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anmwrites · 4 months ago

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Beneath the Surface

Azriel x Reader

Hi All! So this isn't one of the Az requests unfortunately, but this is one of my private fics I already had written. I'm still working on the Az request that's in the queue, but I'm lowkey hating everything I've been writing so it'll probably take me a little longer to perfect it.

In the meantime, I wanted to get something put up for you all. Sticking to the fandom that was requested I decided to post this Az fic! Probably very stereotypical trope, but this was what I got. This one is a little heavier than my Xaden fic, so please read with caution. I hope you all enjoy!

Content Warning: Mentions of Suicide, self-sabotage, depression, & guilt

Again, I apologize if I missed any other warnings. Please read with caution.

Talk soon, and please enjoy!

“I’m getting her back,” a low growl cut through the tent. Y/N’s head whipped to the Shadowsinger. “I’m going with you,” her High Lady’s voice intervened. “Then you will both die,” her sister’s cold voice replied.

Y/N’s head was reeling. In just hours after scrying for the Cauldron, the Inner Circle and then some were gathered around in the middle Archeron’s tent. She was stolen away. Lured by the promise of her human past. And…and Azriel was the first to throw himself into harm's way.

Y/N was barely there as she watched Feyre shift into the dead priestess. Barely there as everyone began moving, readying themselves for their departure. Azriel hadn’t glanced once at her. His best friend.

A silent brush of claws filled the Illyrian’s head. Y/N dropped her shields momentarily allowing Rhys’ voice to float into her mind. You are awfully quiet. Y/N snorted. He can do whatever he sees fit. A bemused feeling washed over her as Rhys carefully crafted his next words. I heard what happened. Quite a nasty little argument you had with him earlier. Y/N’s eyes shot to Rhys who was conveniently studying the daggers Cassian was equipping Feyre with. He started it. Trying to sideline me. I may not have wings but I know how to fight.

Rhys finally met her gaze, You need to tell him.

Tell him what exactly, brother? Y/N quirked her brow.

You know. The fact that you are in love with him.

Feyre’s eyes darted back and forth between her mate and Y/N clearly noting they were having some form of silent conversation. He made his choice Rhys. Just as it’s always been for the past five centuries. There’s no point in telling him now.

Truth be told, Y/N had known this story. Had lived through it with Mor. And now she had to live through it again with Elain. Her best friend, for centuries, after Rhys’ mother had taken her in regardless of her lack of wings, was hopelessly in love with another female…as usual. It was nothing new to Y/N. He only saw her as a friend. A sister perhaps.

Y/N wasn’t really sure when her own feelings had shifted. Her and Azriel were always more than just siblings like she was with Rhys and Cassian. Everyone around knew there was something special between them. So much so that Y/N had even felt a spark of hope until Azriel met Mor, and then the whole incident with Cassian, Eris, and Mor’s father occurred. She slowly realized he would never see her as more than a friend, and Y/N began to be okay with that. And then she watched him do it again when Feyre’s sister entered the picture. It stung, but she was used to it.

There is the point that we all may die or he may die. Rhys’ voice cut into her thoughts. Rhys. Stop. I can’t think about all of this right now or I will break. He’ll be fine. Rhys merely gave her a sympathetic feeling before she felt his presence exit her mind. He was right though. Azriel could very well die. She needed air. Or she would lose it. The initial shock of his announcement wearing off, nervousness settling in.

Y/N quietly retreated outside of the stifling tent. The cool night air brushed over her clammy face as she took a deep breath. Something tickled at her ankles. She glanced down to see a single tendril of a shadow wrapped around it. She gave it a small smile. “I’m alright,” she whispered to it. “Go tell him I’m fine.”

The little wisp of darkness hesitated before retreating back into the tent. Y/N grimaced, that old, familiar feeling of heartache seeping into her chest. She didn’t want him to go. Nesta and Rhys were right. They most likely would die. Everyone saw what the camp looked like. Elain could be anywhere. And selfishly, she did not want her High Lady and Shadowsinger to go in there. Especially her Shadowsinger.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and Y/N took a shaky breath. A quiet rustle behind her signaled someone had stepped out of the tent. She felt him before she saw him as she always did. Slowly, Y/N turned around and saw Azriel standing behind her. His face softened as he took her in. “Y/N I…” he started, approaching her. “I–I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” Y/N sighed before meeting him halfway. Her heart crumpled. He was still her best friend, and she still cared. “It’s okay, Az. I understand,” she said quietly, gazing up into his warm eyes. Eyes she was so, so familiar with. His warmth engulfed her, as they were standing maybe just a hair closer than any normal friends would stand.

“No. It’s not. I just–you’re not incompetent. I know what you can do on a battlefield. It’s just–I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he signed, taking his hand in hers. Y/N watched as his gaze fell on their intertwined hands. He fiddled with her fingers as a nervous habit.

“I know. I don’t want to see you get hurt either,” Y/N whispered, her unspoken selfish words hanging in the air. Azriel’s eyes flicked back to hers studying for a moment. Were they closer? Y/N thought to herself. “Say it,” he replied. “Say the words and I won’t do it. I won’t go.”

Y/N’s heart picked up. She knew if she told him not to go after Elain he wouldn’t. He would drop it immediately. But Feyre’s face flashed in her head. Nesta’s moans of pain ripped through her. They were a part of their family now. Y/N shook her head, more tears slipping down her face. “I can’t do that,” she let out a shaky laugh, casting her head down. His other hand felt warm as he caressed her face, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

“You’re the only one who has a chance to get in and out without being noticed. You have to get both of them out. They’re family now,” Y/N whispered. Azriel didn’t say anything, but when she met his intense gaze, those three little words felt heavy on her tongue. Looking into his eyes, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him so bad it was like her skin was on fire. Y/N couldn’t breathe. He could very well be walking right into his death.

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t drop the biggest bomb on their friendship when he needed his sole focus elsewhere. So, she stayed silent. She stayed silent even as he nodded and said, “I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll come back to you.” She stayed silent when he pulled her into his warm body and hugged her a little tighter. Y/N stayed quiet even when he led her back into the tent and she watched him disappear with their High Lady in the blink of an eye.

•••

Rhys let out a shaky breath after the departure of his mate and brother. As everyone dispersed, he noticed Y/N was still frozen in place, staring at the spot where the pair had just disappeared. He could see her visibly shaking. Cassian passed her and gave her a sympathetic look and pat on the shoulder before he exited. Rhys slowly approached her.

“I couldn’t do it,” Y/N said without turning to him. Rhys could hear the tears in her voice. The uneven breaths she took. “He told me to tell him to stay and he would’ve in a heartbeat. I couldn’t do that to Feyre. To you. To our family,” she continued. Rhys opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say. His heart was so full of emotions. Terror, absolute terror for his mate and his brother. Love–love for his unselfish sister. The baby he saw that day his mother brought her home. All in a frantic rush to warm up this little, tiny fragile thing she found in the snow, abandoned by her blood relatives because fate was cruel and did not give her wings.

Y/N let out another shaky sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re also trying to keep it together. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”

This. This was why he felt he had to take it all on himself. Rhys’ heart was breaking for her. For his most kind and caring, living sister. This beautiful soul who has slowly fallen in love with Azriel for all of the centuries spent together. He didn’t understand why the Mother didn’t make them mates…his train of thought paused. It was as if he was hit with a brick. Sifting through all his memories and countless conversations with her, it finally clicked into place.

“How long have you known?” Rhys asked quietly. Y/N slowly turned to face him. Pain and anguish, only that of which someone with a mate would know. The same pain and anguish he felt watching Feyre disappear. Y/N let out a bitter laugh, “Since Starfall five years ago. When you were…away.” Rhys was slightly shocked. He noticed the smallest shift in their relationship when he had returned. But after all it, he expected everything to be different.

“Why didn’t you tell him? Me? Does Cassian know?” Rhys asked. Y/N shook her head, “I didn’t tell him because we were all dealing with the loss. I didn’t let myself find peace while you were gone. I couldn’t. I knew there were horrors you were enduring. Horrors I couldn’t even fathom, and I just couldn’t let myself be happy. And Az, well Az went to a dark place when you were gone. The only thing he clung to was his love for Mor, and I couldn’t disrupt his entire life. I wouldn’t. We didn’t speak for a few months after you were taken. We were all a mess,” tears flowed freely down her face as she spoke to him.

Rhys could barely contain his.

“So I buried it. I buried it so deep inside of myself no one would pick up on it. Or at least notice it without having to scrutinize me. I wanted to tell you. I really did, but I saw how you were when you returned Rhys. I couldn’t do that to you. You were trying so hard to pretend like you were okay and then your mate was with another. I just couldn’t do that to you, so I didn’t. I continued to bury it, but it just…just all got away from me.”

Y/N let out a choked sob that had Rhys moving. His arms wrapped around her engulfing her in a hug. “Oh you sweet, sweet thing,” he whispered, “My sweet sister,” he started, pulling back a bit to look at her. “You never need to hide anything from me. No matter what I am going through, you can always come to me. I am so, so happy for you. Although, I do need to kick Az around Velaris a bit since he cannot see what has always been right in front of him.” Y/N let out a garbled laugh before burying her head back in his chest.

“We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Whatever is going on in Az’s head. We’ll figure it out together. When all of this is over. We’ll both get our happy ending. I promise you that,” Rhys concluded. Y/N only nodded, before stepping out of his arms and wiping her face. “Cassian suspected it and I’m sure Amren knows. She has never mentioned it to me but Cass has. I didn’t confirm anything with him and he hasn’t mentioned it to Az.” Rhys nodded, guiding her outside of the tent for some fresh air.

•••

Y/N knew she should have told someone about the mating bond. It was something she could only suppress so much. But the guilt she and the rest of the inner circle felt when Rhys sacrificed himself ate at her too much. How could she let herself be happy when their High Lord and brother was subjecting himself to the horrors Under the Mountain, willingly, to protect them.

There was no point dwelling on it now. Not as she paced in front of Rhys who was sitting tense in front of his war tent. The minutes ticked by all too slowly as they silently awaited Azriel and Feyre’s return. “Tell me about when it happened,” Rhys said quietly, interrupting Y/N’s nervous pacing. She stopped and looked at him. His eyes were glazed over like mind was somewhere else. He needed a distraction. For her brother, she would tell him everything.

Y/N took a breath. “Starfall wasn’t the same without you. We knew how much the celebrations meant to you and so did Velaris. We never hosted a grand party anymore. The House was opened to those who wished to join, but it was almost as if the city was mourning the loss of our High Lord. Some came, but it was another quiet celebration.”

Rhys’ gaze flicked to hers.

“I–I was upset that five years had already gone by and you weren’t able to see this and be there with us,” Y/N continued, “I was close to breaking by that point. My hope was running out. I was up on the private balcony where you and Feyre celebrated. Azriel of course found me. Sitting there, silently looking at the stars or spirits or whatever. Wishing on them so hard that they would return you to us.”

“He sat with me for I don’t even know how long. Let me cry on his shoulder and just be a comfort. Everyone held it together a lot better than I did, Rhys. You were my brother. My first family and the one who took care of me when I had nothing. When we lost your mother and our sister, you were the only thing I had left of them.”

Y/N sniffed, more tears running down her face as she took herself back to that night. “I honestly debated pitching myself off that balcony that night,” she muttered bitterly. Rough hands immediately grabbed her face. Rhys’ anguish poured off of him as he seethed at her, “Do not ever think that. Even when I am gone. Never.”

Y/N gazed at him for a moment before slowly nodding, continuing her story, “But Az came up. His presence was like a lifeline. And when I finally stopped moping and looked at him he gave me one of his rare true smiles. Sad, but also his true smile. I felt it then when I looked at him. Like a beautiful golden thread tethering him to me. Pulling me out of that abyss. I don’t know if he knew it, but I knew.”

“I’ve always loved him. From when we were kids. I can’t tell you when my feelings shifted, but I have always loved him and I always will,” Y/N concluded. Rhys looked at her with a mixture of sadness and pure joy. He was about to open his mouth when commotion snapped them both out of it.

Y/N’s head whipped so fast to the outskirts of the camp. There they were. Covered in mud and dragging along two petite figures. Y/N let out a strangled cry before tearing away from Rhys. The latter hot on her heels. She smelled the blood before she saw it.

As she approached the puddle of people, her blood ran cold and she stopped dead in her tracks as she watched Elain plant a gentle kiss on Azriel’s cheek. She heard a faint “Thank you” before Elain was being swept up by others. Feyre reached Rhys first, letting out a strangled, “I’m alright…Azriel’s wings.” That kicked Y/N back into motion.

She flung herself at the Shadowsinger causing him to let out an oomph. Though her heart ached at what she just witnessed, she still needed to make sure he was okay. “You–your wings,” she cried after releasing him. She frantically began inspecting every inch of him. “Hey, hey…” he said, grabbing both of her wrists. Y/N was too much in a state of horror. “Y/N look at me,” Az said quietly. She finally snapped her gaze to him. “I’m okay. I’m right here. I’m alive,” he said, giving her a strained smile. His hand reached up, brushing a stray hair out of her face. Y/N merely nodded more to herself than anything as Rhys came around and helped lift him. “We need to get Madja before anything permanent sets,” Rhys grunted, hoisting him up. Azriel swayed a bit. Y/N let in a sharp intake, flinching a bit as she felt some of his pain.

