#i've been floating on air for hours

[thesleepiestselkie]

twelve years. it's been twelve years since i came out as trans. it's been twelve years of fighting my parents to please, please, for the love of god please, just call me by the name i chose. they never understood, they never even tried. and. and now they're trying. i had literally given up hope and they're trying. they're calling me my name. they're trying. they're trying. they love me. they're trying.

[mariasont]

Negotiating with Mr. H - pt. 2

a/n: part two to this

god im such a shluuuut for this man anyhow happy reading

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!nanny!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni, unprotected p in v (DONT DO THAT, boo tomatoes), use of sir and mr. hotchner in bed, dirty talk, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, honey, etc.), idk im terrible at warnings

wc: 2k

The hours had stretched into days since you all but threw yourself at Mr. Hotchner. The morning after unfolded with him dodging your company as if you were a wildfire, claiming a day at the zoo with Jack as a shield, yet you saw it as a deliberate distance he put between you. No sooner had they returned, the call for a case arrived. Typical.

But you found no room for embarrassment within yourself; you had played your hand, and he had been receptive, at least so you thought. If he had changed his mind, that was within his right; still, you wished he'd say something about it.

Your fingers tenderly combed through Jack's hair, the soft strands slipping between them, as you gently closed the book, careful not to wake him. He had a nightmare, but you soothed away the scary bits with 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar', as you coaxed him back to sleep. It was his go-to comfort read--and secretly, yours too. You eased your legs over the edge, each step a muted brush against the carpet. You flicked off the light, the soft thud of the book on the nightstand, and you stepped into the hallway--the door sealing behind you softly.

You moved with soft steps towards your room, hands outstretched as they found the doorknob, pushing it open with the slightest pressure. You froze mid-step, the distinct click of the front door's latch piercing the silence. Subconsciously, a plan formed in your mind, as if waiting for this cue. You made a beeline for the closet, fingers flying as you shimmied into your favorite panties and a cropped white long sleeve that highlighting your stiffening nipples. Listening intently for the sound of his footsteps, you slid under the sheets, the door left invitingly open, your legs peeking out as if by chance.

Was this wrong? Certainly, but the blood rushing to your cunt didn't care. You were acutely aware of each groan from the wooden steps under his weight as he made his way upstairs, and you could almost catch the hush of his breath as he lingered at Jack's room, the door's creak broadcasting his quiet check.

You snapped your eyes shut, the sound of his nearing steps triggering an automatic response. You knew he'd have to pass your room to get to his. Every sense tingled to life as his footsteps hesitated at your door. Even with your back facing him, you felt his eyes roam over you, his breath turning heavy, hanging in the air.

You exhaled a shaky breath, feeling it vibrate through the stillness as he continued on to his room. The urge to swear was heavy on your tongue, the realization dawning that your plan had left no impression on him. You turned restlessly, feeling the bite of your failed efforts. Yet, when you propped yourself up, there he was--Mr. Hotchner, standing motionless in the doorway.

"Oh, Mr. Hotchner! I--I didn't realize you were home. How was the case?" Your question floated on a note higher than usual, yet you made no move to hide your body from him, welcoming the observation.

"Really? You didn't hear me? I could have sworn I heard movement in your room as I came in," he remarked, his piercing gaze locking onto you as he casually propped himself against the frame of the door.

"Movement? Could've been the wind," you suggest, your smile bright and inviting, arms falling away to give him a full display of your hardened nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt.

His response is brief, a deliberate blink, a silent count to ten, before his gaze sharpens, a frown forming as he closes the distance between you, the door shutting behind him. "The wind, huh?" he echoed, "I've been neck-deep in a nightmare of case, and this is what I come home to?"

You maneuver closer, your legs now casually exposed as you perch on the bed's edge. "What's wrong, Mr. Hotchner? Don't appreciate the view?"

His presence fills the space by your bed. "The view," he begins, his eyes taking a leisurely journey from your exposed legs up to meet your gaze, "is more than agreeable."

You hand snakes out, catching the silk of that god damn tie, drawing him closer. "Well. Mr. Hotchner, aren't you going to do something about this agreeable view?" you challenge, eyes wide and expectant.

Assertively, he captures your chin, his thumb brushing your cheek. "You should know by now, I'm very much a man of action."

He leans down, a predator claiming his willing prey, and his mouth captures yours in a kiss that sends a surge of electricity through your veins, your fingers curling into the fabric of his suit as if the meld him into you. The way his lips were attached to yours sent shockwaves straight to your core, hands moving from his lapels to his hair.

"Didn't think you had it in you, Mr. Hotchn--," you mumbled against his mouth, but you were swiftly cut off as his teeth dug into your bottom lip.

"The next time you say my name, it's going to be when my cock is buried so deep inside you that you can't form anything else but that name."

And in that moment, you could've sworn you'd never felt desire until he said those words. He began to trail sloppy kisses up your neck, your head arching back, surrendering to the sweet attention he lavished upon the column of your throat. There was a quiet authority in his actions, as he parted your thighs, his fingers grazing closer to your clothed cunt as his other hand pushed you flat against the bed.

A gasp fluttered from your lips, a delicate sound of shock. You would've never pegged him to be like this in bed. So fucking demanding. Your thighs instinctively sought each other, but his large hand held them apart, keeping you open, vulnerable.

You looked up at him with doe eyes, wide and brimming with lust, and it reflected a beauty so intense he was sure it could halt time. He was sure he must've done something right in this life to be privileged enough to see you like this—so submissive despite your big talk, so eager to please. It sent a rush to every part of his body, specifically his cock which stretched against his dress pants, begging to be released.

He wanted to take his time, to worship your body in the way it deserved, but there was nothing slow or soft about his movements. His hands explored every inch of your body as if he'd been touch starved his whole life.

"Pl-Please, sir, please touch me," you begged, your hips bucking against the graze of his hands.

The word 'sir' triggered a slight twitch in his cock, his voice a throaty rumble. "Feel that? I'm touching you, honey," he teased, his touch a tantalizing drag against your skin, inching your shirt upward, a smug smile etched on his handsome face.

"You know what I mean," you insisted, your hand intertwining with his in a silent plea, guiding them to where you wanted.

"I can't read your mind, sweetheart," he chides softly, his touch retreating teasingly, "be a good girl and tell me where you want me to touch you."

Your mind was going blank, so desperate for him you could almost feel your arousal leaking down your thighs.

"Here?" he questioned, his hands coming to rest on your ankles as he propped them on the edge of the bed, leaving your legs spread wide in front of him. You shook your head in response, a whine leaving your lips, "or here," he said, his hands moving up to your thighs.

You wiggled in his grip. "Mmm, getting closer aren't I?" he taunted, "use your words pretty girl, tell me how to help."

"Mr. Hotchner, please, need you inside me," your words were more slurred than you intended, sitting up to lock your hands behind his neck, your breath fanning his.

"You don't need it, you want it," he corrected, his lips brushing the sensitive skin behind your ear, his arm a steady band across your back, pulling you closer. "However, lucky for you, I'm inclined to be generous."

His hands eased you back towards the bed, your hands fingering through his hair as he made quick work with your underwear before tapping your shirt. "Take this off honey."

Without hesitation, you complied, flinging it carelessly to the bed's opposite edge, shifting to prop yourself up on your elbows. 

 "God, you're so beautiful."

The words seemed to empty your lungs of air, your face turning a delicate shade of pink as you beamed at him, your smile sticky with sweetness. His fingers found your nipples, teasing and tugging as you let out soft little whimpers, arching into his touch.

"Feels so good, sir," you moaned, hands digging into the sheets, leaning towards him to close the distance between you two, your lips seeking his in a tender collision.

You could sense his mouth curve into a silent smirk against yours as his hands moved with unhurried intent to your swollen clit, eliciting an involuntary gasp from you as you writhed on the mattress. You could hear his other hand undoing his belt as his continued his leisurely movements against your cunt. In a smooth, practiced motion, he pulled out his cock from his pants.

Your mouth parted slightly at the length of it, and you had to fight off the urge to drool at the sight. Thankfully he didn't make you beg for it, sliding into you with an ease that made your head fall back against the mattress.

"Shit," he hissed, his hands finding a natural perch upon the gentle swell of your hips. "You're so wet, honey. How long have you wanted this? Hmm?"

"S-So long," you muttered, a moan pausing your sentence, "wanted you for so long."

"I know, pretty girl," he murmured, his words interlaced with the obscene sound of his length pounding in and out of your drenched pussy. 

"Feels so good, Mr. Hotchner."

He let out a soft groan in response, his hands tangling through your hair. Your name rolled off his tongue as you clenched around him. He had to move his hands to the bed beside your head, trying to resist the urge to absolutely destroy you.

Your moans heightened with each thrust causing his hand to fly over your mouth, eyes rolling back to your head. "Need you to be quiet, honey. You can do that for me can't you?"

You nodded desperately against his palm, hands reaching out to close around his shoulders as you moved to meet his thrusts, the familiar coil beginning to wind in your core.

"I know you're close, sweetheart. Need you to hold on just a little longer."

He let out a breathy chuckle at your body's reaction, desperately bucking against him. Hotch revealed in the sound of your pussy squishing around him, so wet you're practically soaking his dress pants.

Your slur his name as he reaches between you, his thumb rubbing feverishly at your clit. "Go ahead, honey, cum for me."

His words were all you needed, gushing around his cock as he continued to fuck you through your high. He let out a strangled groan of his own, pumping you full of his cum. His large body slumped against yours, his head ducking into the crook of your neck as you both attempted to catch your breath.

He slowly lifted off of you, tucking his cock back into his pants as moved to grasp your ankle, rubbing comforting circles over the skin.

"Tell me, was that personal bonus sufficient for you?"

Your giggle, light and airy, filled the space as you gingerly lifted yourself, hands laying a gentle claim on his chest, your smile blooming across your lips. It was in this moment he knew he would do anything to keep you like this--content, utterly fucked and next time in his bed.

"Well, I can't say for sure, Mr. Hotchner," you admit, your kiss on his cheek lingering a moment longer. "I work really hard around here, maybe another round would satiate me."

"I don't know think anything would satiate you, honey."

"Maybe so, but isn't it tempting to see if something can?"

"Undoubtedly."

taglist: @mrs-ssa-hotch

[esouliie]

everything comes out, teenage petulance ⋆⟡˖

– synopsis | someone from wanda’s past interrupts your saturday morning and you’re not happy about it. wanda, however…

– warnings | angst, hurt/comfort, age gap couple, reader is younger & inexperienced and with that comes✨ emotional immaturity✨ but wanda is *chefs kiss* at giving reassurance :3

– notes | not proof read but the writing is rough!!! but but but i tried to write the inexperienced reader in an age gap relationship with the concept of conflicting emotional maturity… and i hate it lol, the dialogue sucks ass :/ i wish i could write reader with better petulant teenager energy!

You woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and the soft hum of Wanda moving about the kitchen. Saturdays with her are your favorite, a break from the routine of the week. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Wanda's voice floated in from the other room.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," her tone gentle and affectionate. "I've made us some coffee."

You stretched and yawned, making your way to the kitchen where Wanda stood by the counter, her eyes twinkling as she hands you a mug. You took a sip, savoring the rich flavor of your favourite Colombian blend, overloaded with the insurmountable amount of sugar and cream she put in. Usually, she complains about how you take your coffee - constantly complaining how your daily sugar intake was enough to knock out an elephant - but she knew you wouldn’t drink coffee any other way.

And you needed coffee.

"Thanks, Wands," you mumbled as you smiled up at her, noticing her nose scrunch as she mimicked your smile. She's a few years older than you, and she wore it with pride. She was confident in herself, there was never a time she felt insecure about her age, and the most emotionally intelligent person you’ve ever met. In the beginning of your relationship, all of your “arguments” ended with healthy communication from Wanda’s side whereas you’d close up like a clam, refusing to talk or fight or even run away. You’d just switch off. And so, her maturity and confidence used to make you feel a bit self-conscious. But every day was better, because you have an excellent teacher who loves you endlessly.

You and all your emotional problems.

"Ready for our walk?" she asked, reaching for the leash. "Lucky's been waiting all week."

You nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. Let's go."

You both had been watching Lucky for the past couple weeks. Your bestfriend - Kate Bishop - had recently gone to Russia to visit her girlfriend’s parents. You were all for it, an exciting buzz had followed you the whole upcoming week. Wanda was a bit unsure at first, having never owned a dog, she wasn’t sure how to take care of it, but you reassured you had enough experience for the both of you.

The park was just a short walk from your house, and as you stepped outside, the crisp morning air filled your lungs. Lucky, the exuberant golden retriever, darted ahead, his tail wagging furiously, but never too far away from you both. The park was alive with people and their pets, the sound of laughter and conversation mingling with birdsong. Children ran across the grass, their gleeful shouts echoing through the trees.

Wanda took your hand, her fingers warm against yours. "It's such a beautiful day," she said, her eyes scanning the park. "Perfect for a walk."

This week had been especially busy for both of you. Wanda had been tirelessly working as the director of her own gallery, a lifelong dream that she had finally realised after months of dedication and effort. Meanwhile, you were preparing for your finals, which meant spending countless hours holed up in the library or Wanda's home office. As a result, the past few days you had seen very little of each other, making the rare moments like this morning even more precious.

You hummed in agreement and squeeze her hand, feeling a rush of affection for the blonde. “Here! You take this!” She offered, handing you Lucky’s ball in exchange for his lead.

Just then, before you could run off to play fetch, someone called out, "Wanda!" Her grip on your hand immediately loosened, and she dropped it, stepping a few steps away. You turned to see an older man - his mousy brown hair styled neatly with a suit jacket over his arm - approaching with a skip in his step.

There was no ring on his finger.

"Wanda, is that really you?" he asked, a broad smile spreading across his face , showing a bit too much teeth for you, as he hugged her warmly. You almost rolled your eyes as they rocked side to side in their embrace, shared laughter floating between them.

As fucking if.

“Vis! It’s been ages.” Wanda is the first to pull away, and yet her arms are still wrapped around his biceps. Your eye twitched as you notice her brush her fingers along the stretched fabric.

You stood there awkwardly. The pair fell into easy conversation as if they were ex lovers or something, and you waited for an introduction that never came. Their voices became a distant murmur as you drifted away from the conversation, your attention returning to Lucky, who was no longer by your side, and who was dangerously close to the pond, trying to reach the ducks with his snout.

“Lucky! Leave the ducks alone!” You called, grabbing his lead from Wanda’s, albeit loose grip, hurrying over towards the dog who was either ignoring you or hyper-fixated on reaching those ducks.

You’re not sure what happened next. You either spooked Lucky out of his trance or he really was being an ass today, but as soon as you got close enough to clip his lead to his collar, he spun on his back legs, knocking into you and zooming away. You stumbled, your balance slipping as you flailed to stay upright. With a yelp, you tumbled down, your body hitting the muddy bank. Your leg splashed into the water, soaking your entire leg. Wet and cold, you scrambled to stand up but a sharp pain shooting through your ankle had you sinking back on to the bank, before you managed to pick yourself up on your good leg. Tears from the pain and embarrassment blurred your vision as you looked down at the state of you. Your pretty dress Wanda had picked out for you this morning was coated in mud and all sorts of dirt. You watched in grimace as pond water dripped out of your shoe as you moved away from the scene of the crime.

Remembering you weren’t alone, and your girlfriend had probably seen the dog wipe you out, you searched for Wanda, only to find her still with her “old friend.” In fact, they seem to have moved over towards a spare bench as you noticed how close they were sat next to each other. Turned towards one another, their arms were basically brushing. Wanda had laughed at something Vis had said as she threw her head back, almost falling backwards until he grabbed onto her, pulling her closer towards him.

The sight made your stomach churn. Anger swirled in a violent revenge inside, and yet, it was sadness that slipped down your face. You felt a burning sensation in your chest and a lump forming in your throat.

All you wanted to do was go home.

A mother and her young daughter who had watched you fall made their way over to you, the question already posed in the way she looked at you. “Are you alright?”

Your teary eyes shifted back to the bench. Still lost in conversation, you watched and waited, wondering what it was they were talking about, wondering if she had even noticed you’re hurt.

But it’s clear she hadn’t seen you fall… or maybe she just forgot you were even here.

“I’m fine.” You replied, but your eyes deceived you.

The woman followed your gaze, “Oh! Are they your parents?”

You scoffed but there wasn’t any bite to it, and fresh tears rolled off your face, “No.”

You began to hobble forward, in search of Lucky but the stranger was one step ahead of you. She grabbed onto your arm, claiming you shouldn’t put your weight on your injured ankle, as she sent her daughter ahead looking for Lucky. She found him in no time, on the other side of the pond, no longer trying to reach the ducks but sat watching them.

You called for him, and without a fuss, he came. You clipped him to his lead, as he stared up at you curiously. He seemed to sense your distress and was suddenly still, looking up at you with a sorrowful expression, as if he understood the part he had played in this. Before you could return to full height, he leaned his head into yours. His actions saying a thousand words, and you couldn’t help but smile at the pup, giving him a little scratch. “It’s okay, bud. I know you didn’t mean to.”

Meeting the concerned mother’s gaze, you pointed towards Wanda, “I’m just gonna…” You trailed off but she understood, turning away with a genuine “get well soon”, instructions to ice your ankle as soon as you get home, and her daughter in hand. With that, she turned in the opposite direction, heading back towards where you fell.

You walked in the other direction, deciding to go around Wanda. You didn’t want to see her right now. Noticing the park exit in sight, Lucky dragged on his lead, trying to turn back the way you came.

“No, Lucky. We’re going home.” You ushered him through the gates, “She can stay here with him.”

A shout caught your attention. Behind you, Wanda was walking - almost running - towards you. The man was nowhere in sight. “Y/N! Where did you go? Why are you leaving?” You noticed a tinge of frustration in her voice, but that was dropped as soon as she took in your soaked state. “What happened?”

“Oh so you did remember I was here.” With that, you turned and walked away as fast as your ankle would let you.

“What-?” You heard Wanda struggle for words behind you before she caught up, her hand grabbing your cold, still - damp arm. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“You would know if you weren’t so impressed by your boyfriend back there.” You spat, shrugging off any hold she had on you.

She grabbed your arm again, firmer this time. “He’s not my boyfriend. His name’s Vision. We went to school together. I haven’t seen him in years.”

Her tone remained the same soft melody, despite the obvious frustration earlier.

You remained silent, scoffing in reply, as you tried to walk away, but she stopped you again, turning you around to face her.

Her warm hands held your cheeks, forcing you to make eye contact. “Hey, what’s really wrong?”

Her gaze softened, concern evident, and you felt tears pooling again as you fought within yourself, torn between letting go of your anger or clinging to it like petulant teenager.

“Don’t shut me out. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You forgot about me,” you whispered, your voice trembling as tears streamed down your face. She wiped at them and a hum encouraged you to continue.

“You dropped my hand, and was talking to that guy so much, you didn’t even know I was still there. Lucky was acting up, so I went to get him, and I fell in the pond. My ankle really hurts, I think I sprained it, and I’ve ruined my dress and—” A sharp sob cut you off as your emotions overwhelmed.

Sensing your distress, Wanda pulled you into her arms. “It’s okay, baby,” she consoled softly, her voice remaining gentle and soothing.

Being in Wanda's arms usually helped you calm down. The warmth of her embrace and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed steadily would bring you a sense of peace. You would listen to her heartbeat, syncing your breath to its comforting rhythm, as her presence soothe your worries away.

However your anger surged, unable to latch onto a single thing as it flailed wildly. You pushed back against her chest, but she didn’t let go. "No, don't baby me! You forgot about me! I fell into a pond, and you weren't even there to help. A stranger did, Wanda. A fucking stranger cared more about me than my own girlfriend because she was too busy with some fucking guy!"

Her grip tightened slightly as she whispered, a juxtaposed effort to your loud volume, “I know, and I’m so sorry.” But you were too upset to care, your hurt and frustration drowning out her words of apology. You tried to close down on yourself, shielding away from the pain.

“Wanda, let go of me,” you said, hands pushing against her as your voice trembled with the effort to hold back the flood of emotions.

“No,” Wanda replied firmly, her eyes searching yours. “Tell me how you feel.”

“I already told you! ” Her persistence had you shouting again, the walls you were trying to build around your heart crumbled. Tears welled up in your eyes as your throat closed up as you started to sob uncontrollably. Frantic images of Wanda on the bench with the man flashed through your mind, tormenting you. You wiped at your face desperately, but the tears kept coming, a torrent of pain, betrayal and immeasurable grief.

