#under crystalline dreams

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . WAKING UP WITH THEM feat. 𝓙𝓤𝓙𝓤𝓣𝓢𝓤 𝓚𝓐𝓘𝓢𝓔𝓝!

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ characters: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi + itadori yuuji

warnings! none, fluff ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! hi it’s been so long + i just got a sudden urge to write with the new season + all! life has been super cray but hopefully i get to do some more jjk again ueueue! back to my roots <3

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU

it was almost a mission getting up next to gojo, or more so having to actually get out of bed when you have your overgrown clingy boyfriend wrapped around you.

his breathing is soft, the rise and fall of his chest is steady and despite the way the light barely breaks into the room you can see the way his lashes still rest along his cheeks.

now’s your chance, you think to yourself as you ease gojo’s arm from where he’s got it draped over your waist — gently as to not jolt him awake as you push yourself closer to the edge of the bed. you gently swing your legs over the edge, but just as you go to push yourself up you hear the slow, drowsy drawl of a man who’s definitely not about to let you do that.

“oh, what’s this? i don’t think so, sweet thing.” your snowy haired boyfriend grunts as his arms take their previous place around your waist from behind, tighter this time before you’re pulled back into his chest with such an ease you almost squeak. you barely heard him move and the speed he always seems to despite the early hours still makes your head feel dizzy.

“you wouldn’t leave me cold would you? where’s your heart?” gojo teases but you note that he’s warm when he’s pushing himself into the crook of your neck, letting his lips graze along the skin there as he chuckles at the way you shudder at the touch. he knows you’re pouting, your little mission not so successful—but he still thinks it’s adorable the way you melt back into him regardless.. like you were secretly hoping for the loss.

“you were literally asleep a second ago.” your words are accompanied by a playful pinch at his cheek before his large palms graze under your shirt, squeezing at your waist as he pulls away to give you a tilted look. his sleepy smirk is in place as it stretches wide before he leans into to press a quick kiss against your lips, then another against your cheek that lingers.

“oh yeah? but i thought i was still in a dream, sweet girl.” crystalline eyes pull back to look over you, mapping out your features like gojo hasn’t already committed them to memory. but you think it’s unfair how handsome he seems to look in the mornings, especially when you’re trying to resist the way he makes you want to give in to his request to stay in bed a little longer.

“yeah yeah, just get up already.”

“nuh ugh, you’ve not even given me my good morning kiss yet. how will i survive the day, hm?”

✩ ˛˚ . GETO SUGURU

you need to get up, geto knows when your alarm goes off for the third time even though it was the first that woke him. “i know you’re awake, pretty girl.” he hums against your temple, but you’re still pressed up into him and every attempt to shake you gently awake has you inching yourself closer to his chest rather than to the edge of the bed.

“come on.” his words are accompanied by the smooth trace of his hands along the curve of your spine and you think it’s a little contradictory, the way he’s making you melt even more into him despite the way it’s supposed to be waking you up instead.

“sugu, but i’m tired.” a kiss to your forehead and a squeeze of his hand at your hips and you hear geto chuckle as he pulls back to look at you — his dark hair still messily framing his features as he pushes himself up.

“yeah? you seemed to be sleeping well when you were snoring.” he teases even as one arm still wraps around you and pulls you into him anyway. chuckling, long and low when you grumble before nuzzling into the crook of his neck to press butterfly kisses along his skin.

“i don’t snore.” you reply before you find yourself lost in him, geto always smelled good, so good you wanted to wrap yourself in him like the blanket you wrap yourself in at night. you hear him hum at your words; like he’s not quite convinced before he’s reaching over you to tap at the alarm, again.

“but we really need to get up.” he sighs but somehow manages to keep you still pressed against him as he sits up, letting you curl up against his chest as the first cold press of morning air rolls over your shoulders while he stretches.

you look up at him with drowsy features but it seems to warm you from the inside out when you notice he’s already staring, a smirk in place before he’s pinching once at your cheek and kissing your lips when they jut out into a pout.

“hey, don’t gimme that look after all of those alarms, pretty girl.”

✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO

waking up with nanami was easy, or more so being woken up by him. he was always up early, waking you up with a sweet kiss against your cheek, followed by another against your temple. his coffee still lingers on his lips but you think it’s familiar, like it makes the first stretch of the day come a little easier when hes resting over you.

“morning, sweetheart.” his voice is a low drawl but he knows you’ll probably still be in bed by the time he leaves. but you know you’ll walk into the kitchen to sliced fruit on the table and your slippers will be waiting in their place over the edge — perfectly positioned for you to slide into because he knows the floor is a little colder in the morning.

“morning, kento.” your voice is cute, barely audible but nanami’s still close enough to hear it as he lets his palm push gently down the curve of your shoulder — squeezing at the skin affectionately. your eyes are barely open, but you can still feel the way he tucks the comforter over you, sighing softly before he pulls back.

“do you want me to bring in dinner?” he asks, you’re barely awake but he still waits for an answer. a little nod follows and he smiles to himself when you subconsciously roll onto his side of the bed, seeking out the small remainder of the warmth he’d left behind although you’d still rather he be next to you instead.

“then i won’t be late, i have dinner plans now after all.” nanami pulls back to take another sip of his coffee but you still seem to find the consciousness to reach out to grab at the cuff of his shirt. a drowsy blink up at him and he knows he can’t deny you when he’s leaning over you again, leaving you with another few kisses that find him having to smooth down his shirt and hair again afterwards.

✩ ˛˚ . FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

you think it’s charming, the way megumi is already looking at you as you wake, blinking blearily at your dark haired boyfriend as he gives you a content sort of look. you blink again, stretching slightly before you roll onto your side, edging yourself closer before you speak. “were you watching me sleep?”

your question is still drawled as you tease him, barely awake but you can still see the way it makes him jolt slightly — like he’s been caught in a daze as the tips of his ears sting with a blush. “no” but his reply is too quick, followed by a tsk while he’s suddenly looking everywhere but at you with a pout on his lips that only seems to lure you closer.

you giggle as you press yourself into megumi’s side, humming at the grumpy expression on his face because you still think it’s cute the way he lets you climb all over him. “what? i think it’s cute.” he softens at that, slightly as his eyes dart quickly to look at you before they’re gone again.

you let the silence settle for a few moments before you feel his arm reach to wrap gently around your waist, securing you against him before he clears his throat to finally say something. but his gaze remains on the ceiling. “i wasn’t staring..” he begins before he gives you another quick look, “.. you, you just made a sound, i was checking on you.”

you hum at megumi’s little excuse as your press your cheek into his shoulder, failing to hide the way your lips are starting to stretch into a grin that he notices before his brows furrow slightly. “hm? you looked happy about it.” you tease again and you feel his fingers squeeze at your waist slightly as he breathes out a long sigh and curls you closer.

“shutup.”

✩ ˛˚ . ITADORI YUUJI

on the rare occasions itadori seemed to wake up before you, you were never far behind — mostly because he couldn’t seem to wait too long without you. so you always seemed to find yourself woken up by a few messy kisses, pressed quickly into your cheeks, then your neck, then your nose until you’re pushing him away playfully at the way they tickle your skin.

“yuuji! i’m awake..” you huff out as your overgrown boyfriend leans his weight over you, like a giant puppy licking his owner awake in the morning as he sends you a bright grin. you always thought it was cute how pretty he still seemed to be in the mornings, even when his hair is messy and it’s barely 8am— there’s still a soft sort of glow in his eyes when they meet yours.

“morning!” itadori replies, his voice is lower than normal but he still handles you softly despite how tightly he wants to wrap you in his arms. but he was warm, sort of like sunshine and you think you quite enjoy the moments when you get to wake up under the sun.

“do you wanna get breakfast?” you ask softly and you swear you feel your boyfriend squeeze you tighter at that. but your arms wrap around him and he doesn’t think anything is gonna be as good as the feeling of you against his chest right now.

“five more minutes, babe. i wanna cuddle a little longer.” itadori’s words are muffled when he speaks them into your skin, continuing where he left off on his onslaught of kisses as he peppers them across your features. across your cheeks, along your jawline and down your neck until he’s pressing you into your pillows and groaning when you scratch your fingers through his hair.

but you accept, even though in five more minutes you know it’ll be ten.

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Kissing

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Imagine Yandere!Zhongli in a Reverse!AU, where you're Liyue's Archon and you seal him away. Thousands of years ago, you and him were friends ruling over different sections of what would become Liyue. You hardly noticed the way his eyes lingered on you whenever he saw you, hardly knew how he would dream of having you all to himself.

One day, he makes an advance as you both sip on tea at Mount Aocang, pledging to move mountains and sink continents if you ask. The price of his eternal affection remains unsaid, but you can see it in the feral, draconic look in his eye. Every dragon has a hoard, even Zhongli. And he will stop at nothing until he can have you as his most valuable treasure.

Despite his efforts to prevent you from escaping, you manage to flee back to your territory. Weeks later, Zhongli attempts to catch you off guard with a surprise invasion, but in the heat of battle, you manage to seal him away beneath the earth.

Millenia pass, and you mourn the loss of a friend, but work to build the nation of Liyue up to the ground. The Fatui come, offering a deal for your Gnosis, and you refuse. It is a mistake you will regret every day for eternity.

One day, the earth shakes in a way that makes your stomach turn.

You feel his presence before you even catch a glimpse of his crystalline horns or golden eyes. Warm and earthy like petrichor. Running out into the city streets, you help an elderly couple around some piles of rubble, before continuing towards the source of the power.

The God of Contracts finds you first, though, easily snaring your feet in stone. His power is choking in a way, and when you try to fight back with your own magic, you feel the power in your body quickly draining from you. Zhongli notices the surprise in your face, and a small smirk plays on his lips. "I've had many years to learn some new...tricks, my treasure," he murmurs, striding towards you confidently. His fingers hook under your chin, pulling it up so your eyes gaze into his. "The people that freed me said they would let me keep you if I gave them your Gnosis."

In an instant, his hand is in your chest, grasping around for your Gnosis. You cry out in pain and try to struggle, but Zhongli grabs your shoulder in a tight grip, forcing you steady. It only takes a moment for him to pull out your Gnosis, gazing at it intently. "You cannot truly understand how long I have dreamt of this day. Of you, my dearest. And now, we will never have to be apart," he whispers, pressing his lips against yours greedily. He allows himself a few seconds to savor this scene, before pulling away.

"Now, my treasure. I wish to make a contract with you." With a wave of his hand, he manifests a piece of parchment filled with words on it out of thin air. "I will help repair all the damage I have done if you promise to be mine, in body and spirit, for better or for worse." You glare at him vehemently, spitting out your refusal. In return, Zhongli simply chuckles. "In that case, I will turn every building to dust," he threatens.

Turning to some already-damaged buildings, he raises a hand, ready to demolish them with a flick of the wrist. Your cries of acquiescence stop him before he can, however. When you finish signing, Zhongli gives you a predatory smile, brushing his fingers against the side of your face. "I knew you would surrender, my dearest," he purrs, possessiveness filling his eyes. "Now, allow me to fulfill my own contract, and then we can return home," he says.

You get the feeling that you will not be leaving home for a very long time.

[blood-smiles]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 ᡣ𐭩₊⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 TW MDNI Fake religion . angel being creepy . profanity and small blurbs of NSFW . M!preg to some degree?

Eyes, many eyes, all watched you silently, feathers fell around you in a circle, the beautiful fluffy bird like wings curled around your form, a gorgeous man stood in front of you, eyes alike to those of a prism shining under sun, a kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off his beautiful hues and back into your own (e/c) irises.

He held you ever so gently, his fingers trembling as he softly caressed your face, his long ashen hair flowing down his back, alike to smooth silk.

He opened his mouth to speak but as soon as he was about to form a sentence your eyes snapped open.

ᝰ.ᐟ Your friend poked you with their finger, waking you up from your surreal dream and back into reality.

You were thinking about angels again, weren’t you?— They had been appearing in your dreams for the past few days, strangely they always centered around this man, a beautiful man.

After waking up you couldn’t remember anything else but his stunning crystalline eyes, those rainbow eyes were burned into the back of your head, you knew that he was beautiful, could it be your guardian angel visiting you?

ᝰ.ᐟ You had been assigned an essay on the topic of the heavenly protectors, your professor wanting to have a change of pace and focus on something more niche.

There were limited sources, so you had to dig deeper.

You had been looking at links as of late, locations that centered on religious themes and creatures.

ᝰ.ᐟ Lucky for you a new location appeared on your browser, what seemed to be a library that nuns and priests went to often, to study and solidify their fate.

ᝰ.ᐟ You walked into the library quietly, clutching your messenger bag close to your chest, your feet tapped against the pristine white flooring.

ᝰ.ᐟ This library was large, huge even. You had no idea how you never noticed it, the structure being a behemoth among other buildings.

The architecture of this place was simply breathtaking, your eyes drinking in every inch and centimeter of the temple, you knew you came to the right place when you noticed cherubs intricately carved into the white plaster above you.

ᝰ.ᐟ You were too much in awe to realize that you were about to crash into a person, instantly hitting their chest with your face and falling back onto the floor.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere!Angel let out a faint breath of air when he saw you, his heart beginning to beat rapidly, he had found you. He had finally found you!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel helped you up immediately, gently taking your divine hands in his own, holding them as if they were golden 3 carat chains.

“Oh my! Are you alright, dear?”

ᝰ.ᐟ You thanked Yandere! Angel, your jaw slightly ajar from the beauty of the man, Yandere!Angel laughed lightly, covering the lower half of his face with his hand bashfully.

“You can take a picture so it lasts longer, hm?”

ᝰ.ᐟ Your eyes drifted down to his neck, star shaped scars lining the circumference of his throat over his skin. How strange.

ᝰ.ᐟ You cleared your throat, deciding to ignore that comment all together, taking out your small note pad you read from the pages, asking Yandere!Angel if the library had any books on your selection.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel’s brows raised, he knew you were here for something.. But about his own kin? It seems that he was guided to you and you were to him, just like faith.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel took your hand and ushered you to follow him, a slight flush centering on his cheeks. the both of you ventured to the very back of the temple like library, the undercover angel pushed a book case with impressive strength to a side.

A cloud of dust came off the shelves, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth and nose from the puff of dust. 

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel beat you to it as he gently put his hands over your face, protecting you from inhaling grime particles, the unexpected and honestly intimate gesture making you gaze up at him quizzically.

“Wouldn’t want you getting sick, dearest.”

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere!Angel couldn’t believe he had just touched you, he had touched YOU. Ecstasy flooded into his system, the golden blood surging in his veins boiling.

His face twitched, eyes behind eyelids making small movements, a nervous smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he dusted your shoulders off.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel took out a few books, blowing the dust away with a flick of his hand, he grasped the human leather cover, staring at it for a moment before handing the heavy enciclopedia to you.

“This is the most in depth book we have here, it isn’t every day anyone asks for books such as these.”

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel watched as you opened the pages, tracing the book with your hands, he shuddered, would you touch him like that too?

He gently plucked a feather from the wings attached to his back, gently putting the soft feather in your hand, he opened his eyes for a split second.

Beautiful. Breath taking crystalline eyes, those eyes. You could recognize them anywhere! Those were the eyes from the man in your dream!

“This feather is from an angel, Seraph if you may. Treasure it, keep it with you at all times and it will keep you safe.”

ᝰ.ᐟ You stared at his eyes, it was like they were eating at you, just who was he? It would be silly to think he would appear in your dreams.. Wouldn’t it..?

“..Lucien.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Lucien, (Y/N).”

ᝰ.ᐟ How did he know your name? You never told him your name.. you gave him a funny look, you smiled awkwardly while turning on your heel to make a hasty departure.

You glanced back over your shoulder, a bad habit you had developed as a result of walking home alone during night time.

ᝰ.ᐟ Your breath caught in your throat, Lucien. That same strange librarian was no human anymore, he stood in front of a window, he lifted his hand slowly waving to you, a nice flush tinting his cheekbones.

Long white wings adorned his back, lush feathers falling onto the pristine floor of the temple. A golden halo behind his head, circulating and hovering in clock wise motions. Small wings that hid under his hair twitched and fluttered as they unfolded, looking unbearably soft and pretty.

“..What the fuck..?”

ᝰ.ᐟ You gasped to yourself as you stared at him, he smiled wider, you had noticed, he knew you had noticed! And you didn’t go crazy!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel was delighted to make the discovery that you weren’t driven to insanity while seeing his half form. most humans would have been having seizures on the floor right about now, but you just blinked a few times and turned back around, shoulders tense and rigid.

ᝰ.ᐟ He shivered in delight, humans were at times so adorable— Well more like you were the cutest little thing he has ever seen! 

ᝰ.ᐟ He just wanted to grab you and tuck your little self into his nest and have many many children! He hasn’t had his first batch of eggs yet.. he was going to be plump with eggs soon.

ᝰ.ᐟ the both of you were mates! Yes, yes there was no other explanation for these events, perhaps [ REDACTED ] had finally blessed him!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel ‘s face turned a deeper shade of red, he could swear there were little hearts coming out of him.

He held his face in his hands, his cheeks felt agonizingly hot, he put his hands to work, trying to bat his face a little to keep the blushing down.

ᝰ.ᐟ You were safe. You had taken his feather. Basically a natural tracking device, and soon he would work his way into your life little by little.. Guardian Angel or not he was going to take you as his.

“My wings..? You want to touch them? Well of course, darling! All of me is yours.”

(Touching an angels wings is an intimate act where mates solidify their mating bond. Discretion advised.)

[dragon-ascent]

Zhongli, the Siren

mermay special~ dark content ahead!

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Siren!Zhongli whose songs are knowledge - and his reservoir of it vast. When he finds you washed ashore onto his islet, cradled by rocks and debris, he sings for you.

Siren!Zhongli whose rich, silky voice bewitches you, happily watching you lending your ears and baring your heart to this strange and handsome creature. Brown wings and scales and glimmering eyes alike, he is enthralling.

Siren!Zhongli whose talons turn into hands to gently hold you, embrace you, touch you. His soft caresses and feather-light kisses upon your skin seem to promise a world of love for you. Pure, sweet, melodious love.

Siren!Zhongli who senses your nascent wish to leave...so he places a tender kiss under your ear, wrapping you in his arms, and whispers to you to stay...stay, and listen to his musically-wrapped wisdom. Another kiss, and another song.

Siren!Zhongli whose hands - no, talons hold onto you with sentiment whenever you gaze longingly toward the horizon, murky memories of your life making themselves apparent. His lips are warm upon your neck, and...what were you longing for, just now?

Siren!Zhongli whose songs fell rescue boats that come this way, fragile wood bested by merciless stone and swallowed by the ravenous waters; watching blankly as they sink into the depths of the blue, blue sea...

Siren!Zhongli whose melodies become enriched with besotted attachment for you, his lyrics embracing you...constricting you...his every word dripping with tainted truth of his desires.

Siren!Zhongli whose crystalline tears stream down his face when he sees you waking up from his saccharine dream, tasting the bitterness masked by his golden honeyed eyes. One more song, he tells you, running his fingers down your arms gingerly. One more song and you can leave, and thus he pulls you into his sickly-sweet dream again. And again. And again.

Siren!Zhongli who keeps you around until the span of your life has withered out, and as he places one last kiss and breathes a final song into your cold lips, he watches as you, too, sink and become one with the recessed relics of the sea.

[trancylovecraft]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ WANDERILLUSTREOUS!: PROLOGUE!

(YANDERE GENSHIN VARIOUS x READER)

[F/N] [L/N], A twenty-two year old college student goes about her mundane life. Most people would describe her as content, And maybe [F/N] would've described it as such too- Her life. Over and over again, Day after day, The cycle never stops. That is, However, Until she suddenly drops into Genshin Impact out of nowhere. In any other case, [F/N] might have been glad to be there. In a fantasy land where she had only ever visited in her dreams, With a feeling she couldn't describe flooding her entire being. However, [F/N] couldn't be further from excited.. She had never played Genshin in her life. [F/N] threw her head into her hands, Holding back the urge to scream. “I’m absolutely screwed, Aren’t I?”

*ੈ✩‧₊˚AO3 LINK *ೃ༄

GENDER: Femme LIST OF YANDERE'S: https://pastebin.com/ErsuA2cz SONG: Larger Than Life - Pinkzebra NOTE: SO UHM HI. THIS IS THE PROLOGUE TO UHM MY NEW FIC UHHHH- so ive been getting into genshin big time and uhm ive kinda got a new hyperfixation now so hERE IT IS IN WRITTEN FORM.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ MASTERLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ NEXT PART

What the actual hell?

[F/N]'s breath hitched in the morning dawn.

Her body was heavy like a weight was pushing down on her chest, Her eyes hazy, Yet they sparkled like stars under the dawnlight. Beginning to trickle down her face at the chill that batted in her eyelashes.

What was this?

This feeling.

Dew trickled down her face, Fresh from last night's rain and glimmering in the breaking dawn.

She tried not to itch at the frigid trails, No matter how much they unsettled her skin. Tried not to move around in the mush of the mud, Because the way it was settled cushioned her back just right.

The wind blew throughout every blade of grass, Every sweet flower and dandelion around. Leaves rustled on their branches, Little robins hopping around and tweeting their tune. The smell of dew and saccharine was rife in the air.