Az gave her a weird look but she just shook her head, burying that golden thread down and down once again. Rhys began moving as Cassian took up Azriel’s other side, leading them away from her. Y/N noticed Feyre and hurried to her. She looked as if she was still in a daze. Y/N gently took her hand and led her to her tent. “You’re okay,” Y/N whispered gently as she settled in to help clean her up. Feyre merely nodded.

The minutes flew by and soon Feyre was curled in her bed, cocooned by her sisters as Rhys ushered everyone out.

Y/N took a deep breath once she was away from the commotion. Her mind was reeling between the conversation she had had with Rhys to the state that her family was in. Alive. That thread hummed from deep within herself. She almost felt as if it was calling to her. Tugging her. Her head turned slowly, spying the tent from which that feeling was coming from. Y/N’s feet were moving before her brain.

The tent was thankfully silent except for the soft crackle of faelights illuminating the space. Azriel’s large form was sprawled across the cot on his stomach. The glimmer of salve and magic lingering on his shredded wings. Y/N’s voice got stuck in her throat. His beautiful wings.

His head lifted as she entered, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I’ve had worse. You’ve seen me have worse,” he said, trying to comfort her. She still could not speak. “Come here,” he urged, trying to sit up. His muffled groan of pain set Y/N moving. “Don’t–don’t try to move,” she said, shakily sitting on the floor near his head. His eyes softened as he took her in. “You were worried about me,” Az chuckled a bit, reaching his hand up to brush that stray hair out of her face again. His shadows pooled around her, rubbing and twining up across her body in a soothing matter. “Of course I was worried about you,” Y/N hissed.

“Why?” he asked, matter-of-factly.

Y/N glared at him. “You are my best friend, Azriel! Why wouldn’t I worry about you!” She couldn’t comprehend why he was acting like a snarky bastard right now. “I mean look at you!” Y/N plowed ahead, “Your wings are shredded! You could have died!” She wasn’t really sure what came over her. Maybe from speaking with Rhys, that bond she had spent years shoving down, surfaced again and was not going down without a fight this time. “Imagine if you had!” she exclaimed, “What am I supposed to do if you die?”

Azriel just gave her a small smile before trying to sit up again. “No, no, no. Don’t try to sit up!” Y/N seethed. He started laughing, pushing himself up anyways. That bastard was laughing. “Azriel!” Y/N pleaded, clearly noting the grimace as he fully pushed himself up. Once he was sitting his laugh dimmed. Y/N pushed herself up to her knees so she could at least be near eye level with him. He would always tower over her no matter what.

“Tell me the real reason you have worked yourself up,” Azriel murmured, taking both of her hands in his. Y/N froze. He couldn’t know.

“Because you are my best friend,” she whispered, feeling more tears well up in her eyes. “And your mate?” he replied gently. She couldn’t find it in herself to respond or look at him. “Sweetheart, look at me,” he gently placed a finger under her chin and made her head tilt up to look at him. And for once in her life, Y/N saw the love shining so brightly in his eyes. One that mimicked how she would always admire him from afar. If she was being honest, maybe more emotion than he ever let on was swimming through his beautiful face.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Y/N muttered pathetically. The Shadowsinger let out a quiet chuckle. “I think you do,” he said. Y/N just nodded. “How–how long have you known,” she rasped. “Subconsciously…well probably awhile now. Consciously, I felt it snap into place as you were leaving the tent before we left. That’s why I followed you out there,” Azriel stated. Y/N said nothing. “That’s why I asked you to tell me to stay,” he admitted quietly.

Y/N finally took all of him in. All of his beauty and intensity. So broken yet still somehow put together. She studied his intense gaze on her, those hazel eyes seemingly glowing in the soft light. His tattoos across his very bare torso, and those wings. Oh, those beautiful wings still shimmering with healing magic.

“How long have you known?” he asked, breaking her out of her stare. “Starfall. Five years ago,” she whispered. Azriel studied her harder, more emotion filling his eyes. “That night. I felt your sadness that night. I think part of me knew then and was scared to admit it,” he confessed after a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

“I–I just couldn’t,” her lip trembled before her story finally came tumbling out.

After she explained, Az slid to his knees on the floor before her, gathering her in his arms, “Oh my sweet girl.” Sobs racked through Y/N as all of the feelings she had bottled up ran rampant through her. Relief, sorrow, love. All of her bleeding heart finally pouring out.

When she finally calmed down enough to get a word in, she pulled back out of his embrace, “I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. With everything you told me about Mor, and then I saw it shift to Elain, I figured you deserved to be happy. Even if it would break me. Your brothers have found two sisters–” Azriel raised a brow at that. Y/N let out a small laugh, “You can’t tell me there isn’t something between Cassian and Nesta.” “Fair enough,” Az joined in with her quiet laughter.

Y/N sighed and continued, “But I just know you and I didn’t want to ruin anything we had with a mating bond. To me especially. An Illyrian without wings.”

“Y/N,” Azriel said sternly, “Just because you were born without wings doesn’t mean that I will never love you any less than I already have my entire life.”

“I was an idiot and I was in denial. You have been my entire world since I don’t even know when. I have loved you for so long, but I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. I-I thought to myself that you would never love me like that. I have done things, you know what I have done. And I just couldn’t imagine a beautiful soul like yours falling in love with me. A part of me did love Mor. I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t, but I was finally able to admit to myself that I was in love with you. Was finally able to see that my stupid crush on Mor was a way to suppress all of my feelings for you. Every piece of me is consumed by you and belongs to you,” Azriel pressed.

“And Elain?” Y/N could only see that moment when they first returned. When she placed a kiss on his cheek. It made her blood begin to boil. “The thought crossed my mind when we met. It was the only thing that made sense. Three brothers, three sisters. But, I still couldn’t shake what I was trying so hard to hide from myself. And seeing you tonight. Seeing you go through all of this hell has finally given me the courage to be honest with myself and you,” he said.

Y/N was pretty sure she had gone into shock. This was the most honest the both of them had been to each other in years. He actually loved her. She hadn’t dared to let herself dream of this moment. Especially not in the circumstances they were in with the war and all.

“Please say something,” Az nearly begged, shaking her out of her stupor. Y/N focused back on his face. There really wasn’t anything she could say except surging forward and pressing her lips gently on his. Az tensed in shock for a moment before processing what was happening. And soon he was fervently kissing her back.

Her lips molded perfectly against his as he explored every inch of her mouth. They were just as soft as she had dared to let herself imagine. His hands quickly found her waist, roaming up and down savoring the feel of her pressed against him. Over 500 years of knowing each other and they hadn’t once kissed. Even when Cassian put them up to stupid games like spin the bottle. Azriel couldn’t get enough.

Y/N let out a moan as his tongue found his way into her mouth, shooting a blast of heat through her spine. Az reciprocated the feeling, pulling her closer, leaning back on the edge of the cot. He stiffened, suppressing a groan of his own. But well, mostly of pain. Y/N froze before pulling away. Az tried to chase her with his mouth and whined when she moved out of reach. “Azriel!” she hissed. “I’m fine,” he shrugged, trying to lean in again. “Az,” Y/N said, sticking a hand on his chest. “You are in no condition.” Azriel scoffed, leaning forward and thoroughly attaching his lips to her neck. Y/N shuddered. “Azriel I am not having sex with you when you can’t even lay on your back,” Y/N huffed. He was leaving a sloppy trail of kisses up and down.

“Don’t need to lay on my back,” he mumbled. “You can hardly sit up,” she responded. “Don’t care. You’re my mate. My newly found mate,” he said into her neck. “Been dreaming of this for a while now,” he sighed dreamily, sucking on the one spot that made Y/N melt. She could feel the bastard grin before he continued his assault.

It took a lot to shove him off of her. An extreme amount. All sentimental feelings from their confession were out the window and replaced by need. Pure, lustful need. But he was in pain. And he was her mate, so she pushed him off her. He let out the most un-spymaster like whine. “Y/N why are you doing this to me love?” he groaned. “Because you are injured and like I said, I’m not fucking you until you are at one-hundred percent,” she quipped, standing with more clarity than she had in years. She went over to the little table littered with food.

“And so I can give you this,” she turned, holding a little apple in her hand. Az’s face softened as she approached. A silent request as she held out her hand. “Are you sure?” he whispered. “Azriel, every piece of me has always belonged to you and it always will. I have never been more sure in my life,” she replied.

He smiled, grabbing the apple gently from her hands taking a slow bite. Y/N smiled in return before ushering him back down on his cot. “Time to rest, Az,” she said, nestling in next to him. “But I’m perfectly fine for other activities now,” Azriel pouted. Y/N just laughed, running her hands through his soft locks. “I promise when you are fully healed we will partake in those said activities,” she smirked. Azriel grinned and pushed himself upwards, stealing another kiss. Y/N giggled, before placing his head back in her lap. “Sleep now,” she mumbled. Azriel hummed softly as she resumed running her hands through his hair. “I love you,” he whispered before his steady breath evened out. “I love you too.”

#azriel imagine #azriel x reader #acotar imagines #imagines #rhysand x reader #rhysand x sister!reader #acomaf #acowar #acomaf imagines #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel #rhysand #cassian #feyre archeron #azriel imagines

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gingernut1314 · 6 months ago

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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}

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mariasont · 1 year ago

Text

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

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds smut #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchenr imagine #aaron hotch x reader #hotch x reader #hotch #Spotify

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sorceresssundries · 1 year ago

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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.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale smut

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esouliie · 1 year ago

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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.

#my fics! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff

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gingerteawrites · 17 days ago

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SOUL TIES: NANAMI KENTO

A/N: I've been wanting to write something with the idea of soulmates, and my brain came up with this! I am sorry if how I decided to use the trope is a bit confusing, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Kisses <3

Content: Nanami x female reader, office romance, soulmate au, fluff, teeny bit of angst. Barely proof-read.

Word count: 3.6K

-------------------જ⁀➴-------------------

You awoke with a groan.

It had happened again. Those visions that haunted your nights. Except every time the dreams lured you into their trance, they seemed even more vivid than before.

You tried rubbing the grogginess from your eyes, the remnants of your dream still teasing at the periphery of your vision. Slowly withdrawing into the confines of your consciousness.

Or rather his consciousness, whoever he was.

That pervasive dream. It stole away at your attention. Invited itself into your thoughts like an unwanted intruder. Snuck into the very fabric of your mind at night.

You were adrift in the ocean, basking under warm sunlight. Its rays caressed your face with gentleness that was way too foreign to be real. A salted breeze fanned wet skin and filled your lungs.

In went the air, more invigorating than any other breath you had ever taken and out went the strife. The stress. The pain.

You sat up, finding yourself miraculously floating over the waters as you observed their lapis expanse. The way the waves seemed to twinkle with every ripple, as if winking back at the sun itself.

And then you saw him. Walking by the shore, waving to you. Shrouded in light, but at the same time taken by immense obscurity. You dared wave back; you dared hope to share in this moment of bliss.

And in an instant, you saw his very being shatter. The haze of your reverie slipping, again, dispersing into the confines of your consciousness.

You had lost track of how many times you had awoken and unleashed your frustration upon your poor pillow. You eyed it wearily, feeling a semblance of pity for the inanimate object.

Today was not worth damaging your vocal folds —or hurting your pillow's imaginary feelings for that matter—regardless of how frustrated you felt. With a huff, you tossed your sheets aside and planted your feet to the ground.

Focus, babe. You breathed. Today was not a day you could afford to be lost to the lingering despair that always clouded your thoughts after the dream.

Today was important. You needed all of your senses.

-------------------જ⁀➴-------------------

Pulling the sleeve of your dress shirt up your arm, your eyes scanned the surface of your analog watch. Barely anyone seemed to use them these days anymore. But your affinity for them had never left you. The second of effort your mind always exerted to decipher the digitless chart always helped ground you.

[7:28a.m.]

You sighed. You should have taken your time to fix breakfast or at least grab a bagel and coffee. But instead, you were here. In the empty conference room —whose AC unit always blew a tad bit too cold— almost an hour early to your presentation.

Just great.

You plopped down on one of the leather-clad seats and pulled your phone from your pocket. Toggling the camera to the front, you tilted it to your face and began examining your makeup and outfit again. Today's attire consisted of a copper waistcoat and matching slacks over a white button up. And your thick hair was pinned down in the classiest style you had been able to achieve.

If any of your work friends had seen you like this, they would have squealed and asked you to pose for pictures. You could already hear their voices ring in your head.

Girl quit frowning and strike a pose!

If you dressed like this more often, you would have found your soulmate long ago!

And there was that word again.

Just the thought of it made you drop your phone facedown against the table. You resisted the urge to rub at your eyes and inadvertently smudge your mascara.

