#i've been floating on air for hours

[nanamisgirly]

cw geto is maybe bi here idk, chubby nerd!reader with a bit of attitude, tbh there's no cw it's borderline between smut and fluff

part.2 part.3 part.4

˖ 𑣲 comments and reblogs are always appreciated ma girliees :33

womanizer!geto loves fucking women. truly he does! they are all wrapped around his fingers and all he has to do is glancing at them. and this goes for the whole campus!! even boys would fuck him if he'd give them the chance. and maybe, if the mood struck just right at a party or in a messy, drunken threesome/orgies, he does fuck the boys.

but womanizer!geto has also a nerd bestie. the typical nerd girl. she was everything but his type. nothing that looked like his usual hookup girls. she was not fit, but not exactly fat. just chubby. her acne scars from high school still there with still some pimples that comes and go. and of course the infamous nerd glasses that didn't seem to want to stay on her nose.

you were not someone womanizer!geto would ever fuck. that's why you're friends. strictly platonic. he liked how you never batted an eye at his reputation, never judged, never treated him like a conquest. you both grow close through the years together in the same degree, during the late nights session study in the library before exams, for you it was monnnths before exams, you're a little ball of stress.

womanizer!geto doesn't like when guys approached you. not because he cares—why would he? it just...doesn't make sense. you're not the kind of girl men chase. not the kind they brag about. so he makes sure to lecture you about it—especially about frat boys. "they’re the worst," he mutters, arm slung lazily over your chair as his knee bumped against yours under the table. "trust me, nerd. they only act nice 'cause they wanna see how you moan." you rolled your eyes, setting your pen down with an amused scoff. "do you think i've never fucked, suguru?" you shrugged, smirking at his clueless expression "just 'cause i'm shy and a 'nerd' doesn't mean I don't enjoy a good fuck." well, you were lying but he doesn't need to know that. you were probably having sex every couples of months and it wasn't even that good. your voice was light when you added, "thanks for the concern, though." something in his chest stutters. and for some reason, he has to look away.

womanizer!geto has no shame. he lets girls climb into his lap, lets their hands wander, lets them grind against him right on the couch with people around. almost fucking them on the spot. but never when you're around! why? well, he tells himself it's respect. at least, that's the excuse he clings to. because why else would he pull away from a pretty thing palming his cock just to go talk to you? right? he's just...pitying you. that's all. and yet—when he finally starts to feel his cock hardening in his pants, he tells himself it has nothing to do with your wide, innocent eyes blinking up at him. nothing to do with the way your lips part, soft and expectant. his dick is...delayed. yeah. just slow to catch up to the last girl's game. horrible by the way.

and of course womanizer!geto is trying to subtly adjust his pants. he's forcing his mind elsewhere—anywhere else—because if he lets himself think too hard about how fucking pretty you look right now, he's going to have a problem. a big one.

womanizer!geto keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet. only because you are his bestie! don't get any ideas on that. he found the picture cute that's it. the two of you, standing under a canopy of cherry blossom, petals floating around you like something out of a dream. his strong arm wrapped tightly around your plush waist, your round soft tits pressing against his chest. it had been an innocent day. really. he had dragged you out after hours of studying, calling you a nerd and insisting you needed air before your brain cells ended up smeared on the library table. what was supposed to be a thirty minutes walk turned into four hours. and when you reaching this pretty alley he couldn't help but suggest a pic—just for the memory! and obviously his arm was around you only to male sur you both fit in the camera frame. obviously. he was not dying to touch you!

and now here it was. the damn polaroid in gojo's hand. the white-haired menace grinning like he just found the greatest blackmail material of all time. "damn, suguru, you look so whipped." geto's eye twitched.

"look at this! holding our nerd like she's breakable—aww, how so sweet!!" gojo snickered, flipping the photo dramatically. "and—hold on. did she kiss your cheek?" suguru said nothing, jaw locked as his mind instantly flashed back to that moment—how you rose on your tiptoes, one hand pressing slightly on his broad shoulder to steady yourself as you leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. he had frozen for a second and he vividly recall your flushed face, wide eyes as you apologized profusely, muttering something about being 'carried away by the moment' and how it was simply a 'friendly' gesture.

his cock begins to stir at the memory of your soft lips against his skin. his heart skipping some beats.

"wait—holy shit." gojo barks out a laugh. "you keep this in your wallet? what, you jerk off to it?" your entire soul leaves your body. geto sees the way your eyes go wide, the way your hands fly to your face in horror.

and that's it. geto slowly stands up, cracking his knuckles and rolls his shoulders. "satoru," he said, voice eerily calm. gojo gulped. he was a dead man walking.

womanizer!geto tells himself he's just messing with you—that the way his fingers linger when he wipes a stray drop of your melting ice cream isn’t because he’s imagining how warm and soft your mouth would feel wrapped around his fingers. he convinces himself that when you lick your spoon, tongue flicking over the tip—his cock is not aching dreaming to be at the metal-stenciled place. and his rock-hard cock has definitely nothing to do with the way your thighs spread soft and full against the couch or the way your tits bouncy sightly every time you shift.

womanizer!geto is totally fine when you stretch on the couch next to him. arms up, back arching, body pushing forward, making your curves more prominent, making that cute little tummy press out—wait what?? geto shook his head trying to get back to his senses. no need to highlight it was impossible with the way his cock twitched in his pants.

womanizer!geto, obviously, does not want something with you..he does not want to bury himself into the plush softness of his nerd best friend, does not want to hear how sweetly you'd whimper his name. she's not his type!!!!

°‧★ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁( 。 •̀ ᴖ •́ 。)

a/n chubby girls are the biggest win 🙂‍↕️☝️

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙮

summary: please, i've been on my knees. change the prophecy. characters: mattheo riddle, reader warnings: none word count: 1.1k a/n- week three of festival of aus!!!

The silence in the bridal chamber was suffocating.

Thick velvet curtains blocked out the morning sun, drowning the room in muted blue light. An enchanted fire crackled in the hearth, more for appearance than warmth. You stood before the gilded mirror, motionless, watching the rise and fall of your chest as though your reflection belonged to someone else.

The gown was beautiful-ivory silk stitched with ancient runes, delicate lace climbing up your collarbones like frost. It fit like it had been made for you, because it had been. You were dressed like a queen, but you felt like a lamb draped in finery, led toward a fate carved out centuries before you were born.

The stylists had left hours ago, but their perfume still lingered in the air. Lilac, rosewater, smoke. You hated it. You hated the stillness, the silence, the spellwork sealed into every fold of fabric.

You hadn’t cried. Not yet.

