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surielstea · 8 days ago

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Dancing With Fate

Original request.

Pairing: Nyx Archeron x Tamlin’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: While struggling with her relationship with her father, Reader goes to her first ball and stumbles upon a male she has never met, but feels a distinct connection to.

Warnings: slight angst with a parent, mostly fluff between Reader and Nyx

A.Note: I apologize for how long this took me to get out, I really struggled with how to format her back story but I ended up fairly happy with it, let me know if y’all want more of these two I’d be happy to write a few one shots of their dynamic as well as all the family drama since I’m such a sucker for the forbidden love trope ;)

6.4k word count.

"Can you do that again for me, my sweet?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling as she crouched down to my height. I watched her eyes fill with a glassy shine that I didn't understand. She reached out, her hands shaking as they wrapped around my small wrists. I blinked up at her, wide-eyed and oblivious, only feeling the warmth of her touch and the tremor of her fingers.

I balled my hands into tiny fists, scrunching my face with all the concentration I could muster. I wanted so badly to make her proud, to show her what I could do. I willed the claws beneath my skin to surface, squeezing my fists tighter until, with a soft tearing, they slid out, small and sharp, shining like new silver. Her breath caught, and her eyes went even wider as she stared at the claws that had split through my knuckles. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I tilted my head, wondering why she was sad. I reached out, my claws joining the action as I moved, but she stumbled back, evading the sharp silver, her hand pressed over her mouth.

"What's wrong, Momma?" I asked, my voice tiny. I tried to reach for her cheek, to wipe the tear away like she'd done for me so many times, but she shook her head, forcing a small, shaky smile.

"Nothing, it's alright, my sweet," she whispered, her voice soft and a little broken. "I just... didn't think you'd be able to do this so soon." Her fingers lingered on my cheek, warm and tender. She looked at me like she was memorizing my face, like every part of me mattered.

I gave her a proud smile, lifting my hands. "Isn't it cool?" I grinned widely, my innocence unbroken. I had no idea what my claws really meant, or the sorrow that darkened her gaze as she watched me slash the air with them, filling the quiet night with soft, sharp swishes. She just sat there, quiet and sad, holding her own hands close to her chest as if they couldn't bear to let me go.

It was a late night, much too late for me to be awake. I clung tightly to my mother's hand as she led me through a garden filled with roses that gleamed under the moonlight. The flowers were tall and beautiful, and I wanted to reach out to touch them, but my mother's grip kept me close. She moved so fast, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, like she was hiding from something.

"Where are we going, Mom?" I asked in a small voice, but she didn't answer, her steps quickening as she pulled me along. The roses seemed to shiver in the breeze, their petals brushing against us as we passed, and the moon above us was high and cold, casting everything in a silver glow.

Ahead of us was a huge mansion, bigger than any house I'd ever seen. It loomed in the night, dark and quiet, like it was waiting for us. My mother slowed as we neared the porch, her breathing heavy as she crouched down in front of me, her face serious in a way that made my heart beat faster.

She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hands, her fingers cold and firm around mine. "We're going to play a game, okay?" she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her fingers brushed my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I nodded eagerly, happy that she wanted to play. Games with Momma were always fun. She pointed to the paper, her hand gentle but urgent. "Whoever opens that door," she said, her voice steady but quiet, "you give them this paper, okay?" Her gaze held mine, as if she was trying to pour a message into me with her eyes. "And, my sweet," she paused, swallowing hard, "I'm going to hide now. And no matter what they ask you, you can't tell them I was with you. It's a big secret."

I blinked up at her, not fully understanding, but I nodded anyway, like a good girl. She reached out, her fingers lingering on my cheek again, her eyes shimmering with something I couldn't name. "I'll meet you at the window, okay?" Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "It'll be fun, I promise."

I reached up to brush the tear away, but she was already rising. Before I could say anything else, she knocked on the tall doors, and with a last, lingering look, she turned and melted into the shadows. Just like that, she was gone.

Suddenly, the night felt enormous and empty, the shadows stretching out around me, dark and cold. The noises from the forest grew louder, like the trees and animals and everything hidden within the dark were whispering all around me. My heart pounded, and I almost wanted to cry out, to beg for her to come back and take me home. But before I could make a sound, the massive doors creaked open, casting a sliver of light onto the porch.

A man stood in the doorway, tall and fierce, with wild red hair and eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness. One of his eyes gleamed gold, like a piece of metal, and he looked down at me with a frown, his expression stern and sleepy. "Excuse me, Mister," I squeaked, trying to remember my mother's instructions.

His gaze softened just a bit as he took in my tiny figure. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

"I'm supposed to give this to you." I held up the paper, my hands trembling as I waited for him to take it. He knelt down, eyeing me carefully as he unfolded the note, his expression unreadable. I gave him a polite smile, remembering my mother's lessons, but his gaze flicked from the note back to me, his eyes narrowing.

"Where's your mother?" he asked, his voice soft but sharp.

I shrugged, fidgeting under his gaze. "I don't know," I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest.

"But she brought you here, didn't she?" he pressed, his gaze steady. I swallowed, unsure of how my mother would want me to answer. After a long, quiet moment, he sighed, opening the door wider. "Come inside. You shouldn't be out here alone."

I followed him into the mansion, the silence thick and heavy as he led me up a grand staircase. My shoes clicked against the cold, polished floor as we climbed up and up, stopping finally at a pair of wooden doors wrapped in ivy. I was too small to open them, so I just waited, feeling very small in the middle of the enormous hallway.

"Wait here a moment," he said, giving me a nod before stepping through the door. I looked around, mesmerized by the golden chandelier hanging above me, its glow casting strange, twisting shadows that moved as the lights flickered.

"I already told you I'm not in the mood to talk, Lucien." A deep, heavy voice sounded from beyond the door, and I jumped, hugging my cloak tighter around me.

"It's not that," Lucien replied, his tone shifting in a way that sounded unsure, even a little nervous. "You have a visitor."

The other voice was silent for a moment, and my stomach knotted up as I realized they were talking about me. "Tell them to leave," the man said finally, his tone cold and final.

Lucien sighed, and I heard the soft rustling of paper. The silence felt like it stretched forever, but then footsteps approached. The door swung open, and I looked up to see a tall man with golden hair, his eyes dark and sharp as they fell on me. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't used to children, that maybe he didn't know what to do with me.

But he crouched down slowly, his gaze softening just a bit as he held his hands up, like he wanted me to know he wasn't going to hurt me. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I told him, my voice a quiet whisper, but he nodded as if he'd heard every word. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, tilting his head, and I shook my head, looking down at my hands.

"I'm the High Lord of the Spring Court," he said softly, his tone proud but his eyes sad. My eyes widened, a little smile pulling at my lips. I'd heard of a High Lord in my mother's stories, someone powerful and magical.

"But, more importantly," he continued, his gaze searching my face, "I'm your father."

I blinked up at him, the words hanging in the air like they were something heavy, something I didn't yet understand. I wanted to ask him what it all meant, but all I could do was stare up at him, my fingers curling around the edge of my cloak, wishing I was safe in my mother's arms again.

———

Ever since that night, I've been confined to this estate on every special occasion, under the watchful eyes of my father's maids, lest I sneak away the moment I'm alone. Tonight, like many others, I'm left looking out the window of my bedroom—the same spot where I'd waited endlessly as a child, hoping my mother would come back for me.

But tonight was going to be different. I'd make sure of it.

I storm out of my room, my heels clicking with determined steps as I march down the hall. I swing open the doors to my father's study without knocking. He looks up from his papers, brow creased, clearly taken aback by my abrupt entrance.

"I'm going to the Dawn Court tonight," I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Absolutely not," he replies, shaking his head and dipping his quill back in the ink, dismissing me with the kind of finality he's used to exerting over me.

"All the courts are invited," I argue, stepping forward. "I'm obligated to go."