She breathed it in, Her lungs flooding with life.

It was so blinding, The sun, Burning at her eyes yet she couldn't find it in herself to close them. Not when the sky was so beautiful, So wonderful. Shades of aurora pink and sunset yellow splotching across the great canvas above, Birds sailing across it, Their wings struck wide and free as they only grew to be dots in the distance.

How could [F/N] ever look away?

She breathed in, A fresh wave of air entering her body. That feeling no one could describe, That chill that coated her skin, Her body completely at peace. Eyes forever staring up at the open sky that welcomed her with open arms. 

Tranquillity, Serenity, Exaltation. None of them were a good fit to the way [F/N] felt in that single moment.

Her mind fluttered for a second, Flickering on like the ember on a lighter.

Her eyes widened, Memories rushing back into her mind.

"Wait.. Where am I?!"

⭒❅✸✪✸❅⭒

Well.. This is bizarre.

"There's absolutely no way.. This can't be real.." [F/N] muttered in utter horror. Her eyes wide, Body rigid as she stared dead at the figure standin- No. Not standing, The correct term would be floating.

What looked to be a small little girl floated mid-air, Only a few feet away. Her eyes big and round, Shaded the colour of the night sky and staring happily at [F/N]. She was oddly dressed in a poofy, intricately embroidered white dress and matching elvish boots. 

[F/N] stood on the shore of who-knows-where, Having dragged her aching legs out of the field she had found herself in and had somehow got here.

A shoreline with impossibly beautiful sights, Crystallin blue waves crashing against the unlittered sand and leaving frothing seafoam in it's wake. Rocks and other formations cracked out of the water, Homing the chittering crabs and other sea-life that dared to venture there.

Not to mention the surrounding cliffs, Rocky and unbelievably high, Unlike any kind of cliffside [F/N] had ever seen. She could've been convinced she was somewhere near the swiss alps. It was beautiful, Absolutely beautiful.

And it made [F/N] all the more uneasy.

"This- This is just impossible..!" [F/N] held her face in her hands, Breathing unsteady. She would've began pacing if not for the fear she had for the crabs and their chattering pincers, Eyeing them warily from the gaps in her fingers.

"Are you alright? Paimon is worried about you!" The girl- Paimon, Gasped as she watched [F/N] hastily shuffle away from the beach crabs, Hands sliding up to grasp clumps of her hair in distress.

[F/N] took a jolting step back when Paimon floated a little too close, Startled by sudden movement. Her eyes snapped over to look at the fairy, Darting from head to toe, Affirming that it was that odd attire that she was wearing.

Sure- She was oddly dressed. But the weirdest part?

[F/N] recognised her.

And [F/N] had fished her out of a whirlpool in shallow tide.

"Paimon thinks that you need to take a deep breath in! Crabs are scary, But they can't be worse than that whirlpool you saved Paimon from! Paimon would've been a goner if it wasn't for you..!" Paimon cheers as she claps her hands, Giddy expression on her round face as she drifted nearer to [F/N].

She, In turn, Let out a rather shaken yap.

"I-I.. I didn't even know I could do that..?! I don't even know why I even tried that..!"

This.. This was Paimon? Paimon, The mascot of Genshin Impact, And she was floating right in front of her thanking her. Directly. This couldn't have been real, [F/N] must've hit her head on something or other-

Like.. There was no way this could be real, Right? There must be some rational explanation. A dream. A coma. Some really deep sleep that [F/N] just needs to pinch herself out of, Right?

Though if the twigs scraping at her ankle as she walked earlier wasn’t enough..

[F/N] sniffled.

Ugh. God. This was all so confusing.

"I can't.. Just please, Tell me I'm dreaming, Paimon. Tell me this is all just some big scenario I've dreamt up inside my head and that I'm gonna wake up any minute now.." [F/N] almost pleaded as her knees began to buckle, Lowering as she collapsed, Shins burying into the sand of the shore.

This couldn't be happening, It just couldn't.

"Paimon doesn't understand, But she knows how it feels to feel scared and confused..!" Paimon said, In attempt to console her. "Do you wanna tell Paimon what's wrong? Maybe Paimon can help you out!"

[F/N] lifted her head from within her hands, Breathing uneasy as she watched Paimon slowly float down to her level. This was real, Wasn't it? How could this be a dream, [F/N] knew what dreams were like, Both lucid and otherwise, And it was nothing like this.

[F/N] let out a shuddering breath, Trying to calm her nerves, Swallowing back her apprehension.

"Yeah.. Yeah- You're right- I should tell you what's wrong, I'm sorry- I just saved you and now you need to deal with me breaking down in front of you.." [F/N] smiled nervously, Trying to laugh off her unease and discomfort- Though not very successfully.

Where would she even begin?

How could she begin?

[F/N] groaned as she hunched over, Collapsing onto her backside instead of her knees. Damn. [F/N] felt like she was stranded on an island, But at least the sand felt nice against her skin.

"I.. I don't think I'm from this world."

"Huh..?" Paimon tilted her head to the side, Eyes lighting up at the claim.

"I.. It's hard to explain but.. I'm not from this world- I think I might have somehow been transported here by.. Well.. I don't know how. One minute I was lying in my bed and the next.." [F/N] trailed off, Shaking her head as she felt her hands grasp the hems of her shirt.

Breathe in, Breathe out.

"It happened so quick.. I.. I was just up late reading on my phone when suddenly some kind of light just swallowed the room." [F/N] continued on, Trying to make sense of what had happened to her. "It.. It felt so sickening- It made my head begin to throb but then.. But then I felt great, If for only a second.. And then I woke up in a nearby field.. My bed nowhere in sight."

Paimon listened on, Her frown getting more and more present on her round face. [F/N] continued on, Her voice beginning to shake as she looked up at Paimon, Who .

Paimon hmphed.

“So.. If Paimon understands this correctly.. You’re from another world? You’re not from Teyvat..?!” She seemed almost astonished by the thought, Almost in disbelief at the mere thought that [F/N] wasn’t from around here.

She couldn’t blame the poor fairy, [F/N] was just as confused as she was.

“Yeah.. It.. It’s kind of hard to believe- I know. But you need to understand that one minute I was lying in bed- The next- I was here!” She stressed, Her voice sounding more and more strained by the minute.

It was hard not to break down again, Not to try lose her mind.

“Hmm..” Paimon hummed in thought as her sparkly eyes roamed over [F/N] and her sweaty/dirty attire. It was strange clothing. Nothing like Paimon had known- No cloaks- No skirts- No intricate leather corset with floral designs-  

No. [F/N] was wearing a large pastel-pink hello-kitty t-shirt she used for pyjamas, A pair of oversized fleece bottoms to match, Flowing down to her heels. Paimon hmphed at the sight of the mascot, Hand on her chin in thought.

Damn, [F/N] wished she had proper shoes.

“Well.. Paimon believes you! Paimon doesn’t think that anyone wearing something as weird as that can be from around here!” Paimon concludes, A triumphant smile crossing her face as well as her arms, Poofy sleeves puffing up along with her rosy cheeks.

[F/N] let out an awkward giggle.

“Yeah.. Uhm.. Where is here anyways?” She asked as she looked around, Eyes roaming across the steep cliffs and the flowing grass rife with the wind flowing through them. Blinking as she swallowed back her trepidation.

“Mondstadt! One of the seven regions of Teyvat! Oh.. Wait, You probably don’t know what Teyvat is, Huh..” Paimon hummed in thought.

Mondstadt?

Wow. [F/N] really had been Isekai’d, Huh.

Now, Of course, In any other situation- In any other fanfiction or anime that [F/N] had read watched and watched, This would be a dream scenario for her. There was even times where she had wondered what it’d be like 

Chewing on her pen as she did her schoolwork, Conjuring up scenarios in her head as she tried to get some shut-eye, Or just walking down the street on the way to her part-time. It was all apart of her routine, Daydreaming, Sometimes she’d even consider it something she’d like to happen.

In one of her favourite animes perhaps where she could be the insert that everyone loved and rooted for. She could be the person envisioned in her head. A guilty pleasure if you will, But [F/N] wondered who didn’t have those?

That’s what her ‘x readers’ were for.

It was an escape, A get-away from her ordinary life.

But to be completely and utterly honest?

…

[F/N] had never played Genshin in her life.

She threw her head into her hands, Holding back the urge to scream.

“I’m absolutely screwed, Aren’t I?”

[willownwisp]

love on me

iv. you're exciting, boy come find me. (di!leon x fem reader)

author's note: yayyyyyy, fourth entry !

cw: NSFW MDNI. love hotels. p in v. oral (f receiving and m receiving).

part 4 of ree's leon valentine's advent

If he had been born under different circumstances, Leon swears he'd surely become a beach bum. Better an idle man rather than get smacked by bioweapons day in and night out, not only that, but have the top brass of good ol' U.S of A breathing down his neck constantly. Yet, he's a man who has seen things, he'd already vowed to protect whatever and whoever he can. Cold and cruel this life may be.

So he loves the warmth of the sun on him, lying down on a sun lounger sipping on dry drinks. Enjoy the view in the tropics of crystalline beaches and white sand on his feet, letting loose and relaxing himself.

Unfortunately, after the events of Alcatraz, maybe he's had enough of the sea for now. He gives himself a pat on the back, takes out a chunk of his savings to go to Japan because you've been eyeing it. You said you were interested in the food, culture, and sights.

So here he is, you in hand, his cute girlfriend clinging onto his bicep like a bunny that hopped in excitement at every interesting thing you see because you're adorable to him like that.

You were extra flirty too, Leon had chalked it up to you being over the moon because you were finally in Japan after so long of dreaming it, he's smug and pleased with himself, he likes the good boyfriend brownie points, but you had other things in mind.

"Bunny, aren't you cold?"

Leon cocked his head to the side to take a look at you, in your skirt, crop top, and cardigan combo. He's not the type of man to control women and their clothing. Come on, don't people listen to Beyonce? Girls run the world. He doesn't really know who the fuck Beyonce is but he does know Sherry listens to the song.

"Nope."

You give him a cheeky grin, shaking your head.

"Besides, you'll warm me up anyway."

You say this with a wink as you both card through the busy streets of Tokyo as Leon gives you an innocent grin, oblivious to your intent.

"Of course I would bunny. I take care of my pretty girl."

He coos, before giving you a chaste kiss on your forehead, you giggle at how he missed your innuendo before smirking.

"I wanna go somewhere."

You reply as you slide your hand to lace both your fingers together, his calloused ones enveloping your own as you all but drag him to the busy streets.

You turn him around to an alley, google maps pulled up on your free hand as you show him, what seems to be a rather flashy building illuminated by red neon lights and blinged up signs. It was like the establishment wanted to be purposefully flamboyant.

"What am I looking at bunny?"

You flash him a toothy grin, Leon knows that glint of mischief in your eyes as you reply.

"A love hotel."

Leon is floored.

"A what now? A motel? Bunny, if you were horny I'd be hauling your ass back to the hotel room right now."

He breathes out, smoke escaping from his lips as he quirks an eyebrow at you, but you giggle.

"This is different!"

No shit.

Leon thinks inwardly as sapphire eyes scan the building once more. Motels for sex used to be inconspicuous during his time. He really is getting old.

"You wanna check in bunny?"

You nod your head quite excitedly with a huge grin on her face, there's no mistaking it. Your eagerness, and Leon relents. Of course you would want a vacation and his cock. No surprise there.

Leon sighs and squeezes your hand, being the gentleman that he is, leading you inside of the garish establishment. He'd be lyin g if he says he isn't the least bit interesting, you were always the more exciting and free-spirited one.

On the reception counter, he waits for the key, with you standing just beside him, hands still entwined. As Leon grew curious, you grew embarrassed. The lobby was decorated with red. Red hearts, mirrors, sensual posters, and oh god, the brochures on a nearby rack that had photos of toys and costumes

You're fairly aware that love hotels are popular, but now that you're gonna experience this for yourself, bashfulness and your own eagerness had you blushing.

Leon could see you, feel how you'd gone and overheated in his arms and you both aren't in the room yet. He chuckles, squeezing you. You got him going now, as a shiver runs down his spine.

"Are you interested in a specific suite? You can take a look on our brochure here."

The receptionist asks and Leon shakes his head.

"We're fine with anything."

The receptionist nods, handing Leon the key as he cooly leads you to the designated room. Despite his laidback demeanor, Leon is already briskly walking, adrenaline in his veins. As you both reached the designated room, he eases the key in the lock as it opens with a low clicking sound. He leads you inside first, following behind but not before locking the door while you turn the lights on. Another clicking sound, the lighting is a kind of low red and Leon blinks as he follows in, you both inspect the room with amusement and fascination. There inside the center of the room is a queen round bed, with a heart-shaped headboard, covered in satin sheets and what seems to be a confetti of hearts on the foot of the bead, even the pillows were heart-shaped, and the most ridiculous part were the mirrors. Everywhere. Mirrors on the wall, on the ceiling, mirrors of various  shapes and sizes at each of the walls. Red, heart-shaped lounge chairs and a faux tiger rug. Gaudy as the room is, it certainly looks like a place to fuck alright. 

Your eyes slowly adjust to the light, but you were beaten by Leon, who is certainly not the least bit captivated by the interior choices. He did, however, wanted to fuck you in it. He's already dropped his coat on the floor before proceeding to toss his shirt away as he stares at you with an amused smirk while you stood speechless.

"You embarrassed now?

He asks while putting his hands on your waist before turning you around to face him. Face his smug face smirking at you.

"Who? Me?"

You reply with a cocky tone.

"Nah."

You wink at him and he chuckles, he takes your hand pulling you to him as he strides to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Figures," he shrugs "You always wanna fuck me. Don't you, bunny?"

He coos before kissing your palms, your fingertips brush across his lower lip, and he kisses your fingertips one by one, the small act only making you shiver.

"Is that a problem?"

You ask him as that familiar warmth pools in your stomach, he had just finished unbuckling his belt and is now rubbing his hands on your thighs, before peeling your skirt off of you.

He gives you that same handsome grin, there was a sparkle in his eyes and you blush. You take off the rest of your upper clothing to help him before Leon pulls you to sit on his lap, his pretty bunny.

He presses his lips into yours in a sweet kiss, before sweeping his tongue on your lower lip, a cue to open your mouth, proceeding to stick his tongue inside your mouth, tasting you and you sink into his lap. The kiss a passionate tango and as you both part for air, his lips connects to yours with a thin strand of saliva. He swipes it with his thumb before chuckling.

"You're so fucking pretty."

He breathes out before lifting you up, only to place you gently on the bed. Leon's eyes roam over your voluptuous figure, smirking at the dampness on your underwear, he kneels down, peeling that last pesky article of clothing off of you, already admiring how swollen your clit is already.

"So fucking hot too."

He murmurs against your skin as he trails kisses on your ankle, your knees, and up your thighs.

Your breath hitches on your throat, you feel yourself soaking the sheets with every kiss.

Your blissed out face doesn't escape Leon and he smirks, he presses another kiss on your pelvis, before he presses a kiss on your clit. It was like a greeting, in his silly mind.  

His cold breath against fans against your skin before he takes a long, languid lick on your pussy.

Your hands immediately reach down to grip fistfuls of his dark hair, pulling him closer as he licked over your slit, lapping at your essence.

"Fuck, Leon."

You whimper, tossing your head back and Leon smirks against your pussy. He always liked seeing you coming undone with his mouth. His tongue dips into your entrance, the wet appendage flicking and curling inside you.

He presses his thumb on your clit while his mouth still worked on you, relishing in your sweet taste and breathy moans while you could only shut her eyes closed and sob his name helplessly. He doesn't let up, he pulls his tongue out to wrap your clit in his warm mouth and sucking it, inserting two fingers inside your sopping wet pussy. Scissoring and curling inside you while his tongue flicks and sucks on the hood of your clit. It doesn't take look that you gush around his fingers in an orgasm and he smirks. He let's you breath, admiring your flushed face as he stood up. Takes his boxers off and his thick cock springs out, already erect leaking with precum. He stands beside your face. "Suck."

Despite his domineering voice, he looks at you with soft eyes and you turn your body to his direction, you sit up on the bed. With a lick of your lips, your fingers trail over his abs, before your tongue sweeps across his slit, swiping it clean with his precum and he grunts, his body tensing in your touch.

"Fuck yeah."

He hisses through gritted teeth as your tongue swirls around the head before engulfing his dick with your mouth. You dip your head, swallowing him deeper as your hands grab his waits, until his length reaches the back of your throat, knowing he was looking, you don't break eye contact and you suck his cock, thick on your tongue and rolling your eyes while he looks.

"Shit, bunny. So pretty sucking cock like that."

Leon's voice is throaty and you know he likes what he sees, his dick practically jumped in your mouth and you moan. The vibrations make him shiver violently, and he grunts.

"Goddamn."

He breathes, patting your cheeks, A signal for you to stop and you peels yourself off him with a pout like he had just taken your favorite lollipop. Which is true, he is after all, your favorite lollipop.

"Don't be upset now. You suck cock so good, I won't last long."

You both laugh in unison as he breathes in to calm himself, while stroke his cock, he twirls a finger around.

"Turn around for me, bunny. On your fours if you wanna be good."

You hum in response, turning your back to bend over for him. You arch your back, with your ass perked up against him. In that moment, you understand why Leon wanted to fuck you from behind. The image of you bent over and him standing up, his dick plush on your ass is reflected in all of the mirrors on the walls and you let out a scandalized gasp while Leon only chuckles, sensing your embarrassment.

"Wanna see you moan while I pound you into that fucking mattress."

Leon winks at you from the mirror and you see his smug expression reflected everywhere. He kisses your ass cheeks, he's too horny out his damn mind now. He's inside you with one strong thrust, his thick cock all the way inside and he shuts his eyes close. Stilling for a moment to let you adjust to his sized as you close your eyes and whimper.

"Jesus Christ… no matter how many times I fuck this pussy."

He groans, sweeping his auburn strands before steadying his grip on your waist.

"It never gets used to me. Poor little thing."

The fullness makes you squirm and he savors the addictive feeling of your walls clenching on his cock desperate to get him to just fit. You're pressed against the mattress, your pathetic moans muffled by the sheets.

When he starts to thrust, finding that rhythm, your body jerks forward with every rock of his hips. His body moves to cover your own.

"Watch us baby."

He whispers, his tongue sweeping on the shell of your ear and you could only whimper. Clutching the sheets as he finds his rhythm with his hips rocking against yours.

"Look. Don't hide."

He raps before tugging on your hair to forcibly lift up your face while his free hand tug on your arms. You find yourself feeling small with Leon's muscular body covering you. The muscles on his arm flex as both his hands are now grabbing your arms and your hair. The way his muscles pulled and flexed as his hips slams against her ass, the way your ass bounced on him, the thin layer of sweat that coated his torso, the way his mouth hung open in ragged breaths, the way your breasts bounce at every thrust. You feel so turned on at the sight it was crazy. It looked so erotic. This only elicits louder moans from you, while you move back against him, meeting his thrusts.

"Shit!" Leon groans, clenching his jaw. This positions and rhythm was blowing his mind, coupled with how your face twists into pleasure and the heat that coiled in his stomach. This was so fucking hot, he really wouldn't last long.

"Come here" He whispers, planting a kiss on your shoulder, before pulling out which makes you whine in displeasure. He chuckles, both his hands grab you, picking you up. Manhandling your ass to pin you down the mattress. "Shh," he coos. "Not done with you yet bunny."

He chuckles before kissing your nose, guiding himself back inside your pussy. You chuckle as you look at the mirror on the ceiling.

"You've always had a nice ass."

You tease, despite the breathlessness of your voice and Leon only cocks his head to the side in confusion before following your line of sight, remembering that there was a mirror atop the ceiling and he chuckles, a rush of desire running through his veins with the sight of tangled limbs.

"Yeah, so?" His tone full of sass as he smirks. "Jealous much?"

You laugh as he places his fingers under your jawline, bringing your face close before crashing his lips down yours in a sloppy kiss, before moving inside you again. His pace rougher and faster, cock slamming down your pussy like a freight train as you lock your legs around his waist tight, bringing him close before you bite down on his shoulder and Leon hisses a curse.

He peels your legs off of him first before hooking your legs above his shoulders. He growls, this position slips him in deeper, and you squeeze his cock tighter.

"Holy fucking shit!

He exclaims, it's no secret that you both are vocal in the bedroom. You both love verbally assuring each other that the pleasure is mutual, you were always the louder one, but this time it was Leon. Completely pussy whipped with every clench of your walls.

"Got me drunk on this tight fucking pussy."

He grunts and your hands reach out to grab his hips, slamming down on you rougher with every thrust. Your nails digging on the flesh of his waist and he moans. His jaw slacked, sweat dripping down.

"I'm gonna cum inside yeah? Gonna fill this tight pussy up for making me this rabid."

He laughs as his thrusts become erratic. He knows you're close, just like you know that he's close as well.

"Goddamn, got me addicted to pussy."

He moans and your toes curl as he slams into you one last time. His body tensing up, shooting ropes of his cum inside you as you both climax together.

"Yeah, bunny. So good for me. Creaming on this cock like a good girl."