Because crying would mean accepting it.

You heard the door open behind you-a soft creak, followed by the measured sound of his boots against the polished stone floor. You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to. His presence filled the room like shadow curling at the edges of candlelight.

Mattheo.

He moved slowly, as if unsure of his place in this room, in this moment. In your life.

He didn’t speak right away. You could see him in the mirror’s reflection-dark hair tousled, black robes sharp against his pale skin. His tie hung untied around his neck like a noose that hadn’t been pulled tight yet.

“You look…” he began, his voice low, rough, and a little hoarse. “Like you’ve made peace with dying.”

You held his gaze in the mirror, face unreadable. “Funny,” you murmured. “I was going to say the same about you.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. He looked tired-too tired for someone about to be wed. His hands stayed in his pockets as he leaned against the wall, watching you like he was trying to figure out if this version of you was real, or just another illusion.

“They’re waiting,” he said after a long pause. “Best not to keep the gods bored.”

You turned away from the mirror, your fingers brushing the embroidery at your waist. Tiny runes hummed beneath your touch-protection, union, permanence.

No escape.

You walked past him without a word. The smell of clove smoke and something darker-ancient magic, maybe-clung to him like a second skin. You didn’t look back.

The ceremony was held at dusk, beneath the carved stone archways of the Riddle ancestral estate. The air tasted like old magic and colder promises.

They’d draped the space in deep greens and silvers, woven with floating candles that hovered like stars caught mid-fall. Guests watched with wide eyes and polite smiles, draped in their own silk chains of duty and legacy.

You stood across from Mattheo, your hand in his, your pulse thudding behind your ribs like a caged bird.

A priestess recited the binding spell in a language older than death. Your names echoed through the hall like thunder on glass. You repeated the vows like you’d practiced-each word a stitch in a seam you could no longer rip.

Mattheo said his lines without flinching, but there was a tightness in his jaw. His fingers were warm but unmoving in yours.

Then came the kiss.

Brief. Pressed lips, nothing more. No spark, no fire, no tenderness.

A formality.

They applauded. You smiled.

You drowned.

That night, the manor was too quiet. Too clean. You padded through its endless halls like a child in a stranger’s home, every candle flickering with spells you didn’t know.

You found him in the drawing room, sitting in the high-backed leather chair by the fire, a crystal tumbler of firewhisky in his hand. He didn’t look up when you entered, but he gestured silently to the bottle on the table.

You poured yourself a glass and sat across from him. The chair was too big, the fire too hot. The glass too full.

You stared into the flames for a while, the silence stretching between you like a spell with no end.

Then, barely above a whisper, the words escaped your lips like a prayer:

“Please. I’ve been on my knees. Change the prophecy.”

His head turned slightly. You felt his gaze even before you saw it.

“You think I wanted this?” he said, voice soft, but sharp enough to cut.

You didn’t look at him. “Does it matter?”

A long pause. Then he drained his glass and set it down with a gentle thud.

“No,” he said quietly. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Sleep didn’t come easily after that.

You roamed the manor like a ghost in a cursed painting-bare feet against stone, fingers tracing the cracks in ancient wallpaper. You found the west wing at dawn, the ceiling a dome of enchanted glass showing the sky above, clouds drifting slow like forgotten dreams.

You tilted your face upward, eyes stinging.

“Just someone who wants my company,” you whispered to the stars. “Let it once be me.”

Days passed like pages being turned too quickly.

You and Mattheo shared meals in silence. Attended functions together. Stood close in public, careful to smile, to brush hands as though it meant something.

But at night, your hands remained still.

He was never cruel. Never touched you without consent. He didn’t mock, or threaten, or lash out. He simply existed near you-close, but impossibly distant. Like a moon circling a planet it could never touch.

You caught him once in the study, sitting by the window, a letter clutched in one hand. His other rested on the arm of the chair, fingers twitching like he’d been gripping a wand or a knife or maybe just an old memory.

He looked up when he noticed you.

For a moment, the mask slipped. You saw something raw flicker in his eyes-pain, maybe. Or guilt.

You said nothing.

You simply left.

You dreamed of him sometimes.

Not the man with the cold hands and sharp eyes, but someone softer. Someone who might have read poetry in secret, or loved the wind on his face, or kissed someone because he wanted to.

In those dreams, he reached for you.

And in the morning, your pillow was damp with tears you never let fall while awake.

They said soulmates were real.

But no one told you they could be arranged.

You laid awake that night beside him, both of you staring up at the canopy ceiling like it held the answers.

No words.

No touch.

No warmth.

Only silence, and the sound of fate laughing in the dark.

And as your eyes drifted closed, you realized the truth of it, carved into your ribcage like a spell you never asked for:

We were strangers in matching rings.

[hrtwayne]

Loveee Song || Alexia Putellas

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Goalkeeper!reader

Summary: Where Alexia realizes she is completely in love with her best friend and would do anything to make the athlete notice.

Note: English is not my first language.

Warning: Mention of kissing!

Masterlist | Women's Football Masterlist

Friday nights were sacred for Y/n and Alexia. It was a ritual they had maintained for years: just the two of them, no distractions, surrendering to the comfort of movies, carefree conversations, and the tranquility that only each other's company could provide. On this particular night, they were nestled in Y/n's bed, with Alexia lying on her side, her head resting on the goalkeeper's shoulder. The gentle caress of Y/n's fingers through her hair was so soothing that Alexia felt her thoughts drifting, as if they were floating on clouds.

Alexia noticed, with a racing heart, that something had shifted within her. There was a different warmth in her chest, a growing need to be even closer to Y/n. She wanted to spend hours listening to the athlete talk about anything, she wanted to wake up by her side every morning, feeling the safety and affection that always radiated from her. When she realized it, she was staring at Y/n's face with a new intensity, trying to memorize every detail of her features.

Y/n, always so attentive, quickly noticed the fixed gaze and turned slightly to face her, smiling softly.

"Why are you staring at me? Is there something on my face?", Y/n's question was playful, but the concern in her voice was noticeable.

Alexia immediately looked away, her cheeks burning with the embarrassment of being caught. The midfielder's heart pounded in her chest, almost painfully. How could she explain what was happening inside her?

"You're so oblivious, aren't you?" Alexia murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Sitting up in bed, she reached out a hand to Y/n's face, gently pushing a strand of hair behind the goalkeeper's ear, revealing more clearly the face that enchanted her so much. "It's been a while since I've been trying to show you that I want to kiss you, and you either haven't noticed or pretended not to."

