare for her to be the first to initiate a kiss between them.

“I know,” She smiled, “I want to sleep in your room… with you.”

Harry smiled, “Good. Let me give you a tour first.”

Harry led Y/N back toward the kitchen, still holding her hand as they strolled through the open-concept living area. “First stop: the kitchen,” he said, motioning grandly as they stepped into the sleek, modern space.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she took in the marble countertops, state-of-the-art appliances, and a large island that looked like it had been plucked from a home design magazine. A trio of pendant lights hung above, casting a warm glow over the pristine surfaces.

“Wow,” she breathed, running her fingers along the smooth countertop. “This is amazing. Do you even use it?”

Harry grinned, leaning casually against the island. “I use it for takeout. Does that count?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how anyone could resist cooking in here.”

“I can resist pretty easily, love,” he said with a smirk. “But if you ever fancy cooking together, I’m happy to assist. I’m great at stirring things and, uh… taste-testing.”

“Of course you are, no wonder you own a restaurant.” Y/N teased, giving him a playful nudge.

Harry chuckled, then nodded toward a door off to the side. “Alright, next stop: my office.”

He guided her through the door and into a smaller, cosier room that contrasted with the open, airy feel of the rest of the penthouse. The office was lined with dark wood shelves filled with books, a few framed photos, and scattered trinkets. A large desk sat in front of another set of floor-to-ceiling windows, the view just as stunning as the one in the living room.

“This is where I get most of my work done,” he said, walking over to the desk and leaning on it. “Or where I try to, anyway. Sometimes I just sit here and stare out at the city.”

Y/N wandered over to the shelves, her fingers lightly brushing the spines of the books. “It’s so… you,” she said softly, glancing at the little details—a framed photo of him with his family, a guitar pick sitting on a stack of papers, and a candle that smelled faintly of cedar.

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean messy?”

“No,” she said, laughing. “I mean it’s thoughtful. Personal.”

Harry’s smile softened, and he reached out to take her hand again. “Alright, enough of the boring office. Time to show you the best room in the house.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as he led her back down the hallway to his bedroom. When he pushed open the door, her breath hitched.

The bedroom was even more stunning than she’d imagined. The centerpiece was a massive bed with crisp white linens that looked impossibly soft, surrounded by sleek, minimal furniture. The far wall was made entirely of glass, offering an unobstructed view of the glittering city below. Heavy curtains were drawn to the sides, framing the view like a painting.

Harry watched her take it all in, a small smile tugging at his lips. “So? What do you think?”

“It’s… incredible,” Y/N whispered, stepping into the room. She walked over to the windows, pressing her hands against the glass as she gazed out at the city. “I don’t think I’d ever sleep. I’d just stay up staring at this view.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Harry said, coming up behind her and resting his hands gently on her shoulders, “the bed is comfortable enough to make you forget about the view.”

She turned to look at him, her cheeks warming. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Harry grinned, his dimples on full display. “Challenge accepted, Bambi.”

He took her hand and led her to the bed, sitting down beside her. The mattress really did feel like a cloud as she sank into it.

“I was serious earlier,” Harry said, his tone softer now. “You can sleep wherever you want—the bed, the couch, the office chair if you’re feeling adventurous. I just want you to be comfortable.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. “I already told you, Harry. I want to sleep here. With you.”

His eyes lit up at her words, and he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Good. Because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that too.”

Harry stood up, “I’ll leave you to unpack. I’ve just go to make a few calls but there’s an ensuite bathroom you can use to freshen up.”

After Harry brought her suitcase to the bedroom, he left her to unpack. Y/N unzipped it and pulled out her washbag, heading into the ensuite bathroom.

The bathroom was stunning—a walk-in shower with dark tiles and jets built into the walls. She stepped to the sink, admiring the clean lines of the vanity, and placed her washbag carefully on the counter. She couldn’t help but smile when she noticed all of Harry’s skincare neatly organized in a cute little spinning container—it was such a contrast to her own chaotic setup. But then her eyes landed on the glass by the sink, where his toothbrush rested.

Beside it was a pink toothbrush.

Her heart softened at the sight, a warm flutter spreading through her chest. There was something about that simple detail that made her feel all warm and gooey inside. She’d never believed she would find someone she’d want to spend so much time with but here she was staying the night with Harry and about to meet his friends.

Y/N walked into the living room, where Harry was already sitting on the couch with his laptop perched on her lap. He smiled when he saw her, and then his gaze fell to the object she was holding. “Is that Monopoly?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Y/N nodded, her grin widening. “Yeah, it’s the original version. I asked my brothers if I could bring it with me since we've had this set forever, and they would absolutely murder me if I lost any pieces. We have to be able to play it at Christmas."

The corner of Harry’s lips quirked in amusement. “Hmm, may I ask why you decided to bring Monopoly with you today?”

Y/N paused, clearly puzzled. “Isn’t that what people do at sleepovers? Play games?”

Harry’s grin spread wider. As she stepped closer, he reached out, pulling her toward him. She ended up collapsing onto his chest with a soft laugh.

“Oh, Bambi,” he murmured, showering her face with quick kisses. His lips tickled her skin, making her giggle uncontrollably. “You’re the most precious girl I’ve ever known, you know that?”

She smiled up at him, her cheeks flushed. “Does that mean you want to play?”

Harry gave a dramatic sigh, still grinning. “Of course! Are you kidding me? I love this game.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her voice playful. “Well, be prepared. I’m not one to brag, but I’m pretty good at it.”

His eyes lit up with challenge. “Oh, Bambi’s competitive, I see.”

A spark flickered in her eyes as she leaned in slightly, “Just a little.”

. . .

Harry loved discovering the many layers of his Bambi. To the outside world, she was shy and quiet, but to him, she was a multi-faceted woman, full of surprises he was peeling back one by one. Yet this afternoon might have revealed his favorite side of her yet.

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with excitement and mischief as she declared her victory in Monopoly—long before the game had officially ended. Harry had debated whether to let her win, as any gentleman might, but it turned out he didn’t need to. She was fiercely competitive and had wiped the floor with him in just thirty minutes.

If time had allowed, Harry would’ve played another round or concocted a new game just to watch her face light up with that same playful energy. The afternoon spent with her, laughing over a simple board game, had him envisioning Christmas mornings and holiday traditions for years to come. It was silly, perhaps, to think so far ahead so early in their relationship, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t picture a future without Bambi in it.

Still, as the game wrapped up, he could see her nerves creep back in. The mention of preparing to meet his friends made her retreat into herself, her earlier exuberance melting into quiet apprehension. Despite his reassurances, Harry knew she’d wrestle with her anxiety until the dinner was behind them.

His friends, on the other hand, were eager to meet her. Their group chat had been buzzing with excitement about “the girl who finally tied him down.” Since Harry’s family was back in England, his friends were the closest thing he had to family in LA, making their opinions matter. But he had no doubt they’d love her.

In the living room, Harry waited for Y/N to finish getting ready, dressed in his tailored dark suit with a relaxed fit. The loose white tank underneath, with its wide scoop neckline, subtly revealed his tattoos, and the Pleasing logo stitched at the hem added a personal touch. Cream-colored loafers and white socks completed the look, his short curls neatly styled to keep them from obscuring his face.

The click of the bedroom door snapped him from his thoughts. He rose from the sofa, as alert as a puppy hearing its owner return. When Y/N stepped out, the oxygen seemed to leave the room entirely.

Her dress was light pink, soft and flowing, with thin spaghetti straps and a V-shaped neckline that showcased her décolletage. The slightly sheer fabric hinted at her elegant curves, while the asymmetrical hemline added a whimsical touch. Her hair was slicked back into a high ponytail, and her makeup was pink-toned and dewy, enhancing her natural glow. She paired the dress with strappy silver heels and a small, dainty bag dangling from her shoulder.

Her hand clung to her opposite arm, feeling vulnerable as she stood before him. Harry felt his breath hitch, his lips parting as he tried to absorb how breathtaking she looked.

“Bambi…” he managed, his voice low and reverent.

Her cheeks flushed. “Is it too much?” she asked softly.

Harry stepped closer, taking her hands in his and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You look beautiful. I don’t even have the words to tell you how incredible you are.”

She ducked her head, shy like the deer he affectionately nicknamed her after. “Thank you. You look very handsome, too,” she said with a smile.

“Thank you, baby,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on her like she was the only thing in the world.

“Do you like my dress?” she asked, her voice tentative.

Harry’s hands slid to her waist, feeling the soft fabric and the gentle curve of her silhouette. “I love it.”

“I made it,” she admitted, her blush deepening.

His brows lifted in surprise. “You did?”

She nodded, and Harry was awestruck. He’d seen her sketches before—ones she had reluctantly shared after he begged—but seeing her creations come to life was something else entirely.

Harry glanced at his watch, sighing reluctantly. “We should probably get going, but first…” He pulled out his phone, aiming it at the two of them. Y/N laughed, trying to push the camera away, but eventually relented, leaning in to kiss his cheek just as he snapped the photo. His grin widened, his eyes crinkling with joy.

Taking her hand, he asked, “Do you need a jacket?” His gaze flicked to her bare arms.

“I’ll be okay, as long as the bar has heating,” she replied with a small laugh.

Harry chuckled but grabbed a jacket on their way out anyway. He knew her well enough to anticipate the moment she’d get cold but wouldn’t say a word about it.

The drive to the bar felt like it took forever, thanks to the heavy city traffic. Harry’s hand remained warm on her thigh, and she wrapped her arm around his, seeking comfort from his touch. She chewed on her bottom lip, a nervous habit she couldn’t seem to stop.

“A little,” she confessed, glancing over at him. “I just want them to like me. I’ve never had to introduce myself to anyone’s friends before... I don’t want to mess up.”

“You’ll be fine, Bambi,” Harry reassured her, his voice calm as always. He’d said it so many times already, and she knew he’d say it dozens more if she needed to hear it. “Just be yourself. That’s all you need to be.”

Y/N wouldn’t say it out loud, but the age difference between her and Harry’s friends had been weighing on her mind all evening. The nine-year gap between her and Harry had never been an issue for them—it felt inconsequential when they were together. But his friends might see it differently.

What if they thought she was too young, too inexperienced, too… immature for someone like him? Worse, what if they assumed she was with him for his success, for the money he worked so hard to earn? The mere thought made her stomach twist. She didn’t want to be judged on circumstances she couldn’t change or assumptions she couldn’t dispel.

Harry’s friends meant a lot to him, and their approval—or lack of it—would sting far more than she cared to admit.

She nodded anyway, letting out a slow breath and turning her gaze to the window. The city lights blurred outside, their glow reflecting in her eyes. Even though his words helped calm her, she still couldn’t shake the nerves.

When they pulled up to the bar, the fancy building loomed in front of them. A valet was already waiting, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how Harry always seemed to have the luxury treatment everywhere they went. It was a reminder of how different her world was from his, but she tried not to dwell on it.

As Harry stepped out of the car, Y/N noticed the photographers waiting outside. It wasn’t a surprise, but it still made her stomach tighten. Harry wasn’t a mega-celebrity, but he was well-known enough in the business world that the occasional paparazzi was inevitable.

Harry opened the door for her, his hand gently resting on her hip as he helped her out. His arm wrapped around her, pulling her close. He kissed the top of her head, and it felt like both a reassurance for her and a subtle message to the photographers.

The bar was dimly lit and sophisticated with shiny tables and chairs with red upholstery. Live jazz music played as people chatted over glasses of wine that probably cost more than Y/N’s monthly wages had to offer. “Do you own this bar?” Y/N asked, clinging a little bit tighter to Harry’s hand.

Harry chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Not this one,” he said, guiding Y/N toward a booth at the back of the bar. As they approached, the laughter of a group already seated at the table reached her ears. The sound was warm, familiar, like a group of people who had known each other for years.

A man with long brunette hair had his arm around a woman with similar dark hair that cascaded in waves down her shoulders. The two of them were laughing, their faces lit up in shared joy, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as they neared the group.

Before she could even take a deep breath, one of the men spotted them walking over. He had a rugged beard, and he stood up with a grin, his drink in hand.

“Harry!” he called out, extending his hand.

Harry gave him a knowing grin and shook his hand firmly, his other arm still wrapped around Y/N. “Mate,” he greeted warmly, pulling him into a quick hug.

Y/N watched the exchange, trying to hide the anxious flutter in her stomach. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she knew this was an important moment for her. She hadn’t met many of Harry’s close friends yet, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be a defining moment—how they reacted to her, how she’d fit in with this group that meant so much to him.

The man with the beard turned to Y/N, his eyes flickering with curiosity, and then he offered her a smile. “You must be Y/N,” he said, his tone warm and welcoming. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

Y/N smiled, a little relieved at the friendly tone in his voice. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you too,” she replied, her nerves still there but starting to ease. “I’ve heard so much about you guys.”

Harry stood beside her, his hand still resting at the small of her back, offering her silent support as she navigated this new territory.

The man with the beard grinned as he stepped back, giving Y/N a moment to breathe. "This is Mitch," Harry said, gesturing to the man with long brunette hair who was seated next to a woman with equally dark hair. Mitch gave her a warm, easy smile, his arm casually wrapped around Sarah’s shoulders.

"It’s great to meet you, Y/N," Mitch said, his voice easy and friendly. "Harry’s told us all about you."

Y/N’s nerves eased a little more as Mitch’s friendly demeanor helped her feel at home. "I hope it’s all good things," she said, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

"Oh, definitely," Mitch replied, nudging Harry with his elbow and giving him a teasing grin.

Sarah, Mitch’s girlfriend, stood up from the booth with a bright smile, her waves of dark hair catching the light. She reached out to shake Y/N’s hand, her voice warm and welcoming. “Hi! I’m Sarah. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, but Sarah’s friendly tone immediately put her at ease. “Nice to meet you too,” she replied with a smile, trying to match Sarah’s warmth. "Harry's mentioned you guys a lot."

“Good things, I hope,” Sarah teased, winking as she sat back down beside Mitch.

Before Y/N could respond, a deep voice from the other side of the booth spoke up. “You must be Y/N,” a man with a thick beard said, “I’m Jamie.”

“It’s good to meet you,” Y/N smiled.

Jamie gave her a smile that seemed to take up half his face, his eyes twinkling with humor. "Harry’s been keeping us in the loop." He offered her a firm handshake, his grip warm. “It’s about time we met the girl who finally has him whipped.”

Finally, a woman sitting across from Jamie stood up, her presence immediately commanding attention. Alessia was striking—her short hair framed her face with confidence, and her posture was strong. She offered Y/N a small, warm smile. "I’m Alessia," she said, extending a hand. "It’s so good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Harry."

"Nice to meet you too," Y/N said, shaking her hand with a smile. There was something calming about Alessia’s assuredness that made Y/N feel at ease, even though she was a little more reserved than the others.

As Alessia returned to her seat, Harry’s hand still rested on Y/N’s back, a silent comfort in the midst of the introductions, as they sat in the booth next to Sarah and Mitch. His friends were exactly as he’d described—kind, welcoming, and playful. They were a perfect match for Harry and that bought a sense of relief to her.

“Can I get you a drink?” Harry murmured to Y/N, his hand gently brushing against hers as he leaned in.

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip. She had never really drunk alcohol before—not because she didn’t want to, but simply because she never really went out drinking. Whenever she was out with her brothers, she always stuck to something safe like Coke or Sprite. She felt a little embarrassed to admit that she wasn’t sure what to order.

“Um…” She fumbled for words, feeling self-conscious. "I...I don't really know what to drink."

Harry’s smile softened, as if he understood right away. “Would you like me to pick something for you?”

Y/N felt a wave of relief wash over her. He wasn’t making her feel stupid. "Yes, please," she said gratefully, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

With a nod, Harry turned and motioned for the guys to follow him toward the bar. As they walked off, Y/N felt her nerves kick in again. She was left standing with Sarah and Alessia, the two women who already seemed so at ease with each other and the group.

Y/N suddenly felt a little out of her element. She wasn’t used to hanging out with other women in this kind of setting. With her brothers, everything was easy and casual, but this... this felt different. She was afraid that her awkwardness would be obvious, so she searched for something to say, anything to break the silence.

It didn’t take long for Sarah to sense her discomfort. She leaned forward with a welcoming smile. “Where’s your dress from? It’s gorgeous,” she asked, her voice light and friendly.

Y/N's face softened at the compliment, and she felt more at ease. “Oh, um, I actually made it,” she said, a little shy but proud. "I love fashion, so I’ve been sketching designs for a while."

Sarah’s eyes widened, impressed. “Wait, you made it? That’s amazing!” She looked at Y/N with genuine admiration. “It looks beautiful on you. I honestly thought it was something you bought from a high-end store.”

Y/N laughed softly, feeling a bit shy but happy with the compliment. “Thanks, that means a lot. I’ve kept a lot of my sketches in an old notebook, but I’ve always wanted to show them to someone.”

“I would love to see them sometime,” Sarah said enthusiastically. “I’m obsessed with fashion too. Maybe we can swap ideas sometime.”

Alessia, who had been listening with a smile, chimed in. “You’re really talented. I’m sure Harry’s lucky to have someone so creative around especially with his company.”

“Do you guys work in fashion too?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious about the two women she’d just met.

“Just Harry, I’m afraid,” Sarah replied with a playful smile. “We all went to art school, though. Mitch and I own an art gallery together, and Jamie runs a theatre company.”

“And I design album art for artists,” Alessia added, her voice warm and casual.

Y/N’s eyes widened in genuine awe. “Wow. That’s so impressive. Is that how you all met? Through art school?”

“Yep, we were kind of the outcasts of our year group,” Sarah said with a chuckle, “so we stuck together. And look where we are now.”

Y/N smiled, feeling the closeness between the group. “That’s so cool. And... were you and Mitch together back then?”

“Oh no,” Alessia laughed, shaking her head. “Sarah and Mitch didn’t get together until after art school. It was excruciating to witness—those two pining over each other for four years and never doing anything about it.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at Alessia’s blunt description. “That sounds like a movie.”

“It kind of was,” Sarah said, laughing with her. “But it worked out in the end.”

“I bet Harry told you about us,” Alessia continued, leaning in a bit. “He told us he was bringing you tonight, and we were all nervous, actually.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows, surprised. “Really? I was nervous too.”

“Are you kidding? After Harry’s last ‘girlfriend,’” Sarah said with a playful eye-roll, “we thought we’d be meeting some bitchy gold-digger who’d be all over him, trying to separate him from us. But then we met you, and it was like, thank God—you’re nothing like that. Honestly, we’re so relieved.”

“Harry talks about you non-stop,” Alessia added with a teasing grin. “For the last month and a half, it’s been ‘Y/N this, Y/N that,’ in our group chat. It’s kind of sweet, honestly.”

“Really?” Y/N blinked, her face softening with surprise.

Sarah smiled warmly. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s nice to hear. He deserves someone who treats him right, you know? Especially after everything he’s done for all of us.”

Alessia nodded, her expression turning a little more serious. “He got me out of some serious debt. I was on the brink of losing everything, close to being homeless... but Harry stepped in. He rented me a place, helped me get back on my feet, and even called in a favor that landed me my first real job. He’s the most caring person I know.”

Y/N’s heart warmed at Alessia’s words. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard someone speak so highly of Harry, but it never failed to move her. Hearing it from his friends, people who had seen him at his best and worst, made her realise just how deeply Harry cared about the people in his life—and just how lucky she was to be part of it.

Soon Harry returned with the boys, sliding into the seat next to her. He placed a drink in front of her, “I got you an Aperol Spritz but if you don’t like it I can get you something else.” He told her.

“Thank you,” She beamed up at him and took a sip of her drink. It was light and bubbly with a slight bitter yet citrusy taste. The more she drank, the more she enjoyed the taste of it.

Harry continued conversing with his friends, and Y/N found herself enjoying the easy banter between them. It was nice to see this side of him—relaxed, almost boyish, and playful. The way his friends teased each other with such familiarity made her smile, and it felt like she was catching a glimpse of Harry’s world before she’d come into it.

She liked his friends. All of them were warm and welcoming, each with their own distinct personalities, but there was a genuine closeness that she could see. They kept her in the loop, filling in the gaps on things she might not have fully understood—like an inside joke or a shared memory—until she felt like she was beginning to grasp the dynamics between them.

Sarah and Alessia were especially attentive, constantly asking her questions and trying to learn everything about her. Y/N appreciated their curiosity and kindness. They didn’t make her feel like an outsider, instead showing genuine interest in her life and her background.

Every so often, Y/N would catch Harry looking down at her. He’d check in on her, his gaze soft, making sure she was okay and not feeling overwhelmed. His protective instincts were clear, and she was grateful for it. He didn’t hover, but whenever he could, he’d quietly reassure her with a small smile or a squeeze of her hand under the table.

Despite the lively atmosphere, Y/N felt like she wasn’t just another guest at the table—she was part of the conversation, part of the group. And it was easy to relax into that sense of belonging as the night wore on. Even though she was still a little out of her comfort zone, she couldn’t help but feel more at ease with every passing minute, especially with Harry so nearby.

She laughed at something Sarah had said, a light, genuine sound that felt more natural than she expected. The whole night had been surprisingly fun, and for once, she was enjoying being part of something so lively, instead of shrinking back.

“So Y/N, what’s Harry like as a boyfriend?” Jamie asked, causing Y/N to freeze in her seat.

Harry’s hand stilled from where it had been drawing invisible circles on her knee. The table seemed to pause, sensing the awkwardness in the air.

“That bad?” Jamie chuckled, trying to lighten the moment.

Y/N’s mind scrambled for the right words. She wasn’t sure how to describe their relationship—things were still new, and they had never really put a label on it beyond "dating." Her mouth felt dry as she fumbled for a response.

“U-um, we’re not— I don’t think—” Y/N stumbled, her face flushing. She didn’t know how to put it into words, not wanting to make things awkward or overthink it.

Before she could continue, Sarah quickly chimed in with a grin, “A better boyfriend than you.”

The entire table burst out laughing, and the tension in the air seemed to lift immediately. Jamie threw his hands up in mock defeat, shaking his head with a smirk.

“Alright, alright. I’ll take the loss. But I’m definitely curious now,” he said, leaning forward. “What makes Harry such a great boyfriend, then?”

Y/N glanced at Harry, meeting his eyes, which were filled with amusement but also a warmth that made her heart skip. "Yeah, Bambi, what am I like as a boyfriend?"

Her lips parted at the question. It was the first time he had referred to their relationship so openly, and the realisation hit her in a way that made her smile nervously.

“Well,” Y/N began, her voice softening as she relaxed, “he’s incredibly thoughtful. He’s always checking in on me, making sure I’m alright, and—he actually listens. He’s not the kind of guy who brushes off what I say or rushes through things. He’s really present.”

Harry’s hand slid over to hers under the table, his fingers intertwining with hers in a quiet show of support. He squeezed her hand gently, his gaze tender, saying everything without needing words.

“And he’s fun,” Y/N added with a light laugh, her nervousness easing. “He doesn’t take himself too seriously, which is honestly one of my favorite things about him.”

Harry’s smile deepened at her words, and there was something in the way he looked at her—like he was asking her a question without saying it aloud. “I love it… Being his girlfriend.” Y/N blushed but Harry’s face widened into a grin, one of his dimples appearing on his cheek.

The group exchanged knowing glances, clearly enjoying the moment. Alessia raised her glass, her eyes twinkling.

“To Y/N, we wish you all the luck in the world for having to put up with us.” she said, toasting her with a wink.

Everyone joined in, lifting their glasses, and Y/N felt her heart swell at the way Harry’s friends rallied around them.

. . .

Y/N hadn’t noticed how much Harry had had to drink until his head rested on her shoulder, in the middle of her conversing some more with Sarah and Alessia, “Think I want to go home Bambi,” He murmured. Y/N pushed his droopy curls back and saw the hazy look in his eye, a lazy smile on his lip, “So pretty,” His lips puckered as he spoke.

Y/N giggled, “How are we meant to get home silly, you drove us here.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry huffed, “I did didn’t I?”

Sarah chuckled, “We can drop you guys home on the way back to our place. We’ll just tell the valet to keep hold of his car. He can pick it up tomorrow as punishment.”

Y/N laughed softly, nodding her thanks to Sarah. "That sounds like a good plan," she said, looking down at Harry, whose cheek was now squished adorably against her shoulder. He was humming a tune she couldn’t quite place, the sound low and soothing despite his obvious tipsiness.

Harry’s hand found hers under the table, his fingers clumsily lacing through hers. “Y’ make me the happiest Bambi. ‘M so happy y’ m’ girlfriend.” he mumbled, his words slightly slurred but unmistakably earnest.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, her heart skipping a beat. “That’s a lot of happy,”

“It is isn’t it?” Harry laughs.

Sarah stood up, grabbing her bag. “Alright, let’s get you two lovebirds home.”

Y/N helped him to his feet. He wobbled slightly, leaning heavily against her. “You’re my favorite person ever, you know that?” he said as they made their way to the exit, his voice loud enough to draw a few amused glances from nearby tables.

“I think I’m starting to get the idea,” Y/N replied, her tone affectionate as she wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him.

“I’m hungry,” he announced loudly. “Can we get chips? Or pizza?”

“Let’s get you home first, superstar,” Mitch said, clapping him on the back and making Harry stumble slightly into Y/N.

“You’re my hero,” Harry murmured dramatically as they shuffled toward the car, his arm draped over her shoulder. “You saved me, Bambi. You’re the best.”

“You’re going to think otherwise when you see how many embarrassing photos Sarah and Alessia probably took tonight,” Y/N quipped, her laughter blending with the others’ as they piled into the car.

“Embarrassing?” Harry blinked at her, his expression mock-serious. “Never. I look good in all lighting.”

Y/N shook her head, letting out a laugh as Harry’s head found her shoulder once more. “We’ll see about that in the morning,” she said, her voice fond.

Harry let out a contented sigh. “You smell so nice,” he murmured sleepily.

Y/N giggled, smoothing her hand over his curls. “You’re ridiculous.”

As the car pulled away from the bar, Harry mumbled something about her being “too good for him” before trailing off into a soft snore. Y/N looked down at him, her heart swelling. Even in his drunken, clumsy state, he had a way of making her feel like the most important person in the world.

Once Sarah and Mitch dropped them off right at Harry’s front door, Y/N was left with the daunting task of lugging Harry to his room. He wasn’t exactly helping, his body swaying dramatically as she tried to steady him.

“Harry, you’re not making this easy,” she huffed, half-laughing as he stumbled. By some miracle, she managed to guide him to the bed, where he flopped down—half on the mattress, half on the floor.

“Mission accomplished,” she muttered under her breath, crouching down to untie his laces. But just as she reached for his shoe, he playfully kicked his foot away, his lips curling into a cheeky grin.

“C’mere, Bambi,” he murmured, his voice low and a little slurred.

Y/N stood, brushing off her knees, only to find herself being tugged down onto the bed when he grabbed her wrist. She landed on top of him with a surprised gasp, her hands braced against his chest.

“Harry!” she exclaimed softly, but he didn’t say anything, just looked up at her with those green eyes, hazy but full of something she couldn’t quite describe.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world around them seemed to blur as they gazed at each other, an unspoken connection passing between them. Harry reached up, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The faint smell of alcohol lingered on his breath, but his touch was steady, his expression achingly tender.

“Mean it,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “You make me the happiest.”

Y/N’s heart twisted at the sincerity in his words, her breath catching in her throat. Her lips curved into a soft smile as she cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing against his skin. “You make me the happiest too, Harry.”

Taglist~

ravenclawmarvel noididnotsignupforthis comicalivy @boomitsallie1 @hazzarules @squirreljoe @c3lline0 @harry2121 @lizsogolden @its-his-dimples @tchalametishot @youngpastafanmug @awritingtree @reidsblessing @idontcareforausernamesblog @mads3502 @cherrys4suckers @lomlolivia @tenaciousperfectionunknown malf-azx @angeldavis777 fruity-harry he6rtshaker vikiii07 hannah9921 pepperonipastas sideboobrry11 soteric-princess madelinelcl ciriceimpera angelbunny222 dutchtheatrelore tchlamqtsgf hawkinsavclub1983 ironstudentlady tpwk-harry-styles angywritesstuff hstbsl06

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bluerosefox · 9 months ago

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Bittersweet and Sweetheart Exes

12 am brain rot

Can...

Can I get an AU where Talia, Danny and Bruce dated each other and later break up? Maybe have them meet when Bruce is in Batman training years and its a whirlwind romance between the three. Like we know how Bruce and Talia are together as exes (both a little toxic to each other, a love hate kinda thing and yet still have something) BUT Danny is the ex they always are sweet for, like he is the one they love flirting with when they see him (Talia more so regardless where and when, Bruce can only openly flirt as Bruce/Brucie, he has to be sneaky when Batman)

I want Talia and Bruce both trying to one up each other for Danny's attention. They know he's Phantom btw, and his human side as well. They however don't know he's also the Ghost King (in training at the time) Danny keeps forgetting to mention it.

Oh, oh. Let's have the Batfam find out due to a cult summoning, like someone in the League is trying to usurp Talia's rule (I want LOA leader Talia) and Damian is taken by them (which means Talia, Bruce, and the Batfam are coming to save him) and they try summoning the Ghost King to try to offer Damian as a sacrifice for power in order to take over the League.

Both Bruce and Talia weren't expecting to see their ex appear in a swirl of stars, aurora lights, and galaxies with a crown to match, a cape that looked like it had a cosmos swirling, and a Kingly outfit though.

(Or if we wanna make it extra funny, why not have them both had dated Danny at different times, and didn't know they are all exes to each other until Danny goes "DANNY!" "Talia? Bruce? What are you both doing here?" "Wait you know him/her? How?" "....Yes? And well...I dated them...")

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rinachains · 2 months ago

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true form!sukuna x gn!reader; mentions of cannibalism; sukuna deals with emotions (kind of); biting as a love language

The king of curses, seated on the soft upholstery of his bed with you facing him in his lap, ogling one of his bare arms as you trace the defined, bulging muscles with your fingertips, would surely paint an obscure picture to any intruder.

You’re so small underneath him, his cursed energy draped over you like a veil – shielding and trapping you - and he could crush you so easily, in a matter of a few seconds, and nothing and no one could stop him - except for you. And you don’t even have to do anything. You’re just sitting there, sharing each other’s warmth, while he observes you, one pair of his arms holding your sides, the other crossed over his chest. That’s all it takes.

Sukuna isn’t a whirlwind of emotions, he’s simple and aware of what feelings reside in him; he’s in control of himself. Not a victim of weak, futile desires. Not like other humans – that’s what makes him superior, a king.

So he knows how he feels about you; but not knowing what to think about it and what to do with it, he decides to listen to what his body and his mind are telling him, and he even finds himself listening to that irregular beat hidden behind the resilient muscles on the left side of his chest, one that he believed he’d never hear.

He once mistook the pit in his stomach for mere hunger, so he ate and he ate, but the hunger didn’t vanish, he was never fully satisfied, so he kept on eating and eating, tearing into flesh after flesh. Assuming that he was cursed with an unfulfilling life – a repetitive routine of killing and eating presumptuous humans who dared to cross him, providing little to no entertainment - he figured that nothing would change and that he would continue to go on with this life.

And then you came along, and he felt hunger overtake him. However, it was different from simple hunger, it wasn’t just a growl in his stomach – there’s another spot inside of him that he didn't know existed until he met you. And that spot is reserved for you and you alone. No one else can fill it.

His mouth itched, his fangs ached, and he wanted – still wants - to devour you, but not in pieces, but all of you. Your whole, entire self.

"Are you hungry?" you break the comfortable silence, gaze still lingering on his arm, as you realize that this would usually be the time for him to eat his first meal.

"No."

"No?" Surprise drips from your voice at his answer, one of your brows lifting in disbelief.

"My hunger is satisfied for the moment. I’ll eat later."

That makes you peer up at him for a few seconds, an indecipherable expression, before returning your attention to his arm.

“Hmh, alright.”

Another few beats of silence pass, and then, suddenly, your fingers stop dancing along his tattooed skin, replaced by your hot mouth as it latches onto him.