"No," he says again, his tone colder. "It's a high-profile ball. You're not ready."

I draw in a sharp breath, struggling to keep my temper in check. "Not ready? Father, I'm nineteen. If not now, then when?" This age had been difficult for him for some reason, I don't know why but ever since my birthday he's been acting strangely, started keeping me shut out and less involved—I may as well have just been imagining it or it was a coincidence it started happening after I turned nineteen, but once I got the thought in my head it was hard to get it out.

His expression hardens, his voice annoyingly calm. "Just, not now."

A chill spreads through my hands, and I have to resist the urge to bear the claws that hide beneath my skin. "I'm so tired of having every decision made for me," I say, pressing my palms to my temples as frustration wells up. "Of being treated like a prisoner in this house."

He stands, his temper fraying. "And I'm sick of you thinking you know best," His voice rises, echoing in the silence of the study. "You don't understand half of what's at stake."

"No, maybe I don't. But neither do you, apparently," I snap back. "Or maybe it's just that you're afraid to lose the only company you have left in this house. Is that it, Father?"

His hands ball into fists, metal-like claws gleaming from his knuckles. Mine slid out as well, a metallic gleam in the dim light.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarls, eyes darkening.

"Maybe I do," I bite back. "I hate this house." It came out as more of a confession than a retort, but his face falters, pain flickering through his eyes before he regains his composure.

"You don't mean that."

"I do," I insist, voice shaking with anger. "I hate this house, and I wish my mother never abandoned me here." The words are barely out of my mouth before I turn on my heel and stride out, slamming the door behind me so hard the walls shudder, my claws snagging on the wood of the door and scraping the paint off, revealing the bare, slightly rotted wood beneath. It felt like a metaphor, in a strange way.

I make my way to the garden, desperate for air. The night breeze is cool as I step out onto the deck, and I close the glass doors behind me a little more gently this time. Taking a few deep breaths, I walk along the garden path, letting the silence and cold soothe my frayed nerves. Winter's grip is finally loosening, and the garden is starting to come alive with buds and leaves. My favorite time of year.

I reach for one of the rosebuds, my claws retracting ever so slowly, my skin morphing over the hideous metal that gleamed in the moonlight. I forget the feeling of the power my father gifted me and remember the feeling and comforting warmth of my mother's power flickering beneath my fingertips. The flower blooms in my palm, reaching out toward me, and I smile faintly as I coax the other buds open along the path. Flower by flower my frustrating emotions ebb, and by the time I've reached the stone bench, my anger has cooled, replaced by something heavier, more complicated.

I sit, feeling the familiar weight of regret settle over me. I don't hate this house, not really. I hate the way I'm trapped in it.

The glass door opens, and I know without looking that it's him. My father takes a seat beside me on the bench, and I shift away, making it clear I'm not ready to forgive him just yet. We sit in silence, watching the newly-bloomed flowers sway in the night breeze. Finally, he sighs.

"You can go to the Dawn Court tonight," he says quietly.

I turn to him, my eyes wide with surprise.

He hesitates, looking down at his hands. "I'm..." He struggles around the word. "Sorry that you feel like you can't make your own choices," he mutters, his voice filled with a vulnerability I haven't heard ever before. "I'm trying to do better. And, you're right. I am afraid."

My heart softens, and the walls I've built up slowly crumble. "Afraid of what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Of losing you, in turn losing everything." He looks up, his eyes—a shade of green I've always found comfort in—filled with an emotion that makes my heart ache.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me close, his hand gently stroking my back. "I'm sorry, too," I murmur into his shoulder.

He shakes his head. "Don't be. You're my daughter. You're allowed to be angry with me." He pulls back to look at me. "Just promise me one thing," he says. "Promise you won't run away tonight."

I give him a small smile, the request so obscene that u couldn't help it. "I'll be perfect. Thank you, Father." I reassure.

He nods, satisfied, and rises from the bench. "We leave in an hour. You'd better start getting ready."

———

My dress is a soft lavender that hugs my waist and fans out into a beautiful, flowing skirt, the slit running up my thigh edged in delicate embroidered flowers. The open back crisscrosses with delicate ties, and the neckline is just low enough to be elegant without being too revealing. One of the maids has styled my hair in a half-up, half-down look, a few braided strands framing my face. For once, I feel exactly how I want to feel—elegant, feminine, and free.

I leave my bedroom and make my way down the hall to the marble staircase, where my father waits at the base. As I descend, his eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly as he takes in my appearance.

"Well?" I do a small spin, laughing at his awestruck expression.

He swallows, a proud smile slowly spreading across his face. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, pulling me into a hug.

I hug him back, letting him hold me close, and in that moment, it feels as if all the tension of our earlier argument melts away. We're just father and daughter again.

———

The Dawn Court ballroom is bathed in golden light, warm and inviting. I've barely stepped inside when a tall, dark-skinned man in white robes approaches, a halo of gold atop his head.

"And who is this lovely lady?" he asks, his voice rich with curiosity.

"My daughter," my father answers gruffly, his protective tone unmistakable.

The man blinks in surprise before offering a sheepish smile. "Ah, well then." He turns and makes a quick exit.

"Who was that?" I ask, amused by his reaction.

"High Lord of Day," my father mutters, a hint of irritation in his voice. "He has a reputation."

I raise an eyebrow, smiling as I unlink my arm from his. "Are all High Lords so... pretty?"

"Careful," he growls in warning.

A cheeky smile appears on my lips as I unhook my arm from his. "Only observations." I shrug. "I'm going to get a drink." I take a step away and he takes it with me. "Father, I'm only going to the refreshments table, not war. I'll be fine." I promise and he solicits a sigh.

"No wine." He demands and I shake my head in disbelief.

"Yes sir." I mock salute before spinning on my heel and walking across the ballroom, I make my way to the refreshment table and pour myself a glass from the fountain of cider, admiring the way the bubbles shimmer in the golden light. My father had said no wine but mentioned nothing about spiked cider. I take a long sip and begin to explore the ballroom, watching dancers swirl in gowns of blue and pink that mirror the sunset outside.

Lost in thought, I wander past an indoor garden filled with gardenias and evergreens. I couldn't help myself but slip inside, a few guests were inside, admiring the flowers just as I wished to do, so I deemed I was allowed to. I approached an arch of budded flowers, standing beneath the green vines that soon would be sprouted in color. I reached out, gently brushing a bud with my fingertips, watching as it blooms in reply.

"Your touch has improved since the last time I saw you," a familiar voice murmurs from behind me.

I turn, eyes lighting up as they land on a tan-skinned male with striking red hair. "Lucien!" I throw my arms around him, grinning.

He chuckles, pulling me into a warm hug. "You look stunning, little Fawn," he says, holding me at arm's length to take in my dress. "How did you manage to get out of the house?"

I smirk with a casual shrug. "Whipped out the claws."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Like father, like daughter." He mused and I chuckled, looking down at the flowers reaching towards me, asking for my attention again.

"You want to dance?" His hand comes to my shoulder and I shake my head.

"You go ahead, I think I'll need a few more glasses before I step foot on the dance floor." I scoff and he shakes his head.

"Nonsense, you're a terrific dancer." He bumps my shoulder.

"I'm okay uncle, really," I reassured and he clamped his lips shut.

"Okay, find me if you need me." He presses a kiss to my temple and I nod.

He saunters away towards a group of friends I didn't recognize and I continue exploring, sipping my champagne as I wander through the crowd.

My gaze is caught by a group of strangers dressed in dark clothing. There's a woman in deep maroon, a honey brunette who smiles at me softly, and beside her, a tall man wearing a black-jeweled crown. I study them curiously, trying to place who they might be.

Distracted, I accidentally walk straight into someone's chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, stumbling back. I trip over my heels, but a pair of strong hands catches me, steadying me before I fall.

"You alright?" an unfamiliar voice asks, deep and soothing.