“You acted like I didn’t exist,” you choked out between sobs. “It was like you were ashamed of me.”

Wanda’s eyes widened, not expecting that to be your response. “I’m not ashamed of you.” She said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t know why I dropped your hand or why I didn’t introduce you as my girlfriend. It was a mistake and I’m so sorry.” Her own tears began to pool, her sorrow evident.

“I could never be ashamed of you, Y/N.”

She pulled you into a tight embrace, tears falling on top of your head as she whispered a few more apologies, and a promise to do better, to never make you feel invisible again or doubt her love for you.

“I want to go home.” You whispered, with a defeated energy.

Wanda remained unconvinced, though she understood your struggle. She had been tirelessly encouraging you to be more open about your feelings, and she had seen you make significant progress. However, she knew that progress wasn’t linear. Despite your improvements since you first started dating, she anticipated the occasional bad day. Recognising that this conversation wasn't suited for a public setting, Wanda shifted the focus. “I think Lucky does too,” she said softly, nodding towards the enthusiastic dog at your side.

You followed her gaze to Lucky, who was wagging his tail so energetically - despite the tense conversation he had just been present in- it seemed he might take off at any moment. “Okay, boy. Let’s go,” you said, giving him the command he was eagerly awaiting.

As the golden retriever began to trot down the street, you turned to the older woman. “I’m sorry, Wands.” The weight of those few words lingered in the air, before you felt a gentle squeeze on your hand as Wanda had intertwined her fingers with yours, her grip reassuring and steadfast. “I know. I’m sorry too.”

She didn't let go the entire way, and once again, her presence was a silent promise of growth, support and understanding as you made your way home together.

[gingernut1314]

How Can I Be Of Service?

Summary: You can't sleep and after Sanji comes and finds you, you think of a way he can help you spend the time.

Content: gender-neutral reader, Sanji getting flustered, nervous Sanji, pet names, french pet names, cigarette sharing, skinny dipping, slight gas lighting (in the past), Luffy being Luffy and getting Franky to join in

Word Count: 2.9K

A/N: I've had this one in the drafts for a little bit and felt that spark to finish it because Ooooh do I love myself a nervous and flustered Sanji. My favorite 🤤 I hope you all enjoy!

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The crew’s snoring melded and mixed with the sounds of the crackling fire and the waves crashing upon the sandy shore you all had decided to sleep on that night. Your captain had insisted you all to drink and party in celebration of finding this unoccupied island--said drink having knocked out several of your crew mates out cold. 

You, on the other hand, were wide awake. 

Even though the alcohol you had drunk made your eyes sting in sleep and the warm bodies of your crewmates pressed together in a huddled pile made your body relax, you couldn’t quite fall asleep. 

It wasn’t abnormal for you to be unable to sleep upon land. It had been that way for you since childhood. You needed the rock of the sea, the creaking and moaning of the ship's wood, the lapping of waves against the hull. None of which you got on land. 

So you lay awake, sleep rattling at your bones but never managing to pull you under fully. 

You continued to try for hours. 

You shut your eyes, counted sheep, and even turned so that your captain would stretch his arms around you, his warm and safe hold keeping you close. But still nothing and it had begun to frustrate you. 

Slipping from your captain’s hold and carefully stepping over your snoring crewmates, you walked along the beach shore, hoping maybe a small walk would help tire you out. 

You came to a stop before the Thousand Sunny floating a little ways in the sea, smiling proudly back at you.

Oh, how you longed to be back on the ship, to have your muscles instantly shift and sway with the ship’s rocking. To feel the salty sea breeze against your skin as you sailed through the endless expanse of the Grand Line. 

You could suffer one sleepless night and in the morning, after Sanji cooked up a mouth-watery breakfast and coffee, you would be back aboard the Sunny and able to catch up on all the sleep you missed out on. 

As you dug your toes into the sand, the chilled seawater kissing at your skin, the sound of sand crunching underfoot floated through your ears. You turned to find the chef himself making his way over to you, a lit cigarette between his lips. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked in way of greeting, coming to a stop next to you. 

“How did you guess?” Sanji chuckled, passing his cigarette to you. You took it gratefully, raising the white roll to your lips to inhaled the warm, nicotine-riddled smoke. You passed the cigarette back to Sanji on your exhale, feeling your muscles begin to loosen and mind rush in a pleasant buzz. 

“I heard you tossing and turning.” He spoke before fitting the cigarette between his full, heart-shaped lips. “Thought I would see if there was anything I could do to help.”

You watched him for a long moment. A moment you took to look over his thin yet muscled body which his blue and white striped, button-up shirt could hardly contain. Look over his arms, half exposed to the night air, which led to those skilled hands of his, one of which hid away in his pocket. You looked over his breathtaking features and those eyes of his, which were just as clear and blue as the afternoon sky. Took in that sandy blond hair, which your fingers itched to tuck away that longer bit behind his ear and expose his whole face to you.

You could. 

You knew you could. 

It would be so easy to reach your hand out and do what you wished. So easy to let your fingers feel over his smooth skin. So easy to pull him into you--to hold him in just the way you wanted. 

You had done it before. Had shared drunken kisses and touches that left both of you panting and needing more. Touches and kisses you pretended never happened. Sanji would try but you were always so quick to shut him down. You shut him down even when it made you feel like a horrid person, seeing his big, blue puppy eyes look so wounded.

It was your overthinking brain. 

It wouldn’t allow you to get close to him. Wouldn’t let your feelings free from the cage it had put around your heart. 

You were scared of what acknowledging your feelings for him would mean. Scared that he might hurt you and you might hurt him. 

You were tired of hurting him. Of letting your anxieties and worries get the better of you. 

You wanted to let him be as close as he wished to be with you, but there was always that unknown--that but what if?

Sanji extended the cigarette out to you once more and you took it, breathing in the heavy air and begging it to relax your tensing body.

“I’m okay. Just--not used to sleeping on land.” Sanji nodded as you exhaled, his fingers brushing over yours as he took it from you. Your skin sparked and burned at the simple, unintentional touch. 

“I’ve told you of Baratie?” Sanji questioned, taking another hit.

“The floating restaurant in the East Blue you grew up on? A little, yes.” Sanji smiled nostalgically as he thought of his home. A smile that stole your breath and made that itch to touch him grow near painfully. 

“Yes. When I lived there, I hardly made the journey inland. Only long enough to gather supplies and be on my way. After joining Luffy, it took me a while to get used to sleeping so--still, when we stopped to rest on land.” He said in that smoothly accented way of his, handing you the cigarette once more. “So I understand.” 

“Do you have any tips to help?” You asked on an exhale. Sanji shrugged, taking the slowly shrinking cigarette from you.

“I find I am a much lighter sleeper on land so I have yet to overcome it fully, but I could make you a cup of lavender tea? Maybe find you something more comfortable to sleep on than the sand?” You waved him off, turning your gaze back onto the dark waters of the sea, which the moon reflected and shone off of like a thousand diamonds had been scattered within its waters. 

“I’m okay. Really. I’m not going to bother you any more than I already am.” 

“You could never bother me, love.” Sanji quickly responded. You turned your gaze back upon him to find his cheeks flushing in a light dusting of pink. His eyes snapped towards the sea as soon as they met your own, something like panic flashing within their pretty depths. 

Love. 

The simple nickname always had your stomach freefalling upon hearing it. Always had your body tensing and that chaos within your chest rattling against its cage. 

You’d snapped at him before for calling you that. Had snapped maybe one too many times at the man who was too kind to you. Who had never once snapped back even though he should have a million times over. 

Sanji lifted the cigarette to his full lips again, the soft light from its smoldering end illuminating the soft curve of his nose and clean-shaven chin. The light disappeared behind that soft curtain of sandy blond hair that blocked the rest of his face from view. 

And you wanted to tuck it behind his ear again. Wanted to run your fingers over his cheeks and lips and let his softness take away all your hardness. 

Instead of giving in, you forced your fingers to grab hold of the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. 

“What--what are you doing?” Sanji sounded all so flustered, voice wavering in its typical smoothness. You smirked up at him as you tossed your shirt to the sand below.

“I’ve thought of a way you can help.” That dusting of pink deepened into a glowing red. You could all but see Sanji fighting his eyes to keep a hold of yours. To not dip lower to gaze upon all the skin you had just exposed. 

“A-and how might I be of service?” 

“Have you ever skinny-dipped before?” Sanji blinked down at you, his lips parting wide enough that the last half of his cigarette fell from his mouth. 

“Skinny--skinny-dipping?” You nodded, going for the buttons of your pants. 

“You had to have--living on that floating restaurant in the middle of one of the calmest seas there is.” You continued, yanking your pants and undergarments down and over your legs. Sanji was quick to avert his eyes toward the starry sky, shoving his fists into his pants pockets.

It was cute how much he wanted to respect your privacy. 

“I--no.” You gasped loud and quick enough it startled the poor man. “What?” Seriousness had filtered into his voice, eyes scanning for any sort of danger that warranted your reaction. When nothing but you was found, that blush of his glowed just as bright as the stars he had been watching seconds ago. “It’s--I was busy.” He huffed at you. 

“Busy.” You repeated, letting your playful smirk grow devious. “Or just chicken?” His brows furrowed and your nose was invaded by that silky cologne of his as he leaned down closer to you. 

“I am hardly chicken.” 

“I think you are.” You continued, moving closer into his orbit. 

“Am not.” You quirked your brow, giving pause before you tucked your fists under your arms to create the illusion of wings.

“Bok bok bok bok.” Sanji huffed in astonished amusement at your flutter of movement and sound. Those blue eyes scanned over your face, full of too much joy in teasing him. His heart-shaped lips tugged at their sides.

“Oh--you’ve taken it too far now, mon chère.” A squealing laugh tore from your throat as Sanji scooped you up in his arms, nuzzling his nose to yours. You let him, cupping his burning cheek in your palm. 

“Forgive--” But before you could even finish your laughing apology, Sanji was tossing you through the air. 

The sharp yelp you let out was cut out by the warm waters of the sea washing over you, engulfing you in their watery darkness. 

You stood, mouth agape from shock. Wet sand and bits of rock fitting between your toes as you struggled to find your footing. You had just begun to wipe stinging sea water from your eyes when the most beautiful sound called through the air. 

It was Sanji’s laugh. 

A laugh that started out as a whoosh of air from his lungs, before bellowing out the most lovely sound you had ever and would ever hear. 

It was a laugh so powerful it had him folding over, hands on his knees as if it was the only thing keeping him from falling to the sand below.

It hadn’t been particularly funny, but Sanji was finding it hysterical. 

“Haha. You got your payback.” You tried to keep your own laughter at bay, but that laugh of his always found a way to bring yours out. “Join me?” Sanji’s laughter died down at your question. You could almost feel the heat from his blush from where you had been thrown.

His fingers twitched, physically showing his nerves to you as he glanced back down the beach to where the rest of the crew still snoozed away.

“Turn around.” He insisted, turning those eyes back into you. 

“Turn around?” You almost scoffed, but seeing his fingers twitch once more, you held your tongue. As soon as your back was turned, the Sunny’s smiling face greeting you, you threw the flustered chef a thumbs up. 

You listened over the watery sounds of the sea for the rustle of clothes being shed and thrown to the ground. Listened so that as soon as you heard the harsh splashing of his entrance into the ankle-high water turn softer as the sand floor dipped deeper, you were turning to face him.

Sanji's face was nearly as red as one of the tomatoes he had used in the night's dinner. His body was too stiff and his eyes were wider than saucers. 

You tried not to let your eyes linger too long over Sanji’s exposed body. Over his pale skin, which bore faded scars one was bound to receive after numerously dangerous adventures. Over his smooth chest and strong torsor, which slimmed as your eyes danced lower. Couldn’t possibly help but take in the sandy-colored trail of well-groomed hair which the eye happily followed to such imitate parts that had your own face heating. 

The warm water flowed around the skin of your hips as you pulled closer to Sanji. 

His eyes tracked you, his face growing so red you thought he might pop a vein. You stopped with hardly an arm's width of space between you two.

“You’re too cute when you’re all flustered like this.” You teased, leaning in that much closer just to make him squirm.

“I--I am not flust--” But before Sanji could finish, you were sending a small splash of salty water into his face. 

“Payback for the payback.” You gave Sanji a little mischievous shrug, the chef giving a shocked laugh. 

“Payback for--that’s not how that works.” He challenged, running his fingers through his now damp hair to keep it from covering his other eye. 

“Yes, it is. Them’s the rules. Sorry.” You said in mock seriousness. Sanji laughed. A laugh that he tried to stifle as he made himself look just as serious about this matter as you pretended to be. 

“You’re right. Rules are rules.” You only had a millisecond to spot the little smirk that pulled at Sanji’s lips before he sent an even bigger splash your way. You gave a playful yelp before you sent another splash his way. 

Splash after splash after splash was sent back and forth, the space growing smaller and smaller between you two. 

That golden laughter filled your ears just as strong hands grabbed you up into equally as strong arms, holding you close and making your skin burn.

“And I believe this makes,” Sanji laughed, fingers digging just enough into your sides to make you squirm and pull a fit of laughter from you. “Makes me the true winner of the night.” 

“O-o-okay! Okay!” You shouted cheerfully, wiggling against his tickling hold. “You win!” Sanji stopped in his tickle attack, that stunning smile of his bright on his lips. 

You let your laughter die out right alongside Sanjis. Laugher that stung at your cheeks sorely but you wouldn’t have traded it for the world. 

“Thank you,” You started, once the sounds of the sea had overtaken the air once more. “for making sure I was okay. I really appreciate it.” You glanced away from his gaze, feeling like even saying this simple little thank you was stepping into “too serious” territory. 

But…maybe you wanted to. Maybe you should just take that leap. 

“And facing your skinnydipping fears for me.” You’re anxieties added. Sanji only chuckled with a shake of his head. 

“Of course, love. I would overcome anything if it meant you would be alright.” Sanji’s blue eyes glanced away then too. Glanced away like he knew saying that was crossing into that solidily serious territory too. 

And he looked all too beautiful in the moonlight, looking all flustered all over again. 

You cupped his cheeks in your hands then, heart feeling like it was going to beat straight out of your chest. 

“I’m--I’m going to kiss you,” Sanji’s eyes flew wide and that blush came flushing back to his cheeks. “And I’m--I’m going to mean it…we can see where this goes?” The purest look of joy sparked to Sanji’s face it made your heart ache and flutter all at once. 

“Truly?” He asked hopefully. You gave him a simple nod back, pulling yourself closer to his face. Letting just the very tips of your noses brush. 

Sanji’s breath hitched.

His grip tightened around you. 

“Truly.” And that was all the confirmation Sanji needed before he was crashing his lips to yours. Lips so soft you felt as if you would melt right into them. Lips that tasted faintly of the cigarette you two had shared. A taste that was smokey and sweet and made your heart feel so so full. 

“Awwww!” The high-pitched whine had you and Sanji jumping, teeth clashing against teeth in a not-so-nice way. Sanji gave a low curse, blue eyes shooting toward the beach to find your captain pacing at the edge of the shore restlessly. “Guysss! No fair! I want to join!” He shouted. 

“No--Luffy do not.” Sanji shouted Luffy’s way. 

“Just catch me,” Luffy shouted, already yanking his vest off his back. Mild panic clutched at your heart as you shimmied out of Sanji’s hold. 

“Luffy--” You started to warn. 

“CANNONBALL!” You snapped your head to the side just in time to see Franky’s tall head of blue hair disappear within the large splash of water he had created in his cannonballing. 

“AWWWWW! Guys! Franky too? I’m coming in!” Luffy declared as he struggled to tug his pants off. 

“No--” Sanji tried again, now rushing towards the shore as fast as the waters would allow.

“Gum-Gummmm---ROCKET!” And Luffy rocketed himself straight at Sanji, who took the hit with a loud oof before they disappeared under the dark waters. 

And as you watched Sanji pull a limp-limbed Luffy back to the surface, your captain giggling up a storm, all you could do was laugh. A laugh Sanji took a moment to pause for and admire before he began shouting his displeasure Luffy’s way.

More Like This: Demons and Claws {Zoro x gn!reader} ⋆ Couldn't Sleep? {Robin x gn!reader} ⋆ Just Trying To Sleep {Luffy x gn!reader} ⋆ Feeling Generous {Nami x gn!reader} ⋆ Nightmares {Usopp x gn!reader}

[cypherscript]

Perpeptual

Some of Young justice are teleported/isekai'd during one of their battles to an underdeveloped world barely out of the iron age.

The planet confuses them, perpeptual night but the climate is warm and the flora abundant regardless of the missing sunlight. It has a single yellowy green moon that is stuck in orbit at the same point in the sky as the stars move around it.

Some of the locals have accepted them into their small village, their language is close to spanish; esperanto Wally says. Atleast they can somewhat communicate now. The people are unsettingly human with only slight changes to their body; lighter skin, pointed ears and glowing eyes.

They spend a little over two weeks helping the locals with their building some kind of stage for a festival. A large corridor of metal, spires of green crystal that Connor says make him woozy on top of his already low solar energy from the weeks stranded here and thick braided cord wound around the bases of the spires and inlayed into an intricate pattern winding their way to the corridor of metal.

The chief, Degelinta Stellumo, is happy to say the festival can begin early. When asked about the festival they cant translate much other than it's to thank their god for keeping them safe. About how thousands of years ago the day god Rox tried to consume their world, the night god Phan covered their world in protective night to protect it from Rox's anger.

The team is perplexed as the festivities begin, rhythmic chanting fills the air as one of their young men, that Megan recognizes as Stelo, walks forward dressed in furs and a iron crown upong their head. He steps into the corridor, the crystals glow brightening as he does so, almost alive in the perpeptual moonlight and the chanting getting faster and faster. Duh-duh-duh-duh-da-duh-duh-da-duh-da~.

There is a massive flare of light coming from the corridor, the crystals shatter and fly everywhere and the people cheer. Stelo steps, no floats from the now blackened corridor changed; his body glows in a pale white light, hair once black now pure white while his eyes are toxic green from his previously white and a cloak of stars floats behind him in an invisible wind.

He looks around confused, tired, until his eyes settle on the young superheroes going from Connor's house of El crest to Miss Martians skin to Robins stylized R.

Everyone is shocked as the being speaks to them in echoy but clear english, "You lot are a long ways from home, arent you?"

"Uhm, yes... sir," Tim hesitantly asks hesitantly unsure how to address this being? God? Entity?

"Right, well not to belittle your situation but we're holding up the festivities I'm certain the Sheo'lp people have been working on for some time. Let us celebrate a bit then we can talk about your situation."

"What are you," Megan blurts out, confused, "Stelo stepped into that corridor and his mind is gone and now theres just static."

"I suppose i can answer that easily enough. My name was/is Danny and I dont know what I am anymore. Once the festival ends, Stelo will return to himself. I promise."

The now named Danny stops floating and walks over to the tribespeople, stopping to hug and greet everyone by name and accepting food and drink happily. He cries as he eats the food and drink, thanking the people in esperanto repeatedly as he does so, this goes on for several hours before the partying starts to die down and Danny takes the group over to a dying bonfire.

"Right, I suppose you have questions but I would like some verification."

"Verification?"

"Yup, just need to know if you are who I think you are. It's been forever since I've been around earth but you look familiar.

He points at Miss Martian, "M'gann M'orzz?"

Pointing to kid flash, "Bart? No... Wally West."

Points to Robin, "Damian Wayne."

Points to Superboy, "and that would make you Jon Kent."

They partially confused, partial perturbed that this entity knows some of their names. Tim looks him square in the eyes, studying him, thinking about protocols for what to do when a godlike entity just namedrops your baby brother like its no big deal.

"Its just Robin as I am," Tim says, eyes never leaving Danny's.

"Shit right, apologies I forgot about superhero 101, no names. Its been a while since I had to worry about names, time is blurry these days to me. Now! What about those questions?"

"Can you get us home," Tim asks straight forwardedly. "We've been missing from earth for a few weeks now."

"Sure," he says nonchalantly, surprising the team, "Well yes and no. *I* can get you home but I know something who can but you need to Promise me that you'll follow my directions once you go home. Deal?" He holds out his hand to Tim, who looks at it before shaking it.

"So long as it doesnt endanger those i care about then Deal."