Sukuna makes no noise at first, the muscles in his face barely moving as if he anticipated your attack, but you can feel his fingers twitch and then tighten around your sides, his strong arms visibly flexing.

A low chuckle emanates from him at your attempt to break his thick skin, your eyes momentarily flickering up to his face at the guttural sound that shakes your body.

You’ve become shameless, he notices, unrestrained craving swirling in your eyes that is usually found in his own when he’s around you.

His tongue drags along the sharp tips of his canines, glinting at you. The image of a menacing predator, dangerous and meant to frighten and devour you, yet you find yourself melting willingly into his arms, the claws digging into you granting you security.

To him, your bites are akin to tickles, like nips that a cat gives its owner, and his first instinct is to laugh. He doesn’t, but the urge remains.

Instead, Sukuna’s face splits into a wide grin, “And what exactly are you trying to do?”

All four of his piercing eyes are pinning you in place as he stares down his nose. Sukuna isn’t sure what to focus on, so he takes his time to memorize every single feature of your face, from the curve of your cupid's bow to the soft flutter of your eyelashes casting shadows across your cherubic cheeks.

“What do you think it looks like?” you grumble, your voice muffled by your mouth still pressed against the resistant limb, “I’m trying to bite you the way you like to bite me, Sukuna.”

He used to demand that you call him by his proper title, yet he finds that he doesn’t mind the lack of title slipping from your lips as much as he thought he would; it’s second nature to you, rolling off your tongue so effortlessly, and it tastes like nectar from the sweetest flower in his mouth.

“You’re trying so hard, aren’t you?”

You huff, “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. I respect your effort. It’s amusing – but it’s also welcoming.”

There’s a raw sincerity behind his words that you weren’t prepared for, causing you to put some distance between your mouth and his arm.

Sukuna’s waiting, patient and with mild curiosity.

A wild flame of affection ignites in his chest as he watches how hard you, a mere human, try to put some damage on him, the desire to claim lurking behind every caress of your teeth.

Want swims across his normally indifferent face, something other than vain lust, nothing perverse or violent, but something that goes even deeper, more vulnerable. It takes root in his chest, threatening to burst forth and fall into your waiting hands, ready to catch it.

“Are you proud of yourself? Are you giving it your all?” Sukuna taunts, his controlled voice slightly strained as he pokes you in the face, making your nose scrunch up.

He sees how you almost flinch, all four of his eyes tracking your every move attentively, but you try to keep a nonchalant demeanor, acting unaffected, and not pulling away. You’re not scared – you’re merely sensitive to his touch, Sukuna notes.

He levels you with a smirk; as if you’re an amusing little thing, his personal jester.

“Don’t hold back,” he warns you, maroon eyes burning into you, heavy with intent. So you don’t.

Your soul enters Sukuna before your teeth do, and he can't - doesn't want to - stop it.

There’s noise, emerging from the back of his throat.

A wave of ecstasy washes over his body as you finally manage to draw blood, lapping at the small wound with your tongue, the sting sending goosebumps across his skin and briefly blurring his vision.

You hold him in the palms of your hands without realizing it, your teeth - your pitiful, useless fangs - unintentionally releasing venom that spreads through his guts, paralyzing him against your electrifying touch.

Sukuna’s immune to poison – he himself is a lethal poison - but not to your venom; for it is not filled with poison, but with something else, something he can’t quite identify, having never experienced it before.

One of his hands tangles in your hair, holding your head in place, urging you to continue on with your gentle assault.

“C’mon, try harder. You can do better than that.”

You could tear him apart for all he cares, and he’d let you. Chip away at the flesh that protects his bones and swallow his cursed energy until it merges with your own. Become one.

Sukuna wouldn’t fight back, wouldn’t protect the gaping wounds you have inflicted upon him, and to him that is the strongest sign of devotion he could present you with. And you’d understand.

“Are you even feeling anything?” you ask him as you withdraw from his now marked arm, forehead creased and lips pursed.

Removing his arms from his chest, he brings one of his hands up to cup the underside of your jaw, the gesture oddly tender. His thumb glides along the plush, pillowy flesh of your lower lip that is stained with blood – his blood – and he relishes how the single digit covers your lip completely, and how the lids over your eyes grow droopy, that particular look sending a tingle down his body.

“I’m feeling everything.”

#idk i just want to bite sukuna so i wrote this #is this fluff chat? i can't tell bc it is to me but some people might disagree :D #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #cw biting

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

I read the Derek and Spencer fainting bit and now I want to complete it with Hotch :)))

If that’s alright of course…

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Aaron knows you harbour more affection for him than anyone else on the team, which is a true compliment to him, as you adore Spencer. He can never tell if you're friendly or loving, if you want some or all or nothing, the line between you blurred.

When Morgan and Garcia first began their flirtatious friendship, Aaron thought they were seeing each other on the sly for a whole fortnight. He's a profiler, but he doesn't know everything.

He does, however, know that something is wrong with you today. Hand held up over your eyes, you squint out over the crime scene with a wrinkled nose. The lakeside smells as bad as it looks with gore blackening the surrounding grass. He's been telling you for months to get some shades. You've been ignoring his advice.

Your disapproval of the smell is normal. Your unsure footing is not. You take his forearm when he offers it and step across the muddy bank to the body without audible complaint, though you give him a 'this fucking sucks' narrowing of the eyes when he gives you the time.

"Agent Hotchner," a deputy greets, "Agent L/N. We found the second body here. Bystanders pulled the first out thinking she was still alive, but that was unfortunately not the case."

You shift unprofessionally close to Aaron. He doesn't really care. The sheriff barely looks at you both, his attention on the corpse hidden between overgrown cattails.

Aaron hates to admit that he gives you more of his attention than is helpful. You seem odd. Call it intuition, call it plain old profiling, Aaron reads the next minute of events in the smallest twitch of your finger.

You put your hand on his back and he doesn't think, he just grabs you. The sheriff deputy startles as you fold over Aaron's arm like a marionette with strings sliced, exhaling hard as your body does its best to hit the grass beneath your feet.

"Agent L/N!" The deputy yelps.

"I got her," Aaron says, easing you down to the ground. He keeps a hand behind your head to lay you down flat, the other quick to leap from your side to your cheek. You'll likely have bruises in the shape of his hands at your waist. "Y/N?"

He rubs his thumb under your eye. Quick, he leans down with an ear to your lips and relaxes at the sound of your shallow breathing. He pulls away, resting a hand atop your chest.

"Can you hear me?" he asks, conscious of and ignoring the copious pairs of eyes watching over you.

You don't respond. Aaron goes into emergency mode, flagging down a cop who races for a paramedic, hands at your throat unbuttoning the first button on your blouse, the second in an overabundance of caution.

"Y/N, if you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that?" His tone wavers somewhere between demanding and desperate. "Come on. Come on."

Fainting is one thing. Fainting with no signs of dehydration and little sun exposure is another, especially considering you hadn't moved from one position to another. You've passed out with no obvious cause. Any number of things could be wrong.

He doesn't slap you —it works in the movies and not often elsewhere. In fact, Aaron finds himself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Patient outwardly and insanely panicked on the inside, he holds your face in his hand and waits for someone to tell him you're alright.

Your breath catches, your head lolling into his palm. He straightens it, weary of your airways. "Y/N? Tell me you can hear me."

The whirlwind of your fall and the eternity of your recovery has him holding his breath.

"I can hear you," you mumble, again attempting to turn your head. He lets you this time. He's so relieved, he'd let you do anything.

He fights the urge to shout, Where's the medic? instead following your face, tilting his head to the side. "Open your eyes, honey," he murmurs, for your ears alone.

Your lashes twitch against his pinky index finger. You frown as though you're in pain and finally rouse to attention.

"What hurts?" he asks, brows furrowed.

"Nothing hurts…" Your frown worsens. "You look really unhappy."

"I'm not ecstatic about this," he says. He gives in, shouting, "Where's the medic?"

"Oh, no, please," you say, trying to sit up, "that is so embarrassing."

Aaron pushes you flat to the grass beneath you. "Stop, you need to stay flat. You passed out. This is the solution–" He puts his hand flat over your chest as you put in some effort. "Hey, this is what you need to do. Listen to me, agent."

"What happened to honey?" you ask quietly.

"That's when you were doing what I wanted."

You close your eyes in a faux strop. "I guess I'll have to do what you want more often, sir."

"That's enough." He sounds fond. Why does he sound so fond?

The deputy clears his throat. "Paramedics are here."

You groan. Aaron hides a smile. Through everything, his hand has stayed on your cheek. He doesn't pull it away until he absolutely has to, and even then, he holds some part of you. Your elbow, your wrist. He has the sense to be sheepish about it when the paramedic ushers him back, but even then, he's thinking about when he'll get to touch you next; he needs the assurance that you're okay.

He gets it a half hour later when you're sipping on a gatorade in the back of an SUV.

"Do I still get paid for today?" you ask, smiling playfully. "Or is this a write off?"

He wants to joke about it with you, but there's work to be done. He sends you back to the hotel with a frankly unprofessional hug and a demand to take it easy. He's sure you'll be back stepping on his heels by late afternoon.

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elryuse · 6 months ago

Text

I'm sorry, Can I Be Yours

Winter X Male Reader

Tags : Childhood Friends, Friends To Lovers, Kiss, Teasing, Fluff, Virgin Sex, Creampie, Good Ending?

The School bell blared, jolting me out of my reverie. I scanned the emptying hallway, searching for Winter's familiar pearly blonde hair. My stomach clenched when I spotted her surrounded by her posse, their laughter echoing down the corridor. Winter, the girl who used to chase butterflies with me at recess, now seemed like a distant star, dazzling yet untouchable.

It wasn't always like this. Back in elementary school, Winter, or Minjeong as I called her then, was the new kid, a shy sparrow adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces. I, the self-proclaimed schoolyard ambassador, had swooped in, determined to be her friend. We were an unlikely pair – me, the rambunctious chatterbox, and her, the quiet observer with eyes that held galaxies within them. But somehow, it clicked. We built sandcastles that defied the tide, shared scraped knees and ice cream cones, our laughter echoing through the playground.

High school, however, had cast a long shadow over our friendship. Winter blossomed into an ethereal beauty, her smile lighting up every room she entered. Admirers swarmed around her like bees to a rose, and her schedule became a whirlwind of student council meetings, dance practices, and social gatherings. I, on the other hand, remained comfortably obscure, content with the company of my camera and a well-worn book.

The distance wasn't physical, not yet. We still sat together at lunch, a forced routine amidst the chaos. But the easy conversations, the comfortable silences, those had become a distant memory. Now, an awkward tension hung between us, a chasm filled with unspoken words and longing glances that pierced my heart.

One afternoon, at the usual lunch table, Winter was surrounded by her usual crowd, their voices a flurry of excitement about the upcoming school festival. I stole a glance at her, my heart sinking at the coldness in her eyes, a stark contrast to the warmth that used to reside there.

"Hey, Winter," I began hesitantly, my voice barely a whisper above the din. "They were talking about volunteers for the photography booth at the festival. You know I take a decent picture or two."

A flicker of something, maybe annoyance, crossed her features before she schooled her expression into a polite smile.

"Oh, right," she said, her voice devoid of its usual enthusiasm. "Yeah, maybe you can help out. Hana mentioned you were good with that camera of yours."

The casual dismissal stung. Hana? We hadn't discussed the festival, and the way Winter phrased it made it seem like it was Hana's idea, not mine. I forced a smile, the bitterness clinging to my tongue.

"Sure," I mumbled, pushing my untouched lunch tray away. "Just let me know what needs to be done."

The rest of the lunch break passed in a blur of forced conversation and stolen glances. As the final bell rang, I gathered my things, the weight of our strained friendship heavy on my chest. Winter barely acknowledged me as she swept out of the classroom, leaving me adrift in a sea of uncertainty. Was this the end of our story? The question echoed in the empty classroom, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between us.

The following week, a new face appeared in our homeroom class. A girl with long, flowing black hair and a face that could launch a thousand ships, but her posture screamed timidity. She shuffled in, her eyes downcast, avoiding eye contact with the sea of curious faces. The usual welcoming chatter died down, replaced by a tense silence.

As the teacher droned on about expectations and school policies, I couldn't help but steal glances at the new girl. Her name was Lee Seo-Ah, according to the attendance sheet. Unlike Winter, who captivated the room with her mere presence, Seo-Ah seemed to shrink into herself, disappearing into the background.

A pang of sympathy stabbed at my heart. I remembered all too well the awkwardness of being the new kid, the crushing loneliness of trying to navigate unfamiliar territory. Winter, once the shy newcomer, had effortlessly blossomed into the center of attention. Seo-Ah, on the other hand, seemed trapped in a shell of her own making.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, the usual flurry of introductions and small talk began. But Seo-Ah remained isolated, a solitary island amidst a bustling sea. I couldn't just stand by and watch.

Taking a deep breath, I approached her desk, my heart pounding a nervous rhythm against my ribs. "Hi, I'm Y/n," I said, offering a friendly smile. "Welcome to our school."

Seo-Ah looked up, startled, her eyes wide and filled with a flicker of surprise. For a moment, she didn't speak, then a shy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"H-hi," she finally mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm Seo-Ah. It's... nice to meet you."

Her shyness was endearing, a stark contrast to the usual boisterousness of the classroom. "Seems like you're new here," I continued, hoping to ease the tension. "Anything I can help you with?"

Seo-Ah hesitated, then bit her lip. "Well, I'm a bit lost. I don't know where my next class is."

Relief washed over me. "No problem at all. I have the same class next. Let me show you the way."

As we walked down the hallway, Seo-Ah spoke in hushed tones, her words punctuated by long pauses. She told me she was from Busan, a coastal city known for its seafood and beaches. She loved art, particularly painting, but was too shy to join any clubs.

I listened intently, offering words of encouragement and pointing out landmarks along the way. To my surprise, Seo-Ah slowly began to open up, her voice gaining a hint of confidence. By the time we reached her next class, a hesitant smile played on her lips.

"Thanks, Y/n," she said, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "I don't know what I would have done without you."

"No worries at all," I replied, a genuine warmth spreading through my chest. "Welcome to the group, Seo-Ah."

Perhaps, in helping Seo-Ah find her way, I had also found a way to bridge the growing distance between myself and Winter. After all, kindness, like a pebble tossed into a still pond, could create ripples that reached far and wide.

A couple of weeks flew by in a whirlwind of activity. During lunch breaks, I found myself gravitating towards Seo-Ah, her infectious laugh and bubbly personality a welcome change from the strained atmosphere I shared with Winter. We'd discuss everything under the sun – from her passion for painting to the latest K-pop group she was obsessed with. Slowly, her shyness melted away, replaced by a comfortable openness.

One afternoon, at the usual lunch table, Winter caught me engrossed in a conversation with Seo-Ah. Her expression was unreadable, but a flicker of something, maybe jealousy, crossed her features for a fleeting moment before she masked it with a polite smile.

"Looks like you've made a new friend, Y/n," she said, her voice cool and detached.

"Y-yeah," I replied, trying to keep the awkwardness at bay. "Seo-Ah just transferred from Busan. We get along pretty well."

Winter simply nodded, her gaze lingering on Seo-Ah for a beat too long before she turned away to continue her conversation with Hana. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a stark contrast to the easy banter I shared with Seo-Ah.

During that week, I discovered another one of Seo-Ah's talents. While helping her unpack her art supplies after school, she pulled out a sketchbook filled with breathtaking landscapes and portraits. My jaw dropped in awe.

"Wow, Seo-Ah, these are amazing!" I exclaimed, flipping through the pages. "You're incredibly talented."

Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Thanks, Y/n. I actually joined the art club this week. They seemed really nice."

A surge of excitement coursed through me. "That's fantastic! Maybe we can even work on some projects together sometime. I'm in the photography club, and we're always looking for new angles and perspectives."

Her eyes lit up. "R-really? That sounds awesome!"

Over the next few days, Seo-Ah and I spent our free time bouncing ideas off each other. We'd discuss light and shadow, composition, and the emotions a photograph or painting could evoke. With her, there was none of the awkward silences or unspoken expectations that had infiltrated my relationship with Winter. It felt… easy, comfortable.

Meanwhile, the distance between Winter and me continued to widen. Our conversations were short and superficial, filled with long pauses and forced smiles. I missed our late-afternoon talks, the way we could just sit in comfortable silence, knowing each other's thoughts without needing to speak them. But Winter was a whirlwind of student council meetings and social gatherings now, leaving me feeling like an outsider peering into a world I no longer belonged to.

One Friday afternoon, while Seo-Ah and I were discussing camera settings in the library, Winter approached our table, her face etched with a forced smile.

"Hey, Y/n," she said, her voice clipped. "Just wanted to let you know there's a student council meeting this evening. You're… welcome to join."

Her words felt like an afterthought, an obligation rather than an invitation. Seo-Ah, sensing the tension, chimed in.

"Oh, a student council meeting? That sounds important. You should definitely go, Y/n."

Winter's smile faltered for a second, then she straightened her shoulders. "Yeah, sure," she said, her gaze flickering to Seo-Ah before darting away. "See you guys later."

As she walked away, a knot of frustration tightened in my stomach. Was I missing something here? Did Winter feel threatened by Seo-Ah's presence? Or was it simply a case of her being too busy with her own things to acknowledge our dwindling friendship?

Stepping into the student council meeting room felt like entering a different world. The air crackled with nervous energy, students flitting around finalizing decorations and posters. Minjeong, usually radiating icy efficiency, seemed to have a vibrant life of her own here. Her voice, sharp and clear as she addressed the room, held an undeniable power.

I found myself an empty chair at the back, feeling strangely out of place amidst all the organized chaos. The topic of the meeting – the upcoming school fireworks festival – was a whirlwind of budgets, logistics, and safety regulations. Hana, Minjeong's ever-reliable vice president, rattled off numbers with laser focus, while Minjeong herself managed the discussion with a firm but encouraging demeanor.

As the meeting progressed, I stole glances at Minjeong. The fierce, focused leader I witnessed was so different from the quiet girl who had been my best friend. A pang of longing crossed my chest for those simpler times. Then, our eyes met.

Caught off guard, Minjeong's gaze flickered for a moment before she looked away, a hint of pink dusting her cheeks. A shy smile tugged at the corner of her lips, a fleeting glimpse of the girl I knew beneath the student council president facade. The warmth of that smile sent a jolt through me. Was there still hope for us?

Suddenly, Hana's voice cut through my contemplation. "So, who's up for grabbing some pizza after this? We've still got hours of work to do before the week's out."

A chorus of groans and cheers filled the room. Minjeong chuckled, a soft sound that seemed foreign on her focused face. "Sounds good, Hana. But make it quick, alright? We don't want to be here all night."

As the meeting wrapped up, the room buzzed with newfound energy. Students piled into a corner, chatting excitedly about pizza toppings and movie plans. I hesitated, unsure of my place in this world.

"Y/n?" Minjeong's voice caught my attention. She stood at the front of the room, her gaze hesitant but inviting. "You coming to pizza night?"

The question hung in the air, a test of the fragile thread that still connected us. My heart pounded in my chest. This could be a step forward, a chance to bridge the gap that had grown between us. Or it could be a painful reminder of how far things had changed.

I looked at Minjeong, her eyes filled with a nervous anticipation that mirrored my own. Taking a deep breath, I offered a smile, the same shy smile we used to share in elementary school.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice a little rough around the edges. "I'd like that."

A genuine smile, bright and unreserved, broke across Minjeong's face. It was a small step, a single word in a long conversation, but for the first time in weeks, a flicker of hope ignited within me. Perhaps, amidst the chaos of student council meetings and new friendships, there was still a place for us, for the bond we once shared.

Stepping into the bustling pizza parlor, I was greeted by the aroma of melted cheese and bubbling tomato sauce. Minjeong's friends, a vibrant bunch I only recognized from school hallways, were already digging into their slices, their laughter a welcome counterpoint to the tense atmosphere of the meeting earlier.

Minjeong, perched at the end of a long table, her cheeks flushed with a hint of nervous excitement, spotted me. A radiant smile broke across her face, chasing away the serious leader persona from before. She patted the seat next to her, a silent invitation.

As I settled in, a chorus of curious glances and playful nudges fell upon me. A girl with sparkling eyes and a mischievous grin leaned forward.

"So, Y/n," she began, her voice dripping with friendly interrogation, "how long have you known our Minjeong? Spill the secrets of your epic friendship!"

A wave of heat flooded Minjeong's cheeks, her cheeks turning the color of the pepperoni slices on the table. She mumbled something inaudible under her breath, burying her face in her pizza slice. I chuckled, the sound warming the air.

"Well Actually," I said, taking a bite of my own pizza, "we go way back. All the way back to elementary school."

A collective gasp escaped the group. Stories of elementary school crushes and childhood sweethearts circulated with wide-eyed wonder. Seeing Minjeong squirm under the spotlight only endeared her to me even more.

"She was this shy little thing," I continued, my voice filled with a smile, "always hiding behind her art folders. I just decided she needed a friend and dragged her into all sorts of adventures."

Minjeong peeked at me over her pizza slice, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of shyness and amusement. My heart stuttered in my chest. Even after all this time, her gaze still held the power to send butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

"And did those adventures include falling head over heels for each other?" one of the guys piped up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The question hung heavy in the air. A long silence stretched, broken only by the clinking of silverware and the murmur of conversation. I met Minjeong's gaze, a silent conversation unfolding between us.

"I…," I hesitated, taking a deep breath. "The truth is, Minjeong has always been special to me. Ever since that first day in elementary school, there was something about her. Her quiet strength, her kindness, her way of seeing the world through those incredible eyes."

Minjeong's entire face turned crimson, her lips forming a silent "wow." The rest of the table, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, remained silent, their eyes shifting between us with anticipation.

"And you, Y/n?" Minjeong finally managed to whisper, her voice barely audible. "Do you still feel the same way?"

"More than you know," I said, my voice sincere. "Seeing you all grown up, this amazing leader everyone admires… it just makes me realize how much I care about you."

The moment stretched, charged with unspoken emotions. Then, with a roar of approval, Minjeong's friends erupted in cheers.

"Oh my god, you guys are perfect for each other!"

"Finally! It was about time someone confessed!"

Minjeong, overwhelmed by the sudden outburst, hid her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with a mixture of shyness and laughter. My own heart pounded with a mixture of hope and disbelief. Could this really be happening?

As the cheers subsided, a shy smile peeked out from behind Minjeong's hands. Looking at me, her eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher. Was it fear? Joy? Relief?

"Well, Y/n," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "It seems like you spilled the biggest secret of all."

I grinned, leaning closer. "Only the one I felt was most important."

The rest of the night was a blur of happy chatter, shared stories, and stolen glances. The seeds of doubt I'd harbored for weeks began to fade, replaced by a warm flicker of hope. Perhaps, amidst the changing tides of high school, our childhood connection could blossom into something more. As we walked home under the soft glow of the streetlights, a comfortable silence settled between us, a silence that spoke volumes more than words ever could. Maybe, just maybe, our story wasn't over yet.

As we strolled away from the pizza parlor, the streetlights cast soft yellow pools on the sidewalk. The air was thick with the unspoken words that hung between us. Finally, Minjeong broke the silence, her voice barely a whisper.

"Y/n," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you… hate me?"

The question struck me like a physical blow. Hate her? The girl who had been my closest companion, my confidante? It was a ridiculous notion.

"Why would I hate you?" I asked gently, my voice laced with concern.

"For everything," she mumbled, tears welling up in her eyes. "For how I treated you these past three years. For being so cold and distant."

I stopped walking, turning to face her. Minjeong's face was illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Minjeong-Ah, listen to me," I said, cupping her face in my hands. "You were focused on school, student council, all those responsibilities. It's natural. You've become this amazing leader, kind and strong. I could never hate you for that."

She shook her head, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "But you must have felt so alone. Like I replaced you."

"It wasn't like that," I assured her, wiping away the stray tear with my thumb. "It just… it's a shame we drifted apart. I miss the talks we used to have, the silly jokes, the shared dreams."

A sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in my chest. Tears soaked through my shirt as she held onto me for dear life.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," she cried, her voice muffled against my chest. "I'm such an idiot. Seo-Ah is great, and I'm happy she has a friend, but… but you're different. You've always been different."

My heart ached for her, for the pain she had unknowingly inflicted. "Seo-Ah's a friend," I said, stroking her hair soothingly. "But you, Minjeong… you're so much more."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching mine. "More?"

"We grew up together," I continued, my voice soft. "We shared secrets, dreams, a lifetime of memories. Seo-Ah may be a new chapter, but you… you're the whole book."

Tears streamed down her face, each one a silent apology. "I-i messed up," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "The thought of losing you to someone else… it scared me to death. But I was too scared to admit it, too scared to even talk to you."

Understanding dawned on me. Her coldness, her distance, it was all a misguided attempt to protect herself from the possibility of losing our bond. The irony wasn't lost on me – her actions had almost achieved the very outcome she feared.

Enfolding her in a hug once more, I whispered into her hair, "It's okay, Minjeong. We can start over. Together."

Her body trembled against mine, a mixture of relief and hope washing over her. The night was filled with apologies, whispered confessions, and the bittersweet promise of a new beginning. We walked hand in hand, not as childhood friends, but as something more, something that transcended labels. We walked, not just towards her house, but towards a future we would write together, a future where communication replaced silence, and where the warmth of our friendship could finally blossom into something beautiful.

The walk to Minjeong's house felt different under the soft glow of the streetlights. The air, once thick with unspoken words, now crackled with a nervous energy, a budding promise. As we reached her doorstep, the weight of the emotional rollercoaster we'd just been on settled in.

Minjeong, sniffling and wiping away the last of her tears, looked at me with a mixture of vulnerability and hope. "Would you… would you like to stay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Staying the night at her place felt like venturing into uncharted territory. Was it too soon? Yet, the thought of leaving her on such a vulnerable note felt unbearable.

"I… I don't know," I stammered, unsure of the protocol for such a situation.

Tears welled up in her eyes again, threatening to spill over. "Please, Y/n," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

My resolve crumbled. How could I say no to those tear-filled eyes, to the raw vulnerability she was displaying? "Okay," I sighed, offering her a weak smile. "I'll stay."

Relief washed over her face, a radiant smile replacing the tear tracks. She fumbled with her keys, finally unlocking the door and ushering me inside.

The familiar scent of her home, a mixture of lavender and something vaguely sweet, instantly transported me back to our childhood sleepovers. As I entered her bedroom, the floodgates of nostalgia opened.

The walls were adorned with a tapestry of our shared history – a photo of us grinning goofily at a carnival, a drawing we'd made together during a rainy afternoon, a faded ticket stub from that time we snuck into a movie. Every picture, every memento, whispered of a friendship that had weathered storms, unspoken yet understood.

A choked sob escaped Minjeong's lips as she noticed my gaze tracing the memories on the wall. "It's… it's like a museum in here," she sniffled, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

I walked over to her, my heart overflowing with a cocktail of emotions. "It's beautiful," I whispered, reaching out to touch a photo of us on our first day of elementary school. "A reminder of everything we've been through."

Minjeong's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. As if making a sudden decision, she began to slowly undress, her movements filled with a nervous anticipation.

Shock momentarily paralyzed me. "Minjeong-Ah?" I stammered, unsure of how to interpret her actions.

She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with a newfound courage. "Y/n," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "I know this might seem crazy, but… all this time, all I ever wanted was you."

The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken desires. Before I could respond, she leaned in, hesitantly at first, then with a growing sense of urgency. Her lips met mine in a kiss that was both tentative and filled with a desperate longing.

It was a kiss that tasted of tearful apologies, unspoken confessions, and the bittersweet joy of a rekindled connection. In that kiss, we bridged the gap of lost years, the unspoken words replaced by a silent promise of a future we would write together.

Pulling away, breathless and a little dazed, we stared into each other's eyes. They held a newfound depth, a reflection of the emotions we had shared.

"Minjeong-Ah," I finally managed to breathe, my voice thick with emotion. "I… I thought I'd lost you."

"Me too," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes again, but this time, they were tears of joy. "But we're here now, Y/n. And this time," she continued, a determined glint in her eyes, "I'm not letting go."

Hearing those words, I immediately kissed her again. This time with so much passion and hunger to love her even more. minjeong share to play with my tounge,Something that I didn't know she would ever learned.

"M-minjeong-Ah.. You're so pretty". I blurted out, My words of praise basically flies out on its own. Minjeong blushes, Before planting another kiss to my lips. Her soft and plump lips, a cushion to my own.

"I-i want to try it... I-i want to do it with you Y/n". Minjeong blushes, Her hands touching the entrance of her now wet pussy. I blushed deeply, Not expecting that we'll come this far.

But I now know, that we are meant for each other. We both loved each other. I promised, I would never let her down anymore. I would love her with all of my heart.

"I-i'm putting it in Minjeong-Ah. Tell me if it hurts okay"? I gently caresses her face. As I started to slowly thrust my dick into her pussy, Minjeong immediately moaned, Her body trembling, as her hole started to widen, and not long after that. I have successfully inserted my whole dick deep into her pussy. As her hymen broke, Blood soon come out. I panicked, Asking Minjeong if she's alright.

She seemed to be trembling, and crying. I tried to pull back. But minjeong yelled "Noo.. Don't pull it out... I-i can handle it".

I hesitated, I didn't want this experience to hurt her. I explained it to her, that she doesn't need to force herself, and we can take it slowly. But to my suprise, Minjeong push me back, before straddling me.

"No.. No.. I want this.. I need this... Please don't leave me Y/n... I can handle this.. So please... caressing my face let me pleasure you". I immediately blushed hearing those words coming from her mouth. In the end I nodded, Letting her know I'll do it.

Minjeong started to move her hips slowly, Adjusting to the pain and pleasure that her body is currently having. And after a while, She finally found her pace and started to move faster and faster. We both moaned at how good this feels, And I just can't help but to admire her fit body, and her beautiful pair of tits.

"I-i know it's not the biggest... B-but.. Please love them". Minjeong blushes, as she turns her head around. I giggled before planting a kiss to her tits. Admiring them for how perfect they were. Mineong immediately smiled, Before planting another kiss to my lips.

After a while, I felt like I was near to reach my orgasm. As I saw Minjeong Continue swaying her hips, Something took over me and I gently put Minjeong into a missionary position. Minjeong legs immediately craddled surrounding my body, as her legs tightened. Her hand gripped the back of my body, As I kept on kissing her heck.

"Y/n!!! Y/n.. I'm close.. Fuck.. I'm so close..". Minjeong cried, as The pleasure was too much for the both of us. I told her that I'm also close.

"Shoot it inside me... I-it's okay... I want it..".

"W-whatt! No we can't... It's too dangerous minjeong... I'll shoot it outside".

"Noooo.. Please... I want your cum... Please... ".

As minjeong kept begging, and as I closely reached my limit. I can't help but to shoot my seed deep within her womb. As I did this, Minjeong moaned and tightly held me. Our body trembled in pleasure, and we finally reached our euphoria together.

After panting a while, We both Chukled before kissing each other for the last time, as we finally fell asleep. We held each other close, our bodies radiating a warmth that chased away the chill of the night. The room filled with the sound of our gentle breaths and the soft thudding of our hearts, a symphony of rediscovered love and a promise of a future where childhood friendship could finally blossom into something beautiful and everlasting.

Sunlight streamed through the window, painting golden stripes across Minjeong's face. She stirred, a sleepy smile curving her lips. Glancing beside her, she found me still nestled in the sheets, the events of last night replaying vividly in her mind. A blush crept up her cheeks as she remembered the passionate confessions and rekindled love that had blossomed under her very roof.

"Y/n," she whispered, nudging me gently. "Time to wake up. We don't want to be late for school."

I groaned playfully, pulling the covers over my head for a moment longer. "Five more minutes?" I mumbled, the warmth of the sheets and the memory of Minjeong close beside me making it hard to leave.

She chuckled, a sound like wind chimes dancing in a summer breeze. "Not a chance, sleepyhead. We have a whole day of classes and stolen glances ahead of us."

Her words were a sweet melody to my ears. Sitting up, I stretched, my gaze lingering on her. "Thank you, Minjeong-Ah," I said, my voice husky with sleep and unspoken emotions.