I look up—and up—and up—at a broad-shouldered man with rugged features and half of his shoulder-length hair tied back. He has a friendly, easy-going smile that immediately puts me at ease.

"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, flushing slightly.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "No need to apologize. I should have been watching where I was going. You'd think five centuries would be enough time to figure that out." He snorts, red siphons gleaming on his chest and hands.

I blink in surprise. "Five centuries?"

He grins, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, no need to make me sound ancient."

I laugh, feeling unexpectedly comfortable around him. "Right. Apologies again." I clamp my lips shut, embarrassed.

"Who's the lucky person that brought you here tonight?" He asks, sensing my embarrassment and switching the topic, shifting to face towards the crowd.

"Couldn't I have come on my own?" I counter, crossing my arms.

He laughs again. "Touché. But I'll bet that doesn't mean you'll be lacking for dance partners." He gestures to the dance floor.

"Maybe," I say with a smile, "but that depends on who asks."

"Well, I would, but my mate would probably have my head if I danced with anyone else," he says, feigning a solemn look.

"Pity," I replied playfully. "But it's alright—you don't seem all that familiar with your feet anyway."

He gasps, feigning insult. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a world-class dancer!"

"Oh, really?" I raise an eyebrow. "Shame, then. You missed your chance."

He chuckles, backing away. "Well, it was nice talking to you—mystery lady."

"Likewise," I call after him with a smile, watching as he disappears into the crowd.

The music is lively, filling the ballroom with a vibrant energy as dancers swirl and laugh under the golden chandeliers. I sip the last of my cider, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through me. For the first time in ages, I feel, free. Maybe my father had been right to keep me close all these years; maybe I wasn't ready for this world of strangers and their sharp eyes. But as I watch the colors and movement around me, I know I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

Lost in my thoughts, I wander past the terrace doors and step outside, onto a balcony that overlooks a sprawling garden filled with glistening fountains and delicate white flowers. I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp night air, and let my fingers trace the cool stone railing wrapped in ivy.

Then I hear it—a quiet, amused hum from just behind me. I turn, startled, and my gaze falls on a young man leaning casually against the doorway, watching me with a slight, crooked smile.

He's tall, with jet-black hair that falls in tousled waves, and eyes that are strikingly, disarmingly blue. He wears a dark, impeccably tailored suit, with a midnight-blue shirt beneath, the top buttons undone enough to reveal tan skin beneath. There's an effortless elegance to him, a quiet confidence, like he belongs in every corner of this glittering world.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says, stepping forward with a charming half-smile. "But I had to wonder what you were doing all by yourself out here. Parties like these are hardly tolerable alone."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze. "And yet here you are, all by yourself."

He chuckles, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Fair, though technically, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"

I laugh, feeling my earlier irritation with my father melt away as I look at him. "I suppose not. Though I doubt you're here to keep me company."

He raises a hand in mock innocence. "You wound me. I've been nothing but kind since we met."

"Have we met?" I ask, tilting my head. "I think I would've remembered," I say with an angled head and something flickers in his sapphire gaze that I can't quite place.

He seems to consider this, tilting his head thoughtfully. "No, we haven't officially met," he concedes. "Which feels like a shame, honestly."

The corners of my mouth lift in a smile. "So, are you going to introduce yourself, or are we just going to continue being strangers?"

His eyes sparkle with something like amusement as he extends a hand. "Strangers sounds nice," I say flippantly, looking out at the Dawn Courts skyline, a sliver of the sun barely visible. This party was supposed to last until dawn, until the sun returned and the entire court could watch the outmatched sunrise of this court.

I wasn't ready to commit to making any friends, I had just gained my freedom, I wished to revel in it for a few moments longer, nameless was my way of doing it.

He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes my heart skip. "Alright, stranger," he says, leaning casually against the railing beside me. "What brings you out to the edge of the ballroom?"

"Some air," I reply with a shrug, looking out over the garden. "I hadn't expected to feel so claustrophobic."

He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Parties can be exhausting. All the faces, all the names. It's nice to step away."

I glance at him. "You sound like you've been to one too many of these."

"Oh, you have no idea," he says with a grin. "I think I've been to so many I could navigate them in my sleep."

"And here I thought you looked like you were having fun," I tease.

"Maybe I'm a good actor," he says, his tone playful. "Or maybe I just needed a reason to enjoy it."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Does that line actually work for you?"

"More often than you'd think," he says, laughing. "But since you're clearly immune to charm, let me try a different approach." He holds out a hand, bowing slightly. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, stranger?"

I hesitate, glancing back at the ballroom, but something about his easy smile, the spark of humor in his eyes, makes me want to take his hand. I place mine in his, letting him lead me closer.

The music inside changes as his lithe fingers make contact with my waist, shifting to a slower, softer melody. He adjusts my stance, guiding me with a gentleness that surprises me. There's a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart pound just a little faster as I look up at him.

"So, princess," he murmurs as we begin to move, his voice barely audible over the music echoing from inside. "Are you here with family? Or did you sneak away to attend the most boring ball of the season?"

I laugh, looking up at him with feigned offense. "Boring? I'll have you know I'm having a wonderful time."

"Are you?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Maybe a little of both," I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. "And you? Do you always call balls like these boring?"

"Only when my mother's not here to overhear," he replies, grinning. "But tell me, how did you get here?"

I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him, but there's something about his gaze that makes it feel safe, to be honest. "My father brought me," I say, keeping it vague. "He doesn't let me out much."

"Really?" The stranger's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I would've pegged you for someone who went wherever they pleased."

"I'd like to think so," I reply, laughing. "But apparently, my father has other ideas."

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity in his eyes. "What does he think you'll do? Start a rebellion?"

"Maybe," I say with a shrug, a playful glint in my eyes. "He's probably right."

His laughter is warm, and he holds me a little closer as we spin across the marbled balcony floor. "Well, if you ever need a partner in crime, let me know. I'm an excellent accomplice."

I arch an eyebrow, smirking. "How do I know you're any good at sneaking out?"

He grins, leaning down until his voice is a soft murmur in my ear. "Trust me, princess. You don't survive my family without learning how to slip away now and then."

I glance up, meeting his gaze, intrigued by the way his words hold a hidden depth, a story he's not telling. "Your family sounds, interesting."

"That's one way to put it," he says with a chuckle, eyes flickering with a momentary shadow. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his easy charm. "Let's just say they have certain expectations."

"Well, then maybe we have more in common than I thought," I say, softening.

"Seems that way," he murmurs, his voice softening too. There's a gentleness in his gaze now, and I feel his hands hold me just a little more securely as if he's anchoring me.

We dance like this, quietly, for a few moments, simply enjoying the music and each other's company. He spins me once, drawing a soft laugh from me, and when he pulls me back, I'm closer than I realized, his breath warm on my cheek.

"Do you think we'd have met otherwise?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blink, a little caught off guard by the question. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Fate has a funny way of working, doesn't it?" He's still holding me close, his gaze warm and thoughtful, and I feel the world fade away a little as we look at each other.

"It does," I reply, almost breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glimmering with something I couldn't place. "I hope—I hope fate lets us meet again."

For a moment, I forget about the ballroom, about my father's rules, about everything except him. I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but something about him feels achingly familiar, like we're old friends, like I've known him in some other life.

When the music fades, he slowly lets me go, and I feel the loss of his warmth, his presence. He steps back, bowing with a playful, courtly gesture.

I scoff a laugh and give my best attempt at a curtsy. "You're a natural," He muses as the music dies down and I sidle closer to the balcony, eager to look out at the world beyond that I had never witnessed before.

The balcony feels almost timeless as we stand there, his presence beside me grounding in a way I hadn't expected. We talk as if there are no constraints, just the night around us, a quiet space carved out in the world. His words flow easily, a mix of humor and teasing, sometimes dipping into moments of gentleness that make my chest tighten.