Alexia's confession made the air around them feel heavier, almost tangible. Y/n froze, feeling the world stop around her as her body tensed. Alexia was so close, her lips just inches away, and the midfielder's gaze was intense, almost predatory.

"So... are you going to keep staring at me or are you going to kiss me?" Y/n managed to say, her voice almost faltering under the tension of the moment.

Alexia let out a frustrated groan before taking the initiative, closing the small distance between them. In a swift movement, her lips collided with Y/n's in a hungry, desperate kiss, as if both were trying to make up for all the lost time.

Alexia climbed onto Y/n's lap, eliminating any space between their bodies. The kiss was a mix of need and desire, their mouths moving in perfect sync. Y/n's hands explored Alexia's arms, feeling the soft skin under her fingers, while the midfielder's heart raced uncontrollably, echoing the excitement pulsing in her chest. With her fingers tangled in Y/n's hair, Alexia pulled her closer, as if fearing that the closeness would never be enough.

Feeling the urgency of the moment, Y/n took control, her hands firmly placed on Alexia's waist and thigh, holding her in place as she explored every nuance of that kiss, every sensation that arose from their lips colliding.

When Alexia finally began to pull away, seeking a breath, Y/n kept a hand on her chin, her eyes locked on the athlete's. The intensity of that moment, the connection they felt, was overwhelming.

"Kiss me again," Y/n murmured, her voice laden with a desire she could no longer contain.Alexia let out a low laugh, still trying to catch her breath, her eyes shining with a love she could barely contain.

"I was waiting for you to say that," she replied, before brushing her lips against Y/n's again, ready to dive even deeper into that feeling she had finally found the courage to express.

The world around them disappeared, leaving only the warmth of their bodies and the rapid rhythm of their hearts. That night, what was once an unshakable friendship transformed into something deeper and unforgettable.

[anmwrites]

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.”

[gingernut1314]

How Can I Be Of Service?

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

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

Word Count: 2.9K

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

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

You, on the other hand, were wide awake. 

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

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

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

You continued to try for hours. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could. 

You knew you could. 

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

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

It was your overthinking brain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A-and how might I be of service?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am hardly chicken.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Sanji’s laugh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sanji’s breath hitched.

His grip tightened around you. 

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

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

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

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

“Luffy--” You started to warn. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mariasont]

Negotiating with Mr. H - pt. 2

a/n: part two to this

god im such a shluuuut for this man anyhow happy reading

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!nanny!reader

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

wc: 2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "God, you're so beautiful."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Feels so good, Mr. Hotchner."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Undoubtedly."

taglist: @mrs-ssa-hotch

[sorceresssundries]

Downpour

Pairing: Gale x Fem Reader

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

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

Word Count: 3.2k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exquisite.” He said in between heated kisses. 

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

“Enough poetry.” She whined “Gale..” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[esouliie]

everything comes out, teenage petulance ⋆⟡˖

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you needed coffee.

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

You and all your emotional problems.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no ring on his finger.

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

As fucking if.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All you wanted to do was go home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[angelremnants]

A TALES OF... l Jasmins and Prayers

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

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

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

word count : 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

⠀⠀

see more A Tales Of related ficlets.

Want to read more of my works? Check out my masterlist !

taglist : @stilleobjection — @the-fandoms-onceler .

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @angelremnants + @arminsumi .

angelremnants ©️ 2024. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[lilolebambi]

A MOMENT PUPPY!CHRIS AND BAMBI!READER SHARE OVER SPRINGBREAK. . .

It should've been impossible.

You still don't know what magic—or divine intervention got your mom to agree.

You really don’t know how you pulled it off.

One second, your mom was listing all the reasons why this trip was a terrible idea. The next, you were nodding along as she gave you the, "Don’t-do-anything-stupid." A week away with a bunch of teenagers, squeezed into a house that was definitely not meant for this many people. Yet, you were still here.

You like it.

Sunny mornings spent flipping pancakes with Dre, the endless hours spent by the pool with Quen, the hunt for seashells with Nick, the plotting of messing with the kids across you with Chris. This is what spring break is supposed to feel like.

The week has blurred into a slow-motion flim of smoke and cheap alcohol. Your feet know the path to the bonfire by heart, your eyelashes fluttering at Chris to convince him to pass you his cart. He always gives into you.

That's why you're where you are now. In the room he picked, face comfortably nuzzled into his neck, arms wrapped around him.

And you're definitely higher than you'd like to admit. "Chrissss," You whine, squirming. "Pool."

He doesn't say anything, too high to do so. But he releases you, nods whenever you tell him that you don't know when you'll be back.

It's late now. You got in when the sun was still high, golden light draped over the water, warm on your skin. You let time slip past, sinking, floating, drifting between the surface.

Chris is just a blur until he waves from below.

You rise, brushing droplets from your face. He smirks. "One of your night swims?"

You giggle, breath still light from the water. "Told you I was going to the pool."

He rolls his eyes, slow, playfully, the two of you circling each other. "In my defense, I was high."

"Y'still....?"

"Guess." Another giggle from you. "You?"

"Guess."

A beat. Then another. Then one more. Just Chris. Circling. Staring. "What is it?" You flick water at him, laughing as you snap him out of wherever trance he's in.

"It's—" He swallows. "Nothing."

You know Chris. He's gonna tell you.

"Everything."

Your eyebrows pull together. "Oh...?"

He's nervous. You see it in the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, "I.... you're my bestfriend, Bambi. But—fuck," His voice falters. "There's been times I've wanted to be more."

Your breath catches. "What...? " You're not angry or anything just.... lost. "Why didn't you say anything? "

He sighs, running his fingers through his damp hair. "It was always Matt." His voice barely rises. "You never looked at me the way you looked at him." He exhales, "I guess... I was just waiting."

Your lips part. "...for me? "

He nods, voice soft. "Yeah."

It crashes into you—sudden, everlasting.

Why Chris is always there. Why people stare when he touches you. Why the kisses linger too long just to be friendly. Why Dre and Nick say you act more like a couple than them.

Why you never pull away.

"Do you think you could ever....? "

Your breath is uneven, chest tight. The air is thick, heavy with something that was always there—waiting, buried under everything you thought you knew.

You meet his eyes. There's hesitation there. Fear. Hope.

And you nod.

Soft. Certain.

"Yes."

Your hand finds his beneath the water, fingers fumbling before intertwining, a silent conformation.

Closer. You're already impossibly near, but still—closer.

Your palm finds his shoulder, anchoring you as your lips finally meet. Soft then desperate. Then inevitable.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you up, just enough to leave the water behind. Your legs lock around him, like they always meant to.

You made for this.