Damnit. You were supposed to not think about the damn dream.

All your friends —as lovely as they could be— only harped on about a single thing.

Soulmates, soulmates, soulmates.

It was easy for them.

Afterall, they already had their fated other halves. Living in the miraculous bliss of fulfilment that being with your mate was supposed to bring.

And you tried oh so very hard to not resent every moment of it. The way their eyes would round out with pity when the topic of you not having found one came about. Or how they seemed genuinely concerned about you being past the normal age for settling down with a mate. And all those damn articles they would send about not all hope being lost and people finding their mates in old age.

'I am fine, really' had become your mantra. Reminding them that one didn't need to be tied down to someone to feel true fulfillment. That your purpose was greater than threads of destiny tied to a stranger.

At times, you truly felt at peace with that resolution.

So why on earth was fate hellbent on tormenting you with the dreams? Always the same format; the inexplicable bliss, then shattered by unfathomable despair.

Why would life not allow you to move on with this acceptance. This... shame you had grown accustomed to?

"Today's the worse day to torment me," the words escaped you, directed at the universe as your head lulled back against the chair. Your eyes were to the ceiling, and you barely registered the sound of someone letting themselves in the room.

"I did not know you found my presence such a burden, Ms. ___," a smooth baritone cut through your thoughts, and your back straightened up immediately.

Before you, had appeared your co-worker, the head of the performance evaluation team, the single scariest person in your department, the ever-stoic Nanami Kento.

The man went by many monikers:

Bringer of demotions. Terror or the cubicle. Looks like could kill you, would kill you.

And for you today, the sole reason why you had bothered dressing up. You stood to greet him with a quick bow, and he simply raised a polite hand to dismiss it.

Still, you waited until he had taken a seat before following, suddenly hyper-aware about every facet of your being in the space.

"You are allowed to relax, Ms. ___. I do not base my evaluations on how long employees can hold their breath in my presence," he spoke, adjusting the thin frames of his glasses over his nose as he opened the manila folder he had brought in with him.

You forced your shoulders to relax. "Of course, Mr. Nanami," you were trying so very hard to sound casual.

But you needed a good evaluation from him today.

Your entire promotion hinged on it. And if there was something you reminded yourself you had a firm grasp on —and was willing to fight for—it was your career. You placed your hands in your lap, mustering the most polite smile you could before addressing him. Opportunities for small talk with the elusive man were rare, so maybe it was a good idea to get him to warm up to you before he witnessed the single most nervous moment of your year.

"It is rather early, Mr. Nanami," your eyes drifted back to your watch.

[7:54a.m.]

"My presentation does not start for another half hour."

He looked at you through his glasses, then raised his chin to meet your gaze. "I simply enjoy gathering my bearings around a room before important events," you nodded along, lips pursed.

He sounded just as stuck-up as he was rumored to be.

Still, you had to admit you respected him. A man who had worked himself up to a position of essentiality was not something you could turn a blind eye to. He was needed by the company. And carried himself with all the dignity that came with such knowledge.

A foreign feeling bloomed in your heart. Not quite as green and ugly as jealousy, but smelling enough like envy to get you to reprimand yourself.

You wanted to be needed.

No idea good enough to break the stale silence with the man came to mind, so you simply sat together until your watch's needles aligned to 8:20 a.m., and the slew of supervisors, investors and inspectors trickled into the room.

You stood and took your place behind the board, pointer secured firmly between your fingers.

This is the one thing you can control. You reminded yourself.

You set your heart, resolute on a single goal. You would not let this opportunity vanish into a wisp of smoke. Fade away from your grasp like those damn dreams.

-------------------જ⁀➴-------------------

"She's really good," Haibara breathed, settling in the seat across from Kento. The man's office was not too big, but imposing enough to signal his value to the company. Every object sat in a space that was decided with great intentionality, a degree of care that might have seemed weird to those who did not really know Kento.

The taupe area rug in the center of the room, the ball pendulum on his table. And a new addition, an old analog clock hung on the wall. Haibara did not think to mention the antique, judging that its presence was maybe not too far out of his friend's regular aesthetic.

"It's an easy promotion. I don't understand why I specifically needed to sign off of this. Anyone with a functioning brain could tell that her project's ideas and execution were near flawless," Nanami's pen slid through the performance report, his sharp handwriting doling out pointed, but generally positive assessments in the form of measured compliments.

Haibara shrugged, slacking against his chair. "Honestly, couldn't tell you why," he yawned, cocking his head in thought. "Though I guess it might have to do with the whole non-mated people are unfit thing" his voice pitched higher when he mimicked the remarks. Haibara scoffed. "As if not being able to find a stranger among 8 billion people is a reflection of someone's moral character or something."

The sound of pen against paper ground to a halt, and Kento's eyes remained fixed to the document in front of him.

There he felt it, creeping into his chest. A familiar but lingering discomfort.

Almost as if it had never stopped, his pen continued to glide over the assessment.

Nothing good would come from dwelling on the remarks, no matter how they agitated long-buried feelings. He reminded himself, practising the mantra like he had everyday for a decade.

All that was needed now was a signature. But as his gaze lingered over the letters of your last name, Kento couldn't help but become hyper-aware of the sound of the clock on his wall. The ticking of arms against the fabric of time. Frantic.

Running out.

Just like in his dreams.

-------------------જ⁀➴-------------------

"Have you thought about posting your dream on an online forum?" Utahime leaned over to your cubicle, her hair styled with her characteristic bow. "My cousin was able to find her soulmate like that! No need to go around touching random people like a creep."

"And that is how you profile yourself as a lone, desperate woman that an online psycho can stalk," you replied, typing away at your keyboard. This had unfortunately not been the craziest suggestion you had heard, and the thought alone made you want to crash your face into your desk.

"She'd have a better chance at finding someone if she just put herself out there more often," Shoko commented from your other side.

"Guys." You pushed away from your chair, giving each one of the women a pointed look, "I literally just got promoted. Can we just focus on the one success I just experienced, rather than dwelling on the fatal flaw that is me being single?"

Your friends offered sincerely apologetic smiles, and erupted in a chorus of sorrys.

You slid back closer to your desk, and the peace seldom lasted a few moments before your phone buzzed with a notification.

Satoru's name popped up on your groupchat, a long string of text about you all needing to go to dinner to celebrate your promotion soon filling your screen.

Truthfully, you had wanted to just go home and cuddle with Mr. Wuzzy (yes, your cat plushie) but when he offered to pay for the most expensive Hibachi place around as a gift, you were sold.

At least you wouldn't be at home, left alone to wallow in your thoughts.

You watched as your clock hit [6:00 p.m.] and started packing your handbag.

Yes, you deserved to enjoy yourself today. Fuck the loneliness and fuck your damn soulmate, whoever he was.

-------------------જ⁀➴-------------------

Kento should have known that Haibara had not come to his office for simple small talk. His dear friend had ended up dropping a load of work ahead of a company merger that was coming up the following week.

And being the ever-responsible man he was, Kento decided to get a significant head start on the work.

His lockscreen came alive with a single tap.

[9:08 p.m.]

His weekday TV show would have aired about an hour and a half ago, and the cold tea he had steeped earlier in the day was probably bitter by now. He sighed, making a resolution to request a double rate for this overtime, rather than the regular time and a half.

That was the least that the inconvenience was worth...

Walking past the little commercial district that bordered the company at this time was always an entertaining sight. It woke his mind from the soulless daze that work tended to bring upon him. His eyes lighting up with interest, seeing how people decided to drink themselves into a stupor on a weekday, or how couples pretended to ignore the sweltering summer heat as they pressed close to each other.

But most of all, the view reminded him of that dream.

He stood in the middle of a busy street, countless masses of people floating by. All with clear destinations. Unfaltering steps. And all in pairs. Their faces were obscured but only one thing stood out. Their smiles. Wide, almost comical —but mocking.

Nanami weaved through the masses, a single body moving against the wave of people. He bumped against their light bodies, but never seemed to be able to disturb them. Never to wake them from their dream-like joy.

His arms were starting to tire, his breath heavy until he saw someone. Crouched by the pavement, head on her knees. The single break in the insistent deluge of people. His skin prickled at the sight, his heart rate picking up, stirred by an exhilarating anticipation.

He reached out —but suddenly, the ticking of a clock in the distance. Loud and all-consuming. In an instant, she was swallowed by the mass of people. Disappeared under their floating bodies. A simple wisp in the evening air. Almost as if she had never existed.

Nanami, like many others, had spent most of his adult life agonizing over the soulmare. A dream that originated from the subconscious of your soulmate, and that persistently tormented you until you finally found them. Until your bodies touched.

They were supposed to give a glimpse into their psyche. Their wants, desires or just mere thoughts. Any clue to help find them. Their very own radar. Except this one always left him with more questions that anything.

Too many times to count, he had found himself wandering busy streets, hoping to maybe find his soulmate in that same setting. But the very prospect made Kento's heart ache with sadness.

He always awoke with an overwhelming sense of anguish. A poignant helplessness that only seemed to intensify as time passed by. Those were her feelings. How much he longed to soothe it all away.

His surroundings came back into focus and Kento realized that his feet had carried him all the way to a small nearby park. It was way too late in the year for cherry blossom season, but he had read on a blog earlier this week that some of the Camellias were blooming uncharacteristically late.

A small detour in the path of his already disrupted routine would not hurt, now, would it?

Afterall, Camellias blooms were the envoys of fate. Who knew what awaited him on the unfamiliar path?

-------------------જ⁀➴-------------------

Your fingers traced pink and white petals, humming to the melody of a song you could not name even if asked. You swayed side to side from your crouched position, your entire body abuzz with the pleasant lightness that just enough alcohol managed to bring.

Satoru, the ever-generous soul (or maybe just a show-off) had ordered a particularly pricey bottle of wine and insisted on you having as much as you wanted.

"You don't get good assessments from the terror of the cubicles often! Drink up, sweet pea!"

You do not even know how the white-haired man had come up with the moniker. Or why he, the CEO's nephew had grown so attached to you

Well, maybe it was because you were the one person who did not treat him like a spoiled brat —regardless of how true that was— during his undercover training and on-boarding all those years ago.

You sighed wistfully.

He wouldn't be a bad person to be soulmates with. If only he didn't have one already.

The crushing feeling returned to your chest. This was the part of drinking that was not fun. The inability to push away hurtful thoughts.

Your fingers pulled at the plush surface of one of the petals, the urge to rip it away becoming overwhelming. Maybe you really should have taken your frustration out on your pillow this morning.

"I am pretty sure that it is illegal to damage those flowers, Ms. ____" a voice from behind you startled your entire being, causing you to unceremoniously topple onto the ground. You sat up on your elbows, a curse slipping past your lips.

Your eyes focused on the man who was rushing to help you up, widening at the realization of who he was.

"Mr. Nanami?" You dodged the helpful hand he had extended, using one of the nearby benches to stand up.

Shit, could they take a promotion back after it was already awarded? Because with how embarrassment warmed your entire being, you were almost convinced that was what was bound to happen.

"I did not mean to startle you," he offered, and you noted how his expression was softer than usual. Maybe eased by the weight of fatigue. You had never seen the man out of his element.

You realized that you were staring for a moment too long, and the words came rushing out.

"Ah— of course it's not your fault, hahahaha. I really shouldn't be touching the flowers, I mean, if someone else had seen me I could've been in much bigger trouble, right? Not that anyone would be passing by here this late at night anyway..." you looked down at your watch, trying to read the time but your mind could not make sense of the blank needles. "Well, it's not like I can even tell what time it is—stupid watch—" your mind was begging you to stop, but somehow the instructions were not translating to your lips.

"Are you inebriated, Ms. ___?" the question was so simple, but it threw you in an even greater loop.

"Oh, of course not! I mean, who would drink this much on a weekday, amirite?" a pfft escaped your lips, and you tried to lean against the bench in a show of nonchalance. But you must have missed the mark because instead, your entire world tilted sideways, and you went crashing for the nearest surface.

All you could do was brace yourself for the impact, and hope that the hit would knock you out cold and you could cut the embarrassment of this encounter short.

Hey, maybe if fate smiled upon you, you would hit your head hard enough to completely forget what had transpired tonight.

But instead of a hit came sturdy hands, holding you up against an even sturdier chest. And when the remnants of your sense of decorum screamed at you to regain your wits and pull away, the skin of his forearms —exposed by rolled up sleeves— brushed against your tip of your fingers.

And with that, your very soul exploded in a mosaic of sensations.

"It's like getting shocked by a live wire —not that I would know," Gojo practically developing hearts in his eyes when he explained for the nth time how it was touching his soulmate for the first time. "Like every breath you had ever taken before was simply you gasping for air. It feels like truly breathing for the first time." You smiled, endeared by the poetic turn the usually rambunctious man was taking.

"Welp, I guess I'll have to let you know how it feels if I ever experience it." You concluded, gathering a stack of documents to move on to the next stage of his orientation.