Danny nods before taking a deep breath and holding out a hand, a small crack running through the seam of reality as green light fills the area, from the crack a scroll flies through at high speeds as he catches it. "Hello old friend," he says tiredly, seeming to have dimmed greatly from that stunt.

"A scroll," Connor asks incredulously.

"A map," Danny corrects, "of everything. Take hold of each other before taking the Map, once you do take the map and say where you want to go." He looks at connor briefly, "it wont be a pleasant trip for Jon but it is nessesary for you to get home. Hopefully this trip should innoculate your biology against ecton radiation."

"Wait radiation," wally yelps.

"Its harmless to humans, mostly. Its the fastest way to get back to Earth, youre on the other side of the universe kids. Now, once you're back on earth tell the Map to return home and let go. So take the map, i need to go speak to the chief for a bit. Thank you for being here and letting me help." Danny groans as he slowly gets up and walks over to the chief's tent.

"Do you think he's okay," Megan asks the group as Tim looks the rolled up map over.

Connor watches as Danny leaves, "He's low on energy. Like how Kryptonians are without yellow sunlight."

"Unfortunately we cant focus that right now, grab hands its time to go." They each take the others hand as Tim holds up the map, "take us to the Justice Leagues Watchtower on Earth." The map unfurls as a blue energy grows over the group as they begin floating and the scroll begins to drag them across the sky, a similar crack as before opens before them and swallows them up and the next couple of seconds are filled with blurred visions of vast green voids, purple doors and massive beasts lurking in the distance, the eyes following the team as the fly past.

As quickly as it began its over as a final crack tosses them out at a fast speed into the Justice Leagues cafeteria, scattering on impact and flinging food everywhere as the security systems begin to screech as the team sigh in relief.

"We're home..."

***

"So you mean to tell us you've been trapped on another planet for all this time," Barry asks as the members of young justice sit at the conference table with the other adult members of the justice league.

"Yes sir."

Batman is pensive as hes thinking, "and this entity called you by your names?"

"Mostly, he thought Kon el and I were our younger counterparts."

"Hnn."

Kid Flash leans over to Megan and whispers, "that's bat for I dont like this." Barry cuffs him over the head.

"So should I return the map to Danny?"

"Did someone say my name," a chipper young voice says as he sticks his head through the table, familiar glowing green eyes and white hair who freezes at the sight of the map, "how do you have that? B What's going on?"

"The young justice team has been stranded on a distant planet for several weeks, they just got back with the help of this artifact. Do you recognise it?"

"Course I do, don't know how you have it because its supposed to be with FB in the zone."

"Wait a second," megan exclaims, suddenly recognizing the static she was getting from him "You're Danny! What happened to Stelo?"

"Who?" That takes the wind out of her sails, "oh... i get whats going on here. Classic time travel, don't tell me anything. If you have the map then FB or I gave it to you for a reason. You should send it back."

"Do as he says Robin," Batman says nodding in understanding.

Tim takes the map in his hand, "go back home, uh... map?" He drops it as it unfurls and zooms off through another green crack. "What's all this about?"

"Dunno," Danny says as he leans back as he floats through the table, "hasn't happened yet."

______________________________________________

Authors note:

Little more detail on what happened between the gods in the Sheo'lp's tale. Their sun was going supernova and Phantom in a last ditch effort to save the planet wrapped his being around the planet as the sun exploded around them. His ice core cooling the suns now explosive heat, his body giving them stars to look at and his core to give them light. Their planet is essentially a terrarium surrounded by a critical nuclear reactor. Due to time dialation from earth to there hes been holding back the sun for over a thousands of years by the point YJ arrive.

The festival is a recreation of the fenton portal that they offer one of their own for Phantom to overshadow to partake in their food and drink as thanks. Once he runs out of energy from the crystals his overshadow breaks and he returns to his duty leaving the host with memories to later become the chief and lead their people with their knowledge.

[reginamillls]

this AU has been floating around in my head for months where Buck is a dog groomer, and Tommy has a service dog that needs a hair cut

* * *

The sign says closed, but Tommy pushes past into the darkened front office. There's light coming from the back, illuminating the front reception area just enough that Tommy has no trouble seeing. There's some music playing as well, a song Tommy doesn't know well but could hum along to the memory.

There's a tug from his arm, and Tommy scratches at Charlie's ears before bending down to unclip her leash. She isn't on duty right now, but still, she sits at his side, waiting for permission to go.

"Go on," Tommy says with a smile, and Charlie goes off into another room. Tommy follows at a slower pace. This is the third time that Evan has allowed them to come in after hours, and Tommy appreciates how much calmer everything is.

When he gets into the grooming room, Evan is sitting on the ground with Charlie between his legs, giving his dog a lot of well deserved attention. Charlie is on her back, paws in the air, tail wagging enthusiastically as she takes in Evan's attention. Briefly, Tommy entertains his desire of wishing Evan would give him all of his attention as well, but Tommy pushes those feelings aside. Charlie adores Evan, and Tommy doesn't want to take that relationship away from her.

"-the most beautiful girl in the whole world," Evan is gushing, his hands in Charlie's thick fur. He looks up when Tommy comes in, and his smile is just as bright for Tommy as it is for Charlie.

"And how is her owner?" Evan asks and Tommy feels like he has to catch his breath under Evan's attention. "Not the most beautiful girl in the whole wolrd, but I'm okay," Tommy lightly teases and he's rewarded with Evan laughing slightly, the sound warming Tommy up. He looks away, noticing the bandanas hanging up on the other side of the wall. They're all tye-dyed by volunteers for when Evan does free grooming for local shelters to help adopt out some dogs. Evan does a few himself and gives them out to his clients.

He wonders what color Charlie is coming home with.

"Thanks again for the after hours," Tommy says. It's Charlie's fourth appointment with Evan total and her second one after hours, the accomodation more for Tommy then Evan. Tommy tries to make it up to Evan by leaving a large tip that he knows goes straight to the volunteer work anyways.

"It's not a problem," Evan says and he gets up on the floor to the tub. Charlie follows and hops in without further instruction and Evan pets her down on the side, complimenting her again. The rest of the appointment goes with Tommy sitting at the shair while Evan gives Charlie what he calls the "princess treatment" and Tommy smiles at the commentary. Evan takes a few photos for his page and promises to send them to Tommy as well.

All the while they chat about their days, more Evan then Tommy, but it puts Tommy at ease and he appreciates just how easy it is to be around Evan.

Soon - too soon, it's over and Tommy is grabbing Charlie's leash and admiring the beautiul green bandana that Evan had set aside just for Charlie, and he's ready to say leave-

"Hey so, I was thinking," Evan says as he finishes up Charlie's paperwork. "There's this new hiking trail that I've been on a few times, and I think that ah- that Charlie would like it," Evan ducks his head before looking back at Tommy with his bright blue eyes. "And well, you too."

"I like hiking," Tommy says and internally he winces.

Smooth Kinard, real smooth.

But Evan's smile grows and Tommy can't help but return it.

[love-letters-for-wise]

Under The Rain (Wise x gn!reader)

[ gn!reader , no beta we die like the ethereals , ooc-possibility ]

New Eridu was soaked to the ground, and Wise wasn't prepared enough to bring an umbrella. Well, even if he did, he wouldn't be able to hold it with his hands both occupied holding a box of movie stash.

The pavement was wet, and Wise didn't want to risk breaking the disks by slipping. I will just wait, was what he thought as he waited for the rain to stop, or at least ease up enough he could walk with just his jacket being a bit damp.

While he waited, he realized that the katsu stall at the left had just opened for the day. The divine crisp smell of beef wafted through the air; mixing with the smell of rain against the pavement. Not long, the stall's first customer arrived.

Almost forty-five minutes had passed, and there was no sign of the rain letting up. He thought his ears would keep hearing the droplets hitting any surface it could find--along with occasional engines--but he hadn't thought his name would be called.

"Wise?"

Green eyes trailed to the side, searching and stopping on your figure beneath your umbrella. As if satisfied by, he presumed, your guess, you approached him.

"How long have you been here?" you asked.

Wise shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "Just a few minutes." He didn't know why his mouth decided to spare the details, but he did feel how his hands began to feel slippery. It must've been the box.

"Half an hour doesn't seem a few, no?" You teased, voice trying to sound neutral if not for the laughter behind it.

Wise's eyes grew slightly wide, but he was quick to compose himself and shot back a jab. "Now, that's quite the claim. What made you say that?"

You nodded at the katsu stall at the left. The smell had changed now, its smell akin to deep-fried poached eggs. "I saw you while the katsu stall was crowded--their beef katsu always the star in the morning. Usually, they ran out of beef katsus around thirty minutes after opening--the peak being twenty minutes after opening. And then they switched out to deep-fried poached eggs. Of course, they need to prepare them--which takes ten minutes, and a few minutes to fry them after."

Wise stared at you incredulously. He couldn't help but to let out a laugh, his shoulders bouncing along slightly.

"I can't believe you. But yes, I've been here for around half an hour." He hummed, his eyes opening in hinted triumph. "and, no, I still think that 'half an hour' is a few, after all."

You rolled your eyes, shooting a random spot a "classic Wise" look. "Well, whatever floats your boat, O' Wise the wise. Doesn't change that you still look like a drenched, dry puppy wanting to go home."

"Hey!" He tried to nudge your side but failed to so much as scratch as his focus quickly shifted back to the box he was holding. You, noticing the box he had been holding for the past half an hour, offered your umbrella while moving closer to him.

"Come on, we can share the umbrella and go to Random Play together."

[angelremnants]

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

⠀⠀

see more A Tales Of related ficlets.

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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[sorceresssundries]

Downpour

Pairing: Gale x Fem Reader

Summary: After so long trapped in the shadow-cursed lands, Tav basks in the delight of feeling the rain on her skin. One-shot.

Warnings: Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Smut.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Ok, so I wanted to have a go a a romantic, Austen-esque, fluffy, soggy, sexy love-scene. I am a Pride and Prejudice girlie, and this was definitely inspired by the artwork i've seen floating around of Gale as Mr.Darcy. I STILL BLUSH WHEN I POST SMUT.

In the forest, away from camp, the rain fell heavy, warm, and welcome. After enduring the stagnant shadows of the curse for so long, Tav reveled in the sensation of the heavy droplets drenching her. She longed to feel the rain soak all the way to her bones, washing away the blood and shadow clinging to her skin. She craved cleanliness, yearning to return to the warm embrace of nature before being pulled back onto the road to Baldur’s Gate, where fresh burdens would undoubtedly litter the streets of her city. 

Baldur’s Gate... The Upper City... Her home. Where her expectant fiancé no-doubt awaited her return, eager for her to forsake her studies of magic and join him as agreed in their betrothal. It was a future that demanded sacrifice—her independence, her magic, her heart—all in exchange for providing for her family. This was the destiny that loomed if they completed their quest, and time was slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

So, she lingered in the rain a while longer, relishing the freedom of being a fearless adventurer, a woman unbound, her soul still wild and untamed. She would postpone the inevitable, if only for a few rain-soaked hours.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did, to Gale. His anger still lingered like a storm cloud after their battle against Ketheric. She had urged him to resist the call of his Goddess, to spare himself from becoming the sacrificial weapon to slay the absolute. In doing so, he had shed his mantle of martyrdom, stepping away from the edge of his perceived heroism. And in the aftermath, when the adrenaline faded and victory cries hushed, she sensed his resentment.

At the height of his struggle, she had hoped he wouldn't need convincing. She had hoped his own worth would shine brightly enough to dispel the dark intent of Mystra's decree, and that he would have enough faith in their companions, in her, to find another path. She had believed their bond ran deep enough for him to steadfastly choose to remain by her side, but she had been mistaken. He required persuasion, and it had nearly shattered her.

She understood he owed her nothing, that no formal declarations had been made. There were moments heavy with unspoken desire, where the air crackled with anticipation. She had savoured each lingering glance and flirtatious exchange. Yet now, she wondered if it had all been a fanciful illusion. How could he desire her when his heart yearned for a Goddess? When the sigil of his devotion was literally branded over his heart? She resigned herself to accepting that he would stay by her side a while longer, and would bask in his warmth for as long as she could.

“Tav!” A distant voice called through the trees, barely audible over the rain storm's fury.

She turned to see him striding purposefully towards her, embers of anger flickering in his deep eyes. Both of them were drenched, the rain pouring down so relentlessly that it only took moments to become completely soaked. His white camp shirt clung to his chest and abdomen, accentuating the contours of his muscles. The emblem of the orb was unmistakable through the fabric, as was the dark hair which spattered his chest, trailing down into the snug, rain-soaked leather trousers tucked into his boots. Heavy droplets cascaded down his nose and fell from his long lashes like tears, and he had pushed his hair back away from his face, so now only a couple of tendrils stuck to his forehead and his cheek. The shimmer of the water cast him in ethereal beauty, and his silver earring gleamed like a lone star in the night sky. He might as well have been naked, and Tav felt a rush of heat at the sight of him. He was divine, and he was furious.

“What are you doing?” His voice was coloured with fresh anger. “You will catch your death!”

“Death has tried to catch me once today, wizard,” she said in defiance, turning her face upwards to the burst sky and running her hands through her hair. “I would like to see him try again.”

“You are stubborn and infuriating to your core! You would not allow me to sacrifice myself, and yet here you stand in the middle of a storm, taunting death as though he is a pawn in your game of heroics.”

She had never seen him this inflamed; the cool bindings of his tightly-wrapped feelings had come loose to reveal a man smouldering with desperate intent. The fact he still saw himself as a sacrifice shot fury through Tav’s veins equal to that of the Wizard before her.

“Do not blame me for what happened today! Your derision is wasted on me. I regret nothing. You were not weak; you were courageous. Vilify me if you will; resent me and cast me aside. It is a price I will pay to know your light still shines in the world. But I take no credit for your act of bravery. That was all you.”

She felt tears spill their way out of her eyes, and she belligerently let them fall alongside the welcome rain, now angry that she was letting herself fall apart in front of him. She could see him subside; he had calmed from raging ocean to a still pond. He said nothing, just waited.

“Baldur’s Gate lies ahead, and so does the end of our journey. Soon I will be home. I will marry a man I do not love, to support a family who does not care for my happiness, and I will take my courage from you, from what you did today. Please grant me the blessing of knowing it was because you wanted to stay here, with me. Just let me have that, even for a moment, even if it isn't real.”

He stepped towards her, and she stepped back, as though it was the first move in a practiced dance. She knew he meant to comfort her; she was unsure how, but it did not matter. She could not bear it.

“No, please,” she pleaded, needing to be alone. Completely soaked by the rain, despite the warmth in the air, her skin was speckled with gooseflesh, her clothing clinging to her in soaked desperation. She felt ashamed and exposed in front of him. He was everything she wanted but could never have. Jealousy, anger, and longing burned within her. If he touched her, she feared she would flame to ash in his arms. “Please, leave.”

He gazed at her face, her damp skin flushed, her dark eyes deeper than he had ever seen them, the usual mischievous sparkle replaced with swirling fear and helplessness. He longed to comfort her, to hold her.

“You should not marry him,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain. The silence that followed was heavy with tension. She held his gaze, her tears halting along with her breath.

“I am acutely aware of the shackles that will bind you upon your return. The thought of it has seared my soul. I have seen people marry for all the wrong reasons—wealth, security, anything but love. Some found it suited them, others were torn apart. That fate is for the faint-hearted, and you are not one of them.”

This time when he stepped forward, she did not move.

“They are early spring, and you are blazing summer. They are dappled moonlight, and you are blinding sun. They are house cats and cart horses, and you are a wild thing. You should not marry him,” he continued, his sadness palpable in his eyes and voice. “You will wither.” The space between them felt heavy and charged, the air warm and heady in the humid rain shower. “You talked me down from my precipice; let me help you down from yours.”

She could bear it no longer. Meeting his eyes, she began to move with purpose. That was all he needed. Rushing forward, he pushed her back against the nearest tree. She mewled in surprise before his lips captured hers, soft yet determined.

“Gale..” His name fell like dropped silk from her parted lips. As soon as he heard it exhaled in breathlessness, all soft intent was washed away with the rain. His hands were everywhere, grasping at her soaked clothing, tangling themselves in her dripping hair, pulling her hips against him. The kiss was wet - rain heavy and so so desperate. His tongue danced with hers, in ways he had fantasised about alone in his tent. He had brought himself to ecstasy thinking about the touch of her tongue against his, about all the lust induced pleasure she could summon with it. He was desperately hard, unashamedly and wantonly pressed against her. He wanted her to feel the effect she had on him, how much he desired her in all her vexing, complicated, exquisite glory. 

He had been angry, yes. He had been ashamed and guilt-ridden - but for reasons he did not expect. He did not feel as though he had let down Mystra, but that he had let down Tav. He had the opportunity to rid her of her burden, to strike down the threat which loomed over her head. She would be safe from the absolute, he could have given that to her, and she had talked him out of it. He felt like a coward, a meek ember undeserving of the vivid bonfire of a woman who had blazed her way into his heart. 

He realised now, entangled with her in the wild rain, that he loved her. The simplicity of it was overwhelming. She was exceptional, and he loved her. 

She had thought his feelings for her were wistful imaginings, but the truth was - he burned for her, he always had. Over the course of their journey, he had caught each glance with gentle hope and clutched them to him in times of darkness. He had saved every kind word and pressed them together into the pages of a book, to be taken out and skimmed through when he needed comfort. Her name was carved into his heart, and each beat belonged to her. 

They broke apart, both panting and breathless from the force of their embrace and she laughed. The most beautiful, clear chime of a laugh which stirred his blood and flooded his veins with joy. He smiled at the sight of her, and with a wave of his hand created an invisible shelter above them to shield them from the rain. 

“You couldn’t have done that before?” her pupils were so lust-blown the rich brown of her eyes were thin bands around black pools of desire, and her voice sparkled and danced through him. 

He peppered light kisses along her jaw and down her neck, “And spoil your fun? I wouldn’t dare.” Her hands tangled in his hair in response, and she moaned as he licked away the rainwater which had gathered in the hollow of her throat. 

“Lay down for me.” The grass beneath them was dry from his magic, and a soft purple blanket had been conjured out of nowhere. 

She did as he was told, and the ease of her submission did something to him. She was wild, unpredictable and stubborn, and the way in which she melted and bowed at his touch, at his command, stirred him in a way he had not felt before. He was a man undone.

He spent time slowly undressing her, lifting the hem of her soaking wet shirt and kissing the plane of her stomach, working his mouth along the sensitive ridges of her ribcage, pushing her arms upwards so he could pull the sopping wet clothing over her head. As he lifted her arms he licked the curve of her breast, her collarbone, even her armpit. He wanted all of her, and she arched her back so beautifully under his touch that he could not bear to remove his mouth for even an instant.

“Gale, please.” He had never heard her voice so low before, so wanton and dripping with unfiltered lust. 

“It is unlike you to be so well-mannered.” He teased between tonguing her damp skin “Where is the wild creature who has enraptured me so?” 

Her response came in a moan so primal it could have been mistaken for a growl. She was an altar he couldn’t decide whether to worship at, or desecrate. He decided there would be time for both. 

He peeled the rest of her clothes from her like the rind from a sweet fruit. Putting his mouth to every inch of flesh he uncovered. The rain mixed with the salt-sweet taste of her skin was fresh and heady, and he thought that no ambrosia could taste sweeter. 

He proved himself wrong when he eventually pressed his tongue where she wanted it most, where her desire gathered like a fresh-filled rockpool. She was heavenly. Every moan he pulled from her was a claimed bounty, a treasure he would hoard till the end of his days. He dipped his tongue inside her, savouring her, coating his tongue with her and then swiping upwards to run over the small bundle of nerves which could undo her completely. Her hips bucked in response. 

“Exquisite.” He said in between heated kisses. 

“I want all of you inside me, please.” Her cry was more breath than words. Her fingers raked through his hair and the shocks of her touch ran all the way down his spine. “You shall have me, my love. Body and soul, heart and mind. All of me, eternally.”

“Enough poetry.” She whined “Gale..” 

“I want you to come against my tongue first, sweet girl. I want to taste your undoing.” He re-focused his attention back between her legs, completely devoted in his worship, intent on receiving the holy blessing of her exalted cries as she lost herself beneath him. It did not take long. His tongue was firm, his dexterous fingers stroked into her and curled to find the hidden place of her rapture. His face was lust-soaked, head spun with desire, he was drunk on her pleasure and he ground himself into the earth beneath him as she unravelled with a reckless cry. He did not stop, he coaxed her through it, tongue softening and fingers slowing their pace as her wave broke and the relentless tide retreated. Even when she was spent, he continued to kiss her intimately, revelling in the soft pulse of her muscles. 