Made for Chris.

For the way he kisses you until air becomes an afterthought, until you're gasping against him, until the world is nothing but you tangled limbs and ragged breaths and the way his forehead presses against yours.

You were made for each other.

In this universe. In every single one.

( i'm in the dark.) show a little loving, shine a little light on me. — Anna of the North.

a/n: i can't see, can't see it, can't see it. just feeling my way back to you.

. . .

IN ALL SERIOUSNESS this is heavily inspired by this scene from tsip and the hot tub scene from tatbilb! they're finally together ☹️ my babas...

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @domizmez @drewswife @strnilolover @sirensdollesque @courta13 @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid @bluetalia @pair-of-pantaloons @y2kstarr @sugarraez @sweeethrt @moond0llie @ambi-squirrelly @wastelandzella @applecidersturniolo @riasturns @iloveduckssm @oopsiedaisydeer @sturnsflirt @cayleeuhithinknott @h3arts4nat @angelyearner @pink1man @sturnsblogs @mi-co-uk @slvt4subchratt @tezzzzzzzz @chrisbratt333 @izzylovesmatt @chrisowenmuncher @bluestriips

[draqu1a]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ A DANGEROUS DELIGHT . . .

— what kind? : SMUT — warnings : sexual&suggestive content ahead , viewers discretion is adviced , MDNI .

The silk of your dress feels impossibly smooth against your skin, a stark contrast to the way your nerves are buzzing tonight.

You smooth it down again, even though you know for a fact there's not a single wrinkle in sight. Tonight is a big night for Chris. A gala, making alliances with investors, potential partners and enough champagne to float a small yacht.

And you're here, glued to his side like a particularly fashionable parade.

"Just smile and nod, babe," he'd told you earlier while making final touches to his tie, it already being perfectly knotted. "I'll try not to leave you stranded for too long."

Liar.

He's been working the room for the last hour, a whirlwind of handshakes and forced smiles. You've lost count of the insufferable conversations you had to encounter.

Something about leveraged buyouts, something about quarterly projections, something about… you honestly tuned it all out after the first fifteen minutes of attending the event.

You’ve mostly been smiling, nodding, and trying not to spill your red wine on anyone important and possibly face a petty lawsuit.

You catch his eye across the crowded ballroom. He offers a strained smile, a silent apology etched onto the features of his stupidly perfect face face.

He’s trapped, you can see it. Trapped by obligation, by ambition, by the relentless demands of his empire and carrier path. A wave of frustration suddenly washes over you.

You knew what you were getting into when you started dating him – the late nights, the constant travel and business trips, the never-ending stream of social events and meetings.

But knowing it doesn't make it any easier when you're standing alone at an event filled to the brim with people important to the business society, feeling like nothing more than a decorative accessory for people to just gauge at.

Another blonde woman in a ridiculously expensive designer dress latches onto Chris, her laugh an annoying high-pitch, grating sound that sets your nerves on fire. That's it. You're done.

You turn and head towards the edges of the room, your heels clicking against the polished marble floor. You need air. You need a break from all of the socializing.

You need… Chris. But the real and genuine Chris, not the all polished, performative version he’s projecting for the benefit of the room.

You find yourself in a dimly lit hallway, lined with portraits of stern-looking men in powdered wigs. Perfect. You lean against the cool wall, close your eyes, and take a deep breath to cleanse your mind.

"Lost, darling?"

The voice is a low rumble, instantly familiar. You open your eyes to find Chris standing before you, his tie softly loosened, his eyes dark with something that looks suspiciously like hunger.

"I was starting to think you’d forgotten I existed," you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

He steps closer, stepping inside of your personal space. "Impossible," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. "Besides, I always pay my debts."

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I've been thinking about getting you alone all night."

A shiver runs down your spine. "Is that so?" you breathe, trying to sound nonchalant, but your pulse seems already be racing.

"Oh, you have no idea," he whispers, his hand sliding down your back, pulling you against him. The heat of his body seeps right through the thin fabric of your dress. "I'm going to make it up to you. Right now."

He glances down the hallway before going back to you, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He grasps your hand and leads you down the hall right before stopping in front of what appears to be a heavy oak door.

He pushes it open, behind it revealing a small, empty room – probably a storage room.

He pushes you inside and shuts the door, the sound softly muffled by the thick wood. The room is dark and slightly dusty, the air thick with the scent of old wood and disuse. Perfect.

He doesn't waste any of the delicate time. He backs you against the door, his body pressing right against yours. "God, you look incredible tonight," he rasps, his hands roaming over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"Chris," you gasp, your head falling back against the cool wood.

He kisses you hard, possessively, his tongue plunging into your mouth. You moan into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shoulders. He pulls back slightly, his eyes clearly blazing with desire.

"I want you so fucking bad," he growls, his fingers fumbling with the zipper of your dress.

"What about your guests?" you manage to say, your voice completely breathless.

"Man, fuck the guests," he says, his voice thick with lustful unsaid words. "Right now, it's just you and me."

He lowers his head and begins to kiss your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. You arch your back to grant him better access. His hand slides under your dress, finding the sensitive skin of your thighs. You gasp, your legs almost threatening to buckle.

He chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates right through your body. "Easy, darling," he murmurs lowly. "We don't want to cause a scene now, do we?”

He continues on with his actions, his touch becoming more eager, more demanding. You're hanging off the edge of something dangerous, something delicious.

But just as you're about to lose yourself completely, he pulls back, his breath ragged and features softly disheveled.

"As much as I want to keep going," he says, his eyes still dark with desire and hunger mixed together, "we can't risk being gone too long. People will start to wonder."

He kisses you one last time, a quick, sharp kiss that leaves you wanting, pleading for more. "But trust me," he whispers, his lips against your ear. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

He straightens your dress, smoothes down his tie before he opens the door a crack, peering out into the hallway to make sure no one was around.

"All clear," he says. He takes your hand and leads you back into the glittering chaos of the ballroom, leaving you breathless, flushed and utterly desperate for more of his touch.

The rest of the evening passes in a complete blur of polite conversation and strained smiles, but all you can think about is the promise of what's to come when you two return home . . .

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹🃜 . yappin claudia : i’m still figuring out how to work this app proper so don’t bash me 💔 @strnilolover taught me some cool tricks and the gradient text thingy, anywayy first fic here just dropped like a mic bitch .

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹🃜 . empty taglist for now ;(

[cypherscript]

Perpeptual

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Verification?"

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

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

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

Points to Robin, "Damian Wayne."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A scroll," Connor asks incredulously.

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

"Wait radiation," wally yelps.