I can't help but keep stealing glances at him, trying to memorize the sharp line of his jaw and the warm, playful gleam in his eyes. And every time I meet that gaze, I feel the strange, unshakable familiarity tugging at me—a whisper in the back of my mind that insists I know him, that maybe I've known him far longer than this one night. But I can't let myself get swept away in that feeling. Not yet.

We talk for hours about anything and everything, I tell him about the flowers below us, and what they symbolize, and in return, he tells me of the stars in the sky, the constellations, and each of their names.

We talked about things that I never voiced before, but there was a steady comfort in his presence that made me feel like I could confess even my deepest mistakes and he'd nod with understanding in his eyes, not a flicker of judgment.

We didn't go into the ballroom the entire night, had taken up the small seating area that curved around the side of the building I hadn't noticed before.

"So, princess," he says, smirking as he leans his back into his chair, arms folded in a lazy, practiced ease, "if you weren't here, what kind of trouble would you be getting yourself into?"

I think for a moment, letting my fingers graze the ivy-covered stone. "Trouble? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I'm sure you don't." He smirks, an amused glint in his eyes. "I pegged you for the rebellious type the moment I set eyes on you." He goes on.

I shrug, glancing out over the shadowed garden below. "Well, clearly you don't know me very well," I reply in a snarky tone, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Perhaps I'm a perfectly obedient daughter who follows all the rules."

His laugh is low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "Now, I find that hard to believe," he murmurs, tilting his head to meet my gaze. "A wildflower like you, growing in a gilded cage? No, I think you're meant to be out there—" he gestures to the dark mountains beyond the garden, "—living on your own terms."

My cheeks warm under his gaze, but I lift my chin. "And you? What about you, oh wise stranger? Surely you're not the type to follow anyone's rules but your own."

"Oh, I'd follow them," he says, his voice dropping to a playful murmur, "if you were the one making them."

I feel my face flush at his words, but I can't resist matching his grin. "Be careful what you wish for. I'd hate to ruin that roguish charm with a few boundaries."

"Boundaries?" He raises an eyebrow, laughing. "I don't believe you’re the kind of girl to put them in place, life's far more interesting without them, don't you think?" He cocks his head in an all too demeaning fashion, as if he knows me better than to even suggest such a thing. I can’t help but smile at the familiarity, of being truly seen and known, it was foreign, but welcomed. “More than you know,” I reply, a softer atmosphere taking over with the tenderness in my voice.

"So, what does someone like you dream of seeing?"

It's a simple enough question, but I find myself hesitating, surprised by how much I want to answer, how easy it feels to open up to him. "I want to see everything," I admit, my voice almost a whisper. "Every corner of the world. The mountains, the seas. I want to taste the air in different places and feel the ground under my feet where no one else has walked. I want to be free."

It's more than I've ever shared with anyone, especially someone who doesn't even know my name. I swallow, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but when I glance at him, his gaze is warm, and understanding. As if he knows exactly what I mean.

"I think freedom suits you," he says softly like he's revealing a secret. "It's in your eyes—the way they look past this place, like you're already somewhere else entirely."

His words send a shiver through me, and for a moment, I can't find any words at all. So instead, I look away, watching as the sky shifts from deep indigo to a paler shade, hinting at the dawn. "Maybe one day I'll get to see it all," I say, more to myself than to him.

"I have a feeling you will." His voice is quiet, almost wistful, and I glance back to find him watching me with that same, unsettling familiarity, as if he, too, feels this strange pull between us.

We fall into an easy silence after that, leaning against the railing side by side as the stars start to fade. Occasionally, he says something that makes me laugh, and I find myself telling him things I'd never tell anyone else—about the books I love, the dreams I've buried, the way I crave a life that's different from the one set out for me.

He listens, really listens, his attention never wavering. And in return, he shares pieces of himself, though I sense he's careful, holding back just as much as I am. He speaks of a family that has expectations, a life lived beneath a weight that isn't always visible. I don't pry, but I nod, letting him know I understand.

The sky lightens, a faint glow spreading over the horizon, and I can't help but feel a pang of regret as the world around us starts to wake.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice low, "I think this might be one of the best conversations I've ever had."

I laugh softly, though my heart aches a little at the thought of this night ending. "You don't get many opportunities to talk with strangers on balconies?"

"Not like this," he says, glancing down at me, his expression unreadable. "Not with someone like you."

There's something so earnest in his gaze that I feel my resolve waver. I want to tell him who I am, to share every piece of myself, but a part of me resists, clinging to this fleeting anonymity.

"Thank you," I say softly, and I mean it more than he could ever know.

"For what?" he asks, his tone warm.

"For reminding me that people can be kind. That they can listen." I smile up at him, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and hope. "I think I needed that."

The first light of dawn glimmers on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the garden. Slowly, he reaches out, taking my hand in his, his touch warm and steady. I feel his thumb brush gently over my knuckles, and it sends a wave of warmth through me, a silent promise in his touch.

"Maybe one day," he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll meet again. Maybe fate will give us that."

I can't bring myself to say anything, so I simply nod, letting myself savor the feel of his hand in mine for just a moment longer.

As the first rays of sunlight touch the garden below, he releases my hand, stepping back with a soft smile. He gives me one last, lingering look before turning, disappearing through the terrace doors and back into the world from which he came.

I stay there, watching as the light fills the sky, feeling like I've lost something precious and found something rare all at once.

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andypantsx3 · 9 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 : 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 1.7k of unedited alien prince shouto thoughts based on this post from the other day! sfw, gender neutral reader. several elements of this universe were borrowed from my fave sci-fi novel; see end notes for deets!

he's beautiful—the todoroki prince. tall and strong in his high-collared uniform, strapped with lean muscle and handsomely humanoid. he's the first thing that snares your gaze as your party is guided into the hall of the sun—the reception dome that overlooks the rise of the star yuuei in the morning sky, used by the ruling family to receive visiting dignitaries.

it is morning, in endeavorian planetary time, and the sun has begun to rise. its light is weaker than you remember from back home—almost watery, pooling like quicksilver in the panes of the dome's ceiling.

up at the front of the hall, it catches in the strands of the white half of the prince's hair. from what izuku has told you, it's the half that indicates he's part of the himura bloodline. the himura dynasty has ruled the yuuei system from its capital planet of endeavor iv for tens of thousands of earth-years. it's the second longest line of unbroken rulers in mapped galactic history, an impressive feat.

the other half of the prince's hair is a fiery red, like that of the man who stands next to him—todoroki enji, the general of intergalactic renown, who donated half of prince shouto's genome as well as his clan name. each time a himuran royal from the main line marries, izuku had explained, talking at lightspeed in the podship, they take a branch name, typically sourced from the primary gene-donator. it helps keep inheritance lines clear.

prince shouto looks like he's inherited empress rei and todoroki enji's genes in exactly half—his coloring split down the middle, though his features are perfectly, almost hauntingly symmetrical. he wears a pin of flint at his collar that symbolizes his gender—one of yuuei's thirteen official designations. from what you understand from izuku, it most closely aligns with earth designation "man".

it's embarrassing how much you notice about the prince as you file into the hall, stationing yourself right at the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, so you can still see todoroki shouto.

"you don't think they'll reject the treaty and kill us all, do you?" denki mumurs nervously as he presses in behind you.

"no, i don't think so," izuku's gentle voice drifts back to you. he's a three-star ethnologist, studying for a command ethnology post. subsequently he's the most informed of any of the cadets that have been sent along with the treatise party. you and denki are just mechanics, sent along in case anything goes wrong.

"the alliance would be too much trouble for the yuuei," izuku explains. "they have good relations with the surrounding galaxies and tight control over a lot of resources. but the alliance is really large now, compared to the last time they approached the yuuei. they'll likely want to accept at least a loose federation with the allies."

up on the platform at the front of the hall, prince shouto blinks long and slow, like an earth cat. you realize with a start it's the first time you've seen him blink at all, and the subtle reminder that he is not just an extraordinarily handsome human man but the prince of an alien species makes your skin prickle.