He soothes you, kissing your forehead as you tremble beneath him in the intensity of your orgasm, he looks at you intently. Rubbing your body gently. Not pulling out yet as you gush around his cock.

"You're so pretty when you cum."

He hums. You both cuddle up for a minute to calm down before he pulls out.

Much to Leon's surprise, you whine.

"Lovey… don't pull out yet…"

Leon chuckles, pulling you into his arms to cradle your body.

"Yeah? Give me a minute. Have mercy on the lil guy."

You giggle softly, you were feeling fuzzy and the throbbing in your pussy suggests you were not fully sated yet, and with the way Leon looks at you like a hawk, he wants another too.

"There's nothing little about that."

You retort, giving his chest a little slip and he has a proud look on his face.

"Yeah? Maybe I'll compare it with those next time. Gonna use it on you."

He winks, pointing at the assortment of toys just neatly placed on the bedside table that went unnoticed in the heat of your lovemaking, as you both share a hearty laugh.

[angelremnants]

A TALES OF.. l Tides and Mishaps

OR.. After your strange ordeal, you find yourself brought to Asgard, where you're to face a trial for your unusual bond with your necklace. With Loki forcing his company onto you, you both go through a tense encounter that leaves both of you soaked, disheveled and wondering what will happen next.

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature themes (+16), mild suggestive content, power dynamics, flirtation and teasing, unresolved sexual tension, mild language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 11.4k

author's notes : I am back, baby! Finally finished with my exams, and we're celebrating with this ficlet! It adds more depth to the series' lore while sprinkling in some playful moments. Writing this felt essential to set the stage for the spicy plot I’ve been itching to dive into.

Find the continuation here.⠀(18+—MDNI.)

(ao3 version)

The Bifrost roared to life, a maelstrom of light and sound that seemed to swallow the world whole. For one heart-stopping moment, you felt weightless, as though the very air had been torn from your lungs. And then, just as suddenly, it was over.

Your feet hit solid ground, though it didn’t feel it as much—it didn’t have the same firmness as Earth’s soil. The surface beneath you was smooth, crystalline, and alive with shifting colors. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself against the closest steady presence, which just so happened to be Loki.

“Do try to stay upright,” he drawled, steadying you with a hand on your arm before stepping back with exaggerated grace.

You blinked, regaining your balance as you fixed him with a glare. “You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that look of sheer terror? Absolutely not,” he replied with a smirk, releasing you as if it were beneath him to linger too long.

Your retort died on your lips as your eyes took in the sight before you: Asgard. The city glimmered like something out of a dream, its golden spires piercing the heavens, the sky above it painted in hues you couldn’t name. Rivers of light wove through the air like threads in an invisible loom, casting an otherworldly glow over everything.

Your jaw dropped. “It’s… it’s…”

“Glorious?” Loki supplied, clearly enjoying your reaction based on the indubitable edge of pride in his voice. “Magnificent? Breathtaking? Go on, I’ve got all day.”

“Overwhelming,” you finished, still gaping.

“Ah, a new one,” he said with mock surprise. “How refreshing.”

Before you could formulate a response, the sound of footsteps echoed across the bridge. An imposing figure approached with the deliberate, measured pace of someone who carried the weight of millennia on his shoulders. His golden eyes swept over you, lingering for a moment longer than you were comfortable with before settling on Loki, narrowing slightly.

“Prince Loki,” he saluted with a small nod, his voice low and resonant.

“Heimdall,” Loki replied smoothly, his tone laced with feigned civility. “No need for that intimidating look. I am precisely where I’m supposed to be.”

“Rare, but true,” Heimdall said, his gaze shifting back to you. He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You are the one who bears the gift.”

You hesitated under the weight of his gaze. “That’s me,” you said with an awkward smile, trying for a tone that sounded casual but landed somewhere closer to nervous.

Heimdall’s piercing stare softened slightly, though a flicker of something unreadable danced behind his golden eyes. “Perhaps…” he murmured as if speaking more to himself than to you.

“Perhaps?” you repeated, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He ignored your question, instead turning his attention to Loki. “And you brought her here in due form? Color me surprised—perhaps your talk of redemption isn’t entirely hollow after all.”

Loki’s smirk deepened, as though the mere idea of Heimdall questioning him brought him endless amusement. “Oh come along, Heimdall, have some faith in me will you? Thor was otherwise occupied, so yes, I am the one who delivered our little anomaly to Asgard. Do try not to look so surprised.”

Heimdall’s gaze flickered back to you, and this time his expression was unreadable. “You assume much, Loki, as always. There is more to this one than meets the eye.”

You blinked, your brow furrowing. “Uh, hello? Cryptic much?”

Instead of gracing you with an answer, Heimdall turned and began walking toward the city, his stride as unyielding as the bridge beneath your feet. “Come. There is much to discuss, and the Allfather will not wait.”

You exchanged a confused glance with Loki, but he only shrugged, clearly uninterested in dissecting Heimdall’s cryptic words.

“Don’t let him get into your head,” Loki said, following after the gatekeeper with an air of feigned indifference. “He enjoys making everything sound mysterious and profound. It’s practically a pastime.”

But you couldn’t shake the weight of Heimdall’s words as you drew closer to the city. More than meets the eye. It was an idea that gnawed at you as you stared at the golden gates ahead, a growing knot of unease twisting in your stomach.

Whatever awaited you inside the halls of Asgard, you suspected it would be more than you were prepared for.

⠀⠀

Soon enough, the small group reached the golden gates of Asgard which opened with a slow, reverent creak, revealing the splendor within. As you stepped across the threshold, you felt your breath hitch. The palace was impossibly vast, its ceilings arching so high above that they seemed to disappear into the ether. Columns of gleaming gold lined the grand hall, their surfaces etched with intricate runes that shimmered faintly as though alive. Sunlight poured in from massive windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the polished floors.

“I’m starting to think you people don’t do subtle,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki, walking beside you with his usual swagger, smirked. “Subtlety is overrated. What you see here is the peak of sophistication and culture.”

“I get where your dramatic flair comes from now. Feels like you’re compensating for something,” you shot back, unable to resist to the temptation of the snark.

“Compensating?” Loki scoffed, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Darling, if Asgard were compensating, we’d have built two palaces and made them float.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Right, because subtlety really is your strong suit.”

“Subtlety,” he said, stepping ahead with a flourish while twirling his cape as if to make a point, “is for those who have nothing worth showing off.”

Ahead of them, Heimdall paused and turned just enough to give Loki a pointed look. “Do try to behave,” he said dryly. “We are in the presence of the Allfather’s court, after all.”

Loki sighed dramatically. “Always the stickler, Heimdall. I assure you, that my behavior will be exemplary. Can’t guarantee the same for our invitee over here.”

You raised an eyebrow but wisely chose not to comment. Instead, you focused on the grand hall ahead, where grand statures loomed at the far end seemingly watching over the entrance of the throne rooms. God, must all Asgardians be so tall?

Two guards in shining armor led you through the labyrinthine halls, their expressions stoic, their silence impenetrable. You clutched your neck where the artifact had affixed itself weeks ago, the golden runes etched into your skin glowing faintly under your touch. It hadn’t hurt, but it had refused to let go, as if it had claimed you. Those wretched SHIELD scientists on Earth had no answers. Neither did you.

A voice broke through your thoughts as you reached the throne room. "The Allfather will see you now."

The massive doors creaked open, revealing a short but intimidating old man seated on his throne, the ever-watchful Heimdall leading the troupe and striding to pay his respects. Guess not, after all. A gorgeous and graceful lady sat beside him, her serene expression offering a sliver of comfort amidst the tension. You stepped forward hesitantly, feeling like you had sinned for even letting your feet brush against the polished floor.

"Come closer," Odin commanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. You obeyed, feeling small beneath his gaze.

Even from a distance, his presence was imposing. Draped in regal robes of deep crimson and gold, the Allfather sat upon a throne that seemed carved from starlight itself. His one remaining eye fixed on you as you approached, sharp and unyielding. The queen beside him held an elegance that was a stark contrast to the weight of Odin’s authority.

As you drew closer, you felt the weight of their scrutiny settle on you. You were acutely aware of your attire—a basic white shirt, paired with a burgundy leather jacket and jeans, entirely impolite for the occasion. The contrast between the modern, casual outfit and the ancient, sacred setting was striking, and it felt as though you were wearing a banner of your inadequacy. The artifact bound to your neck—the ornate, ancient-looking jewelry you hadn’t been able to remove—seemed to pulse faintly under their gaze, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

However, beneath the surface, there was an almost surreal feeling tugging at you. You had been stripped of your usual layers, your defenses, your control—forced to stand before these gods and be judged.

You stopped at the base of the dais, and Heimdall stepped forward, bowing deeply. “Allfather. I present the mortal who bears the artifact.”

Odin’s gaze shifted to you, and the air seemed to grow heavier. You swallowed hard, unsure whether to bow, curtsy, or just stand there and hope you didn’t offend anyone. Your voice faltered as you glanced at the ground and stuttered, “Do I... Do I bow, or—?” Your words trailed off, feeling absurd in the silence that stretched between them.

Odin’s expression hardened, but there was a brief flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—before he spoke. “You stand as you are, mortal. Your presence here has already spoken volumes.”

The silence hung thick, and you straightened, hoping you hadn't overstepped, but unsure if you had done enough. Loki’s absence of protest was loud in its own way, though.

“You’ve brought her here safely,” Odin said, his voice deep and resonant, carrying the weight of eons. “Good.”

Then his gaze moved to Loki, narrowing slightly. “And you. I had expected Thor to complete this task, yet it is you who stands before me. Explain.”

Loki’s posture straightened, his usual smirk fading into something more restrained. “Thor is off-world, tending to a matter of great importance,” he said smoothly. “I was the logical choice to retrieve her. After all, who better to guide a mortal through the complexities of our realm than I?”

“Or to exploit her presence for your amusement,” Odin countered sharply, his tone cutting.

Loki’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t falter. “I’m here because I was entrusted with the task. And I fulfilled it.”

“You are supposed to be on house arrest, boy—”

Frigga stepped forward then, her voice gentle but firm. “And had he not gone, we wouldn’t have the chance to meet her, would we, my king? She stands before us unharmed.”

You sneaked a glance at Loki out of the corner of your eye, and for a moment you saw something entirely unfamiliar. The usual sharpness in his demeanor, the endless supply of biting wit and bravado, seemed dulled under Odin’s glare. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, and his hands clasped behind his back as if restraining himself. You’d never seen him so repressed before, so small beneath someone else’s authority. It unsettled you more than you cared to admit.

Odin’s gaze lingered on Loki for a moment longer before he shifted his focus back to you. “What do you know of the artifact you carry?”

“Not much,” you admitted, your voice steadier than you expected. “I found it during a trip to Sweden. The moment I picked it up, it latched onto me. I’ve tried everything—pulling it off, cutting it, even letting some organization poke at it with their fancy tech.”

Loki smirked beside you. “Charming.”

You ignored him. “It doesn’t hurt me, but sometimes it feels like it’s… alive. Like it’s trying to tell me something.”

Odin’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eye—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition. “It is no ordinary artifact,” he said at last. “Its origins are older than even this realm. We will determine its purpose and its bond to you, but the process will not be easy.”

You frowned, your fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of the artifact. “What does that mean?”

Instead of answering directly, Odin raised his staff, Gungnir, and tapped it once against the polished floor. The chamber darkened, and the golden light of Asgard’s magic rippled through the air. A projection began to form before you—a shimmering, ethereal image of Yggdrasil, its vast branches stretching infinitely. At its roots coiled the immense, terrifying form of a serpent, its scales dark and glimmering with an otherworldly sheen.

“This,” Odin began, his voice reverberating through the room, “is Níðhöggr, the wyrm who once gnawed at the roots of Yggdrasil, threatening the very balance of the Nine Realms. Long before my reign, even before the reign of my father Borr, the great serpent clashed with my grandfather, Búri. Their battle raged for days, shaking the very foundation of existence.”

The projection shifted, showing an imposing figure clad in ancient armor, wielding a glowing axe as he fought the massive serpent. As the battle raged, one of Níðhöggr’s scales fell, pulsing with the chaotic energy of Yggdrasil’s roots.

“When Níðhöggr was finally defeated by my grandfather the late Búri and cast into obscurity, this single scale remained—a fragment of its power, imbued with the raw magic of Yggdrasil itself,” Odin continued. “It was believed lost, hidden from both gods and mortals alike, until now.”

The projection faded, and the light returned to the chamber. Odin’s gaze fell heavily on you, his expression unreadable. “That scale, the Wyrmscale, has bound itself to you. Why it has chosen a mortal remains to be seen, but its attachment is no trivial matter. It may seek to awaken something within you—or to serve as a harbinger of something far worse.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as you processed the weight of his words. “And… what does that mean for me? What happens now?”

“That is why you’re here,” Heimdall interjected, his tone solemn, stepping forward. “To be tested.”

Odin nodded gravely, his expression unwavering. “The Hollow of Trials. It is a place where the balance of the realms is tested, a sacred site known only to a few. It is said that those who enter must confront the deepest parts of themselves, for the cave reveals not only your strengths but your weaknesses, your fears, and your potential. It is a place of transformation, where even gods must face their trials to gain wisdom and power.”

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing the seriousness of Odin and Heimdall before turning to Loki, whose face was as unreadable as ever. You had to admit, that the description sounded intense. But you weren’t about to let the solemn atmosphere throw you off. “So… it’s just a cave, then?”

Odin’s eye twitched, his gaze shifting from the projection of the cave to you with a sharp, piercing look. His brow furrowed ever so slightly as if trying to decide whether to address the disrespect or simply let it pass. He chose the former. “It is not ‘just a cave,’ mortal,” he said, his voice low but carrying the weight of centuries. The side-eye he gave you was cold and unimpressed. “The Hollow of Trials is a place of great significance. It tests those who enter in ways you cannot yet comprehend.”

You met his gaze without flinching, but there was no hiding the slight grin tugging at your lips. You leaned toward Loki and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Guess it’s not just a cave then.”

Loki’s lips twitched into a brief smile before he straightened, looking back to Odin. “It is a place of trials, yes. Much more than a mere cave.” His voice was smooth, but there was a slight edge to it, the kind that came from having spent too many years around Odin’s more… imposing presence.

Odin’s side-eye lingered for a moment longer before he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. “You will see for yourself soon enough. But remember this, Midgardian,” he added with quiet authority, “you are on sacred ground. Show it the respect it demands.”

You gave him a nod, not entirely convinced, but fully aware that disrespecting him further would probably not end well. “Got it. Big, serious cave.”

Heimdall stepped forward, eyeing you now with a hint of disapproval, though he didn’t speak. Odin’s gaze shifted to Loki then, seemingly dismissing you for the moment, though the weight of his earlier words still hung heavy in the air.

Frigga, who had remained silently observing the exchange, finally spoke, her voice light but with an undercurrent of motherly warmth. “You are brave to face this trial,” she said, her gaze flicking over you with a faint smile. “The cave will bring out what you least expect, but it will also show you the truth of yourself. Be prepared for what you may learn.”

You weren’t sure if you should be reassured by Frigga’s words or if they were meant to prepare you for something worse. You gave a tight smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, Your Majesty.”

Frigga’s smile deepened at the respectful tone. “Good. Trust in the process. And remember, you are not alone in this, no matter how it feels in the moment.”

Before you could respond, Loki stepped forward, his usual swagger replaced with a more persuasive tone. “And while [Y/N] faces these trials, surely it would be wise for me to accompany her. As her guide, I could—”

Odin’s piercing gaze snapped to Loki, his expression unreadable, but the tension in the room thickened. “You will do no such thing.”

Loki’s smile faltered for just a moment. “But father, surely my presence would be—”

“No,” Odin interjected, his voice cutting through Loki’s words like a sharp blade. “This trial is hers alone to face. You will remain here, where you are needed.”

Loki hesitated, pressing his lips together as if weighing his words. There was an unmistakable flicker of reluctance in his eyes, one that wasn’t lost on either of his parents. Frigga’s brow furrowed slightly, and she exchanged a rapid glance with Odin before turning her attention back to Loki.

“You seem... unusually determined to accompany her, Loki,” Frigga remarked, her tone soft but laced with concern. “Is there a reason you are so reluctant to let her face this alone?”

Loki’s smirk faded, his posture stiffening. He quickly recovered, though, leaning into his usual charm. “I’m simply looking out for her well-being,” he said smoothly, though the edge in his voice suggested there was more beneath the surface. “Surely you both can see that this trial will be taxing on her. It’s only natural for me to ensure she isn’t harmed.”

Odin’s eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding his expression. “And you think you are the best one to protect her in this trial? You, who has only recently earned back our trust?”

Loki didn’t flinch at the accusation, but there was an almost imperceptible twitch in his jaw. “I am capable of more than you know, Father. You needn’t worry about me.”

Frigga studied him with a piercing gaze, her motherly instincts keen. “Loki,” she said gently, “it’s not the protection of [Y/N] we question. It’s your reasons for wanting to accompany her. You’ve never been one to shy away from danger or intrigue. What is it that you fear in her doing this alone?”

Loki’s eyes flickered toward you, his voice lowering. “It’s not fear. It’s caution.” He looked back at Odin and Frigga, his expression a little more guarded now. “This is a unique situation. One I believe requires a guiding hand.”

Odin’s piercing gaze remained fixed on him, his silence speaking volumes. There was no anger in the god’s eyes, only a quiet understanding that Loki’s behavior was anything but ordinary. Frigga placed a hand gently on Odin’s arm, but her eyes never left her son.

“You are not to accompany her,” Odin finally decreed, his voice firm. “The Hollow of Trials requires solitude, and it is not your place to interfere.”

Loki’s face remained neutral, but his eyes darkened with unspoken emotions. “As you wish,” he said flatly, stepping back. “But I’ll be close, Father. You know where to find me if you need anything... or if the trial proves too much for her.”

Odin and Frigga exchanged another look, their suspicion deepening as they watched Loki’s retreat. Frigga’s voice softened, though, as she turned back to you.

“Do not mind him,” she said, her tone comforting. “Loki’s path is… complicated, but his concern for you is genuine, in his own way.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of sympathy and wariness toward the prince. Loki had certainly been a puzzle to you so far, but right now, you had more pressing matters at hand.

“Well, I guess I’m off to this ‘Hollow of Trials,’ then,” you said, a nervous smile creeping onto your face. “Hopefully I can avoid turning into a snack for whatever’s in there.”

⠀⠀

As you stepped into the lavish room, Frigga followed close behind, her presence both comforting and commanding. The regal chambers felt foreign to you, the walls lined with intricate tapestries depicting ancient battles and victories. It was strange to be in a place so full of history, knowing you were now a part of it, however briefly.

Frigga smiled gently, her warmth radiating in the cold, cavernous room. “You must be feeling overwhelmed,” she said softly, watching you as you looked around.

You gave a weak smile, your hands still nervously twitching. “You could say that. I never expected any of this. One moment I’m just a regular exchange student on a school trip to Sweden, and the next I am here, about to enter a sacred cave... and probably face some weird, magical thing."

Frigga’s eyes softened, her smile never faltering. "This is a lot to take in, but you are stronger than you realize. It is an honor to be here, and this trial will help you find out what you're truly capable of."

You glanced at Frigga, then down at yourself. You were still dressed in the simple clothes you had worn for the journey, and though they were practical, they wouldn’t do for such an occasion. "So... what exactly am I supposed to wear? Not that I’ve had much time to go shopping for sacred cave attire."

Frigga chuckled, the sound rich and full of warmth. "Fear not, I will take care of that." She moved toward a large wardrobe at the far side of the room, filled with gowns and outfits woven from fine silks and materials that shimmered like the night sky. "These aren’t the usual gowns of Asgard," Frigga explained, "but they are practical for such a trial."

She motioned for you to sit as she began pulling out garments, her eyes assessing the materials with a practiced hand. "I know it may seem strange, this idea of dressing up for a trial, but appearances can be important in Asgard. There is honor in how we present ourselves, even in the most difficult of moments."

You chuckled, tilting your head slightly. "Seems a bit... extra, don’t you think? For a cave trial?"

Frigga smiled knowingly. "Perhaps," she said softly, as she began to unfold a simple yet elegant outfit made of light fabric. "But this trial will reveal your inner strength. You must present yourself as you truly are—strong, capable, and unafraid of the challenges ahead."

Frigga laid out the attire, a soft, flowing robe of pure white that shimmered faintly under the dim light of the room. The fabric was delicate, like the finest silk, but not overly elaborate—its simplicity lent it an understated elegance that would suit your unassuming nature. The robe draped down from the shoulders in soft folds, the design was minimal but graceful, with no heavy embellishments to distract from its quiet beauty. The sleeves were long and fluid, cinched at the wrist with a thin silver band, and the hem barely brushed the floor, giving the robe an ethereal quality, like a soft cloud in a moonlit sky.

Around the waist was a subtle, golden-threaded sash that tied loosely, giving the robe shape without constricting it. It didn’t cling to your figure, but the soft weight of the fabric promised to mold your body in a way that would emphasize the graceful movement of your form. There was nothing ostentatious about it, yet the robe exuded a regal aura—its simplicity accentuated by its luxurious fabric.