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

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

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

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

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

"We're home..."

***

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

"Yes sir."

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

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

"Hnn."

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

"So should I return the map to Danny?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______________________________________________

Authors note:

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

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

[nilefreemans]

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wonders what color Charlie is coming home with.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Smooth Kinard, real smooth.

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

[clairewritesfanfics]

if you actually managed to break him out of the gda imagine the kind of shit captured mark would do for you

I know this isn't a request, but uh, I felt extra inspired today.

I'm going with the angsty route here.

I imagine Y/N is truly regretful of getting Nolan killed and Mark captured so they pretend to be compliant with the GDA (who have no reason to believe that Reader would betray them) and start preparing for Mark's freedom in advance. They have a space ship or some inter-dimensional ready along with dehydrated food and clothes and video games and comic books.

"What're you doing? Urk!" Mark was forced to chew on another energy bar that you shoved into his mouth. You've been extra annoying the past several months.

You approached the control panel that puppeteered his shackles. "The EMP will reset all systems and it will take five minutes for the power to return, but with your speed, you can make your way to the escape pod. You remember the directions I gave you, don't you?"

"I do, unfortunately, but it's kinda hard to forget something when someone repeats it every day. Every. Hour." Mark scoffed. "But what makes you think I'll believe you? How can I be sure that this isn't some test?"

"You don't have to, and it's not a test." Your fingers glided swiftly over the keyboard. "I've done my part, I'm going to give you the keys to your future. Your choice is all that's left."

"Ugh, God, enough with the pompous scholarly talk. It was cute when we were dating and...okay, it's still hot when you talk like that but just tell me what you're planning."

You smiled. "I already told you. Whether you believe me or not, is all up to you." You hit a button and the entire chamber was submerged in darkness.

The emergency lights turned on.

And Mark was free.

"Holy crap. You weren't lying." He floated in the air for a few seconds, stretching his arms and legs, then he had your neck in his hand. "Give me one good reason."

Whatever you were feeling, your face did not give it away. "Four minutes."

He glared at you, fingers twitching to do it, to snap your neck and be done with this.

But he couldn't. So he let go and flew into the air. "Bye."

You watched him fly away, drilling through the walls of his prison. Behind you, the large metallic doors were being pried open by Stedman's team.

"Goodbye, Mark Grayson."

[love-letters-for-wise]

Under The Rain (Wise x gn!reader)

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

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

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

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

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

"Wise?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[e-on-edge]

The Dream Queen (poly AU)

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

⚠️ 18+ MDNI ⚠️

Tags: Group sex, rough sex, anal play, oral, bdsm, gang-bang (let me know if it needs more).

Golly guys I really got carried away with this AU. I haven’t slept a wink, been writing and editing since 1am. In fact I think I’m obsessed? I have many plans. I've been delerious for about three hours so if something looks crazy I’ll fix it later lol.

I made this a 5:1 dynamic with the intention of paring the LI’s in intimate scenes in future fics for this AU.

Oh also its about 5000 words I think

It was deliciously forbidden.

The thought gripped you and wouldn’t let go: all five of them, in the Dream, with you. Knowing the rules. Knowing the risks. None of it mattered. Once your mind was made up, there was no stopping you. After all, you were The Queen.

The Dream State was designed for one-on-one communion—a deeply erotic piercing of the veil that allowed glimpses of the future under each Pink Moon. Tradition demanded only one lover could join you upon the altar. But it was that time of month, and your thoughts ran wild and ravenous. For every minute spent ticking items off your royal to-do list, there was another where you squirmed, wet and restless in your stockings, or fell back into your throne, flushed and flustered.

It didn’t help that your harem of lovers was intricately involved in your day-to-day affairs.

Xavier, Warden of the Crown, an angelic figure of ethereal grace and glittering steel who kept you safe from the world beyond the tip of his sword.

Rafayel, your Royal Attendant, always within reach, whether with a comb or rouge for your cheeks, his beauty soft and ethereal like morning mist.

Zayne, the Court Physician, with scarred, skilled hands that knew your body better than his own.

Sylus, Master of Shadows, his ruby gaze ever watching, listening for threats that the Court couldn’t see.

And lastly, Caleb, your Hand, your oldest confidant—devoted, obedient, and fiercely yours.

All day, they had waited patiently for your choice. But sitting there, atop your throne, watching them move through shafts of light and crystal, it occurred to you: You didn’t want to choose. You wanted them all.

Rising from the throne demanded silence from the Court. Every pair of eyes fixed on you, but five more, intent and burning, stood apart from the rest.

You smiled, devious and decisive, then said nothing. Turning, you disappeared down the ceremonial hall.

The Anointing Chamber greeted you with a rush of heat—a gust of steam and smoke. The air thick with incense, mingling rosewater and florals, tinged by the scent of burning candles.

Rafayel descended into the pool to wait for you, the yards of his tunic trailing behind him like a tail.

Attendants circled you, expertly stripping away your royal garments, layer by layer, until you were naked in your own pool of silk and chiffon.

You stepped into the water with purpose, and Rafayel glided beside you, his movements fluid. He held an open bottle in his palm, offering it to you with reverence.

“Trillium, vanilla, and amber,” he murmured, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “A new blend—made only for you, my Queen.”

He warmed the oil between his hands, then slid his artisans fingers from the nape of your neck to the crown of your scalp, working the oil through your hair with practiced, soothing strokes.

You let your body fall back into the cradle of his chest as he bathed you, his fingers trailing over every inch of your skin. You closed your eyes, sinking into the worshipful touch. His hands lingered, gently caressing your breasts, thumbing your nipples in a brief moment of distraction before returning to his duties. The sensation sent sparks down your spine, but you had to stay focused—there would be time for bliss soon enough.

Rafayel lowered you beneath the water like an offering, his hand cradling your neck as the pool’s warmth lapped at your lashes. His fingers smoothed your floating hair until you emerged from the depths, sparkling and renewed.

You exited the pool with Rafayel at your side, allowing your maids to dry you off as he selected your ceremonial attire from a carefully arranged display. With the help of attendants, he draped you in strands of rose-quartz and pearls, diamonds and rubies, sapphires—anything worthy of your decadence, in his eyes. Each gem was placed with care, not to conceal but to accentuate your nudity. You were not to be hidden. You were to be worshipped.

Soft pink petals scattered beneath your feet as you strode toward the corridor where your other lovers waited.

They stood in a line, eyes fixed on you—each one holding his breath as you approached. You moved toward them, each man dropping to one knee as you came closer. Their gazes burned with intent, expectation. And as you stood before them, poised and regal, you allowed the silence to stretch—letting it sink into their very bones.