"For what?" she asked, tilting her head.

"For everything," I replied, cupping her face in my hands and leaning in for a soft kiss. It was a simple gesture, yet it spoke volumes of the renewed connection we shared.

The morning unfolded in a whirlwind of hurried breakfasts, stolen kisses in between brushing teeth, and nervous excitement as we walked to school together, hand in hand. As we reached our classroom, I was met with a concerned Seo-Ah, her eyes wide with worry.

"Y/n!" she exclaimed, rushing over. "Where have you been? I texted and called you a million times; I was scared something happened!"

My heart twinged with a pang of guilt. Seo-Ah's genuine concern warmed me, and I realized how much I valued our friendship. With a sheepish grin, I turned to Minjeong, taking her hand in mine.

"Seo-Ah," I began, my voice laced with a newfound confidence, "there's something I need to tell you. Minjeong and I… we're a couple now."

Seo-Ah's eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of sadness flitting across her face for a fleeting moment. But then, a genuine smile bloomed on her lips.

"Oh wow," she said, her voice filled with unexpected joy. "Congratulations, you two! I always thought you had a special connection."

Relief flooded me. I was worried how Seo-Ah would react, but her understanding and well-wishes warmed the air.

The rest of the day was a blur of excited whispers from classmates, stolen glances across the classroom, and the thrill of a newfound love. After school, Minjeong and I decided to celebrate. We walked hand-in-hand down a street lined with cherry blossom trees, their delicate pink petals showering us like confetti.

"This feels like a dream," Minjeong whispered, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"A dream I never want to wake up from," I replied, squeezing her hand.

We stopped at a quaint ice cream shop, the aroma of sweet waffle cones wafting through the air. We ordered our favorite flavors, sharing bites and laughing like children. As we savored the cool treat, I realized that sometimes, the most unexpected detours lead us to the sweetest destinations.

Looking into Minjeong's eyes, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within them, I knew that our story was far from over. It was a story of friendship, of rediscovery, and of a love that had weathered the storms of time and finally blossomed into something beautiful. And as we walked into the sunset, hand in hand, with the promise of forever etched in our hearts, I knew this was just the beginning of our happily ever after.

The End

A/n : Hey Guys, Elryuse here. just want to say, This is probably one of my favorite stories/fics that I've ever written so far. The characterization of Winter/Minjeong really fit in this story. But I have to say, Justice for the Seo-Ah man. Initially, In my first draft of the story, Seo-Ah would be a contender for Winter, However while I was writing, I think this is for the best. So I settled for her losing quicker in the story.

And I wanted to apologize to some of you guys, who have requested for a fics, But I'm currently focusing my priority for my ko-fi fans and for people who ordered fics personally. But don't be sad, I would still definitely do some of your requests y'all. Hope you enjoyed this story guys. 🤗

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kquil · 2 years ago

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JAMES POTTER | 10:44 ⏤KISS CAM

SUM. : you end up on the kiss cam but not with james...

G. : modern au ; muggle au ; hockey player james au ; secretly dating au

LENGTH : 0.7k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

You’ve been in a secret relationship with the James Potter for quite a while now, well renowned ice hockey player. It was a chance meeting actually, a chance meeting that left quite a lasting impression on the both you, several chance meetings happened after that and you eventually found yourself falling in love and happily engaging in a private relationship.

It was a whirlwind, shockingly fast but blissfully pleasant all at once, your feet in the air and flying through the skies, endlessly on cloud nine. Now, it's already been half a year and you haven't missed a single one of his games. It's still taking you a little time to get used to understanding how the game works and its rules but James was quick to assure you that that wasn't important.

"My favourite part of the game is being able to meet you when its over for a kiss well-done," you still remember his cheeky, boyish grin and the fluttering ache in your heart. All he has to do is flash you that charming smile and you were jelly.

He's such a loverboy, so tender and sweet, a true gentleman but also goofy and ridiculously charming in his own audacious way. His liberal manner of loving meant that you didn't go a day without hearing an 'I love you' or being pulled into a sudden hug or getting a playful kiss on the cheek. In return, you tried to calm his affections but always succumbed to him in the end - like voluntarily free-falling from a skyscraper and always knowing you would land on a thick cushion of fluffy clouds and secure parachutes.

You've never been so content in your life; naturally your eyes never left James and him you. He loves your timid affections, subtle but sweeter than honey, first unnoticeable but with a slight squint he could almost turn blind from how radiantly you emit your love for him. He's never letting you go. If there is so much as an hint of you leaving him, he's giving his all into making sure you stay, he'll shout and scream and cry and fight, no matter what it takes.

He's impulsive and hot headed, cheeks burning an almost darling pink when irritation furrows his brows and sets flames ablaze behind his eyes. James's eyes right now, however, weren't just a sea of flames but a volcanic eruption. His usual glasses weren't in the way of his eyes, only the small strands of his sweat-drentched hair provided you with some shield to his wrath. You were shocked, in your six months being together, you've never seen him so infuriated but it was then that realised you situation - you were sharing the big screen with a random guy for the 'Kiss Cam'.

The teams were on a break so of course James had seen it and was now blowing smoke fumes out of his ears and nostrils, glaring through the glass and at the guy who was attempting to lean in for a kiss as he skates his way furiously towards you. If the glass wasn't in the way, you feared that James would have beat the man to death beside you. You mentally berate yourself for having realised the situation too late and scramble say that you didn't want to partake in any kiss. You were just about to open your mouth and stop the stranger when the love of your life angrily slams his headgear into the reinforced glass before you in warning.

"Stay the fuck away from my girl dickhead!" James shouted in anger, his thundering voice keeping the glass shaking as the stranger beside you immediately backed away. Lost in the moment and finding his unusual overprotectiveness overly cute, you step up, kiss your hand and press it into the glass in front of his lips in a pseudo kiss.

"Thanks James," you smile, staring lovingly into his eyes that have visible softened at the sight of your gorgeous face.

"Kiss me twice later," you do nothing but nod and he's heading back to group with his teammates once more. You suppose your relationship isn't so private anymore.

A/N : thoughts, darlings? i know james is typically associated with rugby but i can see him as an ice hockey player too - please someone tell me that they think the same TT_TT

PART 2 | NAVI

#james potter x reader #james potter #marauders #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james potter fic #marauders fic #the marauders #𐂂 : TIMESTAMP

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gejo333 · 3 months ago

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Art credit:@clementinekim_(Instagram)

An Unexpected Match XIII

DBF/DILF Miguel O’Hara x female reader

18+ Warning

Summary: Two week honeymoon with your hubby Miguel🥰

I’m sorry this took so long.😅💕💕💕

Pt. 1 Pt.15

Enjoy!💕

Wc: 5k

————————————————————————

The smell of salt, the sound of the Aegean Sea, and the sun's warmth relaxed your entire body. You happily lay on a sun bed in your bikini at your private pool as you read a romance novel Stephanie has been dying for you to read for months. And you were glad to have finally picked up the book because she was right. It was really good.

However, as you flip the page, your relaxed state dissolves as you feel heat grow between your legs. Your eyes peer right over your book as you look at your husband, who is in the jacuzzi resting. His eyes were closed as his arms lay on each side, showing off his perfectly toned biceps. You said you would join him after you read a chapter or two of your book. But after reading that spicy scene and glancing at your husband, you couldn't resist.

For the past four days since you arrived at this 5-star resort in Greece, you and Miguel hadn't left your private cabana. You couldn't keep your hands off each other. You were only pausing briefly to have some sleep or to eat. This was the first time you two had decided to take a relaxing break from being entangled with each other and take in the beautiful view around you. But of course, it's barely been an hour, and you want him to touch and kiss you.

You couldn't sit still anymore as you got up and walked to the jacuzzi. Your foot dipped into the water, sending a warm chill up your spine. The water wrapped around your body as you descended the steps before fully submerging until the water was under your collarbone.

You swim over to Miguel and sit right next to him, tucked under his right arm. Your head rests on his chest as you gaze at the beautiful ocean-front view. His arm behind you comes down and wraps around your waist, and his hand gently caresses your upper thigh.

"Missed me too much, cariño?" He kissed your head. You rolled your eyes as you didn't have to even look at him to see the smirk on his lips.

You kiss the corner of his mouth, "Mhmm, maybe just a little bit." Your lips move down his face to his neck, finding his sweet spot before straddling his lap. His hands find their way to your waist as he pulls you against him.

His fingers glide up your side to your neck as he lifts your chin. Your lips meet his as you open your mouth to let his tongue wander.

Your hips move against his crotch, making his grip on your waist tighten as he grinds his clothed erection, making you moan against his lips. Your arms feel up his toned tan abs as they go around his neck, and your fingers comb through his dark curls. Miguel's hands grab your ass as he stands up in the jacuzzi, making his way out and back inside your luxury cabana.

Your body hits the soft duvet as Miguel's lips move down your neck, "So beautiful and all mine. Isn't that right, cariño?" His voice rumbled against your skin as his lips continued to your chest, moving your bathing suit as his mouth latched to your nipple, making your grip on his hair stronger as the sensation of his mouth went straight down south to your core.

"Y-yes." You breathed out.

While his mouth and hand worked on your breasts, you felt his other hand feel its way down your stomach to your bottoms as he pulled the bows on one side, which was keeping them from falling off, now thrown across the room, leaving you fully exposed.

You arch your back as you feel his thumb rubbing your clit as he enters, not one but two fingers thrust inside you. Your grip tightens in his curls as you feel his teeth bite your nipple, sending a whirlwind of pleasure through your body. Miguel's lips kissed from the top of your breast to the collarbone and the crook of your neck, leaving marks.

"M-Miguel, please don't give me hickeys. You know I don't like them." Your husband's lips nipped your ear before he smirked at you, kissing your lips.

"No promises cariño." He purred in your ear, which made you send him a glare as you tried to hide your smile, which only made him chuckle as he removed his fingers from you, grabbed your hips, and inserted himself fully inside you, letting a gasp escape you, taking you by surprise.

Miguel grabs your waist as he lifts you onto his lap, making you moan out loud as his cock enters deeper inside you as he bounces you up and down his shaft.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you claw his upper back every time his tip hits your cervix, making you dig your nails deeper, which further ignites his desire to keep fucking you harder, ending up in an erotic cycle you both didn't mind being in.

...

The bed was soaked in sweat, and both of your pleasure as your head hung back, feeling overstimulated. Miguel sucked on your now bruised neck as he continued to thrust up into you. If it weren't for Miguel holding you in place, you would have collapsed to the bed as he fucks you stupid.

You let out a raspy moan, feeling the high from God's know which orgasm you lost count a while ago. Your throat was tired from the amount of screaming you'd done the past couple of hours.

"Last one, mi amor. I promise." Miguel kissed your sweaty temple. Your last orgasm unraveled by him as he spilled deep inside you. He collapsed his back down on the bed with you falling and resting on top of his chest with him still inside you.

"You think you got me pregnant yet?" You chuckled as you looked at him with a loving smile before getting off him. You were too sore to move to the bathroom to clean up, so you decided to wait till tomorrow.

You pushed back the sheets and duvet as you rested your head on your pillow. Miguel sat up from his position and let out a deep chuckle at your comment. He moved towards you and said, "Well, with how many times we have done it these past few days, I wouldn't be surprised, but..."

"But?" Your smile widens as he hovers over you.

"But maybe we should try again just to make sure," Miguel smirked as he took your chin and kissed you before covering you both with the sheets.

...

You lather your arm in soap and gently wash yourself in the tub. After taking a shower to properly clean up all the sweat and other liquids covering you, you took a relaxing bath to soothe your sore body as Miguel was surprisingly still asleep. You smiled; your husband needed the rest. Not just with the amount of fucking you both have been doing or from the slight jet lag, but he works so hard every day as an incredible CEO and a loving father and now husband. So you didn't mind him getting the extra rest.

When the water in the tub grew cold, you got out and wrapped a towel around your body as you looked into the vanity mirror. You huffed out a breath of annoyance as you noticed the trail of hickeys all over your neck and chest. You noticed the trail continued down your body when you slightly moved your towel.

"That man is going to get it for marking me up."

"What am I going to get?" Miguel chuckled as he walked into the master bath only in his boxers. You turned around to face him as he stood right before you. You purse your lips into a pout as you point to the hickies on your neck. Your frown deepens as you only see a smirk on his face, proud of his work.

"Smug bastard." You mumble as you turn around again to face the mirror and figure out how to cover these marks. Miguel's hands were at your hips in an instant as he pressed his crotch against your backside.

"Well, this bastard wants to have a taste of his wife." Miguel kissed up your neck, sending a shiver up your spine.

"I don't think you deserve a taste of me." You cross your arms as you move your face so that his lips miss yours, which sends a curious eyebrow arch and light glare your way from your husband.

"Well, cariño, if my tongue can't have you, then I know something else that can." Miguel lifted your towel and spread your legs as you let a breathy moan as you felt him enter his cock inside your wet folds from behind.

"Miguel." You growled out in warning. "I was hoping we go out...go out...and explore."

Miguel breathed in your hair as he turned your chin to face him. His lips met yours as he began thrusting himself inside you, making you lean over the bathroom counter.

"Of course we can, mi amor. But let's finish this round, and we'll get ready."

You huff in annoyance, knowing this wouldn't be the only session, especially since he just woke up. Of course, you're not complaining about the surge of pleasure coursing through your entire body, but he's going to regret marking up your neck.

Damn, maybe you shouldn't have let him sleep in. The amount of vigor he sends through each thrust hurts slightly as his tip consistently slams against your cervix. But it only added to the overall pleasure. One of his hands went to your lower abdomen as he pressed his palm against you, feeling himself move inside you and making him rougher with his movements.

The doorbell rang, followed by a woman calling behind the main door, "Housekeeping!"

"Puta madre," Miguel growled as he picked up his pace to see to your climax. After hearing your sweet moans come out seconds later, he pulled out and put himself back in his boxers, ready to confront the people at the door. (Son of a Bitch)

Despite your legs feeling like jelly from only one round, you stood up and placed your hand on his chest, stopping his movements. "I think I should go answer the door." You smile as you go on your toes and peck his lips before you leave and grab your robe to cover yourself.

The doorbell goes off again. You quickly get to the door before the housekeeper opens it.

"Hi, sorry for the wait." You brushed your hair behind one of your ears, a nervous habit.

Standing before you was an older woman and a woman near your age. The older woman's eyes widen as she notices the hickey on your neck. You move your hair to cover them as a blush falls on your cheeks.

"Good morning, Mrs. O'Hara. We hope you and Mr. O'Hara have been enjoying your time here. Would you like us to clean the house?" The older woman spoke with a warm smile.

"That would be amazing. We were planning on heading out in 30 minutes. Is it ok to come back around then?"

"Of course, Mrs. O'Hara. Is there anything else you need?" The other woman spoke.

"No, nothing else. Thank you. Have a nice day."

"Thank you. You too."

You smile before closing the door and return to where Miguel sat on the bed, getting rid of his morning wood. You made your way to him as you got on your knees.

You gave him a few strokes from your hand that couldn't even fully wrap around his massive shaft. You dragged your tongue up his member before kissing his leaking tip, your gaze not leaving him once. You open your mouth for him to slide onto your tongue and down your throat.

"Fuck, I love you and that pretty mouth of yours." Miguel moaned out as his hand reached the back of your head. His fingers intertwined into your hair as he gently thrusts into your throat. You hum in approval against his cock, earning another groan from Miguel's lips.

Miguel gently thrusts more of himself into your mouth; being used to his size in your throat, you were able to stop from gagging as you continued to move your tongue along his cock. You make sure your tongue grazes over the vein on the underside of his member, sending a large amount of pleasure through him.

Miguel groaned in pleasure as he gently thrust a few more times before spilling into your throat. You happily swallow every drop before removing him from your mouth. You lick anything remaining on your lips as you stand up and kiss his cheek.

After getting ready, you walk out of the cabana hand in hand. You smile up at him as he looks down at you lovingly, stopping briefly to kiss your lips sweetly. You caress his cheek as you look into his red-brown eyes. His hand is placed on top of yours, showing his wedding band.

"I love you." You breathe out.

"I love you more, mi diosa." (my goddess.) He kisses you again before you go to the resort's main building.

You sat on the lounge sofa as you looked at the scattered hotel experience brochures on the table.

"Mi amor." You looked up to see a fork with a piece of your favorite fruit in your face. You were so excited looking at all the excursions and activities you forgot to eat. You smile lovingly before you open your mouth for him to feed it to you.

"Thank you, Miggy."

"Have to look out for you sometimes." He smiles happily down at you as he kisses your cheek. You lean against his chest as you open one of the brochures to show him.

"This one is a catamaran that takes you to these gorgeous caves that boats can go through, or we can jump in and swim. Ooo, snorkeling on a reef sounds fun, too! I wonder which one we should choose..."

Miguel lifted your hand, kissed your wedding ring, and then entangled his fingers with yours. "If you can't decide, let's do both. We're here to enjoy our time together. When we get back, we won't have that much relaxing time since your internship will be starting a month from then. We have an endless amount of funds; let's use it to enjoy ourselves to the fullest."

After an enjoyable breakfast by the crystal turquoise waters and booking all the fun excursions with the concierge, you find the perfect place at the beach to relax under the sun.

You take your sundress off wearing a brand-new white bathing suit. You couldn't help but be a little cheesy. You were on your honeymoon, after all.

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, and you felt a toned chest against your backside as lips lightly kissed your neck, making you giggle.

"Miggy, you're tickling my neck."

"If I can hear your beautiful laugh, I might just continue."

You turn your head to kiss his lips. You felt his tongue slip through your lips, surprising you as you gently slap his chest, parting your lips from his.

"Miguel, cálmate." You smile as you give him a playful glare, and he smirks. (Calm down.)

"What can I say, Hermosa? I love you so much and can't help but show it."

You turn around and wrap your arms around his neck as you get on your toes and sweetly kiss his lips. "I love you so much, too."

"How about-" he kisses your lips. " I'll go get us-" he kisses the part between your neck and shoulder. "Some drinks."

"Thank you, honey. Love you."

Miguel kissed you on the lips, squeezing your ass and quickly moving away before you could hit him. He only winked at you with a goofy grin before returning to the bar.

"Fuck, she's hot."

"Hey there, cutie."

You were relaxing on the lounge chair, enjoying the sun, when a shadow appeared before you. Opening your eyes, a frown appeared on your lips as you saw two men around your age, or most likely seniors in college, standing in front of you.

"Um, can I help you? You're blocking the sun."

"We were walking on the beach and saw this smoking hot babe in a white bikini, and we thought we would shoot our shot and buy you a drink."

"I'm a married woman. Even if I weren't, I would still say no. So, have a nice day." You sarcastically wave them away. But, of course, these guys were the extra obnoxious douches.

"Oh, come on now. Just one drink. Plus, how do we know you're married? I don't see your husband any-"

"Mi amor, are these men bothering you?" Towering behind the two men was your pissed-off husband.

"Yes, they were."

The men's faces grew pale as they saw a large, well-built man give them a death glare.

"Uh, s-sorry, man. Our bad. We'll get going."

"I think that's wise. This is a private and very exclusive beach that I highly doubt you two are members of. Please don't make me catch you bothering my wife or anyone else again. Got it?"

"Y-yes." The two men quickly walked away.

You stood up from your chair, hugged his waist, and kissed his cheek. "My hero."

Miguel smiled lovingly at you as he leaned down to kiss your lips. He sat on his chair, his beer in one hand and another arm around your waist. You sat between his legs, resting your back against his chest, stealing kisses from each other occasionally.

After lounging at the beach all day, you return to the luxury cabana you've been staying in.

When you finally returned, you immediately plopped onto the bed, closing your eyes.

Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you were startled when you felt arms lift you from the bed bridal style. You headed out to the outdoor terrace, facing the gorgeous view of the ocean. Your gaze landed on the table beautifully set up with food, wine, and candles, giving natural light.

"This is beautiful, Miguel. What's the occasion?" Miguel sat you in one of the chairs before sitting beside you.

"No occasion. I know you wanted to explore more today, but I just wanted to have dinner with the two of us."

You leave your seat and walk to his side of the table. Miguel happily moves his chair out so you can sit on his lap. "I don't mind if it's just you and me. Not one bit."

A giggle leaves your lips as Miguel kisses your neck and the top of your chest. You grabbed a fork, picked up a piece of food, and fed it to him.

"Is it delicious?"

"It is. But I've had more delicious things." Miguel took the fork from your hand and set it on the table. You scrunch your brows, wondering what could be better than a 6-star dish.

"And what could that be?" You chuckle.

Miguel kissed your neck up to your ear as he whispered, " You." Lifting your bridal style in his arms, he kissed your lips in a heated, loving manner as he led you inside towards the bedroom.

———-

After another long night of passionate lovemaking, you wake up to another lovely morning with an ocean view. You turn in bed to find it empty. Frowning slightly from the lack of extra warmth, you leave the bed and head to the walk-in closet. After putting on some panties, pajama shorts, and one of Miguel's T-shirts, you walk towards the living area. However, you find it empty. You then hear your husband's laughter echo outside from the deck.

You smile as you walk outside and see him on FaceTime with your daughter. Walking up to sit next to him on the sofa, he smiles lovingly at you and kisses your cheek, saying, "Good morning, mi amor."

"Mama!"

"Baby bug! I've missed you!!"

"I've missed you too, Mama! When are you and Papa coming home?"

"A little over a week until we come back home," Miguel answered, and Gabi's lips turned into a pout as tears began to form from the corner of her eyes.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. It's going to be ok. We'll be back in a flash." Tears threatened to spill from your own eyes as it broke your heart to see your daughter sad and missing you and Miguel.

"Gabi, remember what I told you?" Gabriel spoke up as he wiped her tears away.

She rubbed her eyes as she shyly shook her head.

"Mama and Papa have to go on a long journey because they need to talk to a magical waterfall to ask for a baby so you can have a brother and sister."

You tried so hard to keep a straight face. Out of all the ways to explain how children are made, he says this? You sighed, and a smile graced your lips. Gabi's pout turned into her adorable smile as she believed her uncle's story.

"Papa! Mama! Can I have a little sister, please!"

"Sadly we can't decide princesa. Only the magical waterfall can." Miguel told her, joining in on the story.

"Oh, ok."

"Baby bug, if you have a little brother or sister, I bet they would love to hang out and play with you no matter what." Your words kept a smile on her face.

"Alright, Gabi. We have to get you to your play date," Gabriel said, to your daughter's disappointment.

"But I want to talk to Mama and Papa more."

"It's ok, princesa. You can talk to us when you finish your play date."

"Promise."

"We promise. We love you, baby bug." You blow her a kiss, which she does back as she says she loves you both before hanging up the phone.

Miguel puts your legs on his lap before pulling you closer to him. He leans over and kisses you, which you happily reciprocate. The kiss leads to a heated make-out session, distracting you both until you hear an alarm from Miguelon 's phone, indicating it is time to head over to the dock for the catamaran.

After getting properly dressed, you head to the pick-up destination. The catamaran wasn't private, as none were available, so you and Miguel would be sharing it with three other couples.

When the boat arrives, you stare in awe at its beauty. Feeling Miguel's hand on your lower backside brings you back to reality as you walk on the catamaran.

You both found the perfect place to sit and relax in the sun together.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! We will be arriving at the caves in 30 minutes. Please feel free to enjoy the open bar while you relax."

"Do you want me to get you a beer?"

"That would be amazing, Hermosa. Thank you." Miguel pulled you close and quickly kissed your lips before you went to the bar to get the drinks.

As you were waiting for the drinks, your gaze lazily wandered. Suddenly, you noticed a man checking you out. He winked at you, but you scoffed and rolled your eyes. Luckily, his girlfriend saw it, and you smiled when you heard a smack. Thanking the bartender, you walked back to your husband with the drinks.

"Here you go, honey." You pass him his favorite beer.

"Thank you, mi amor." Miguel kissed your cheek before taking a sip of his beer.

"Oh! I want to get a photo of us before we enter the water."

Miguel smiled as he grabbed your waist and brought you to sit between his legs, letting your back rest against his chest. You raised the phone to take a photo, with Miguel stealing a kiss or two between photos, which made you giggle, urging him to stop the PDA. He whispered into your ear, " Then I'll just have to make up for the time showing you how much I love you back in the bedroom." This sent a nice chill up your spine.

"Hey! Would you like me to photograph the two of you?" A redheaded woman around your age with a warm smile approached the two of you.

"That you be amazing. Thank you." You hand her your phone. She happily takes a few photos, which turn out to be amazing. You need to put one in a frame.

"Thank you. Would you like me to take one for you?" You offered.

"That would be amazing. Let me get my fiancé." The woman leaves before returning with a man. Your eyes widen when the familiar, slightly older face awkwardly smiles back at you.

"This is Matt. My fiancé. I'm Chelsea, by the way."

Who would have thought that the guy Miguel stole you away at the bar that night years ago would be right in front of you?

"It's been a while, hasn't it." Matt chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"It has. About that night. Apologies for stealing her." Miguel chuckled as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him.

"No worries, man. All good. Plus, if I didn't leave when I did that morning after bumping into the both of you, I never would have bumped into the love of my life in the elevator." Matt brought Chelsea close and kissed her cheek.

"I could say the same thing about finding my true love." Miguel looked at you with a loving gaze. If he could, he would give you the entire universe.

"What brings you here?" You asked.

"Matt popped the question to me yesterday. So we decided to go on this catamaran to celebrate. What about you?" Chelsea asked.

"It's our honeymoon. We got married last week."

"Congratulations! Hope you've been having fun here."

"We have." Miguel looks at you, your cheeks tinted pink, as you notice the lustful cloud over his eyes.

You talked more with Chelsea as you waited for the boat to reach its destination. As soon as your skin became too warm under the sun, you sighed in relief when the captain announced your arrival.

When you were allowed to get into the water, you didn't hesitate. You went in, followed by Miguel. Since the water was very salty, it was easy to float. You swam up to Miguel, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing his lips, and placing his hands on your hips as he brought you closer.

"Ready to explore?" You ask as your lips separate from his.

"You or the caves?" he chuckled. You lightly slapped his chest, trying to hide your smile but failing.

As you swim to one of the caves, the water becomes shallow enough for Miguel to stand. When you arrive at the cave, you pass through a sheet of water flowing over the entrance. You swim in first, followed by Miguel.

Your eyes widen at the cave's beauty, with the blue water and natural light coming into the cave, reflecting a beautiful blue on the walls. As you continued deeper into the cave, you could finally stand.

A breath shuttered out of your chest as you felt Miguel pressed up against you. His fingers brushed against your neck as you pushed your hair to the side as he kissed your neck. You smiled as you leaned into his touch.

"Miguel, we shouldn't. Someone might see." You giggle as his lips lightly tickle your neck.

"Cariño, there are multiple caves. And the couples who decided to go for a swim went to different caves, for what I'm assuming the same reason for what we're about to do."

"You'll say anything to get into my pants." You smiled as you turned around and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"Can you blame me?" He chuckled as he grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he kissed your lips.

You wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. His tongue is in your mouth as the make-out session grows more heated.

Miguel moved you towards a ledge. As he lies you down on the smooth rock surface, he brings you closer, head between your thighs. His hands go to the side of your thighs as he slides the bottoms of your bathing suit off.

Your slight, worried glance made him chuckle as he wrapped your bottoms around his wrist so they wouldn't get swept away by the water.

"You only have 30 minutes." You chuckle out a breath as he lifts your legs to his shoulders.

"I'll make sure to make it count."

You let a small moan escape from you as his teeth nip your inner thighs before placing his lips on your clit. Your fingers intertwine in his hair as his lips and tongue savored every part of you.

---

Your body was shaking after coming down from your fifth orgasm from your husband's mouth. A warm chill went up your spine as his tongue moved from your clit to your stomach, breasts, and neck, then captured your lips with his.

Another moan escaped from you as you felt him push himself inside you, still able to stretch you no matter how many times he's fucked you.

After having more fun in the cave, you enjoy the rest of your time on the catamaran, drinking and enjoying the ocean view.

It was now nighttime, and after taking a shower to wash off, you decided to cuddle in bed together and watch a show.

Resting your head against his chest, his arm wrapped around you, holding you close as your legs intertwined with his to keep your feet warm.

"I'm sad this honeymoon dream we're in will end in a week. But it also means the start of a new chapter in our lives, which I'm excited for."

Miguel looks at you with a loving smile as he brushes some of your hair behind your ear. "Every day with you is my dream. I love you, cariño."

"I love you more." You lean up and kiss him. He cups your cheek as his thumb grazes over it.

"I love you more than the universe and will for eternity."

————————————————————————

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Two more to go!🥰

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angelremnants · 19 days ago

Text

A TALES OF.. l Jasmins and Prayers

OR.. Still seething with frustration from what had transpired in the cave, Loki storms into his room while cursing your damned dress that lingered in his mind. The tension inside him grows as he struggles to maintain control, and the white jasmin petals floating in his bath only heighten the ache. Caught in a whirlwind of temptation and self-loathing, he finds himself confronted by the dangerous path his thoughts have taken—and, more urgently, by the overwhelming need to act on them.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (18+—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), Loki-centric, emotional turmoil, graphic sexual content, gratification (male masturbation), twisted fantasies running wild, oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it!), themes of norse lore and worship, edging, degradation & praise kink, choking kink, power play, dom!Loki/sub!reader, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 15.1k

author's notes : Trust me when I say that I was biting my nail the whole time I was writing this—then again, I was also listening to Kiss Land on loop. The man is too hot for my well-being, Your Honor.

This is a continuation of A Tales Of Tides and Mishaps—you can also read this separately, but I'd recommend reading the first part to understand the context. This is the first time I've ever written something NSFW, so please do let me know how I did.

(ao3 version)

The torches lining the grand corridors of the palace flickered and hissed against the weight of the evening air, their golden glow casting restless shadows on the towering marble walls. The echo of footsteps—a sharp, deliberate rhythm—carried through the vast halls, announcing his approach. Loki moved swiftly, his cape billowing behind him like the rippling edge of a storm cloud, the emerald and black of his attire catching the light with each stride.

The palace was quieter at this hour, subdued under the veil of twilight, yet it was far from peaceful. Whispers of court intrigue hung in the air like smoke, weaving through every corner of Asgard’s opulent halls. It was a place that thrived on appearances, on masks as intricate as the golden carvings that adorned the throne room doors. Loki was no stranger to this game. He played it better than most—deftly, effortlessly, and always with an edge that dared others to challenge him.

Tonight, however, something gnawed at the edges of his mind, unsettling his usual composure. The weight of unspoken words lingered on his tongue, and the echo of a gaze—not his own—followed him like a shadow. He had faced gods and monsters, chaos and ruin, yet there was something about the quiet tension of that earlier encounter that refused to let him go.

The grand corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, the silence amplifying every subtle sound—the faint rustle of his cape, the barely perceptible sigh of the wind brushing against the windows, and the distant murmur of voices from somewhere deeper within the palace. Loki barely registered any of it. His focus remained inward, on the fire still simmering beneath his carefully constructed facade.

It had been a fleeting moment, no more than a handful of exchanged words, but it had been enough to unearth something he had long buried—a vulnerability he could not afford, not now, not ever. And yet, there it was, clawing at him with an unrelenting persistence.

The throne room loomed ahead, its doors partially ajar, spilling warm light into the corridor. A faint hum of voices drifted out, the low cadence of his parents and their guest among them. Loki slowed his pace, his expression hardening as his gaze lingered on the doors.

He could walk in. His presence would be noticed, his words sharp enough to cut through whatever discussion you were undoubtedly steering with your usual reckless charm. He could force himself into the center of it all, just as he always did—commanding attention, manipulating the narrative, and ensuring that no one, not even his mother, could look past him.

And yet, Loki hesitated.

The previous fire burned hotter now, threatening to consume him if he did not retreat. He turned on his heel, his movements swift and precise, and strode away from the throne room. Whatever tension awaited him within those gilded walls would have to wait. Right now, he needed to be anywhere else.