It was clear that Frigga had chosen this robe not just for its beauty, but for its practicality. The lightness of the fabric made it seem almost weightless, yet its soft sheen caught the light in a way that would make it appear even more beautiful when wet, the material clinging gently to the skin, tracing every curve in a way that was both delicate and stunning.

She held up the clothes and turned back to you, who was still seated, unsure of how to approach the situation. "I know this is unfamiliar," Frigga continued, her voice warm and soothing. "But let me help you, child. You don’t have to face this alone. Not truly."

As you began to change behind a nearby screen, you felt an unusual sense of comfort in Frigga's words. Despite the regal atmosphere, the queen’s presence was grounded, maternal even. It was hard not to feel a little at ease.

Frigga, seemingly reading the mood, smiled faintly. "You have a strength about you, dearest. Something I see, even in the way you carry yourself, the way you’ve managed to survive what you’ve been through. You may think you’re just a mortal, but I sense something different in you."

You peeked out from behind the screen, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? What, you mean I’m some kind of hero-in-the-making?"

Frigga’s eyes glinted with wisdom, a knowing smile on her lips. "Not exactly a hero. But there’s more to you than meets the eye. The bond between you and the artifact... It’s no coincidence. There’s something in your soul that the artifact recognized. Something ancient and powerful." She hesitated for a moment before speaking again, almost as if she were considering the weight of her words. "And something that might be more connected to Asgard than you realize."

You tugged the tunic over your head and emerged from behind the screen, feeling more yourself in the simple yet elegant clothes. "Connected to Asgard? You mean the whole ‘grand destiny’ speech? Because I’m still waiting for the part where I get my cape and superpowers."

Frigga’s smile softened. "Not quite that. But there’s a connection in you, something unseen. My gift of sight allows me to see beyond the surface—into the hearts and souls of others. And I’ve seen it in you."

You paused, looking at Frigga in surprise. "Wait, you’re telling me you can see... beyond your eyes? Like, the future? Or some deep, dark secret about my life?"

Frigga chuckled gently, her gaze never leaving yours. "No, nothing like that. But I can see the essence of who someone truly is. And you... you have strength that even you don’t fully understand yet. It’s as though you’ve always been destined to walk a path that will lead you here, to this moment. You may not see it yet, but I do."

You were quiet for a moment, letting the weight of Frigga’s words settle in. "I guess I never really thought of it that way," you murmured. "I’m just a regular-sized human being from Earth—or, Midgard as you say. Never thought I'd be standing here, in the middle of a royal family’s palace, about to face some huge trial... and all because of a shiny rock I picked up on vacation."

Frigga smiled warmly, her eyes full of understanding. "You may not see it now, but perhaps the journey you are on will help you understand your place in this world—here, with us, with the Asgardians. And in time, you’ll understand why the artifact chose you. Everything happens for a reason, my dear. Even if that reason is something you can't yet comprehend."

There was a long silence as Frigga finished adjusting your outfit, and then stepped back to admire her work while you studied yourself in the mirror, noting how the robe cascaded around you with almost divine grace. The robe felt both foreign and natural on your body. The cool fabric against your skin gave you a sense of being part of something larger—something ancient. It was as if you were wearing a garment that had been crafted not for you, but for a version of yourself you hadn’t yet discovered.

Frigga’s eyes softened as she gazed at you. “It suits you,” she said gently. “Simple, yet powerful. A reflection of your true strength.”

You smiled faintly. "Strength, huh? I might need a lot of that. Mentally, especially."

Frigga laughed softly, a sound full of affection. "Yes, perhaps you will. But you are capable, and you will face this trial with courage. Trust in yourself."

You gave a hesitant nod, feeling a mix of nerves and determination wash over you. "Thank you, Your Majesty. For everything."

Frigga placed a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but kind. "It is my duty, child. Know that you are not alone, no matter what happens in that cave."

As you turned to leave, the queen's voice stopped you for a moment. "Remember, this trial is not just about strength. It’s about finding who you truly are."

You gave her a small smile. "I’ll keep that in mind." With one last glance at Frigga, you walked toward the door, ready to face whatever awaited you in the Hollow of Trials.

Frigga led you through the palace, her presence calm and steady despite the looming uncertainty of what was to come. The tension from earlier still hung in the air, but Frigga’s quiet confidence was a grounding force.

“You’ll need to remain calm,” She said, her voice soft but firm as you walked down the stone corridors toward the cave. “The sacred cave will reveal to you the truth of the artifact, but it will test you. Tests are not always kind, but they are necessary.”

You nodded, trying to steady your breath. You hadn’t expected it to feel this real, this heavy, despite the absence of a clear threat. It was as though the cave itself was waiting for you, and you weren’t sure you were ready to meet whatever it held.

“The trials within will challenge your mind, your body, and your spirit. But most importantly, it will reveal the bond between you and the artifact, and the deeper purpose it holds for you. To the land of Asgard, to the ancient power that lies beneath,” Frigga continued, her gaze distant for a moment. “The scales of Níðhöggr are not just a relic of old, they are a key to understanding the future. You must enter the cave, and what you see may shock you, but you mustn’t lose yourself in it.”

The more Frigga spoke, the more you felt the weight of the task before you. “What exactly will happen when I enter?” you asked, your curiosity mixed with an edge of nervousness.

“You will be shown what lies dormant within you,” Frigga explained, “The cave is connected to the heart of Yggdrasil itself, and it will guide you through what you need to see. Focus. Don’t let fear take hold.”

You reached the entrance to the cave—a massive opening, shrouded in mist. The walls seemed to breathe, pulsating softly, almost as if welcoming you into their depths.

You swallowed hard. “I’m ready.” You weren’t sure if that was true, but the words felt like something you needed to say.

⠀⠀

They arrived at the entrance to the cave—an imposing archway shrouded in mist and darkened stone. The air felt thicker here, charged with an almost tangible energy that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Frigga paused, giving you a steady, reassuring glance before stepping back to lean against the stone just outside the entrance.

“You must enter alone,” Frigga said, her voice gentle but firm. “You will know when the time comes to act. Trust yourself, and remember what I’ve told you.”

You gave a nod, a mix of apprehension and determination in your heart. You stepped forward, crossing the threshold of the cave. As your foot touched the cool stone floor, a slight chill seemed to seep into your bones. You shivered but didn’t stop.

The inside was dim, shadows stretching from the walls as if the cave itself had a life of its own. The faint glow from the artifact around your neck illuminated the path before you, casting eerie reflections against the wet stone. You continued to move deeper into the cave, the silence pressing in on you like a weight.

As you ventured deeper, you could feel the air grow colder, and you felt the pulse of the artifact beneath your skin. The longer you walked, the stronger the pull—it was as if it was calling you, urging you toward something deep within the cave.

A sudden voice broke the stillness, echoing off the walls.

“Are you really planning to do this alone, little mortal?”

You spun around, startled. Before you could even process who—or what—it was, your instincts kicked in. A sudden rush of panic and irritation propelled your fist forward, swinging at the mysterious figure standing in the shadows.

But just as your punch came within inches of its target, you froze, your eyes going wide.

Loki stepped forward into the faint light, a sly smile curling at his lips, completely unfazed. The blow had missed him by mere inches, and he watched with amusement as you lowered your fist in realization.

“Loki?” you asked, voice tinged with irritation. “What are you doing here? I thought your mother said I had to do this on my own.”

Loki didn’t skip a beat. “Oh, she did, didn’t she? But I thought I’d just... make sure you’re not getting yourself into trouble. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get lost in here or something of the sorts.”

You blinked, still trying to steady your breath. “You’re not subtle.”

Loki’s grin widened, clearly unbothered. "I already told you, subtlety is overrated."

Suddenly, you felt a surge of irritation—at yourself, for being startled so easily—and without thinking, you swung out with a fist, aiming straight for him.

You didn’t even land a punch.

Loki’s grin only grew as he effortlessly dodged the swing, leaning to the side with the fluid grace of someone who had seen this kind of thing before. "Is that your idea of defending yourself, mortal?" he teased, standing completely still as your fist missed by inches.

You froze for a moment, eyes wide with embarrassment. "I wasn’t... I was just—"

"—Trying to punch me? Well, I suppose it was a valiant effort," Loki said, unruffled, his expression mocking yet somehow fond. "But you’ll have to do better than that if you want to hit me."

You scowled, rubbing the back of your neck. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep that in mind, thanks."

Loki chuckled softly at your annoyance. "You’ll need a lot more than a surprise swing to face what’s ahead, mortal. But don’t worry—I'll be here to help," he added, his voice turning more serious, though there was still that underlying amusement in his tone.

You scowled, feeling your blood rise to your cheeks. “Great. First, I punch a god, now I’m being scolded and tailed by one.”

Loki smirked, clearly entertained by your flustered reaction. “And here I thought I was the deranged one.”

You crossed your arms, doing your best to hide your embarrassment. “Well, you are.”

“Only on special occasions.” Loki chuckled, his grin widening. “Now, let’s get on with this, shall we? I’ll stay close in case you need me... even if you insist on attempting to hit me again.”

“Oh trust me, I’d love to make you my personal punching ball. But you’re not supposed to be here, Your Highness,” you said, your voice firmer this time. “This is my trial, not yours.”

Loki’s smile faltered just slightly, but he quickly recovered, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and something else. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’m not here to interfere. Just think of me as an... observer. I’m actually quite good at observing, you know.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Fine, but you stay out of my way, Peeping Tom. I’m not in the mood for your tricks.”

Loki’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he stepped closer, seemingly unbothered by your resistance. “I’m just making sure you’re safe. Who else could keep you company on this grand adventure? Your noble Asgardian family? Heimdall is too busy watching the horizon, and moth—Frigga, well, she’s always so proper.” He gave a dramatic roll of his eyes. “You’re stuck with me.”

You didn’t know whether to be frustrated or amused, but you felt a little of the tension in your chest ease up. “Fine. But if you do anything to make this harder than it already is, I swear I’ll—”

“—you’ll what? Throw me out of here?” Loki interrupted with a soft chuckle. “You can try, but I’m rather skilled at slipping past... inconveniences.”

Just then, they heard Frigga’s voice echo from outside the cave, calling out in a tone that barely masked her amusement. “Loki, if you’re going to follow her, at least try to make yourself discreet.”

Loki’s grin widened as he turned to you. “See? Like I told you, not subtle at all.”

You huffed but followed, rolling your eyes as you muttered under your breath, "I’d rather be doing this on my own."

Loki’s soft laugh echoed around you. "Oh, I’m sure you would, but where’s the fun in that?"

You gave him a pointed look before stepping deeper into the cave, determined not to let his presence distract you. The further you ventured, the more the air seemed to hum with energy, the walls of the cave narrowing around you as if closing in, but you kept your focus.

Loki followed closely behind, his presence bringing a mix of annoyance and reluctant comfort.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here,” you said after a moment, your voice a little softer.

Loki raised an eyebrow, the humor in his voice fading for just a moment. “You’ll know. Trust me. The artifact has a way of showing you what you need to see.” He paused, then added, “And if you don’t, well, I’ll be here to make sure you don’t do anything... rash.”

You sighed, your eyes scanning the dark cave around them. Whatever was about to happen, you were ready—or at least, you hoped you were.

The further you ventured into the cave, the more surreal it became. The air grew cooler, and the light seemed to dim as you descended deeper into the cavern. Soon, you emerged into an expansive, otherworldly space. The chamber stretched high above you, the walls lined with shimmering minerals that cast faint glows, giving the place a mystical feel.

At the center of the cavern was a clear, glowing pool of water, rippling ever so slightly as if something ancient and powerful stirred beneath its surface. The water shimmered with an eerie blue light, reflecting the faint beams of light that filtered through cracks in the ceiling. The surroundings were so calm, so peaceful—it almost seemed too good to be true.

“This is it?” you asked, taking in the sight. You felt a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Loki, who had been walking in silence beside you, stopped a few steps ahead, eyeing the pool with a thoughtful expression. “Yes. The pool of trial,” he said, though his voice was laced with a touch of amusement. “Step into the water. It will reveal what you need to face.”

You froze, your heart sinking as you stared at the pool. “Wait, step in? That?” You gestured toward the glowing water, the nervous energy creeping up your spine. “What if it’s, I don’t know, scalding? What if it burns me?” You glanced at him with wide eyes. “I’m not exactly in the mood to be turned into a crispy bacon today, thank you very much.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your concerns. “You’re overthinking this,” he said, his voice laced with mild amusement. “It’s not as dangerous as it looks.”

Your anxiety didn’t seem to ease. You slowly stepped toward the water, your eyes scanning the surface for any signs of heat or danger. “You’re sure it won’t burn me? Because I’m really not equipped for magical burns.”

Loki watched you, fighting back a grin. “You’ll be fine. It’s not as dramatic as you're imagining.”

Still, you hesitated, your heart racing. Your mind ran wild with all the possibilities—maybe it wasn’t just water. Maybe it was some sort of curse in disguise. Maybe it was boiling acid that would eat through your skin. Or worse, maybe it was a test to see how long you could stand the pain before... You shivered at the thought.

As you took a tentative step forward, Loki raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Scared of a little water?”

You shot him a glare. “I’m not scared. I’m just being cautious. There’s a difference.”

Loki rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh, please.” Before you could respond, before you even had the chance to think it through, he took a sudden step forward and with a swift motion shoved you into the pool, sending you stumbling into the water.

“Loki!” you yelped, flailing in surprise, your feet slipping beneath you as the cool water splashed around you. The shock of the sudden fall took the breath out of you as you splashed into the pool, sputtering as you broke the surface.

Loki stood at the edge, watching you with a satisfied grin, arms crossed. “You were taking too long,” he said, unfazed by your glare. “Besides, you were overthinking it.”

You glared at him, brushing your wet hair out of your face. “I wasn’t overthinking! You just pushed me in without warning!”

“Really now,” Loki drawled, his smirk widening as he noticed your flustered expression. “Do you honestly expect me to believe you would have acted on your own? Consider it a favor—one I’m sure you’ll thank me for later.”

You were drenched now, water dripping down your clothes, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit of a sting in your chest at the sudden, unexpected splash. “I was thinking about it... slowly.”

Loki chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “No time for slow thinking. Now, let’s see what happens next, shall we?”

⠀⠀

As you mourned your state, the cold rippled across your skin, but it wasn’t the chill that caught your attention. The water around you began to shimmer, glowing brighter with every passing second. The air itself seemed to hum, pulsing with an energy you couldn’t quite comprehend. Slowly, an aura of light began to envelop you—faint at first, but growing steadily stronger. Your body began to glow, not with harsh light, but with an ethereal radiance, as though the northern lights had taken form within you. Soft, shifting hues—pink, green, blue, and violet, colors reminiscent of the Bifrost—wove through your skin, with a faint touch of gold cascading across your form like the flowing branches of a great tree, stretching to every inch of your being.

The glow, fluid and seamless, surrounded you in ribbons of light, as if you were the very embodiment of the auroras themselves. For a fleeting moment, it was as though you were no longer entirely tangible. Your edges blurred, your form rippling like water, the colors of the aurora intertwining with the essence of your very being. You seemed weightless, suspended between realms, as though the cave had absorbed you into its ancient roots, your presence melding with the very magic of the place.

Your glow was hypnotic, a thing of beauty and power. You seemed both present and absent, solid and ethereal, bathed in the light of a thousand unseen stars. The colors shifted and swirled, weaving through you, a dream only half-remembered, a story half-told. The entire cavern seemed to hold its breath, caught in the magic radiating from you.

Loki barely noticed the way his breath caught in his chest. “By the Norns,” he muttered under his breath.

For the first time in a long time, Loki felt small.

His gaze was locked on you, entranced. He had seen many forms of magic before, but nothing like this. It was as if you were a bridge, a living conduit for powers older than time itself. The air around you thickened, vibrating with an ancient force that seemed to pulse in time with your heartbeat. It was a weighty energy, something primordial, something far beyond the grasp of any ordinary god.

There was something more, something familiar, yet elusive. A pull, deep within him, that resonated with the core of his being. For a moment, he almost felt as though he were standing before something divine, something ancient beyond measure. The glow around you flickered briefly, revealing an intricate symbol—tree-like, its roots sprawling across your form like a reflection of your nervous system. It was so subtle, so fleeting, that Loki almost questioned if it had been real. A vision? A trick of the light? But the connection, the sensation, was undeniable. You were tied to something vast, something far older than anything he had ever encountered.

Then, as the colors of the aurora deepened, he could have sworn he saw it—the roots of Yggdrasil, stretching across the cavern, whispering through the light, intertwining with your very essence. The vision was brief, but the connection between you and the great tree was unmistakable. You were no longer merely a mortal. You were something far more. Something much greater.

Loki snapped out of his trance, shaking himself from the dizzying pull of your presence. His thoughts needed to settle, but the image of you, radiant and unknowable, had left an indelible mark on his mind. You weren’t just a mortal anymore. You were tied to something far greater than any of them. Something even he couldn’t comprehend.

But then, there was a shift.

The air in the cavern crackled with magic, and for a moment, Loki could only watch, intrigued, as you glowed with an otherworldly light. Your body shimmered like the northern lights, colors shifting in mesmerizing waves, casting ethereal reflections across the water. He couldn’t deny the effect it had on him—your beauty was undeniable, but it was the strange, potent magic swirling within you that truly captured his attention.

A subtle distortion rippled across your body as the pendant around your neck began to pulse, glowing with an intensity that made the air around them feel charged. Loki narrowed his eyes, sensing something was about to happen. This wasn’t just a glowing display of power—it was something deeper.

The pendant’s magic stirred, and from the center of your chest, a shadowy, serpent-like form emerged. It moved sluggishly at first, as though testing the air, then, with an unnerving speed, it coiled outward, slipping from the pendant like a living nightmare. Loki’s eyes flashed with surprise as the serpent’s body unfolded, scales shimmering with a dark iridescence, its glowing eyes narrowing as it circled the room ominously. It didn’t seem like a natural creature; more like a manifestation of some ancient magic.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” Loki mused, his tone light but edged with intrigue. He watched the serpent glide through the air, its tail cracking against the cave walls with a hiss that seemed to rattle the very stone. “Should I be worried?”

He wasn’t exactly concerned—it was just another magical oddity—but there was something about the way it moved that made his curiosity flare. He had seen many strange things in his long life, but this? This was unlike anything he’d encountered before.

He looked to you for a reaction, but your gaze was locked on the serpent, your expression a mixture of awe and hesitation.

For a moment, the serpent paused, hovering directly above you, its eyes fixated on your face. It was as if it was waiting for something—waiting for you. The air grew thicker, charged with a tension that Loki could almost taste. Then, without warning, the serpent lunged, its massive body streaking toward you like a bolt of lightning.

Loki’s eyes widened, his reflexes kicking in as he moved forward, his hand outstretched, ready to intercept. But before he could act, the serpent vanished into your body, slipping right through you with eerie ease. The force of its intrusion jolted you, and you were thrown backward, crashing into the water with a splash that sent ripples across the surface.

Loki stood at the edge of the pool, momentarily stunned. His pulse quickened as he peered into the water, watching you disappear beneath the surface. For a split second, he wondered if he'd misjudged the situation—if he had waited too long to intervene.

The seconds stretched on like an eternity before, finally, you resurfaced.

Your appearance was… quite different from before. The faint glow that had enveloped your body earlier remained faintly, but now it clung to you like a second skin, subtle and ethereal. Your hair, damp and flowing around you, cascaded in waves down your back, each strand catching the light in a way that made you look almost unreal—like a siren from the depths of myth. Your robe, soaked through, clung to your form in a way that left little to the imagination and left the god breathless, and the water that trickled down your skin only seemed to enhance the otherworldly glow that surrounded you.

Your eyes met his, their usual sharpness now softened by the strange, lingering magic that swirled through you. There was a quiet moment between them, one that felt far too heavy for the situation at hand. Loki’s gaze lingered on you—on the way the water clung to your skin, tracing every line of your form, on the way your wet hair shimmered in the dim light.

For the first time, he felt something stir within him that wasn’t just idle curiosity or his usual inclination to tease. His eyes flickered downward, and a rush of warmth settled in his chest as the realization hit him like a force of nature.

You were stunning. No—more than that. You were... captivating.

It was the kind of attraction that came suddenly, like the snap of a string. He didn’t want to admit it, especially not to himself, but there it was. The light clinging to your skin, the way your body moved through the water, the delicate way your robe shifted, revealing more than it concealed—it was impossible to ignore.

Loki swallowed, his pulse quickening before he could rein in his thoughts. Focus, he told himself, but it was harder than usual.

His mind raced as he forced a casual smirk on his face, his usual playful tone returning. “That was... certainly a display. You might want to be careful about who—or what—you attract next time.” His gaze flicked over you, lingering just a second longer than he intended, before he shifted back to his usual playful teasing.

He wasn’t sure if he was still speaking about the magic or the effect you had on him. Maybe both.

You stared at him, your expression unreadable, still trying to compose yourself, but the moment of vulnerability—the way your eyes still held that same faint, ethereal glow—stuck with him. It was difficult to keep his mind from drifting back to the image of you, glowing like some otherworldly being.

Loki scoffed softly to himself, shaking off the sudden jolt of desire that had swept through him. He was Loki, after all. He was in control. But as he turned away, he couldn’t deny that something had shifted in his perception of you. Whatever power you had, whatever strange magic clung to you, it was only amplifying the attraction he hadn’t quite wanted to acknowledge.