"don't you think it's weird they are all this pretty?" denki asks. "it's weird, right?"

"definitely weird," you laugh, your eyes trailing over prince shouto's blade-straight nose, his pert, perfect mouth. "possibly illegal under intergalatic law."

prince shouto stills all of a sudden, and there is the tiniest tilt of his head. two heterochromatic eyes flick over your way, and you are completely embarrassed by the way your stomach swoops in response. you just manage not to grab onto tenya's uniform to steady yourself.

one of the prince's eyebrow arches almost imperceptibly, and you wonder if he's heard you from this distance—but no, that would be insane.

denki picks up his commentary, emboldened by your playing along. you think the prince's eyes linger just a little too long on the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, but then you're distracted by the reception beginning.

the alliance treaty officer strides forward, flanked by a few of the other officials your crew had ferried here. she performs an elaborate bow, as do the other officials. from izuku's muttering you gather it's some sort of ritualistic greeting, and empress rei at least looks pleased with it, waving a gentle hand to gesture the party forward.

there is some shuffling as various aides set up a table and a series of holo-tablets, along with various inks, a leathery roll of endeavorian traditional parchment, and—

"is that a knife?" you ask, peering at the long obsidian blade placed on the table in front of the officials.

izuku's fluffy head of green curls inclines. "treaties are sealed twice. once in the alliance fashion and then again in the local custom, to make it binding per both systems. blood pacts have been used in yuuei for millennia."

the brush of something over your face has your gaze turning back to the prince—to find him staring straight at you, those unblinking eyes boring into you.

"izuku, weird question. can the yuuei hear across rooms?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

a green eye peers back at you. "only in the event of their pair bonds—the yuuei are documented hearing their matepair across approximately ten earth-kilometers. i think we're safe over here though. why?"

matepair. the world settles strangely under your skin, as the prince's eyes brush across it.

"uh, matepair?" you echo.

tenya gives both you and izuku a quelling look, but it's not enough to deter izuku from ducking down to explain in slightly quieter tones. "the yuuei look human but they pair differently. they form a parapsychic bond with only a single partner, which they maintain and uphold for life. it's not just cultural—it's like a physical compulsion. they cannot take another pair, and they cannot be separated for long periods or they grow sick."

prince shouto is still staring straight at you, and it's not quite comforting enough to know that he cannot possibly hear you.

it's only his role in the ceremony that seems to eventually break the prince's weird focus in your direction. he steps forward to perform his duty as empress rei's chosen heir. you almost flinch as the knife draws across the pale skin of his palm, and he adds several drips of silvery blood to the parchment, symbolizing yuuei's intent to uphold the treaty across future monarchs.

the flesh of his palm knits itself back together in seconds, and another little shiver goes up your spine. those mismatched eyes flash back your way as he steps back, and the various aides and officials once again converge on the documents.

there is a brief flurry of activity, various bows and oaths, some stilted endeavorian verse. the chief treaty officer looks relieved when it's all over, and the royal family steps down from the dais to greet the rest of the visiting party, as is the customary honor granted to allies to the yuuei. tenya ushers you into the queue near the back with denki, a symbol of your lower status as mechanics.

you don't mind, as the thought of reaching prince shouto has your stomach doing what feel like backflips in your gut. the longer the delay the better.

izuku had walked everyone through the appropriate greetings on the podship, a few murmured words and a hand touch at chest-level—extremely hard to mess up, even for you. but nevertheless your pulse kicks up the closer you draw to the royal family.

there's a long line of them you greet first. offshoot branch members, then general todoroki enji, whose enormous palm burns hot against yours and who looks he'd rather take your party's hands off than touch them. then rei's unchosen heirs—the princess fuyumi, prince natsuo—and a gap where prince touya would have stood, were he not offworld.

and then you're standing in front of prince shouto, your pulse pounding in your ears. he's extremely tall up close, clearing six feet easily, broad across the shoulders and handsome in a way that almost makes your teeth ache. the yuuei look deceptively human, but this near you can see the tiny details that separate them from you—the slight double-point to their ears, the silvery undertone to their skin, the prolonged space between their breaths and their blinks.

and of course their inhuman beauty. they don't quite look like regular people, and it sparks a tiny note of wariness in the primeval part of your human hindbrain.

prince shouto's mismatched eyes pin you, silver and blue, as a sudden, silvery flush creeps across his face. you hold your hand out in greeting, trying not to wonder if you've somehow managed to offend him already—but instead of pressing his palm against yours, his long fingers suddenly grasp yours, clasping tightly.

beyond him, empress rei freezes too. all at once you can feel every single himuran noble turn to look at you, hundreds of eyes pinning on you.

reflexively, words tumble out of you. "shit did i—what did i do? were you supposed to get a different hand thingy?"

you can hear the treaty officer's horrified inhale at the terms shit and hand thingy, deployed in crass galactic standard in front of a literal prince. you immediately wish you could take them back, but from the look on the prince's face, he's already heard them.

something at the corner of his mouth twitches, like he's trying not to smile.

"y/n," he says, in a deep tone. it's crisply accented and just as beautiful as the rest of him.

it takes you a second to realize prince shouto has used your name, which he could not possibly know considering the uniform you'd been issued for the yuuei visit has no unique identifiers on it. you glance down at yourself, then back up at him, befuddled.

"how did you—? where did you—?" you garble out. "did denki put you up to this? how do you know me?"

prince shouto's fingers smooth over yours, delightfully warm, calloused and sure. "i would know you in any universe," he says, voice soft. behind you, you hear princess fuyumi make a tiny sound of delight.

you blink. "universe? what—uh, what universe? how would you—?"

but shouto leans in, tugging you closer with those deceptively strong fingers. he's so very warm up close, and so beautiful it makes your brain short circuit, especially as he lowers his face to yours. a shiver rolls down your spine as his other hand takes you gently by the chin.

and then he murmurs a single word before pressing his mouth to yours—

"matepair."

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: credits where they are due!! the idea of a space general dna donator, an overarching space alliance pursuing a treaty, & the flint pin denoting gender were taken from my fave sci-fi novel winter's orbit by everina maxwell! (if you love heartfelt gay love stories in space i am actually begging you to read it).

#todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x you #todoroki x you

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sarahscribbles · 6 months ago

Note

First of all, I love you 💜

Second of all, I have a drabble idea!

Loki and reader have been in a romantic relationship for a bit and everything’s been pretty vanilla so far. How would Loki react to reader telling him that she’d like to explore more kink in the bedroom? Specifically that she wants him to be in control?

Can’t wait to see what you do with it, if it inspires of course 😘

I'm rereading this after just finishing the fic and realising that it doesn't touch on the reader wanting Loki to take control. I'm sorry! But I hope this is enjoyable nonetheless!

𝐕𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐛

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞, 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭 & 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓.𝟑𝐤

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦!𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐦 𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

“Six months, three weeks, and four and a half days. And counting,” you breathe out so softly that you don’t think Loki hears you.

He’s tangled around you tightly in a warm cocoon of cream sheets, as he has been for the past few hours. You had other plans for this afternoon, but when Loki coaxed you back beneath the blankets with those big green eyes and award winning pout, those plans suddenly became very unimportant.

He’s good at that, you’ve come to notice, but you’re equally as good at knowing when to push and when to bend. An unfolding crisis somewhere deep in South America? He’s on his own. A Sunday afternoon of grabbing a coffee and wandering around your favourite second hand book shops? That can wait.

For Loki, nearly anything can wait.

The heat of your lovers body is seeping pleasantly into your own, as is his endless affection. That head of beautiful black curls is dipped beneath your jaw, errant strands brushing lightly over your exposed skin, and the low, quiet sounds of content that have flowed from him in an unbroken stream have only placed more of your heart in his capable hands.