The corridors seemed darker now, the torchlight dimmer as he navigated the familiar path to his chambers. Each step brought him closer to the solace of solitude, to the space where he could strip away the mask he wore so effortlessly and face the tempest within.

His mind raced, the unease gnawing at him with increasing intensity. He had tried to ease the tension—an impromptu training session in the palace's sparring chambers had seemed like the perfect solution. The clash of blades and the heavy exertion of physical combat usually grounded him, soothed the simmering anger that had no outlet. But tonight, even the sharp sting of combat had failed to settle the fire within him. His movements had been fluid and practiced, and yet, the burning frustration lingered—nothing had worked.

As he reached his room, Loki paused for a fraction of a second, his hand resting on the cold metal of the door handle. The thoughts he had tried to suppress surged again, sharper this time, cutting through his defenses like a blade. With a sharp exhale, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, the heavy wood creaking as it swung shut behind him.

The silence of his chambers was a stark contrast to the noise in his head. The air was still, undisturbed, save for the faint scent of cedar and leather that always lingered here. Yet, even in this sanctuary, he could not escape the weight of your presence, the echo of your voice, and the pull you had over him.

Tonight, Loki realized, no amount of distance would be enough to silence the chaos your had left in your wake.

⠀⠀

The door shut behind him with a finality that seemed to press against his chest. Loki’s chambers were dimly lit, the golden light of a single lantern on his desk flickering faintly against the polished surfaces of dark wood and stone. The quiet hum of Asgard beyond his walls was muted here, but the storm inside his mind was deafening.

He took a step forward, shrugging off his cape and letting it fall onto the back of a chair. The fabric slid noiselessly to the floor, but he didn’t bother retrieving it. His boots echoed softly on the smooth stone floor as he crossed the room, every movement deliberate yet restless.

He paused near the tall windows, the view of the city below sprawling in shimmering lights. For a moment, he allowed himself to stare out at it, his sharp features etched in the pale glow of the moon. The beauty of Asgard, timeless and magnificent, failed to reach him tonight.

Instead, his mind lingered on the moment he had fled from. Your gaze, steady and unrelenting, had burned through the walls he had spent centuries perfecting. The way you had spoken to him, your tone laced with something he couldn’t quite place, had stirred something dangerous within him—something he had tried to bury beneath layers of wit and cruelty.

Loki’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He could still hear your voice, the faintest trace of challenge, or perhaps curiosity, woven through it. You had looked at him in a way that made his thoughts crumble, and for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, he hadn’t hated it. No, what he hated was how much he had wanted more of it.

It made no sense. He didn’t crave closeness, didn’t long for understanding—those were weaknesses he had abandoned long ago. But this? This was different. This was something he couldn’t name, and it terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

The tension that coiled in his chest now was almost suffocating. His body betrayed him, heat pooling low in his abdomen as he fought to chase the thought away. He let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair as if the act could dispel the intrusive images crowding his mind. He could still see you in his mind’s eye, the way your lips had curved, the way your hands had moved as you spoke. Would your hands feel as soft as they appeared? Would your lips taste as sweet as they seemed?

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, but the images only became more vivid, more intrusive. Your laughter, light and warm, played on repeat in his memory, tugging at him in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in ages. And your touch—he could almost imagine it now, your fingers grazing his skin, your breath mingling with his. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, one he couldn’t suppress.

“Foolish,” he muttered to himself, his voice low and bitter. “Utterly foolish.”

But even as he berated himself, his body betrayed him. His pulse quickened, his breathing shallow as the ache beneath his skin grew harder to ignore. He felt you everywhere—in the warm air that wrapped around him, in the faint flicker of the lantern’s light, in the silence that hung heavy in his chambers. You weren’t there, but it felt as though you had seeped into the very fabric of his being, your presence undeniable and inescapable.

Loki began to pace, his steps measured but restless, like a predator stalking the confines of a cage. His movements were sharp, the tension in his frame radiating with every step he took. His hands itched with the need to do something, anything, to dispel the storm inside him. They brushed against the buttons of his tunic, and with a frustrated sigh, he began unfastening them. His movements were quick and almost angry, as though shedding the layers of fabric could rid him of the thoughts that clung to his mind.

The cool air of his chambers kissed his skin as he pulled the tunic from his body, but it did little to extinguish the fire raging within. He tossed the garment aside carelessly, his breath coming faster now. His eyes darted back to the window, to the city below, but the view offered no solace. All he could see was you, all he could feel was the pull of you, and it was maddening.

Loki leaned heavily against the windowsill, his palms pressed against the cool stone as he stared out into the night. The lights of Asgard below shimmered in a haunting dance, indifferent to the turmoil within him.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though seeking some answer from the vast, indifferent universe.

The question hung in the air, unanswered, like a bitter curse, and Loki squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the surge of emotions threatening to drown him. The need to control was a constant in his life, but now, it was slipping through his fingers like sand. He couldn't make sense of any of this. Why you? Why was his mind consumed by someone so... insignificant? Someone who could never understand the weight of the worlds he carried or the gods he had to contend with.

His frustration surged again, building like a pressure that had nowhere to go. He slammed his fist into the nearest table, but it wasn’t enough. The magic thrummed beneath his skin, begging for release, demanding action. And in a moment of unbridled rage, his hands flared with green energy, bright and violent, slicing through the room like a storm tearing through the air. A flash of blinding light erupted, and before he could even register what was happening, his magic shattered the nearby mirror, sending shards of glass scattering across the floor in a chaotic spray.

The sharp sound of cracking glass filled the room, and for a long moment, Loki stood frozen, chest heaving as he stared at the destruction. He had lost control. Again. The realization hit him like a wave of cold water. You’ve let it consume you. A mortal. And this is what it leads to.

A deep sigh escaped him as the weight of the situation began to sink in. He was not a man to let his emotions dictate his actions. But there it was, the undeniable truth—your effect on him was far more than it should have been. The intensity of his feelings, his desire, his frustration—they were more than he could stand. And here he was, a god, destroying things that held no real importance in the grand scheme of things.

His hands trembled, not with weakness but with the uncontrollable surge of magic. He closed his eyes, his breath shaky as he reached out with his magic again, this time not in destruction but in self-repair. With a wave of his hand, the pieces of shattered glass began to float back together, the cracks mending themselves, the mirror reassembling as if it had never been broken at all.

Once the room was quiet again, Loki stood still for a long moment, his fingers flexing as he allowed the tension to drain out of him, though it was impossible to completely erase it. The ache still gnawed at his insides, relentless and unforgiving. His breath came out in a slow exhale as he straightened his posture, fixing the collar of his tunic and wiping the last traces of anger from his expression.

He couldn’t stay here, surrounded by the evidence of his volatile nature. I need to cool off. He needed to distance himself from the fire that raged inside him. And perhaps a bath would do that—remove the tension from his body, quell the heat that seemed to pulse beneath his skin.

With a final exasperated sigh, Loki turned toward the door, his movements purposeful, though his mind still felt like a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and desires. This will pass, he thought, trying to convince himself. It’s only a fleeting distraction.

But deep down, Loki knew that you were no fleeting distraction. He had already allowed you to slip too far into his thoughts. And he hated himself for it. Yet, the ache remained, and all he could do was seek solace in the solitude of a hot bath, hoping that somehow, the water would cleanse him—if only for a moment—from the chaos you had stirred within him.

⠀⠀

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the bathing room, a cool breeze greeted him, the scent of lavender and cedarwood drifting through the air, mingling with the faint scent of stone and ancient marble.

The room before him was a sanctuary, a perfect reflection of Asgardian elegance—spacious, luxurious, and imbued with a sense of tranquility that seemed to pulse from the very walls. The floor was polished white marble, veins of gold tracing through the stone like lightning trapped within, glowing faintly in the low light. Tall, arched windows lined one side, offering a view of the vast garden outside, though the curtains were drawn, leaving only the soft glow of magical lanterns to illuminate the space.

At the center of the room sat a large, circular bathing tub, crafted from gleaming obsidian stone. It was deep, large enough to engulf him entirely, a perfect retreat for someone of his status. The water within was an inviting shade of blue, shimmering with an ethereal glow that suggested it had been heated by some unseen magic, its surface smooth and still, reflecting the light above.

Loki paused for a moment in the doorway, letting the serenity of the room wash over him. The tension that had gripped him so tightly seemed to ease just slightly, though the ache in his chest remained. His thoughts swirled back to you—your eyes, your voice, the way you had looked at him. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t shake it, and it gnawed at him with every breath.

With a sharp exhale, Loki closed the door behind him and turned to face the room fully. He flicked his fingers, a subtle wave of magic rippling through the air, and the lanterns brightened, their light now casting soft pools of warmth across the marble floor. A gentle mist filled the room, adding an element of tranquility, as though the very atmosphere was designed to soothe his frazzled nerves.

His gaze moved to the mirror above a stone counter, where his reflection stared back at him, eyes intense, troubled. A god, reduced to this. His hands moved to the fastening of his tunic, slow and methodical, as though the very act of undressing held some measure of control.

Loki's movements radiated a sensual confidence, each action steeped in an intoxicating blend of precision and allure. He took his time, weaving an intimate dance with the fabric of his clothing, each piece falling to the floor like a whispered secret—soft, intentional, and laden with significance. He navigated the dimly lit room, the soft glow of flickering candles casting playful shadows that danced along the walls. He wasn’t in a rush; there was an artistry to his undressing, each piece of clothing becoming a symbol of the facade he wore, now being shed in this private sanctum.

As the fabric of his shirt slipped off his shoulders, it fell to the floor with a whisper, a soft thud against the wooden planks, almost reverent in its descent. The air was thick with a tension that mirrored the slow cadence of his movements, as though he was peeling away layers not just of cloth, but of burden. The shirt landed, joining a delicate mosaic of who he could be—each article holding memories, masks, realities.

Next came his trousers, the fabric snaking down his legs, revealing the sculpted lines of his body illuminated in the dancing candlelight. Muscles taut beneath pale skin, he moved in a way that was both sensuous and fierce, the shadows playing across his form, creating images of both beauty and danger. As the heat of the moment surged through him, he became acutely aware of his body’s response, the way his muscles tensed with anticipation, each sinew straining beneath the surface. A flicker of arousal sparked within him, causing his hardness to awaken, a subtle yet undeniable shift that added to the intoxicating energy swirling around him.

Yet, amid this heady mix of sensations, a sliver of disappointment crept in, gnawing at him like an unwelcome specter. He felt almost ashamed of his reaction, wondering how he could be so easily swayed when he prided himself on his control. It was merely the stress and the biting cold that wrapped around him, he assured himself, drawing deep and steadying breaths to dispel the tumult within. He paused for a fleeting moment, taking in the reflection of his body, the duality of godhood and vulnerability coiling within him, a tension rippling just beneath the surface, a potent mix of the primal and the divine swirling together in the glow of the flickering light.

In a final, almost reluctant motion, he let the last vestiges of his clothing fall away, relinquishing that last act of defiance. Standing there in the barely-there illumination, he felt the cool air wrap around him like a lover’s embrace, tender yet precise—inviting yet cautious. His skin prickled at the contrast, the air a stark reminder of both exposure and freedom.

With his gaze drawn to the tub—water rippling softly, steam curling sensuously into the air—he felt an anticipation unfurl within him. The promise of warmth beckoned, a siren’s call for solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within. Yet, there lingered in his heart a feral tug, an instinctive hesitation, a wildness that resisted the notion of surrendering to something so simple as water. It was a battle within, between the aching need for release and the primal urge to remain untamed, unsurrendered. There was a beauty in this struggle, the rawness of his being laid bare in the stillness, poised on the precipice of either yielding to warmth or holding fast to the tempest that raged just beneath his skin.

But he was a god of control, and this was necessary. Just a moment of peace.

His magic swirled around him again, a green glow radiating from his hands as he guided the water to shift, the surface rippling softly before calming once more. He wove intricate spells, adjusting the temperature, ensuring that the water was just the right warmth—neither too hot nor too cold, but perfectly comfortable, a balm for his strained muscles and his mind.

Loki’s fingers hovered just above the water, watching the gentle ripples his magic created, feeling the subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere. With a final, sharp flick of his wrist, the water settled into perfect stillness, the surface smooth as glass once again.

A slow, almost imperceptible sigh left his lips, and he stepped forward. His body, tense from the moment before, finally released its last vestiges of resistance as he lowered himself into the tub, the cool water meeting his skin with a comforting embrace. The water rose around him, enveloping him with its warmth, soothing the ache that had burned within him for far too long.

Loki leaned back, his head resting against the edge of the tub, eyes closed for a moment as he let the water cradle him. The tension in his shoulders, his chest, and his legs seemed to dissolve as the heat seeped into his muscles, coaxing them to relax. The water, now lapping gently at the sides of the tub, seemed to hum with its own energy, resonating with his magic.

But still, the thought of you lingered, persistent as the heat in his body. He couldn’t escape it—not even in the quiet solitude of the bath. His fingers, tracing the surface of the water, clenched for a brief moment, his nails scraping softly against the ceramic of the tub. The conflicting feelings of anger, frustration, and desire—they all bubbled within him, mixing in a stew he could neither ignore nor understand.

For now, he would let the water soothe him. But deep down, Loki knew that the tension, the ache—it was only temporarily quelled. Like the magic that swirled through his veins, the thoughts of you would return, relentless as ever.

He tried to focus on the soothing embrace of the bath, the gentle ripples caressing his skin. His breath slowed as he let the water hold him, but even then, in this sanctuary of water and solitude, the thought of you crept back into his mind.

Your face, so close to his in the cave, flashed before his eyes. The way your breath had quickened, the flicker of something more than just a shared moment of tension between them. The warmth of your body, the steady pulse beneath your skin, the way your gaze had lingered on him. The hunger, the unspoken invitation. It haunted him.

Loki’s eyes snapped open, and his hands clenched around the edge of the tub, his pulse quickening as an image of you lingered—your lips so close to his, the soft touch of your hand against his chest. The thought of you in such proximity, your scent mingling with his own, sent a shiver down his spine.

No.

The word was a bitter hiss in his mind, the sharpest of rebukes. She’s mortal, he reminded himself, though it did little to quell the heat that surged within him.

His breath grew shallow, his pulse drumming in his ears as the desire swelled, thick and unyielding. It filled his chest, squeezing, suffocating. He couldn't control it—not when all he could see, all he could feel, was you.

Loki's eyes clenched shut as the thought of you intensified. His stomach twisted with frustration, his body aching with need he had no desire to acknowledge. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t let this consume him—not now, not in this moment of fragile peace.

With a sharp, exasperated breath, Loki plunged himself beneath the water, his magic swirling in the depths as he submerged his entire form, letting the cool embrace of the liquid swallow him whole. The world above disappeared, and for a moment, he was weightless, suspended in the depths of the tub.

The coldness of the water stung against his skin, sharp and refreshing, but it did nothing to wash away the images of you. They clung to him, persistent and relentless, like shadows in the depths of his mind.

Foolish.

The word echoed in his mind as he held himself underwater, his breath held tight as the world remained muffled, distorted by the pressure around him. The steady rhythm of his heart was the only sound, the only constant as he lingered in the dark stillness. Time stretched on, but he could not escape it. The ache in his chest burned, the tension in his body still there despite the cold water.

He remained submerged for what felt like an eternity, the minutes slipping away in the quiet abyss. The longer he stayed, the more he realized that the thoughts would not leave—not just like this, not with any amount of magic or water.

Reluctantly, with a slow, frustrated exhale, Loki pushed himself back to the surface, breaking through the water with a gasp, his hair plastered to his face, droplets clinging to his skin like a reminder of his defeat. He dragged a hand through his damp hair, his breath ragged as he lay there, floating in the stillness of the room.

The lingering warmth of the water against his skin did nothing to soothe the fire that still simmered inside him. As much as he tried to push it away, he could still feel the imprint of you—the way you had looked at him, the way your voice had tangled with his thoughts. And for the first time in centuries, Loki found himself unable to control the ache that pulsed through him, unable to banish the thoughts of you from his mind.

His mind began to drift again—against his will, like a tide pulling him back to the same, dangerous shore. The silence of the room felt too heavy now, too quiet, and the very stillness of the water seemed to echo with your presence. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, as though you were standing there beside him, watching him in this private moment, your eyes lingering on him in ways he couldn’t dismiss.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, but the thought of you wouldn’t fade. It surged forward, unstoppable. The way you had leaned in close to him in the cave, how your breath had ghosted over his skin. How close you had been.

Loki clenched his jaw, his muscles tightening involuntarily. He had wanted to pull you closer, to feel your body against his, to lose himself in the heat of it. The thought of it was maddening, and yet it brought an odd thrill that he couldn’t explain.

The way you had been perched so close to him—the soft heat of your breath against his neck—had made his entire body hum with something unfamiliar, something raw. And your touch... the way your fingertips had traced the contours of his skin, leaving behind a trail of fire that burned long after you had pulled away. The memory of that touch tormented him now, echoing through his mind with unbearable clarity.

His pulse quickened as a flash of that moment surged through him once more. Why couldn’t he let it go?

Without thinking, his hand reached out to the small table beside the bath, fingers brushing against a bottle of scented oil—cinnamon and citrus, a soothing blend he usually used after a long day of training. He didn’t even register what he was doing, lost in the spiral of his thoughts.

He uncapped the bottle, the faint scent of lavender and citrus filling the air, and without hesitation, he poured a small amount onto the length of his torso. The droplets were cool and soft against his skin, but as his hand moved lower, his thoughts drifted again—back to you.

Your skin... soft, delicate. How would it feel to touch you like that? To press his fingertips into you, to feel your body respond to him in ways he had only dreamed of?

The oil dripped onto his abdomen, the cool droplets traveling from the perch of his pectorals down to the navel of his hips. Loki’s eyes squeezed shut, but the memory of your touch was impossible to push away. Your touch could be like that. Your fingers, warm and slow against my skin.

A shiver ran down his spine as the cool oil continued to trickle down his abdomen. His breath hitched when the thought came unbidden, If she had done that...

He imagined you, perched on the edge of the tub just as you had been in the cave—your body so close to his, your breath mingling with his. Your fingers, trailing over his skin, leaving a burning path in their wake. The thought was so vivid, so intoxicating, that he didn’t realize he was still rubbing the oil into his skin, his movements becoming more deliberate, more sensual, as if he were trying to mimic the sensation he had felt in that moment with you.

His fingers, almost without thinking, moved—mirroring the sensation in his mind, tracing a path down his own body just as he had imagined you doing. The movement was slow, deliberate as if he were trying to imitate your touch, to feel it against his own skin. His fingertips brushed lightly down the length of his torso, where the oil had left a trail that seemed to burn even in its coolness.

The more he thought about it, the more the tension inside him grew. His chest tightened, and his body, betraying him, responded to the fantasies that plagued his mind. Loki’s hand faltered for a moment, his thumb hovering near his navel as the reality of what he was doing settled over him.

What am I doing?

But the thought of you—the memory of how you had looked at him, how close you had been, how you had made him feel—was too powerful to resist. His chest heaved slightly, his fingers tracing the curve of his abdomen, the droplets of oil now warm against his skin as they mixed with the heat of his body. He was unaware that his movements had become more purposeful, as if trying to recreate the sensations of that moment, that touch, over and over again. His breath became shallow as the oil slid across his skin, and the fantasy, once small, bloomed into something more dangerous, more tangible.

His fingers pressed against the base of his navel, his thoughts spiraling further into the fantasy. He imagined you again, your hands on him, your body close—too close. It was like a fever, impossible to escape, a longing that twisted deep inside of him. The oil, cool at first, was now nothing but a reminder of that same burn, that same ache in his chest, the ache that he hadn’t asked for, that he couldn’t ignore.

Loki’s heart raced, his fingers slipping lower, brushing against the taut skin of his lower abdomen. His eyes shot open then, as if a switch had been flipped. The realization that he was doing this—falling deeper into a dream, into a desire that should not be his—hit him like a thunderclap.

“No,” he hissed, clenching his jaw tightly, the word coming out sharp and furious.

He abruptly pulled his hand away from his skin, the sudden action leaving him breathless. He quickly closed the bottle of oil, the small sound of the cap snapping into place echoing in the stillness of the room. But even as he tried to stop, to force his thoughts to turn elsewhere, his body refused to listen. The desire was still there, simmering just below the surface, igniting something deep inside him that he wasn’t prepared to face.

Loki sank back into the water, burying his face in his hands, as if trying to rid himself of the images, of the fantasies that had invaded his mind so effortlessly. But no matter how much he willed it away, no matter how much he tried to drown the thoughts with water, with cold, with magic—it was there, clawing at him, persistent and unrelenting.

The ache in his chest had not dulled, and despite his efforts to push it aside, the restless tension lingered, coiling in his gut. His body was on the edge of something he didn't want to acknowledge, and it only grew more intense the more he tried to deny it.

His eyes flickered over to the small decorative jar at the edge of the bath. Inside, delicate jasmine petals rested in an elegant arrangement, their white blossoms giving off the scent of calming sweetness. He reached for it, his fingers brushing over the petals with a gentleness that contrasted with the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind. He needed to relax. He needed something to distract him, to ground him. He closed his eyes as he sprinkled the jasmine petals into the water, watching them float gently, their fragrance filling the room.

The scent was intoxicating, subtle yet powerful, and it seemed to settle the storm in his chest, if only for a moment. He inhaled deeply, the calming effect of the jasmine wrapping around him like a soft, invisible embrace.

But even in this moment of tranquility, his mind refused to be still. The petals floated serenely on the surface of the water, their white silk-like texture reminding him of something else—someone else.

You.

He couldn’t help it. His thoughts wandered back to you, back to the way you had looked in that cave, bathed in the dim, flickering light. The way your robe had clung to your skin, almost like a second layer, leaving little to the imagination. The soft, translucent fabric—white, like the petals—had clung to your curves in a way that made his pulse quicken. He could remember how the fabric had shimmered, catching the light as it molded to the shape of your body.

Loki's breath hitched, his gaze unfocused as the image of you lingered in his mind, vivid and undeniable. The robe, almost too delicate, seemed to shimmer like gossamer threads in the soft light, so sheer that it practically beckoned to him, enticing and inviting. He had found himself frozen for a brief moment, utterly mesmerized, unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of you. Your silhouette was barely concealed, each curve and contour tantalizingly revealed, igniting a fire of desire deep within him that was both exhilarating and maddening.

He could still see how the fabric draped over your body, caressing your every curve, accentuating your femininity with an intimate familiarity that sent his heart racing. The translucent material clung lovingly to your skin, almost teasing him, whispering promises of warmth and intimacy beneath its sheer veil. He had almost been envious of the way it clung to you, as if the robe shared an intimate secret with you, a bond that left him yearning to touch, to discover the warmth of your flesh nestled against that delicate barrier.

The jasmine petals scattered about like whispers against the deep water only amplified the sensuality of the memory, their pure white softness echoing the ethereal glow of your robe. It seemed as though the petals mirrored those intimate moments, each delicate blossom a reflection of the way the fabric clung to your body, effortlessly sculpting your form in a dance of elegance and allure. He imagined you gliding toward him, your skin bathed in the silvery embrace of moonlight, each step orchestrating a balletic shift of the fabric that clung seductively to you, igniting every sense within him.

Loki’s fingers tightened against the edge of the tub, the cool stone under his grip grounding him in the heat of the moment. The pull of his desire was intoxicating, an unquenchable thirst he could feel consuming him. He could almost feel the weight of your presence beside him, the heady warmth of you, the intoxicating scent of your essence wrapping around him like a fragrant embrace. He could hear the soft rustle of your robe brushing against your skin, each sound a silky promise, hear the delicate rhythm of your breathing—soft, steady, a symphony of desire that drew him in deeper.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the image of you to disappear. But instead, it grew stronger, more vivid.He imagined reaching out, the tips of his fingers grazing the fabric of your robe, feeling its divine softness beneath his touch, the warmth of your skin simmering just beneath it. He envisioned how it would feel to press himself closer, to let his lips trail along the graceful curve of your neck, to slip beneath that fragile seam where fabric and flesh met, to taste the sweetness that awaited him—his body aching with the promise of connection, longing to bridge the distance that separated them. To raise you out of that damned pool and let the thin fabric slide off on the stone, to—

Loki’s breath caught in his throat, and he suddenly felt a sharp, urgent pressure building within him. With a frustrated growl, he plunged his hand into the water, scattering the jasmine petals as his fingers clawed at the surface in an attempt to break the chain of thoughts that had consumed him. But it was no use. The image of you lingered, relentless.

“Damnation,” he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. He leaned back against the edge of the tub, his eyes burning with frustration as he tried to steady his breathing. The jasmine scent, now stronger than before, filled his senses, but it only seemed to heighten the memory of you. He could almost feel you there with him, your soft skin, the way the fabric of your robe had clung to your body most invitingly.

Loki forced himself to close his eyes again, breathing deeply in an attempt to regain control. But no matter how hard he tried to suppress it, the image of you, the memory of that translucent robe, haunted him. The petals, the scent, the softness—it all became intertwined with his hunger. He could still feel your fingers trailing over his skin, the heat of your body against his.

His body trembled with desire as he succumbed to the memories and fantasies that had been consuming him. He could no longer deny himself the pleasure that he so desperately craved.

With a low groan, he allowed his hand to wander back down his abdomen, feeling the defined muscles ripple beneath his fingers. His other hand was still clenched in the water, sending jasmine petals drifting to the surface. He trailed his fingers lower and lower, feeling the heat emanating from his body.

He closed his eyes, imagining your hands on him instead, your digits tracing patterns over his skin. With a sharp intake of breath, he slipped his hand beneath the matter, feeling the soft trimmed hairs on his lower abdomen.

Loki's breathing grew ragged as he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy, his mind filled with newfound scenes of him, of you, of an 'us together'.

⠀⠀

He envisioned himself entering a temple with quiet confidence, his footsteps reverberating against the cold stone walls as he moved toward the inner sanctum. His attire was nothing short of magnificent: garments woven with iridescent threads, shifting in color with every step, embodying the very essence of his trickster nature. His cloak, a masterpiece of fine silk, cascaded gracefully around him, embroidered with intricate patterns and symbols that spoke to his divine status.

As he crossed the threshold, his gaze was drawn to you. You sat within a large stone basin, the water steaming gently around you, its surface dotted with fragrant petals that seemed to float in harmony with the light filtering through the stained-glass windows. The sight of you struck him like a physical blow; you were even more captivating than he had envisioned.

Your infamous robe still clung to you like a second skin, damp from the water, accentuating the delicate curves of your body. The radiant Wyrmscale artifact resting against your neck glowed with soft golden light, its power pulsing through the room, almost as if in tune with your very being. Your long, damp hair was swept back, revealing the delicate lines of your face, and your eyes—those damned eyes—met his with a mixture of trepidation and something far more potent: desire.

He circled the tub slowly, his gaze never leaving you. Each step was measured, deliberate, his mind consumed by the sight of you—your beauty, your vulnerability, your submission. His pulse quickened, a quiet flutter deep within his chest that echoed through his veins. The heat of the room wrapped around you both, intensifying the weight of the moment, but still, he found it difficult to tear his eyes away from you. You were a vision, an offering he couldn’t resist.

“I’ve seen you in many visions,” Loki’s voice was low, almost a purr as he spoke, his words laced with something darker, more thrilling. “I’ve spent nights wondering what it would feel like to have you here. To see you like this—vulnerable, willing to give everything, your body and your soul laid bare. And now... here you are, offering yourself so freely, so openly. Tell me, priestess, are you sure you understand what this means?”

His fingers brushed your collarbone, the lightest touch, but it felt as though it was searing your skin. The warmth of your skin under the damp fabric sent a jolt through him, stirring something primal deep inside. His breath caught as he trailed a finger down the curve of your neck, feeling the soft pulse beneath your skin, steady and inviting. You were trembling just slightly—whether from fear or desire, he couldn’t be sure. But it only made the air between you more charged, more delicious.

You met his gaze, the challenge in your eyes unmistakable, even as your fingers tightened subtly around the edge of the tub. “I don’t know,” you replied, your voice steady but with an underlying edge, “But I’m sure you’ll be eager to show me.”

Loki’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting with both amusement and something far more dangerous. “Such confidence. But you know as well as I do, the gods take no mercy when they’re pleased,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he leaned in closer. “When I fuck you, it will be more than a mere battle of wills. It will be your surrender, your desire, your need that I feed. And when it’s all over, you’ll know exactly who owns you.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in. The weight of them, the intensity of his gaze—it felt like you were standing on the edge of something profound, something that could consume you entirely. But somehow, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to give in to him, to the promise of pleasure and power he dangled before you like an impossible temptation.

Loki pulled back slightly, his finger resting on your chin, lifting your gaze back to his. He gazed deeply into your eyes and lowered his voice to a husky murmur. “I’m certain you’ve imagined it, priestess. But the difference is that I make your fantasies real. What I offer you is beyond anything you could possibly have dreamt. Tell me, are you ready to be taken, to be claimed—body and soul?”

Your body tensed, but your gaze never wavered from his. “We’ll see, won’t we? Then I’ll simply make sure it’s not you who has the final say.” The defiance lingered in your voice, soft yet insistent, despite the way your breath betrayed you.

Loki’s eyes darkened, his smile widening as he stepped back, eyes alight with an undeniable hunger. “You think you have control in this game? You’ve already surrendered more than you realize.”

He ran his finger along your chin, tilting your head back slightly, his voice a dangerous whisper. “It’s time for you to do your due diligence.”

A shiver of excitement ran down your spine as Loki rose from his crouched position, striding with almost sensual slowness to his dedicated altar on which he took place. The sight of him, poised and confident, filled you with an intoxicating mix of desire and fear, emotions that tangled together in a heady rush. His dark eyes never left you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze like a tangible thing, burning into your skin. Your breath hitched as he ascended, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the room, the shadows falling just right to highlight the chiseled perfection of his form.

The air between you thickened with vibrating tension, as if the very space you occupied pulsed with the energy of your closeness. Your pulse quickened in your neck, your heartbeat erratic, and the anticipation settled heavily in the pit of your stomach. You could feel his power—dark and alluring—drawing you toward him, a magnetic pull you couldn’t escape. You were trembling, your skin sensitive under the damp fabric of your robe, which clung to your body like a second skin, accentuating the curves of your breasts and hips. Every inch of you seemed to be on fire as your body responded to his presence, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation thrumming through your veins.

Loki’s voice sliced through the air, a low, beckoning command. “Come along, priestess. Join me.”

His words were soft yet laced with an unmistakable power, a challenge, an invitation, and something darker—a promise. The tension between you grew almost unbearable, and despite the trepidation swirling in your gut, you found yourself obeying, rising from the water as though compelled by some unseen force. Your body was stiff with both reluctance and yearning, your knees weak as you took your first step toward him. Your skin, slick with water, glistened under the light, and the weight of the robe clinging to you only heightened the sensitivity of every nerve in your body. Each movement felt slower, more deliberate, as you crossed the distance between you, your every step trembling.

Loki watched you intently, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flash of something dark crossing his features, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice like velvet wrapping around you. “Come closer. Show me that you can follow through, priestess.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you fought to steady yourself as you made your way toward the altar. Your legs felt like they might give way under the weight of his gaze, but you continued forward, each step echoing your growing need, your pulse racing as you neared him. Your hands, trembling slightly, reached out instinctively, grasping the cold stone of the altar’s edge for support.

Standing before him now, you felt small, fragile even, in contrast to his towering presence. Loki’s eyes roamed over you, their gaze calculating yet filled with an unmistakable hunger. The intensity of his stare made you feel exposed, as if he were unraveling your very soul with nothing but a look.

“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice a whisper, yet every word felt like a brand against your skin. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your trembling hand where it rested on the altar. The simple touch sent a jolt of heat racing through your body, an electrifying sensation that made you want to both pull away and draw him closer.

“I can feel it,” he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re not as composed as you’d like to pretend. But do not worry, I’ll teach you how to surrender.”

Loki’s smile deepened, an expression of quiet satisfaction that made your heart race. “Don’t be shy,” he breathed, as his hands moved to undo the golden tie of your robe, fingers brushing the fabric slowly, deliberately. “Come worship your god.”