It was a dangerous thought, one he didn’t dare explore too deeply just yet.

Your voice, though still shaken from the strange encounter, snapped him from his thoughts. “What just happened?”

Loki stepped closer, his gaze sharp and laced with amusement as he took in your glowing form. “Well, it appears you’ve made quite the impression,” he remarked, his tone light but tinged with intrigue. “I’d say I’m almost envious. Whatever that... entity was, it seems you’ve caught its attention—and perhaps more. Care to explain, or shall I start guessing?”

He crossed his arms, his mind already working through the possibilities, analyzing every detail. His gaze lingered on you a little longer than he intended, noting how the glow still radiated from your skin, subtle but undeniable.

You shook your head, trying to regain some semblance of control. “That’s not exactly comforting, you know.”

“Not my problem,” Loki quipped, his lips curling into a teasing smirk. “But I will admit, it’s an interesting little magic show you’ve got going on. I’m curious what comes next.”

Your eyes flickered with frustration, but you took a breath, regaining your composure as best you could. “I don’t know how many times I’m going to say it, but it seems it’s never enough: I didn’t sign up for this.”

Loki shrugged, his smirk curling wider. “Oh, I’d say you did more than that. At the very least, you provided some amusement.” He crouched near the edge of the pool, his gaze locking with yours, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. “But I suppose you’ve earned a passing grade. It appears you’ve won its favor—or at least its tolerance.”

There was no immediate danger—just a strange, powerful magic coursing through you—but Loki’s mind spun with questions. And if he was being honest, there was something about you now, something different that made you undeniably more intriguing than before. He wasn't sure if it was the magic or your new... presence, but he couldn’t look away.

You wiped a droplet of water from your chin, your eyes still narrowed, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. You didn’t appreciate being mocked, especially when you'd already gone through whatever strange ordeal had just occurred. But Loki, of course, couldn’t resist taunting you.

"Yeah, real funny, Loki," you replied, rolling your eyes. "I’m sure you're quite entertained by this, aren’t you?"

His grin widened, the gleam of mischief in his eyes unmistakable. "I’m simply admiring the show," he teased. "You know I’m an amateur of the fine arts. I barely get to witness such dramatic performances these days."

You stood there in the water, trying to reign in your frustration, a slow smile tugging at the corners of your lips. He was so confident—so smug—like he didn’t have a care in the world. You had a feeling he wasn’t quite expecting what was coming next.

"You do love a show, don’t you, Loki?" you said sweetly as you stepped closer to the edge of the pool, your posture shifting in a way that was almost predatory.

Loki, caught off guard by the tone of your voice, tilted his head, arching an eyebrow. He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking over you with the same playful smirk. There was something about the way you moved—too graceful, too calculated—that gave him a sense of unease, but he couldn’t quite place why. His curiosity only deepened. You were as unpredictable as always, and that made you endlessly fascinating.

You braced yourself on the edge, pushing yourself up with a fluid motion, lifting your body out of the water slightly. Your eyes met his, and you leaned forward just enough for your faces to be mere inches apart. The air between you was charged, and you couldn't resist the chance to tease him back.

"You should really try it for yourself. It’s quite refreshing, being all… dripping wet," you murmured, your voice low and sultry, your lips barely brushing his as you spoke.

You tilted your head just slightly, allowing the water droplets on your skin to catch the light as you took another step closer. Your robe, still clinging to your form, glistened with water, and the ethereal glow clung to your skin like a second layer. Your eyes glinted with something so peculiar, and the slightest smile curved your lips. The air between you shifted, charged with tension, and Loki’s smirk faltered for a brief moment as you leaned forward just enough to invade his personal space.

"Hmm, I think you have," you teased, your voice low and enticing, drawing him in closer. You raised yourself a little higher, leaning just that bit more, your lips almost too close to his. "Maybe you even like it. Maybe you like watching me struggle helplessly..."

For a moment, Loki forgot the situation entirely. His gaze drifted downward to your lips, and he barely noticed the slight shift in your posture. You were so close now that his heartbeat was racing, his body nearly responding before his mind had a chance to react. It was that subtle, but enough to get Loki utterly captivated. She had ensnared him with a soft look, a playful gesture, and it was all too easy to get lost in your presence.

He wasn’t sure what was happening, but you were so close now—close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath, your scent all around him. Your lips were mere inches from his, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if you were actually going to kiss him. Without thinking, his gaze flicked up to meet yours, and your eyes sparkled with a knowing gleam, as if you’d caught him.  You could see the effect you were having on him—how his usual sharp gaze had softened, how the mischievous glint in his eyes had been replaced with something distracted, almost dazed.

"And maybe you don’t mind being part of it every now and then."

Loki's eyes widened as he snapped out of his trance, a sensation of weightlessness overtaking him in a split second. "Wait, what—"

Without warning, you grabbed him by the arm, your grip surprisingly firm, and yanked him toward you. With a sudden, swift motion, you pulled him into the pool with you, his startled yelp cutting through the air as the water splashed around them. He stumbled in the wetness, head first.

“How’s the water temperature?” You now sat perched on the edge of the pool, smirking, the faint glow still clinging to your skin like a siren’s call. You casually flicked a few damp strands of hair from your face, your eyes twinkling with amusement.

Loki gasped and blinked, dripping water from his hair as he pushed himself up from the surface, wide-eyed and dripping wet. "You—" he sputtered, glaring at you in disbelief. "You tricked me!"

You tilted your head to the side, your smile widening. "Oh, I think you let yourself get tricked," you teased. "You were too busy being entertained to notice what was going on right in front of you. I must say, I now understand your point; truly a sight for sore eyes."

He shot you a glare, but the heat that had flooded his chest earlier was still there—this time, it wasn’t just irritation. His pride had taken a hit, but there was something else too. A burning sentiment that he desperately tried to repress now more than ever, should he let his impulses rise and take over to provoke something regrettable.

"You’re lucky I’m feeling generous," he muttered under his breath, but his gaze lingered on you just a moment too long.

You chuckled, your eyes dark with amusement. "Maybe you should pay attention next time," you said casually, your voice dripping with mock sweetness. "You can’t keep mocking me and not expect a little retaliation. But for now, I’d say that’s a win for me, don’t you think?"

He didn’t respond right away, his mind already racing with plans for payback. But as he stood up in the water, still dripping wet and irritated, he couldn't deny the stirrings of something else—something that was entirely more complicated than just his usual urge to tease you back. The whole encounter had left him... flustered, unsettled, and, if he was being honest, curious in a way he hadn’t expected.

As he clambered out of the pool, water dripping from his clothes, he realized that this little game between them was far from over. And next time, he was going to make sure you regretted it.

"Enjoy it while you can," Loki muttered darkly, locking his murderous gaze onto yours.

You simply grinned, your eyes sparkling with that same mischievous light that had drawn him in from the start. "Oh, I sure do."

Loki, still dripping wet and clearly irritated by the prank, stood tall, his posture rigid with the lingering desire to regain control. But instead of moving to challenge you, he took a moment, eyes narrowing, scanning you with an almost predatory intensity.

He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, no longer the teasing trickster but something sharper—darker. “Your boldness is gonna lead to your imminent downfall,” His voice was low, but the air around them crackled with energy, his irritation mixing with something else.

Your grin faltered for just a moment as you met his gaze, unsure of what to make of his sudden change in demeanor. “Oh come on, I’m just having a bit of fun,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Loki’s lips twitched upwards, but it wasn’t a smile. More like a challenge. “You’re playing a dangerous game, and I’m starting to wonder if you even know the rules.”

You tilted your head, taking in his shift. He was still teasing, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes—a sort of curiosity, an intrigue he was trying to hide behind his usual bravado. And perhaps, for the first time, you were sensing a crack in his usually confident demeanor.

As you stepped back, just a little, you could feel the weight of the moment, the tension in the space between you. Your earlier confidence began to waver as you picked up on the way he was looking at you, no longer merely amused but almost calculating.

"I’m not afraid of games," you said, your voice a little quieter now, with a faint edge to it.

Loki watched you for a long moment before he spoke again, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “You should be.”

Before you could react, he turned sharply, as if ending the conversation, and started to walk away, leaving you to wonder if that’s really the end of their playful rivalry—or if it was something else entirely, lurking behind a charade of endless banters. 

⠀⠀

As the last echo of their footsteps in the cave's entrance faded behind them, Loki and you stepped into the bright light outside. The sun bathed the landscape in soft golden hues, a stark contrast to the strange, eerie atmosphere they'd just left behind. But both of you were still drenched, Loki’s clothes dripping with water and your posture slightly stiff from the tension of the ordeal.

You’d barely exchanged a word as you emerged, the weight of your previous interaction hanging between you. Neither of you could deny that something had shifted, something unresolved that neither was eager to discuss. Loki was lost in his thoughts, glancing sideways at you with an unreadable expression.

But as you approached the clearing, standing against a large stone formation was none other than Frigga. Her presence was calming, and yet there was a knowing look in her eyes that immediately set both of you on edge.

“You’ve both made it out, I see,” Frigga said, her voice gentle but carrying an edge of authority. “I trust everything went well?”

Loki’s lips twitched into a wry smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As well as can be expected, Mother,” he replied, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. The last thing he wanted was a conversation about what conspired within the confines of the underground chamber, or how the whole ordeal had affected him.

Frigga’s eyes shifted to you, a soft smile curving her lips. “And you, my dear? How do you fare after all that?”

You slowly met her gaze, still processing the surreal events of the day. “I’m... fine. Just a bit shaken, I think,” you said with a small, tight smile, the weight of the strange magic still lingering in your bones. “It was unexpected, to say the least.”

She nodded knowingly. “Magic always has a way of testing us when we least expect it. It’s not just about strength, but about understanding oneself in the face of the unknown.” She turned back to Loki, her expression softening. “You both seem... changed. A little more different than you were when you entered.”

Loki’s eyes flicked away from her, unwilling to admit anything. He didn’t like how much she could read into his silence. “We handled it,” he muttered, but it was clear to Frigga that he was brushing aside something deeper.

Her gaze softened, but there was a flicker of something serious in her eyes. “I can see that. But you seem… distracted.”

His shoulders tensed, and he tried to evade her penetrating stare with an insistent tone. “There’s nothing to tell, Mother.”

Frigga’s gaze sharpened for a moment, and she placed a hand on Loki’s arm, holding him there.  “I can see the truth in your heart.” Her voice softened, as though speaking only for him.

His eyes flitted to you, then back to his mother. He couldn’t seem to hold her gaze for long, the truth of his feelings hanging just out of reach, even from him.

Sensing his reluctance to speak his mind, the queen decided to take a different approach. She raised her hand slightly, and with a simple wave of magic, she reached into Loki’s mind, transferring a glimpse of his own emotions to her. His confusion, his attraction, the pull that was impossible to ignore. She felt it all, a brief but powerful connection.

When she released him, Loki staggered slightly, blinking as though coming out of a trance. His gaze shifted uncomfortably. “You’re always meddling in my head.”

Frigga smiled gently, a knowing gleam in her eye. “It’s my job, my son. And sometimes, it’s necessary.”

Loki opened his mouth to protest, but halted his movement as she raised a hand. “Not now, Loki. Not yet.”

He was silent for a moment, his frustration clear. “Fine. But I’m leaving.”

She allowed him that moment, her expression a mixture of understanding and mild amusement. “Go, then. But I will be waiting for you when you’re ready to talk.”

Loki nodded curtly, shooting one last look at you before turning to leave in a hurry, no doubt eager to escape whatever thoughts his mother had stirred up within him.

Frigga turned to you with a soft smile, one that carried a quiet weight. “You’re handling this better than he is, I think.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the weight of everything you had gone through. “I’m not so sure about that,” you said. “But... it’s certainly complicated.”

She placed a hand on your shoulder as you began walking toward the throne room. “Indeed. But I have no doubt you’ll handle it well. Now, come. I believe there’s something we need to discuss regarding what happened.”

As they walked side by side, her voice rose again and took on a slightly teasing tone. “Though, I must admit, you two are quite the pair. Loki doesn’t often find himself so... ruffled. It seems you’ve caught his attention in more ways than one.”

You looked at her, surprised by the comment. “It’s not like that.”

Frigga raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling up. “Isn’t it?”

You smiled wryly, unsure of how to respond, but the playful look in Frigga’s eyes made it clear that this conversation was far from over.

And as you approached the throne room, you couldn't help but wonder just how much Frigga truly saw.

⠀⠀⠀

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

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

⠀⠀

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[moonyeyedstar]

War is Over- Regulus Black x f!reader (smut)

*18+*

December 24th, 1981

Regulus had disappeared years ago.  Some have mourned him, while others cursed his name.  You had a feeling buried deep inside that he was still out there.  The scent of him lingered on the tip of your nose, when you closed your eyes your last moments with him replayed.  The way you sobbed, begging him to stay and not hunt for Voldemort’s Horcruxes.  The way he consoled you when he knew he was the one who was about to face death on his journey.  You were filled with a fit of anger so pure it made you hate him, hate him for leaving you.  You pleaded for Regulus to take you with him, aid him, be by his side, and die next to him.  Regulus’s last wish was for you to hide until the war ended.  He purchased a chateau in France for you to reside in and you have not left since.  Every day for years you paced the same lonely halls and dreamed of what could have been.

Another Christmas had come, the elves decked the halls and prepared a feast for one.  The hope for any visitors was grim after the failed attack set at the Potters on Halloween.  They had survived by a stroke of luck.  According to the Prophet they had relocated outside of England.  The paper hadn’t arrived yet.  You had sat by the bay window in your study and read yesterdays over again as snow dusted the Earth around you, a cold crystalline veil.  The fresh canvas warning you of the winter left to come as we long for nature’s rebirth each spring.  You lit a freshly rolled cigarette and let it hang delicately from your lips as you searched for your matchbook.

As you stood, there was a crack that echoed from the main entryway.  You rushed out of your study and looked down the staircase to find him.  Regulus.  Oh, Regulus.  He looked horrid, paler, and thinner than ever.  His clothes were practically rags and his frame shrunken.  You stood frozen, this must have been a dream or a hallucination.  Or maybe you were finally passing and being reunited.  Whatever it was, it was miraculous.

“My darling,” his voice cracked.  It was real.  You gasped, tears streaming down your face before you even had the chance to wrap your mind around everything that was happening.

“Regulus!”  You bolted down the stairs, skipping half the stairs before you flung yourself into his arms.

“Oh, my darling,” he used the last of his remaining strength to grasp you tightly against his chest.  Regulus was sobbing into the top of your head as you clutched his shirt.  It felt as if the two of you were the only ones inhabiting the entire planet.  As if the world had stopped spinning and time itself froze for you.

“H-How,” you choked out between sobs, “I mean I-I knew you- I knew you were not- I knew you could not- I knew you were out there.”

“Do not worry yourself with that right now my darling, I have waited for this moment since I left,” Regulus cupped your face, sniffling back his own tears as his thumbs gently swept across your tear-streaked cheeks.  You focused on his glistening icy eyes.  He was so beautiful.  Without wasting another second you crashed your lips onto his.  Regulus’s hand slid down your cheek and to your waist.  His grip was gentle at first but as the kiss you shared grew hungry so did his grip.  He dug his fingertips into your side while his other hand continued to hold your face.

“Oh Regulus,” you moaned desperately into the kiss, your body instantly craving more, your entire body heated as a slickness grew between your thighs.  A sensation you had not felt in what seemed like a lifetime.  Regulus picked you up and laid you uncomfortably on the staircase, his lips not leaving yours.  Your hands grasped the raggedy cloth that separated you from his frail chest.

Regulus ground his hips down against yours, aching to bury himself deep inside you, needing to be as close to you as possible, wishing he could crawl under your skin.  He gasped desperately against your skin before trailing wet sloppy kisses along your jawline and then down your decolletage.  You let out a moan as you shuddered under his touch.  Goosebumps covered every inch of your skin.  Much to Regulus’s relief, he was twitching in his pants, his body agreeing with his mind and readying itself to fill your aching desire.

“Merlin, you don’t know how I've longed to feel your skin against mine,” his hands worked frantically to rid you of your clothing.

“Please Regulus, I need you,” you kissed his jaw, sitting up and nipping at his earlobe as he undressed you, your eyes glistening up at him, begging him.

“Fucking hell, you’re so perfect,” he stared down at you as he undressed himself.  Your eyes flickered down to his cock as he bobbed against his stomach after being freed from the restraint of his trousers.  He was perfect.  “I love you,” he spoke breathlessly as he lined himself up and slowly pressed himself into your tight cunt.

“Oh, Regulus,” you moaned out gaspily.  Feeling yourself stretched around him after all these years was the closest to heaven you might ever get.

“I love it when you say my name,” he moaned and moved his hips slowly, his stomach doing flips, he knew he was lucky enough that his body still worked for him, and thinking he would last long was pushing his own luck.

“Oh fuck Regulus,” you moaned out as he began to pick up his thrusts, he moved slow but hard keeping his thrusts short.

“You feel so good around me,” he whined as his hips spasmed from the way your cunt throbbed around him, grasping his cock desperately.

“Merlin,” you moaned, “I love your cock,” you cried out as your clit began to ache, in need of his attention.  You slipped your hand down between your bodies and rubbed circles on your clit.  Regulus quickly took over for you and rubbed eager circles on your clit making a knot grow in your stomach.  “Oh fuck, I am so close,” you whined and tensed up.

“Cum for me, my darling,” he whimpered and kissed you again, your bodies pressed flushed against one another as his hips stuttered and he shot hot laces of himself into your tired cunt.  The feeling of him filling you up sent you over the edge, your hips bucked and every muscle in your body tensed.

“Oh fuck,” you cried out as he went limp on top of you.  The both of you lay in silence as you focused on catching your breath.

“I love you so much,” Regulus cupped your face.

“I love you too, I love you more than anything,” you blinked back tears.

“Let’s take a bath, darling, and get ready for dinner.”

***

The elves rid the table of the dinner plates and prepared to bring out dessert.  You smiled at Regulus, your heart warmed by his return.  The warm lights on the tree shone around him.  He was like an angel.  You could never manage to lose him again.  Regulus stood and moved closer to the tree, nodding towards you to join him and you did, rushing to his side.  Regulus took your hands and kissed your nose before dropping down on one knee and taking a velvet box out of his pocket.  You felt your heart get caught in your throat.  Oh my god.

“My darling, I can never imagine another second spent away from you. Will you please marry me?”  Regulus opened the box, revealing a gorgeous diamond glittered in the light under the tree.

“Oh god, yes! " you cried, eagerly pushing your hand towards him. He effortlessly slipped the ring on and pulled you into his warm embrace.

You spent the rest of the evening glued to each other. Regulus played the piano, and you listened. He danced with you and spun you around. You ate dessert by the fire and watched the snow pile around you. It was perfect.

//Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!  I hope you enjoyed it! 

[gofishygo]

dark siren! ghoap x reader

notes: kidnapping, initially just ghost x soap

siren! soap likes to collect the pretty human artefacts that have washed into the open ocean. books that had been weathered down by tide, necklaces with rhinestones plucked out through rough currents, sometimes old toys- bits of them, that he broken and melded to match the mines in darker parts of the ocean he had yet to explore. darker parts, where siren! ghost had came from. now, he- both live a simpler life than before- hunting below the surface with the other, drawing on delicate cuttlefish shell and drying coral with the edge of his claws. he is no longer forced to think about them. the ships that poisoned his waters, the fishhook that impaled the side of his head with a starburst scar, humans.

(of course he still does.)

because in recent times, he finds himself.. almost eroding, chipping away with the march of time. and although he likes to sum it to no longer reeling the rush of missions, the adrenaline of fights where sailors ended up entangled in algae on the sea floor, he thinks- knows that he is missing something.

(when he was decades younger- still johnny, he would disassemble the smaller fishing boats and their engines- pick apart until there was nothing but gear and wood and oil, until all he could see was the simplest parts of such a complex machine, and he would always know exactly how it had sunk years before humans would ever realise. he could have saved them, knowing what they had needed before they, themselves had.)

and he is restless, tapping against both rocks and relics, despite how ghost weaves his fingers between his. spends his late nights rummaging through waterlogged pages in a dry cavern, eyes lingering for a second too long on any depiction humans- soft faces, smooth and unscaled skin, legs that he could snap and shatter within a moments notice. he hates these things, the only animal that he has wished to drive extinct. hates what he suspects he thinks about the almost docile statures in those books. but, though he has never been out of the water, has never seen grass paddocks and forest thickets and gardens firsthand, he suddenly feels like he is a sunflower, neck arched up proudly to the surface, face longing for the warmth of the sun and the dampness of freshwater in solid earth, and silently, with clandestine embedded into his thoughts- the touch of a human who has never seen the coldness, roughness of an ocean full of sirens, who has only ever lived in places that he imagines in his dreams.

but ghost, he grows on him, continues to grow on him like barnacles crusted onto the find of whales and scared into wharfside rocks- gripping onto his sides- intense, crushing, but with near unbearable loyalty. he knows that the siren would do anything for his best interests- even if he is not fully aware of his own, yet. only needs to kiss the younger, taste the saltwater of soap’s lips on his, to know the words that soap does not yet know how to say.

and the next time ghost sees soap on the shorelines, there is no trinket or inanimate gift in his hand- not a sand dollar, sea glass, not even the tiny sculptures that the people of the wharfside cities make. it is soft, and moving, sobbing into his shoulder, tears creating crystalline streaks over marred flesh, and it is beautiful. it is a human, far prettier than those inked, stone cold faces he has fought, with shiny eyes and babbled cries instead of violent claims of violence, sleazy and crooked teeth. soap thinks it is the sweetest thing ever, wants to keep it tucked under his fins, knows that ghost thinks so too.