"When, you experience it," he corrected, a resolute smile on his lips. "It will be beyond anything you've ever felt."

Well, this had to be it, right?

Satoru had not lied. Every single fiber of your being, every nerve ending felt as if the molten heat of stars themselves had infiltrated them. As if the place where your skin had brushed had become the epicenter of the universe.

A center of gravity that pulled you closer and closer, until you forgot about your very intent to get away. About your embarrassment. Until you found yourself flush against him, your hammering heartbeat only matched by his.

A gentle breeze passed through the park, ruffling the blonde strands of his bangs, the moonlight illuminating the flush in his cheeks. Gone was the composed man. Before you, stood Kento, raw and unfiltered. His arms drew you even closer, wrapping securely around your waist until your breaths mingled.

"You," he finally murmured, his tone rough with an intensity that shook you. You swallowed, trying to think of something to say.

But your heart was beating way too loud in your ears for you to succeed.

And before you could think of anything, you were engulfed in an all-consuming hug. Pulled impossibly closer against Nanami's body. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin there.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice muffled against you. "I'm sorry that I took so long."

Tears flooded your eyes, and you wrapped your arms around his waist.

He was real. And he was here. No longer a wisp of smoke, no longer an obscure figment of your consciousness. He was here, and he was in your arms, and you wondered how you had been able to even breathe before this very moment.

And here we gooooo, honestly not too sure about how I feel about this one (I just need to sleep on it and re-read tomorrow lol). Please do let me know what you think though!

comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

#JJK drabbles #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk #nanami kento #nanami x reader #gingerteawrites #nanami fluff #nanami angst #jjk fluff #soulmate au #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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l0vema · 20 days ago

Text

PRISM EFFECT

Pairing: Mingi x Reader x Yunho

Genre: Poly idol AU, Slow-burn, smut, tension-heavy, size kink, emotionally devastating, soft obsession

synopsis: A collaboration between Kpop group Ateez and your group turns into something far more intimate when the choreography between you, Mingi, and Yunho becomes too real to fake. The cameras catch everything, the fans notice, the other members are watching and soon you're all past the point of pretending it's just performance.

Word count: 8k (this is the longest thing I've ever written)

The studio air was heavy with humidity the kind that clung to the backs of your knees and curled the tips of your edges no matter how slicked they were that morning. The floor gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights, waxed to the point that your sneakers squeaked when you pivoted too fast. The mirrors lined every wall, turning you and the others into infinite reflections, bodies bending, lifting, reaching in synchronized rhythm.

You were front and center now.

It was the third hour of rehearsal, and the choreography was sensual by design. You hadn’t even blinked when you’d seen the initial layout: your leg lifting over a seated Mingi’s shoulder, your hands resting at Yunho’s neck, the three of you forming a tableau of trust and heat and tension under the guise of movement. The move was called the coil.

You had to step up behind Mingi, place your palms on his shoulders, and with strength and grace swing your right leg over one side of his neck until it rested against his collarbone. Mingi’s job was to sit perfectly still on the chair, hands on his thighs, back straight, chest up. You had to arch, hold your core tight, and lean forward just enough to let the camera see the intimacy of the shape you made together.

Yunho’s part came next: he approached from the side, lacing his fingers around your waist from behind, steadying you midair as your balance shifted.

No one told them to look at you the way they did.

You were supposed to be statues. Rehearsal pose. Hold, count to six. Switch.

But Mingi? His breath hitched the moment your thigh slid into place. You felt it before you saw it a full-body shudder beneath his hoodie. He didn’t move, but his ears flushed red, color blooming so fast it was like watching heat rise through skin. His hands, clenched tightly on his lap, trembled just once.

Yunho stepped in like a shadow. You hadn’t even seen him approach. His hands found your waist with practiced ease but it wasn’t rehearsed. Not really. The way his palms splayed against your sides, thumbs pressing slightly into the curve of your ribs that was instinct.

His hands were big. So big.

They covered more of you than anyone’s ever had in a single touch. Gentle, sure. Warm. He held you like he was anchoring you in place, like he wasn’t sure you’d stay without him.

You let out a laugh breathless and quiet, more exhale than sound. A helpless thing. It wasn’t amusement. It was disbelief. Disbelief that your body was responding this fast. That your skin was already warm everywhere he touched. That you could feel Mingi’s shallow breathing beneath your leg, see the tension in his jaw in the mirror across from you.

And then the choreographer shouted “Reset!”

You dropped back down, sneakers hitting the floor with a soft thud. The spell shattered. But something had changed. You saw it in their eyes.

Yunho blinked once. Then again. He looked at his hands like they weren’t his.

Mingi ducked his head, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair and adjusting the hem of his hoodie with jittery fingers. He glanced at you only once, fast, and when your eyes met, he turned away like he’d been caught staring at the sun.

You didn't even get the chance to process what you felt before your groupmate Sae shouted from across the studio, "Y/N, girl. I know I saw you float midair. What the hell was that?!"

From the far side, Wooyoung muttered to Hongjoong, “If they get any closer, we’re gonna have to light candles.”

Hongjoong didn’t even look up from his water bottle. “Good.”

Laughter rippled across the room. But you weren’t laughing. Not really.

Your skin was still buzzing.

And when you turned back, Yunho was still staring at you. Not shy. Not even flustered anymore.

Just… wrecked

________________

The day of the fanmeet filming felt like stepping into a dream with too many mirrors and too few places to hide.

The venue was sleek, a converted performance hall turned filming set for the collaborative “fanservice cut” content your companies were producing. You’d been briefed to expect light games, behind-the-scenes moments, and “natural” interactions between your group and the boys of ATEEZ.

The producers’ idea of natural was putting you in coordinated outfits and sticking you in an air-conditioned sauna of LED lighting for ten hours straight.

Your stylist had gone all out soft glam makeup with a shimmery highlight, hair picked out into a side-parted cloud that framed your face like a halo, and a loose satin blouse tucked into belted high-waist pants that hugged your waist like a secret. The fabric stuck to the small of your back as the set lights heated the room more than any of the bodies inside it did.

Well. Almost.

The moment you stepped onto the platform for the opening group shot, Mingi and Yunho both noticed. You didn’t need confirmation, their reactions were in the delay of their gazes. Mingi looked and looked again, eyes catching the curve of your hip before flicking upward in a rush, almost like he’d gotten burned. Yunho met your gaze and then dropped it entirely, jaw flexing, hands twitching at his sides like they were used to holding something.

Neither of them said anything. But their silence had weight.

Filming dragged. You smiled for the cameras, laughed at jokes, waved at the sea of imagined fans behind the lenses. You shifted between ATEEZ members as the rotation continued; pairing off for brief skits, interview questions, sketched charades. At some point, someone handed you a handheld fan. At some later point, it died in your hand, the tiny blades giving a pathetic wheeze before stopping entirely.

You sighed, fanning yourself with your palm. “My soul just left my body,” you muttered.

A quiet voice cut in beside you. “You need a new one?”

You turned, and there they were.

Yunho crouched at your side, already inspecting the fan like it owed him money. Mingi hovered behind him, fiddling with something in his palm.

You blinked. “It’s okay, really”

“It’s probably just the connection,” Yunho mumbled, brushing his thumb over the battery latch. His brow furrowed. He was so close you could see the faint sheen of sweat at his temple, the way his lashes clumped together.

“I thought maybe…” Mingi’s voice trailed off, then he held out a small object. “I brought this. Earlier. I saw it and thought it might look good on you.”

It was a hairpin.

Tiny. Gold. Shaped like a flower, its edges lined with small, pearl-like beads. It sparkled even in the dim backlight.

You stared at it.

“Oh,” you said. “Oh.”

“I thought maybe” he stopped, rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking very interested in the floor. “It’s stupid. You don’t have to”

“It’s not stupid,” you cut in, softly.

You reached out, taking it from his hand carefully. his fingers were still warm from holding it. You looked up at him and maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the fatigue but something soft cracked open behind your ribs.

“Thank you, Mingi,” you said, and smiled. Not politely. Not performatively. Warm, slow, real.

His ears turned red. Fully. Even Yunho glanced up, blinking like he’d just come out of a trance.

From a few feet away, your member Jina whispered to Sae, “Girl. This is a fanfic. I’m watching a fanfic unfold in real time.”

Later that night, when the videos started rolling out online, you’d barely gotten back to the hotel before Twitter lit up like a battlefield:

> 🐥: “Did Mingi give Y/N that hair clip?? 😭”

🐯: “YUNHO ON HIS KNEES FIXING HER FAN LIKE IT’S HIS LIFE’S MISSION.”

🧊: “Her SMILE at them?? THEY ARE DONE FOR.”

🐉: “Yeosang watching this unfold is me watching my friends spiral into romantic ruin.”

In the shared hotel room, San threw his phone onto the bed. “They’re gonna combust. I’m telling you.”

Yeosang didn’t even look up. “Yunho already combusted. He just hasn’t realized it yet.”

______________

The hallway was almost empty now, just a long stretch of flickering fluorescent lights and the low hum of vending machines buzzing like tired crickets. Most of the staff had cleared out, and your group’s van was already waiting in the loading zone downstairs.

But the last suitcase hadn’t been packed when they left.

So now it was just you dragging a stubborn, overstuffed black case with one squeaky wheel down a waxed hallway, your hoodie sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your curls slightly frizzed from the day’s chaos, and a slow, sticky heat building at the base of your spine.

You didn’t notice the elevator was already occupied until you nearly missed it closing.

“Hold it!” you shouted, jogging awkwardly with one hand gripping the suitcase handle and the other flailing for balance.

Just before the doors sealed shut, a hand shot out large, veined, sure and pressed flat against the metal.

It jolted open. Mingi.

Standing inside in soft black sweats and a half-zipped hoodie, hair. damp from a post-filming rinse, lips parted in surprise. His gaze trailed down not in a leer, but like his brain was playing catch-up, scanning the mess of the suitcase, the crumpled bag slung over your shoulder, the single bead of sweat tracing down your neck.

You offered a sheepish grin. “Don’t judge. I'm helping.”

He said nothing at first. Then he stepped to the side, giving you space.

You maneuvered the case inside with a groan, tugging at the handle until it bumped over the elevator threshold. The weight shifted. You tugged harder and the suitcase tipped, fast, dragging your arm forward with it.

Your foot slipped.

The jolt was small but sharp just enough to send your center of gravity forward.

And suddenly, you weren’t falling.

You were caught.

Two hands; large, warm and strong anchored at your waist. One curled slightly above your hip, the other pressing flat against the small of your back. Not forceful. Just… there. Like a wall that had appeared out of nowhere to catch you mid-spill.

You blinked, eyes wide, breath stolen.

Mingi’s chest was firm beneath your shoulder. His scent, clean soap and something darker, muskier, hit you in a wave.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

Because Yunho had just stepped in behind you.

“Whoa-” Yunho’s voice was quiet, low, more winded than surprised. “You alright?”

Your mouth opened to respond maybe laugh it off but before you could, Yunho’s hand brushed your arm, featherlight. Then, his palm rested on your upper back just below the spot where Mingi’s hand still sat.

The three of you were too close now. Caught in this triangle of accidental touch.

No one moved.

You were acutely aware of your breath ragged from the stumble. Of Mingi’s hand still on your waist, thumb ghosting against your hoodie fabric. Of Yunho behind you, taller, warmer, his proximity a weight you could feel without even turning.

“You always carry everything yourself?” Yunho asked.

His voice was near your ear now not flirtatious, not scolding. Just… intimate.

The elevator began to move, soft hum underfoot, numbers ticking down above the door. Still, no one moved.

Your voice came out breathy. “I…yeah. I don’t mind.”

Mingi’s hand twitched at your waist, as if resisting the instinct to squeeze. Instead, he slowly pulled away but not before his fingers lightly grazed the curve of your side.

You shivered.

The tension between you was thick. Like the kind you could only make worse by acknowledging it.

So no one did.

Not until the elevator dinged and the doors slid open at the next floor and Yeosang stepped in.

He looked like he’d just walked off a runway in casualwear black coat, coffee in one hand, eyes sharp. He paused as he registered the scene: your suitcase, Mingi standing a little too close, Yunho behind you, lips slightly parted.

He looked from you, to Mingi, to Yunho — and said absolutely nothing.

Then, slowly, he turned around, sipped his drink, and faced the front of the elevator.

No one else spoke.

The elevator started moving again. This time, the silence was deafening.

You didn’t dare move. Mingi shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Yunho exhaled like he’d been holding it in. Then the doors opened again. Yeosang stepped out without a word. But, just before the doors closed behind him, he turned over his shoulder, casual and dry:

“Next time, do that somewhere private, yeah?”

The doors shut.

You could’ve died.

Mingi coughed once, a low, awkward noise into his sleeve.

Yunho pressed the heel of his hand to his face and groaned.

You stared forward, cheeks hot enough to boil water.

No one said a single word the rest of the ride down.

But when the doors opened and you all stepped out onto the pavement, Mingi leaned over, voice low, near your ear:

“If I’d let you fall… I think Yunho might’ve killed me.”