The anticipation was unbearable now, every motion seeming to stretch time, prolonging the moment between you as he loosened the knot. The robe, heavy with water, fell slightly from your body, revealing more of your curves, the soft, enticing shape of your figure exposed to his hungry gaze.

Your breath quickened, your body trembling with anticipation, but you did not pull away. Instead, you stood still, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath, waiting for him to make the next move. There was a strange mix of defiance and longing in your eyes, the embers of resistance still glowing, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were drawn to him—compelled by something darker, something you couldn’t name, and that terrified you more than anything else. You felt his presence wash over you like a tidal wave, filling your senses and drowning out any other thoughts. You were trembling, not just from fear, but from something deeper—something you couldn’t control. And with every passing second, you realized that you had already given yourself to him, even if you hadn’t fully admitted it yet.

Loki's fingers traced the curves of your hips, the delicate touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. You couldn’t help but react to his every movement, your body trembling under his touch, as though every inch of your skin was attuned to him. His presence enveloped you, warm and overwhelming, stirring emotions you were both eager and afraid to face.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck, tasting the remnants of the water that clung to you. The sensation of his lips, warm and demanding, sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. Your breath hitched, the tension in your body rising as his hands roamed upward, gently parting the collar of your wet robe, exposing the smoothness of your shoulder. His fingers traced the delicate curve of your shoulder blades, making you shiver as a thrill of sensation coursed through you.

His lips followed the path of his hands, soft at first, exploring the skin of your shoulders with slow, languorous kisses. The warmth of his mouth, combined with the sensation of his hands on your skin, made you lightheaded with want. You tilted your head back instinctively, surrendering to the sensation, offering him more of your neck, and Loki took full advantage of the invitation. His tongue traced a path up to your ear, the action sending a tremor through you as a soft gasp escaped your lips.

Loki’s breath was hot against your skin, his voice a low murmur in your ear. “You can feel it, don’t you?” he whispered, his hands moving down your arms in teasing strokes, the light touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His fingertips skimmed over your skin as though savoring every inch of you, his touch light yet laden with intent.

Your pulse raced, your body betraying you, drawn to him in ways you couldn’t fully understand. You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but the tension between you was palpable, thickening the air with every passing moment.

“Please,” you let out in a shaking voice, the defiance still lingering within you even as your body reacted to him. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the strength in his frame pressing against yours, but it was the hunger in his kiss, the way he seized your lips as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, that set you completely aflame.

His mouth was urgent, claiming, and yet his hands remained gentle, pulling you closer, as if he were testing the boundaries between you. His lips moved against yours with a growing intensity, a hunger you couldn’t ignore. Your hands now timidly fisted the front of his tunic, pressing your body more firmly against his. Your heart beat erratically, a rhythm of need and desire you were now powerless to deny.

Loki’s hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and for a moment, everything around you faded away. There was only the feel of him—his warmth, his presence, the taste of his kiss—and the undeniable pull between you that neither could escape. Your breath came in quick gasps, your lips parting as you tried to steady yourself, but there was no stopping it now. Not when Loki’s touch was like fire on your skin, lighting every nerve ablaze.

Loki’s fingers traced every curve of your body with a gentle yet possessive touch, as if memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands. His fingers skimmed across your waist, sending waves of sensation through you, before slowly traveling down to your hips. His touch was deliberate, his skin leaving a trail of fire where it met yours. The sensation was intoxicating, and your breath caught in your throat as you fought to keep control, but each brush of his hand made it more difficult to resist. Your body seemed to respond of its own accord, your pulse quickening, your skin flush with anticipation.

You couldn’t help but tremble under his touch as his hands ventured lower, tracing the outline of your thighs, fingers grazing over the soft skin, sparking a flood of warmth that radiated out from your core. With each slow movement, each teasing caress, you felt as if you were being pulled deeper into him, your body writhing, arching under the pressure of his touch, desperate for more.

Loki’s voice was low and husky as he broke your kiss, his hand wrapped around your throat and his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Now, priestess, I want you to undress me. Slowly, deliberately, as if every touch is a worship of my body.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, your breath hitching in your throat as you nodded, your hands trembling with anticipation. You reached up, your fingers finding the hem of his tunic, and slowly began to lift it, exposing his toned abs and muscular chest. Your eyes traced every inch of his skin, taking in the defined lines of his muscles, and the smattering of dark hair that peeked out from his Apollo’s belt.

Loki’s voice was smooth and laced with arrogance as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You should consider yourself fortunate, priestess,” he whispered, his tone dripping with confidence. “Not many are allowed to touch a god like me. So take your time. Let every movement be a tribute to what stands before you.”

A surge of boldness and desire filled you as Loki's words of encouragement caressed your ears. Emboldened, your delicate hands slowly slid up the length of his tunic, inching it upwards to reveal more and more of his godly physique inch by tantalizing inch. His skin was unveiled to your hungry gaze—you could feel the heat radiating from his very being, his muscles rippling and tensing beneath your fingertips like coiled steel as they glided across the expanse of his abdominal muscles.

Your tongue explored his heated throat as you pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, taking your time to thoroughly savor the taste of his skin. Your lips moved lower, trailing over his defined collarbone until you reached the hollow at the base of his throat. There, you let your teeth graze the sensitive flesh before soothing the sting with a slow, firm lick.

Loki's breath caught in his throat, a ragged hitch that spoke of barely contained longing. His emerald eyes blazed with smoldering desire as they roamed hungrily over your form, drinking in every dip and curve of your body. Reaching up with a hand that trembled with need, his fingers tangled in your silken tresses, the cool strands slipping through his grasp. Tilting his head back in wanton surrender, he exposed the smooth column of his throat to your questing mouth.

"Yes," he rumbled in a deep growl that sent delicious shivers cascading down your spine. The velvet timbre of his words caressed your heated skin like a physical touch, stoking the flames of your desire higher. "Just like that."

His tone dripped with sin and dark promise, full of tempting subtext that left little room for misinterpretation. Loki's voice painted sinful pictures in your mind, hinting at secrets and pleasures only he could provide. Each low, raw word fell from his lips like a forbidden confession, igniting your blood until it burned through your veins.

Your heart pounded wildly, your breath coming fast and shallow as you leaned into the delicious friction of his fingers in your hair. The light pressure at the back of your skull sent sparks skittering across your scalp and down your nape. Loki's grip held you in place, keeping your mouth pressed to the supple skin of his throat where his pulse fluttered like the wings of a caged bird. The heat of him seeped into you, his quickening heartbeat a counterpoint to your racing rhythm.

He imagined your lips brushing against the corded muscles of his neck, feeling the coiled tension thrumming through his body like a tightly wound spring. As your phantom touch grazed his skin, he found himself arching instinctively into the sensation, craving more of that teasing contact. His thick throat flexed and undulated beneath your mouth as he swallowed hard around the lump that had formed there, fighting to control the intense reaction coursing through him.

Loki's gasps encouraged you to continue your sensual exploration. He felt you apply light suction, pulling at his skin until you could feel his pulse jumping beneath your lips. Reluctant to release him, you transferred your ministrations to the opposite side of his throat. This time, you used your teeth more insistently, worrying the flesh and nipping at his hammering pulse until you could taste the coppery tang of blood on your tongue as it beaded on his skin.

You could practically feel the heat of his breath as you traced the strong column of his neck with your lips and tongue, igniting sparks of sensation with every pass. His skin prickled with goosebumps, drawn taut and hypersensitive, as if your imagined touch had burned away every layer between you until only nerve endings remained. He strained towards the pressure of your mouth, blatant in his need for stimulation, his body an instrument thrumming with tension.

Again and again, you returned to the spot, alternating between deep, open-mouthed kisses and teasing licks and nips until his neck was mapped with darkening love bites. Each mark was a brand, a symbol of your possession, the evidence of your claim on him. You loved seeing the proof of your wanton lust decorating his fair skin.

Releasing your mouth from his throat with a wet pop, you admired your handiwork, trailing your fingers over the tender, reddened flesh. Loki's hands had found your hair, tangling in the silken strands as he held you close. His breaths were shallow, chest heaving with the force of his exhalations. The visible strain of his erection pressed against your belly, but you ignored it for now, lost in your need to taste every inch of him.

In a frenzy of lustful desperation, you wrenched Loki's tunic up and over his head with an almost violent urgency. The flimsy garment was hastily cast aside, fluttering forgotten to the floor as your hungry gaze raked over the newly bared expanse of Loki's sleek, pale skin. You drank in the sight of him with fevered eyes that glittered with unslaked craving, your pupils blown wide with desire.

The air between you felt charged and taut, thick with the promise of what was to come. It crackled with an electric tension that made your very skin prickle, so dense with want that it seemed to pulse and undulate like a living thing. The space seemed to swell, heavy and swollen with the weight of your unspeakable needs.

You began a worshipful descent down the sculpted planes of Loki's torso. You laved your tongue over his cool skin, tracing the elegant sweep of his collarbones and the dip of his sternum. Your lips brushed feather-light over the flat discs of his nipples, drawing a shuddering hiss from between clenched teeth as you suckled and nibbled, determined to wring as much pleasure and praise from him as you could. Your teeth scraped carelessly, leaving crimson blooms on his skin like stigmata.

Loki shivered and flared, his powerful frame surging beneath your ministrations. His fingers clenched in your hair, dragging you inexorably up and molding your curves meltingly flush against the hard, unforgiving lines of his body. Loki's gaze burned into your own, twin flames of liquid emerald fire that seared straight to your soul. "The pants," he commanded, his voice a rough, guttural sound edged with feral hunger. The raw command in his tone sent primal heat licking through your core, urging you onward even as it threatened to undo you utterly.

Your trembling fingers fumbled at the waistband of his breeches, clumsy with desperation. You wanted to tear them from his body, to lay him bare before you, but some distant scrap of coherence kept your movements measured. The air felt too thick to draw a proper breath, the anticipation coiling tighter and tighter in your blood until it was almost painful.

Finally, blessedly, his breeches joined his tunic on the floor. You hummed in satisfaction, drinking in the sight of him laid out before you in all his naked glory. You reached out to trail reverent fingers down the dips and ridges of his abdomen, savoring the way he shuddered and tensed beneath your touch. But you were only allowed a brief moment to admire him before Loki was surging up to capture your mouth in a bruising kiss.

As he broke your deep, passionate kiss, his piercing gaze locked onto yours, smoldering with an intense, almost feral hunger. A knowing smirk played at the corners of his lips as he made you advance towards him in a slow, deliberate manner, his voice dropping to a low, dark purr.

"Go on, priestess," he rasped, the words dripping with a sinful promise that sent shivers down your spine. "Take what is yours to worship and claim as your own."

You gulped for air, your lungs burning, fervently nodding as much as you could with the firm grip he still maintained in your hair. A needy whimper escaped your parted lips, your body yearning for more of his electric touch.

You redoubled your descent down his chiseled body, pressing small, reverent kisses along the way. Your lips mapped a winding path over the planes of his chest, down his taut stomach, savoring the taste of his skin, the heat of him. Reaching his navel, you dipped your tongue inside, circling the sensitive dip teasingly and drawing a groan from the god and his grip tightened, spurring you on to go further.

Finally, you arrived at the apex of his thighs where his long, hard and imposing member jutted proudly towards you. Its thick length seemed to throb, begging for your worshipful attention. You knelt before him in obedience, gazing up at him with hooded eyes clouded by lust and a hint of trepidation.

As he sat there, watching your crafted image intently with anticipation, you hesitated for a moment. You could feel his intense gaze on you, and you knew what he wanted. Gathering your courage, you slowly reached out a trembling hand towards him. Your fingers inched closer to the hard, rigid length of his cock, and as you made contact, you felt a shiver run through your entire body. The feel of him was intoxicating—hard yet silky smooth, just like the rest of his toned body.

He couldn't help but let out a low groan as you touched him—as he imitated your touch. His hand moved unconsciously to wrap around his member, mirroring your makeshift movements. You would watch in fascination as he began to stroke himself, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of power and arousal at the divine sight that he displayed.

In his mind, you’d marvel at the feel of him, so different from anything you had ever experienced before. Your fingers looked so meager that he doubted they would quite close around his girth. He imagined you, feeling even more turned on by the contrast between your delicate hand and his thick, hard cock like he was to the idea.

"Do you like that?" he asked, his voice low and husky with desire.

You nodded, unable to find your voice at that moment. You couldn't believe you were doing this, touching him like this, but you couldn't deny how much you were enjoying it.

"Good," he murmured, his eyes darkening with lust. "Because I relish the way your touch sets me alight," he murmured, his voice velvet-soft yet edged with longing, as if the confession itself was both a gift and a weapon.

Fingertips danced along his length, tracing the prominent vein that ran along the underside—he didn’t know if it was your phantom touch or his very real one, he didn’t care for it. He’d pretend that it was yours for now, that he could trade the feeling of the rough palms of his hand for your soft ones.

You watched as his eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in quick gasps as you touched him. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his muscles tensed under your touch. You circled the base, marveling at the size and the heat it emanated from his member. A bead of clear liquid welled from the slit, making his erection jump. Softly, reverently, you swiped your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum and eliciting a strangled groan from above.

Then, another flash: slowly, almost shyly, you leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on his inner thigh, right at the root of his shaft. Your lips trailed up the sensitive skin, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses in their wake. A faint whimper escaped you as you tasted him for the first time, the salt, musk, and pure masculine essence of his arousal thick and heady on your taste buds.

He hissed in pleasure, his fingers tightening in your hair as he pulled you closer. You flicked your tongue over the weeping slit in response, lapping up the salty essence. Another kiss was placed right at the crown before you started to slowly circle the flared head with the flat of your tongue. You took your time, mapping every ridge and vein, savoring the taste of him on your tongue.

But he wouldn’t let the exploration go on any longer, or else he’d go mad beyond reason with want. The massive hand gripping your silky damp tresses gave a sharp tug, wrenching your head back and forcing your face upwards. You let out a yelp at the sudden motion, eyes widening in fear and surprise darting up to meet the smoldering gaze pinning you in place. A deep, rumbling growl emanated from above, the sound resonating in your very bones and sending sparks of trepidation skittering down your spine.

Above you, his imposing form loomed, all chiseled planes and rippling muscle. Sweat gleamed on his alabaster skin which heaved with each labored breath. Heavy thighs bracketed your smaller frame as he towered over your kneeling form, his commanding presence seeming to fill the very air around them. Drawing in a shuddering gasp, you tried to give a jerky nod of acquiescence, your delicate throat working nervously under his stern glare.

His calloused palm dragged from the silken coil of your hair to seize your chin, fingers pressing firmly into the delicate curve of your jaw as he forced your gaze upward. "Enough games," he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rasp steeped in authority and promise. A flicker of fear danced along your spine, sharp and electric, under the weight of his piercing glare. "Open," he commanded, the single word carrying the weight of inevitability.

You could only whimper in response, breaths coming in short, precipitated puffs as his other hand guided the thick root of his cock to nudge demandingly at your parted lips. With a final, shallow inhale, you let your jaw fall slack, allowing the heavy weight to rest against your waiting mouth. He slowly thrust forward, pushing into the velvet heat past your lips and over your tongue. You could feel every rigid vein, every throb of his width stretching you open as inch by delicious inch sank into the clutching confines of your mouth and throat.

Tears sprang anew to your eyes at the sudden intrusion, but you held his gaze, giving a tentative suck as he hilted fully. The wet glide of your tongue traced over the bulbing head, dipping into the weeping slit to lap at the salty-sweet essence gathered there. Above you, you could hear the hitch in his breathing, feel the air between them crackle with building tension.

Slowly, he began to rock his hips, sawing in and out with deep but shallow thrusts as he mentally fucked into you face as he did to his enclosed fist. Your lips worked over his length, hollowing your cheeks to suck harder as you brought one small hand up to gently fondle the heavy orbs below. You breathed harshly through your nose, tongue fluttering along the underside as he thrust between your lips.

"Norns' mercy," Loki gasped, his head falling back on a low, wanton moan that echoed through the chambers. "Your mouth is exquisite, a divine temple of pleasure."

Emboldened by his praise, you began to bob your head along his impressive length, hollowing your cheeks to suck hard as you took him deeper, feeling him hit the back of your throat. You ghosted one hand up the length of his body before lightly scrapped your nails down starting from the navel, teasing the sensitive skin.

Losing yourself in the act of pleasuring him, you consumed yourself in carnal desires that threatened to overwhelm you. You loved tasting him, feeling the hot, hard weight of him sliding between your lips, stretching your mouth. You loved his musky, masculine scent filled your nostrils, making your head spin with lust.

Loki's grip on your hair tightened, fingers tangling and tugging as he began to speed up his thrust into the heat of your mouth, not enough to gag you, but just enough to show he was rapidly losing control. "Just like that, priestess, don't you dare stop," he growled, his voice strained with need. "You look so lovely with your lips wrapped around my cock, worshipping me like the god I am. Such a good girl, so eager to please."

His filthy words inflamed your lust to new, dizzying heights. You redoubled your efforts, taking him to the hilt and swallowing around him, throat working to milk his length. He let out a string of filthy curses in the Old Tongue, hips snapping as he chased his impending release, fucking your face with shallow thrusts.

But just as you felt him start to pulse and swell, he forcefully pulled himself from the slick heat of your mouth with a lewd pop. He pictured strings of saliva connected from your swollen lips to the engorged head of his cock as he squeezed the base hard enough to prevent him from cumming so soon. He didn’t want it to end just yet. Too soon.

He could almost hear you whine at the loss as you gazed up at Loki through heavy-lidded eyes, your plump lips glistening and swollen from his earlier bruising kisses. He imagined your enticing face flushed with pride and deep feminine satisfaction knowing you had thoroughly pleased your god, his divine favor a heady rush of power and approval. Loki's eyes gleamed molten green, his expression one of ravenous, possessive hunger as his heated gaze roved over your naked form kneeling wantonly at his feet.

"Well done, priestess," he’d purr to you, voice a dark, sinful promise. "You've more than earned your reward. I'm going to taste every exquisite inch of you until you're writhing and begging for completion."

Loki prowled forward like a wolf, his powerful body looming over her in dark promise. Calloused fingers trailed scorching paths along your quivering thighs, leaving shimmering trails of magic in their wake. You shivered and arched into his expert touch, dizzy with need.

"Please, my god," you breathed. "I'm aching for you. Make me yours."

Loki's fingers trailed down her forearm, gripping your hand and pulling you up. He pushed you down onto the marble of his altar in a smooth show of strength, admiring the way your breasts bounced from the force. Settling between your splayed thighs, the god inhaled your heady, alluring scent. "So desperate for your god's favor," he growled, pressing hungry kisses up the column of your throat. "I'm going to make you scream my name."

With a wicked grin, he turns to you, his eyes gleaming with desire. "May I?" he asks, indicating the delicate fabric of your robe. At your nod, he rips the flimsy material to shreds, exposing your naked body to his feasting gaze. Loki's gaze lands on a part of untainted skin, and he wastes no time, sucking hard enough to leave a vivid mark. You can't help but gasp at the sensation, your body reacting instinctively.

He continued his path of destruction down your body, licking and nipping every inch of bare skin. Reaching pert breasts, he caught a nipple between his teeth and tugged just shy of pain, to which you answered by unconsciously spreading your legs in wanton invitation, practically begging for his touch.

"Oh, my sweet [Y/N], so desperate and needy for me," he hummed, trailing his fingers down your arm. His touch was cold fire, leaving goosebumps trailing in its wake. Loki's lips curled into a wicked smirk, his voice a silky taunt as he leaned closer. "How utterly delightful. Let us see if you can endure as well as you deliver, shall we?"

He descends upon you like a starving man, licking and sucking at every inch of your damp skin. His lips and teeth marked you with dark bruise shaped like crescent moons and love bites as he made his way down your body. You writhed and moaned helplessly beneath him, your back arching as he teased your sensitive flesh.

"Mmh, perfect. Sing for me," he growls against your hipbone before dipping his head in your mound.

Loki licks a broad stripe up your dripping slit, his skillful tongue circling your aching clit without directly touching it. He parts your folds with his fingers to delve deep, pumping in and out of your fluttering walls while he laps at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your thighs trembled and clenched around his head as he devoured you mercilessly, his silvertongue more than living up to its title.

"Such exquisite nectar you have, my priestess," he’d mumble into your sex, the vibrations making you see stars. He suckled your clit and thrust two fingers knuckle deep, curling them to rub that special spot inside. "I could feast on you on my altar for ages and never have my fill."

You tossed your head back with a loud moan as Loki's skilled mouth worked you over. "Yes, god, just like that!"

He sealed his lips around your throbbing clit, suckling the sensitive bud while his wicked tongue flicked rapidly. Two fingers delved deep, curling just right to stroke that velvety patch along your front wall. "That's it, let me hear all those pretty moans while you fall apart on my face," he urged huskily, hot breath gusting over your drenched folds.

Leaning on your elbows, your gazed down at him with glassy eyes, desperate little pants falling from your lips. Your thighs trembled violently, muscles pulled taut. "Please, please," your babbled incoherently, fisting his inky locks and yanking him impossibly closer. "I need—oh!"

"Need what, pet?" His lips and tongue never ceased their sweet torment, fingers plunging and stroking without mercy. "Tell me and I'll give it to you."

"I need—ah! I need to come!" Tremors wracked your frame as you ground yourself wantonly on his face. "Make me come, please Loki!"

"What pretty begging." He doubled down, sucking your clit greedily as you bucked and thrashed. Lips and fingers worked you into a frenzy, wringing out your pleasure with devastating intent. Pressure climbed, tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

You threw back your head with a choked scream, core clamping down rhythmically. "I'm coming, mmh—fuck!" Your back arched sharply, juices gushing to coat his cheeks and chin as ecstasy overtook you.

His hips thrust upwards as he imagined the expression you would make when reaching climax, writhing in the water as he desperately tried to hold back, not ready for the end just yet. The ripples of the water surrounding him served as a reminder of the feeling of being blessed with your sweet release, droplets splashing onto his face.

With a final thrust, he slowed down, gasping uncontrollably. He gentled his touch, mimicking how he would with you, licking broad and slow to keep you suspended in bliss. "That's it, that’s it. Ride it out on my tongue. You taste divine when you let go."

He knew all too well the effect he had on you; even your casual, teasing banter left you unraveling. His words and actions now, deliberate and charged, were designed to push you to the brink—to drive you wild in ways only he could. He made a low, hungry noise, never stopping until the last aftershock shivered through you and you collapsed back against the altar, spent.

"Good girl, you took it so well. Such a pretty picture you make in your pleasure," he praises, giving your sensitive clit a final kiss before rising to cover your body with his own. "You please me greatly, my priestess. I knew you'd be the perfect consort."

He couldn’t endure the torment he was inflicting upon himself any longer; it was unbearable, a relentless ache that clawed at his sanity. He had to put an end to it—one way or another. Loki's lips curved in a wicked smirk as he visualized him pulling back to admire his artwork, hands gripping your hips possessively.

"Turn over," he’d command, voice rough with need. You scrambled to obey, rolling onto your stomach and lifting your hips in the air. The position left you completely vulnerable, your dripping core exposed and ready. Loki groaned at the sight, his cock throbbing. "Hands behind your back," he growled, giving your rear a sharp smack.

You gasped and complied, crossing your forearms at the base of your spine. Loki manhandled you, using his strength to pull your arms higher until they were pinned tight against the curve of your lower back, your wrists crossing one another. He nestled your chest down against the altar, leaving you arched and spread open. "Such a good little offering," he purred, running a hand over your naked form. His fingers dug into your hips as he notched the flared head of his cock against your entrance.

"I will ravish you to the point of forgetting everything but my name." Loki declared with a salacious smirk. His eyes gleamed with determination as he charged forward, impaling you with a single, ruthless thrust. The force of his entry elicited a startled cry from you, your back arching as Loki filled you to the hilt. The exquisite stretch of his length was unprecedented, breaching depths no other had ever reached.

"There we go," he praised, starting to move. His strokes were deep and powerful, pulling nearly out before slamming back in. "Take it. Take every ounce of pleasure your god deigns to bestow upon you." You sobbed brokenly, overwhelmed by the sensations. The altar bit into your breasts as Loki used you, pounding into your pliant body. Lewd squelches filled the air, mixing with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Loki hauled you up by fastening his free hand to your throat, squeezing lightly as he constricted his grip on your wrists. "Look at you," he crooned while sending another mind-blowing thrust that made you almost shout. "A perfect little slut, born to be bred and used. You relish this, don't you? The sensation of being utterly filled and ravished by your god?" You had no choice but to dumbly nod with parted lips and hazy eyes, his words igniting something primal in you. Loki's hand tightened around your neck, further restricting your airflow. Simultaneously, his thrusts grew fiercer, pummeling you with relentless intensity.

"You were made for this, pet. Made to serve. I will ruin you for all others. You will adore only me, and my name will be your mantra." He accentuated each word with punishing thrusts. You convulsed, his degrading words and ruthless pace pushing you to the brink. Your cunt clenched desperately around him, trying to hold him deep. You were so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion that all it would take was a slight pressure in the right place, and you would shatter completely.

Sensing your readiness, Loki slid a hand down, zeroing in on your swollen clit. He circled the sensitive nub with a knowing touch, keeping you vacillating on the cusp of release. "Come for me, priestess," he ordered with a gasp, voice a sinful purr. "Come apart on my cock, my little whore. Let me feel your pleasure." You couldn’t do nothing except obey, your body seizing up as your climax crashed through you. A guttering scream ripped from your throat as you came violently, cunt clenching down on Loki's pistoning cock.

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As he allowed his mind to wander, lost in the picture of you falling in the throes of ecstasy, his eyes flew open with a start. He hadn’t realized how deeply he had slipped into it until he felt a sudden jolt back to reality. His hips were moving rhythmically, thrusting as if he were actually buried deep inside of you.

His breath came in gasps, the air stolen from his throat as he imagined the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His hips were gyrating wildly, thrusting up and down in his grasp, like a ship caught in a stormy sea. How deep had he been lost in his fantasy for his state to go unnoticed, even to himself?

The pleasure was all-consuming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to drown him in its depths. His blood rushed through his veins like a raging river, surging downward to pool in his aching cock and upwards to flood his face with a burning heat. Stray and thin tears streamed down his cheeks, unbidden and fierce, as he gasped and writhed for oxygen, his thrusts growing wilder and more desperate with each passing moment.

“Oh, fuck—fuck!” With a final, desperate cry, he came violently in his hands, shouting his muse’s name in a reiterative and frenzied manner, as if it was a prayer made to the gods. Spurt after spurt of his release shot forth, hitting the water with a soft plink and splattering the few jasmine petals that had survived the violent waves. It seemed as if the pleasure would never end, each wave of release only serving to build the tension higher and higher until it threatened to consume him entirely.

But eventually, the storm subsided, leaving him spent and shivering in its wake. He laid there, his breath slowing as he came back down to earth. The fantasy had been so vivid, so real, that it took him a moment to remember where he truly was. The sensation was intense, a violent explosion that seemed to rock his entire body, leaving him utterly shaking from the intensity.

Loki collapsed against the smooth, cold marble steps of the grand tub, his body spent, a haze of exhaustion clouding his senses. His breath was ragged, still trying to catch up with the frantic, overwhelming rush that had just passed through him. For a moment, he was weightless, floating on the remnants of the high he had just experienced, the delicate hum of release thrumming under his skin. The contrast of the warm water around him and the cold air against his exposed skin sent shivers racing up his spine, but it was not the chill that made him tremble.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his head tipping back to rest against the edge of the tub. The silence in the chamber felt deafening after the storm that had ravaged through him. The heat of the moment still lingered, but now, it felt oppressive. He was left with a deep, gnawing emptiness, as though a part of him had been drained away with the surge of release. But that empty feeling was nothing compared to what came next.

As the steam clouding his mind began to clear, the aftermath of his actions came crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His breath caught in his throat, and for a brief second, he felt like the room was spinning, his body still reeling from the aftershocks of the desire he had just indulged. His chest tightened, a knot of unease tightening in the pit of his stomach.

He hadn’t just given in to the pleasure of the moment. No, that would’ve been easier to accept. What had really shaken him was who—or rather, what—he had let himself desire.

He dragged a trembling hand through his damp hair, his lips pressed into a hard line as the remnants of his thoughts taunted him. A mortal, really? The thought of desiring you—so mortal, so beneath him—made him feel physically sick. His heart pounded in his chest, but not from desire this time. The heat in his veins was no longer a heady rush; it had morphed into something darker, something that made him feel dirty. He had let himself be ruled by a fleeting impulse, a mortal who—by all rights—shouldn’t have mattered to him. You weren't worthy of his attention, let alone the attention of his body. And yet, he couldn’t shake the memory of the way your presence had consumed him.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, though it lacked any humor. How could you? he asked himself, gripping the edge of the tub as if it could ground him. A sharp pang of disgust sliced through him, his jaw clenching tightly. How could I stoop so low? he thought bitterly, his disdain for his weakness growing with each passing second. The heat of his actions still lingered, clinging to him like a second skin, and he hated it. He hated himself.

As Loki's breath slowed and the weight of his actions pressed down on him, his gaze drifted to the scattered jasmine petals that floated lazily in the water. Their delicate fragrance filled the air, and for a brief moment, it was almost suffocating. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the pale petals, their soft white against the dark water mocking him with their innocence. They reminded him of that damned robe, the mortal woman who had worn it—you.

He scowled, a wave of irritation rising in him as he cursed them for being the catalyst, the one thing that had led to this moment of weakness. It wasn’t their fault, of course; it never was. But in his mind, they were the symbol of everything that had gone wrong. If only she hadn’t worn it, he thought bitterly. If only I hadn’t noticed her at all...

With a sharp wave of his hand, he dispelled the jasmine petals and the evidence of his indulgence, watching as they disappeared into nothingness, as if they had never been there to begin with. But the disquiet that followed lingered, refusing to vanish as easily as the evidence of his lapse.

Another gesture and the steaming bath turned icy cold, the sudden shock making him shudder. The chill was a reprieve—a way to snap himself back to reality, to wash away the lingering tremors still trembling his resolve.

“This means nothing,” he muttered under his breath, the words more of a command than a truth. He busied himself scrubbing away the remnants of his lapse in control, desperate to rid himself of the memory. His movements were quick, almost frantic, as if staying in the tub any longer would trap him in the thoughts he wanted to escape.

Nothing. He forced himself to believe that. He had allowed himself to be overwhelmed by his body’s basic urges, by the frustration of months of mounting stress—the endless manipulations of his “parents,” the suffocating chains of his conditional freedom, the constant reminder that his every action was watched and judged. And then, you—this mortal who had somehow wormed her way into his thoughts. You were simply an enticing distraction, an irritation that had lodged itself under his skin, and nothing more. He had no time for such trivial mortal attachments.

He exhaled sharply, dispelling the shame that clung to him like an uncomfortable cloak. It was just stress. A temporary lapse. The heat of the moment. It didn’t mean anything.

He turned his attention to the water, an escape of sorts, as he manipulated the temperature. His magic flowed effortlessly, and the warm bath transformed into an icy, biting chill. He let the cold seep into him, willing it to numb the stirring emotions that had begun to surge. But the cold only made him feel sharper, more exposed, the shock of it heightening his awareness of every thought, every tremor within him.

He couldn’t stay in the water any longer. The longer he lingered, the more the memory of what had just transpired would settle into his mind. And he couldn’t bear that. He didn’t want to acknowledge how badly the moment had shaken him.

His movements were quick, almost frantic, as he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. His fingers were stiff as he dried off, each movement seeming mechanical, as though he was trying to force himself back into control, back into the careful, calculated Loki that he prided himself on being.

But even as he dressed, the thoughts didn’t fade. He told himself it was nothing. He told himself that it meant nothing. But even as he stepped away from the tub, a small, nagging voice echoed in his mind. Unless?