She drew him close, kissing him slowly and wantonly, savouring the taste of her own salt on his tongue. Pulling back, she gazed into his eyes, tracing the rough shadow of his beard with the pads of her fingers, fulfilling every longing touch she had yearned for. Returning the favour, she undressed him, their laughter mingling as they wrestled with his soaked leather trousers, finally leaving him as bare as she. With him above her, their bodies pressed together, anticipation sweetening the air between them.

“You are a marvel.” She whispered, tracing the vein-like mark that swirled under his eye, “I will spend each second proving to you that you made the right choice today. That the world is a brighter place for having you in it.”

“I am completely in love with you.” was his simple response, and the smile it earned him rivalled the night sky with its radiance. 

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” was her teasing reply.  He offered her a single soft, chaste kiss, before running his hands once again up her arms. This time to pin her hands above her head. She gasped at the sudden change in pace, and his eyes gleamed wickedly. He kept her small hands grasped in one of his, and slowly stroked the other down her body. Tracing a path to where she was still wet from desire and the focus of his tongue. Her eyelashes fluttered beautifully as his finger lightly brushed over her, and her sharp intake of breath told him she was still desperately needy. “I’m going to need to hear you say it properly, Tav.” Briefly, his strokes became firmer, purposeful, stacking a pleasurable build back from the ruins of her last orgasm. And then, he withdrew his touch from her completely, leaving her bucking and helpless. 

He kissed her throat and moaned against her skin, as he shifted his position to meet her heat. The tip of him pressed against her, and he had to dredge up every drop of restraint to stop himself pushing into her in one, hard stroke. 

“Be a good girl, and say it.” Between the two of them, it was unclear who was more desperate, who was winning their little game. It didn’t matter in the end, the result was always going to be the same. 

“I love you.” She met his eyes and poured every ounce of love-drenched sincerity she could into her words. She meant it. She would always mean it. And with her confession, Gale finally pushed himself into her, not breaking contact with the sparkle of her eyes as he moved himself inside her. 

"Let me touch you, let me show you, please," she begged, her voice aching with desire. At her plea, he released her hands, and immediately her fingers roamed his body. Her pleasure soared as she finally explored him in ways she had only dreamed of, tracing faded scars and kissing each sun-browned freckle.

His pace remained deliberate, slow at first, savouring every moment as he pulled almost completely out of her before burying himself deep inside, revelling in her tight warmth. The pouring rain and distant rumble of thunder drowned out most of their passion's noise, but Tav seemed to take it as a challenge.

She matched his intensity, moving with abandon, grinding her hips against each dedicated thrust, enticing him to unravel, daring him to let go. And he did. His kisses turned into soft bites, caresses into bruising grips on her waist, her hips, the soft flesh of her backside.

Lovemaking turned to fucking, to pure desperation and relief. He rutted into her, primal and hot - the ability to speak a distant memory as all he could do was moan into her mouth as he approached his crescendo. He flipped her over, and placed one of his arms under her leg to move it upwards, and he fucked her into the ground. They were still soaked, and they didn’t know if it was from the rain, their sweat or their pleasure, neither of them cared. 

He had angled her hips so he could move more deeply into her, and still wrap his arm around her to stroke her where she needed. It was exquisite. It did not last long. Tav threw her head back against his shoulder, and gasped out a choked cry as she clenched around him - wild and lost. The sensation of her was too perfect, and Gale followed her breathlessly and completely. All rhythm lost in the chaos of her unravelling orgasm. 

As they descended from their high together, he gently turned her to face him, and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, the pads of each fingertip. 

“I love you” her voice was soft hope, he gaze a bright future. They would keep each other safe, and face each challenge with hearts and hands entwined.

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” He replied breathlessly, and her laugh mingled with the sound of rain and thunder to create the most beautiful music he had ever heard. 

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 31 || The Breakdown (continued)

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 3k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——GOJO LEFT YOU WITH a lot to think about.

Before doing so, he dropped you off at your apartment after a passionate and almost final makeout session in the car lot just outside your apartment...

You knew it was your last time kissing Gojo.

It just felt like it. Like the final kiss of a romance film, Gojo's hands were so gentle against your body, his lips slipping and sliding over yours sensually and his tongue getting lost in your mouth. You'd hum into him and he'd moan lightly, the kiss lasting long enough to fog up his car windows.

Even then, it still took some time for the two of you to stop. It felt like another forty-minute make-out but in reality, the two of you sat outside kissing for an hour and a half.

He was so addicting, you felt so light and loved under his touch, allowing all your confliction to dissipate as he sucked and licked at your lips.

You don't even remember why you let him kiss you again but as soon as the car was parked, the soft sound of the radio quietly playing some R&B songs filled your ears and the two of you gave each other a look. Did he ask to kiss you or did you ask him? You have no clue.

All you know is that when your lips connected, they hardly ever parted. Gojo would whisper 'I love you' into your mouth every chance he got, refusing to let you forget that fact. You were still wondering why he sobbed earlier that night but the questions were forced into the back of your mind-- you'd get them answered in some years apparently.

When his lips finally peeled away from yours, a wet smack filled the car and Gojo had a bit of drool slipping out the corner of his mouth-- showing just how sloppy the kiss had been. You smiled and wiped his face off with your thumb, to which he grinned.

Gojo had this almost dazed and fucked out expression plastered across his handsome features. Meanwhile, you had a look of satisfaction.

The two of you stared deeply into each other's eyes, uncertainty, doubt, regret, love, passion, and a surplus of other emotions floating in the air between you two. It was easy for you to get lost in his eyes, easy for you to forget all he's done to you for a moment.

Hell, you could even picture what life would've been like for you if he'd stopped the list months ago. Perhaps the two of you would've dated, maybe you would've fallen for him and maybe the two of you would've lived happily ever after like some twisted fairytale.

But, instead, the two of you live in this twisted and awkward time where fate and reality have set all the pieces in place for you to hold nothing but hate in your heart for him. Even so, you reject holding only such an ill emotion-- never will you be able to look into Gojo Satoru's eyes the same after the day you've spent with him.

Something is wrong.

You don't know what it is and you probably won't ever find out but knowing that simple fact deters you from holding only ill intent.

"Can I uhm... say one last thing before you go up?" Gojo whispers, breaking you out of your thoughts.

Your faces are still close to one another and you nod your head.

"I cried like that because I've been feeling a lot of regret lately," He explains. Is he opening up to you right now? "I don't want you to pity me for it or feel sympathy for me because, trust me, I don't deserve it-, I don't deserve you."

"Satoru, how can you tell me not to sympathize with you after all that?" You ask, your voice filled with this sweetness and tenderness that he feels himself fall for even more, "I can't ignore-"

"I need you to." He says sternly, "Ignore it. I can't fix what I've done, sweets. A-And I'm not gonna try to. You're meant to be with someone who makes you unyieldingly happy and that will never be me." He sighs, brows tensing.

He looks so utterly distraught.

You can even tell he's trying to keep himself together, "Even if I explained it all to you and you were to somehow catch feelings for me and want to choose me over Choso, I-"

"Whatever you're about to say, you don't know that." You cut off, "You can't predict the future Satoru, any scenario you play out for me is nothing but an educated guess of what may happen but you truly don't know what'll occur if you just tell me the damn truth."

"The truth will undo everything I've worked for so far," Gojo claims.

You sigh heavily, "What does that even mean?"

"It won't make you happy, that's what I mean," He clarifies, "I can't make you happy, sweetheart. I wish I could but I can't. And the truth?" He scoffs a little, "Once I explain that all of hell will break loose."

"Satoru it can not be that bad, you're being dramatic-"

"I'm not." Gojo cuts off, his eyes deadly serious, "When you get the truth, I think you'll understand me but you definitely won't forgive me."

Your eyes narrow and you tip your head to the side, "Why don't you just tell me and find out, what's stopping you?"

"Fear." He claims.

For some reason, the slight shake in his voice brings that very emotion to you. Fear? What could Gojo Satoru have to fear?

You blink, "Of what-"

"Everything." Gojo says, his voice a tad bit louder, "I don't want to go down that path at all. I just want you to finish the list and go be with the man you love."

Do you even love that man? It's such a strong word... Maybe if Gojo had said what he just said a few weeks ago you would've said you loved Choso but now... Well, you haven't talked to him and even though he plagues your mind and heart often, you almost feel as though your feelings have faded.

That would probably change if Choso sent you even one text but the distance he's drawn between the two of you is solid. He made it very clear that unless you want a relationship, he doesn't want you around him. Choso feels so strongly around you that it hurts him to be in your presence and not be your boyfriend-- he explained that to you.

And naturally, you admire the way he avoided that toxic situation. But... it's also created some heafty dissipation of your feelings. Obviously, you think about him all the time but not talking to him does make you feel conflicted.

Do you love Choso? Do you like him? Is it just a crush? Has this one day with Gojo changed the way you think about everything and now you're sitting here confused about who you want and why you want them? Have you forgotten everything you've experienced with either man?

Choso made you happy beyond belief and Gojo has only brought you confusion.

But, Choso was also so much of a green flag that you were blind to his red ones. And Gojo was so much of a red flag that you didn't see the white one he held behind his back.

You remained quiet for too long and Gojo tilted his head at you, "Do you not?"

"H-Huh?" You stammer, breaking away from your mind.

"Do you not love Choso?" He asks.

"I don't know." You whisper.

The confusion of it all has officially gotten to you. You don't know anything anymore.

Gojo raises a curious brow, "Is it because you haven't seen him in a while?"

Your brows furrow, "N-No-"

"Winter break is just a month away," He tells you, "Maybe you should try to see him during that time."

A slight chuckle escapes your lips and you sigh, "It seems like you want me to get with Choso more than I want me to get with Choso."

"He makes you happy in ways I can't." Gojo points out, shrugging casually.

You scoff and words leave your lips faster than you intend them to, "That's not true."

"Sweetheart, I'm using you." Gojo emphasizes, "Stop forgetting that. Y-You..." He struggles to get this part out but he knows he has to. He has to create that distance between you and him, "You're nothing more than a t-"

"Don't." You cut off, shutting your eyes as your expression sours, "Don't you dare say something you know you'll regret even more, Satoru. C'mon now, we've been doing pretty good thus far but if you call me a fucking tool that's gonna fuck it all up-"

"That's what you are for me though." He cuts off. The claim didn't even sound right leaving his lips. His ability to be an asshole toward you has faded entirely.

"No, it's not." You argue back, opening your eyes and seeing his head turned away from you.

He swallows "Yes, it is-"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me I'm nothing more than a tool for you, then." You challenge, your gaze unwavering, "If that's the truth, look at me and say it."

Gojo struggles, refusing to meet your gaze, "You're-"

"I said look at me, Satoru." You emphasize.

He does, very slowly. "You... are nothing more... than a..." Gojo trails off, staring so intently into your eyes, losing himself, his mind, his breath, all of it as he can't even finish his statement properly.

"That's what the hell I thought," You utter, "Stop trying to make me hate you when I don't have to."

"You're supposed to," Gojo claims.

You don't know what that means. You don't know what any of it means. When will the confusion end? When will it all make sense? When will you get the chance to have a clear and focused mind??

A simple and unrelaxed sigh leaves you, "Okay."

"That's it? Just okay-"

"I don't know how to feel right now, Satoru." You huff out, turning away, "I don't understand anything and I hate not understanding shit. I don't know why you do the things you do, I don't know if I love Choso, I don't know if I still hate you, I don't know anything!" You rant, "I have so many fucking questions. There's too much going on and too little being explained to me and I can't take it anymore."

"I'm sorry, I really am-"

"That's all you ever are. Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry, when does it end Satoru?" You whine, so beyond tired of it all, "When do I get to understand? When are you going to stop keeping me in the dark so that I can help you?"

"You can't help me," Gojo claims.

You grit your teeth, "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." He argues.

"Earlier, you said we're the same. I didn't know what you meant, and I still don't but, if that's the case then the only person that can help you is me so, god damnit Satoru, let me in. Open up to me for fucks sake!"

He's like a damn wall, something that even you, his literal weakness, couldn't get through. Nothing you say will make him reveal the truth to you.

Gojo says your name in a chillingly calm tone, his eyes going all dull again, "I'll let you in when the time is right-"

"When?! When will the time be right?? When are you going to let me help you?"

"That's the fucking problem!" He snaps so suddenly that it almost frightens you. Just like that morning, it's another random outburst of anger, "That's why I'm in this damn mess, b-because of you. Y-You and your fucking kindness. You should hate me right now but here you are too busy trying to help me? To fucking understand me?"

"How can I not? This is your second time getting upset with me within the past twenty-four hours and you fucking cried into my arms! Am I really expected to ignore that?"

"Yes! About two months ago, you were hellbent on hating me but just because I shed some damn tears you're ready to fucking baby me? I don't need that from you, I don't need anything from you." He's so clearly rambling by this point, not even realizing what's coming out of his mouth, "I just want you to keep hating me like you always do." He continues, his voice angered to mask his hurt.

You go quiet for a minute and just listen to him.

"Stop trying to figure me out like I'm some damn puzzle. There's no problem for you to solve here; I need you to fuck people, not care about me. I need this list cleared, I need it to all just be over." He spits out, his voice wavering at the end, "T-That's all I need, sweetheart. Stop tryna' understand me, just finish the fucking list and let it be over-"

"Gojo Satoru," You cut him off, the use of his full name making him freeze. His mouth shuts like a trained dog and he feels as though his blood just ran still. "I'm not gonna stop trying to understand you because I'm in this mess with you, whether I like it or not. I've been paying attention to you all day, y'know that right?"

He simply shrugs, too frozen to even speak anymore.

You take a deep breath, calming your heightened nerves, "Even a blind man could see that something happened that triggered you recently. You've never blown up on me or broken down on me like today. And, dare I say, I think it was something from Sukuna's party that started all this."

He swallows, hard.

"Were you the one that called the cops?" You question.

"N-No," His voice is shaky but not because he's lying. He's nervous. "That uh, t-that was some guy who was pissed about getting knocked out, I think."

"Okay, so what happened while we separated, Satoru? Because you've been snappy and emotional ever since. First, you cursed me out about calling myself a whore, then you cried when I said I love the way you kiss me, and now you got mad at me because I want to understand and help you. So tell me, what happened?"

"...Nothing." He mumbles.

You stare at him with this look in your eyes, deciding to give him one last chance to tell you because you're so beyond tired of the stress his answers and mood swings are bringing you, "Are you sure? If you don't tell me now... I'm going upstairs. Then, I'm gonna finish the list and I'll go on with my life without caring anymore."

"I-I..." Gojo's heart sinks, the moment presented to him so perfect.

"This is your last, and final, chance to open up to me. Speak now," You sigh, "Or forever hold your peace."

His eyes soften, "I can't tell you."

You nod your head slowly, "Okay." You then turn away from him and look down to make sure you have all your things, "When you're ready to grow some balls and explain yourself, I'll be ready. But until then," You move to open the car door, "I'm done with this shit."

Your feet swing out the car and just as you're about to step out, he calls your name, making you freeze. Gojo can't tell you the truth but he means it honestly when he says, "I'm sorry for loving you."

You squeeze your eyes shut, "What does that apology do for me? Hm?"

"That's why you're in this mess." Gojo explains, just barely, "Because I stupidly fell for you, you're wrapped up in my bullshit."

"You're still confusing me." You point out.

"I'm not trying to explain it. I can only give you that as of right now. All of this is because I made the mistake of loving you and for that, I'm sorry."

"Okay." You hum, your voice small and exhausted, "Then," You turn around and meet his eyes one last time, "I forgive you."

"W-What-"

"For loving me, Satoru. It's not a crime," You say, mocking a comment he made to you earlier, "You're allowed to love me. So, for that, and that only, I forgive you."

Those words healed so many more wounds in his heart than you realized. It was like that was all he ever needed to hear. If Gojo's mistake was loving you and that's what caused this, then you forgive him.

If in some twisted way, his feelings started the list, you forgive him.

Deep down, you know the truth will be revealed someday but, you can't keep stressing yourself over it-- you're digging yourself into a hole and opening up doors that can't be closed. By some miracle, you could recognize that it was best you stopped asking all your questions and instead moved on.

That's all you can do; move on.

Complete the list.

Nothing else matters.

Free yourself from this cursed predicament and live your life.

That's what you want, that's what Gojo wants, that's what's needed.

Freedom.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: ???

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[theonottsbxtch]

THE COME DOWN PT1 | LN4

an: i'd like to preface this by saying this is not everyone's cup of tea and warn you ahead of time this faces the topic of substance abuse. part one doesn't face it complexly put part two does, so if you're not comfy reading this, step back now! if you or anyone you know needs help, please feel free to talk to me or here are links for who to talk to: united kingdom, united states, canada, europe. these are some of the links i've found, if you need help searching for one, my inbox is always open!

wc: 2.9k

warnings: substance abuse

part two

The front door clicked open, soft and hesitant, like the world itself was holding its breath. Lando stumbled in, the faint scent of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. His smile—wide, reckless—filled the room, too bright for the hour, too careless for the weight of her silence. He was floating somewhere above the world, his mind lost to substances she could no longer name, and it made him look almost happy. Almost.

She sat in the dim glow of the living room, still dressed, legs tucked beneath her as though she’d been waiting all night. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, with disappointment too deep to be spoken. She felt hollowed out, a shell of the woman she used to be—the one who used to wait for him with hope, not dread.

“Hey,” Lando slurred, his voice soft, almost tender, as if this was just another night, as if nothing had broken between them. He staggered towards her, his footsteps uneven, but his gaze locked on her like she was the last thing holding him together. "Miss me?"

She didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just watched him, her heart aching, a dull, relentless throb that matched the slow drag of time. He didn’t notice—he never did, not anymore. His world was too loud, too fast, spinning in a blur of highs and empty promises.

He reached out, pulling her up with a sudden urgency that startled her, his hands rough, insistent, like he needed to feel her skin, to remind himself that she was still real. She didn’t fight him. What was the point? He was always stronger, always more reckless, and she was too tired to resist the storm he had become.

“Come with me,” he whispered, his voice a breath against her neck, the heat of him seeping through her clothes as he tugged her toward the bathroom. The door swung shut behind them, and the space shrunk around them, closing in with the heat of his presence.

She stood, fully dressed, beneath the harsh light of the bathroom, the tiles cold against her feet, her body stiff, uncertain. He was already moving, his hands shaking as they fumbled with the faucet. Water burst from the showerhead in a rush, steam curling into the air as the sound of it filled the silence between them.

Before she could protest, before she could find her voice, he dragged her into the spray, pulling her close, his mouth crashing against hers in a sudden, desperate kiss. The water soaked them both instantly, heavy droplets streaming down their faces, their clothes clinging to their skin like they were being swallowed by the weight of it all.

She gasped against his lips, the warmth of the water seeping into her bones, but it couldn’t chase away the cold that had settled in her heart. His hands gripped her tighter, roaming over her soaked body like he was drowning, like she was the only thing that could save him.

She let him.

Not because she wanted to. But because it was the first time he’d touched her in what felt like forever—the first time he’d looked at her with anything close to affection. And in that moment, she was willing to drown with him. Even if just for a second.

His kisses were rough, unsteady, and she could taste the alcohol on his lips, feel the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest. Her body pressed into his, wet fabric plastered to skin, the heat of the water slipping between them, and for a fleeting moment, she could almost remember what it felt like to want him like this—to crave the closeness, the intimacy. But it was just a memory now, something fading beneath the weight of all that had been lost.

His breath hitched as the haze in his eyes began to clear, the frantic energy in his movements slowing. She felt the shift in him, the moment when reality bled back in, cold and sharp, cutting through the warmth of the shower. He pulled away, just slightly, his hands dropping from her waist, as though he realised, too late, what he had done.

“Fuck…” he breathed, the word heavy with regret. He stumbled back, eyes wide, staring at her like she was the one who had dragged him into this. “Why… why did you let me do that?”

The question cut through her, sharp and deep, leaving a raw ache in its wake. The tears she had been holding back all night stung at the edges of her vision, but she swallowed them down, refusing to let them fall.