It’s difficult to focus on anything but the warm, heavy weight of Loki on top of you. He’s safe and solid and as familiar to you as the beat of your own heart. His hand has been gripping one of yours for as long as his cock has been hard and brushing against your stomach, desperate to take you, but not without first fulfilling his promise to worship you.

Your beautiful, benevolent god.

You take a shaky breath in, preparing to try and speak again, but the words get lost in transit between your brain and mouth when Loki’s warm lips latch onto the sensitive skin below your jaw. It pulls a ragged moan from deep in your chest, and makes your fingernails curl into the soft skin of his shoulders. You have no idea how many bruises now cover your neck and collarbone, but you know that it’s not enough.

You want everyone who looks at you to know that you belong to Loki body, mind, and soul.

“I hadn’t realised you had been keeping count, dove,” Loki replies, running his tongue soothingly over the area he’s just marked. Already, you can feel the first petals of a bruise begin to unfurl beneath your skin, and it makes you thrum with need.

There’s an undeniable smile in his voice, which you mirror happily against him. His skin is warm and flushed when you press a chaste kiss to his temple, and you swear you hear him purr when you tangle a hand in his hair to lightly scratch his scalp.

“Of course I have. I’m calling it my longest spell of unbroken happiness,” you reply through a grin, unable to stop your hand running down his naked back to squeeze his ass.

His hair tickles your collarbone when he lifts his head. Loki says nothing as his eyes find yours, but you watch - almost transfixed - at how they sparkle above you. He’s looked at you like this countless times before, yet butterflies still erupt joyously in the depths of your stomach.

It’s a feeling of joy that mingles with a quiet sadness that he’s so unused to being loved. He’s not familiar with being loved on and adored and treated like the most important thing in the universe - something that you fully intend to change. You’ll love him for as long as he’ll have you; you’ll love the good, the bad, and everything in between.

You’ll love him exactly as he is.

You notice the faint tinge of pink that creeps beneath his cheeks even in the golden half light of your bedroom. It’s endearing, really; this stoic and aloof god blushing because of a few soft words.

Because of you.

“Darling thing,” Loki whispers eventually, and presses his lips gently against yours.

His mouth is warm and soft, but it’s still insistent and you yield easily to his touch. He’s almost flush against you - so much so that you can feel the steady thump of his heart in his chest - but you still need him closer. You pull your hand reluctantly from his to twist it greedily into his raven curls, clamping him firmly to your lips like it’s the last kiss you’ll ever share. Before long, you feel the warm press of his palm against your cheek and the silken softness of his thumb on your chin, gently pressing down so he can kiss you deeper.

This is what heaven is, you imagine; lying beneath the man you love more than life itself while he worships you so ardently. He looks at you like you hung the moon and if your sands of time ran out tonight, you would greet death happily.

You whine weakly when Loki’s lips leave yours, but it melts to a moan when those same lips find your jaw once more. His hand stays curled around your cheek for leverage as his lips press to your skin again and again, and you can’t help but to gasp at the dull drag of his teeth as he continues lower.

Loki begins a lazy trail of wet kisses along your collarbone and between the valley of your breasts, but ignores how your nipples harden and beg for his attention.

“Lovely, lovely thing,” he murmurs quietly against your stomach, sliding his hands to your hips to hold them firmly in place when they lift upwards in search of more.

“Bastard,” you say airily.

Loki silences you easily with a slow drag of his tongue from your navel to the crease of your right hip, something you know he’s chosen to do intentionally. Your cunt aches madly for him, for his fingers, his tongue, his cock - whatever he’ll give you. You only want him.

You’ll only ever want him.

He starts to suck bruises into your inner thigh so attentively that you swear you could cum from that alone. His hands are still locked firmly around your hips to keep you pinned to the bed and, no matter how much you squirm, there’s no way to escape his vice like grip.

It’s an intoxicating thought - having Loki be in control - and a long held fantasy that you know he shares. It’s one you’ve both tiptoed around for the past few months, one you’ve spoken about only the other night, and one you no longer think you can ignore.

“Wait,” you say softly, quickly, when two warm hands begin to press your thighs further apart.

Those same hands are off you in an instant and you try not to protest at the sudden loss of their familiar, comforting warmth.

“Alright?” Loki asks, that smooth, deep voice laced with concern and apprehension.

Quickly, you cup his cheeks in your hands and trace your thumbs soothingly over his flushed skin. “I’m fine.” You promise with a small smile. “I was only thinking about something.”

The worry etched in his face slowly melts away as he studies you, and he eventually raises one elegant eyebrow in question. “Oh? Do continue, dove,” he replies, turning his face to place a kiss to the palm of your hand.

Your skin tingles pleasantly in the wake of his touch, as though your soul recognises its mate from the briefest of caresses. “I was thinking that I’d like to try something different, like…like what we talked about the other night,” you say quietly, feeling your cheeks begin to burn.

Loki is silent for only a moment, but you watch his eyes gradually light up with desire and sparkle with excitement. Against your stomach, you feel his cock twitch. “Are you sure?” he asks intently, curling his fingers around your wrist.

You nod quickly, already feeling the first twists of anticipation deep in your stomach. “Yes. I trust you.”

Something in his eyes softens and he leans in to kiss you slow and gentle, like nothing in the world matters to him more than tasting you. “I do so love you, my darling girl,” he murmurs, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. “You remember the system we discussed, yes?”

You nod again. “Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for ok,” you repeat back, already thrumming with excitement.

It’s something you’ve wanted from the very first time Loki took you to bed. You trust him more than you’ve ever trusted anyone. You trust him to be careful and considerate. You trust him deeply enough to submit to him.

At hearing you repeat his system, Loki smiles widely at you. “Good girl,” he says, and kisses the tip of your nose.

You wriggle with anticipation beneath him. Loki sits back on his knees and reaches to take both of your wrists in his grip. He holds them loosely and slowly strokes your skin with the pads of his thumbs.

“This may feel a little odd at first,” he says before a gradual soft tingle courses through both your arms.

It feels like a warm summer rain shower, like the first pleasant lick of a fire after a day in the cold, and then you watch as your wrists are encased in shimmering ropes of green. It’s bewitching to watch Loki’s magic at work. So often, you’ve seen it in the throes of battle and watched how easily he can bring an enemy to their knees, how ruthless he is in wielding magic as weapon of torture when the lives of his friends are at risk. You’ve seen first hand how it can destruct and destroy.

To then watch as he creates something so beautiful…

Gently, Loki then folds your arms back until they touch the headboard and another pleasant surge of warmth locks them in place. You tug experimentally at your bindings, but your arms don’t move. You’re fully restrained to the bed.

And fully at Loki’s mercy.

He drinks you in as you lie bound before him. There’s a new intensity to his gaze that makes you ache for his touch and burn for his kiss. Sparkling green eyes run slowly over the length of your naked body - like a predator eyeing its prey - and you have to swallow a moan when the tip of his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

“Colour?” Loki asks softly, ghosting his fingertips along the outside of your thigh.

“Green,” you answer immediately.

He gives you a devastating wink. “That’s my girl.”

The pride in his voice is so palpable it almost makes you weep with love for him. The list of things you’d do to make him proud, to be his good girl, is endless - something you have no doubt that he knows.

Nervously, you wait for what’s to come next, but Loki seems in no rush to move things along. Your arms flex impatiently against the headboard, making the wood creak quietly, and it pulls a smirk across Loki’s handsome face.

“You aren’t going anywhere, dove, not until I say so.” His voice rolls over you like liquid silk.

He sounds menacing tonight, like you’re his captured prisoner, but your love for him is burning through your blood. Despite the restraints binding you securely in place, you know that you’re safe. Loki would sooner see the world burn than let any harm come to you - it’s one thing you’ve never been surer of.

“You’re making me nervous just staring at me,” you say through a laugh.