He stopped, mid-step, his chest tightening again. Could it be that simple? Could he dismiss it so easily? His gaze flicked to the empty tub, and a deep, unsettling feeling curled in his gut. The space seemed too quiet now, too still, and he could almost hear your voice again in the silence. Loki quickly turned away, his mind racing. No. He refused to entertain it. It was stress. Nothing more. You were nothing more. Still, as he left the bathing chamber, his steps quick and unsteady, that seed of doubt lingered. He could feel it in the way his heart beat a little faster, the way his breath caught for a fraction of a second longer than it should have. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, there it was: Unless...

ending notes :

The way I was acting like that for the entire writing is SHAMEFUL. Lord have mercy on me.

Also, I'm not sorry for the length. I hope you enjoyed it thoroughly nonetheless. And get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about the fic, not Loki. :p

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Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

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dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @arminsumi .

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mysunshinetemptress · 7 months ago

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In The Moonlight

Leah Williamson x singer!reader warnings: None except shitty writing, fluff

A grin stretched across your face, wide enough to rival the jet lag currently waging war in your head. Two world tours back to back had been a whirlwind, exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure, Social media detox was the doctor's orders, a chance to reconnect with the real world however it was about to get a small pause with the absurdity of the TikTok trend.

Here you were, the hottest pop star on the planet, about to participate in a goofy social media challenge inspired by a goofy song from a sitcom.

You had stumbled upon a hilarious trend, people were reenacting the iconic scene from Modern Family where Dylan serenades Haley with his...interestingly phrased song, "In the Moonlight (Do Me)," and passing it off as their own in front of their family and friends. Laughter bubbled up in your chest as you watched one particularly enthusiastic boy singing the suggestive lyrics much to his parent's disgust and surprise.

"Right," you declared, voice thick with amusement, as you spoke into the phone"I'm breaking my social media blackout for this because I can't help but take part in this trend."

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you grabbed your phone heading to the living room where Leah and a few of your family and friends have gathered for the barbecue. "hey guys can I have your attention for a quick second, please..I know I'm supposed to be on a break but, I can't get this new song out of my head and I need your opinion on it, I actually think it might work for a single."

A collective groan went up from the assembled group. They knew your "work" mode well, and it usually involved long nights in the studio, not impromptu living room performances. But Leah, ever the supportive girlfriend, flashed a smile.

"Alright, Elvis," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Hit us with this 'new song.'"

Taking a dramatic breath, you check the tuning of your guitar, "It's eh, well you all know who it's about, the same person as all my other songs..it's called In the Moonlight"

The first strum of your guitar sent a hush over the room. They expected the usual pop magic, the infectious energy that had propelled you to superstardom. Instead, your voice crooned out the opening lines of Dylan's "song" with a hilariously exaggerated earnestness.

"The stars are falling from the sky, and you're the reason why. The moon is shining on your face, and I think it's found its place."

Laughter erupted as you finished the first verse, shattering the stunned silence. Your face turned crimson, but you held your pose, trying to maintain a serious expression as you began the chorus.

"Cause maybe, baby, I just want to do you, do you, do you want to do me, do me, underneath the moonlight, moonlight."

Your friends began to laugh silently as Leah's parents and your parents looked on horrified.

"And now we're hiding in my car, I let you see my scars, escape the dark for just one night, your heart makes me explode with light."

Leah snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. Your family exchanged bewildered glances.

"Baby, maybe, Maybe I will steal you, steal you just so I can feel you, feel you, maybe that will heal you, heal you on the inside."

The last note of your "song" died down, replaced by the deafening sound of crickets...or at least, it felt that way. Your family and friends stared at you, mouths agape, the only sound a choked cough from Leah's dad.

The tension broke as Leah doubled over, tears streaming down her face. "Oh my god," she gasped between laughs, "that was amazing! You had them fooled for a good minute there!"

Slowly, the rest of the room caught on. Laughter erupted, first in hesitant chuckles, then in full-blown roars. Even Leah's parents faces still flushed with surprise, couldn't help but crack a smile.

Your parents, still trying to process the experience, shot you a look that mingled amusement with a hint of disapproval. "Honey," your mom began cautiously, "that wasn't exactly...subtle, was it?"

You grinned sheepishly. "Maybe not," you admitted. "But you gotta admit, the reactions were priceless!"

Leah walked over, shaking her head and trying to hide a smile. "You're a menace," she said, giving you a playful shove.

You posted the video a short while later breaking the internet once again. The next morning, your phone was buzzing with notifications. Fans everywhere were recreating your video. You were trending again only this time not because of your tour.

Leah smiled hugging you from behind the next morning "You know I love you and all the wonderful songs you write about me, us, our relationship, but please promise me you will never write anything like that."

Leah smiled hugging you from behind the next morning "You know I love you and all the wonderful songs you write about me, us, and our relationship, but please promise me you will never write anything like that." You laughed turning in her arms "I love you too much to write a song just about your body and my wants for it, no I'll write about you, your soul and sometimes when I feel extra fruity then I'll write about your body and my wants for it no my needs for it."

Leah pulled you in closer kissing you softly "And I'll be your number one listener."

#woso #awfc #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #leah williamson #leah williamson x y/n #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson x you #woso soccer #woso couples #woso community #woso x reader #arsenal women #modern family

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beegomess · 5 months ago

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Meeting you after the breaking up || Slytherin boys

Summary: Your relationship has come to an end, something that put you deeply down, avoiding everything and everyone as long as you could just to overcome your ex-boyfriend as soon as possible. Time has passed and you really seem to have overcome everything, he, however, believes he has done a great stupidity. Warnings: Just a little sad.

Requests are open!

Blaise Zabini

Everything seemed different now, as if the weight of the pain had finally decreased. When you and Blaise broke up, it seemed that full happiness would never be possible again. After all, his relationship had been the foundation of everything, the center of his life. But time, always relentless and mysterious, brought with it subtle changes, and the wound that once seemed unbearable was now just a scar that you had learned to carry with dignity.

Although your feelings for Blaise have not disappeared, nor have it turned into a grudge, that desperate need for him was no longer part of who you were. The beginning of the breakup was cruel, with the pain throbbing with every memory and the longing seeming unbearable. But, little by little, you learned to navigate through these emotions, until, suddenly, you felt... well.

In the month before the summer holidays, you skillfully avoided each other, almost as if you both knew that the simple act of seeing each other could reopen wounds still in healing. His gaze never found yours, and you kept your distance, building your new world without it.

During the holidays, you rediscovered yourself. He went out with friends, laughed at silly things and realized that life was taking its course. Maybe Blaise was right in the end. Maybe you weren't really made for each other as you imagined. And now, back at Hogwarts, you were there, sure of yourself, without worrying about whether he would notice your presence or not. That kind of thing didn't affect you anymore.

But Blaise couldn't say the same. Seeing you so serene and radiant, without a shadow of sadness, brought you conflicting feelings. Part of him rejoiced to see her move forward, but another part, darker, carried a growing regret. He began to question whether he had made the right choice.

Draco, sitting next to Blaise in class, noticed his friend's lost look, the attention he clearly did not devote to what was being said. Curious, he followed Blaise's gaze until he found him fixed on you, laughing next to his friend.

- Oh, so she's the one occupying your mind? - Draco commented with a provocative smile, seeing Blaise's expression close. - What is it? Are you already sorry? Just wait until the other boys start approaching her...

Malfoy let out a low laugh, but Blaise felt the blood boil just imagining such a scene. The simple idea of someone else approaching you was unbearable.

- Shut up. - Blaise replied between his teeth, unable to disguise the discomfort it caused him.

Draco Malfoy

He knew he was going to see her that night, he was prepared for that. What he didn't expect was to find her so quiet, completely oblivious to her presence at dinner. The vision of you, so serene, messed with him in a way that he was not prepared to admit.

In recent months, Draco had gone through a whirlwind of emotions and, in a moment of impulse, ended your relationship. For you, it was a shock at the time, an unexpected pain that seemed difficult to heal. However, over time, things began to fit together, and you finally reached a point where, although there was still love for him, you would no longer insist on something he himself did not believe he was able to maintain.

So, on that Christmas night, a date that always had a special place in your heart, you appeared next to your parents, radiant as always, radiating a beauty that made it seem that every detail of what you wore had been made exclusively for you.

Your smile illuminated the room, instantly attracting Draco's ocean eyes to you. He couldn't look away, even while you, unrelated to him, greeted other people around him.

- Aren't you going to talk to her? - Narcisa's soft voice, who always had a special affection for you from the beginning of her relationship with Draco, interrupted her thoughts. She noticed her son's fixation on you and decided to intervene with a slight smile and a question that brought him back to reality.

- Oh, yes, of course. At some point in the party, for sure. - Draco replied, a little clumsy, looking away at the glass of champagne in his hands, trying to hide the discomfort that grew inside him.

- Do you miss her? - The mother, always direct when she wanted something, was not intimidated by asking what she knew that was bothering her son. Draco, however, avoided answering, pretending not to hear the question. He knew the answer very well, but admitting to himself was a battle he was not ready to face that night.

Lorenzo Berkshire

The theater was crowded that night, as always happened in the traditional year-end ballet performances, which marked the beginning of the festivities for the most traditional families. The atmosphere was elegant and sophisticated, with the murmur of the conversations being muffled by the soft chords of the orchestra that began to tune its instruments. Lorenzo Berkshire, sitting next to his parents in the cabin reserved for the family, seemed quiet, but inside, a growing restlessness took over him. He knew you would be there, like every year, and no matter how much he had prepared for the inevitable encounter, nothing seemed to relieve the tension he felt.

Months earlier, Lorenzo had ended your relationship. It was a difficult decision, which at the time seemed to be the most rational. But as time passed, the certainty he had began to fall apart, and with every event his family attended, where he knew you would also be, the regret grew.

When the theater lights went out and the curtains opened, Lorenzo finally saw you. You were in a box on the other side of the theater, almost facing him. The distance, even with the twilight that dominated the environment, he noticed every detail: the brightness of the elegant dress you wore, the way your hair was delicately stuck, and the discreet smile that appeared when the music began to fill the environment. He could barely concentrate on the presentation, his eyes constantly deflecting to you, who seemed so close and, at the same time, so inaccessible.

― Will it continue like this all night, Enzo? ― The soft but authority-laden voice of Charlotte, his younger sister, took him out of the trance. She was sitting next to him, and looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Lorenzo disguised the discomfort, adjusting in the armchair.

― I don't know what you're talking about, Charlotte.

She let out a slight sigh, crossing her arms and casting a penetrating look at her.

― Of course you know. I saw how you were watching her. You haven't taken your eyes off her since the lights went out.

He looked away, focusing for a moment on the ballerina who performed a grand jeté on stage.

― It's not that simple, Charlotte.

Charlotte, always perceptive, leaned slightly towards her, keeping her tone of voice low so as not to disturb the other viewers.

― Maybe it's not simple, but staying here mulling about it doesn't help at all either. You still like her, Lorenzo, it's obvious. And, from what I see, she also looks different... distant, maybe. Maybe she misses you too?

Lorenzo frowned, feeling a twinge of irritation mixed with the weight of guilt. He knew Charlotte was trying to help, but his words only amplified the confusion inside him.

― Charlotte, you don't understand. There are things that can't be solved so easily.

She watched her brother for a moment, noticing the resistance in her eyes.

― I'm not saying it's easy, Lorenzo. But what if you keep waiting and lose the chance to reconcile? What do you have to lose?

His sister's insistence irritated him, and Lorenzo closed his eyes for a second, trying to control the discomfort that consumed him.

― I already said it's not simple. ― His voice came out firmer, almost sharp, while he kept his eyes fixed on the stage. ― It's not just going there and talking to her.

Charlotte raised her hands in a gesture of surrender, clearly realizing that she had pressed too much. She knew that Lorenzo needed time, but she also knew that he was hiding behind his own stubbornness.

Lorenzo didn't say anything else, he just gave a short nod, turning his attention to the presentation, although his mind was far from there. He knew that Charlotte had touched a sensitive point, and it irritated him more than he was willing to admit. As the ballet continued, he continued to watch you from afar, unable to decide whether or not to try to regain what he had lost, even if the simple idea of taking action made him uncomfortable.

Mattheo Riddle

Your relationship with Mattheo has always been a sensitive topic for you. The constant comings and goings gave the impression that everything could be just a bad phase, something that would eventually be solved. However, there came a time when you decided it was time to put an end to everything. When Mattheo announced that he wanted to finish, you made it clear that, this time, there would be no turn. He, as always, doubted the seriousness of your words, but this time you were determined.

His family, who never approved the relationship, practically celebrated the breakup. For them, Mattheo has always been a problem, and the prejudice for the fact that he is half-blood and does not have the wealth that his family valued only aggravated this vision. They often tried to push her to "good pedigree" boys, something that always irritated Mattheo deeply. Jealousy has always been a constant among you, but after the end, it seemed that this feeling had become even more difficult to deal with. Mattheo's anger at his family's behavior was only the trigger for something that was already worn out.

Months passed, and over time, you finally realized that the relationship with Mattheo was anything but healthy. It was then that you began to consider giving Lorenzo, the boy your mother loved, a chance. Initially, he thought he would be just one more, but to his surprise, Lorenzo was kind, interesting, someone who easily drew laughter from you, even if, deep down, his heart weighed every time he flirted with him.

It was in one of those moments, while you and Lorenzo enjoyed Saturday at Três Vassouras, that Mattheo saw you again, after so long. He was accompanied by Theodore and other friends, unconcernedly entering the scene, until Theodore, upon seeing you, stopped abruptly.

― Maybe we should go somewhere else... ― The boy suggested, almost in a whisper, turning to Mattheo with a worried expression.

― Why would we go? ― Mattheo replied, frowning when he noticed the tension in his friend's voice. ― What's going on, Theo?

Before Theo could make any excuse, Mattheo ignored his warning and advanced, looking around the bar until his eyes finally found you. There you were, laughing carelessly at something that Lorenzo had said, without noticing Mattheo's presence. The smile on his face, so natural and sincere, cut Mattheo like a knife. The shock and fury mixed inside him, feeding an anger that he could barely contain.

Without saying a word, Mattheo turned around, quickly leaving the Three Brooms. His friends followed him, all in silence, while the fury pulsed inside him, ready to explode at any moment. Every step away from the bar was a painful reminder of what he had missed - and that, perhaps, he would never have back.

Theodore Nott

His relationship with Theodore Nott has always been intense, but at the same time, marked by a depth that few understood. He had a peculiar way of showing affection, usually through subtle gestures and contained words, but that for you have always meant the world. However, this intensity also brought with it difficulties, especially the fact that Theo has difficulties in expressing his emotions openly. It was this emotional block that, in the end, wore out the relationship.

When you finished, Theo didn't try to stop you. He simply accepted, with that serenity that has always characterized him, as if he were waiting for it. And maybe it was. You felt a squeeze in your heart when you saw that he wouldn't fight for you, but you knew you needed to move on, even if it meant leaving without looking back.

After the end, you struggled to focus on yourself, to distance yourself from the shadow that the relationship with Theo had left. It was difficult, but little by little, you started to rebuild your world, to smile again, to feel pleasure in the little things. And it was during this process that you started going out with Adrian Pucey, a Slytherin boy known for his charm and skill in Quidditch. He wasn't the kind of person you imagined being, but Adrian managed to make you laugh and forget a little about things, something you didn't know you needed until that moment.

You two started to meet more often, and one day, you met Adrian in the Peacock Patio, one of the most beautiful places in Hogwarts, surrounded by old trees and fragrant flowers. The place, with its quiet and cozy atmosphere, was perfect for a casual encounter, and you sat on one of the benches, talking and laughing, while the light breeze shook the leaves around.

Without you noticing, Theo was passing by, coming back from a study session at the library. When he saw you next to Adrian, the world seemed to stop for a moment. Theo stood still, watching the scene with a dark look. Seeing you with someone else, laughing and looking so comfortable, caused a painful tightness in your chest, something he didn't expect to feel so intensely.

Not far from Theo, Draco Malfoy appeared, immediately noticing his friend's discomfort when following him with his eyes. He let out a heavy sigh, immediately understanding what was happening.

― Do you want to go for a walk? ― Draco suggested, trying to get Theo out of that uncomfortable situation.

― No, I'm fine. ― Theo replied, his voice low and loaded with conflicting emotions. He knew he should move away, that staying there would only do the worst things, but his feet seemed stuck to the ground.

― Look, it's not easy, I know. But staying here will only get worse, Theo. Come on, we can go to the Astronomy Tower or something. ― Draco insisted, his voice was serious, but with a touch of empathy.

Theo hesitated, his eyes still fixed on you. He knew Draco was right, but there was a part of him that couldn't move, as if he were waiting for a signal, anything that gave him a reason to believe that there was a chance for you to look back. But you were completely involved in the conversation with Adrian, the light and carefree laughter filling the air.

― Right. ― He finally gave in, his voice cold and restrained, forcing his feet to move. With one last look in his direction, he turned around, following Draco away from the courtyard, while trying to push to the bottom of his mind the whirlwind of emotions that was consuming him.

While walking, the silence between them was heavy, but Draco did not press. He knew that Theo needed time to process everything, and deep down, he hoped that his friend would find a way to deal with it without destroying himself inside. For Theo, however, the sight of you smiling with another had opened a wound that he was not sure how to heal.

Tom Riddle

The Hogwarts library was a place you've always loved. During the quiet nights, the bookshelves loaded with old books and the smell of aged parchment brought you a sense of peace and security. It was there, under the soft light of the candles, that you spent much of your time, especially after breaking up with Tom Riddle. Diving into the books was a way to forget what you two had been, or perhaps, to remember without the pain that accompanied it.

The relationship with Tom was an enigma that you were never able to solve completely. He was cold and always kept an emotional distance that left you with the feeling that he was never truly present. Still, there were times when you felt that something deeper could exist behind that impenetrable facade. It was this mystery, this insatiable curiosity, that held you to him for so long. But Tom's coldness ended up becoming unbearable, and when the decision to finish was made, he accepted with a calm that hurt more than any argument could have hurt.

Now, in the loneliness of the library, you followed your nightly routine. He leafed over a book, his thoughts wandering between the words and the memories he tried to leave behind. She was so absorbed that she did not notice the tall and slender figure that positioned herself in the shadows, a few meters away.

Tom Riddle has always been an observer, someone who analyzed everything around him with almost frightening precision. He had been there for longer than you imagined, just watching in silence. The dim light of the candles did not fully reach the place where he was, keeping him hidden, but his eyes shone with an unusual intensity as he watched you.

He hadn't come there by chance. In recent months, Tom had returned his thoughts to you more often than he would like to admit. It wasn't longing, he said to himself, but a persistent curiosity. The breakup meant nothing to him the moment it happened, but now, seeing you go on with your life without hesitation, dedicating yourself to studies as if he had never existed, you messed with something inside him that he could not name.

For some time, Tom stood still, his eyes following his every move. He knew he shouldn't care. This kind of attachment was useless, a weakness that he despised in others. Still, there he was, watching you with an intensity that bordered on obsession.

Finally, he decided to get closer, not to talk, but to feel his presence more closely. Every step he tood was silent, calculated, as if he feared that any noise could break the charm of the moment. When he was close enough to see every detail of his concentrated expression, Tom stopped. There was something about you, a serenity, a silent force that he had not noticed before.

You didn't notice your presence until you felt a slight change in the air, a shiver that ran through your spine. Raising your eyes from the book, you felt like you were being watched. And, for a brief moment, his gaze found his, hidden in the shadows. But in the blink of an eye, Tom had moved, disappearing between the shelves without a trace, like a ghost.

Even without seeing it, you felt the familiarity of that presence, and a discomfort that you thought you had overcome returned to your heart. The mystery that Tom represented was still there, no matter how far away you tried to get away. And that night, as he closed the book and left the library, you knew that he was also trying to understand something that, until then, he believed he was incapable of feeling.

___________________________

masterlist here

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

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shewroteaworld · 1 year ago

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PCOS

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

100 Follower Celebration Request: "🤨 + 'You’re braver than you think and more beautiful than you know.' "

Premise: You've been keeping a secret from your boyfriend. At the most inopportune time, it thrusts itself into the light. He doesn't have the reaction you feared.

Warnings: mentions of Criminal Minds--typical violence, mentions of nausea, discussions of chronic illness, mentions of poor self-esteem

Word count: approx. 3,000

When the unsub impaled you with the knife, you gasped awake.

You blinked open your eyes to pitch black darkness, a pulse of 200 beats per minute, a stomach frothing with queasiness, and cold skin sticky with sweat.

Something velvety constricted your body like cling wrap. The suffocation was akin to being buried six feet under. Fortunately, the feather pillow cushioning your head and the soft foam squashed beneath your fingertips broke through your sleep-addled mind.

It was only a nightmare. You were still laying in bed next to Aaron Hotcher.

Your breath caught, and you went rigor mortis still. Once A’s soft snoring reached you, you relaxed.

Tiredly, you smiled at a ceiling you couldn’t see. You didn’t wake him. The last thing A needed after a horrifying case was to not only be woken before dawn but also be woken by his girlfriend gasping in terror.

Your boyfriend of six months, Aaron, was an FBI supervisory special agent. As a civilian, there was plenty of work information to which you were not privy, especially if a case went south. Often, Aaron didn’t tell you where he flew for work. All you knew was, he’d be away for days. However, sometimes you’d know where Aaron was flying back from once the case was handled. Either, he could tell you once the target was apprehended or you found out via news report.

Based on the news reports from New Mexico that featured the BAU's media liaison, Jennifer Jareau, a cult leader ended his sadistic campaign with an AR-15 shootout and a murder-suicide that caught the state police completely off guard. The FBI caught the scent of his plan, but by the time they sniffed it out, they were 5 steps too far behind. Thankfully, Aaron nor any of his unit members died.

Aaron returned to his DC brownstone to ceramic pans full of your best dishes— all piping hot— on his kitchen counter. You made sure to prepare enough food to last him a couple weeks; emotionally trying work events and tons of paperwork were the perfect recipe for Aaron to not eat enough, and you weren’t going to make it easy for him. The past work weeks had been a whirlwind for you as well; you’d billed 15 plus hours every day for the past week to resuscitate a major merger on its deathbed. You set the last dirtied spoon on A’s drying rack two seconds before he unlocked his front door.

Aaron left the details of his past case vague. He kept the details of his emotional state even vaguer. But you could tell in the extra tight grip of his hello hug that he was in need of grounding. You anchored him with a constant, comforting grip, on his calloused hands. You fed him your best mac and cheese; you even cut back on your beloved pepperjack for his spice sensitive taste buds. Later that evening, you took a soothing shower together and collapsed into bed. You broke your typical bedtime routine: instead of discussing the latest novel you’ve read or life realizations, you watched a so-bad-it's-good corporate soap and ripped it a part for its inaccuracies. That’s when Aaron laughed for the first time since he came home.

You were relieved you didn’t wake him. Even though food comas were “scientifically disproven,” a factoid Aaron passed on to you from his team's young genius, Doctor Spencer Reid, you hoped the welcome home dinner you made him helped sustain his deep sleep.

Your adrenal glands calmed. You closed your eyes, but, not a second later, you were rudely interrupted by a sharp pain three inches below your belly button--- right where the unsub stabbed you.

It was just a dream. With a quiet huff, you rolled onto your side and curled against Aaron’s back.

That’s when you felt it— a tacky liquid sticking your satin pj pants to your thighs. A swell of nausea overtook you, and you feared it was not a byproduct of anxiety alone.

Gingerly, you slid out of bed. With the nausea sliding up your esophagus and the sensation of the room spinning, it wouldn’t take Holmes to confirm the cause, but you refused to panic without irrefutable evidence.

Gently, you folded the covers back. Not daring to turn on your phone flashlight, you tapped your home screen and raised the brightness.

When you hovered the light over the bed sheet, deep red splotches of smeared period blood screamed against Aaron’s stark white sheets.

Something deep and cold coiled in the pit of your stomach. You clicked your phone off. Carefully, you took a few steps back from the bed.

Your stomach whirled. A shiver crawled up your spine. You hurriedly tiptoed across the carpet to Aaron’s ensuite. Even in your haste, you quietly shut the door behind you. As soon as the door was in its oak frame, you turned the lock.

You pulled the roots of your hair with an iron grip. Shit. Shit.

You collapsed onto the edge of Aaron’s bathtub. There was blood all over your pj bottoms. You stood in a panic. You looked back and, of course, in a matter of three seconds, you stained the white acrylic.

You went to his faucet and patted ice cold water on your cheeks. Get a grip. Stress would only make the inevitable worse. Why it was possible for your body to malfunction this severely, you’ll never understand.

If you’d only been blessed with a normal body, one that menstruated on a timely schedule and didn’t come with a laundry list of ugly, graphic symptoms, tonight would be nothing more than a minor embarrassment.

The guilt for waking Aaron on tonight of all nights would be strong, but all you would have to do is tap him awake, apologize, and attack your blood splotches with a hydrogen peroxide–soaked cotton ball and the night would revert back to a typical night with your boyfriend.

You wished you were well enough to clean his sheets. Unfortunately, for you, it wasn't possible. You’d get even more nauseated. Or too lightheaded. You already felt sick when you woke up, which meant you were menstruating for a few hours.

How did you not catch this? Your body at least has the decency of shooting some warning flares, and the new medication your OB/GYN prescribed three months ago was far from 100 percent effective at calming your PMS symptoms.

You ran a hand over your face and through your hair. You were two weeks early after billing unbelievable hours for that merger dispute. This was stress induced.

You forced a deep breath. You needed to find a way out of this.

Suddenly, your vision swam. With no other option, you sat on the stained portion of Aaron’s bathtub. You gripped your stomach as the pain twisted deeper into your abdomen. You hunched over yourself.

Tonight could not become Aaron’s baptism by fire into your PCOS. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. He shouldn’t have to deal with all the baggage that comes when you experience the most natural thing in the world for a woman.

The nausea crawled up your throat, and you forcefully swallowed it back with a groan.

You put your head in your hands. You didn’t bring enough pads. Or tampons. You didn’t have any anti-emetics. What if you got a migraine? What if you fainted and A woke to what appeared to be your corpse lying on his bathroom tile?

Your spiral was interrupted by the man in question. “Honey?” Aaron called, voice strung.

Before you could respond, he yelled. “Honey?!”

You stood, and Aaron’s bathroom tilted on an axis. You barely managed to stumble to the doorway.

Fumbling, you unlocked the door just as Aaron reached the it.

His brown eyes were wide blown and wild. You'd never seen that expression on him before. “Are you okay?” He held your forearms as if he were afraid you’d crumple with too harsh a touch.

“I saw the blood and I…” He swallowed. He scanned you from head to toe repeatedly. “I thought the worst.” He whispered. Your heart fell through the pit of your stomach to the soles of your feet.

He cupped your cheeks. “Baby, you’re really off color. I need you to talk to me. Where are you hurt?” The blood stains on the back of your pants were out of his view.

“I’m not hurt, A.” You said.

His eyebrows furrowed. “Your side of the bed is blood stained.” He said, his voice taking a sterner edge.

“I’m on my monthly.”

“Oh.” He released your arms. His cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry, honey, I…” He ran his hands over his bedhead. “I should’ve…I jumped to conclusions.” He sounded shocked with himself.

“You’ve had a long day.” You whispered. “Give me a minute. I’ll clean.”

Suddenly, everything went blurry. Your muscles slacked, and your forehead dropped onto Aaron’s pectoral.

A hand was back on your forearm, this time with a tighter grip. A calloused hand tapped your cheek. “Hey. Hey. Baby. Stay with me.”

Carefully, he walked you away from the door. “Sit.” Fully supporting your back, he sat you on the floor and leaned you against the bathtub.

As soon as your back was fully supported, his ensuite regained color. You could take a deep breath again.

Aaron knelt in front of you. “Honey,” Aaron said, his stare piercing through yours. He stroked your hair out of your face. “I need you to be honest with me. What’s wrong?”

“I told you.” More accurately, you began to tell him.

You shivered. He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and stroked down your cheekbone.

“I don’t have a fever.” You insisted. “It’s just my monthly.”

He pecked your forehead. He didn’t believe you. “Is it always this bad?” He asked with a mix of concern and skepticism.

“Yes.” You sighed. “I have polycystic ovarian syndrome.”

“PCOS?” He asked.

You were shocked. “You know what that is?”

He nodded. “I’ve heard of it.”

“It can make my time of the month super severe.” Stubborn tears leaked from your eyes. You wiped your cheeks with the cuff of your pajama shirt.

You were supposed to be the woman who kicked ass in the boy’s club of corporate law by day and kicked ass as the perfect girlfriend by night.

He was not supposed to see you trembling before him, huddled in pain. He was not supposed to see you on the verge of throwing up from period cramps when he almost died in a hail of bullets less than twelve hours ago. He was never supposed to see how weak you truly were.

He took over wiping your tears with his thumbs. “Scale of 1 to 10—how bad is the pain?”

“Maybe an 8?” You said. It was a 9. If you could’ve managed without your head aching, you would’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. The one thing about dating a profiler is they always know when you’re fibbing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

You sniffled. “About my condition or that I’m in pain?”

“I think those are a package deal.” He said gently.

You sighed. Your instinct was to lie, but you stopped yourself. Aaron could see right through you. He was one of the best behavioral analysts in the entire world. For the first leg of your relationship, you’d managed to avoid this confrontation which was a blessing in itself.

“I didn’t want you to see how sick I get. How sick I am.” You toyed with the ends of your hair. “I didn’t want you to know how weak I am.” You whispered.

His eyes softened. “Honey, you’re not weak because you have PCOS."

“There are months where I can’t even stand up.” You said, voice taught with tears.

“And that’s why I need to know." He smoothed your hair. "Have you been going through this every month by yourself?”

“Since I moved out of my mother’s place for undergrad, yeah.” You sniffled with a watery smirk.

He wrapped an arm around your back, then hesitated. “Can I hug you?”

“Please.” You whispered

He pulled you into a hug. His hold was looser than normal, but his embrace still filled you with warmth from head to toe.

“Darling, I love you so much.” Aaron said. “I would never look down on you for this.”

“It’s just…I’m not used to….”

“Being this vulnerable.” Aaron finished sympathetically.

You nod. “It’s just…I get so sick. It makes me so ugly.”

He shook his head. “Hey.” He made sure you were looking him in the eye. “You’re never ugly.”

You chuckled. “You’ll revisit that answer when you see me dry heaving at 3 in the morning.” You said, unpleasant nights resurfacing.

His lips don’t do so much as quirk upwards. Rather, he looked shattered. He squeezed your hands. “I won’t.”

“What can I do to help?” He pivoted.

“You can change the sheets.” You looked to the top corner of the ensuite door frame as more tears welled. “And go back to bed.”

“I won't ever leave you on the bathroom floor in pain, alone.”

“But you should.” You said. He cupped your cheeks with his homey hands. He gently pulled your chin back to level your gaze, but you resisted.

“Why should I?” He asked.

“Because you’re tired. And I’m sick. And I’m broken. And there’s nothing you can do.” You make eye contact and immediately are wracked with full body sobs.

Suddenly, every second of you’d spent building up your self-esteem went out the window as your deepest insecurities broke through. You were never supposed to be a burden to him.

He pulled you into chest and wrapped you in his arms..“Helping you when you’re sick is never a burden. I love you so much.”

“What if you get tired of me?” What if this made him stop loving you?

“I won’t.” He promised.

He pressed another kiss to your forehead. “We’ll return to this conversation when you’re feeling better.” He stroked your cheekbone with his thumb. “What helps? Do you have medication?”

“I have daily medication. I’m still working with my doctor to get a regimine that works.” You wiped your eyes. “Heat helps. I drink this peppermint tea to help my stomach when I’m at home.” You rambled.

“The one by that British brand?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“When I saw their tea in your apartment, I bought some to keep here. I might have some peppermint. I’ll be back, honey.” He left you with a kiss on the cheek.

The tailoring he did to his world to accommodate you would never cease to flutter your heart.

The pleasant moment was quickly halted by your stomach bubbling.

As A’s slippers padded down the stairs, you crawled across the tile floor over to the toilet. You forced your head between your knees.

About ten minutes later, you heard the clack of his slippers against the bathroom floor. “Nauseous?” He asked.

You nodded.

He sat the mug close to you. “Your tea to your left within arm's reach. I’m going to grab some blankets and pillows. I’ll be right back. Shout if you need something.”