He was already stepping out of the shower, water dripping from his soaked clothes, pooling on the floor as he grabbed for a towel. His hands were frantic, almost violent as he tried to dry himself off, like the water was some kind of stain he needed to scrub away. But she knew it wasn’t the water he was trying to escape.

“You’re being mean, Lando,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost beneath the steady hum of the shower.

She sank down onto the closed toilet seat, her arms wrapping around her knees as she watched him, her heart aching with something deeper than sadness, something closer to grief. He had been mean for months, maybe longer, but tonight, it felt like too much. Like she couldn’t carry it anymore.

His movements slowed, his eyes flicking to her, softening for a brief, fragile moment. But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

“I didn’t mean—” he started, his voice trailing off, as if the apology couldn’t quite find its way past his lips.

“Yes, you did,” she murmured, the words trembling as they left her. “You did.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, the steam from the shower curling into the air, wrapping around them both in a damp, oppressive cloud. He stood there, still dripping, the towel clutched in his hands, staring at her like he didn’t know who she was anymore. Like he didn’t know who he was.

And maybe he didn’t.

She blinked, wiping at the wetness on her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure if it was tears or the shower’s spray. It didn’t matter. None of it did.

Lando opened his mouth, like he was going to say something—anything—but the words never came. They never did.

And all that was left was the soft, steady drip of water, echoing in the hollow space between them.

The words hung in the air between them, damp like the steam curling from the still-running shower.

"You’re being mean, Lando." Her voice was quieter this time, almost pleading, as if she thought maybe this time he would hear it—truly hear her.

But he didn’t. His back was to her now, towel draped over his neck, water still dripping from his hair onto the floor in tiny splashes. He didn’t turn around, didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, staring at nothing, like he could brush off the weight of her words the way he brushed off everything else.

Her chest tightened, the ache that had settled there months ago now rising, burning. Her heart was tired—too tired for this, too tired for him—but still, she sat there, hunched over on the toilet, letting the silence stretch out between them.

"You’re being mean," she repeated, her voice firmer now, more solid. But even that, even the crack in her tone, didn’t reach him.

He turned, just enough to glance at her over his shoulder, his eyes hollow, barely focusing on her. "I’m not trying to be," he muttered, as if that excused everything, as if that was enough.

She felt something snap inside her, sharp and sudden, like a thread pulled too tight for too long. Her sadness shifted, morphing into something darker, something angrier. How had he become this? How had they become this?

Without another word, she stood up, her body heavy with exhaustion and soaked to the bone. The cold, wet fabric of her clothes clung to her skin, reminding her of how ridiculous this all was—how utterly absurd it was to be standing here, dripping in water and heartbreak, while he acted like none of it mattered.

She reached for a towel, her hands trembling with the force of her frustration, and dabbed at her face. It didn’t matter that she was still drenched, still shivering beneath the layers of wet fabric clinging to her skin. She barely registered the discomfort. Her movements were mechanical, robotic, as if this was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

Lando was watching her now, his brow furrowed, as if it had finally dawned on him that something was wrong, that maybe—maybe—she wasn’t just going to sit there and wait for him to fix himself.

She turned toward the door without a word, water dripping in soft splashes against the floor, leaving a trail behind her as she walked out of the bathroom and into their shared bedroom. The light was dim, the air heavy with the quiet, suffocating remnants of every unspoken argument, every broken promise.

She crossed the room, her eyes scanning the mess of clothes, the unmade bed, the pieces of their life scattered across the floor. It all felt foreign to her now, as if she were seeing it through new eyes—eyes no longer clouded by hope.

Without a second thought, she grabbed her handbag from the bedside table, her hands moving with a sudden, fierce determination. She didn’t care that she was still in her soaked pyjamas, that water was still dripping from the ends of her hair. None of it mattered.

Lando appeared in the doorway, his face slack with confusion, like he was trying to catch up to what was happening but couldn’t quite piece it together.

“What are you doing?” His voice was hesitant, uncertain in a way she hadn’t heard before.

“I’m leaving,” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of it. “I’ve had enough, Lando.”

Her words came out sharp, edged with anger she had been holding in for too long. She could feel the hot, angry tears starting to build, the kind that burned as they fell. She wiped at her face, but the tears kept coming, mixing with the water still clinging to her skin, until she was sobbing, her breath ragged and uneven.

Lando took a step toward her, his hand reaching out like he thought he could stop her with a touch. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice soft, like he was trying to soothe her, trying to pull her back from the edge.

But it only made her angrier.

“Don’t tell me what I mean, Lando.” Her voice cracked, raw with the intensity of her grief. “You don’t get to do that. Not anymore.”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag as she turned toward the door. Her heart was pounding, her entire body shaking from the force of her emotions, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t turn back. She couldn’t.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she choked out, her back to him now. “I can’t keep picking up the pieces of you while you tear me apart.”

Lando stood frozen, the shock of her words finally settling in, but it was too late. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something—anything—but the words never came. They never did.

Her breath came out in ragged bursts as she walked down the hallway, past the photographs of happier times, past the life she had built with him. Each step felt heavier than the last, her legs trembling as she moved, as if her body was resisting what her mind already knew—she was done. Truly done.

She reached the door, her breath catching in her throat as she stepped into the hallway. Her hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment, shaking, her heart beating so loudly she thought it might drown out the world.

Behind her, she heard Lando take a step forward, his voice cracking through the silence. “Wait…”

But she didn’t.

The door shut behind her with a soft click, but to her, it sounded like the final thud of something breaking apart. Something she couldn’t put back together.

The elevator ride down was a blur of silence. Her wet clothes clung to her skin, growing colder with every second. She didn’t care. Her fingers dug into the strap of her handbag as she stepped out into the cool Monaco night, the city alive with the hum of quiet luxury and faraway voices. The world was moving, unchanged, indifferent to the turmoil that was tearing her apart.

She walked with no clear destination, her feet carrying her through the winding streets, past the brightly lit cafes, past the yachts bobbing lazily in the harbour. The stars hung overhead, indifferent, their light spilling over the city like nothing was broken.

But everything was broken.

Her chest ached, the sobs she’d tried to hold back now climbing up her throat, thick and uncontrollable. She kept her head down as she walked, her hair dripping water onto her shoulders, her pyjamas clinging like a second skin, plastered to her legs. People passed by her—Monaco’s late-night crowd, dressed in crisp suits and designer dresses, their laughter filling the streets as they drifted past her without a second glance. A few eyes lingered, though, watching her with mild curiosity, some with judgement. A woman soaked to the bone, her face streaked with tears, in the middle of the streets like some half-forgotten ghost.

She kept walking until her legs gave out.

At the end of the narrow street, where the lights grew dim and the voices more distant, she sank down onto the cold stone pavement, her knees curling up toward her chest. She felt small there, like the world was too big, too fast, spinning out of control. The tears came harder now, her chest heaving with the weight of all she had been holding back. Her sobs echoed off the walls of the tall buildings around her, but no one stopped. No one asked if she was okay. They just walked around her, glancing down at her as if she were some strange apparition in their perfect city.

Her hand fumbled for her phone, shaking as she scrolled through her contacts. She blinked through the tears, searching for one name—the only name she could think to call.

Oscar.

Her fingers trembled as she pressed his name. She could hear the dial tone in her ear, her breath hitching with every ring. She didn’t even know what time it was, didn’t care that she might be waking him up. The phone clicked, and his voice—warm, familiar—came through the line, groggy with sleep but unmistakably him.

“Hello?”

Her voice broke the moment she heard him. “Oscar…”

There was silence on the other end, just for a moment, but she could almost feel him sitting up, the concern sharpening in his voice as he spoke again. “What’s wrong?”

Her tears fell harder, her words coming out in a rush, barely coherent between the sobs. “I— I left him. I left Lando, I couldn’t— I couldn’t stay anymore.”

“Where are you?” His voice was steady now, calm. No questions, no judgement. Just action.

“I… I don’t know,” she stammered, glancing around through tear-blurred eyes at the unfamiliar corner of the street, her body trembling. “I’m… I’m on Rue Grimaldi. Near the old bookshop, I think.” She drew in a shuddering breath, trying to hold herself together. “Oscar, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m coming,” he said without hesitation, his voice firm, steady. “Just stay there, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her, her hand clutching the phone to her ear as if it were the only thing tethering her to reality. “Please hurry…”

“I will. Just breathe, angel. I’m coming.”

The line went dead, but his words lingered in the air, grounding her, keeping her from unravelling completely. She pulled her knees closer to her chest, her tears still falling but slower now, her breathing uneven as the cold night air wrapped around her.

She sat there, wet, shivering, her mind racing. The sound of the city hummed around her, cars passing by in the distance, the clink of glasses from some far-off café, laughter that felt miles away. But in this moment, none of it touched her. She was alone in a world that had forgotten how to feel.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours—it all blurred together, the weight of her exhaustion pulling her down until all she could do was close her eyes and wait for Oscar.

And then she heard it—the low hum of an engine, slowing down near her. Her heart skipped, and she looked up, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the familiar headlights of his car pulling up to the curb.

Oscar stepped out, his face etched with concern, his eyes locking onto her immediately. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask if she was okay. He just walked over to her, kneeling down on the cold pavement beside her.

Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, her wet clothes soaking into his jacket, but he didn’t care. His arms wrapped around her, strong and warm, holding her together when she couldn’t do it herself.

“It’s okay,” he whispered against her hair, his voice soft but sure. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in a long time, she believed him.

part two

taglist: @waytooobsessedwithlife @iimplicitt

[dinsbeskar]

Shelter in the Storm (Sauron/F!Reader)

Journeys end in lovers meeting

But what happens when you keep meeting, and leaving, and meeting, and...

Sequel to And In The Darkness Bind Them // AO3 Link

Soundtrack: De Selby Part 2 by Hozier, Judas by Lady Gaga, Harder to Breathe by Maroon 5, Persephone by Tamino

A/N: Post S2, we are in Rivendell (idk when it comes about in the RoP timeline but I've built it now idc) and we're moping after our crazy breakup at the end of S2. We're also doing some LOTR too, idk guys ✌️ Man is down bad and so are you. Girl, run, he is evil!!! Girl!!! ...okay babe you do you (and him)

Warnings: 18+ only!! YEARNING AGAIN, smut, angst, toxic relationship shenanigans, mutual obsession, dream sex, P in V sex, creampie (that our man then cleans up for you, you're welcome lmao - have i ever told you guys how deranged this guy makes me? This is me reining it in, fyi lmao), oral sex (female receiving), so much yearning

Word Count: 5k!!

The haven of Imladris becomes a shelter for your people, one that you have worked so hard for, but one you don't feel as if you have earned, nor could you ever.

Walking away from Sauron was the most torturous thing you'd ever had to do, but it was done. His parting gift lies on a chain around your neck, a glimmering gold ring that whispers to you in the dark of the night.

But you cannot put it on; you cannot bear the idea of sullying the light of your wedding ring with his twisted mockery. Despite its palpable dark power, it is beautiful, and it calls to you, his voice in the air that sends shivers down your spine even now.

You take it out from beneath your bodice, twirling it in your fingers. You find yourself doing it more and more often lately, and frequently more absentmindedly.

"Deep in thought, even at this hour." Elrond's voice interrupts your brooding, and you hasten to clasp the ring between your fingers, hiding it in the thick pages of the book you have been pretending to read.

No one tends to visit the library at this hour, especially the tiny nook you've made for yourself at the back of the shelves near a large window overlooking the valley. Dust motes glimmer in the rays of the setting sun, and you can hear the merriment of your fellow elves at dinner, song floating in through the window. So while happy to see him, you are surprised.

"There is much to think about, dear friend."

He nods, gesturing to the seat beside you.

"Of course, sit." You smile at him, glad for the company, eager to forget your broken heart for a moment.

"You've been distracted of late. We've all noticed, but-"

"But there is nothing one can say to absolve me." Your eyes prick with tears, but you refuse to let another fall out of spite for your lord husband.

"It is not that." Elrond takes a breath, pondering his next words carefully.

"We care for you, we always have, and we do understand." He grasps your hand to comfort you; it takes everything in you not to pull away.

"We are here for you. I know your guilt weighs heavily, but let us take the burden from your shoulders. It is not your fault."

You are very tempted to let yourself crumble, to sob into his embrace as you weigh up all the sins for which you feel responsible, for which he is trying to absolve you.

"I doubt very much everyone feels the same way." You do not need to imagine the wrath of your people, the pointed stares, the whispers when they think you cannot hear, avoiding your presence at all costs.

And you have been so wrapped up in your grief that you have let it all wash over you. But the longer you are ostracised, the greater the ache in your heart.

"Does it matter? They will come round, you have already done so much to help us rebuild."

That is no understatement. After healing the wounded and burying the dead, you had thrown yourself into protecting the valley in which you made your home. Songs and spells that your husband had helped you create, no less, with the power of your people and their rings, had created a safe haven for your kin to regroup and rebuild after losing Eregion.

"I was so blind, my friend. Wilfully ignorant to what I knew he could be, what he was. Everything that he did, I let him do it." You take a deep breath, holding up a hand to prevent Elrond interrupting you as he so clearly wants to do, comforting words on the tip of his tongue.

"I will never cease to feel guilty, and I don't know if it's possible to move on, feeling the way I do." You meet his gaze, knowing that the unspoken crushing weight of your burden is something he knows all too well, feeling equally responsible for the downfall of Eregion as you.

"But move on, we must." He takes your hand with a comforting smile.

The simplest of advice is often the greatest, Celebrimbor once told you. You briefly muse on his words as Elrond's wisdom takes root.

"We learn from our mistakes, and we move on. It is all we can do." He squeezes your hand one last time, before standing to leave. "It would be a pleasure to welcome you back to us, my lady."

You nod, forcing a weak smile, your fists clenching in your dress where he cannot see.

Once the door is closed, you lean back and sob, the ring at your breast whispering loud in your ear.

Perhaps to move forward, you should try wearing it. Just once. Two steps forward, one back, perhaps, but still one step forward.

Before you can think, the ring is on your finger.

An overwhelming sense of peace and clarity consumes you, the world at once feeling lighter, and you realise how difficult each breath had been before you put it on.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like yourself. The grey clouds of your stupor clear, blue skies and the gentle breeze of hope lifts your spirits for the first time in months.

Tears begin to pour down your face, not out of sorrow, but pure relief. Hot wet streams of catharsis cascade down your cheeks, and you feel lighter than you have in years.

"Curse you, you wretched creature, for ruining me like this. For twisting and melting us into one. A wicked alloy of light and dark." He cannot hear you, but you curse him anyway.

With each tear you feel the darkness lift, so you sit and allow yourself to cry.

When you next open your eyes, the room is dark, the candles have all burnt out, and the crescent moon casts a dim glow through the open window.

You go to pick up your book from the floor, dropped when you had fallen asleep, when you notice the warmth of someone beside you.

You look round, expecting to see someone trying to rouse you, expecting anyone but the ethereal vision of your husband, his hand on your thigh, pressing close with an affectionate smile as he realises you know he is there.

You jump out of your skin and go to stand, but his iron grip keeps you in place, even as he regards you with a smile so tender you can almost forget why you are estranged.

"You cannot be here."

He cocks his head slightly, looking at you as if you've grown another head.

"Of course I am here. You called for me and I came. I will always come for you." He traces your hand, then lifts it to the dim moonlight as if to remind you of his golden gift.

"The ring..." You breathe shakily, angry with yourself that you didn't realise that of course it was no mere trinket.

"I told you, my love, they are a pair," he holds up his own hand, showcasing his own gold ring. "They work best together, like their masters."

"Don't. Don't do that." You pull away from him, or try to, as he keeps a steadfast hold on your hand.

"Don't do what, darling? Remind you of what you're missing with me? The power we could share, the realms we will rule," he leans down to whisper in your ear, "the love we endure."

As tempting as that sounds, you fix him with a glare.

"That was always your problem, my love."

He has the audacity to look confused, so you elaborate.

"Your quest for power will always come before us. Before me. And I cannot fight you forever over that, it is who you are. But I cannot stand at your side while you seek to dominate Middle Earth, no matter my love for you."

"So you do still love me?"

"You're impossible!" You shake your head, wrenching yourself from his grip and standing finally, moving as far away as you can.

"After everything I have said, that is what you cling to? I tell you I cannot follow you and that is your response?" Your voice shakes like your resolve, but you press on.

"I love you. Of course I do. But that does not mean I will blindly follow you to ruin. I cannot."

His face begins to fall, his eyes growing dark, your words sinking in for once.

"Sauron-"

"Don't call me that." He is visibly crushed, the name he detests falling so freely from your lips.

"Do not-" you press your lips to his; you cannot hear his silver tongue again, cannot open yourself to the possibility of his victory over your heart.

At least that is what you tell yourself, as you find yourself aching to be close to him again, heart yearning for his presence, his touch, his soul near yours once more.

He runs his hands up your back, digging his fingers into your spine as if to anchor you to him, unwilling to let you go again. He offers no resistance to your charms, utterly spellbound even now as you kiss him to shut him up.

You have to pull away, your chest fit to burst at the separation.

"It is your name. And I must use it. I can't let myself believe you again, my love. I can't."

For once he lets you speak, but he is itching to have his say, you can see him fidgeting, words on the tip of his tongue.

"You think I use the name you hate as a sword against you? Meant to wound you, to cut you deeply? No. It is a shield. A reminder of who you are, so I don't let you in again."

Your heart hurts, splintering with each word.

He feels the same, the anguish in your soul mirrored in his, like a flaming knife between the ribs.

He pulls you to him, resting his chin on the top of your head. The urge to sit and relish in him is so strong, and he holds you so surely that he must feel the same but alas.

"I love you, Sauron. Shadow of Morgoth. But I have to let you go."

His eyes widen, and he reaches out for your hand, but it is too late.

You wrench the ring from your finger and he is gone.

You wake with a start, gasping for breath, the ring on its chain in your hand.

Throwing the ring back around your neck, you breathe a deep sigh of relief at your victory, but the catharsis you felt while wearing your ring beckons again.

Torn between the peace you had with him and the peace you know you're fighting for without him, the temptation to use the ring ebbs and flows, but never falters completely.

It is a burden you must bear alone, for you cannot tell the others that the ring you bear is a direct line to the enemy himself.

~

For centuries you wander Middle Earth, attempting to heal some of that which your husband has destroyed.

The more magic you expend, the more you seem to have at your disposal, which would be a good thing, but it calls him to you.

Even without the ring, he walks in your dreams. Well, admittedly there isn't much walking involved.

Your apartments in Eregion are his favourite place to see you, with blankets and cushions nestling you close to him, making you both so cosy; how could you want to leave him here alone?

"Will you not come to me?" He murmurs, breaking your reverie.

You can't help the exasperated sigh that escapes you, but you remain clung to his side, your fingers entwined in the hair on his chest, the scent of iron and smoke intoxicating you even as you dream.

"I have to ask." He chuckles, stroking your hair.

"Yet you know my answer."

He pulls you tighter then, never once losing hope that his will would prove stronger in the end.

~

There is no such thing as chance meetings, as your husband used to say, and you take it as a sign your fate was on the turn.

You hadn't been to Rivendell in many a year, your wanderings through Middle Earth taking you far from any civilised lands, searching for peace and purpose.

So when you hear that a ring had been found, and not just any ring, your stomach drops. But you need to see it.

"Elrond, please, allow me just one glance-"

"You know how dangerous that would be, we cannot risk the whole world knowing we have the weapon of the enemy in Imladris."

"It's not the whole world, it's me!" You huff an exasperated sigh. "You can trust me, you always have!"

He turns and avoids your gaze, reaching for the balustrade to look out over the valley, resting wearily on the white stone.

"Elrond..." You gingerly reach out for his shoulder; he doesn't pull away which you take as a victory.

"I have to see it. I have to know if it's his."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing.

"Very well." He pauses, seemingly in thought. "Come to the council. Perhaps your input might be helpful after all."

The moment you lay eyes on the ring, you know it is his.

Its fine craftsmanship would easily give it away, if not for its heavy aura and sheer magnetism. You can’t look away, even as your stomach drops and your heart races, guilt consuming you once more.

Raised voices fade to white noise, his whispers in your ear, the unmistakable scent of salt and iron on the breeze.

"I will take it!"

A small voice shakes you from your reverie, as you take in the hobbit who has so bravely volunteered for a trial that many of stouter heart would have refused.

And you volunteer immediately to accompany him.