“Highness, the rite demands a singular bond. Who do you choose to accompany you?” Xavier’s voice was clear and formal, though edged with uncertainty. Like the others, he was stunned by your silence earlier—and he feared it meant you’d chosen solitude. That they’d displeased you.

You smiled slowly, deliberately, tapping each of their shoulders in turn. “I choose… not to choose.”

Confusion flickered between the five of them as they exchanged glances. You laughed softly, reveling in their stunned expressions. “You’ll all enter at my side. Six hearts. Six bodies. One Dream.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Zayne inhaled sharply. Sylus cocked his head, unreadable. Rafayel looked awestruck, lips parted in disbelief. Caleb simply nodded, though a tremor betrayed itself in the tight line of his shoulders.

“You break sacred law with that command,” Xavier said at last, his voice low and reverent, cheeks blooming with the faintest flush. “But we’ll follow you anywhere, my Queen.”

They nodded in unison, not one of them daring to oppose you. You hadn’t expected resistance—not really. They were yours. Devoted. Helplessly so.

Caleb stepped to your side, his hand brushing along your arm with a tickling touch.

“If this is your will, we won’t question it,” he murmured. His fingers flexed, lingered, then left your skin tingling as he turned toward the servants. “Let the ceremony begin.” At his command, the drums began—deep and resonant, like an echo of your pounding heartbeat. Their rhythm pulsed through the temple as you led the procession toward the towering double doors of the Dream Chamber. You kept your face composed, serene, but inside your chest your heart fluttered like wings caught in silk.

When the doors shut behind you, the sound of drums faded into a distant hum, replaced by stillness. Before you, stretched a clearing awash in starlight. The moonstone altar stood at its center, glowing pale and ghostly, encircled by pillars that held up nothing but endless sky. Spring’s sweetness drifted through the incense-heavy air.

The men moved behind you—some familiar with this sacred place, others seeing it anew. Candlelight danced across the marble, casting gold-veined shadows and warming the cool breath of the night.

You stepped forward with slow grace, conscious of the way your feet sank into the grass, the way jeweled strands chimed against your hips and breasts, the way the wind carried your scent through the chamber like a claim. This was your realm.

You climbed the altar and reclined into the carved hollow, designed for two.

“Only two may lie upon the altar,” Caleb murmured beside you, his voice husky—not with worry, but something far more primal.

“Then come close,” you replied, gesturing languidly. “There’s room for the rest of you nearby. Find it.”

A moment passed in silence before Xavier stepped forward. He laid his sword on the dais and began removing his armor. He settled beside your wrist, close enough for you to run your fingers through his hair as he relaxed, closing his eyes.

One by one, the others followed—finding places around the altar, each taking a position that felt both ritualistic and intimate. Rafayel leaned against a low stone step, Zayne rested with arms folded behind his head, Sylus remained half-shrouded in shadow, watching as always. But Caleb—ever bold—slid into the altar beside you, curling against your side like he belonged there. His lips brushed your forehead, his fingers laced with yours. His scent, his warmth—it grounded you. Soothed you. Your breath slowed. Your pulse did not.

The sky darkened above, stars bleeding into focus. A tremor pulsed through the moonstone beneath you, the altar coming alive with ancient magic. You arched slightly as your body reacted—tense, eager, slick with anticipation. The air thickened with desire, heavy as the incense that still hung on the wind. You could feel them. Their breath. Their restraint. Their aching need, each of them teetering on the edge of respect and ruin.

Then—the veil tore.

Reality shattered like glass. The altar dissolved into silken sheets, the world around you melting into something dreamlike, surreal. Ethereal.

The men shimmered into form around you, cloaked in nothing but desire.

Rafayel was the first to approach, fingers trembling as they traced the jeweled strands across your bare skin admiring the craftsmanship before daring to worship what laid beneath.

The bed under you expanded, made vast by the magic of the Dream—a silken expanse large enough for all five men to gather close without crowding.

Caleb’s calloused hands found your abdomen first, his touch steady, possessive. His breath warmed the shell of your ear.

“You’re trembling, my Queen,” he murmured. “Let me hold you steady.”

You melted into his strength, letting the warmth of his muscles cradle you like the arms of a storm, willing to be gentle—for now.

Rafayel’s hands slipped beneath your adornments next, framing your torso like he was measuring the proportions of a goddess. The others closed in, no hesitation in their movements. Every one of them reached for you with clear purpose.

Sylus caught your wrists and lifted them overhead, binding them with red silk—tight enough to hold. Rafayel followed suit at your feet, his ribbons matching like twin vows. Then a blindfold descended over your eyes.

You smiled. “Keeping me in the dark?” you teased. “I see.”

Their laughter echoed softly—low, warm, and hungry.

Something featherlight brushed your clit and your back arched instinctively, a gasp catching in your throat.

“Let me polish her,” Rafayel pleaded, his voice like velvet. His hands followed—warm oil coating your skin, his skilled fingers massaging it in slow, deliberate strokes from your ears to your toes. He didn’t just rub it in—he worked it into the very soul of you, layer by layer, like the final glaze on his most sacred art piece. By the time he finished, you were trembling, every nerve singing. A moan escaped—soft, needy, involuntary.

“Stop touching her like one of your sculptures,” Xavier cut in, his grip suddenly hard on your thigh.

Rafayel’s tone was lightly mocking. “What would you prefer, Warden?”

“She came here for more than worship,” Xavier muttered in reply.

You knew his presence here—his dominance. His discipline. It set your pulse racing.

“He’s right,” Zayne added coolly, two fingers pressing lightly against your throat. “Her heartbeat gives her away.”

You smiled behind the blindfold. They understood. Worship was constant - everywhere else. But here—in the Dream—there was room for chaos. For danger. For surrender.

Someone’s mouth captured yours with a heat that curled your toes. The taste gave him away—Caleb. Rich with spice and temptation. His tongue was a feast, and you devoured him like a woman starved.

You moaned against him, thighs clenching as slick gathered between. Two fingers parted you gently—curious, practiced—while another pair of hands pinned your legs open, patient and firm.

It began softly. Touches layered like whispers—exploratory, claiming. Hands roamed your body with reverence, brushing your sides, cupping your breasts, gripping your hips. One mouth sucked gently at a nipple. Another kissed your temple. Lips found your palms, your ankles, your ribs.

You lost track of them—whose touch belonged to whom. It no longer mattered.

Then something sharper—teeth—grazed your shoulder. Another set tugged too hard at your nipple, pulling a cry from your lips before you could silence it.