You learned by “some blankets and pillows” Aaron meant an entire blanket set.

As you leaned your head back against the wall, Aaron began prepping your makeshift bed. In your peripheral vision, you laid pillows as floor cushioning.

“I won’t judge you if you go to sleep in bed. This gets ugly.”

“Baby, I’m an FBI agent for the BAU. Even if you threw up on me, it wouldn’t make the list of the top fifty gross things I’ve experienced by miles.”

You scooched onto a pillow. Aaron slipped the blankets around you.

Your head found the soft crook of his neck. He pressed his head onto yours, and the pressure instantly relaxed you. Unfortunately, your your uterine muscles corkscrewed. You squirmed in pain.

Aaron shushed you. “You need to breathe. This will pass, just breathe.”

You clasped his hand like a lifeline. What feels like hours later, when the pain begins to ebb away, you pant, “It’s alright if you need to go to sleep.” Aaron already relayed his plans to go into the office on Saturday morning to attack some dense paperwork.

He placed his free hand overtop of yours. “You will always be a priority for me. I hope I’ve shown you by now that I will always take care of you.”

You smiled into his shoulder.

“Also, the heating pad is charging in the bedroom, and, before you ask about the sheets, they’re already in the wash.”

You sighed in happiness. “I could kiss you right now.”

“What’s stopping you?” Gently, he pressed his lips to the top of your forehead.

You smiled again. You could count on your hand the number of times you’d smiled when you’re like this: on the bathroom floor, nauseous and dizzy.

You squeezed his knee with your free hand. “You promise you’ll stay with me?”

“Of course I’ll stay with you. I love you. And, just for the record…this may be tough, but you're not ugly and you're not weak. You're braver than you think and more beautiful than you know. I'm grateful to be the one holding you through this."

In the coming days, you’re certain you’ll have a laundry list of next steps from your boyfriend: call your doctor, check in with a dietitian, monitor stress, anything he could think of to lessen these symptoms. He’ll probably want to talk more about why you didn’t tell him sooner.

But, for now, you're both satisfied with sitting on the bathroom floor and riding this out. And in a moment where the pain could split you in pieces, you somehow felt whole.

Author's Note: I'm happy to say the 100 follower celebration fics are finally going live!

I hope you're having a good day or night! Thanks for taking the time to read my work! And, to anyone struggling with a condition similar to the reader's: you, too, are braver than you think and more beautiful than you know!

xoxo,

shewroteaworld

#aaron hotchner x reader #shewroteaworld 100 follower celebration #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #ssa aaron hotchner

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moonchild9350 · 3 months ago

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Fate Within the Depths of the Sea

Summary: Minho is saved by you, a siren, while out at sea. It seems like your fate is intertwined as you both fall in love. However, fate never seemed to work out for a pair of star crossed lovers.

Pairing: Minho x Siren gn reader

Genre: angst, smut-18+ MDNI, fantasy au

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: nudity, brief mention of blood, shapeshifting, violence, coercion, stalking, public sex, unprotected sex (don’t), mention of breeding, creampie, heartbreak, mentions of death

Notes: Week 2 of Spooktober continues, this time with a whirlwind of an emotional ride.

If you enjoyed, please like, reblog, comment as it makes my day ♡

Divider by @saradika-graphics

"What once was had, forever lost; thy fate is destined, thy love star-crossed." -Nenia Campbell

It was a warm, sunny day, the sun beating down on you as you perched upon your favorite rock, watching the sea. There was stillness in the waters, as ships had not passed through for quite some time. It was peaceful, with only the occasional caw of the birds in the sky, leaving you to your thoughts.

You flipped your fins, the hues of blue and purple mixing with the clear water below, causing water to splash up and onto the rock and your body keeping you cool. You had nothing to do at the moment, as there were no humans in site.

Honestly, you were bored, needing the thrill and excitement of messing with humans, their awe and cooing turned to screaming and then silence, simply music to your ears.

You let out a long sigh, flipping your hair back, your chest on display. Oh how you wished a ship would pass through, so you could have some fun.

Turns out you didn’t have to wait long, as a large ship made its way through the waters, the waves picking up at the disturbance. You grew excited as the ship sailed closer. You could see tiny specks walking to and from on the deck, the crew members busy with their chores.

You jumped into the water and quickly swam over to the ship. You saw some of your clan making their way over to the ship as well, excited for the new prey.

Once at the ship, you all swam up to the surface, your heads breaking through the tension with ease. With a deep breath, you and the others began to sing an ethereal song, the notes like soft petals floating through the air as it traveled to the unsuspecting crew members.

It didn’t take long until you all were noticed, the men hurrying to lean over the railing to seek the source of the sound. Knowing that you had them, you projected your voice louder, the song thick like honey, landing on their ears.

One man in particular noticed you. His eyes glued to your form, as it floated in the deep blue sea below. He thought your face most beautiful, the water droplets slowly dripping down your face, the sun catching them causing a rainbow effect.

He thought your voice the most surreal of all, your song luring him in, making him feel as if he wanted to join you, to be near you. He wouldn’t mind to do so, feeling like he’d be the luckiest man alive.

You looked up as you sang, catching the eyes of the man above you. You faltered slightly, the note you were singing breaking off momentarily, as you looked at the beautiful sailor. You felt in a daze, not noticing that your clan had started to attack the ship, trying to get to the men on board.

You watched as sailor after sailor fell into the water, their awes turning into screams as they succumbed to their fates. You watched as the man fell into the sea, his head bobbing above water frantically as he tried to find purchase on a nearby floating piece of wood.

You panicked at his struggle and not knowing what came over you, you quickly swam over to him, grabbed him by the arm, and tried to pull him to safety.

He struggled against your hold, wanting to get away. You listened as he pled for his life, his voice laced with fear. Your heart hurt at his pleas, as you did not want to hurt the man.

After swimming aways, you finally arrived at the patch of land you were aiming for, as you had sunbathed there many times. You watched as the man’s feet touched land and scrambled away from you.

He truly was beautiful, with shaggy hair framing his face. He had dark brown eyes that were widened in terror as they looked at you or…where he thought you were.

After making sure he was safe, you quickly swam away, hiding behind a rock that was little ways off the shore. From this distance, you were free to gaze upon the man. He seemed confused, lost, as he searched for you, his rescuer. You’ve never given a second thought to your prey, content on watching their misery as the succumbed to the depths. So why did you save this man today?

You’re not sure how long you hid behind that rock, watching the man’s every move, watching as he paced back and forth, back and forth across the sand. He was probably hoping to be rescued, hoping that there was a survivor to take him to shore.

Nightfall was close, the sun casting a golden glow across the horizon, the moon making its appearance in the sky. A small boat made its way across the sea, spotting the man on the island. The man had eventually made a fire, the smoke floating high up into the sky to act as a signal. You watched as he got up and made his way to his rescuers, scrambling to board the ship.

Once aboard, the ship slowly sailed away toward the mainland, taking the mysterious man with it. You decided to follow it, to see where this man lives. It didn’t take very long to get there, as the mainland was not far off. As you watched the men exit the ship one by one, you made a decision here and there to follow the man.

You very rarely visited the mainland, preferring the sea and your natural form over the human form. However, you thought this an appropriate time to transform. You made your way out of the water, your legs slowly taking shape as you made your way further up the bank. You found a piece of cloth on the side of the bank, most likely from a ruined sail, and made a makeshift outfit so you’d look decent to walk among humankind.

While you were disguising yourself, you briefly lost sight of the man, but found him instantly as someone was chastising him. You listened closely, as the other person yelled at the man, telling him he was late and where was the rest of the crew. He kept calling the mysterious man ‘Minho’ and you figured that must be his name.

You tried saying his name, shivers running down your spine as the syllables rolled off your tongue. You said it again and again, a smile gracing your face as you fell in love with the man’s name.

You heard the man called Minho curse and watched as he stormed away, making his way further in land. You decided to follow him, curious as to what he gets up to once the sun goes down. You glided after him, your footsteps soundless as you moved with grace.

Minho moved down the crowded streets, before sneaking down an empty alleyway. He walked until he came to a run down building. Sliding a key into the lock, he let himself in the house before sliding the lock in place. He was home, safely at that.

He sat down in a chair near the fireplace and unlaced his shoes, tossing them aside. He’d need to clean the muck from the sea off of them later. As he sat, he closed his eyes reminiscing on the day. He almost met his fate, as death was looming over his head. It had taken his comrades, but somehow he escaped its clutches.

Minho remembered you, your soft, wavy hair cascading down your back. Your beautiful green eyes on an even more beautiful face. He remembers your body and ultimately your tail, the colors of your fins radiating in the midday sun. Why’d you save him? Why’d you not take him just like the others took his comrades? These were all questions that he wished he knew the answer to.

To make matters worse, no one believes him and his tale. Seungmin definitely didn’t, the man getting angry with him and chewing his head off as to why he was late for his afternoon duties. It sounds almost like a fairytale, he won’t lie. He wonders if he’ll ever see you again? Does he even want to see you again?

These were all questions that ran through his mind as he drifted off.

You peeked through the window, watching as Minho sat down and removed his shoes. He looked relieved to finally be home. His home wasn’t much and honestly looked like it could use some repair. You watched as he drifted off to sleep, his head slightly slumping over, his beautiful, long hair falling in his face, obscuring his eyes.

You were curious, wanting to know more about this man that you decided to save on a whim, and once you decided on something you stuck to it. Seeing that he will most likely be asleep the rest of the night, you made your way down alleys and back to the main street, back to your home, the sea.

You shed your makeshift dress and hid it among the rocks, not wanting it to get ruined. After, you walked into the sea, the waves wrapping around your feet lovingly, welcoming you home. You shifted back into your siren form before swimming away, leaving the mainland behind.

You planned to visit Minho once more. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

Everyday since your chance encounter, you would visit the mainland taking your human form, and visit Minho. You’d watch his day to day activities, watch how he’d move lumber to and from, and load boxes onto the ships. You could tell he was strong, watching his muscles bulge as he worked long hours.

You loved watching him within his home, as he busied himself making dinner, as he lounged on the couch reading a book, as he slumbered peacefully, none the wiser to your presence.

You were falling in love with this human, the feelings causing your heart to ache in longing for their touch, their voice, for them. It wasn’t unheard of for a siren to fall in love with a human, one of your clan members having done so not too long ago. Their love didn’t work out, but you knew this would be different. You would have Minho as your lover.

One night as you gazed at Minho sleeping peacefully, you decided then and there to take things to the next step in making him yours.

The opportunity presented itself sooner rather than later, as he came to the sea shore one day. Minho gazed out to sea, his eyes glossing over as he watched the waves ripple and crash onto the beach, the sound soothing to his ears.

Minho often thought of you during his visits to the sea. He wondered where you were and what you were doing. He wishes he could see you again, he’d do anything to see you.

As he stood there, he noticed movement in his periphery, causing him to look to see who it was. What he saw took his breath away. A beautiful person was walking, no gliding his way, a serene smile on their face. His heart skipped a beat once, twice, as he stared at you. You seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he’s seen you before.

Today was the day you would make Minho yours, you could not fail. Once you were standing right in front of him, you smiled, as you reached out to brush the back of your hand down his cheek.

Minho held your gaze, never faltering as he leaned into your touch. You began to sing a gentle song, one you’d heard your mother sing to your father many times. Your smile widened as you saw Minho shuffle closer to you, his hand reaching up to grasp yours in his.

“Minho,” you breathed, your voice laced with love, “you will be mine.”

Minho nodded his head, surrendering himself to you. “I’m yours,” he breathed in reply.

You leaned forward, bringing your face to his, before pressing your lips to his gently. Minho relaxed further into your hold, chasing your lips as you withdrew. You smiled as you let go of his face and brought your hands to your makeshift dress, unfastening the knot you’d made to keep the dress upright.

Minho watched with bated breath as your dress dropped to the sand, your body on display for him. You seemed to glow, the outline of your body having a luminescent glow to it. His eyes roamed from your face to the swell of your breasts, to your legs. He could feel his cock start to swell, the appendage filling out within his trousers.

You reached your arms out to Minho, watching as he closed the space between you in a few steps. You were met with a kiss, his lips molding with yours, the kiss becoming more heated as Minho gently laid you down.

You watched as Minho shucked his shirt off, tossing it into the sand. In his haste to feel you, he lowered his trousers enough to free his hardened cock. You spread your legs wider so he could more easily slot himself between them.

“Can I?” Minho moaned, stroking his cock through your folds, causing your pussy to quiver.

“Of course my love,” you said, pulling the man to your chest as he pushed his cock within you, your walls welcoming his cock, wrapping snuggly around him.

Minho let out a groan as he began to thrust into you, burying his face in your neck. You cradled his head, a grin on your face. He was yours finally you thought as you moaned out in pleasure. His cock was hitting your sweet spot just right, causing you to clench around him.

You threw your head back to look at the man above you, watching the sweat drip down his face, his beautiful brown orbs dilated as he gazed down at you, love and lust present in his eyes. You grasped his arms, your nails digging into the flesh drawing blood as he brought you to your high, the hair donning his pelvis providing the extra stimulation you needed against your clit.

Minho was lost, his head a fuzzy mess as he became drunk on you. His mouth gaped open as he watched your breasts bounce with each thrust into your warm walls, your nipples peaked in the cool afternoon air. He fell more in love with you as you sighed out his name, his cock swelling even more at the sound of your voice.

He was close and all he could think of was to breed you full, make you his forever.

“Mm close,” he moaned out as he continued to thrust into you, his hips moving at a leisurely pace.

You let out a soft groan at his words. “Let go Minho,” you said, wrapping your legs around him to pull him even closer to you.

“Make me yours as I have made you mine,” you said, feeling the coil in your belly build as you stared into Minho’s eyes.

He never took his eyes from yours as he let out a deafening wail as he came, his cum flooding your walls. The feeling of being full triggered your high as you released around him, your walls spasming around his cock, milking him dry.

Minho collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck once more, as he breathed heavy. You laced your fingers within his hair, dragging them nimbly through the strands. You both laid there for what seemed like eternity as you both came down from your highs, cradled in each other’s embrace.

Finally, Minho sat up, withdrawing his softened cock from you, his release seeping out of your pussy and onto the sand below.

“Come back to my home with me,” Minho said as he fixed his trousers and put his shirt back on.

He reached for your dress and handed it to you, watching as you put it back on.

You smiled, “of course I’ll come back with you,” you said, your heart swelling at the invitation.

Minho stood up and helped you up, ever the gentleman. He took your hand and guided you through the streets, walking the well known path to his home. You feigned ignorance as he showed you where different shops were, explaining which were his favorites. He could never know you have watched him for almost a fortnight go to the said shops and go about his daily life.

You came to a halt in front of his building, Minho stopping to place a key into the lock of the door. He pushed the door open and beckoned you inside, stepping in behind you. Your eyes wandered around his abode, taking in the sights that you have grown accustomed to.

Minho guided you to his bed, pulling you beneath the blanket and into his arms. You laid there in silence, listening to the sound of Minho’s heartbeat, a sound so foreign to you as your heart did not beat within. The constant thump thump, thump thump caused a weird feeling to grow within you.

Listening to his heart reminded you that he was a human, and you a creature of the deep, posing as a human.

“Minho,” you breathed, adjusting yourself so you could see him better.

Minho looked down at you, curiosity in his eyes. You loved this man, loved him with all your being, the short while you’ve known him feeling like an eternity. However, you understood now what your clan members meant, that humans and sirens just couldn’t be. You were about to break his heart, breaking the artificial love between you two.

He could tell something was wrong, as your face seemed pained, a frown etched across your forehead. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, pulling you closer. He desperately needed you, just like he needed air to breathe. He’s not sure why he didn’t realize this sooner, wishing he could have met you sooner.

A part of him knows what you’re about to say, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear the words you will utter that will ultimately break his heart. He just couldn’t take it. He thinks that you both can make this work. He can visit you everyday, and have long chats with you by the sea. Every now and then you can venture on land, stay with him, and let him spoil you.

No, Minho doesn’t want to hear it, not at this moment. He hopes to distract you, as he pulls you ever closer and buries his cock within your walls once more, listening as you yelp in surprise. He buries his face within your hair, the strands tickling his nose as he ruts against you, his cock dragging to and fro within your walls.

He cups your breasts within his hands, toying with your nipples, listening to your sweet moans, the melody causing his heart and his cock to swell. He tries not to listen as you mumble out ‘we can never be, we can never be,’ chanting the phrase like a prayer.

You feel something wet fall down the back of your neck and dribble down your shoulders, your breasts. Realizing that Minho is crying, you squeeze his hand tighter, holding him closer to you as he thrusts into you over and over. You uttered the words that would break him, just as you thought.

No tears graced your face however; after all, you are a siren, a cold hearted creature. You could hear Minho pleading behind you, “please, please, please.” His words went through one ear and out the other. You should have let him be, let him succumb to his fate just like the rest of his crew members.

Minho was close, despite the melancholy within, his orgasm steadily approaching as he buried himself deeper within your walls, giving himself body and soul fully to you. He wanted, no needed you to cum with him, granting him this one wish. Reaching his hand around your body, he found your clit, circling his finger over the nub in gentle circles. He heard your breath catch, his mouth curling up into a smile despite the turmoil he was experiencing within.

With a few more thrusts, he stilled as he came, squeezing you to him as you fell apart beside him. He couldn’t see your face, couldn’t memorize the look of pleasure one last time. He felt more tears grace the corners of his eyes as you disentangled from his arms and got up from bed, leaving him a fraction of the man he used to be.

You couldn’t look at the man below you as you dressed, fastening your makeshift dress to your body one last time. You hardened your facial expression, disdain in your heart for the weakness of the man you thought you loved. You ignored the pleas from Minho, slowly walking to the door.

“Please my love, please, don’t leave!” Minho cried out, his body shaking from the sobs wrecking his frame.

He watched you open the door and walk out, shutting the door behind you. He felt a sharp pain in his chest, squeezing, constricting, making it difficult to breathe. The feeling spread throughout his body, causing him to curl up in a ball. He felt as if he was broken, the effects of your siren charm gone. He didn’t know how or when he’d be able to get up, the pain too much for him to handle. All he understood in that moment was you took his heart through the door as you left for good.

You made your way back to the sea, feeling cleansed after your realization. Yes, a part of you still longed for Minho, the feeling trying to claw its way into your non-beating heart. However, you pushed it down, buried it in the depths of your soul and continued your walk back to your home, back to where you belonged.

Days turned into weeks, which turned into months since you have last seen Minho. You were once more perched on your favorite rock, the sun beating down and warming your skin. You fell back into your routine, playing your role of capturing sailors unawares with a new fervor.

You felt at ease, the thoughts and feelings you had for that man successfully buried deep within. You didn’t care at all for the man, not even wanting to think of his name. Despite this feeling, you once more found yourself swimming out to sea and making your way to the main land.

You arrived at the rock you used to hide at and watch him as he labored by the docks. Nightfall was nearing, and the other men were clearing out, making their way home to their families. As time went on, all but one man remained.

You watched as Minho finished up his duties, a quickness to his step. You figured he was ready to go home, more than tired after laboring in the heat all day. Without knowing what came over you, you swam out to the dock, and stopped, your head bobbing above water to gaze at him.

Minho looked up, feeling the intensity of someone looking at him. He dropped the nets he was holding at the sight of you, the siren that once saved him and broke his heart all within the span of weeks.

He felt the healing seams of his heart rip, the pain searing through him once more as it did months ago. Despite this, he felt something else bubble up, a warmth that tickled his soul like a flame to a candle. The thoughts of your love for him occupied his mind, but also the pain of you walking out plagued him as well.

You watched Minho. You knew he was internally battling with himself, the reminders of what was and could have been tormenting his mind. You should have just swam away, leaving the man alone for good on the dock, so he could get home just like any other night.

However, you decided you couldn’t let your prey go, not this time. Therefore, you stayed in place, treading water as you watched Minho.

‘Fuck it,’ Minho thought. He could be with you. He wants to be with you. Before he knew it, he was making his way to the sea, putting one step in front of the other. His eyes never left your form, not wanting to blink and then open his eyes and find you gone.

You watched as Minho got closer to you, as he waded out to sea, the water getting higher and higher around him until he had to swim.

Minho began swimming, pumping his arms and kicking his legs, propelling himself further out to you. He could feel the burn as he swam further and further away from the shore. He didn’t care however, as long as he was closer to you.

You opened your arms, awaiting Minho, as he was closer than ever, hope written on his face. As he reached your arms, you wrapped them around him, bringing your forehead to his. You felt Minho’s breath against your neck as he breathed a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

“We can make this work,” he breathed, his eyes pleading you to understand. “Please don’t leave me again.”

You nodded your head, as you played along, the ruse only a trick to capture your prey. You held him tighter in your embrace, feeling him shake within your hold.

“We can be together forever Minho,” you whispered.

Minho looked at you with tears in his eyes, elated that you were not going to give up on him.

Fate has a cruel way of making its face shown, sometimes ending in a not so happy ending. You felt it was your fate to love this man but also be his downfall. Holding onto Minho ever tighter, you placed one last kiss on his lips and began to swim down into the depths of the sea.

Minho’s face widened as he realized what was happening, his body beginning to twist and turn as you swam deeper into the sea with him tow. He didn’t want it to end this way. You had tricked him and he was too late to realize it. He thought you both were destined to be together but maybe he was wrong after all. Alas, it was too late, as his struggle was moot.

Fate brought you both together, but fate also took away everything. How cruel can fate be.

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#stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #lee know x reader #lee know smut #minho smut #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids fanfic #minho x reader #lee know fanfic #stray kids imagines #minho angst #skz angst #lee know angst #minho fanfic #stray kids angst #stray kids kinktober #caitlins spooktober 24

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nhlclover · 8 months ago

Text

YOU SHOULD PROBABLY LEAVE WILL SMITH

pairing: will smith x fem!reader

word count: 3.54k

summary: will finds himself unexpectedly confronted with his past when you reach out to him

warnings: set in the future-ish when will is a part of the sharks, angst, exes getting back together, drinking wine, heated make out that becomes briefly nsfw, unresolved ending, lots of worldbuilding, not a lot of dialogue

Will shut off the water, pulling the towel off the rack, and wrapping it around his waist. Stepping out of the shower, he grabbed a rag to wipe off the mirror that had fogged over with condensation. His reflection gradually emerged amid the dissipated steam. Fatigue and depletion etched onto his features as he gazed at himself. He ran a hand through his damp hair, feeling the weight of the day settling on his shoulders.

The grueling morning practice, compounded with the evening's game, had begun to exact its revenge. His right shoulder throbbed with soreness, and his calf threatened to give way under the strain. Though he had hoped the searing heat of the shower would alleviate his aches, it seemed evident that the team's physical therapist would be needed to ease his pain.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, the cool air of the apartment greeted him, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the shower. Will hesitated by his bed to check his phone. His thumb scrolled through the notifications he accumulated during his forty-five-minute shower, pausing momentarily when your name appeared, drawing his attention. Will clicked on the notification, pulling up your shared texts. His breath caught in his throat as he read the message, you asking to catch up.

Will’s mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions and questions, unsure of what surprised him the most. Was it that you still had his number after all this time and after everything that had transpired between the two of you? Or perhaps it was the unexpectedness of you reaching out, breaking the silence that had settled like a brick wall between you. Even more unexpected was the fact that you were seemingly in San Jose. Last Will heard, you were off exploring some islands off the coast of Australia.

As Will hesitated over the keyboard, both bitter and sweet memories flooded back. What would he say? How could he begin to untangle the tangled threads of your past? Despite the pain it might bring, a part of him longed for the connection you once shared. The wreckage of your relationship weighed heavily on his mind as he deliberated, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He knew better than to invite you over, replaying every scene from their time together in his mind. The shared laughter and intimacy were contrasted with the pain and bitterness of your breakup.

He remembered the early days when everything felt effortless. Your laughter was like a melody that he never got tired of hearing, every delicate touch of yours igniting a fire within him that he didn’t think would ever dim. It felt like you were safely together in the honeymoon phase, destined never to end. However, tucked away with those memories were also the ones from the end of the relationship. Shadows of unresolved arguments and eroding trust seemed to cloud the rose-coloured lens through which Will viewed those memories.

The break up wasn’t sudden, but rather the culmination of months of strain, the slow disintegration of infatuation as time wore on. You found yourselves trying to hold onto something that was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. The relationship became delicate, the both of you afraid of shattering the fragile peace you clung to. You tiptoed on eggshells around each other, scared of setting off the ticking time bomb that was every argument. Everything soon began to crumble the longer you grasped at straws. Communication became strained. Trust, once strong as bedrock, became as delicate as glass in trembling hands. No matter how much you tried to rebuild and mend the cracks in the foundation of your relationship, it decayed in front of your very eyes.

In the end, you both walked away. The love never vanished between the two of you, but you stepped back because no matter how strong that love was, it couldn’t mend what was already broken. The relationship left behind a trail of emotional wreckage, something neither of you had yet to fully escape despite time passing.

As his thumbs hovered over the keys, Will felt the weight of the unresolved sitting heavy on his shoulders. Every unsaid word, the unfulfilled promise of love and the promise to stay. He knew that responding to your text would only reopen old wounds, feelings that he had tried desperately to bury were bound to bleed out.

The love that dared to remain despite the turmoil took over him. He longed for the familiarity of your presence, the comfort of your touch that he knew would be still burning like an ember. The ensuing chaos was inevitable. It was part of the prophecy written in stone. Chaos followed both of you wherever you went.

Against better judgment, Will’s fingers descended to the screen, sending you his address and extending the offer to come over, to which you agreed.

As he stood in his bedroom, towel clinging to his damp skin, Will suddenly realized the water droplets pooling around his feet, as he stood at the foot of his bed distracted by your sudden appearance. Hastily, he shed the towel, the fabric dropping to the floor with a soft thud, and he scrambled to clothe himself. Each garment he picked up felt wrong, inadequate somehow as if he needed to impress you with his clothing. He changed once, then twice, finally settling on the third choice, which was ultimately simply blue jeans and a white t-shirt.

Will quickly attempted to restore order to his apartment, a task long overdue. The once-tidy space had succumbed to the chaos of life, with the remnants of weeks gone by scattered haphazardly. Hockey had claimed the majority of his time, leaving little room for domestic upkeep. Will went from room to room, gathering stray articles of clothing and corralling them into the laundry basket. The dishwasher became a receptacle for the remnants of meals hastily consumed between games, the clatter of dishes echoing through the now-quiet space as he restored a semblance of order.

As he made his way to the bedroom, his eyes fell upon several articles of clothing strewn across the floor. He shoved all the articles of clothing into the laundry bin, then headed to make his bed.

Pausing mid-stride, Will found himself standing before his rumpled bed, a sense of absurdity washing over him. Why was he bothering to tidy his room? The question lingered in the air, a silent reproach to his futile efforts. After all, you wouldn't be seeing it… right? And yet, despite the logic of his thoughts, he continued to tidy the space, pristinely tucking the sheets into place.

Minutes felt like hours as he waited for your arrival. Apprehension gnawed at him. He knew there was a risk in inviting you over given everything that had transpired. But undeniable and unavoidable longing pulled at his heart, a yearning to bridge the mile-long gap that had slowly grown between the two of you. Questions pounded at his mind, threatening to bring on a headache. Was this the right thing to do? Maybe this would bring you closure? Or would this just reopen the old wounds that took Will months to scab over?

Every sound outside his apartment made Will jump to the peephole to check if you were outside his door. His heart pounded in anticipation, at the idea of seeing you. Part of the healing process for you resulted in removing Will from all social media. The only updates of him you received came through news of his hockey career, the only updates about you Will received were from friends of friends. He wondered how you changed. If you changed.

The delicate knock on his door pulled Will from his imagination. He didn’t even check the peephole, knowing that you were the only possible person who could be on the other side of the door.

When he opened the door and caught sight of you standing there, all uncertainties seemed to fade away. At that moment, there was only you — the person he’d missed more than words could express. The one he had been longing to hold, to talk to, to be with.

You appeared almost unchanged from the girl he had last seen two years ago. Your face retained its familiar features, now with a sun-kissed glow and a touch of maturity. Despite the subtle differences, Will felt confident he could still trace the constellation of freckles he once knew so well. The worn Reeboks, which he had constantly begged you to throw out cause they gave you blisters, stubbornly clung to your feet. Your hair, now shorter, fell just above your shoulders, making you look older. You had new piercings, a notable stud on your nose.

Her dad probably nearly killed her for that one, he thought.

Despite the changes, Will thought you were still just as beautiful as the day you met.

The door opened wider and you stepped inside, it clicking shut behind you. Will gestured towards the couch, silently inviting you to take a seat, which you did without hesitation. For a moment, silence filled the room, thick with unspoken tension. Your gaze wandered around his apartment, noting the familiar sight of old jerseys and team photos adorning the walls. Sensing the need to ease the atmosphere, Will broke the silence with the only words that came to mind.

"Want something to drink?" he asked. He attempted to sound casual despite his heart threatening to beat out of his chest.

You almost jumped at his voice, a sound you’d become a stranger to. Was it possible it had gotten deeper?

"You got wine?" you replied with a teasing lilt, a faint smile playing on your lips.

Will almost melted at your voice, a sound he’d become unfamiliar with. Was it possible it had gotten sweeter?

"I do actually," Will answered, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Despite it being a joke, you asked for a glass, and he poured it with a practiced hand, albeit into mugs as he had no wine glasses.

"You drink wine now?" Will asked, taking a sip of his own glass he’d poured.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly, a sound that tickled Will’s ears. "I guess I do," you replied.

"What else has changed?" Will asked.

You paused briefly, considering his question. A lamp in the corner casts a soft glow onto the apartment, turning Wills’ blond hair golden.

"I guess a lot has changed since we last saw each other," you acknowledged. You swirled the wine in your mug, watching it slosh around. Will nodded, his gaze fixed on your face, noting all the subtle differences. You took his silence as a gesture that you should continue.

"I travelled a bit," you told him. "I went to Thailand and Vanuatu with my friend Gabby… on the way back I finally went to Germany like you said I should."

Will couldn’t help but let a small smile tug on his lips. He’d played in Germany at the U18s a few years back and once he’d met you, he knew it was a country you’d want to visit. He’d recalled the sights and the excursions he’d done to you several times, trying to convince you to visit the country one day. You’d told him you would, but never did before you broke up.

"And?" Will prodded.

"I loved it… just like you said I would."

Will always knew you best. He had an intuitive understanding of your unique quirks, being able to predict your habits with uncanny accuracy. It was as though he had a direct line to your thoughts. Your go-to order at the campus coffee shop? He could recite it by heart probably even after all the years had passed. The way you fiddled with your rings when you got nervous — something he saw you doing as you spoke — or the way you would braid your hair when thinking or lost in thought.

"And you?" you asked, turning the conversation to him. "What’s changed in your world?"

Will’s mood is briefly dragged down, your words a subtle reminder that the two of you exist in different worlds now. No longer ours, but yours.

Will told you about hockey, the one constant in his life. He told you about leaving Boston when he got called up to San Jose. He told you about Gabe, Ryan and all the other guys from BC and what they were up to. Friends you would’ve once called yours too, but you’re not quite sure you’ll ever call them that again. In quiet exchanges over refills of wine and shared memories, you began to realize how much you had both changed, yet how much remained the same between the two of you. You slipped into easy conversation, a nostalgic reminder of your early days together.

The wine disappeared as your stories spilled. It grew late, the hour slipping well past midnight, however, neither of you made the move to end the night. At that moment, the boundaries between night and day, past and present, blurred into insignificance.

Will draped his arm across the back of the couch, bringing his mug up to his lips. Your gaze instinctively gravitated towards his hand which sat mere inches from you, the closest you’d gotten all night. Your eyes traced the contours of his fingers, the veins in the back of his hand. Yet it’s his wrist that captured your attention, adorned with a familiar bracelet. The wooden beads had faded over time but you know it’s the same one. You shifted closer, reaching out, and thumbing the beads between your thumb and forefinger. A jolt of energy surged right to his core as your fingers softly brushed his skin.