Whether it is to deliver your husband the justice he deserves, or to assuage your guilt, it might be a fool's errand all the same. But you figure you should see it through.

~

"I'll take first watch." You mutter, regarding the rest of the company as they begin to bed down for the night.

"You'll do no such thing." Aragorn's hand on your shoulder startles you, but his voice is calm and warm, reminding you of someone, a long time ago.

"I'm fine-"

"You've taken watch for two nights now, get some rest. We need you at your best." He gives you a warm smile, clapping your shoulder before turning back to the burgeoning campfire.

You give him a wan smile in return, but worry gnaws at your very bones.

You haven't slept in nigh on a week. You no longer need your ring to call him to you; the closer you are to the Ring, the more Sauron appears to you in your dreams.

He always enjoyed doing so, and you never used to mind. Even over the past age, when he did so, you were slow to eject him from your mind, guiltily enjoying his presence even from afar.

But now it would be far too risky, far too dangerous, to allow him inside your head.

The others fall into a deep slumber almost immediately, the journey taking its toll.

But you remain awake, upright, pinching your bare skin to stay awake.

Elvenkind do not need to sleep quite as often as other races, but it catches up eventually.

"Sweet wife." His murmur in your ear sends a chill down your spine; you'd be lying if you said it was one of terror not arousal.

"Husband." You whisper to the dark, not daring to look round.

"No need to whisper, darling, they can't hear us here."

Strong arms enfold you in a warm embrace that you're powerless to resist as you melt against him, your back to his torso.

"You can't be here." You murmur, entwining your hands with his.

"And yet..." You feel his nose in your hair, feel him draw you closer, kisses on your neck.

You can't help but moan, long years of being starved of his touch taking their toll, and your sleep-deprived consciousness is in no fit state to resist his charms.

"You haven't been sleeping." He remarks, tracing your knuckles and relishing the feeling of you in his arms once more, even if it is only in dreaming.

"You noticed." Your quip falls flat as he growls in your ear.

"Avoiding me, love?"

"I wish I didn't have to." You rest your head back against him, letting yourself give in, just for a moment.

"You don't. Join me, come to me, be with me-"

"Don't. Don't spoil this." This perfect moment, even as you plot his downfall, you would crystallise it and keep it forever.

He grumbles a little but eventually hums in assent, seemingly placated by you allowing him to stay.

You just need to rest, perhaps a good night's sleep will refresh you enough to keep him at bay later.

At least, that is the excuse you use when you find his hands wandering, his lips tracing your skin, peeling every inch of clothing from you.

Your breath hitches as he frees your breasts from their confines, enjoying his hands roaming so freely across your body as he takes his fill.

He works slowly down to between your thighs, and a fleeting thought of resistance crosses your mind before vanishing in the lust that clouds your judgement.

You can feel his hard length pressing against the small of your back, aching and needy for you even in this psychic realm.

His lips on your neck peck softly at first, before beginning to lick and suck more insistently. The sound of his lust in your ear drives you wild, and you shuffle out of his grasp to turn and face him.

He's gorgeous. Of course he is. He can't appear in any fair form now, but since he isn't here physically, he can take any form he wishes in your mind.

"I always liked this face." You chuckle, running your fingers down his jaw.

"I know, my darling."

Now that you're facing him, straddling his lap, he wants to do nothing but stare at your face.

Memory is no substitute for the real thing, and every time he looks on you, you're more beautiful than he dared recall; it leaves him breathless.

You feel tears prick at your eyes, and his hands are already at your cheeks ready to catch them when they fall.

"I miss you." You whisper, closing your eyes and kissing him so sweetly, so softly, he fears he might melt.

He answers with a moan, his love and lust for you pulling at his heart and soul. His hard cock is wet with precum, that makes your hand glide so much more easily over it as you stroke him to distraction.

"No, no, inside-" he stutters and groans, delicious noises that make your clit throb.

You kiss him hard and lower yourself onto him, hissing at the slight burn of him filling you so completely. But before long, you're rocking on his hips, hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, savouring the exquisite fullness between your thighs, his mouth on yours, his hands palming your breasts.

Your souls pull toward each other, uncontrollably and without limit, and your hearts sing a harmony that no two others could ever hear.

He grasps your hips and pulls you down on his length, twitching inside you as he fills you, wasting not a single drop.

You gasp at the sensation, his hot seed on the brink of dripping out of you as he rides his orgasm, looking up at you as if you were the most divine thing he'd ever beheld, chanting your name like a prayer.

You slow your pace, riding him, focusing on milking his cock, draining every drop.

When he is finally sated, he slips out of you and turns you over, letting you rest your aching thighs, parting your legs wide to take in your cunt, quivering and full of his seed.

He smiles wide, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

"Look at the mess we made. That desperate messy cunt, my love, how perfect you are."

His words shouldn't make you feel the way they do, surely, but the fresh wave of arousal that pools at your core says otherwise.

"My good girl, so perfect for me... let me take care of you, darling."

His tongue between your thighs sends your heart pounding, as he delves deep into your entrance.

He feels so good, but it's the depravity of his desperation for you, that he'd paint you with his seed then delight in licking every trace from your skin, just to get a sweet taste of you, that's what sends you over the edge.

Your grip on his hair tightens as your peak crashes over you, pulling him closer to you, wrapping your thighs around his head-

-you blink and he's gone. You wake gasping for breath as multiple hands shake you from your slumber.

"My lady?" It is Aragorn who speaks first, the rest appearing shaken.

"What happened?" You mutter, still not quite back with them, clinging to the feeling of Sauron encompassing you.

"You were thrashing, shaking, we were worried for you." He and Gandalf exchange a look that you can't quite interpret.

"I'm fine. Nightmares, nothing new." You try to smile but the feeling of them all staring at you is perturbing to say the least.

"Go on, back to bed, I'm fine."

You go to stand but Gandalf puts his staff on your shoulder in warning. You look up at him quizzically, but he shakes his head.

When the rest have settled, he motions for you to follow him, a little away from the camp to talk undisturbed.

You stand waiting for him to speak, but he simply regards you from under his bushy brows, pulling out his pipe.

"Everything alright?" You eventually have to break the silence, the tension killing you.

After a long pause, still regarding you as he cleans out his pipe, he speaks.

"I was hoping you would tell me."

He stops fiddling and locks his gaze with yours.

"Amarië, if there is something we need to know-"

"There's nothing." You interrupt him before he can insinuate anything close to the truth.

"Are you quite sure? Because-" he lights the pipe, the embers glowing ominously to illuminate his face- "He was here."

Sweat breaks out on your skin but you hope he won't notice.

"I don't know what you mean, Mithrandir, I think I would know if-"

"You would. That's why I'm asking you."

You look anywhere but at the wizard currently boring a hole in your skull with his gaze. You can't tell them, they can't know.

"I have Him under control."

You're not sure why you said that, but Gandalf seems anything but reassured.

"Under control? So He was here. Do I need to worry about you, my lady?"

You shake your head slowly, reminding yourself why you're here. The torment Sauron has inflicted, the lives he has taken, not to mention his countless betrayals.

"Our souls are bound, you know that. Where I am, he is sure to follow. But he knows nothing of Frodo and the Ring, I can assure you. I would tell you."

You make no mention of the ring hidden next to your heart. They wouldn't understand.

His eye twitches as he contemplates your words.

"How long? How long have you been seeing him?"

"That was a good guess." You give a derisive snort, shaking your head and laughing slightly.

Apparently subterfuge is definitely more your husband's game.

"A while. But I figure if I distract him, we can focus on getting to Mordor undetected."

He gives a small "harrumph" in response, with a disapproving look that makes your toes curl, and not in a good way.

"I am sorry, Mithrandir. But I promise, I want the same as you. To see him answer for his crimes."

His face softens and he claps your shoulder with a wrinkled hand but firm grip.

"Go to bed. Tell me if you have anything to report."

A spy for the peoples of Middle Earth, you would never have thought it.

Meanwhile, a guttural scream of frustration renders all the orcs in Barad-dûr paralysed in terror, as your husband is ripped from your mind. He can still feel you beneath his fingers, taste you on his tongue, his soul grasping for you as he clings to the memory of your soft smile, the one you reserve only for him.

~

Racing through the mines, chased by a league of goblins, this wasn't how you hoped the passage through Moria would end.

"With the ring, his servants would respond to me as if to him, I can send him back to the shadow!"

"No!" Gandalf cries, grasping your shoulder and holding you back. "You risk the fate of the quest if you invoke his power, do not be tempted now."

"But I can help-"

"You will fight another day. Go! Take them to safety, they will need your wisdom now."

His words tell you to be strong, but his expression betrays his fear. Without another word, you turn and run, ushering the hobbits toward the bridge with a cry, willing your old friend safe passage.

"Fly, you fools." And with that, he is gone, passed beyond your sight. You think to use your ring, to see him in the next world before he passes over, the band inches from your finger-

-but your arm is wrenched almost out of its socket as Aragorn pushes you down the winding stairs out of the dead mines.

Everyone collapses in grief on the rocky outcrop outside Moria, dissolving into great sobs as they mourn their fallen mentor. You can only watch on, no more tears left to cry, as you vow this loss will be avenged.

If Sauron is listening, you speak directly to him, that his folly was choosing you as his bride, for you would not rest until you had returned him to the darkness from whence he came.

~

Lothlórien is a place you should all find rest. But the prospect of staying with Galadriel, even after you'd passed an age apart, was nerve-wracking to say the least.

You can hear her whispers in the others' minds, but when she looks at you, it's as if you've turned to glass, her gaze passing straight through you.

"I will find no rest here."

You overhear Boromir telling Aragorn of Galadriel's message for him, think perhaps to comfort him. But Aragorn, as ever, does a far better job than you could ever.

One thing Boromir and you share, is the inability to find rest.

The stars blaze overhead, and the soft lament for Gandalf fades as the moon rises.

But you toss and turn, your mind racing and your body tense.

The ring at your breast is mercifully quiet, the power of Nenya keeping it at bay. And the silence is so heavy, the absence of your husband's voice in your ear so perturbing after centuries of listening to him beg for you.

You can't breathe, can think of nothing of hearing him again, your mind full of your own voice for the first time in years innumerable.

Rustling underfoot distracts you momentarily, but your thoughts turn back to the weight on your chest. What would happen if you were to slip on your ring in this sacred grove? Would he be able to find you? Or would her magic keep him out, to stalk the edges of the forest as he used to when he came to you as a beast in the night?

For one brief moment you feel his fingers on yours, and your breath hitches, panic setting in as you begin to sweat.

The mirror.

You jump to your feet and race down to find Galadriel standing over Frodo, the hobbit breathing hard, his terror palpable.

"I pass the test. I will diminish, and go into the West, and remain Galadriel."

You pull Frodo to his feet, dusting him off and picking a leaf from his curly hair.

"Go get some rest, you need it." You try to sound reassuring, but you're not sure you wholly convince anyone.

As he departs, throwing a nervous glance behind him, you turn back to the golden-haired Elf who regards you silently.

"Was that a good idea?"

"The mirror merely showed him what he needed to see."

"And you? What was that? I have not felt such darkness in an age, Galadriel, what happened?"

She gives you a knowing smile, crossing the space between you silently, and taking your hand.

"It was a test. One you must take too."

You shake your head, panic once again threatening to overwhelm you. But the mirror beckons and perhaps you'll be wrong.

You stand over the basin, water swirling with visions of fallen cities, the atrocities that you've witnessed, the things that your husband needs to pay for.

His face swims in the water, his various forms rippling through visions of crumbling stone and blood and bone.

Your heart wrenches. How can it not? The other half of your soul, within your grasp, responsible for so much pain. How can you still yearn for him?

You see the black tower, you see his shadow pace within its walls, seeking you, ever searching.

Fire and ash and blood fill your vision as the tower crumbles and you're so torn. Your justice feels so empty, your heart rent in two, when a golden light fills your eyes and you hear a song you haven't heard in many an age.

"Will you tell me what you saw?" Her soft voice breaks the silence as your mind whirs, close to shattering.

"You know what I see. It is the same every time."

Long golden hair, an adoring smirk, the face of the man you called husband. Call husband, for all your sins.

[saturnville]

can I call you rose? major john "bucky" egan (masters of the air) x black fem oc (amelia egan)

content: a flashback to one of the first interactions of bucky and amelia. inspired by the song, "can I call you rose?" by thee sacred souls.

an: I've been on a writing kick lately. bask in it now before I go back into hibernation lololol. on a serious note, this was fun to write and I hope you enjoy it.

Local pubs were common safehouses for the men of the 100th. A place where they shed their military prowess at the door and cloak themselves in normalcy for a few hours.

Over 40 men crowded the dark pub; drinking, singing, and conversing joyously between themselves and the women scattered throughout. His eyes scanned around the room. Gale was whispering in the ear of a pretty blonde, who giggled like a school girl and Curt was dancing in the corner with a brunette with a gentle gaze. He chuckled to himself and knocked back the remainder of his drink.

John clenched his jaw and pushed himself off the rickety old couch. He whistled a soft tune as he trudged toward the bar. He's been disciplined (somewhat), having only drank two glasses. Gale would be so proud.

"What can I get for you?" asked the person behind the bar. Her back was turned to him, which made him scoff in amusement.

"Eyes in the back of your head?" John dropped his glass against the countertops. Her shoulders hook in amusement. She turned and pressed her forearms against the counter. John's eyebrow raised in interest.

"Something like that." Her dark eyes fell to the pins and badge against his chest. "What are you drinking, Major?"

"Whiskey." She plucked the glass from his lingering fingertips and refilled the glasses. His gaze was on her as she floated behind the bar with ease. It wasn't completely rare to see a woman bartending, but it was surely uncommon, nonetheless.

She looked damn good doing it, too. Her dark, pressed hair was tied back by a baby blue bandana, showcasing her beautiful features. She wore black tailored pants that complimented her figure and a black sweater. Her manicured nails clicked against the glass as she dropped it into his awaiting palm.

"Here ya go. Enjoy, Major."

He winced. That aspect of him was shed at the door. "John." His correction was gentle, but she heard the stern understones.

"Is that appropriate?" She questioned.

He shrugged and took a small sip of his drink. "It is because I said so. Now you," he leaned forward. "What's your name?"

He rose painted lips parted, but closed once she saw a smile creep on his lips, "What?"

John's tongue massaged the inside of his cheek. He asked, "Can I call you Rose?"

Her head jerked and he eyebrows furrowed. "Rose? Where'd that come from?"

John leaned back and tossed his arm over the neighboring chair. "Cause you're real pretty. You look sweet, especially with that dimple, and your perfume is...kinda strong. Smells like flowers."

She tried to fight the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth Her brown eyes bore into his blue ones in awe.

"In that case, I will let you call me Rose. But, my name is Amelia."

John smiled. "Amelia Rose, see how pretty that sounds?" Amelia giggled and he swore it was the greatest sound on earth; an angelic song.

"Does everyone call you John?"

He shook his head. "Most people call me Bucky."

Amelia shook her head. "Then John is reserved just for me, yeah?" An indescribable emotion flashed through his blue eyes, but, she could tell he was satisfied, nonetheless.

John held her gaze as he brought his glass to his lips once more. "We've got a deal, Miss Amelia Rose."

-

"Rose, darlin'." Amelia turned at the sound of her name. She knew that voice all too well. It visited her during her dreams and soothed her to sleep in the evenings. A gleaming smile spread across her face. She dropped her rag and turned to face the door.

"Hi Johnny," she greeted softly. The seductive undertones in her voice, paired with the nickname had the eyebrows of Gale and Curt raise. John met her smile with a grin.

"I'll catch you boys in later. Rose, baby." John jogged toward the bar. Amelia met him halfway. He wrapped his uniform-glad arms around her waist and she sank into his embrace. His lips grazed the shell of ear. "How've you been, honey?"

It'd been months since their first meeting. They saw each other twice after that; another evening at the pub and a date. He took her on a date and surprised her with a bouquet of lowers; a dozen red roses.

For three months, their relationship progressed through a series of letters. She had more than she could count, all stashed safely in a box under her bed, handled with tender care.

"Good. Missed you. Glad you made it back in one piece." Amelia said, running her fingers across his pins and badge. "Do you want anything?"

John shook his head. "No. I'm here with the guys, but I'd prefer to talk to you without a drink. If that's alright with you."

Amelia laughed lightly and grabbed his hand. "Coffee it is."

-

"How long are you here?" Amelia asked, passing Johna ceramic coffee mug.

"Should be a month, but it's subject to change. But..." John's eyes lit up with hope. "I was hoping to spend some time with you if you'd like. Heard they've got a fun carnival going on tonight. You've yet to beat me in a game."

The young woman chuckled, remembering the intensely competitive game of cards they played every Friday up until he left. She smiled bashfully and nodded. "Of course."

John winked. "It's a date, Rosie."

[fuzzyautumninmetal]

Beautiful

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Fem!Mermaid reader

Big thanks too @brokenpieces-72 and @all-purpose-dish-soap for the plot idea!! love you 🫶

I really really hope I've done Kyle justice here 😩

The icy water clawed at Kyle's skin, the pressure in his ears a dull throb. Panic flared in his chest, a cold, sharp spike. His oxygen gauge flickered, a mocking red, and his lungs burned. He'd been reckless, pushing too far, and now his tank was failing. He was going to die here, alone, in the depths of this frigid, unforgiving sea. Then, strong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him upward. He felt a surge of relief, a desperate hope, but his vision blurred, his body heavy. He couldn't see who was helping him, only felt the powerful, rhythmic strokes pulling him towards the surface.

He woke to the harsh sunlight and the familiar faces of Task Force 141. The relief was overwhelming, but it was quickly followed by confusion. He remembered the panic, the darkness, and then... someone had saved him. But who?

Kyle, still shaky, shook his head. "No, I... I don't know what happened. I felt someone pull me up."

"You alright, Gaz?" Johnny's voice was gruff, concern etched on his face. "You were out cold for a good five minutes. Thought you'd gone and met Nessie down there."

The others exchanged glances. "You sure you didn't just black out and think you were saved?" John asked, his tone sceptical.

Kyle frowned. "No, I'm telling you, someone was there. I felt their arms around me."

The incident became a running joke amongst the team, with Johnny constantly teasing Kyle about 'meeting Nessie.' But Kyle couldn't shake the feeling of truth in his memory. He had to know who saved him.

Weeks later, driven by a need for answers, Kyle returned to the mission site. He rented a small boat and spent hours scanning the water, the memory of the strong arms pulling him up vivid in his mind. Then, he saw it. A flash of emerald green, a tail shimmering in the sunlight.

A mermaid.

You swim gracefully through the crystal clear waters, your emerald tail propelling you effortlessly through the waves. your long, wavy hair cascades behind you like a waterfall, reflecting the sun's rays as you moves. You pauses when you spot something floating on the surface.

A boat? 

Curiosity piqued, you surface, your eyes widening at the sight of a human. That human. The one you saved.

As the figure surfaced, Kyle's heart skipped a beat. It was her, the mysterious saviour from his near-death experience. You were real, not some delusion or hallucination brought on by oxygen deprivation. You were stunningly beautiful, your hair flowing like a river of molten gold in the sunlight, your eyes a captivating blend of gold and red that held an air of mystery. You were different, unique, unlike anyone he'd ever seen before. And you'd saved his life.

You quickly dove back down into the water. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have come looking for you. It was stupid really. Reckless. You should of left him to his fate...but you couldn't. You couldn't watch an innocent human die.

Kyle watched as the enigmatic figure dived back beneath the waves, leaving him with more questions than answers. Despite the brief encounter, he knew he wouldn't forget you any time soon. Your actions spoke volumes about your character, and your beauty captivated him in a way no other woman had. There was something undeniably intriguing about you, a sense of mystery that made him want to learn more.

He found himself returning to the same spot over and over again, drawn to the memory of the mermaid who'd saved his life. Each visit filled him with a strange longing, a desire to see you again, to thank you properly for saving his life. He began to bring offerings, seashells and starfish, anything he thought might catch your attention.

You can feel his presence every time he comes. Its annoying really. He doesn't belong here. This is your home, your sanctuary. Why does he keep coming? To see you? No. He wants something else. Something more. He wants answers. Answers to questions you cannot give. You're not supposed to exist. Not anymore anyway. But you do...and you can't let him find out. You can't let him expose you.

One day, as he tossed a handful of sweet treats onto the water's surface, he swore he saw a flicker of movement beneath the waves. Was it her? Had she returned? He stayed longer than usual, waiting, hoping for another glimpse of the mysterious mermaid.