“please, won’t ever go to the seaside again, ‘ll be good, move far out from here, into the mainlands- never bother your home again, please, promise-“

and for the first time, johnny sees what ghost does- knows exactly what this poor, terrified creature needs. he scoops you up, all kicking and screaming, hand cupping the side of your face. kisses the crown of your head so gently- and then you disappear under the tide.

[valeriianz]

for the blossoming romance prompts, either 14 (looking at their lips while they talk), 19 (talking late into the night), and/or 27 (sharing an umbrella/coat/blanket, etc) for dreamling!!

i chose "looking at their lips while they talk" tags: human au, hard of hearing Dream, hurt/comfort

--------

Dream is always staring at Hob’s lips whenever he speaks.

It’s something Hob has gotten used to… or so he tries to convince himself. Dream is hard of hearing– not quite deaf, though his hearing is deteriorating. He’d met Dream like this, after his hearing loss began so, without really having to explain why, Hob was able to roll with it– with how Dream has always relied on reading lips.

It did become harder– watching Dream’s gaze drop to his mouth– once Hob realized he had developed a crush on his friend.

Nothing ever prepared him for those deeply crystalline eyes to focus on his lips, even during the most banal of conversations. Hob’s pulse would skip and jump, faltering over his words and laughing at himself sometimes. He wondered what Dream was thinking, during those moments when he would stammer and stutter over a sentence for seemingly no reason. It certainly made conversation drag on a little longer, Dream often having to ask Hob to repeat himself with a patient, almost coy smile.

Or– lord help him– if they were in a dark place like a backyard bonfire or a bar, Dream would lean in close, his face scrunching adorably as he tried to understand the conversation happening around him, and Hob would have to speak directly into Dream’s good ear, a hand cupped over it, like he was telling him a secret.

“I can’t hear a thing in this place,” Dream groused in Hob’s ear, both of them leaning against the bar and surrounded by minimal lights and thumping bass lines.

Hob leaned into Dream’s space, the man automatically turning his head to catch his voice.

“Let’s get out of here, then.” Hob’s lips brushed the shell of Dream’s ear and Hob was just drunk enough to not apologize over it, but the brief contact set his skin on fire regardless.

They soon found themselves walking along the waterfront, the temperature dropping in the cool night air and a breeze kicking up to match the waves on the water. Dream tugged on his jacket before stuffing his hands in its pockets, knocking his head back as he took a deep breath, tasting the city air. Hob watched fondly, the street lights they passed under giving Dream’s skin an orange glow, warm and inviting, and he had an easy expression on, the quiet hour giving him some reprieve.

Neither of them spoke, which Hob sometimes preferred… After knowing Dream for nearly a year now, he’d gotten used to these quiet moments, happy to just enjoy each other’s company. Hob liked that the most about Dream, how he was able to find solace and comfort in the silence, rather than feeling the need to fill it with small talk.

It’s late so there aren’t many people out among the scattered benches and picnic tables, as they are properly walking now into a rest area which usually would be bustling in the daytime. Vendors around them closed for the evening or just breaking down.

They come up to one that still looks open, a chalkboard sign boasting snacks like hot dogs and tater tots. Hob slows and points out the open and lit up stall.

“Food?”

Dream’s gaze sweeps over to the sign, his brows lifting in interest and he nods, turning with Hob as they approach the counter.

Unfortunately they no longer have food, the person behind the stall informs sadly, but they are still serving alcohol. With a sideways glance at Dream, Hob gives in and orders a night cap, and Dream follows suit.

So, here’s a funny thing. Hob watches Dream discuss their cider list with the cashier, and his eyes flick down maybe once or twice during the conversation. And, maybe it’s difficult to tell while he’s not facing Dream, but Hob could swear Dream doesn’t have his gaze affixed to other people’s lips while in conversation with them.

Hob of course has no idea how much Dream really relies on reading lips– how the whole interpretation works for him, matching lip movements to the words… but Hob could swear that he never needs to hyper focus on people’s mouths; he always seems to get along just fine without prolonged eye-to-mouth contact.

In fact, now that he is tipsy enough to overthink, Hob is certain Dream hadn’t always stared at his lips. Hob had naively always attributed that to his hearing declining… but that didn’t make sense, as again, Dream never needed to stare for very long when in conversation with literally anyone else. 

Drinks paid for, Hob and Dream walk a little out of the way of the path, finding a bench in a patch of grass and collapsing onto it with matching sighs.

Hob slowly sipped his beer and Dream, from his cider, staring out at the lit up skyline beyond the water. The windows in the skyscrapers were high and far away enough that they resembled stars, reflecting off the water too. It was pretty, Hob always preferred the city when the sun went down. 

Dream did, too. Much of their experience together was shared after hours.

Hob stares at Dream’s profile, how he can somehow still see his long lashes even in the limited light, the point of Dream’s nose, his devastating jawline that Hob has fantasized pressing his lips to, cupping it with his hand, nudging his nose along until he was in Dream’s sooty hair. He wanted to know what it felt like, to tangle his fingers in that hair, comb through it lovingly and also pull it just to hear what sounds Dream would make if he did so, exposing the line of his throat so Hob could latch his mouth onto it. 

Taking a deep breath, Hob set his drink down on the space next to him, and tapped Dream on the shoulder.

Dream turns, his expression curious and only a little faded, muddled from alcohol, though Hob swore Dream had less to drink than him.

Hob’s pulse kicks up once he realizes what he’s about to ask. He licks his lips and doesn’t miss how Dream’s eyes flit down to catch the movement.

“Why are you always staring at my mouth?”

Dream’s brows pinch, looking back up at Hob’s eyes with a patient stare.

“Because I need to?”

“No, why are you always… staring at my mouth.”

Dream doesn’t need to. Hob is certain of it. And Dream tenses up, his own lips parting silently, his gaze sweeping sideways.

After a beat, Hob panics. He hadn’t meant to put Dream on the spot, or make him feel awkward. He shifts to be just a smidge closer.

“I mean, is the way I speak difficult? Do I have some sort of lisp I’m not aware of?” Hob tries to joke, to lighten the mood, to brush off the question like it wasn’t aimed at Dream. 

Dream doesn’t even look at Hob while he speaks, continuing to stare into the middle distance, turning the tin can in his hold around and around.

Finally, Dream sighs, his shoulders going with it as he turns to bodily face Hob, planting one foot on the bench and almost curling around his bent knee pressed against his chest.

“I’m going deaf…”

A sudden lump appears in Hob’s throat at the quiet, defeated way Dream speaks, his eyes downcast, staring at his drink.

“Figured I was, obviously,” Dream takes a breath, tapping a finger on the rim of the can now. “It's genetic, doctors think. No cure yet. My hearing is just…” he waves a hand around his head. “... deteriorating. Fast. I’ll lose it completely in my left ear within the next five years, and then my right will surely go soon after.”

Hob swallows hard, his throat clicking at the tightness in his throat.

Dream looks up and Hob feels his eyes burn at how watery and red Dream’s usual clear, blue eyes are. 

“It sucks,” Dream proclaims with a choked off laugh, averting his gaze again. “No more music, no more podcasts… soon I won’t be able to hear the sound of my own voice…” his gaze tentatively slips back to Hob’s. “... or yours.”

Hob’s lips part, butterflies now twisting his stomach into knots.

“So I’ve been…” Dream’s eyes rove over Hob’s face, as if searching for the words. “... trying to memorize the sound of your voice.” He gives another broken laugh, his chin dipping to his chest.

“The way your lips move is unique, it helps carry your accent.” He pulls his head back up, resting it on his bent knee. “The way your tongue curls around vowels, the way you putter and stammer sometimes, it creates a profile, and I can attribute the sound of every letter to the way your mouth forms the words.”

Hob is speechless, a complicated mix of euphoria and sadness swirling around within him. 

He must take a moment too long to sit on what Dream has just admitted, because Dream’s face falls, apprehension marring his beautiful features.

“Say something,” Dream whispers, his brows going up.

Hob can’t say anything. His pulse is racing and his throat is clogged with emotion. So instead he leans forward, gets his hands– which shake slightly– on either side of Dream’s face, and kisses him.

Dream gasps loudly against Hob’s lips before kissing back, shooting electricity down Hob’s spine, all the way to his feet and back up, clinging now to Dream and pulling him closer.

Hob parts for air and kisses Dream again and again, lips-only, but he can somehow still taste the honey sweetness of him, can smell it on his breath and feel it under his touch. One of Dream’s hands knots in the front of Hob’s sweater, yanking him closer still, holding on as Hob’s lips trail up Dream’s jaw– softer than it looks– peppering kisses along the way.

Dream breathes harshly into his ear, wet and raw, tucking his head into the crook of Hob’s neck, and goes still. Hob holds him there, one hand going around the back of his head while the other finds his hand on his sweater and disentangles it to hold instead.

Hob listens as Dream breathes deeply, collecting himself, his other hand coming up around Hob’s shoulder and just… holding on.

Nothing needs to be said, though Hob’s mind is swimming with words, but he keeps them in, opting to shut his eyes and feel the warmth of Dream around him, caressing his pointy knuckles and combing his fingers through Dream’s hair. This is enough for now, holding on, knowing they have time after this.

And Hob has always enjoyed the silence they shared.

part 2!

[akutagawacide]

◟gojo satoru x fem!reader, blindfolds & sensory deprivation, 720 words. ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ dom!gojo, sub!reader, consensual, praise, size difference, petnames (princess, baby, my girl), slight dumbification, not proofread, ooc gojo !

꒰ minors & ageless blogs dni ! 18+ content ahead !꒱

it'd been something you mentioned back and forth with your boyfriend, tossing it aimlessly across dinner and the clattering of cutlery - his blindfold, that is. you'd seen satoru without his blindfold countless times, those bright crystalline blue eyes and the long white eyelashes to frame them, he really was a sight to behold when he relaxed and shrugged off that black fabric obscuring such beauty. you had a feeling he knew this too, how could he not when women fawn over him without the blindfold?

back and forth, back and forth.

'let me wear it,' you'd whine like a child. how hard was it to convince him? this was unnecessary! satoru seemed to be a boulder unmoving, waving you off with his hand and cheeky grin as he assures you that a time will come but when is that time? how long was you going to be made to wear his blindfold for a few seconds, just to see how much it affected his sight? days and weeks passed, turning into months and you'd developed a nasty habit to puff your cheeks and pout whenever you'd see the fabric laying idle around your shared apartment.

"is this what you wanted, princess?" his breath is hot against your ear, fanning across your skin and raising goosebumps in its wake. he's been leaning over you for what feels like minutes, the burn in your thighs doing little to reassure you just how little time had actually passed. your legs are hitched up on his shoulders, feet hanging unceremoniously over his broad back. moments before, you'd been admiring the way the muscles of his back ripple under the compression shirt he'd chose to wear today but now your vision was black.

black. that's all you could see. was it the same for satoru? you're pulled from your waning thoughts by another deep stroke of his hips, pressing his pelvic bone flush to your sensitive clit. a whimper elicits from you, drawn from deep in your chest and you're left clawing at the plush flesh of your own thighs, satoru's shoulders just out of reach. when you'd first got together with satoru, he'd been unmistakably clumsy in this department, unable to put the sheer length of his cock to use properly but much time has passed and now it seems to be like he's honed his arts, perfected in pleasing you only.

"come on baby, cat got your tongue?" satoru chuckles, that cocky and gloating tone to his voice that you're so familiar with. the burn in your thighs disappears with every roll of his hips but it lingers, reminding you that you're not asleep and this is no dream. you've been locked in this position for as long as you can remember at this point, faint stars and static showing in the darkness behind his blindfold. while you may not be able to enjoy the sight, satoru has the freewill to devour every last detail about the scene before him. the way your thighs tremble, your nails scramble for anything to grab hold of, the glisten of the sweat on your skin and even the way your sweet pussy is beginning to cream on his cock, blending in with the few strands of white hair decorating him.

"mmh- mhm!" you struggle out after a few seconds but no, this was not what you had originally wanted. your taunts and begs were safe for work, for a start but that never lasts long with satoru and you should have recognised that by the devilish look on his face when he came home today, claiming so boldly that you could wear his blindfold. ever since it covered your vision, your senses had been heightened and you'd been left depending on what senses you had left to tell you exactly where satoru was and what he was doing.

"that's my girl," satoru finally grunts, done with the teasing strokes when he loses his patience. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, basking in the heat radiating off your skin. you can't see the grin on his face, his fingertips pressing into your knees as he bends you slightly more, towering his tall, lanky body over yours, "you're doing so good f'me, ain't ya? let's keep it on a little longer, it suits you."

── just something short n' sweet to test the waters of getting back into writing ! i can't let this rot on my mind any longer . .✦

© manacia 2024 ⸝⸝ reblogs appreciated ⸝⸝ please do not reupload, translate, etc. my works on other sites !

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

sometimes you wake up and and just want to go back to sleep.

not particularly because you're still tired, but because you feel awful, limbs heavy and anxiety threading through every inch of your body- or is it hunger? no, it's too deep and crushing to be simple hunger. you have to get up. but you can't get up. you roll under the covers, wrapping your arms around your shoulders with a grimace, heart fluttering and squeezing erratically. it hurts, and you need to get up, but dread weighs you down and confines you to the mattress, sinking into your bones and burrowing into the marrow like tiny mites.

instinctively you freeze when a pair of arms snakes around your waist, claws resting against your skin- ah. it's just Foul Legacy.

he has a nest of blankets and pillows in his own room, but in all honesty most nights are spent happily curled up beside you, taking up all the extra space on your bed with his lovely, cozy Abyssal self. Legacy purrs quietly, kneading gently against your stomach with his talons and tugging your shoulders until you flip over to face him. he croons, languid, delighted, nudging his head against yours and licking your cheek before pulling back with dreamy adoration in his crystalline eye. you stare, exhale, and a matching smile spreads across your own lips, minus the fangs and the ridges of his mask. Legacy chitters in contentment, as the sight of your happiness warms him more than any burning ember or flame could dream.

the knot of dread in your stomach uncurls and dissipates into wisps, and you peacefully snuggle into your beloved moth's arms.

[rustedhearts]

tangerine dreams (boxer!steve harrington x fem librarian!reader)

summary: a quaint, californian summer day with your fiancé

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy

✶ the king of the ring (1994) ✶ record store

tags: fluff. that’s literally it. very very short and sweet. i guess smut-ish at the end.

"the summer's wild and i've been waiting for you, all this time, i adore you—can't you see, you're meant for me? the summer's hot but i've been cold without you, i was so wrong not to doubt your medellin, tangerine dreams."

— salvatore, lana del rey

malibu, california, july 1994

The surface of the aqua blue water ripples and glimmers with crystalline perfection under a blazing afternoon sun. Two bare feet—nails painted a starlet red—peek into the sliver of sun allowed by the umbrella shading a toweled lounge chair. A chilled glass of Coca Cola with a lemon wedge sits on a little wicker table hand-side. Pages of the newest Cosmopolitan flutter in the breeze whispering through the private Harrington residence.

And that's how Steve finds you.

He watches for a moment through the patio door, gym bag dropped near the staircase for later. Watches you reach blindly for your glass, bring it to your lips, and sip delicately through a red straw. Watches you reach up and brush a hair out of your eyes when the wind guides it there. Watches the diamond on your left hand catch a streak of sunlight and blind him with a dazzling beam. The diamond makes everything you wear look expensive, but he knows the pink Chanel bikini on your body is.

Steve slides the patio door open quietly, wedging himself through the opening. He slips his sneakers off near the door and tucks his socks inside, feet padding over the concrete around the pool. The kidney shape guides him to the row of chairs and matching umbrellas where you're seated, and it's only when you block the light at his feet that you bring yourself from your magazine to smile.

"Well, hello, Mr. Harrington."

He smiles, sinking a knee onto the edge of the chair to crawl the length of it. "Hello, angel."

You perch forward to capture his mouth, fingers cold from the Cola Cola when they sweep his jaw. The sugared carbonation sweetens your tongue and lines his mouth. When you release each other, you sink back against the towel again and cock your head with a delighted hum.

"Take your shirt off," you demand.

Steve chuckles heartily, and the pressure of it crinkles his eyes. You bring your lip between your teeth and let your eyes roll over the godly broadness of his sculpted body when he stands to his feet. He plucks the cotton of his t-shirt between his fingers at the back of his neck and pulls it over his head. His chestnut tresses ruffle and flounce over his brow as he reaches for his gym shorts, pushing until they pool around his feet.

In only his boxers, he wiggles his way between your legs and rests the back of his head against your thigh. His head is a source of damp heat against your skin, and you immediately drop your magazine to card your fingers through it near his temple. Steve's eyes shutter closed almost immediately.

"Mm," he hums. "Missed you s' much."

"Really? Those two hours were just agonizing without me?"

"Mhm." Steve reaches out for your other hand, and you let him take it. Your fingers intertwine over his bare chest.

He peeks one eye open and angles it toward your hand over his chest. “Lemme just see-oh! Yeah, it’s still there.”

You giggle as his mouth presses to the back of your hand. The shape of his lips should’ve been tattooed on your skin—it seemed that since the very moment he placed the ring on your finger, all Steve wanted to do was look at it. Kissing your hand, playing with your fingers—he was almost worse than you. It was your job to fawn over your engagement ring and show off the glitz of the jaw-dropping gem.

You suppose Steve just wanted to join in on the fawning.

“Haven’t taken it off,” you tell him, sweeping his hair away from his brow once more before placing your magazine on your knee again.

“Better not,” Steve teases, and your cheeks warm when he kisses your hand again.

“Do you wanna go in the pool with me in a minute?” you muse, flipping to the next page.

Steve rubs your finger between his own, fondling the knuckle. “Sure, baby. Gonna wear your ring in?”

“Oh my god, Steven—“

“‘m just makin’ sure! Don’t ‘Steven’ me, young lady.”

You snort, snapping your magazine closed to bat it on his stomach. “And don’t ‘young lady’ me.”

Steve pops his eyes open all the way and tips them up toward your face. His free hand cradles your jaw, giving you a little shake and squeeze.

“But you are—my lady.”

Your face blooms bright under his touch, and you let him use it to guide you down toward his mouth. Another Coca Cola kiss, and dollops of sweat shared from wet upper lips.

The world is always so quiet back here. Here between the palm trees, under the pristine, robin egg sky. In the jade of the grass manicured by a nice man that helps you fertilize your flowers. On the surface of the pool where you tend to bob on a long pink floaty. In the wicker chair near the bird bath, where Steve often finds you reading when the air is cool.

There are no flashing lights or snapping cameras. There are no voices screaming or cracks of leather slapping. The stench of sweat and blood are no longer here. There are no flares of panic and fear. Steve is not bruising skin or shedding blood.

Steve is lying between your legs, over your lap, and listening to the breeze. Steve is letting the sun warm him, and bronze his golden skin. Steve is holding your hand and admiring his promise to you. Steve is loving you.

Steve has always loved you.

“Come on, hot shot,” you mumble against his mouth. “Get in the pool with me. Promise I’ll wear my ring.”

You slip out from under his bearing weight and toss your magazine on the other chair. He’s already pushing to his feet by the time you’re sprinting to the pool, and he misses your arm by a hair when you leap into the deep end. Against the sharp splash of your body submerging, another follows. They collide, water spurting into the air and splattering onto the concrete surrounding the pool.

And then laughter as Steve’s arms cage around you and pull you in. Your giggles are shortly swallowed by his mouth over yours again, a pair of pink lips nipping and engulfing with greedy hunger until they rob the breath from your lungs. He brings you to the tiled lip of the pool, and the hard edges of the solid surface bite into your spine.

In the evening, he's just as sweet and warm. He drips water from his glistening, coppered skin and the lightening chestnut tresses that he shakes like a dog just to hear you shriek. He lights a cigarette on the lounge chair and rubs your manicured feet when they press into his lap.

Steve swears he loves the scent of sun on your skin, and he licks the salted surface like he means it when he lays you on the bathroom floor.

He holds your left hand the whole time his head remains between your legs. And he fiddles with the ring sitting heavily on your finger, pulling it down to rest at your thigh so he can watch it glisten in his peripheral with every writhe of your damp limbs.

His lovely little lady.