Yunho, still behind you, muttered, “Don’t test me.”

And suddenly… your palms were sweating all over again.

___________________

The cold air of the loading dock hits your skin, but it does nothing to cool the heat under your clothes.

Your van isn’t there yet. Someone mutters about traffic. You nod vaguely and start moving, not to anywhere specific, just away. Away from Mingi’s voice still echoing in your ear, from the memory of Yunho’s hand on your back, from the wild look in Yeosang’s eyes when the doors opened.

Your sneakers tap quietly on the concrete stairs as you climb. The silence is thick, broken only by the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the sound of your breath in your throat.

But inside? It’s chaos.

You’re imagining things.

They’re idols. You’re colleagues.

You’re here to dance. Not to ache.

You try to slow your breath, but your heartbeat won’t cooperate. It’s thudding in your chest, like it knows something you won’t admit.

They don’t look at you like that.

You’re just tired. Touch-starved. You haven’t felt someone want you in so long that even an accidental brush feels like worship.

You squeeze your hands into fists. Loosen them. Again.

Calm down. This isn’t real. It can’t be.

The rooftop door looms ahead. You push it open with your shoulder.

Cool air hits you first- sharper than you expect. The city stretches out below, windows glowing, sky ink-blue and quiet. It smells like metal and faint jasmine. Someone must’ve been up here earlier smoking; the scent still clings to the railing.

You step forward slowly, hands still tucked in your sleeves, like if you just stay still long enough, the tension might evaporate from your body entirely.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

You glance back. Yunho.

He steps out silently, a water bottle in one hand, hoodie zipped halfway up, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hand through it too many times.

“I figured you might want some water,” he says, holding the bottle toward you.

You take it. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t move closer. Just leans against the railing next to you, arms folded. His presence is large but unintrusive. The kind of closeness that doesn’t press, it just waits.

The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable.

Until Yunho speaks again, voice low and almost shy:

“Do you know what it’s like being next to you in that studio?”

You blink, caught off guard.

He doesn’t look at you. His eyes are fixed on the skyline like it’s easier to speak to something that won’t look back.

“You move like you don’t even realize you’re taking people down with you.”

Your chest tightens.

Before you can respond, the door opens again. Mingi.

Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Skin still flushed. He walks a little slower, but his eyes find yours immediately.

He doesn’t speak right away, just joins you on the other side, creating a triangle of body heat and quiet breath.

“I told myself I was imagining it,” he says softly. “The way it felt when you touched me. When your leg went over my shoulder.”

His words hit like gravity, slow, inevitable. Yunho’s jaw clenches. He still hasn’t looked at either of you. “I thought if I ignored it, it would pass,” Mingi continues. “But then I saw your face when I caught you earlier. And I knew I was done.”

You can’t move. Every part of you feels pinned between their voices and the cool wind and the heat still radiating under your skin.

You swallow. “This… this can’t be what we think it is. It’s-”

“Why not?” Yunho interrupts. His voice is quiet but intense, like the words are being pulled out of him. “Who said it can’t be?”

“I don’t know,” you say, laughing nervously. “Common sense? Reality? Our companies?”

Mingi finally laughs, a short, stunned exhale. “You think that’s gonna stop this?”

You turn to look at him. His eyes are wide, dark, reverent.

“You’re not just beautiful, you know,” he murmurs. “You’re... magnetic. I’ve never been this nervous around someone. It’s like I can’t think straight when you’re near.”

Yunho finally turns toward you, his gaze molten.

“And when I’m that close to you,” he says, stepping in slightly, “I forget there’s anyone else in the room.”

You feel it, the shift. The closeness. The weight of three people standing too near, wanting too much.

Mingi’s hand brushes yours. You don’t pull away.

Yunho’s shoulder nudges yours gently. His warmth spreads along your side like a slow burn.

Your throat goes dry. Your fingers curl.

But no one moves further. The moment hovers, electric.

And you realize; this isn’t some fantasy. This isn’t your mind playing tricks.

This is real.

And it’s just beginning.

__________________

A few days pass.

You haven’t spoken much to Mingi or Yunho since the rooftop.

Not really.

You’d left too fast that night, the moment got too real, too raw. Your brain screamed flight before your heart had time to stay.

They hadn’t chased you.

But they also hadn’t looked away since.

You’ve been professional. Cold, even.

You stick close to your members, leave practice early, respond with polite nods instead of lingering glances. You avoid their eyes in group meetings. You brush off moments in the choreo where you used to melt.

And still, you feel them watching.

Every breath is too loud. Every rehearsal minute is too long.

They can’t like me like that.

This is probably all in my head. It was probably just adrenaline? Studio lights? Human instincts? bodies reacting to proximity. I’m touch-starved.That’s all.

You tell yourself these things.

But your body doesn’t believe you.

And today, the final full-cast rehearsal before filming, you walk into the studio late and straight into a storm.

The choreographer claps his hands together as you enter. “Great. You’re here. Positions, Section B. Yunho, Mingi, Y/N. Let’s run the formation from the lift through the drop.”

You freeze. Yunho’s already standing center. Mingi’s sitting on the edge of the stage.

You step forward. And suddenly, you’re back in it.

The lights overhead are fluorescent and cruel. They catch every drop of sweat, every quiver of muscle, every flicker of tension.

You roll your shoulders back and take your mark.

Mingi is kneeling.

His palms rest lightly on his thighs, but his gaze rises the moment your shadow crosses the floor in front of him. There’s something reverent in the way he looks at you now. Not performative. Not staged. Real.

You exhale slowly. Inhale. Then begin.

You take your first step forward, deliberate, slow, measured. The choreography calls for confidence, sensuality, control. But your heartbeat trips as you cross the invisible threshold between performance and something far more dangerous.

You reach him. And like muscle memory, the movement clicks in:

Your back to the audience. Mingi in front of you. Kneeling.

His hands rise, featherlight, and meet your hips.

His fingertips skim along your waistline. Up. Then down. Slowly. Like they’re memorizing something they’re not supposed to touch.

He breathes out through his nose. You feel it against your thighs.

His head dips forward as part of the choreo, temple brushing your stomach, hair catching on your shirt.

You don’t move.

Can’t.

He’s not acting.

Neither are you.

A soft gasp leaves you before you can swallow it.

He tenses.

Then, “Switch!”

You’re pulled.

Yunho’s grip is sure, steady, possessive.

His hand cups under your thigh, pulling your leg up until it rests high against his hip. Your knee bends, the pose sharp, intimate.

Your faces are inches apart. The room blurs.

He smells like laundry detergent and sweat. Your shirt slips, and his palm presses into the bare skin just above your hipbone.

And then you feel it, the inhale. A slow, dangerous breath.

His eyes flutter. His lashes lower.

You stiffen.

Yunho murmurs, barely audible, “You smell edible.”

Your lips part. You blink.

He doesn’t meet your eyes, just presses his palm firmer into your waist, grounding you.

From the corner of the room, Hongjoong calls, “Ten-minute break!”

You release the pose, step back, heart in your throat.

Behind you, Mingi is still kneeling.

He’s looking up at you like he’s drowning.

You try to speak, but your mouth is dry. He swallows, averts his gaze, and stands too fast.

“Y/N, you good?” Sae asks, approaching with a towel.

You nod. But your knees wobble.

On the far side, Yeosang mutters to Seonghwa, “Someone needs to pull the fire alarm or they’re gonna combust mid-routine.”

And you?

You’re barely holding it together.

The sun dips lower by the time the session wraps.

The studio empties in scattered bursts, laughter, thuds of bags hitting the floor, staff shouting about wrap-ups and release times. Someone mentions food. Someone else is already texting the group chat. The energy shifts, high-strung tension melting into post-rehearsal fatigue.

Sae loops an arm around your shoulder. “We’re going out. Everyone. Team bonding dinner.”

You start to shake your head, but she narrows her eyes. “Don’t fight me. You need carbs and chaos.”

You sigh. “Fine.”

Outside, the cars are already lining up. You pile into one with your members, the van swaying gently as it pulls out into Seoul traffic. Your body aches, legs heavy, shoulders sore, but under that is something hotter, still pulsing.

Your thoughts drift.

The way Yunho’s breath hit your skin.

The way Mingi’s eyes followed every inch of you, like he was memorizing something.

You press your forehead to the cool window and try to will the thoughts away.

They don’t leave.

___________________

You arrive at the restaurant, low-lit, intimate, noise spilling from private booths and long wooden tables. The air smells like sizzling meat, soy, and something sweeter, peach soju on the table, ice clinking in glasses.

You slide into a seat at the far end with your group. Yunho and Mingi end up directly across from you.

The table buzzes with jokes and stories, someone brings up an old tour memory, someone else spills a drink. Laughter rolls like waves. You find yourself smiling without thinking, eyes warm, shoulders loose for the first time all day.

You don’t even remember what the joke was.

It had something to do with Jongho mishearing the lyrics during practice, someone teasing Seonghwa for the way he says “espresso,” and maybe San doing an impression so loud the entire back half of the restaurant turned to stare.

But whatever it was, you’re laughing now, breathless, light-headed, free.

Your hand’s pressed to your chest as you giggle, cheeks hurting, stomach clenching from how hard the joy is bubbling up and spilling over. It feels like the first time in weeks you’ve really let go.

The truth is, you're a little tipsy.

Enough to let the pressure slide off your shoulders like a coat someone else forced you to wear. Enough to let the ache in your bones soften into something looser, lighter. Enough to let your head tilt back when you laugh, eyes crinkling and lips parted, unguarded.

And not just that, but it’s over.

The weeks of rehearsals, the pressure of managing two groups, the cameras, the expectations, the choreography that turned your body into a weapon and your emotions into a live wire. All of it, done.

Tonight is the first breath after a storm.

And your body feels it.

You feel it in the warm flush spreading across your cheeks, in the way you’re leaned comfortably against Sae’s shoulder, in how your fingers curl loose around your glass, condensation sliding down to your knuckles.

You don’t notice Yunho staring.

You don’t notice Mingi’s jaw tighten as he watches a drop of peach soju fall from your glass and catch on the curve of your lower lip before you swipe it away with your thumb.

But they do.

Yunho’s chair is turned slightly toward you now, subtly, like he’s been leaning closer without realizing it. His eyes track you like you’re something alive and wild that he’s scared to disturb.

Mingi’s fingers twitch under the table.

He hasn’t touched his food in ten minutes.

You glance up mid-sip, catching their expressions.

Something in your chest stutters.

You set your drink down, slower this time. Try to act casual.

Sae whispers something in your ear, probably a joke, and you bite your lip as you smile, eyes crinkling again.

And Yunho just breathes out like it physically hurts him.

You catch that.

You tilt your head, not quite teasing, not quite serious.

“Y’all good?” you ask, soft and playful, as if you don’t already know the answer.

Mingi blinks like he’s been caught mid-fantasy.

Yunho clears his throat. “Yeah. Just... you look like you’re finally breathing.”

That throws you.

You look down at your glass. Then back up.

“Maybe I am.”

Silence hums for a beat too long.

Wooyoung cuts in, dramatic as ever. “Okay, can we all agree that if anyone starts making heart eyes across the table, we’re tossing them into the grill?”

Everyone laughs.

You shake your head, cheeks warm, but not from the soju.

The night is wrapping around you like silk, warm, slow, and softly unspooling. Laughter still lingers in the air as people start to shuffle out, chairs scraping, empty glasses clinking.

You reach for your jacket, standing slowly. Your body is still buzzing, from the soju, from the tension, from the way Yunho’s eyes burned through distance.

You barely lift the jacket before a hand reaches past you.

Yunho.

He holds it up by the shoulders, silent, waiting.

You hesitate.

Then you turn, slipping your arms in, and feel the weight of it settle over you, heavy, grounding.

His hands brush against the tops of your shoulders, adjusting it gently.

And then, he doesn’t move.

He’s standing close behind you, the warmth of his chest brushing your back, and when you turn your head slightly, his breath ghosts over the curve of your jaw.

You stop breathing.

And then another presence slides in.

Mingi.

His fingers move to the collar, fixing it carefully, one side, then the other. His brow furrows, eyes laser-focused like adjusting your jacket is life or death. Then his fingers pause at your collarbone, brushing a curl back behind your ear.

And that’s when you feel it, their stillness.

Mingi’s hand is still curled near your neck.

Yunho hasn’t stepped back.

They’re both too close.

Too quiet.

Too careful.

Yunho’s voice, barely a breath, says it first in his head: Pull away before you kiss her.

But he doesn’t.

Mingi blinks slowly, staring at your mouth for half a second too long.

He’s not breathing either.

Don’t lean in. Don’t ruin it. Don’t-

Your lips part. Just a little.

Your eyes meet Mingi’s.

The heat is unbearable.

And then-

“Are you guys coming?” Jongho's voice breaks the spell, casual but loaded, like he knows exactly what he walked in on.

You step back. Fast. Too fast.

Yunho clears his throat. Mingi drops his hands.

“Yeah,” Yunho says, his voice cracked and rough. “Coming.”