He waited for you, patiently watching the horizon until the sky turned dark. He knew you were there, hiding in the shadows, observing him. He knew you didn't want him there, but he also knew you hadn't stopped him yet. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever came next.

"I know you're there," he called out, his voice echoing across the empty sea. "Please, I just want to talk. I won't tell anyone about you. I promise."

You listen to his words. You don't trust them. Humans lie all the time. They lie to protect themselves. They lie to get what they want. But you need to hear him out. You need to understand why he keeps coming here. He's persistent isn't he? Maybe that's something you admire? Or maybe its infuriating? Either way, you decide to show yourself. Just enough so he knows its you. Your eyes meet his as you break the surface of the water.

When the mysterious figure finally emerged from the depths, Kyle's heart pounded in his chest. It was her, the mermaid who'd saved his life. Their eyes locked, yours filled with a mix of curiosity and caution, while his were filled with gratitude and admiration.

"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice barely audible above the sound of the waves crashing against the boat. "For saving me."

You watch him. Watch his face for any signs of deception. None are shown. You swims closer to the boat, your movements graceful and fluid. Your close now. Close enough to touch if you wanted to. You reach out a hand, touching the side of the boat gently. A sign of acceptance maybe? An olive branch? Or just another test? Only time will tell.

He watched, entranced, as the mermaid swam closer to the boat. He could almost reach out and touch you, if only he dared. When you touched the side of the boat, he felt a surge of hope. Could it be that you were willing to communicate?

"I'm Kyle," he introduced himself, extending a hand towards you.

You watch his hand move through the water towards you. You takes it hesitantly, your grip firm yet gentle. You pull yourself closer to the boat, your body breaking the surface of the water. Your upper body is exposed now. You looks up at him, your eyes questioning as you introduced yourself.

Kyle heart raced as you pulled yourself closer to the boat, your body breaking the surface of the water. He was face-to-face with a mermaid, and you were even more breath taking than he'd imagined.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, his voice trembling slightly from excitement. "I owe you my life." You hold his gaze, your eyes intense. You pull yourself further onto the boat, your lower half still submerged in the water. Your upper body is bare, your skin glistening with water droplets. You look at him curiously, taking in his features with equal intensity.

"Why do you keep coming back?" you asks, your voice soft yet steady.

Kyle swallowed hard as you pulled yourself fully onto the boat, your lower half still hidden beneath the water. His eyes traced the lines of your body, taking in your bare skin glistening with water droplets. You were even more beautiful up close.

"To see you," he admitted honestly, meeting your gaze. "To thank you properly for saving my life."

Your eyes narrow slightly as you process his answer. You take a moment to study him. To analyse his facial expressions, his tone of voice. Is he lying? Does he truly just want to thank you? Or is there something more? You can't read humans very well. They're too complex.

He met your gaze head-on, unflinching under your scrutiny. He understood your scepticism; after all, he would likely feel the same in your position. But his intentions were pure - he simply wanted to express his gratitude.

"If it helps," he offered, "I've brought you gifts." He gestured towards some sweet treats beside him.

You look at this gifts he brought you. Gifts? From a human? "What are they?" You questioned. Your gaze never leaving the gifts, you've never seen anything like them before. They look...spongy and pretty? He pointed out each item one by one - the fluffy, sweet-smelling muffins, and the rich, decadent chocolate cake. He hoped these would help bridge the gap between their two worlds.

"They're called muffins and cake," he explained. "They're sweet and delicious. Would you like to try one?" His question hung in the air, a silent plea for acceptance. You look at him sceptically and then back at the gifts. Muffins and cake? What a strange name, and you can eat them? You looked back at Kyle, your curiosity got the better of you. 

"Please" 

Kyle's heart swelled with delight when you agreed to try the food. He carefully picked up a muffin and held it out to you. "Here you go," he said, his voice filled with anticipation. "It's called a blueberry muffin." As he spoke, he couldn't help but marvel at how surreal this situation was. Here he was, on a boat in the middle of the ocean, offering cake to a mermaid.

You watch as he holds out the muffin to you. The gesture is kind and gentle, and you find yourself drawn to it. You reach out slowly, your fingers brushing against his as you take the muffin. Your touch is light, hesitant. You bring the muffin to your lips and takes a bite.

Your eyes widen in surprise as the flavours burst in your mouth. Sweetness, tanginess, a hint of crunchiness. It's overwhelming and amazing all at once. You chew slowly, savouring every bit before swallowing. Kyle watched as you took the muffin from his hands, his heart pounded in his chest as he waited for your reaction. When your eyes widened and you began to chew, he let out a sigh of relief. She liked it!

After finishing off the muffin, you look over at the..... Cake? Your eyes wide with curiosity. You reach out and pick up a piece of the cake, holding it up to inspect it. It's dark and moist looking, and smells divine. You bring the piece to your lips and takes a bite.

The taste is unlike anything you've ever experienced. Rich, sweet, and smooth. It melts in your mouth and leaves you wanting more. You place it on the boat before you hoist yourself up and sit on the edge of the boat, you fin swaying lazily in the water as you picked the cake back up.

Kyle watched in awe as you eagerly devoured the cake, your eyes lighting up with each bite. He couldn't help but smile widely, feeling a sense of satisfaction knowing that he had managed to share something new with you. "That's chocolate cake," he told you, pointing at the remaining piece. He leaned back against the boat, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere and the company of this intriguing creature.

You continue to eat the cake, savouring each bite. You look up at Kyle, studying him. There's something about him that's different from other humans you've encountered. He seems genuine, honest. Any regrets you had saving him were now gone.

He noticed the change in your demeanour. Your earlier suspicion seemed to have faded away, replaced by an almost friendly curiosity. He felt relieved. "I should probably start heading back soon," he mentioned, standing up and picking up the empty food wrappers. "But I'd love to come visit again sometime."

His words were sincere; he genuinely enjoyed spending time with you and wanted to get to know you better. You look at him as he stands up, and you notice his form is tall and lean. He moves with an ease that you admire. As he picks up the wrappers, you gently lower yourself back into the water. "Tomorrow?" You ask softly, your voice echoing the sincerity in your eyes.

Kyle was taken aback by your question. Tomorrow? He hadn't expected you to invite him back so soon. But the thought of seeing you again, sooner rather than later, filled him with excitement.

"I'd like that," he replied, a warm smile spreading across his face. "See you tomorrow then." With a final wave, he started the boat and drove it back to shore, leaving a trail of bubbles behind.

You watch as he drives the boat back to shore, your eyes following the trail of bubbles until they disappear completely. A small smile graces your lips as you dip back under the water, the surface reflecting the moon above.

Back on land, Kyle couldn't stop thinking about his encounter with you. His heart swelled with warmth as he replayed the events of the day in his mind. He found himself looking forward to tomorrow with eager anticipation.

The next evening, he arrived at the same spot as yesterday. He was excited to see you again, and brought more treats with him.

Kyle waited patiently, scanning the water's surface for any sign of you. After what felt like an eternity, there was a splash and you emerged from the depths, your wet hair slicked back and clinging to your skin. You swim towards him, a big smile on your face. When you reach him, you climb onto the boat and sat on the edge, dripping water everywhere. You look at the food he brought. For you.

Kyle's heart fluttered as you emerged from the water, your smile as radiant as ever. "Hey there," he greeted you, handing you the food. "I brought some more treats for you." You accept the food from him, your hand brushing against his. You take the food and begin eating it, savouring every bite just like you did yesterday. You glance up at him occasionally, a soft smile on your face.

He watched as you ate the food he'd brought, noting the soft smile that graced your lips when you looked at him. He felt a strange warmth spread through him, a sensation he'd never really experienced before. "Would you... like to go for a ride on the boat?" He asked, trying to keep his nervousness in check.

You tilt your head, your nose scrunched up in concentration. "How about we race instead?" You suggests, your voice lilting. "See what's faster. Me or the boat."

Kyle laughed, the sound echoing across the water. He loved your playful spirit. "A race it is," he agreed, starting the engine and adjusting the throttle. "But fair warning, I'm pretty competitive." With that, he revved the engine and waited for you to signal the start of the race. "So am I" you giggle as you dive into the water, disappearing beneath the waves before coming back up. "First one to that buoy over there wins." Kyle watched as you dove into the water, your movements graceful and fluid. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he waited for you to resurface.

"On your mark..." he called out, his gaze locked on the buoy. "Get set... GO!"

Without hesitation, he gunned the engine, sending the boat speeding through the water. The wind rushed past him, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the thrill of competition. As Kyle sped off, it caught you off guard, but you quickly caught up to him, your sleek tail easily keeping pace with the boat. You swam alongside Kyle, teasing him with your speed and agility. You laughed and disappeared beneath the waves, using your powerful tail to propel yourself through the water. You knew you had the advantage in this race, but you couldn't resist the opportunity to show off your skills to Kyle.

His heart pounded in his chest as he raced through the water, the wind rushing past him. He could see you right beside him, your speed and agility a testament to your nature. Just as he thought he might catch up to you, you would suddenly disappear, only to reappear further ahead. You were fast, incredibly fast. But Kyle wasn't one to give up easily. With renewed determination, he pushed the boat harder, matching your speed stroke for stroke.

You continue to tease Kyle, showing off your speed and agility. Your laughter echoes through the water as you dart in and out of his path. You enjoy watching him try to keep up with you. You flicked your tail to splash him, hoping to catch him off before you sped off again.

Kyle felt a rush of cold water as you splashed him, your laughter echoing in his ears. He could see the teasing glint in your eye as you darted away, your tail flicking playfully.

'She's enjoying this too much,' he thought, his determination growing stronger. He pressed the throttle even further, the boat responding eagerly. You continue to tease him, your laughter filling the air as you dodge his attempts to catch you. You love the way his face scrunches up in concentration, the determination in his eyes. You flick your tail to splash him again before darting off once more.

He let out a hearty laugh as the cold water splashed him again, his heart pounding in his chest. He could feel the power of the boat beneath him, its response to his command. 'She's got spirit,' he thought again, admiring your tenacity. As you darted away once more, he pursued you, determined to win this race.

You continued to lead him on, your laughter ringing out across the water. You enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the challenge of staying ahead. You flicked your tail to send another wave of water crashing over him before darting off again towards the buoy. You were close. So close. Kyle doesn't have a chance.

You see Kyle closing in on you, his determination clear. You decide to make one last dash for the buoy. You push yourself to your limits, your muscles straining as you use your powerful tail to propel yourself forward. You reach the buoy first, a triumphant grin on your face.

Kyle saw you pull ahead, your speed and agility leaving him in awe. As they neared the buoy, he gave it one last shot, propelling the boat forward with all his strength. He reached the buoy mere seconds after you, you brought your fin up out of the water and nudge him lightly, a playful smirk on your face. "Told you I was faster." You say, your laughter filling the air again.

He smiled, his heart still pounding in his chest. He could feel the salty spray of the ocean on his skin, the exhilaration of the race still fresh in his mind. "You were faster this time," he admitted, meeting your gaze with a playful smirk of his own. "But next time, I'll beat you." His words hung in the air between them, a promise of future races and the camaraderie that came with them.

You giggle, your eyes shining with mirth and satisfaction. You lean against the side of the boat, catching your breath from the race. "Oh will you now?" You say, your voice light and teasing.

Kyle nodded, his smile widening. His competitive spirit was already stirring, ready for the next challenge. "Oh yes," he said confidently, "I always keep my promises." His gaze lingered on you, appreciating your strength and resilience. You were a force to be reckoned with, and he couldn't wait to see what other adventures they'd share together.

You wink at Kyle, your eyes twinkling with mischief. You're not sure if you believe his claim, but you're looking forward to seeing if he can prove it. You stretch lazily, your muscles still tingling from the race. "I'm always up for a good challenge," he said, his gaze never leaving yours. "And if it means spending more time with you, then I wouldn't miss it for the world." His words were sincere, a testament to the bond they shared. Despite their differences, they understood each other, respected each other. And for that, Kyle was grateful.

You meet his gaze, your own eyes reflecting the same sense of camaraderie and trust. You understand his competitive spirit, his desire to test his limits. You respect him for it. "Good," you say simply, "because I like a good challenge too."

"Then it's a deal," he said, extending his hand for a shake. "To future races and adventures." As their hands met, the bond between them strengthened. They were partners in this journey, allies in a world where survival was often a game of wit and skill.

You take Kyle's hand, feeling the firmness of his grip. You squeeze gently, your eyes locked onto his. This is more than just a race or an adventure; it's a partnership, a bond forged in the depths of the ocean. "It's a deal," *you say, your voice steady and resolute. As you gaze at his hand clasped in yours, a sudden surge of alarm courses through you. A crimson stain blooms on his skin, seeping through the cracks in his weathered hand.

"Kyle, you're bleeding!" You exclaim, your voice a mixture of concern and urgency. The words dance across the surface of the water, creating tiny ripples that break the otherwise still surface.

He looked down to see a cut on his palm, blood trickling down his fingers. "Damn," he muttered, wincing slightly. "Must have caught it on something when we were racing." He glanced at you, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Guess I'm not as invincible as I thought."

"Obviously," *you couldn't help but chuckle. You held your hand out. "Give me your hand." Your voice was firm, leaving no room for arguments. When Kyle didn't give you his hand, insisting that he was fine, you gently grabbed his wrist and brought his hand up to your lips but paused. You were about to do something that might seem a little...unconventional, to put it mildly.

"This is going to seem weird...and disgusting," you warned him, your voice softer now, almost apologetic. He looked at you, confusion etched on his face. You licked your lips, the saltiness of the ocean water leaving a metallic taste on your tongue. Then, you did it. You licked the palm of his hand, your tongue tracing the gash, the blood mingling with the salt.

Kyle watched, mesmerized, as you licked the wound on his hand. He felt a strange mix of discomfort and fascination, the sight both gross and oddly alluring. "What...the hell..." he muttered, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. He'd seen stranger things in his life, after all. Still, the sensation of your tongue against his skin sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't unpleasant, but it definitely wasn't normal either.

He watched, transfixed, as you lapped at the cut on his hand. He could feel the coolness of the sea water mixed with the heat of your breath, the wetness of your tongue against his skin. It was an odd sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. "Damn," he breathed out, his voice low and rough. "That's...that's some crazy shit right there." But even as he spoke, he found himself leaning into the sensation, his body responding despite his mind trying to process the strangeness of it all.

You pull away from his hand, watching as the cut closes before your very eyes. The edges of the wound fuse together, sealing shut without so much as a scar. Your saliva does its job, healing the small injury instantly. "There," you softly say, feeling satisfied. "All better." You look up at Kyle, meeting his gaze. Your eyes glint with a knowing smile, a silent acknowledgment of the bizarre yet effective method of first aid you just employed.

Kyle stared at his healed hand, disbelief washing over him. He'd expected a few stitches, maybe a band-aid at most, but not this. Not a lick of his hand by a mermaid. "That's...fuckin' amazing," he said, shaking his head in awe. "I mean, I've seen some shit in my time, but this takes the cake." He lifted his hand to inspect it again, running his thumb over the smooth skin where moments ago had been a gaping cut. His mind raced, trying to comprehend how something so simple could have such profound results. "And here I thought you were just a pretty face," he added, flashing you a teasing grin.

A laugh bubbles up from deep within you, echoing around the two of you in the vast ocean. It's a sound that's as unexpected as it is infectious, causing Kyle to join in, his hearty laughter mixing with yours.

"Pretty face?" You echo, rolling your eyes playfully. "Oh, please. Don't flatter yourself." 

You poke him lightly in the chest, your fingertips pressing against his skin. The contact sends a spark of electricity coursing through you, reminding you of the connection between you and Kyle. "But I suppose there's more to you than meets the eye too," you add, giving him a sly smirk as you splashed some water on him with you tail.

He chuckled, enjoying the banter between the two of them. He leaned back in the boat, his arms folded behind his head as he watched the waves crash against the hull. The salty air filled his lungs, a stark contrast to the thick smoke and grime of his usual environment.

"You know what they say about judging books by their covers," he quipped, shooting you a playful wink. His attention shifted momentarily to the horizon, his mind wandering to the events of the day. From the adrenaline-fueled race to the peculiar healing technique, today had been anything but ordinary.

You lean against the boat, your head resting on the side as you watch the sun dip below the horizon. The sky puts on a show, painting the heavens in hues of pink, orange, and purple. "It's beautiful," you murmur, your voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull of the boat. You turn to Kyle, a soft smile playing on your lips. "Wanna see another cool trick?"

Kyle turned to face you, his curiosity piqued. He'd seen plenty of sunsets in his lifetime, but none quite like this one. The colours seemed brighter, more vibrant, as if the world itself was putting on a show just for them. "Another trick, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm intrigued. What ya got?"

He leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked at you. There was a certain allure to you, a mystery that drew him in. You were unlike anyone he'd ever met, and he found himself wanting to know more about you.

You pat the side of the boat invitingly, a teasing smirk on your lips as your tail swishes behind you. "You've got to come in the water," you say, your voice a melody carried by the salty breeze. "Unless you're scared," you add, sending a playful splash of water towards him.

Kyle laughed, the sound rich and genuine. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much fun, or been around someone who could make him forget about everything else for a moment. "Nah, I ain't scared," he said, pushing himself off the boat and stepping closer to the edge. "Just don't want to get my good clothes wet," he joked, looking down at his jeans and t-shirt.

You giggle at his comment, the sound light and carefree. Your eyes sparkle with mischief as you hover near the edge, waiting for Kyle to take the plunge. "Well then, tough luck," you tease, flicking a droplet of water at him. "Just take your clothes off."

Kyle rolled his eyes, a chuckle escaping his lips. He stripped off his clothing, leaving him in nothing but his boxer shorts. The cool air sent a shiver down his spine, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the anticipation building within him. "Alright, alright," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm coming in. Just don't laugh when I start swimming like a brick, okay?" With that, he took a deep breath and plunged into the water, disappearing beneath the surface.

As he resurfaced, he blinked rapidly, adjusting his eyes to the dimmer light. He shook his head, sending droplets of water flying in all directions. "Fuck, that's cold!" he exclaimed, his teeth chattering slightly.

You burst out laughing at Kyle's exclamation, the sound echoing around the both of you. You swim closer to him, your tail flicking playfully. "Cold? For you, maybe," you tease, your voice muffled by the water. "But I'm used to it." You swim up to him, so close your noses are nearly touching. "Close your eyes," you murmur, your voice softer now.

Gaz hesitates for a moment, then obeys, shutting his eyes tight. You gently cup his cheeks, your cool hands a contrast to the warmth of his skin. He smells of salt and seaweed, a familiar scent of the ocean. You lean in and kiss him, your lips meeting with a soft, damp touch. You feel the surprise, then the wonder, as his breath catches in his throat. You don't linger, but with a swift movement, you submerge you both under the water.

Kyle felt a rush of something unfamiliar as your lips pressed against his. His eyes were squeezed shut, his senses heightened by the unusual situation. He felt the chill of the water envelop him completely as you pulled him under, the sensation of being submerged sending a jolt of fear through him.

But as quickly as it came, the fear faded, replaced by a sense of calm. He could breathe! It was strange, almost magical, feeling the oxygen fill his lungs without having to break the surface. He opened his eyes, blinking away the stinging saltwater, and saw you before him, your body glowing in the dim light.

You were beautiful, even under the water. Your hair fanned out around you, swirling like tendrils of silk. Your eyes glowed with mischief and joy, reflecting the light from above.

You pull back slowly, watching Kyle's reaction closely. A grin spreads across your face, seeing the awe in his eyes. You reach out, taking his hand in yours, leading him deeper into the water.

Kyle allowed himself to be led, his grip on your hand firm yet gentle. He moved through the water with a grace he hadn't known he possessed, the weightlessness allowing him to move with ease.

He glanced around, taking in the beauty of the underwater world. Fish darted past, their scales shimmering in the light filtering down from above. Corals waved gently, their colours vibrant and alive. The world around them became a blur of colour and movement, but only your presence remained constant. He felt a strange warmth spreading through him, not from the water, but from within. The sensation was overwhelming, intoxicating. It made him forget about the war, about the bloodshed, about the pain. All he cared about was the moment, this singular moment shared with you.

You lead Kyle further into the depths, the world around you growing darker and more mysterious. The pressure increases, adding an element of danger to your adventure. But you're undeterred, pulling him along with a determined look in your eyes.