[feyofmay]

The Oak Door

Laurie x March!Reader (aka "Ducky") Summary: At a gathering in london, hosted by Mister Laurence, Laurie gets drunk & the reader is forced to take care of him. While assisting him, Laurie attempts to propose, & the reader is everything but happy word count: 3.8k Warnings: ANGST, literally that's it just angst, also a lot of self doubt from reader

This story is a snippet from my longer Laurie x reader story, Foolish, Honest Love on ao3. If you want to know what happens next, you'll find out there ;P

Also, I am taking requests for Laurie x reader drabbles/minifics in my asks!!! :)

STORY STARTS UNDER THE PAGE BREAK

To say one’s heart & mind works separately is a lie because the heart is an organ that does not think, nor does it hold any greater understanding of what it is. It has no consciousness, yet is unrightfully given the capability to think & know. Nobody truly thinks with their heart or their throat or their liver or their pancreas. When someone says “thinking with their heart” or “thinking with their mind”, they mean thinking with their intuition or their rationality, or thinking with logic or emotion. They create a great divide in thought that, in all honesty, has & will never exist. A black & white. A right & wrong. A sky & sea. Existing between all of these concepts is a great trench, a lack of understanding, that was dug by the hands of men. 

In thinking with her heart, the middle March finds it best to avoid Laurie, &, in thinking with her head, she agrees with her heart. All of this to say, for the past couple of days, she’s both missed & feared the sight of his face. It’s easy to grow distant from someone when there’s no possible way to close said distance, but, when you’re staying in the same residence per the request of his grandfather, it’s much harder to remain distant, both in a literal & metaphysical sense.

Within the lounge, where she resides now, Miss March distances herself from the greater commotion of the gathering, in the dining hall, without being fully disconnected, like a hand is to the torso. The walls are dressed in a tender maroon wallpaper with an eloquent & detailed moulding of marble & gold, replicating greek columns, which act as a trim that runs across the ceilings. She shares the chaise lounge with other guests as they squeeze next to each other, and their skirts overlap like incoming tides crossing over one another. She’s unsure if she's become overwhelmed by all the stimulus or simply unable to sense anything. The air doesn’t carry any distinct scent. Oddly, the space around her smells of the sound of bustling people & drinks swishing in crystalline glasses. Around her is noise & people, & all of her senses confirm that truth in a monotone wave.  Nursing an empty glass, which she had thrown the contents of into a houseplant & plans to hold for the rest of the evening, she sits within conversation between several men & women, an intellectual hive of people that act more like displays for their attire then beings with bones & blood. For them, knowledge is a sport. It’s a trinket to place on your coffee table to try & impress your inlaws. It’s an accessory to tout & best acknowledge in thoughtful hums & inquisitive gasps. 

A man in a matching set of birdseye patterned, taupe slacks & waist drones on about the recent unification of Germany. While Miss March does find the subject, itself, interesting, she can’t seem to hold intrigue in the conversation. Something about the smoke & the long days warping together in England has led her to misplace the inquisitiveness of the young girl who dreamed of moving to Europe & leaving behind the dreariness of subordinate domesticity. While, with age, she’s gained the emotional intellect necessary to process her emotions beyond simply scraping the shallow tide with her toes, she’s also gained the awareness that, oftentimes, the act of digesting her emotions is tiring. She’s learned that the energy used toward emotions is better spent producing something tangible & of worth. 

Luckily for her, Laurie’s grandfather is a man in the know, which means he knew several associates with daughters of varying ages with varying tastes in clothes who were more than happy to lend a dress to a young lady. Over her crinoline skirt & bodice, a dress in a sweet champagne shade is draped across her. The lacy trim, not wanting to melt into the dress, itself, is a muted purple, almost a grey, that wraps around her puff sleeves & the edges of the champagne tier, with a silk white skirt with a lavender sheen peeks out from underneath. Nothing about the dress is loud. She feels much more at home in the fabric, especially after walking around in the daunting mauve dress like a living, breathing cake topper, a piece of decor for her employer to flaunt. For the first time since leaving New England & Meg & Hannah’s trusted fingers, she’d had her hair done by someone other than her family’s servant. The trusted maid of Mister Laurence had offered & promised to not pull too hard on the March’s hair. As the maid braided & pinned her hair, the middle March almost cried. However, it wasn’t due to any pain inflicted on her scalp, as the maid’s touch was tentative & gentle. It was the simple act of being touched & cared for, a touch Miss March had been subconsciously craving for since leaving her home. A touch she had forgotten until reuniting with Laurie in the crowded foyer. 

Touching her shoulder, a soft hand brushes her & whispers a polite ask for her attention. She flutters her eyelashes, shaking off the weight of the dust that had collected on them, &, with the help of the welcomed touch, swims out of the mental fog she had sunk herself into. Her eyes flitter up & meet with the warm sight of Mister Laurence gazing back at her. Whether the strong scent of candle wax, lingering dust on velvet carpets, & forest breeze eminates from him or the memories of his manor in New England that she spent odd mornings & afternoons in, she’s unsure of. However, it’s another reminder of the young girl she tried to comfort & wish goodbye to before leaving for Lancashire.

“Pardon my forwardness, but, Miss March, I must ask you to join me for a brief moment. I do hate to take away from such wonderful company,” Mister Laurence requests, playing the role of the man wise beyond his years more gracefully than anyone Miss March has ever seen. With a curt nod, not even bothering to bid adieu to the people in the room, she lets curiosity lead her as she rises to her feet & wraps her arms around Mister Laurence’s. Ushering her out of the room at the exact speed that is swift without being suspicious, Mister Laurence guides the young lady to a hallway with no prying eyes or wandering ears. His gaze does not hold the anger of a great man who is weighed down by the hubris of those around him, but in his eyes is something deeply paternal & saddened. Around him, an umber waistcoat & slacks with a herringbone pattern remind her more of a bear then a man of business & wealth. However, her judgement may be heavily clouded from growing up under his watchful eye. While his hair used to be a soft salt & pepper, it has faded to a faint white & grey like the shadow of a tree painted on fresh snow during a cloudy evening. For most, with age comes wrinkles that hide within them their growing envy for the youth that’s being wasted on careless & stupid adolescents. Mister Laurence’s wrinkles are like the rings of a tree, lines that prove that he has lived & seen. They’re a promise that, if one is to ask, he will tell the story preserved in every smile line & crow’s foot. Bending down so his lips hover around her ear, she’s immediately washed in the same sincerity that soaks his demeanour.

“Y/N,” he calls her by her first name, a telltale sign of loyalty & unease from the man, “I do hate to put this upon your shoulders, but my grandson is acting aloof-”.

“In what sense?” she interrupts in the classic March fashion, &, used to this speech pattern, he continues speaking over her. 

“And, while I don’t wish to make you pay for his poor decisions, I have an important associate that I do need to impress,” he explains to her as his hand returns to her shoulder, “And you and I are both well aware that no servant is paid well enough to have to deal with my grandson’s… ”

“Stubbornness?”

“...Tenacity.”

Both finish his sentence at the same time & share a gaze that communicates that neither are completely wrong with their wording. Nodding his head to agree with her, he looks away at the hall ahead. No paternal figure wants to admit their children’s faults. To say a truth is to make it known, but to admit a truth makes it tangible. She can feel the glass ball that rolls up & down his throat, ever so often bobbing at the opening to his stomach. Hiding beneath his heavy wool morning coat, his shoulders tense while trying to protect the rest of his body.

“A servant caught him with several other young women & clearly inebriated,” he reveals to her, & the edges of his lips quiver & twitch as they are tugged by invisible strings into a frown. His words dig a hole into her chest. All that remains is her skin, which caves in & sags where her sternum once was. It leaves a tingling sensation where her muscles & bones used to rest. She feels that Mister Laurence is speaking of a different grandson, which she has never met. What happened to the young boy who would treat her childish fears with utmost sincerity? What happened to the boy who made pinky promises seem like the most honourable pacts a man could make? What monster, what man had stolen the skin from him & now wears it as a costume? 

“I’ll confess. I’m unsure of where I went wrong with him,” Mister Laurence slips out between hushed lips, telling his secret to the wind & Miss March. Pausing to swallow his words, she furrows her brows & purses her lips. Swimming in her mind, she can’t think of any words that can comfort him in this moment of vulnerability. So, rather than speaking, she wraps her arms around the older man & hugs him tightly. Surprise washes him over as she squeezes his ribcage tightly, &, for a moment, he freezes as his eyes dart around to try & catch leering gazes peaking around the corner. But they are hidden in the inky shadows of the hallway. With a long exhale, Mister Laurence allows his tension to escape, & he swallows her in his embrace.. 

“You worry about business, and I’ll worry about Laurie,” she comforts him while pulling away, pausing to fix his bowtie, “He’s very lucky to have a grandfather that’s as kind and loving as you.” Mister Laurence smiles at her reminder as the rosy glow on his cheeks alights the hallway for a moment. Each breath they take in the space that they share feels like it fills each corner of their lungs. Nodding to her, a silent show of gratitude, he leads her to an oak door which lays slightly ajar. Holding the nob, he turns back to her before speaking.

“Thank you for your assistance. He’s in here,” Mister Laurence informs her, & he slowly swings the door open. Immediately, the souring scent of wine hits her face, &, as an instinct, her nose scrunches up & a grimace stains her lips. Splayed out on a couch, dishevelled & basking in his own ruin, she sees more of a strange, unfamiliar man than the boy that she knew. She sees a man that will grow to be discontent with his wife, yet who stays for the kids. A man who never really loved his children but is patiently waiting for the fulfilment that comes from acting in the role that society has told him to. A man who will never be fulfilled. A man that has learned that he must settle for what he has, quietly & miserably. A miniscule part of Miss March relishes at the idea that he’d have to learn how cruel the impartial hand of life can be, but the rest of her is well aware that Laurie will never know “enough”. He’d love his wife, even if she loved another man. He’d work to provide for his kids, &, if the wife was never around, he’d raise them all on his own. He’d move mountains to try to find the better side of “enough”. Laurie will love & love because that is Laurie’s nature. He loves wine & women. He loves trekking through forests & acting a fool, even in public spaces. He loves to engage in conversation while in the company of the March sisters, where no sentence is ever finished & nothing is ever truly said but the quiet “I love you” that rattles around in the pauses between words for a quick draw of breath. Laurie loves Jo. Laurie will continue to love, & love will truly be the cause of his death. Yet, Laurie will find a way to love the silent & cold hand of what lies beyond in a way that no person has ever done before. Miss March cannot even entertain the idea of Laurie living a life that is just “enough” because, to her, his company is more than enough. It is good. It is plenty.

That same man has tossed away his vermillion silk tie & waistcoat, leaving him in a starch white shirt that’s a third of the way unbuttoned & hastily tucked into raven black slacks. Closing the door behind her, the click of the door knob alerts him to her presence. However, his verdant eyes don’t move to meet her as he stares through strands of his messy chocolate hair & up at the silver ring that he often displays on his pointer finger. 

“Are you here to scold me, oh my dear mother?” He asks to the wind, acknowledging her existence. Miss March inhales deeply as the beating of her heart starts to drown out the sound of her breath. Clasping her hands together, she tentatively begins to make her way over to the cobalt ottoman that rests near the matching couch. The room is a demure periwinkle with small etchings of leaves adding a splash of muted emerald to the room.

“No, Laurie. Your grandfather asked me to keep you company,” she tries to ease his nerves as she inches closer.

“No, he told you to keep me away from the guests as I am his greatest failure,” Laurie shoots up at her words, sitting up far too fast for his drunken mind to handle. A warbling groan of pain slips out of his mouth as he rakes his fingers through his hair & clutches his throbbing head. At the sight of his agony, Miss March rushes to him &, readjusting his legs, sits on the edge of the couch cushion, right in front of him. With a tender touch, she gently wraps her fingers around his wrists & rubs small circles with her thumb.

“Oh, shush, you’re as much of a failure as I am a dancer,” She teases him with a sympathetic smile. At her words, a small & raspy chuckle escapes his lips &, tilting his head, his celadon eyes, in which the fields of Elysium hide, gaze up at her. Hiding beneath a smoke of anger, she’s able to see the young boy that she grew up with. The young boy that she once fell in love with. He’s scared & small & all the things a child is never allowed to be. 

In this moment, as much as she despises it, she knows she must admit her faults to him & ask for forgiveness. She was cruel & unjust for bringing up Jo with the intent of spitting in his face. She hurt him with the intention of leaving a mark, & she succeeded in doing so. If he doesn’t ever forgive her, she’ll grow to understand. It won’t be an easy process, but loving Laurie has never been anything close to easy. Taking a deep breath, she shoves the racing thoughts out of her vision & looks him in the eyes.

“I apologise for what I said in the alley, concerning your feelings for Jo. I shouldn’t’ve ever used them to hurt you,” she apologises quickly, &, after speaking, immediately purses her lips together & stares at him. She waits for him to scream. To yell at her to get out. To say he hates her & never wants to see her again. To tell her he always hated her. That he only tolerated her for Jo. To say she’s stupid. She’s vile. She’s not worth Jo or Meg or Beth or Amy’s time. She waits for him to tell her the truth she’s been too scared to say to herself aloud. She waits & waits until, finally, his lips part, & he draws a quick breath.

“It’s alright. I was being mean too, and I, truly, do owe you many apologies, as well, ” he replies with a thin smile, replaying the events in his head. Ducky’s stomach squeezes as relief floods her system, & she sharply inhales while attempting to keep some kind of composure. A tight smile graces her features, slipping past her facade of propriety & decorum. 

“I’ve been spending this past year, & some odd months, wallowing in my own melancholy, but,” Laurie pauses for a moment, slouching forward so his eyes are level with Ducky’s, “but I cannot waste away my life being miserable. If money is truly of the highest concern, then marry me.” His words grab her by the neck, shove their long, spindly fingers down her throat, wrench the breath from her lungs, & pry the air out of her. Her mouth falls agape as she struggles to comb through & fully understand what he’s said.

“Laurie, I refuse-”

“You won’t have to work, nor do you have to love me, & your family will be provided for: Beth, Amy, Marmee, everyone,” he prattles on, afraid of the nearing rejection that comes when he stops to breathe. Ducky can’t hear anything other than her own heartbeat & what, to her, sounds like the faint whisper of Laurie’s voice. She can’t even hear herself think.

“You’ll be happy, I promise. Everyday I will spend in honest devotion to your happiness,” he’s breathless as he finishes his speech, &, feeling the walls begin to collapse in on her, Ducky jumps to her feet. Rushing back & forth, in front of her very eyes, are countless memories of Jo & Laurie, of the way it’s always been. Jo loves her work. Laurie loves Jo. Ducky was left to love the footprints Laurie had left while chasing after Jo. 

“Laurie, I, as a woman, must either enter a marriage for security or for love,” she whispers out as her arms wrap around her waist, squeezing her sides tightly, “while you can marry for any reason under the sun, and I will not be an accomplice in allowing you to waste that privilege.” The room grows smaller, the air between them thinner. It’s hard to breathe & her vision becomes a swirl of blues & greens with a spotty pillar of white & black wiggling around in the centre. Laurie stops, & Ducky stops. Neither move. Neither speak. Neither breathe. The walls stop moving, & everything around them fades into their shadows. They are a boy & a girl. A lady & a man, all grown up & yet the exact same as they were the day that they met. While his previous proclamations were loud & steady, the words he speaks next are a promise meant only for his lips & the spirits that hide in peoples’ breaths. 

“But I can give you both, love and security, if you’d allow me. I’ll inherit my grandfather’s wealth, and we could be happy, all of us.”

Clear on his face is the same sincerity that he’s gifted to her in every moment of embarrassment & shame. His eyes stay glued to hers. After waiting for years for him to say these words to her, she can’t help but feel his admittance is fake. That maybe his words are meant for someone smarter, braver, older, & better then she is. His words are meant for Jo.

“No, no, you don’t get to, this isn’t right,” she bites back, walking backwards & grasping for the door knob yet only finding the air between her fingers, “Stop it, Laurie, please.”. He follows her, &, in his drunken state, collides with the furniture, sending his body awry. 

“Yes, yes I can, and we both know it to be true,” he tries to correct her as he raises his hands to grip her forearms. Her shoulders immediately tense at his touch. His fingers crinkle the poofy champagne fabric that delicately floats around her skin.

“You’re acting a fool, Laurie-”

“I can, I swear on my life Y/N, I am able and I am willing and, and content to do so.”

 “-I won’t allow it, I simply cannot,” she continues to ramble on, & her finger tips brush against the cool metal of the doorknob. Laurie opens his mouth to rebuke her statement, but, before he can, her palm flies up & presses against his lips. Covering his mouth with her hand, she shakes her head as her eyes gleam with tears.

“Please, stop. It hurts, Laurie. Please, Laurie, you’re hurting me,” she pleads to him as her fingers curl around the door knob, “I cannot do it. You broke my heart once already. Is that not enough for you?” 

To watch the boy she admires fall in love with her sister, who she’s loved since the dawn of time, was a constant, real ache that left her sobbing into Beth’s chest as she begged Meg to help her & relieve her of the pain, which was an impossible task. After the middle March had left for Europe & caught word of Jo’s rejection in a letter from Beth, she had a heavy heart knowing that the two people who were connected at the hip for all of her adolescence had now grown cold & distant. It was as if she’d heard that the moon no longer followed the sun, leaving the night cold & bleak. All she has done her entire life is labour & hurt for those she loves without question or complaint. However, she cannot look Laurie in the eyes as he slurs out ideas that would’ve sent her younger self spinning & giggling with a maddening joy. She cannot withstand that pain for him. She doesn’t feel happy or sad. Nor is she angry or scared. All that she can feel is the heavy pounding of her heart & a dull ache emanating through her. The pain swallows her mind, &, while her body still remains, Ducky has clearly fled far from the room. She’s racing down the streets in her dress, seeing how far her legs will take her. 

She yanks the door open just before he can reply & heaves her body through, slamming the door shut after her. Leaning her weight against the slab of carved & varnished oak, a few tears trickle down her cheek as she chokes back a sob, not wanting to alert any guests nearby. In her mind, she’s already ran all the way back to New England. There, back in her home, she lies, hiding her tears in Beth’s dress, as her sisters practically cocoon her, protecting her & the fire from the harsh reality of the world that waits outside their loving embrace & on the other side of the oak door. 

i told you it's literally & only just angst... sorry. please like & repost :)

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | August 19th-25th 2024

Have a wonderful week! I hope you enjoy this rec!

Complete

don't let go by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Getting Together | <1K | Teen): Buck and Eddie get home after a long shift and decide to take a nap. for the prompt: accidental pet names

in the crystalline knowledge of you by bleakmonday/ @bleakmonday-writes (Post-BuckTommy Break-Up, Love Confessions | 1,5K | Teen): Eddie barges in and tells Buck how he feels and they cry about it. That's it, that's the fic.

Come on Sweetheart, Let's Adore One Another by giselleslash/ @gigi-gigi (Established Buddie, Fluff | 1,6K | Mature): When Buck and Eddie start dating Buck finds out a surprise about Eddie that delights the hell out of him. (or the one where Eddie’s soft, romantic little heart loves being called pet names.)

Shouting Under My Breath by carpediaz/ @sofa-king-lame (Jealous Eddie, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): The one where a guy hits on Buck in a bar and Eddie gets jealous. Turns out, Buck really likes it when Eddie is jealous.

call your girlfriend by bleakmonday/ @bleakmonday-writes (S5, Love Confessions | 2,6K | Teen): Buck is at a loss, so he calls Maddie. “Eddie… told me we were getting married.” The silence is damning. “…You wanna run that by me again?" - Or: When Taylor tells Buck she loves him, Buck tells Eddie about it. And Eddie? Well, he goes right for the jugular.

leave it out there, no regrets by Maira/ @carrierofthepaperclips (Post-S7, Love Confessions | 3K | Teen): Or, the one where Buck is completely oblivious to Eddie declaring his love, and Eddie (briefly) contemplates leaving the country forever because of it.

we'll try and we'll succeed by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (Post-S7, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Buck comes out to Chris and it helps him realize who he wants to be with.

we should make a verbal agreement to only kiss each other by bleakmonday/ @bleakmonday-writes (Secret Marriage | 4K | Teen): “Who the hell did he marry? Everyone he knows works here! He’d have to marry one of us!” The whole room goes still as they process that. “God, could you imagine?” - Five times a member of the 118 imagines being married to Buck, plus one time one of them lives it. (sequel to call your girlfriend)

I Am What I Am Cause You Trained Me by I_still_dont_understand_13/ @dangerpronebuddie (Post-S7 | 5K | Mature): "So it's all my fault Christopher’s first instinct is to run?" Eddie protests. “And Shannon's?” "Eddie, you enlisted," Helena says gently, but there's nothing gentle about it. "And Shannon ran off to LA," Ramon adds, oh so helpfully. "And I was ten years old when you told me to step up and be the man of the house because you weren't around," Eddie says, jabbing a finger towards Ramon. Ramon does at least look a little guilty about it. Helena, as always, is undeterred. "He was angry at you, Eddie. He needed his space." "Which I was giving him," Eddie hisses. "You didn't have to take him away for him to get a little space or time or whatever he needed." "He asked us to come get him," Helena reasons. Buck, who'd been quiet so far, steps beside Eddie and speaks, his shoulder brushing Eddie's in silent reassurance. "And you didn't think to at least consider trying to mediate first?"