You nod silently, trying to look normal. Unbothered.

But inside, everything’s cracked wide open.

Your jacket is warm now. But your skin’s burning underneath.

_________________

The vans split after dinner, half heading toward the dorms, the rest chasing down midnight snacks or late-night cravings. You slide into the backseat with Sae and Ny, curling up in your oversized jacket, cheek pressed against the cool glass.

The streetlights flicker past. Blurred gold, soft blue, midnight hues.

Everyone’s quiet.

Except for the buzzing.

A phone lights up in Sae’s lap.

So does Ny’s.

So does everyone’s, except yours.

They exchange a glance and start giggling.

You furrow your brows, leaning closer.

“What’s so funny?”

Ny covers her mouth. “Nothing.”

Leya snorts. “Everything.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

It’s only when you catch the edge of Yeosang’s name in her notifications that you realize:-

There’s a group chat.

One you’re not in.

You pretend not to care.

You absolutely care.

Later, much later, you’ll find out the full thread:

[GROUP CHAT: “collab chaos ☠️”]

Yeosang: so… who’s gonna say it?

Sae: say what, king?

San: they’re obsessed with her.

Seonghwa: you say that like she’s not also obsessed with them.

Ny: guys it’s giving spiritual bond

Hongjoong: poly rights 💅🏾

Leya: we need to lock them in a room.

Yeosang: do it for the culture.

_________________

Back at the dorms, it’s quiet.

You let yourself in with a low sigh. The lights are off. Someone left incense burning — faint sandalwood still clings to the air, earthy and warm.

You set your bag down by the door and lean against the wall, eyes closed.

Your body’s sore. Not just from dancing, but from holding it all in.

The want. The confusion. The not-knowing.

You kick off your shoes. Drag yourself to the kitchen. Pour a glass of water with shaky hands.

You should be asleep.

Instead, your fingers flick your phone open.

Twitter.

You shouldn’t look.

You do anyway.

Your name is trending.

“when y/n wrapped her leg around mingi and he looked like he saw heaven... I'm on my KNEES.”

“yunho literally inhaled her scent on stage. this isn’t choreography this is foreplay.”

“THEY’RE NOT ACTING I REPEAT THEY’RE NOT ACTING.”

“someone please tell y/n she deserves both of them and a raise.”

You scroll until your thumb aches.

It should freak you out. it's better than what you expected. the usual kill her, my idol can't like someone.

A knock on the door nearly makes you drop your phone.

You freeze.

It’s late.

Another knock. Softer. You tiptoe to the door and crack it open.

Mingi.

He stands there, hoodie slung over his frame, hair still slightly damp from a shower. His eyes are wide. Nervous. Soft.

“Hey,” he says, barely audible.

Behind him, another shadow moves in the hallway light.

Yunho.

He looks just as wrecked. Just as unsure.

“I thought about calling,” you whisper, stepping aside, “but I didn’t know what I’d say.”

They both walk in slowly. Mingi closes the door. Yunho doesn’t look at you right away, just stares at the floor like he’s afraid of what happens next.

You stand there, all three of you in the quiet dark.

“I-” Mingi starts. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” Yunho adds.

You nod. Your chest is too tight to speak.

You sit first, cross-legged on the floor by the low coffee table. Mingi follows. Then Yunho. There’s enough space between you to breathe. Barely.

“What are we doing?” you finally say, voice fragile.

No one answers right away.

Then Mingi says, “Thinking about you. Constantly.”

Yunho’s voice is low. “Wanting you.”

You blink. The air thins.

“I thought I was going crazy,” you admit. “Like… maybe I imagined the way you looked at me. Or how it felt when you touched me.”

“You didn’t imagine it,” Mingi says quickly.

Yunho leans in, elbows on his knees, gaze locked on yours. “I tried not to feel it. But I do. And it’s more than I know what to do with.”

Your throat tightens.

“And the fancams,” Mingi adds, running a hand through his hair, “they just… confirmed it. Everyone saw it. We couldn’t hide it if we wanted to.”

You look down.

There’s a long pause. Heavy.

Then, Yunho reaches first.

Just his pinky brushing yours on the table. Barely a touch. But it’s like fire licking across your skin.

Mingi watches it. Then reaches out, too.

His hand wraps around your wrist. Gentle. Protective.

And something inside you cracks.

You lean forward without thinking, pressing your forehead to Yunho’s shoulder, your hand curling into Mingi’s.

No one moves for a moment.

Then arms wrap around you, one from each side.

Yunho’s palm on the back of your head.

Mingi’s fingers splayed across your spine.

You feel caged in. Safe. Wanted.

You breathe.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whisper.

Mingi’s voice is muffled in your hair. “Whatever you want it to be.”

Yunho exhales slow. “But I can’t pretend it’s nothing anymore.”

And then, so quietly you almost don’t hear him:

“I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”

The words settle.

You don’t pull away.

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a fall.

It feels like landing.

Mingi’s thigh is warm against yours. Yunho’s fingers brush your sleeve as he shifts. You lean forward, elbows on knees, trying to control your breathing.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” you murmur.

“But I don’t want it to stop.”

Mingi makes a low sound. Like he’s trying to hold something in.

“I think about you every time we’re not in the room with you,” Yunho says quietly. “And even when we are.”

You blink hard.

Mingi shifts closer. “I didn’t know I could feel this much for someone so fast. Or... so strong.”

The air thickens. You feel like you’re about to combust.

Yunho gently wraps an arm around your shoulder. Mingi’s palm finds your thigh.

They hold you.

And you let them.

Eventually, it’s time to part.

They both linger by the door. No one wants to break the silence. But there’s a lightness in the room now, like something’s been unlocked. You walk them to the elevator. Mingi squeezes your hand before stepping in. Yunho brushes a curl from your face.

You close the door after they’re gone and lean your back against it, heart racing. For once, the feelings in your chest don’t feel unrequited. They feel seen.

Real.

One Week Later

The air inside the arena rehearsal space is humid with effort and adrenaline. Spotlights buzz above. Mirrors catch fleeting glimpses of movement, your arched spine, Mingi’s focused gaze, Yunho’s sharp control.

You move like instinct. The music pulses beneath your skin.

On the last eight-count, Mingi spins you into Yunho’s hold. His palm presses flat against your stomach, your back to his chest, lips barely inches from your ear. You feel his breath before you hear it.

You’re so aware of them, of yourself, it’s dizzying.

“Break time!” someone calls.

You barely register it.

You drift away from the others, wiping sweat from your chest and neck, headed toward one of the back rehearsal rooms. A smaller, dim space. You’re halfway through removing the wrap from your wrist when you hear the door close behind you.

Yunho. Then Mingi.

They’re quiet. You look up.

Yunho’s voice is soft, like a secret. “We miss you.”

Mingi steps closer, almost hesitant. “All I think about is holding you. Keeping you close.”

Your throat tightens.

“Do you feel the same way?” Yunho asks.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

They close the space between you slowly. Not with lust first, but need.

Yunho’s palm finds your cheek. He looks down at you, and up close the difference in height feels laughable. He’s tall. Broad. You’re not used to looking up at anyone, being a taller woman. Not like this.

He leans closer, mouth hovering over yours. Your eyes flutter. His soft lips are on yours; making your body burn so fast you stutter a little. It doesn't stop you both though. No. You sink your hand into his hair and pull him closer to your level. Tongues fighting to stay together.

When you part it's because you were getting lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Turning to mingi your eyes are pleading, “I've been waiting so long you have no idea,” is all he confesses before you go for each other. With mingi it's less of a fight for each other more he is giving himself to you. Holding you as he sneaks in all the emotion and longing and want he's had for you into the kiss.

You feel dizzy with want and musk and mingi and yunho. You cant think clearly right now.

Yunho who has been holding you from behind whispers into your ear “Can I lay you down?”

You nod.

Yunho lifts you effortlessly, laying you across the makeup table like you're made of something precious. The cool surface contrasts with your flushed skin. He moves with careful, practiced grace, like he's making sure you know he's in control but only to protect you.

Then Mingi kneels. His hands smooth over your thighs, warm and trembling slightly.

His eyes find yours, and there’s something wrecked in his face.

“Let me taste you,” he says, low and soft, like he's afraid of breaking.

You part your legs, breath caught.

He caresses your leg going up your calf, lips feathering kisses up your thigh, he looks like he is worshipping you already nose prodding at the softness in your fuller thighs. All this has you breathing hard before he has really touched you at all.

His tongue is slow at first, being used to kiss up and down your core, exploring every curve like he’s trying to learn you for memory. Each flick makes you tremble, back arching, one hand bracing behind you.

Your hand finds Yunho blindly. He's a grounding force.

He leans down over you to kiss down your neck, hard. Like he's trying to mark you. It has your core squeezing tight at the thought of being his. He goes down to your chest pulling up your shirt for him to take your nipples. Your back arches at that. Him biting and sucking. You're trembling. It's too much.

Mingi has been rubbing a finger at your entrance and takes now as the moment to enter. You gasp a reach out to grab his arm wrapped around your thigh for fear life. His pumping finger, his tongue in your clit, yunho making a mess of your chest. You're in the brink of climax. The cliff is right there- waiting to be jumped off of.

“Yes, yes, yes I'm so-” it all flushed down the drain when both yunho and mingi pull away from you. You're whimpering before you even know what happened.

You feel yourself being pulled up and made to kneel, your ass facing mingi and you facing yunho. You reach out for his waist band, feeling how hard he is already and wanting, needing to help him. Your own ruined orgasm forgotten.

You get to working his belt. Mingi is still behind you massaging your ass slowly- as if he is preoccupied watching you and yunho.

When you wrap your fingers around him, he groans. You pull him out, heavy and flushed, the weight of him resting against your lips.

You shift, turning your body so your thighs widen, your knees bend beneath you, and your back arches just slightly. You're kneeling low, your face in line with Yunho’s cock... and your ass high, presented directly to Mingi’s mouth.

He gasps.

You feel his hands press into your thighs harder. He groans again, deeper now, and dips his head lower.

His mouth trails to the round of your ass, kisses one cheek.

Then the other.

Then, muffled, trembling:

“Can I eat your ass?”

The moan that slips out of you is broken. You choke around Yunho’s cock, eyes wide.

“Yes,” you manage, voice shuddering.

Mingi moans into you, it vibrates through your bones.

He spreads you gently, tongue hot and slow as he licks you open. You press back into him instinctively, whimpering as his hands clutch your thighs like a man falling.

Yunho’s hand cups your cheek. His thumb brushes your jaw.

“You’re okay?” he asks.

You nod, mouth full, hips trembling.

“Doing so good for us,” he murmurs.

Mingi’s breath is shaky. He’s panting now, whimpering into your skin as he devours you with a kind of desperation that borders on worship. He’s gone, totally gone. Drowning in you.

Yunho moves with more control, hips rolling gently into your mouth. He keeps your pace slow, fingers brushing your curls back with care.

It builds.

The pressure. The heat.

You whimper around Yunho as the knot inside you tightens, burning, overwhelming. It takes one last suck from mingi before you start trembling.

You cum first and hard.

Your whole body seizes as you cry out around Yunho’s cock, legs shaking violently, cunt throbbing against Mingi’s mouth. Mingi moans into you, tongue still working, hands stroking your back, your thighs, grounding you.

Yunho groans, pulling back before he loses it, his hand stroking slowly as he watches you unravel.

Mingi’s eyes fluttered open. He looks up at you like he’s seen God. There’s no going back.

The air is heavy. Mingi leans his head back against the wall, breathing hard, a dazed smile twitching on his lips. Yunho, composed, tucks himself in with quiet precision. Not a hair out of place. Not a breath out of rhythm.

He reaches for the water bottle and, without hesitation, offers it to you first. His voice is soft. “Sip slow.”

You’re trembling a little, lips dry, and the water feels like salvation.

Then, Yunho steps toward Mingi and, with two fingers, gently wipes something off the corner of his mouth. Probably gloss. Maybe more. His hand lingers for just a beat longer than necessary.

Mingi blinks up at him eyes wide like he is being hypnotised.

You’re still catching your breath, watching them, and the sight of it, the way Yunho’s thumb grazes Mingi’s cheek, the way Mingi exhales like he just got kissed, makes your stomach twist. Hot.

You pull your shirt down a little, hoping to look a touch more composed.

Yunho finally turns back to you with a calm nod. Like he hadn’t just, well. Everything.

You swear he looks like he just got out of a skincare commercial.

Meanwhile, in the Main Rehearsal Room...

“Ten bucks says they don’t come back the same,” Wooyoung whispers to Yeosang handing him a small, yellow, game bill.

Yeosang doesn’t even look up. “You think I bet with Monopoly money?”

San is pacing. “Okay but what if they actually, I mean they’ve been weird. Like hot weird.”

Your group’s main vocalist, Leya just sips her bubble tea and says, “If they’re not making out or making love, I will literally sue for emotional damage.”

“Not you projecting your fanfic desires again,” Wooyoung mutters.