"You kept this?" you asked, a little surprised that he hadn’t completely rid himself of every bit of your presence when you split.

Will’s eyes stayed locked on your fingers, putting his now empty mug on the table. "‘Course I did," he said. "Some things are too precious to let go."

Will didn’t mean for it to be a reference, but his words applied to both situations. The bracelet, a gift from you after you came back from a spring break trip to Costa Rica, had become a good luck charm for Will. He wore it in one match, having a multi-point game. During the next game, having forgotten the bracelet back in his room, his passes seemed to keep missing, pucks bounced off his blade, and he repeatedly found himself on the bruising end of crushing hits. He determined that it was the bracelet that had been the cause of his good luck in the first game, so he never took it off. Despite Will having subsequent bad games, the bracelet stayed. Even after you broke up, Will desperately trying to erase you from his life, memories of you being too much to bear, he kept the bracelet.

Will finally brought himself to tear his gaze away from the gentle pressure of your fingers against his wrist, meeting your eyes that were fixed on him. Your eyes, dangerously soft, spoke about a million words in a silent language. It was a look he was familiar with, one that hadn't lost its impact despite the passage of time. Amidst the intensity of your gaze, a sense of doubt crept into the back of his mind. Was this the right thing to do?

"It's getting late," Will remarked, though his voice lacked conviction.

"I know," you said softly. A beat passes before your whispered confession comes out. "I don’t want to go."

"I don’t want you to leave," Will admitted, his voice betraying the longing he could no longer conceal.

Reaching out, Will gently took your hand in his, the touch igniting a familiar spark. Your fingers intertwined effortlessly as if no time had passed. His thumb traces slow, deliberate patterns across your knuckles, each movement a silent declaration. With each caress, your heart quickened, the warmth of his hand sending shivers down your spine.

Your eyes flicked down to his lips, tracing the subtle curves that were faintly stained from the cheap bottle of red you'd shared. The dim light of the room cast shadows, accentuating the allure of his mouth, and a soft sigh escaped your lips, betraying the pull of desire that lingered between you. Will felt the tension mounting, his heart pounding in his chest as he met your gaze, the depth of emotion reflected in the depths of your eyes.

As if guided by an invisible hand, Will shifted forward, bridging the space between you until your faces were just a heartbeat apart. Will’s nose gently brushed against yours, his delicate lips hovering over yours as he cautiously gaged your response, waiting to see if you would retreat. When you didn’t, his hand tenderly cupped your chin, pulling you in until your lips collided in an all-familiar kiss. Your lips moved together, finding the rhythm that had once been second nature to the both of you, the pain and bitterness of the past melting away.

Your tongue delicately parted his lips, tasting the wine that lingered in his mouth. Will groaned into the kiss as he felt your tongue on his. His hand fell from your chin, going down to your hip, holding it tightly. As you detached your lips from his, Will's chest rose and fell heavily, his lungs aching from the lack of oxygen. Your lips traced a path of soft kisses along his jawline, up to his ear, teasing him with delicate nibbles on his earlobe. Will’s breath hitched in his throat, escaping in choked moans and soft cries. Will reached over, gripping your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. His hands went down to your ass, holding you in place on top of him.

Will placed quick kisses along your neck to where your pulse point beckoned, as you tipped your head back to grant Will complete access. He teased the sensitive spot, your moans vibrating against his lips. Every needy, seductive sound you made caused Will to harden underneath you. You felt him straining against his pants, pressing into your core.

Will scooped his hands under your thighs, lifting you off the couch. You trusted him as he guided you out of the living room and into his bedroom, all while not unlatching his lips from yours. Your back hit the soft comforter as Will gently lowered you to his bed. You both recalled the things that got you off. You remembered the way he got off on being praised, stroking his ego with your carefully chosen words, while he remembered that you got off on hearing every desperate noise that escaped his mouth.

As the night deepened, the air hung heavy with the scent of desire. Each breath you shared echoed with the rhythm of two bodies wrapped together, lost in the moment of ecstasy. Skin met skin with primal urgency, ripples of pleasure coursing through every nerve ending. Outside the world slept, unaware of the passionate reconnection unfolding within the four walls of Will’s bedroom.

In the hazy embrace of dawn, Will stirred from his slumber, the first rays of sunlight painting the room in a soft, golden hue. His eyes fluttered open, landing on you curled into his side, your hand delicately resting on his bare chest. With a tender gaze, Will studied your features, illuminated by the soft morning light. Your face was serene in sleep, every line and curve etched with a quiet beauty that captivated him. He reached out a hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch feather-light as though afraid to disturb the peace that enveloped you. A tender smile graced Will's lips as he admired you, a wave of affection and longing melting over him.

Time seemed to stand still as Will's heart swelled with a mixture of emotions. Memories once again flooded Will’s mind. He remembered the way your laughter used to fill the room, how your smile never failed to brighten even the darkest of days. Those moments had become distant echoes, clouded by the turmoil of the end of your relationship. However, at that moment, with you curled into his side, everything felt familiar again. The once-forgotten, out-of-reach relationship was now back in front of him as if no time had passed at all.

But amidst the tender moment, a nagging fear lurked in the depths of Will's thoughts. He worried that the blissful moment was too fragile, too fleeting and that it was moments from slipping away like a dream upon waking up. He knew that reality waited just beyond the confines of the intimate cocoon. Will silently prayed that you’d awaken and choose to stay, that the warmth of your embrace will linger a little while longer.

Will wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into an embrace. You stirred slightly but stayed in your slumber. Will was aching to stay suspended in what felt like a stolen moment, something that didn’t belong to him and was on the precipice of being ripped from his grasp. Desperate to prolong the stolen moment, to freeze time and remain in the refuge of your togetherness, Will succumbed to the lull of sleep.

#will smith hockey #will smith #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #boston college #san jose sharks #will smith imagine #gabe perreault #ryan leonard

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crguang · 3 months ago

Text

wasted with longing, part 4

In the face of such deep hurt, you have no choice but to come to terms with your feelings.

friends with benefits, f!reader, 6k words

A/N: don't really like this chapter cause it feels like a nothingburger but there it is... i swear i didn't mean to end it like that but the next block would have been too long to be in the same chapter so i had to chop it in two, forgive me 😞

also, it’s definitely still the weekend on the west coast so i am not late!!! we’ve officially written like 20k words for this series when it was supposed to be a couple crack fics, what even is going on

part three

Every so often, tremors travel through your legs to reach your twitching fingertips like a hundred tiny earthquakes along your limbs while you sit there, passive and morose. You stare at your open palms and observe the natural disaster occurring beneath your skin. Past the white walls of your apartment, the sun continues its ascent among the clouds but its warmth is fought off by the thick curtains of your living room and the heaviness settling inside of you. The blow of previous revelations has made your organs twice as heavy and has brought an ache to your trembling hands, birthing a sense of lethargy only the lost are familiar with. Not for the first time, you don’t know where you’re heading. For the first time, none of it matters; there is just the weight of your body rooted to the couch and the lines of your palms staring back at you, forming crooked letters that disappear with a blink. Your thoughts are a mess devoid of rationality focused on the sting of betrayal that you can feel at the corner of your eyes. She doesn’t deserve them, your tears. Then again, there is a lot that she didn’t deserve that you still gave willingly: your time, your attention, the flutter deep in your abdomen at the sound of her genuine laughter or the naive hope that you mattered more to her than you believed. Your mind is a whirlwind of possibilities that will never come to be and feed the dejection in your bones until your vision blurs at the edges from tears you refuse to let fall.

You recall the nonchalance with which she addressed her actions, the excuse of destiny as if you were all merely pawns in the hollow of its cold and detached hands. Some things are inevitable and all possibilities are already written. You wondered once what kind of life she must live to be so carefree, you understand now that it stems from a lack of responsibility and a distance between herself and accountability. Her nihilism reduces her to a footnote in a published novel, a droplet in the raging ocean; it takes away enough of her to make her believe that whatever she does is not a choice she fully makes herself. It feels like an excuse to justify not only her existence but everything she undertakes, blaming consequences on fate will always be easier as it relieves her from the pressure of guilt. In a way, it’s not so much carefreeness as passivity. You swallow to soothe the tightness of your throat. Some part of you pities how she lives and you wish you could choke it out with a pillow. Even now, you can’t snuff out feelings that have taken months to develop and solidify within you, and they feel like stones obstructing your blood vessels. It hurts this much because you unknowingly carved a seat for her inside the walls of your heart with her pocket knife, the same one she used to cut you. You can no longer differentiate then and now, whether you started falling for her the last time she left your bed or the first time she kissed you. However, you can’t deny that you’ve got her under your skin and the realization could not have happened at a less opportune moment.

This sucks. You don’t count the minutes you spend staring at your hands like they hold answers to questions you won’t get to ask in the future. At some point you find yourself laying on the couch again, looking ahead while your phone lies on the coffee table, undisturbed for the time being. Hours pass and your eyelids eventually grow heavy, each blink slower to come than the last. Your mind, perhaps to torture you, replays some moments you didn’t remember before this instant; falling asleep as she lights up a cigarette on the balcony outside your bedroom, moonlight stroking her hair and smoke blurring her face; nimble hands undressing you layer by layer with a patience that borders on reverence. The first time you met, your impression of her was that she took care of appearance and found it very important how she presented herself to the world. It was because of her clothes, partly, but mostly the confidence she radiated. She didn’t say too much or too little, and looked at you with a smile you selfishly wished was just for you. Her attention felt like a treasure not many were deserving of and her taste in fashion matched yours, she helped you pick out some clothes then you exchanged phone numbers in front of the store. You went your separate ways after that, but receiving a text from her an hour later turned you into a schoolgirl with a crush.

You thought you were making progress yesterday, that her seeking you out meant something more than a refusal to see a medical professional. The look in her eyes when she stared up at you in the bathroom… you wish you understood it, but something screams that it wouldn’t have changed a thing. You reminisce and ruminate until your eyes close and unconsciousness generously gives you a reprieve from the assault of your mind.

It’s almost 11 in the morning when you wake. Your neck is stiff from the armrest and your legs beg to be stretched after staying bent for hours. You rub the drowsiness out of your eyes with one hand and sit up slowly, brows furrowed and lips in a frown. It takes you a moment to do anything else, your phone buzzes with a notification three times in a row but you only look at your lock screen blankly. You don’t feel like doing anything, and after remembering the events of earlier today, you dread checking up on work. Still, your concern for the colleagues you get along with eventually wins out. You pick up the device and sift through the messages that were left unanswered yesterday, replying to your friends to assure them of your safety. Your thumbs travel across the screen mechanically, like you’re writing a professional email you have no interest in, but you are genuinely relieved to find out that they’re fine. You hesitate over Himeko’s contact name. She surely hasn’t heard of what transpired yesterday unless there was an IPC broadcast about it. You hope she hasn’t. You want the truth to come out of your lips, not some news network. Worry makes you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at her last text from the evening before. Himeko is one of your best friends, she’s understanding, compassionate and an expert at comforting others. You’re not worried that she’ll put the blame on you, just that your feelings will come to the surface once you start relaying everything that’s happened in detail.

You steel yourself, swallow once, and press the call button under her contact name. You bring your knees to your chest. The line rings a couple of times in your ears before the call connects and Himeko’s joyful voice sounds through the phone.

“Hey.” she greets you with a smile you can hear, “are you okay? You hung up on me yesterday.”

Your suspicions are confirmed, Himeko has no idea what went on the previous night.

“Sorry,” your own voice is strained from sleep and you cringe before clearing your throat. “Something… came up.”

“Is everything alright?”

Your stomach churns uncomfortably. You look at the floor and inhale quietly to calm the unease slithering up your trachea. “There was… an incident at work,” you say hesitantly. “A serious one.”

Himeko picks up on your tone and hers softens with her next question. “Are you alright? What happened?”

The words spill from your mouth all at once and Himeko doesn’t interrupt you as you give her a retelling of what you read in that article this morning, Kafka’s identity as both a Stellaron Hunter and the woman you’ve been “seeing”, how she showed up at your door injured yesterday and the moment you found out the truth just hours earlier. The line is silent save for your sometimes faltering sentences. Your eyes fall shut in the middle of your story and your fingers clench the phone in your hand, the knot in your throat tightening near the end of it. Saying it out loud, you realize how stupid you’ve been even if the clues weren’t obvious; you should’ve been more suspicious of her absences and deflections, shouldn't have been blinded by her attention and the way she made you feel, should’ve… You feel like an idiot in the face of Himeko’s silence. She digests the information you dumped on her before it’s even noon, and after a minute of quiet she finally speaks.

“Where are you now?”

“Uh, home,” you stammer, blindsided by the question. You half-expected her to lose her mind at the situation you find yourself in considering she was the one who tried to discourage you to enter a friends-with-benefits relationship, and now people have died by the hands of the woman you have feelings for. You pointedly omit the romantic feelings part for now.

“You should stay at a friend’s house, to be safe. The Stellaron Hunters are very dangerous and you could easily get wrapped up in their dispute with the law and the IPC. Take precautions and be safe, please.”

“Is that all you have to say…?”

“What do you want me to say, ‘I told you so’? You were manipulated, that’s what Kafka does. She bears all the blame here. And I’m sorry you were caught up in her schemes.”

You pause, staring at the coffee table in front of you. Her reassurances bring you no comfort. Your reply sounds small in your ears, “...A lot of people died.”

“I know…” You can almost picture the soft look in Himeko’s eyes. “But it wasn’t your fault. Whatever they had planned, they planned it long before you were brought into the picture. You couldn’t have stopped anything from happening.”

You nod slowly even though she can’t see you. You do your best to internalize that, but guilt still swirls within you and makes you nauseous. You stand from the couch to make your way to the bedroom, footsteps quiet along the wooden floors. You let the morning light envelop you once you reach the glass doors of your balcony and slide them open so the fresh air can enter your lungs and chase away the unpleasant feeling.

“No wonder you didn’t know anything about her,” Himeko continues, an edge to her voice, “it’s easier to play mind games when you’re kept in the dark. She’s truly despicable.”

You think of what Kafka said this morning about the source of her injury, how she got it looking for you amidst the chaos. You lean on the railing, observe the circulation of cars and pedestrians down below, but say nothing.

“I hope she never contacts you again. Did you block her number? Is it even her real one?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“You should block it anyway.”

She’s right. You put Himeko on speaker and let out a breath as you open your contacts, scrolling through the list and finding Kafka’s contact among it. For a few seconds you feel weak for your hesitation, thumb hovering over the “block caller” button, then you shake your head and press the red letters. You won’t make yourself available for her anymore.

“I did it,” you tell the woman on the other line and redirect your gaze to the buildings on the horizon.

“Good. What are you going to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you… eventually work there again?”

“Ha. Not a chance.”

You don’t know what you’ll do, you haven’t planned this far ahead and were still on the fence about quitting your job before everything went down but there’s no way you’re going back to doing office work after today. In a way, the incident gave you the push you needed to do it. The price to pay for it was far too high.

You talk to Himeko for another half hour before she has to bid you goodbye to take care of the Express. She reminds you to pack a bag and go stay with a trusted friend, and she makes sure to be certain that you’ll take care of yourself before hanging up the phone. She’ll call again when she can, but in the meantime, you’re on your own. You don’t tell her that you don’t think Kafka means to put you in harm’s way and that you don’t feel comfortable leaving your apartment now. Knowing that you could have been one of yesterday’s victims if you had simply gone about your daily routine worsens your anxiety, and even if Kafka’s been inside your apartment countless of times before, you still feel safer within familiar walls.

You spend the day in low spirits, half of it sitting on your balcony with your knees to your chest and the other half laying face down in bed. You tell yourself that your free time will be dedicated to finding out what you want to do with your life. Then another day passes you by and when the third one comes around you still haven’t gotten out of the gray bubble you’ve unconsciously created for yourself. Your thoughts are repetitive and oppressive, so you sleep for hours to escape them. You avoid going out by ordering food or groceries. Your phone is constantly on ‘do not disturb’ because you can’t handle the grating alerts about funerals and financial compensation, you only pick it up to talk to Himeko once a day. She encourages you to see your friends, to not let yourself be swept away by the waves of negative emotions, and you don’t have the heart to tell her that you’re just not in the mood anymore. You make promises you don’t intend to keep in order to alleviate her concern and the guilt nesting in the pit of your stomach grows bigger with each one. You’re not helping yourself, you know, but it feels like all you can do is sit in your feelings as they ripple around you and you stare at the disturbances for hours, crestfallen.

In the evening, you await the takeout you ordered 30 minutes ago. You’re laying on the couch despite the TV not being on and feel drowsiness creeping up on you from doing absolutely nothing all day. Who knew inactivity could be so exhausting… You reach for your phone on the coffee table and tap the screen to see if your driver is nearby. He’s parked in front of your apartment building, so he should reach your door soon. You close the phone and wait some more until you hear firm footsteps on the other side of your door. You only stand up after a couple of minutes have passed to make sure he’s truly gone and won’t see you bringing your food inside. Opening the door reveals an unexpected find; the takeout bag lies next to a rectangular package that wasn’t there in the morning. You pick up the bag but stare at the box with a crease between your brows. Outside of food, you haven’t ordered anything else from the internet. You wonder if it’s a misplaced item and bend down to check the postal information. There’s no return address, but yours and your full name are written black on white. You decide that you must look like a weirdo, inspecting a package in the hallway with takeout in one hand, and you pick up the box before retreating inside.

Putting down the brown bag on the kitchen counter, you think perhaps the package is from a colleague or a friend, maybe even from Himeko since her return address is hard to find. You look for scissors to cut the tape holding the box shut and lift the lid. A pair of black velvet gloves lie on a similarly coloured coat, the inside of which is a dark shade of blue. The material is expensive judging by the gentle sheen on the fabric in the light, and you blink in confusion. It’s beautiful and a piece you would definitely feel compelled to buy if you saw it in a store, which means it must actually be meant for you. You pick up one glove to find that it fits perfectly with the size of your hand. It’s soft to the touch, you bring it to your cheek to feel the material against your skin. You spot a small card sticking out from one of the coat’s front pockets bearing only three words written in curvy letters: ‘Thought of you, K. <3’

The glove falls from your hand like it burns your palm and lands on the floor without a sound. Suddenly, the clothes aren’t a thoughtful gift but a mocking gesture meant to get a rise out of you. You tear the card into pieces. If anything, one could admire her limitless audacity, not you, but someone out there. She’s playing with you, taunting you to see how far she’s allowed to go before you lose your mind completely. That, or she deludes herself into thinking that she can buy your forgiveness with meaningless peace offerings. Either way, her obvious lack of care for your feelings hurts more than it should, and you’re once again reminded of your own weakness. You know that she doesn’t care, there’s no need to twist the knife in your already infected wound. Does she only see you as a toy for her entertainment? Is she incapable of even a bout of empathy or do you simply mean that little to her? The thought rotates in your head endlessly until you put everything back in the box and throw it in the trash.

Two days later, you find another package on your doorstep; two expensive pairs of slacks and three tops that are all exactly your size and your style. The note has only a handwritten K and a slim heart on it. You donate the clothes to a thrift store in the afternoon. It's the first time you’ve left your house since you learned the truth about Kafka’s identity.

Next Thursday, you accept a friend’s invitation to go out for drinks. Kafka’s stunts made you internalize what you've been telling yourself for weeks; you won’t pull the brakes on your life for a broken heart, certainly not for her. Being hung up on somebody who isn’t thinking of you at all is embarrassing enough, to allow her such a place in your mind after what she’s done is just pathetic. Despite your heart still not being it in, you dress up in clothes that always make you feel pretty and let your friends drag you to a bar where they dance for three hours and flirt with strangers for two more. The loud music makes it impossible to hear any words that aren’t shouted or whispered in your ear, its bass reverberates uncomfortably through your chest like a second heart. The night goes by with a drink in your hand that is replaced by another the instant its last drop lands on your tongue. Inebriated and surrounded by sweaty bodies, you forget all about the world beyond the cheers of your friends as you make out with a woman on the dance floor and the flavored liquor on your lips. The events that occurred between midnight and 3 AM are a haze when you wake up before lunchtime the next morning, body halfway off the couch and head throbbing so intensely you think you might pass out before you reach the bathroom for some aspirin.

You stumble into the room, squinted eyes barely seeing two feet in front of you, and fumble with the small plastic bottle of what you believe to be your magic pills. You swallow a couple of them and bend low to take a few sips of water directly from the running faucet. Your skull feels like it’ll split open with any strong enough stimulus. You sink to the cool floor and close your eyes, breathing as steadily as you can through your mouth to relax a little. You think you fall asleep for a while, leaning against the cabinets while the medicine does its job of reducing your headache to a dull pulse. Three firm knocks on your front door wake you up abruptly and you jerk away from the sink in surprise. You wipe the corner of your mouth. Blinking away remnants of drowsiness, you shakily stand on your bare feet and run a hand over your face as you walk to the entrance of your apartment. You hope you don’t look as bad as you feel, but you know that’s likely the case. Still, you adjust your clothes and your hair before opening the front door.

A mailman is waiting for you with a package in hand and thrusts a form in yours after a disingenuous greeting. You sign the paper confirming whatever delivery you just received, a little out of it. He leaves once the small square box is given to you. You walk back inside, turning the package over in your hands before tearing it open. A glittering necklace lies inside, nestled in suede. The gems embedded into it easily catch the light and would make a strong statement resting on any person’s collarbones. You stare at the jewelry, puzzled. Checking the package again reveals no return address, and if your mind was less hazy from this hangover, you would have guessed who the gift was from immediately. Your cell phone pings with a text, bringing you out of your confusion long enough to find it on the floor in front of the couch. You press the message to open the private conversation. The recipient has no caller ID and is texting you like you’re supposed to know who they are. You lay the jewelry box on the coffee table and reply quickly.

“Who the fuck is that…?” You slowly ask no one in particular, brows twisting in a frown.

You type in a text and send it. The reply you receive sobers you up like an ice cold shower. You rub your eyes with one hand and hold your phone a bit farther from your face as if it poses a threat to your safety, disbelieving. The nerve… There’s a familiar flutter in the depths of your belly but the sensation is uncomfortable now, eating at you and forcing you to take a deep breath.

You block the number before another message can pop up. Frustration bubbles up inside your chest, Kafka’s dedication to remaining a part of your life like a coffee stain on a white tablecloth is seriously messing with you. Make amends? She can’t be this dense. The gifts, her promise to send more— is her image of you so shallow that she believes you can be bought with fancy clothes and jewelry? None of these have been thoughtful or paired with a note that contains more than three words. She’s hurt you more than she understands, clearly. Your issues with her behavior are evident, you don’t believe the idea of them not computing in her mind, she’s smarter than that. She’s kept key details of her life from you, lied to you and caused over a dozen scientists to lose their lives for a component that could surely be found elsewhere, not to mention her treatment of you afterwards and her lack of remorse for the emotional damage she’s inflicted on you. Your feelings are more than justified and run deeper than petty grievances. You don’t understand her at all, and at this point, you don’t care to.

An offended scoff escapes your lips and your first reflex is to tell your best friend about the situation, looking to vent your irritation to a person that’ll stand by you no matter what unlike Kafka’s fickle attitude. You video call Himeko’s number and wait until she picks up at the last ring. Her fiery hair is slightly disheveled, held up tightly in a ponytail. She’s not wearing her usual elegant clothing and is instead clad in overalls with a plaid shirt underneath. Motor oil stains her cheek and fingertips as she waves at you through the screen. You think you can see engines and steam behind her, you can definitely hear hissing noises in the background.

“Uh… Are you busy?” You ask, taking in the dark stains on the front of her overalls. “Are you working on the Express?”

Himeko makes a sound of agreement. “Don’t worry, I always have time for you though. How are you?”

“Hangover. What’s wrong with the train?”

“Nothing as of three minutes ago. I just finished fixing some issues but it wasn’t anything too serious. I’m due for a shower. You said you’re hungover? You do kind of look… disheveled.”

“I appreciate the euphemism,” you sit cross legged on the couch. “I woke up not too long ago and immediately popped some over-the-counter medicine.”

“So you went out last night? Or were you drinking alone?”

“I went to a bar with some friends, took your advice and drank until I passed out.”

“That was not my advice.” Himeko’s frown makes you smile. “At least you left your house and returned safely. I told you it’d be good for you not to stay cooped up in here.”

You hum absentmindedly. “I don’t remember most of the night, honestly. I think I made out with someone for like… twenty minutes, four songs. But that’s not why I called— I got something in the mail today.”

Before Himeko can ask what it is, you reach for the jewelry box on the coffee table and hold it up to the camera so the necklace is in full view. You tilt it this way and that, the outside light reflecting prettily on the clear-cut gems. You watch Himeko’s eyebrows raise as she moves from her spot in the engine room, likely headed to her room for that shower she mentioned a few minutes ago.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous. Did you try it on?”

“No.”

“Is that a treat for yourself? You deserve it, you had a really rough week and it’d look good with that fancy low-cut top you have— the silk one?”

Maybe it would, too bad you’ll never wear it.

“I didn’t buy it, I got it as a gift,” you put the necklace down next to you and close the small box, making sure to put an emphasis on the last word.

“Oh? It must have cost a small fortune. From who?”

“Kafka.”

The easygoing smile Himeko wears disappears in an instant. She stops moving somewhere in a hallway, near panoramic windows that show the galaxy beyond them. Tiny creases form along her brows and she stares at you intently, worry and affront clear in her gaze.

“Kafka sent that to you?”

You nod. “She’s been sending me stuff all week, clothes mostly, but this one really took the cake because she texted me from an encrypted number afterwards.”

“Why won’t she leave you alone?” Himeko looks vexed on your behalf and you shrug, relieved that your feelings are validated by her anger. “What did she say? Please, tell me you blocked the number immediately.”

You hesitate a couple of seconds too long, Himeko’s shoulders slump and her lips part to reprimand you but you interrupt her readily, “I blocked her! I swear. She said she wanted to ‘make amends’ and it pissed me off so bad, I blocked her number again. Can you believe her ego? Does she think my world revolves around her, that I’m just waiting for her to make it up to me before I take her back with open arms? We didn’t even have anything. We used each other for sex and despite the semblance of good-natured relationship we had, she still chose to betray me!”

Himeko studies the hurt in your eyes at your outburst and pauses, her gaze flitting across your face for a moment. You exhale, willing yourself to calm down. Your heart rate has picked up a few paces and you despise how easily Kafka gets a rise out of you without even being in the room. The redhead leans on a nearby wall.

“You have every right to be as angry as you feel,” she starts, meeting your eyes with a knowing look in her golden ones, “but… You’re this angry because you have feelings for her, don’t you?”

“W-What?” Your stutter sells you out and Himeko tilts her head in a silent gesture to not lie to her.

“I had my doubts. You talked about her a lot, I don’t even think you noticed. And your word choice just now; ‘betray you’?” You wanted to trust her and hoped she'd let you in, but she manipulated you instead. It’s normal to be hurt, and while I have… opinions about that, you can’t help what you feel.”

You look away from the screen, lowering the camera in resignation. There’s no use in arguing Himeko’s point because you both know the truth already and you’re too out of it to fight the obvious. You don’t say anything so the line is silent for a while, Himeko resumes her walk towards her cabin and gives you a moment to gather your thoughts. You didn’t know you talked about Kafka this often but the information doesn’t surprise you, she made your days exciting and you genuinely liked her for more than sex. You used the latter as an excuse to justify the former countless times. From the beginning, you were attracted to more than her body, and from the beginning, you were more attached to her than she was to you. Even though these are facts that you’re aware of, your throat tightens at the reminder.

“I hate it,” you say quietly after a while, facing Himeko’s figure in the camera.

“I know, sweetheart. Nothing’s easy about what you’re going through right now, but it’s not the end of everything. I’m here to help you through it and you have your friends that are there for you too, just don’t isolate yourself while we figure out a path forward, okay?”

“What if she contacts me again?”

“Then you tell me immediately.”

“What, you’ll come to beat her up?”

Himeko laughs softly. “I don’t resort to violence without at least a conversation first, but….”

Her long pause brings a white toothed smile to your face and Himeko’s eyes crinkle at the corners at the sight.

After assuring you that she’ll text you in the evening, Himeko hangs up the call. You run a hand over your face, chest heavy. You’ll donate the necklace once you feel less like a wet rag that’s been wrung until no moisture is left. Someone will probably be happy to stumble upon a find like this one, and if Kafka’s ill intentioned gesture can bring happiness to one person then perhaps that cancels everything out.

The next afternoon, you find yourself in a clothing store that resembles the one you first met Kafka in months ago, browsing the racks for whatever catches your eye. Shopping for clothes relaxes you; feeling the different fabrics and textures under your fingertips, finding a piece that resonates with you, admiring the craftsmanship and creation process of the items on display are all things that take your mind off the mundanity of your life. You’re not that well-versed in fashion, not really, even if it interests you. You’re approached by one of the store’s consultants and it’s as you politely decline her help that you realize that this is something you could do. You could take classes about a subject that actually matters to you and work in that domain afterwards— maybe you’ll learn how to make your own clothes and sharpen your personal style. The idea makes you smile among elegant blouses. You can deal with your parents’ expectations of you if it means you won’t spend another day in an office researching mechanical components for projects you don’t care about.

You pass by your local thrift store to donate the necklace, but they won’t accept it. The employee’s eyes widens after one look and drags her manager to the front, who in turn adamantly refuses to take such a precious item from you. They wouldn’t know how to price it and its value is a few zeros too many to belong in a thrift store. You leave the place a little dejected, you don’t want to make any money out of it or it’ll feel like Kafka did you a favor in the end. You look at the box in your hands for a minute, then make up your mind. You’ll pawn it and give the money from it to the families who lost their loved ones during the incident last week. It won’t bring them back, it might not alleviate their families’ grief at all, but at least they’ll be set for years in the future and that’s something, right? That’s one thing Kafka would have (indirectly) done to make amends.

You decide to pawn the necklace after doing a bit more research about it to make sure you don’t get ripped off. You put it back in your bag for the time being and make your way back to your home, shopping bags around both of your wrists. By car, it takes less than half an hour to reach your apartment building. You carefully park in the designated spot and struggle to carry all of your bags to the elevator. Maybe splurging on clothes wasn’t the best financial decision when you plan to return to school and are currently unemployed. You repeat the phrase “I deserve it” like a mantra all the way to your floor. Standing in front of your door, you’ve almost completely deluded yourself that you do, indeed, deserve five new pairs of pants, nine pretty tops and two jackets you’ll wear at most three times in the next year. You’re not too sure about the pairs of shoes you bought afterwards…

You free one hand to turn the key into the hole and push the door open. Picking the shopping bags back up, you step into your apartment with a sigh, wondering how you’ll begin to start this new chapter of your life. The door hasn’t fully closed behind you that you freeze where you stand, assaulted by the various colors and fragrances of flowers resting on every surface of your home, some in bouquets twice as big as the other ones and all of them transforming your apartment into a disorganized greenhouse. Your mouth opens, bewildered. You can’t count the different kinds of flowers that are there, you only recognize a handful of them. You’re so shocked by the sight that you don’t notice the figure stepping out of your kitchen until she speaks and a sharp scream of surprise flies from your lips.

“Hey– It’s just me,” Kafka lifts her gloved hands in a gesture she means peaceful.

Stupefied, the bags in your hands fall to the ground with a soft thud. Your heart races wildy in your chest and you cover your mouth with a palm, eyes closing with the next shaky exhale that you let out. It takes you a minute to slow the drumming of your heart enough to utter words that aren’t strained.

“How did you get in here?”

“You didn’t change the locks. Seriously, it’s like you wanted me to show up again.” Her joke lands flat and her smile falters an inch at your glare. “Not in the mood for jokes, alright.”

She walks to the couch and picks up an item your eyes previously skimmed over. It’s an intricate hexagonal vase with a soft brown tint, clearly meticulously made. The glass looks very fragile judging by the way she carries it and outstretches her hands towards you, presenting it to you like a gift.

“For the flowers you want to keep,” she says.

You’re going to break it over her head.

#honkai star rail #hsr kafka #kafka x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #kafka x you #hsr x you

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