“Now, sweetie,” Sylus drawled, slow and teasing, “you can take much more than that.”

“We’ve barely begun,” Xavier added, his tone almost amused.

You could hear them shifting around you, repositioning, strategizing—planning your unraveling with care.

A hand found your throat—gentle at first, thumb brushing the sensitive skin. You responded instantly, your hips grinding up toward the unseen source. Strong hands met your motion—and then came a slap. Sharp. Perfectly placed.

“Ah—hnn!”

You hissed under your breath as another landed, the sting blooming outward in waves. The hand at your throat tightened—not cruelly, but with just enough force to fog the edges of your mind.

You were smiling.

Something firm, smooth, and unfamiliar entered you, coaxing a wriggle from your restrained body. There was no escape, only submission. Silk ropes began coiling around your torso, around your breasts—binding you with ceremonial precision until they looked ready to burst.

A mouth wrapped around one nipple, then the other. Heat. Tongue. Pressure. You whimpered as the sensations overwhelmed. Finally, someone kissed you—deep, slow, all-consuming. The kiss stole the last of your breath. When you parted, it left you dizzy.

You spoke the only command you’d give that night, voice hoarse and charged:

“Don’t hold back.”

Zayne’s breath found your ear, hot and hungry. “As you wish.”

Xavier’s hand remained clenched around your throat as he took his turn first, positioning himself between your spread thighs and letting a slow strand of spit fall from his lips onto your exposed, quivering cunt. He watched, fascinated, as your body twitched when it landed—cold against your feverish heat.

With one hand around his thick cock, he dragged the swollen head through your folds, slicking you further with his pre-cum—not that you needed the help. You were always soaked for him.

Looking down at you now—limbs restrained by rival lovers, body bound in silk and trembling—he was transfixed. The things he wanted to do to you went far beyond honor… beyond duty… far beyond dignity.

“You’re putting too much pressure on her carotid.” Zayne’s precise voice broke through the haze. Xavier’s brow furrowed.

“I tighten my grip, she gets wetter,” he muttered. “Are you arguing with my results?”

“No,” Zayne replied calmly, “only your technique.”

You writhed beneath them, moaning as Xavier rubbed his head against your entrance, teasing without mercy. His abs tightened, every twitch betraying how close he already was.

His grip on your throat loosened just enough for your head to lift.

Then Sylus pressed your head gently back to the pillows, his palm warm over your mouth.

“You fight like dogs over a feast,” he muttered darkly. “How about you feed her instead?”

Two long fingers slid past your lips, tracing your tongue, teasing your throat until you suckled around them instinctively—moaning, hungry.

“Good girl…” Sylus purred, watching your lips wrap around his knuckles.

That was all Xavier could take.

With a sharp snap of his hips, he thrust into you in one smooth, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Your muffled moan vibrated against Sylus’s fingers, and Xavier’s groan echoed low and primal in his chest.

Restraint shattered. He moved with intention—each thrust a calculated act of dominance, deep and punishing, but never careless. The more you squirmed, the more you tensed around him, the more desperate he became to possess you entirely.

He bent over your bound form, fisting your hair in one hand as he crashed his mouth against yours—kissed you like a man starving, teeth grazing lips, tongue demanding compliance. He listened to your breathing, the short, rapid gasps. You were slipping.

Too far.

“That’s enough, Warden.” Zayne’s voice cut through the rhythm.

Xavier didn’t stop. Couldn’t. He was right there—right at the edge of flooding you, of being the first to mark you full.

“Let the good doctor intervene, X, before she blacks out,” Sylus added.

Xavier exhaled through clenched teeth, one final growl in his throat, before releasing your neck.

Zayne’s hand replaced his—not to choke, but to hold. Steady. Measured. His fingers traced the line of your jaw as he checked your pulse, his touch cool and clinical.

Xavier withdrew reluctantly, your pussy clenching around nothing, desperate and twitching until Zayne’s elegant cock took his place—stretching you wide, filling you with deliberate precision that seared you to your core.

“Relax,” the doctor murmured, voice calm. “You’re perfect.”

His hands and eyes roamed your body like a scholar handling a sacred text—mapping every curve, tracing each dimple, memorizing the way you trembled beneath him. Every twitch, every gasp, every moan was another data point, another mystery to decode.

He started slow, measured—then picked up speed, but never let you fall over the edge. Not fully. He hovered you there, dangling, getting off on your helplessness. He studied your responses the way a surgeon studies anatomy. The sharp inhale when he pinched your nipple. The arch of your spine, feral and possessed, when he slipped a finger up your ass mid-thrust. And through it all—he never once stopped fucking you.

He handled your hips like a precision instrument, adjusting your angle to take him deeper with each stroke. Your mouth hung open, tongue lolling, as ragged breaths rasped past his practiced grip at your throat.

Then Sylus appeared at your side, whistling low as he observed the scene.

“Let me in before her legs lock up,” the spymaster said, voice dry as aged wine. He crouched beside you, running his fingers down your slick inner thigh with ravenous delicacy. “I like my toys pliant, not paralyzed.”

You whimpered—empty, desperate, trembling for release.

Sylus made a soft sound, but there was warning laced beneath it. “Don’t whine, sweetie,” he murmured, stroking the curve of your hip. “Not yet.”

He leaned over you, drinking you in with his eyes like a starving man before a banquet. Gods, you were perfection like this—bound, flushed, wrecked. Fucked half-senseless and still strung tight with need. A puddle of pleasure at his feet. His.

He grinned, fingers drifting lazily over your bellybutton, amused at the way you jolted under his touch.

“Look at you,” he mused, “begging without saying a word.”

He tugged at the ribbon around your wrists, tightening it with practiced flair until your fingers flexed. “Still snug. Good. You always squirm better like this.”

He grabbed your hound-bound ankles, pushing them inward until your thighs spread wide like wings, exposing the dripping center of you. A perfect cradle for his head.

He sank low and buried his mouth in your folds, tongue hot and greedy. You bucked against his face, sobbing out choked gasps as his teeth scraped where it burned the most. But he didn’t rush. No, Sylus savored you—pulling back just when your muscles began to clench, forcing your orgasm to wither in your gut. Again. And again. It drove you mad.

He was delighted.

You writhed helplessly as his fingers teased your entrance, his tongue darting and dragging, keeping you on the edge until your nerves were aflame. Just when you thought you might slip into madness, he conjured one of his favorite toys—a sleek little beast from back home—and pressed it hard against your clit.

The vibrations hit you like lightning.