“Shut UP,” she hisses, but they’re all leaning toward the door.

[GROUP CHAT: “collab chaos ☠️”] Wooyoung: if they don’t come back wrecked and glowing I'll riot Sae: i say 25 mins. not a second less. Jongho: should we get them couple necklaces??? 😭😭😭 Ny: NO. we get them “i survived the joint rehearsal” shirts. Seonghwa: with matching lip print decals.

You, Yunho & Mingi re-enter the room.

Twenty-three minutes later.

The silence when the door opens is almost comical.

You walk in, doing your best not to limp or smile or combust. Mingi looks like he just stepped out of a fever dream, face flushed, pupils blown, shirt untucked in a way that screams scandal.

And Yunho? Yunho looks like he just filed his taxes. Emotionally neutral. Shirt crisp. Hair perfect. He even has a clipboard. Where did he get a clipboard?!

“Bro,” San breathes. “He’s not real.”

“I think he ascended,” your leader, Mina whispers.

“Yunho looks like he taught the Kama Sutra and then took attendance,” Wooyoung adds.

Yeosang smirks. “And Mingi looks like he got hit by a soul train.”

[GROUP CHAT: “collab chaos ☠️”] Ari: i need a debrief. they walked in like it was the last supper. Wooyoung: mingi is FLUSHED. Yeosang: and yunho??? mf just raised a whole baby and paid off a mortgage emotionally. Sae: i need them to never break up or I will require therapy. Leya: y’all. this is revolutionary. we are in the golden age of idol romance. Jongho: MY THREEE-PLE 🔥🔥🔥 Ny: i’m buying them matching satin robes

Back in the room...

Practice resumes. Supposedly.

You all take your marks. Yunho calls out counts like a man unfazed by mortal desire. You swear he even stretches his shoulders like nothing happened.

Mingi keeps stealing glances at you. He nearly misses his cue.

Your thighs squeeze together instinctively.

When you catch sight of your group’s main vocal mouthing “bitch I KNOW” at you mid-run-through, you almost break character.

You catch Yunho’s gaze across the mirror wall.

His smirk, this time, is tiny. But it’s there.

Three... two... one.

The lights shift.

And the next dance sequence begins.

______________________

The collab concert ends in a blur of light and sound, a sea of screaming fans, sweat-glittered skin, and the kind of adrenaline that doesn’t let you crash until hours later.

You’re back in your room before you realize it. There’s laughter still echoing in your bones, the stage lights burned behind your eyelids. Your group and ATEEZ had hung out in the hotel restaurant for dinner and a while after, celebratory drinks, teasing, someone playing a victory playlist off a phone. But you snuck away first, too buzzed, too full.

A few minutes later, they came to find you. Of course they did.

Now you’re lying in bed, between them, Yunho on your right, Mingi on your left. The sheets are tangled, the room dim, and your body is still humming. Not just the show. Not just the sex. But the everything of it. The intimacy. The way it finally felt like you weren’t on the edge of something, but finally, finally inside of it.

The pillows smell like them. Your skin’s still dewy with leftover sweat and scent. Mingi is trailing his fingers gently up and down your arm, half-asleep, and Yunho’s chest rises and falls beside you, steady and calm like a tide you trust.

“Hey,” Yunho murmurs, voice low, brushing a curl away from your cheek.

You hum.

“I want to take you on a date. Seriously.”

You turn toward him, eyes fluttering open.

“I mean it,” he says. “I want this. Not just what we’ve been doing. All of it. I want to be yours. Publicly, privately, painfully real.”

Before you can even respond, Mingi shifts and blurts, voice still a little sleepy and hoarse:

“I’d take you both on a date so hard.”

You laugh breathily, burying your face in the pillow.

“Is it like that?” you tease, soft and playful.

Mingi curls closer to you, his cheek pressing into your shoulder like he wants to disappear inside your skin.

“It’s like that,” he mumbles. “It’s... a lot. But it’s you.”

Yunho leans over and kisses your temple. His arm slides around you, protective, claiming, warm. His hand reaches over to graze Mingi’s side too, and Mingi visibly melts into it.

There’s no more room between you.

No more doubts.

You’re not fumbling through tension anymore. Not playing pretend. You’re choosing this.

Maybe the world still won’t understand. Maybe you’ll have to keep parts of it quiet. But in this moment, tangled under blankets, Yunho’s breath on your cheek, Mingi’s hand on your waist, it’s enough.

More than enough.

You close your eyes, and whisper what you know is true.

“This isn’t the end.”

Mingi presses a kiss to your bare shoulder. Yunho’s fingers tighten gently on your arm.

“No,” Yunho says.

Mingi smiles sleepily, the curve of his lips brushing your skin.

“It’s just the beginning.”

“I feel like we are in a movie or smth, anyone else? That felt like a cool movie line,” he continued.

You snort and giggle, yunho sighs heavy, “mingi go to sleep,” but none of you miss the little smile yunho has on his face.

They feel so right, you think.

___________

A/n: Its taken me TIIIMEEE to get this done. I hope you enjoyed it

L0ve, M.A

266 notes · View notes

angelremnants · 7 months ago

Text

A TALES OF... l Jasmins and Prayers

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

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

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

word count : 12.7k

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 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 followed him like a shadow. He was inherently familiar with chaos and ruin, but 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. Still, 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 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.

No matter, Loki hesitated.

The previous fire burned hotter now, threatening to consume him if he did not retreat. He turned on his heel and strode away from the throne room. Whatever 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, cutting through his defenses like a blade. With a long 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. But 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 you 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, and he didn’t bother retrieving it. His boots echoed softly on the smooth stone floor as he crossed the room, every movement engaged and 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 diamond cut features etched in the pale glow of the moon. The beauty of Asgard, timeless and magnificent, unfortunately failed to reach him tonight.

Instead, his mind lingered on the moment he had fled from. Your gaze had burned through the walls he had spent centuries perfecting. The way you had spoken to him had stirred something dangerous within him—something he had tried to bury beneath layers of wit and cruelty.

The prince'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 particularly hated it. No, what he presently resented 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 simmering molten lava that bubbled in his chest now was almost suffocating, travelling the length of his body that betrayed him, the heat now concentrating 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 picture you in his mind, especially focused on the way your lips had curved and the way your hands had accompanied your words.

Would your wretched hands feel as soft as they appeared? Would your cursed lips taste as sweet as they seemed?

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, but this only served the images to become more vivid, more intrusive. Your light and taunting laughter 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 bitterly muttered to himself. “Utterly foolish.”

Even though as he berated himself, his body continued to betray 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 room. You weren’t there, but it felt as though your inescapable presence had seeped into the very fabric of his being.

The god began to pace like a predator stalking the confines of a cage, the tightness in his frame radiating with every step he took. His hands itched with the need to do something, anything, to dispel the unforgiving lightnings inside him. As if to calm the turmoil inside him, they instead 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 did little to extinguish the fire raging within. He carelessly tossed the garment aside, preferring to care about how his breath was now coming faster. 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 utterly maddening.

The raven-haired leaned heavily against the windowsill, his palms pressed against the cool stone as he stared out into the night. The lights of Asgard below glowed in a haunting dance, indifferent to the storm within him.

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

The question hung in the air, unanswered, like a bitter curse, that prompted Loki to fight back the surge of emotions threatening to drown him. The need to control was a constant in his life, and at the moment, 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 knowledge he carried or the challenges 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 violently slicing through the room with its brightness. 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 Asgardian stood frozen in his place, 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 consequences of the situation began to sink in. He liked to think that he was usually not a man to let his emotions dictate his actions. But there 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 rather with the uncontrollable surge of magic begging to spill once more. He closed his eyes, releasing a shaky breath as he reached it out 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, and he almost envied how easily the mirror had reassembled as if it had never been broken at all.

He flexed his fingers in hopes of letting the tension get drained out of him, but found it impossible to completely erase. The ache still gnawed at his insides as he straightened his posture, wiping the last traces of anger from his expression.

I need to cool off.

He couldn’t stay here, surrounded by the evidence of his volatile nature. Perhaps a relaxing bath would help quelling the heat that seemed to pulse beneath his skin.

This will pass, he thought, trying to convince himself as he turned toward the bathroom's door. It’s only a fleeting distraction.

But deep down, Loki knew that you were nothing but. He had already allowed you to slip too far into his thoughts. All he could do was seek solace in the solitude of a hot bath, hoping that somehow, the water would cleanse him from the chaos you had spawned within his consciousness.

⠀⠀

A cool breeze greeted him as he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the bathing room, the lingering perfume of lavender and cedar wood scented candles drifting through the air and mingling with those of of the stones and ancient marble.

The room before him presented as 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. Tall, arched windows lined one side, offering a view of the vast garden outside, though the curtains were drawn and only left the soft glow of magical lanterns to illuminate the scape.

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, reflecting an ethereal glow that suggested it had been heated by some unseen magic, its surface smooth and still.

The dark prince paused for a moment in the doorway, letting the serenity wash over him. His thoughts swirled back to your eyes, your voice, and in essence, your everything his brain could conjure. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t shake it, and it gnawed at him with every breath.

He flicked his fingers, a subtle wave of magic rippling through the air, and the candles brightened, their light now casting soft pools of warmth across the marble floor. A gentle mist enhanced in the room, adding an element of tranquility, making sure that the very atmosphere had been designed to soothe his frazzled nerves.

His gaze moved to the mirror above a stone counter, where his troubled and intense eyes stared back at him.

A god, reduced to this.

His trousers joined the floor in a tender caress, the fabric snaking down his legs, slowly revealing the sculpted lines of his body illuminated in the dancing candlelight. Muscles taut beneath pale skin, the shadows playing across his form and creating images of both beauty and danger.

He took his time, radiated a sensual confidence in the weaving of an intimate dance with the fabric of his clothing, each piece falling to the floor like a whispered secret of the upcoming outcome. 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 being shed in this private sanctum.

He became more acutely aware of his body’s response at his demise, each sinew straining beneath the surface. A flicker of arousal sparked within him, causing his hardness to awaken in a subtle yet undeniable twitch that added to the intoxicating energy swirling around him.

Yet, a sliver of disappointment crept in amid this heady mix of sensations, 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 reflected duality of godhood and vulnerability coiling within him, a potent mix of the primal and the divine swirling together in the shades of his bathroom.

In an 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 an inviting yet cautious lover’s embrace. His skin prickled at the contrast, a stark reminder of both exposure and freedom.

With his gaze drawn to the softly rippling, steamed water curling sensuously in the tub, he felt the anticipation of a promise of warmth unfurl within him, attracting him like would a siren’s call. Even then, the feral tug of an instinctive hesitation lingered in his heart, a wildness that resisted the notion of surrendering to something so simple as water. 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 comfort or holding fast to the tempest that raged just beneath his flesh.

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

His magic swirled around him again, a green light radiating from his hands as he guided the water to shift before calming once more. He wove a simple spell to adjust the temperature, ensuring that the water was neither too hot nor too cold but perfectly comfortable, and would serve as the proper balm for his strained muscles and his shaken mind.

An almost imperceptible sigh left his lips as he stepped forward, finally releasing its last vestiges of resistance as he lowered himself into the tub, water meeting skin in a comforting embrace. Loki leaned back, his head resting against the edge, eyes closed for a moment as he let it cradle him. The tension in his body seemed to dissolve as the heat progressively seeped into his muscles, coaxing them to relax.

Still, the conflicting feelings of anger, frustration, and desire all persisted to bubble in his chest and stomach, mixing in a stew he could neither understand nor escape even in the quiet solitude of the bath. His fingers, idly tracing the surface of the water, clenched for a brief moment, nails scraping softly against the ceramic of the tub.

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 intense moment between them. The warmth of your body, the steady pulse thrumming in your neck, the way your gaze had lingered on him. The hunger, the unsaid invitation of your lips. It all haunted him.

Loki’s eyes snapped open, and his hands clenched around the edge of the tub as an image of your mouth nearing his own appeared. The thought of you in such proximity 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 avoid the swelling desire given how his breath grew shallow and his pulse drummed in his ears. It filled and squeezed his chest, suffocating him until all he could see, all he could feel, was you.

The raven-haired's stomach twisted with annoyance, his body aching with need he had no desire to acknowledge. He couldn’t possibly let this nonsense consume him in this moment of fragile peace.

Loki plunged himself beneath the water, submerging his entire form to let the cool soothe of the liquid swallow him whole. The world above disappeared, and for a moment, he felt weightless, suspended in the depths of the tub.

The refreshing water stung against his skin but did nothing to wash away the images of you as they clung to him like shadows in the depths of his mind.

Foolish.

The word echoed in his mind as he held his breath tight underwater while the world remained muffled, distorted by the pressure around him. The steady rhythm of his heart was the the only constant measure he felt along the aching burn in his chest.

He remained submerged for what felt like an eternity, and the longer he stayed, the more he realized that the thoughts would not leave no matter the amount of effort, magic or water spent.

Reluctantly, the prince 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.