Loki begins to slowly trace the tip of a single finger along the inside of your thigh, and it’s enough to make a trail of goosebumps erupt in its wake. His touch is soft and sweet, yet somehow still menacing enough to make your heart rapidly pick up speed.

“Good,” Loki purrs. “I want you to be nervous. I want that brilliant mind to run wild with the possibilities of what I might do to you next.”

His finger stops just shy of where you’re throbbing for him and he throws you a wicked smile. It’s dazzling and seductive and pulls a near guttural groan from deep in your chest. Hot arousal is searing through your veins and blazing ferociously through your core. The man before you is sin and salvation, he’s thrill and torment, and you aren’t sure you’re going to survive this night.

Before you can reply, Loki is silently leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. “We’ll take this slow, dove. Colour?” he murmurs against your flushed skin.

You breathe in shakily because the raw need to have this man has all but robbed you of the ability to speak. “Gr…green.”

Loki lifts his head to catch your lips in a deep, chaste kiss. “I love you, my darling.”

You’ve lost count of how many times he’s said those three words in the past six months, but each time you hear them a golden glow of warmth expands deep in your stomach. This beautiful, wonderful man loves you, an unremarkable little mortal.

He sits back on his knees again and you take a moment to appreciate the beauty of his body. The defined chest, the tight stomach, and those firm thighs that are slightly parted atop the bed.

He’s also achingly hard.

You drink him in hungrily until your attention is pulled to his hand where that same shimmer of emerald green is dancing softly in his palm. When it fades away to nothing, and you take a few seconds to study the scrap of black silk that remains in its place, you realise that Loki is holding a blindfold between his fingers.

It sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’m going to place this over your eyes. Alright?” he asks, intently studying your face. You nod your consent, but Loki doesn’t move. “I need you to say it, dove.”

His voice is so gentle that it almost makes you weep. How did you get so lucky as to call this man yours?

“It’s alright,” you assure him quickly.

Loki moves closer and leans forward to raise your head off the pillow. With care, he slips the blindfold over your head and, in only a matter of seconds, your entire world goes black. You stiffen at the sudden darkness, but quickly feel Loki’s lips press firmly to your forehead.

“I’m right here,” he soothes you, cradling your head to his lips in one large hand. “Tell me your colour.”

Your answer doesn’t come immediately. You hate the dark - always have - but you can feel the heat from Loki’s body as he holds you close, you can hear his steady breathing and the beat of his heart in his chest. You haven’t been cast adrift into some endless void - you’re in your bed and safe in your lovers arms. You’re ok.

“Green,” you tell him honestly.

Loki places one last kiss to your forehead. “Good girl.”

He lays your head back on the pillow and you hear him sit back on the bed. There’s a sudden coldness from the absence of his body, but then his hand is curling around your hip in silent reassurance that he’s still right there.

“Oh, my darling girl, you do look so beautiful like this,” Loki says, lightly running his thumb back and forth over your hip bone. “So beautiful and all mine.”

Mine.

His.

It’s all you ever want to be, it’s all you have been since the very first time he kissed you. Your heart belongs to Loki, and you know now that it will belong to Loki until it beats its last.

“Kiss me. Please,” you half whine, suddenly overcome with the need to have his mouth on yours.

You hear his quiet laughter and feel the soft tickle of his hair over your breasts as he leans back in. “How could I possibly deny you that, my darling.”

Seconds later his warm mouth is on yours. He kisses you deeply, so deeply that you try to wrap your arms around him before you remember. Loki grins against your lips and you squeal into his mouth when a finger and thumb then flick your nipple.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you goad him breathlessly when his lips leave yours.

“And you’ll take every second of it,” he replies easily, and you can hear the smirk that’s spread wide across his face.

You feel his lips at your neck again as he continues adding to his patchwork of bruises, and each time he sucks at your skin, you become increasingly aware of the searing need burning between your thighs.

As best you can, you turn your head to give him more access and he happily obliges. “Mine,” he says firmly before running his tongue along the column of your throat.

You moan shamelessly beneath him, arching off the bed and locking your legs tightly around his hips. “Yours,” you reply easily, digging your heels into his perfect ass.

“Good girl,” Loki purrs, beginning to move further down your chest. “Very good girl.”

His lips are featherlight as they explore your skin, and the gentle caress of his hair along your abdomen keeps you grounded in the darkness. It’s all too easy to get lost in the haze of his worship, to fully relax into the soft sheets while he lavishes you with attention. You’re so blissfully drunk on this man and the love that he drowns you in…

“Fuck!” you yelp when Loki decides to sink his teeth into an erect nipple and pinch the other between his thumb and forefinger.

There’s a quiet roll of amused laughter, and then his warm tongue darts out to soothe while the pad of a thumb runs softly over the other. “Sorry, my darling. I couldn’t resist.”

You wish more than anything that you could see his face, especially when he repeats the previous action over and over. You want to watch his beautiful face and sinful tongue, you want to run your hands over him and twist them in his hair, but no matter how much you tug at the restraints, your hands remain frustratingly locked to the headboard.

“Ah, ah, darling. That isn’t going to help you at all tonight,” Loki teases, and you feel him stretch up to kiss you again.

You allow it, but still whine desperately into his mouth. “Please. I need to touch you, Loki. Please.”

He only kisses the tip of your nose. “Not yet. Colour?”

You huff out a sigh, but eventually mumble, “green.”

“Good girl.”

There’s a quiet rustle of sheets as Loki sits back on the bed, but the soft touch that you’re anticipating doesn’t come. You’re aching for the caress of his hands or the teasing brush of his lips, so much so that you can almost feel their phantom touch if you concentrate hard enough. It’s easier in the darkness the blindfold provides - the cool silk acts like a film screen for all the filthy scenes your mind plays on a loop, each one more depraved than the last. Loki, you’re coming to learn, has a deliciously filthy mind, and he’s all too content to leave you thrumming and squirming at the endless possibilities of what he’s going to do next.

His silence continues, making you strain to catch even the quiet sound of his breathing. You can’t and it makes your heart begin to race unpleasantly.

“Loki?” you call out, hearing the hitch in your voice.

Instantly, a large, warm hand is settling over your knee. “I’m here. Forgive me, I lost myself admiring the beauty before me,” he murmurs, running his thumb soothingly along the side of your knee.

“Oh, fuck off,” you say through a smile. You can’t see him, but you know he’s gazing at you with those soft eyes that never fail to make you blush.

“I don’t believe you truly want that,” he replies quickly, a smile evident in his own voice. His palm slides easily round to your inner thigh and you feel the other mirror it. Slowly, he pushes your thighs apart on the bed, opening you fully to him. “All for me, dove?” he purrs, shifting on the mattress so you feel it dip beneath you.

The sound of his voice - deep and dripping with desire - has you slick and aching for him. Your need for him is so fervent that your hips roll off the bed in a desperate search for him, but the only thing you hear is Loki’s quiet, amused laughter. He runs his fingertips teasingly along the inside of one thigh, pulling a groan from deep in your chest and lighting a blazing fire in your blood with just a simple touch.

Such is the power of a gods touch.

You whine loudly and yank at the magical bonds of Loki’s restraints. They haven’t budged an inch all night, yet you still pull at them ceaselessly. You desperately want to see your lovers face, to see the intent look in his eyes that promises pleasure you can only dream of, but Loki doesn’t move, doesn’t make any sign that he’s ready to free you just yet.

“Please,” you whimper pleadingly, feeling so wildly aroused that the simple brush of his fingertip could send you hurtling over the edge.

“Patience,” Loki purrs smoothly.

A string of curses slips swiftly from your lips in tandem with your hips bucking off the bed in frustration, but Loki’s warm hands move quickly to pin them back against the mattress.

“I believe a gag may be in order next time, dove,” he says. His voice is teasing, but there’s a quiet undercurrent of warning running beneath that he will gag you.