Eventually, you stop, turning to face him. You place your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. Your own heartbeat quickens, matching his rhythm. You lean in, pressing your forehead against his. In this moment, there's no need for words. Everything is understood between you, communicated through touch and glance. It's a silent promise, a vow sealed under the sea.

Kyle let you guide him, entrusting himself fully to you. As the pressure increased, he felt a thrill run through him, a mix of excitement and apprehension. But he wasn't afraid. Not with you. When they stopped, he looked into your eyes, seeing a depth there he hadn't noticed before. A kind of longing, perhaps? Or was it hope?

His heart pounded in his chest as you placed your hands on him, feeling the wild rhythm of his heart match yours. When you leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, he closed his eyes, savouring the moment. He held you tightly, not wanting to let go.

Your bodies are pressed close together, the slight friction creating a spark of electricity between you. Without warning, you pull back, grabbing his hand once again. You begin to swim upwards, towards the light. Your movements are graceful, powerful, guiding Kyle effortlessly towards the surface.

As they neared the surface, Kyle began to feel the urge to breathe. His lungs burned, craving air. But he waited, holding his breath, trusting you to bring them safely back to the world above. And then, suddenly, they broke through the surface. He gasped, sucking in a lungful of sweet, fresh air. He looked at you, gratitude and admiration shining in his eyes.

You emerge from the water, your body slick with wetness. You turn to Kyle, a triumphant smile on your face. "Pretty cool right?" He nodded, still trying to catch his breath. He looked at you, your body glistening in the moonlight, and he had to admit, it was pretty damn cool. "Unreal," he finally managed to say. He reached out, running his fingers through your wet hair. "I've never... I didn't know..." He shook his head, unable to find the right words.

Kyle moved closer, closing the gap between them. He reached out, tracing a finger down your arm, feeling the smooth skin beneath his touch. He leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. He could taste the saltiness of the ocean on your lips, mixed with your unique flavour. It was intoxicating, making him want more. Before he could second guess himself, he kissed you. His lips pressed against yours, soft and seeking. The kiss was hungry, desperate, a reflection of the emotions swirling inside him.

Feeling Kyle's lips on yours sends a jolt through your system, lighting up every nerve ending. You respond eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. Your tongue slips past his lips, exploring the warm cavern of his mouth. You can taste the salt on his skin, mingling with the sweetness of his breath. It's a heady combination, one that makes you dizzy with desire. Breaking the kiss, you pull back slightly, looking into Kyle's eyes. There's a hunger there, a need that mirrors your own. And it's a need that you're more than willing to satisfy.

You lean in again, kissing him deeply, losing yourself in the moment.

[yncoreee]

LATE NIGHT CONFESSIONS. Eunchae x reader

Synopsis— it’s late at night and you can’t fall asleep, and a certain someone seems to be facing the same problem as well

Warnings .ᐟ kissing, idol au, requested, female reader, FLUFF

꩜ — ⵌWord count 688

You lay in your bunk, staring at the ceiling as the silence of the dorm filled the room. It was late, and everyone else was fast asleep, but you couldn't seem to drift off. You tossed and turned, your mind racing with thoughts of the upcoming music show performances and the endless practice schedule.

Just as you were starting to feel like you were the only one awake, you heard a faint rustling sound coming from across the room. You turned to see Eunchae sitting up in her bunk, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Hey," she whispered, catching your gaze. "Can't sleep?"

You shook your head, and Eunchae swung her legs over the side of the bunk, padding softly over to sit beside you.

"I'm so sorry," she said, yawning. "I feel like I've been practicing that one dance move for hours, and I still can't get it right."

You smiled sympathetically, feeling a pang of camaraderie with your fellow group member. "I know what you mean," you said. "I've been struggling with that high note in the chorus."

Eunchae nodded vigorously, and you both launched into a discussion of the song, dissecting every detail from the choreography to the vocal arrangements.

As the night wore on, your conversation turned from music to life in general. You talked about your families, your hobbies, and your dreams. Eunchae was easy to talk to, and you found yourself opening up to her in ways you never had before.

You discovered that you both shared a love for old movies, and Eunchae recommended some of her favorite classics. You talked about your favorite books, and Eunchae lent you her copy of a novel you'd been wanting to read.

As the hours passed, the room grew quieter, the only sound the soft hum of the air conditioner. But you didn't notice, lost in the easy flow of conversation.

At one point, Eunchae turned to you with a curious expression. "Hey, can I ask you something?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course," you replied, feeling a flutter in your chest.

Eunchae took a deep breath before speaking. "I was just wondering... do you ever feel like there's something missing? Like, we're living this amazing life as idols, but sometimes it feels empty?"

You nodded slowly, surprised by Eunchae's perceptiveness. "Yeah, I know what you mean," you said. "Sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions."

Eunchae's eyes locked onto yours, and you felt a spark of connection. "I feel like that too," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "But when I'm around you... I don't feel that way."

Your heart skipped a beat as Eunchae's words hung in the air. You felt like you were melting into her gaze, like the whole world had come to a standstill.

You looked at Eunchae, really looked at her, and saw the sincerity in her eyes. You saw the way her hair fell in soft waves down her back, the way her smile lit up the room.

And in that moment, you realized that you felt the same way.

"Eunchae," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She turned to you, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Yeah?"

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "I think I might be falling for you."

Eunchae's face lit up with a radiant smile, and she leaned in close. "I think I might be falling for you too," she whispered, her lips brushing against yours.

The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the magic of the moment. You felt like you were floating on air, like nothing else mattered except for the two of you.

As you pulled back from the kiss, Eunchae's eyes sparkled with happiness. "I'm so glad I confessed," she said, her voice filled with emotion.

You smiled, feeling your heart overflow with love. "Me too," you said, taking Eunchae's hand in yours.

And as you sat there, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, you knew that this was just the beginning of something special.

[strangersteddierthings]

Shovel Talk(s) Part 2

Part One 🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four

Nobody in the history of the world has ever referred to Eddie as jubilant but that was certainly the best word for him currently. Eddie has survived the apocalypse (even if barely), been proven innocent for the murders (the Upside Down exploding into Hawkins helped), and he has a boyfriend. It makes Eddie feel like he's floating.

Steve drops him off, walks him up to the porch, and gives him the sweetest kiss goodbye. Eddie doesn't go inside right away because he wants to watch Steve as he leaves and maybe blow him an exaggerated kiss as he drives away.

"Glad that boy finally did something about how pathetic you were being," Wayne says in lieu of a greeting when Eddie finally slips in the front door and into the living room, plopping himself on the other end of the sofa, dragging one of the throw pillows that came with the couch into his lap to clutch onto. Ground him, because he's still floating.

"I was not being pathetic!" Eddie is scandalized.

Wayne lets out a wistful sigh and says, in a poor imitation of Eddie's voice, "when will Steve end my suffering and notice me."

Eddie lunges across the couch with the pillow in hand, whacking Wayne with every word he speaks, while also trying to dodge Wayne trying to grab the pillow from him, "I do not sound like that!"

Wayne tricks him into thinking the pillow is his only goal and before he realizes what's happening, Wayne has him in a headlock, dragging both of them off the couch as he stands, giving Eddie the gentlest noogie of his life. "I think I know how you sound, hearin' you bellyache for the last 13 years. I've had to hear your relentless sighing and bemoaning about Steve for at least six of 'em."

Eddie beats him with the pillow more until Wayne releases the headlock and then they wrestle until his uncle fakes hurt, so Eddie backs down quickly, and Wayne steals the pillow and beats him back onto the couch until Eddie yields.

"That was dirty fighting, old man," Eddie says when he finally stops laughing enough to catch his breath.

"What was it you used to tell me, when I said you were fightin' dirty?" Wayne asks, "Scrappy."

"Oh, is that what you think you are?" Eddie swings at Wayne's knee half-heartedly. Wayne flings himself across the room and into the recliner there like Eddie shoved him. "Oh, you big baby."

"You're awfully callus about bullying your old man," Wayne chuckles and settles into the recliner, popping the leg rest out. "Now, tell me about your boy. He was a gentleman to you?"

Eddie pouts, "Unfortunately, yes. One chaste kiss and then he was off."

"Smart boy."

Eddie narrows his eyes. "What's the supposed to mean?"

"Means I scare him."

"What."

"That a question or a statement, son?" Wayne looks awfully smug over in his chair.

"What do you mean you scare him?"

"Just gave him the good ole father shovel talk. Y'know? Hurt my boy and I'll make you disappear," Wayne says.

"You terrible old man!" Eddie throws his pillow at him but Wayne bats it out of the air. "I'm going to die a virgin and it'll be your fault!"

Wayne just shrugs. "Fine by me."

"You are the worst."

-

Eddie can't make his leg stop jiggling. He feels sorry for Nancy, who is sharing the bench seat with him because he's sure that it's shaking the whole bench. He's filled with energy and doesn't know what to do with it.

Robin sits across from them, finishing up the last of her milkshake as they wait for the to go order they're going to drop off for Steve, who is stuck at Family Video for another five hours. He was supposed to be here, too, but Keith called him asking him to cover and he'd said yes. Eddie wishes he hadn't. This was Lunch Date Day.

"Are you still upset Steve took an extra shift?" Nancy asks. "Even though you know he's just going to spend the extra money on you?"

Eddie's pouting, voice whiny as he says, "I'd rather he be heeeerrrrrrrre."

"It's disgusting how in love you are," Robin says, shoving the now completely empty milkshake glass away.

Eddie's leg stops shaking because he full on freezes. "Uh."

"Are you afraid of saying the L-word? You are not subtle in showing it," Nancy says, ever the traitor, "but luckily Steve's just as smitten."

"You don't know that," Eddie says, arguing for the sake of arguing. He doesn't believe he likes Steve more than Steve likes him. He's pretty sure they're on an even playing field.

"Yeah, I do. I threatened to shoot him if he hurt you and he didn't even flinch. He'd have taken the bullet for you."

"You did what!?" Robin yelps. She's looking at Nancy like she's grown a second head.

"I didn't even bring a gun with me! Besides, Steve knows I didn't mean it," Nancy says with a wave of her hand, "it was just an obligation thing. You have to threaten your best friend's significant other. The whole conversation was like, 30 seconds tops."

"I'm your best friend!?" Eddie gasps, faking surprise. They have become good friends. She'd taken it upon herself to make sure he did get to graduate with Robin and herself, and they did form a sort of friendship from that. Also, from being the collective third wheel to Steve&Robin, which is enough to make people come together. Neither of them truly thinks of the other as their best friend, but it's fun to joke about their own Capitol with a P Platonic Friendship around Steve and Robin, as they become rather bitchy and defensive about their own friendship.

It's hilarious every time.

"Well, it's you or Argyle, and I don't think Jonathan wants to share his best friend, so...."

"Cold, Wheeler. Cold."

Nancy rolls her eyes and looks over to Robin. "Are you telling me you haven't given Eddie the shovel talk?"

Robin frowns as she thinks before her eyes widen in shock and she gasps, "I think I accidentally gave Steve a shovel talk instead."

Eddie bursts out laughing, "Robin, how the fuck did you end up accidentally giving a shovel talk to your own best friend?"

"I just told him to, like, be careful with you."

"Careful with me?" Eddie asks, a little incredulously. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Robin is going on the defensive, now. Eddie can see that in the way she squares her shoulders before saying, "it was said after your first date! Steve's had a lot of those, and you hadn't. I just- I dunno, wanted him to see the importance of that."

"So, what, you told him you'd shoot him if he hurt me, like Wheeler here?"

"No! I never said I'd hurt him for hurting you. I just said that he should be careful with you because, as your first boyfriend, if, and I did mean if, you don't work out, it's like... he's setting the precedent for how boyfriends should treat you. What you'll put with with, y'know?"

"That's sweet-" Nancy starts but Eddie's speaking over her just a quickly.

"Robin, that's stupid. I'm a fucking adult. If I'm not being treated how I want to be treated, I'll tell Steve," Eddie huffs. "You can trust that I say what I mean."

"Can I?" Robin shoots back. "Just like when you promised to get the fuck outta dodge and instead went on a suicide mission that ended very, very badly for you?"

"That was different, Buckley," Eddie hisses at her, sitting up straight to lean more across the table, trying to get in her face, "there was a lot of shit happening, and no way out that I saw. It's called trauma!"

It seems that a defensive Robin goes straight for the jugular because she hisses back, "No, actually, I think it's called survivors guilt and suicidal ideation. You know what, I should be giving you a shovel talk! 'Cause I don't fully trust you to not hurt Steve, either by lying or running once things get rough. You don't-"

"OKAY!" Nancy shouts, startling both of them into silence with one word. "We are in an, admittedly very empty, diner but still a very public diner, so let's not. Robin, you're not Steve's mom, it's not on you to look out for who is going to hurt him or-"

"You do not get to speak to me about hurting him," Robin points an accusing finger at Nancy. For all the anger she seemed to have for Eddie just now, he can see that it's almost doubled for Nancy. "I wasn't Steve's friend when you hurt him, but don't think I don't know every detail."

He knows this story, too. Had gotten it out of Steve one night, weeks ago now, when they'd been passing a joint back and forth on Eddie's bed. Before Eddie can pipe up, not that he knows what he'd say anyway, the waitress returns with the to go box and the check.

"It's my turn to pay," Nancy says, snatching the check before it touches the table, following hot on the waitress's heels to the register.

"Ugh," Robin flings herself against the back of the bench, both hands coming up to hide her face. From beneath her hiding place, she says, "I'm sorry, Eddie. What I said was unfair, and uncalled for."

"We're cool, Robin," Eddie says, "I forget how much of a buffer for our anxieties Steve is until we all hang out without him. He's able to defuse an argument before it happens."

"Oh, don't word it like that," Robin drops her hands and slides out of the booth, scooping up the to go box in the process," it makes Steve sound like the emotionally mature one."

They all climb into Nancy's car and apologies are said but Eddie feels like the next time Steve can't make it, they'll all bail on the weekly lunch. They're just a bunch of traumatized young adults and Steve is the heart of them, the person that bonds them outside the shit they went through. And maybe they should figure out a better way to deal with this than just pretending it didn't happen but- well, the world just kept moving on and they had to either move with it or get left behind.

-

It's two weeks after Eddie and Steve accidentally told the Hellfire crew they were a couple, which is why Eddie is not expecting it when Erica and Lucas corner him. He was expecting to be cornered by someone last week.

They'd been taking longer to pack up than usual, and that should have tipped Eddie off that something was up.

"Munson," Erica says in her no-nonsense voice, hands on her hips, face unamused. For sharing no biology with Steve, Eddie finds the resemblance uncanny. "I need you to understand that you might be my Dungeon Master, but Scoops Troop will always trump that, so if you fuck this up with Steve, you will have to answer to me."

Eddie gives a soft grin in response, amused, "no worries, Lady Applejack. I have no plans to fuck this up."

Erica's eyes flick to Lucas, then back to Eddie. "I mean it, Munson. I have it on good authority that sometimes you hurt people and then you don't try to right it. You just move on-"

"Erica, stop it," Lucas says, voice a little panicked.

But Erica continues, because nothing ever seems to phase her, "and Steve and Lucas are alike in that way. So just know that if you hurt Steve like you hurt Lucas-"

"Erica!"

"I will end you. I will ruin your life, Munson-"

"Erica, STOP!" Lucas finally steps forward, yanking on Erica's arm to get her to stop talking. It makes her stumble a bit before rounding on Lucas. "Stop it."

"No!" Erica glares at her brother as she removes his hand from her arm. "Go outside if you don't want to hear it."

They stare each other down and Eddie's not sure what he should be doing. Should he step in? He grew up an only child, is this normal sibling behavior? But he doesn't have to step in because Lucas huffs and storms out of the house, front door clicking softly behind him even though Eddie expected him to slam the door.

"Now, you," Erica whirls around to Eddie, "do you understand what I'm saying?"

Eddie does not. He's fairly certain he's getting a shovel talk from a twelve-year-old and while amusing, he senses there's more to it than just his relationship with Steve. "You're threatening me on Steve's behalf?"

Erica scoffs and rolls her eyes like she thinks Eddie's an idiot. He's starting to think he might be. "Yes, I am but also more. Your relationship has been the hot topic these days, and my brother brought up a good point but he's too nice to say it, so I will. When school starts, if Steve wants to take you to a basketball game, even though they fall on Hellfire night, you postpone the damn game and you go. No matter how much you hate basketball or jocks or- or... other things." She loses steam at the end, eyes flicking to the door.

"What?" Eddie is even more confused, "I don't hate basketball. And if Steve asks, I'm not going to say no, okay? I care about Steve. A lot."

Erica frowns, which contradicts the words that leave her mouth. "Good. That's good. I'd hate to ruin you, Munson."

"Is there... more to it?"

It takes Erica maybe three seconds to decide what she's going to say. Just long enough for her to look at the door, then back to Eddie. "You owe my brother an apology."

"Uh, sure, I'll apologize but for what?"

"Remember the basketball championship and the last session of the Vecna campaign that you wouldn't postpone so Lucas could play? You never apologized," Erica crosses her arms, another move reminiscent of Steve, before continuing, "You didn't apologize, and Lucas thought that it was because he's a jock, and you hate jocks. But now you're dating Steve and he's a jock. So, if you don't hate jocks, Lucas thinks you just hate him."

"What, no, I don't hate Lucas!"

"Then tell him that!" Erica glares at him, "and let this be a little lesson for you. Going forward if you hurt either of my brothers, intentionally or not, you can kiss the tires on your van goodbye."

Eddie tucks his metaphorical tail between his legs and goes outside to apologize, because Lucas deserves to hear it.

Then, once the Sinclairs are gone and Eddie's back in his room, he runs through every conversation he can remember having with Steve. Has he dismissed things Steve liked too easily, too often? Has he said anything offhandedly that could be taken the wrong way without explanation?

Eddie's was an only child and didn't have to grow up worrying about anyone but himself. He made himself an outcast and shunned the 'norm' by choice. Doing so didn't exactly let him learn the social graces of patience and understanding.

It's eye opening, to learn that a decision he made months ago without a second thought has been hurting Lucas this whole time.

Has he ever done that to Steve, and not known it?

-

Steve's been distant these past few days and no matter how many times Eddie asks, Steve's answer doesn't change. I'm fine he says. I'm fine. Just fine. It's fine.

Except nothing feels fine. And Eddie doesn't understand the sharp change. They've got a date planned for tonight. Neither of them has specifically said it out loud, because it's sappy and stupid, but it marks three full months as official boyfriends. So, they've got a date planned, but Eddie's worried how it might end.

Eddie's been floating these last three months, but he suddenly feels grounded. He can't fix whatever happened if Steve won't tell him what it was! And in the absence of actual answers, Eddie's mind has invented his own.

Steve's realized that Eddie's not good enough for him. Steve's realized that he's actually straight, but thanks for the experimentation. Steve's found someone else and is working on how to break up with Eddie without blowing up their friend group in the process.

And Eddie hates himself for thinking these things. For projecting his own insecurities onto a version of Steve that doesn't exist. Eddie's gotten to know Steve.

Or he thought he had.

But now he's pulling away. And the only person he knows he can talk to about dating Steve is Nancy and he can't do that! He can't just go to Nancy's house and ask 'so when you were dating Steve and it was all going down the drain, was he distant or is that just a me thing?'

Fuck. Fuck!

He runs his hands through his hair and regrets it as his curls tangle around the rings on his hands. He should brush his hair, be getting ready, but he's procrastinating that because he can't decide if he's going all out, making himself look his best to see if it'll bring some life back into Steve's eyes when he looks at him, or if he shouldn't try at all and see if Steve even notices he's wearing the same thing he wore yesterday.

And it's bullshit that he's even thinking about testing Steve. Not two months ago he and Robin had argued in that diner about whether he's talk to Steve about these kind of things or not and now he was kind of proving her right. Except not, because he did try to talk! Steve just didn't answer when he questioned, and you can't really build a conversation from nothing.

Fuck! He should have known this would happen. That he would fall in love and Steve wouldn't love him back because that's always been his lot in life.

Oh.

Oh no.

He's been avoiding thinking it because once it's been thought, once it's solidified in his mind, it's true. And now he's thought it!

He's in love with Steve Harrington.

And isn't it just fuckin' peachy that this realization doesn't accompany happy feelings. He's in love and can't even be happy about it because he's so fucking sure his relationship is ending tonight.