As much as he tried to push it away, he could still feel the imprint of you, and for the first time in centuries, Loki found himself unable to control the itch that unnerved him.

His mind began to drift again against his will, like a tide pulling him back to the same, dangerous shore. It surged forward, unstoppable, and the sloshing of the water continued to painfully remind him of how close you had been in the cave.

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 in this delicious arche had made his entire body hum with a raw passion. And your touch... the manner of how 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, echoing on his body with unbearable clarity.

Why couldn’t he let it go?

His hand mindlessly 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, poured a small amount onto the length of his torso. The droplets were cool against his skin, but as his hand moved lower, his thoughts drifted again back to you.

Your delicate skin... 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, 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. Her touch could be like that. Her fingers, warm and slow against me.

A shiver ran down his spine as the cool liquid continued to trickle down his chest. 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 with your hands trailing over him, leaving a burning path in their wake. The thought was so vivid, so intoxicating, that he didn’t realize he was still rubbing the substance into his skin, his movements becoming more sensual as if trying to mimic the sensation he had felt in that moment with you.

He tried to mirror the sensation conjured by his mind, tracing a path down his body just as he had imagined you doing. 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, while his lower part 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, of how you had made him feel were 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, and the fantasy, once small, bloomed into something more tangible as his palm pressed against the base of his navel.

He imagined you again, your hands on him, your body close—too close. It felt like a fever, a longing that twisted deep inside of him. The oil was now nothing but a reminder of that same burn that he hadn’t asked for. His heart raced, hand slipping against the taut skin of the limit of his lower abdomen.

It was only then that his eyes shot open, as if a switch had been flipped. The realization of falling deeper into a twisted dream that should not be his hit him like a thunderclap.

“No,” he hissed, clenching his jaw tightly, the word coming out furiously.

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 room. Even as he tried to stop, to force his thoughts to turn elsewhere, his body refused to listen.

Loki sank back into the water, burying his face in his hands in shame, desperately hoping 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, the ache in his chest had not dulled, 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 a beautifully made arrangement, their white blossoms giving off the scent of calming sweetness. He needed something to distract him, to ground him. A sharp huff escaped his nostrils as he sprinkled the jasmine petals into the water, watching them float gently and dispersing around him.

The calming effect of the jasmine would have indeed wrapped around him like he intended, if not for how their white silk-like texture reminding him of you.

He couldn’t help it. His thoughts wandered back to your robe that had clung to your skin almost like a second layer, leaving little to the imagination. The translucent fabric—white, like the petals—had molded your curves in a way that made him growl at how distinctively he remembered every detail, to the point that he knew he could easily recreate your silhouette.

The robe, almost too delicate, seemed so sheer that it practically enticed him to fit his palms against it. He had found himself utterly mesmerized, unable to tear his gaze away from the exhilarating sight of you.

He could still see how the fabric had accentuated your femininity with an intimate familiarity that sent his heart racing. He had almost been envious of the way it fell onto you, as if the robe shared an intimate a bond with you that left him yearning to discover the pleasure of your flesh nestled against that delicate barrier.

The jasmine petals scattered about only amplified the sensuality of the memory, as though mirroring the attractive sight. 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 and ignited every sense within him.

He imagined reaching out, the tips of his fingers grazing the wet robe, feeling the divine softness of your body barely covered by it. He envisioned how it would feel to press himself closer, to let his lips trail along the graceful trace 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 and useless fabric slide off on the stone, to—

Loki’s breath caught in his throat, and he suddenly felt an urgent pressure exploding 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.

“Damnation,” he hoarsely muttered under his breath. He leaned back against the edge of the tub 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.

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, you continued to haunt him. The petals, the scent, the warmth of the water—it all became intertwined with his hunger.

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.

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 jasmine 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, still uselessly wet, and still 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 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. 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 delectable sight, an offering he couldn’t resist.

“I’ve seen you in many visions,” Loki’s voice was low, almost purring as he spoke. “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 in the lightest touch, and it felt as though it was searing your skin. It still sent a jolt through him, his breath retained in captivity as he trailed a finger down the curve of your neck. You were trembling just slightly—whether from fear or desire, he couldn’t be sure. But it only made the scene more charged and more delicious.

You met his gaze, the challenge unmistakable in your eyes, even as your fingers tightened subtly around the edge of the tub. “I don’t know,” you replied 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 to you. “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. It felt like you were standing on the edge of something profound, something that could consume you entirely—and somehow, a part of you still wanted it. It wanted to give in to him, to the promise of pleasure and power he dangled before you like an impossible temptation.

The god pulled back, letting his finger rest on your chin to lift your gaze back to his.

“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 and claimed, body and soul?”

Your body tensed, but your obedient stare never wavering from his. “If my lord would like claim me, then he can do so knowing I am not afraid. I offer myself freely—body, soul, and every breath between. Take me… and show me what only a god can.”

Loki’s eyes darkened, his smile widening as his eyes alight with an undeniable hunger. He ran his finger along your chin, tilting his head towards yours.

“Well then, it's time for you to do your due diligence.”

A shiver of excitement ran down your spine as he rose from his crouched position, striding with sensual slowness to his dedicated altar on which he took place. The poised and confident sight of him filled you with an intoxicating mix of desire and fear, emotions that tangled together in a heady rush. Your breath hitched as he ascended, the shadows of the temple falling just right to highlight the chiseled perfection of his form.

Your pulse quickened in your neck, your heartbeat erratic, and the anticipation settled heavily in the pit of your stomach. You could feel his dark and alluring power drawing you toward him, a magnetic pull you couldn’t escape. Every inch of you seemed to be on fire as your body responded to his presence.

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

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 steps toward him.

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

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 as you neared him. Your hands 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. The unmistakable hunger in his stare made you feel so exposed, unraveling your very soul with nothing but a look.

“You’re trembling,” he remarked, pleased to see that every of his word felt like a brand against you. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your trembling hand. 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 as his smile deepened, an expression of quiet satisfaction that made your heart race. “You’re not as composed as you’d like to pretend. But do not worry, I’ll teach you how to surrender.”

“Don’t be shy,” he breathed, as his hands moved to undo the golden tie of your robe. “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, easily fell from your body, revealing the depth of your enticing figure to his hungry gaze.

Your breath quickened, your body trembling with anticipation, but you did not pull away. Instead, you stood still, waiting for him to make the next move. You were drawn to him—compelled by something darker 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. And with every passing second, you realized that you had already given yourself to him.

You couldn’t help but react to his every movement, as though every inch of your skin was attuned to him. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck, tasting the droplets of water that decorated your shiny flesh. The sensation of his demanding lips sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. Your breath hitched as his hands roamed upward the smoothness of your shoulder blades and his lips closely followed their path, exploring the skin of your shoulders with slow, languorous kisses. The combined with the sensations made you lightheaded with want, and you instinctively tilted your head backwards, surrendering and offering him more of your neck, of which 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, and you gulped as an attempt to steady yourself.

“Please,” you let out in a shaking voice at the strength in his frame pressing against yours. Finally, it was 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 as 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. Your breath came in quick gasps, your lips parting at how his touch was like fire on your skin, lighting every nerve ablaze.

His fingers skimmed across your waist, sending waves of sensation through you, before slowly traveling down to your hips. The sensation was intoxicating, and your breath caught in your throat as you fought it 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 skin flush with anticipation.

You couldn’t help but tremble under his touch as his hands ventured lower, tracing the outline of your thighs, sparking a flood of warmth that radiated out from your core. With each teasing caress, you felt as if you were being pulled deeper into him, writhing and arching under the pressure of his touch, desperate for more.

Loki’s voice was low and husky as he broke your kiss, his hand place around the birth of your throat and his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered his latest wish. “Now, priestess, I want you to undress me, as if every touch is a worship of my body.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and seemed to thrum in a variety of your parts 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 the end of his muscular chest. Your eyes traced every inch of the defined lines of his muscles, and the smattering of dark hair that peeked out from his Apollo’s belt.

“You should consider yourself fortunate,” he arrogantly offered, his tone dripping with confidence. “Not many are allowed to touch a god like me. Take your time. Let every movement be a tribute to what stands before you.”

A surge of boldness filled you as his words of encouragement caressed your ears. Your delicate hands slowly slid up the length of his tunic, inching it further upwards to reveal more and more of his godly physique. All you could see and feel were the 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 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 of your body. He tilted his head back in wanton surrender, exposing 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 raw word that fell from his lips ignited 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.

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. 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 finally 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, crackling 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.

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 bright emerald fireworks that seared straight to your soul. "The pants," he commanded in guttural sound edged with feral hunger. The rawness 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 steady.

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.

"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, teasingly circling the sensitive dip 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 it?" 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 softly murmured 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: you shyly leaned forward and placed a feather-light kiss on his inner thigh, right at the root of his shaft. Your lips slowly 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 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 sheer liquid. 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. A flicker of fear danced along your back under 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 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 priestess, 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 licked a broad stripe up your dripping slit, his skillful tongue circling your aching clit without directly touching it. He parted your folds with his fingers to delve deep, pumping in and out of your fluttering walls while he lapped 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," 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 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 praised, 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.

⠀⠀

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 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.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, though it lacked any humor. How could you? he asked himself, gripping the edge of the tub as if it could ground him. A sharp pang of disgust sliced through him, his jaw clenching tightly. How could I stoop so low? he thought bitterly, his disdain for his weakness growing with each passing second. The heat of his actions still lingered, clinging to him like a second skin, and he hated it. He hated himself.

As Loki's breath slowed and the weight of his actions pressed down on him, his gaze drifted to the scattered jasmine petals that floated lazily in the water. Their delicate fragrance filled the air, and for a brief moment, it was almost suffocating. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the pale petals, their soft white against the dark water mocking him with their innocence. They reminded him of that damned robe, the mortal woman who had worn it—you.

He scowled, a wave of irritation rising in him as he cursed them for being the catalyst, the one thing that had led to this moment of weakness. It wasn’t their fault, of course; it never was. But in his mind, they were the symbol of everything that had gone wrong. If only she hadn’t worn it, he thought bitterly. If only I hadn’t noticed her at all...

With a sharp wave of his hand, he dispelled the jasmine petals and the evidence of his indulgence, watching as they disappeared into nothingness, as if they had never been there to begin with. But the disquiet that followed lingered, refusing to vanish as easily as the evidence of his lapse.

Another gesture and the steaming bath turned icy cold, the sudden shock making him shudder. The chill was a reprieve—a way to snap himself back to reality, to wash away the lingering tremors still trembling his resolve.

“This means nothing,” he muttered under his breath, the words more of a command than a truth. He busied himself scrubbing away the remnants of his lapse in control, desperate to rid himself of the memory. His movements were quick, almost frantic, as if staying in the tub any longer would trap him in the thoughts he wanted to escape.

Nothing. He forced himself to believe that. He had allowed himself to be overwhelmed by his body’s basic urges, by the frustration of months of mounting stress—the endless manipulations of his “parents,” the suffocating chains of his conditional freedom, the constant reminder that his every action was watched and judged. And then, you—this mortal who had somehow wormed her way into his thoughts. You were simply an enticing distraction, an irritation that had lodged itself under his skin, and nothing more. He had no time for such trivial mortal attachments.

He exhaled sharply, dispelling the shame that clung to him like an uncomfortable cloak. It was just stress. A temporary lapse. The heat of the moment. It didn’t mean anything.

He turned his attention to the water, an escape of sorts, as he manipulated the temperature. His magic flowed effortlessly, and the warm bath transformed into an icy, biting chill. He let the cold seep into him, willing it to numb the stirring emotions that had begun to surge. But the cold only made him feel sharper, more exposed, the shock of it heightening his awareness of every thought, every tremor within him.

He couldn’t stay in the water any longer. The longer he lingered, the more the memory of what had just transpired would settle into his mind. And he couldn’t bear that. He didn’t want to acknowledge how badly the moment had shaken him.

His movements were quick, almost frantic, as he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist. His fingers were stiff as he dried off, each movement seeming mechanical, as though he was trying to force himself back into control, back into the careful, calculated Loki that he prided himself on being.

But even as he dressed, the thoughts didn’t fade. He told himself it was nothing. He told himself that it meant nothing. But even as he stepped away from the tub, a small, nagging voice echoed in his mind. Unless?

He stopped, mid-step, his chest tightening again. Could it be that simple? Could he dismiss it so easily? His gaze flicked to the empty tub, and a deep, unsettling feeling curled in his gut. The space seemed too quiet now, too still, and he could almost hear your voice again in the silence. Loki quickly turned away, his mind racing.

No. He refused to entertain it. It was stress, nothing more. You were nothing more.

Still, as he left the bathing chamber, his steps quick and unsteady, that seed of doubt lingered. He could feel it in the way his heart beat a little faster, the way his breath caught for a fraction of a second longer than it should have. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, there it was: Unless...

ending notes :

The way I was acting like that for the entire writing is SHAMEFUL. Lord have mercy on me.

Also, I'm not sorry for the length. I hope you enjoyed it thoroughly nonetheless. And get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about the fic, not Loki. :p

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