It sends a fresh rush of heat straight to your aching cunt.

“Fuck. Do you promise?” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, already close to dizzy at the idea of Loki gagging you.

This time, Loki’s laughter is wholly unrestrained. “I love you, my darling little minx. You have my word that there will be many nights of exploration after this one.”

His hands are still curled around your knees, and the next thing you feel are his lips pressing to your inner thigh. He works slowly, methodically, kissing and sucking and nibbling your sensitive skin until your eyes roll back in the darkness. It’s something he’s done countless times before, but the addition of the blindfold only amplifies the sensation.

In the darkness, you focus on the warmth of his lips and the wetness of his tongue as they move along your thigh. You feel the tickling caress of his hair and the way his fingers push your thigh closer to his lips. You feel his love for you in every sweet and teasing nip of his teeth.

This man loves you, and you couldn’t ask the stars for anything more.

His lips continue a warm path along your thigh, making you tingle beneath each touch. He takes his time sucking bruise after bruise into your willing flesh, ensuring that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. His touch is intoxicating and you can’t help but to part your thighs wider as he edges closer to your aching cunt. He’s so close that you brace for the first electrifying feel of his warm, sinful tongue.

But it’s a touch that doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel his lips press to your other thigh to begin the same slow, torturous ascent.

“Loki, for fuck sake!” you groan with another frustrated buck of your hips, but it’s so perfectly Loki that a laugh is soon to follow.

You feel him grin against your thigh. “Perhaps a lesson on patience is needed tonight, yes?” he replies smoothly and nips gently at your skin.

Loki doesn’t wait for your answer and, purposefully slowly, works his way along your thigh. This time, though, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of your impatience. You moan his name shamelessly and sigh blissfully at each warm press of his lips. As expected, it doesn't take him long to finish marking you.

“You’re going to be the end of me, you little vixen,” Loki teases, though now his voice is heavy with lust and raspy with need.

Although you can’t see him, you know exactly how he looks on the bed before you. You know that his usually immaculate curls are now falling haphazardly across flushed cheeks, and that his eyes are glittering with desire. You know his cock is stiff and aching to be inside you, only made bearable by swift, short strokes while he’s ravished you.

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s craving you just as desperately.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you reply innocently. “You said - oh, fuck!”

An affectionate taunt had been taking easy shape on your tongue, but the words fall into the air when Loki finally presses his sinful tongue to your cunt and licks a slow, firm line all the way to your clit. It pulls your back off the bed and makes the headboard groan loudly with how forcefully you yank against your restraints. You need more.

“Yes, dove?” Loki asks, an unmistakable smugness dripping from two words.

You swiftly shake your head against the pillows. “Not important. Do that again. Please!”

Every inch of you is crying out for him, burning for him, and you don’t think you can stand another second without some part of his body inside yours. You need him.

“But of course,” Loki murmurs.

You don’t have time to entertain how easily he obliges you because he buries his tongue back in your cunt, licking and sucking and teasing until that coil of arousal begins to wind tighter and tighter in your core.

The blindfold is still snugly around your eyes, but you can perfectly picture your lover in your minds eye as his head bobs between your thighs. You want to pull him closer as your climax builds, or have the simple, reassuring feel of him beneath your fingertips, but all they caress is the night air of your room.

Between your thighs, Loki continues to expertly propel you towards release, and the sounds of his contented moans only adds fuel to the flame. His name slips easily from your lips in a breathless chant as your orgasm crests and, quickly, your entire body tenses in preparation, read to fall through the freefall…

But then Loki’s tongue is gone.

You flail wildly on the bed and your hips buck desperately in a fruitless search for Loki’s mouth. “Loki, what the fuck!” you whine.

“Shhhh,” he soothes you quickly, laying a warm hand across your thigh and stroking your skin with his thumb. “Tell me your colour, darling.”

Despite the absolute frustration he left bubbling in his wake, you can’t deny that you enjoyed it. “Still green,” you answer after only a moment of hesitation.

The bed frame creaks beneath you and then you feel the warm press of Loki’s lips on your forehead. “Good girl,” he whispers, then moves to position himself back between your legs. “Then consider this your lesson in patience.”

His mouth returns to your cunt and this time he takes his time building you back up. You want to roll your hips against his tongue in encouragement, but two hands pin them firmly to the bed, forcing you to endure whatever he decides to give you.

Loki does everything he knows you love - every pattern and every rhythm - and when he then slips two fingers inside you, you feel the beginnings of what promises to be a cataclysmic release.

“Loki…,” you whine out a warning, balling your hands into fists so tight that your nails pierce your skin.

Just as you’re about to tumble over Loki stops again, ensuring that your orgasm slips from your desperate fingertips. A frustrated sob catches in your throat, but Loki soothes and praises you through it, peppering your face in sweet kisses and cradling your cheek in his hand.

“You’re sick for making me enjoy this,” you half laugh while he continues holding you.

He laughs freely and deeply and presses yet another kiss to your temple. “I’m terrible, I know. Only twice more, my darling, I promise,” he murmurs softly in your ear.

Easily, you allow him.

By the fourth time, your thighs are shaking and a single tear of frustration leaks down your cheek from behind the blindfold.

“Loki…please,” you beg him softly as the pad of his thumb gently brushes it away.

Little more than a second later, the familiar warm shimmer of his seidr trickles through your body, effortlessly dissolving the silk of your blindfold and the dancing green glimmer of your restraints. You lower your arms gratefully and blink a few times until Loki’s handsome face comes into full focus before you.

“There she is,” he says quietly, taking both of your wrists in one large hand to bring them to his lips. He runs the other gently over your skin until the dull ache that had settled into your bones fades away to nothing. “I am so very proud of you, my darling girl. You were magnificent,” he continues, swiftly dipping his head down to kiss you deeply.

You pull your hands from his to greedily wrap them around him, taking in every inch of him beneath your roaming fingertips as though you had never touched him before.

“Please,” you repeat, twisting a hand into his hair as he rests his forehead against yours.

He captures your lips in another quick kiss. “No more begging, dove. I am yours.”

Loki holds your gaze as he lines himself up and finally, finally, inches inside you. You’re more than ready for him, and he groans deeply at the feel of your cunt clenching around him.

“Perfect,” he grunts. “Fucking perfect.”

He shudders as he bottoms out and you see how his fingers dig into the mattress at your side. He’s as pent up as you are - perhaps even more - and you know that neither of you are going to last long after the last hour.

Brazenly, you run your hands along his muscled back to squeeze his ass, biting back a smirk at the look that crosses his face. It’s the final straw that breaks him, and finally his hips begin to roll against yours.

“Mine,” he rasps in your ear, arching his back to roll into you in long, deep strokes that have you moaning his name like a prayer.

“Yours,” you breathe back, clutching him to you like a life raft as your orgasm begins to crest.

All it takes is a few more thrusts of his cock to send you soaring off the edge. You grasp at him wildly and cry out his name so loudly that it rings off the walls. Your climax consumes you, makes the edges of your vision dance white with stars, and it drags Loki under only seconds later.

Your name is an unbroken melody on his lips, a prayer of adoration to the goddess who granted him his salvation. Through half lidded eyes you watch how he loses himself to his release - jaw slack, eyes closed. The sight of him consumed to pleasure because of you is enough to have a second wave of your own pull you deeply beneath its surf.

Vaguely, you feel Loki bury his face in your neck and you stretch a limp arm over his shoulder to hold him to you. He’s panting hard and you place a lazy kiss to his temple as you both bask in the golden afterglow of love.

You smile as Loki nuzzles in closer and traces nonsensical shapes along his back. By all accounts you should be exhausted, but you’ve never felt so invigorated and hungry for the man lying in your arms.

A turn of your head prompts Loki to lift his and glittering green eyes lock lovingly with yours.

You smirk up at the man who you fall more in love with every single day. “Again?”

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