You screamed, thighs spasming, body twitching involuntarily as the stimulation overwhelmed you. The toy didn’t waver. Sylus watched, fascinated, as tears slipped past your blindfold and your slick coated his chin.

“You’re drenched,” he murmured, almost sweet. His thumb stroked your cheek in mock affection.“Whose name were you trying not to scream?” He didn’t wait for your answer. One finger pushed inside, curling with surgical precision. “Bet it was mine.”

The others were gathering now—drawn to the center of your unraveling.

Xavier’s grip sank deep into your thigh.

Zayne’s fingers ghosted across your breast.

Caleb pressed his lips reverently to your shoulder.

And Sylus devoured you like the finest wine—nose buried, tongue relentless, drinking everything you gave. The others watched. Some stroked themselves. Some only stared. But all of them wanted more.

When he finally thrust inside, it was with devastating control—each stroke painting your nerves with heat and pressure. You clenched around him, body overwhelmed, arching in time with his rhythm.

“You don’t fall apart until I say so,” he whispered against your temple, curling an arm beneath your back to draw you tighter. Deeper. “You’re close, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

You nodded, blindfold damp with unshed tears.

He kissed your jaw. “Good,” he purred.

The men’s chorus—gruff moans, breathy praise, low curses of reverence—faded into a hypnotic rhythm behind your whimpers. They traded places each time you came close to breaking. Just when the tight band in your belly threatened to snap, someone would retreat, leaving you panting and twitching. Fingers and tongues soothed you only enough to keep you pliant—until the next man drove you right back to the edge.

Sylus took his time. Always did. He weaponized denial, drawing it out until your body trembled with need, ruined more by absence than action. Xavier, ever the Warden, liked control. Dominance. He staked his claim with brutal purpose, finally sliding into your ass with a low growl as Zayne kept you bouncing on his cock beneath—two perfectly synchronized rhythms tearing you apart from both ends.

Caleb had been hesitant at first—caught between jealousy and that sick, hungry awe he couldn’t tear away from. Watching you get undone again and again lit something in him. Finally, he found his place—his cock dribbling at the tip as he guided it to your lips. You opened with a welcoming moan, warmth and obedience making him shudder as he slid in across your tongue.

You smiled around him. You liked this.

They passed you between them like a sacred thing. A worshipped, well-used doll—supported here, bent there, held up or flipped over. The restraints came off only when they trusted your body could no longer resist them. And it couldn’t. You were nothing but instinct and sensation now, boneless with pleasure, driven by their voices.

“Beg louder.”

“So responsive.”

“Can’t even think straight, can you?”

“Even your cries are a symphony.”

“G-good… girl.”

Then—finally—your body began to fray. Every nerve burned. Every breath hitched in your throat. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t beg. Couldn’t stop it.

When Rafayel’s mouth found your core again, reverent and unrelenting, something inside you shattered.

“Ahh gods!” You cried out.

Caleb cradled your face with trembling fingers, guiding his cock back between your lips with a broken groan. Xavier’s hands left bruises on your ass as he spread you wide, holding you open for Rafayel’s final assault. His tongue was merciless.

The orgasm hit like a tidal wave snapping free from a dam—violent, devastating, unstoppable.

Rafayel whimpered as he came, his mouth still moving even as his climax spilled warm beneath your hips. You screamed around Caleb’s cock, eyes rolling behind the blindfold, every muscle locking. Your back arched hard enough to hurt. Your legs refused to move. Your whole world dissolved into blinding, hot-white pleasure.

Caleb moaned as he spilled down your throat, your lips fluttering weakly around him as you swallowed what you could—though more still leaked from the corners of your mouth

Sylus and Xavier followed almost in tandem, gritting through their release, cocks painting your chest in thick, warm ropes as their soft groans mingled in the heat of the dream.

Zayne replaced Rafayel between your legs, his final thrusts careful but deep—one hand on your hip, the other stroking your clit as he finished with a hiss, filling you to the brim.

Silence followed the crescendo of ecstasy —heavy, holy.

Your body went limp in their arms, used, adored, claimed. You floated now, weightless and slack, wrapped in the heat of their limbs as they coiled around you like a living shrine. Fingers smoothed over your skin—gentle now, grounding. Touches meant to soothe, not take. No one spoke. Breath was the only sound. Yours, shaky. Theirs, hushed.

Caleb moved first, slipping a hand beneath your knees, cradling your head to his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, a vow made in breath and bone.

Rafayel curled up beside you, scattering kisses like flower petals across your flushed skin.

Sylus poured water from a flask into a carved crystal cup and brought it to your lips with surprising tenderness.

“Drink,” he said. “Goddesses don’t faint on their altars.”

Zayne hovered nearby, eyes sweeping your body—not with hunger now, but with clinical calculation.

“Muscle spasms might set in. Keep her warm.”

Xavier said nothing. He simply lay beside you, head bowed, one arm across your waist like a living shield.

No one moved. No one let go. Somewhere in the stillness, between the whispered reassurances and the lingering tremble in your thighs, the afterglow shifted into something deeper. Sanctuary.

Caleb’s breath warmed your cheek. Rafayel’s hand threaded through your hair. You floated in their voices, their touches, their love. The moment stretched, timeless.

But then—Silence.

Not peace. Absence. The warmth evaporated. The weight of bodies, of hands, of hearts—gone. The altar vanished beneath you. No silk. No flesh. No light. Just cold stone under your spine, coarse and damp with something ancient. You gasped awake, lungs seizing like you’d never breathed before.

Darkness greeted you. Not the soft dark of sleep. Not the velvet black of the dream. This was emptiness—void. No blindfold. No bonds. No warmth. You sat up, heart pounding. The vision bled into your bones:

The world cracked. Not like glass—like truth. The dream realm shuddered and peeled open. Stars rippled overhead like the surface of water. And there—you saw yourself. Alone. Curled in a cocoon of void, weeping in sleep that never ended. Your men were scattered across a barren dreamscape, bleeding through memories, clawing through shadows. Searching. You reached for them, desperate—but your hands passed through mist. The dream shattered and you were alone.

-

Somewhere far away, Xavier jolted upright. The blanket he’d draped over the altar slipped to the floor. “She’s not breathing!” He exclaimed, coming out of a nightmare he didn’t understand.

“No—she’s not here.” Zayne’s voice sliced through the room, already moving toward the altar. “She’s gone.”

Sylus stood frozen, lips parted around a curse.

Caleb called your name like a prayer.

Rafayel clutched a piece of cloth that still smelled like you.

-

Elsewhere…

You screamed, but only the cave bore witness.

As always thank you for taking the time to read, I hope you enjoyed it!