No Regrets by Inell/ @inell (Post-S7, Getting Together, PWP | 5K | Explicit): Buck and Eddie’s relationship changes with an impulsive kiss during a rerun of Chopped. It’s now a few hours later, and Buck wants to make sure that Eddie doesn’t have any regrets.

love is stored in the picnic basket by bucksclipboard/ @excuseme-greentea (Getting Together | 5K | Teen): Buck participates in the 118’s basket bidding on Valentine’s Day and things go exactly as (Bobby) planned. When Eddie is done standing on the sidelines, he makes the grand gesture Buck has been dreaming of. or: buck’s heart (um, picnic basket) is up for auction and eddie is ready to pay

The Way to a Man’s Heart by Inell/ @inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): When Eddie texts Buck to ask him over for dinner, Buck thinks something odd is going on, but nothing prepares him for what Eddie has planned.

the best of me (are just the pieces of the best of you) by justhockey (Post-S7, Getting Together | 6K | General): It was a slow, aching, gruelling process, like re-breaking every one of your bones just to set them back in the right place. But Buck got to watch as Eddie slowly came back to life. There’d still been the whole moustache debacle, though. Which, thankfully, hadn’t lasted beyond the first facetime call with Chris, where he’d actually hung up in disgust and texted Eddie a single sentence: get rid of it. They don’t talk about that brief lapse in judgment anymore.

wanna do a bad thing twice by coldbam/ @coldbam (Cheating Buck, Buddie Endgame | 7K | Explicit): Eddie gets another new friend. History repeats itself.

this could be the year for the real thing by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Maddie/Chimney | 8K | Teen): It's December, 2016 and Chimney is a bit down on his luck. But a chance meeting with Beverly Hills heiress Maddie Buckley, right before her parents' big annual New Year's party, might be just what he's looking for. OR a Madney Cinderella AU.

the kiss that lingers by greenbergsays/ @greenbergsays (Getting Together | 10K | Explicit): 5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark & 1 time he doesn't.

🔥the best endeavor waiting by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Amputee!Buck | 12K | Mature): When quarantine puts the 118 on the front lines of the pandemic, Eddie asks Buck and his service dog, Cranberry, to stay with Christopher. (Part 2 of Buck & Cranberry)

Vary My Days by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Post-S7 | 12K | Teen): After Christopher leaves, Frank tells Eddie to get a hobby. Eddie picks Legos, Buck picks crochet, and they both wait for Chris to talk to them again.

Can You Open Up The Door? by fruitsdoesnotknow/ @tayf-ghost (Canon Divergent, Different First Meeting | 15K | Teen): Or, five times Abuela and Pepa try to matchmake probationary firefighter Buck with freshly single dad Eddie moving to Los Angeles, and the one time they don't need to do anything at all.

🔥I'm Hearing Secret Harmonies by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Canon Divergent, Witch Eddie, Coffeshop AU | 18K | Teen): When the firefighter walks into Eddie's coffeeshop, Eddie immediately knows two things about him: he's not human, and he's the love of Eddie's life. Oh, he knows a bunch of other things too, obviously. He's about thirty, a few months younger than Eddie himself. He has a scar on his throat, like he got stabbed there, and one of his legs has some metal rods in it that must have come from a bad injury. The guy doesn't know he's not human, which is a tricky thing to figure out, but Eddie's almost positive. Most of the non-humans he knows have always known they aren't people, but there are exceptions, and they tend to carry themselves differently. The firefighter moves like he knows he doesn't belong, but not like he knows why. Like he's afraid of taking up space, afraid of being noticed. As if Eddie is even capable of not noticing him.

🔥 you're almost home (i've been waiting for you to come in) by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (Post-S5, Canon Divergent - Roommates, Getting Together | 34K | Mature): Buck moves in. Eddie comes out. Things get a little messy.

🔥I used to watch the moon retreat and wonder where it goes by Chash/ @ponyregrets (Canon Divergent, Ghost Whisperer Buck | 43K | Teen): Here's what Evan believes: if someone can do something that other people can't, if they offer some unique and special service to the world, they should do that. They have an obligation to use whatever skills they have, ideally to help people. It's just the right thing to do. And the one thing that Evan can do that almost no one else can is see ghosts. (The 118 are on a ghost-hunting TV show. Buck's the only one who knows ghosts are real.)

WIP

🔥Where there's smoke by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Multiverses | 25/31 | 30K | Teen): His eyelids are heavy. His lungs ache. The smoke is dense and thick, slowly suffocating him. Eddie feels himself drift as Buck’s voice penetrates the smoke, cuts through the fog in his brain. “Eddie, stay with me. Stay with me, Eds.” Eddie wants to stay. He wants to open his eyes and see Buck. He doesn’t want to leave. But he’s so tired, and sleep is calling him. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe his dreams will be sweet. Maybe there’ll be peace, there. And maybe, if he just rests for a little while, he’ll be able to find his way back.

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 17/21 | 84K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

🔥 Long Death by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7, Vampire AU | 14/15 | 68K | Explicit): In the summer of 2024, a never before seen form of vampirism breaks out in Los Angeles. Just as Eddie is about to get his son back. Six months later, Buck's life is permanently changed.

go and kill, go and die by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Zombie Apocalypse AU | 3/14 | 12K | Mature): The 118 are a group of survivors in a small California town in the wake of a zombie apocalypse. For months they've been isolated and safe. But the arrival of some new players, the search for some missing loved ones, will shake everything up and put their little team in jeopardy.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 134/? | 425K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

Weary Memory by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Buck&Bobby, Post-S7 | 3/4 | 9K | Teen): After an argument about the circumstances of Bobby's sudden retirement, Buck and Bobby each find themselves inexplicably experiencing one of the other's difficult childhood memories.

Podfic

🔥[podfic] i'm not good with names (and you don't feel the same) by be_brave13/ @djemsowhat // fic by benwvatt/ @benwvatt (S7E7: Ghost of a Second Chance | 10-20min | Teen): Whatever you do, don’t think about her, Shannon, six feet under, carnations at her grave. And don’t think about Buck, ever-changing, sleeping on your couch at home, hands folding over faded towels ‘cause he’s doing your laundry without you asking and fingers tracing down your books, copies left over from high school; eyes roving over your body in locked-away dreams that you don’t discuss, not even at therapy; lips that haven’t ever touched you but lips that know the touch of another ー another man ー just don’t think about it. Or: Eddie goes on his date with Kim and totally, absolutely, does not pine after Shannon or Buck the entire time. (Mission failed.)

[jezebelblues]

let it snow | h.s

summary: summer of 1979. where y/n just got a new position in the DEA with harry’s little crew in miami. but are there ulterior motives?

cw: 18+ drugs / drugs usage. unedited. fem!reader. maybe angst? idk, this is just a testing-the-waters type series.

word count: approx 4.2k

miami 1979 - a bright veneer. hazy pink skies, palm trees that swayed with you, and sandy beaches that stretched out like golden ribbons into the atlantic. the tropical sun held a golden gleam over the city, its absence allowing for crystalline stardust to waft through the breeze and send electric currents through the air, fueling a restless energy.

cocaine moved like a phantom through the streets, arriving in covert waves, slipping silently onto speedboats and creeping through clandestine airstrips hidden in the everglades. brick after brick, miami became a gateway for an avalanche of white powder that invaded the city, uprooting the once ordinary streets and turning nightclubs into sanctuaries of indulgence. a gorgeous juxtaposition of beauty and ruin.

sirens scream in the distance, cutting through the humid air like a warning. the city was electrified, humming with a violent undercurrent as families, law enforcement, and politicians tried to navigate a world suddenly awash in drug money. the city basked in its secrets however, becoming a neon dream seemingly overnight. corruption boomed underground, and the feds knew it.

agent harry styles was essentially head-honcho of his little team. the feds sent down their own group of people to each hotspot they could, miami, cuba, the texas border; in order to get the smuggling under control. harry was an exuberant man, vibrant and eccentric. he always had a toothpick balanced between his rosy lips, a gleam of sweat covering his sunkissed skin.

the sun beamed down directly above them, glistening in the blue waters of the shipment dock they stood upon. they were tipped off about in exchange in product, waiting patiently for the little fishing boat to glide into the shoreline. harry was in his usual bright attire, a hot pink button down tucked into his black slacks held up by his duty belt. a black cowboy hat casted a shadow over his face - the usual toothpick in between his lips, a punctuation to his smile. some of his curls fell beneath his hat, over his ears and flat against his damp forehead. his shirt was down a few buttons, revealing his pretty silver cross and the swallows inked onto him.

harry drew his shoulders back with a grin as his men detained two smugglers, the product dragged onto the pavement as they stood silently in handcuffs. “whoo-wee!” styles beamed, a familiar southern twang laced in his words. flamboyant. two gutted swordfish sat in front of him, stuffed with carefully wrapped bricks of cocaine that were poorly sutured into the carcasses - a rushed job done on the boat. “ain’t this ‘bout a bitch.” harry laughs to himself, kneeling onto the ground in front of the dead fish. the breeze whisked around the saltiness in the air, a nose-twitching sourness emitting from the fish.

he unholsters a pocket-knife from his duty belt, slinging the blade open and slicing across the botched sutures. every piece of the fish’s anatomy was gone, replaced by blocks of cocaine. he twists the toothpick between his teeth with his tongue, his fingertips spreading the belly open a bit to catch a better sight of the mountainous blocks inside this fish. his lips curl, a dimple greeting the men he shot a look toward. harry stands up in a swift movement, waltzing toward the two smugglers. “m’just tickled pink. could kiss you both right now.” he muses, placing his large hands on one of their shoulders. “y’all just get more creative by the day - i love it!”

y/n stands on the sidelines, a forced bystander. press analysts have to go to these operations, jotting down whatever happens on a quaint little notepad that sat in the back pocket of her jeans. only essential information was written down, basically the who, what, when, where and why’s of the situations they found themselves in. nothing more, nothing less. y/n’s first choice was surely not drug bust coverage, but she was new to the unit and couldn’t exactly protest direct orders.

she lucked out, in a way, to be apart of style’s team. he’s more of a lighthearted leader in comparison to his peers. he wasn’t his commander’s favorite, (due to his attitude) but he got the job done and always received immense respect from his subordinates. at first, y/n was taken aback from her boss’ electric personally, but quickly grew accustomed to it - a weight lifted off her shoulders.

the notepad that previously sat in her pocket now rested in her palm, a red pen twirling between her fingers. her eyes narrow as she watched the event before her unfold - internally cursing herself for not wearing sunglasses to avoid the blinding of the sun. her lips part, eyes flickering toward harry. “how many kilos?”

harry flicks his toothpick onto the pavement that glittered in the light, looking at y/n over his shoulder while words softly get exchanged between him and two other agents. strands of her hair danced with the breeze, and harry was convinced he could smell her shampoo from where he stood. he grins, his gaze barely noticeable from the tip of his hat. “n’moment, sugar.” he dismisses, averting his attention back to his peers.

y/n wasn’t super successful at reading harry very well since she started working with him. he’s extremely animated, always upbeat and enthusiastic despite the job they had to do. he dressed differently from his men, too. the other agents were always in some sort of black clothing, maybe throwing in a Hawaiian button up or denim jeans. harry, on the other hand, stuck out like a sore thumb. his fingers were always clad in rings, a cowboy hat his best friend had gotten him usually resting upon his curls (if the heat wasn’t too unforgiving). his nails were often covered in some sort of chipped nail polish, something he only did on away-operations because if the men at the home unit saw, they wouldn’t understand.

he ambles back over to the fish, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. y/n draws in a bit closer, watching the agent intently. his eyebrows are furrowed beneath the bill of his hat, going to an abrupt stop. the pavement creates an audible scratch against his feet as he toes the fish. the tip of his boot gently pushes it upward - seemingly trying to estimate how many kilos there could be stuffed in there. they don’t have a scale, but she would trust his judgment - he’s been doing this too long to be inaccurate. his head tilts to the side slightly, his hands finding themselves on his hips. “80..70?” he utters, dropping his hands and turning on his heel to face her.“ ‘bout 80 kilos for both.” he states with his lips curled, jutting his chin upwards a bit - expecting y/n to write it down.

she glances back toward her paper, red ink filling any blank spaces as she mumbles the information back to herself. harry twists his torso to look at niall, a close friend on his team. he mutters something incoherent to y/n, his fingers pointing in different directions as he speaks. he then lifts his hat off his head, running his digits through his curls. he lets the breeze sweep through the strands, chasing away the heat that sat idly between the hat and his head.

y/n glances up from her notes, immediately meeting harry’s gaze. his expression was stoic, unable to read. as he starts to adjust the hat back onto his head, she averts her gaze to niall, who removed two bricks from each fish and placed it into a black duffel bag. no one seemed care very much, or simply didn’t notice. but curiosity dances onto her features, her hands lowering to her waist.

harry doesn’t miss a beat, eyes flickering between the two nonchalantly. “s’got your face in a twist?” he teases, lips pursed into a smile. she doesn’t respond, sinking her teeth into the flesh of the inside of her cheek. with an exhale, she brings the pen and paper up toward her chest again, preparing to scribble anything extra down.

“ah-“ harry tuts, grasping her attention. he steps her direction, y/n’s expression blank as he stands mere inches before her. she can see his face clearly for the first time today, a slight stubble dusting his jaw and upper lip, his cheeks a tinge of red from the sun. the collar of his shirt flutters slightly with the wind, his scent dancing along with it - vanilla laced with tobacco. he gently takes the notepad from her fingertips, his larger hand seemingly swallowing it whole. his head tips down, his hat hiding his eyes as he flips through her papers. “s’no need to write that down.” he mumbles, reading over her cherry red words. “just protocol, darlin’.” he pauses, “takin’ it over to analysis, test if its laced.” he shrugs, handing the notes back over as he looks at her through his eyelashes.

“don’t i still need to mention that-“

“y’mention every time we read someone their miranda rights?” he quips, a familiar smile back on his lips. her silence responds for her, putting the notepad back into her pocket. he steps back, creating more space between them as she fidgets with her own fingers. she doubted harry’s response, not fully, but enough for her heart to sit a bit lower in her chest. when evidence is removed from a scene they go in it’s appropriate containers, not a beat up duffel from the trunk of a car. but harry was an odd leader, this might as well be something else he does differently.

satisfied, harry gives her a nod and saunters his way back over to niall, who had already threw the dark bag into the back seat of his car. the badge clipped to his belt shimmers in the light, the sun starting to dip into the horizon with a creamsicle orange haze. his hand delves into his pockets, pulling out a red and white cigarette box with beat-up corners. used. he flips the top open, revealing a huddle of fresh toothpicks and about three cigarettes smushed to the left side. he bites onto one of the picks, rolling it over to the corner of his lips with his tongue. it hangs lazily as he shoves the box back into his pocket. he’s been doing this for over a year now, wanting to quit his smoking habit. the toothpicks would hold the scent of the tobacco, harry almost tasting it if he focused hard enough. “you look like if mick jagger was in a western film.” niall laughs, adjusting his belt to sit a bit higher.

harry grins, his tongue fidgeting around with the toothpick. “s’what i go for.” he mumbles sarcastically, his eyes meeting the blue ones across from him. his brows knit together, his face hardening barely. “how many did y’grab?”

“four.” he pauses, “told her 80 kilos when it’s clearly a bit less than that, four will go unnoticed.”

he booms out a laugh, catching the attention of the rest of his team. he turns to take a step beside niall, shoulders almost touching as he takes the hat off his head, bringing the rim to his lips as he mimics blowing a kiss toward the people in front of him. “‘nother successful bust.” he beams, “i’ll handle the report tonight, i don’t wanna see any of you for the rest of the evening.”

the group smiles, a bit eager to enjoy the rest of their friday. nightlife made the city alive, it also helped that not one person that roamed the busy streets on a friday evening was sober. pupils were so big you could see your own reflection in their eyes, the alcohol off their breath alone enough to give you a buzz. y/n’s heart quickened at the thought of having some free time - she hasn’t been able to do anything in the city (that wasn’t work related) since she got here almost two weeks ago. not a drop of alcohol has touched her lips in a month, the three short dresses she owned collecting dust in the wardrobe of her hotel room. at this point she thinks that a pair of heels would be more comfortable than the converse that adorned her feet.

“-but not miss y/n.” he chuckles, pointing at the girl with his hat as he shamelessly rips her out of her own daydreaming. her shoulders falter, lips threatening a frown. “that file cabinet brain of yours will help me write the most earth shattering report the cap’n has ever seen!” he taunts with a smile, plopping the hat back onto his head with one hand. he didn’t need any of her help writing a report, he’s been doing it for nearly a decade. but, harry didn’t trust her well enough to believe she wouldn’t overthink the not-so-discreet taking of four bricks of cocaine. he also had a rapport with his team, y/n now apart of that - he wanted to at least try to get on her good side.

her lips press into a flat line, nodding absentmindedly to her boss’s words. harry peals over to niall, whispering into his ear, smiling softly at whatever he said. niall steps away, pulling car keys from his pocket and whistling toward two men to come along with him. everyone started to disperse in the few shared vehicles, niall going a different direction than the others who took off toward the hotel.

harry glances over his shoulder, watching as evidence is collected officially and placed into a van. he chews on the toothpick, striding toward y/n and throwing her keys that previously were hooked to his belt loop. her eyes widened as she caught it, almost slipping her grasp and clambering onto the pavement. “you’re drivin, honeybee.” he smiles, not breaking his stride as he rounds the car, waiting patiently at the passengers side door.

y/n stood frozen for a moment, lips parted in surprise, before spinning on her heel toward the sleek black trans am, unlocking the door and pulling it open without a word. she dips into the seat, pressing the unlock button so her boss could fall in beside her. he places his hat on the dashboard while y/n adjusts the seat, pulling it forward toward the pedals and up a bit higher to see the road - which earns a small laugh from harry. the engine roars to life, keychain dangling from the ignition. she one hands the thin, leather wheel as she turns to pull out the dock, their silence broken with a soft tsk from harry. “seatbelt.”

her eyes roll, not entertaining his reminder as she already pulled out onto the main road. the agent sighs, reaching past her and tugging the seatbelt down over her frame, and she froze momentarily. there was a comfortable distance, but his breath caressed her check coolly, peppermint. he handles the seatbelt carefully, clicking it in beside her hip. “i coulda gotten it.” she mumbles, shifting in her seat as harry adjusted back into his own. “do you really need my help?” she asks genuinely, but also wanting dispel the heat rising in her chest from how close he was.

he juts out his bottom lip, almost as if he was thinking about it. (he wasn’t). he slowly shakes his head into a nod, casting a sideways glance at her. “absolutely.”

the trans am glides along the coastal highway leading to their hotel, the rhythmic hum of the engine blending in with the distant crash of the waves. miami, in all of its chaotic beauty, stretched out before them - a city on fire, burning with neon lights and the darker flames of a burgeoning drug trade.

y/n keeps her eyes on the road, the wheel steady in her grip while her mind spins. harry is an easygoing man, sure, but his nonchalance over it all felt a bit unsettling. there’s a nagging feeling within her, a sense that there’s more to this than meets the eye. she didn’t consider herself to be type A, but protocols existed for a reason - especially for law enforcement. nevertheless, she was new to the team, and didn’t want to press into things she may not understand.

“y’did good today.” he admits, lounged comfortably in the seat. his arm casually rested on the door, his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed.

y/n glanced at him, then back at the road. “just takin’ notes for press. that’s all.”

harry chuckled, the sound light and easy. “y’sure do, sugar. but it’s necessary - if those guys were up there, they wouldn’t know their ass from their elbows.”

she didn’t reply right away, trying to stifle her smile. his accent wasn’t thick, but it was obvious he’s from the south. “how’d y’know it was 80?” she asked, trying to move the attention away from her, and back onto him.

he shrugged, shifting the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “been doin’ this for a while. estimatin’ gets easier.”

she hums, her brows knit together. “and the four bricks are getting tested?”

she earns another chuckle from him, harry adjusting in his seat as he looks toward the pretty girl in his drivers seat. she was smart, and he started to pick up on her stubbornness. “yeah, darlin’. it’ll get analyzed, nothin’ to lose sleep over.”

but she was already mulling it over, something gnawing at her. perhaps if the product was treated like evidence she wouldn’t think twice, maybe if harry didn’t share whispered exchanges with his partner she wouldn’t have noticed. but, she swallowed hard - pushing the thoughts behind her. what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

“y’need to loosen up.” harry grins, pulling her from her thoughts. “know what i’m doin’, trust that, at least.”

she sighed, nodding along with his words. he was right, he was her superior after all. her demeanor was disrespectful, and if she acted this way at the home-unit she would’ve already been chewed out. she exhales softly, cheeks puffed out as she did so.

y/n pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, the city lights polluting the sky above them as it fell into dusk. there were few parking spaces, everything occupied by either agents or tourists. the doors to the lobby were propped open, allowing the breeze to sweep through. a few men sat at the hotel bar, and a couple in dainty florals swayed - no music playing. harry walked in front of y/n, flicking the toothpick into a nearby trashcan. the lobby smelt of cigarettes and a citrus candle as they approach the elevator, a comfortable silence between the two.

“y’okay workin’ in my hotel room? or do you want something’ more public?” he asks genuinely, taking the keys from yn and sifting through them to find the hotel key.

“yours is fine.” she mumbles, not really caring. harry didn’t come off as a creep, albeit a little mysterious. but she didn’t feel unsafe with him. so, she follows him into the room, the door closing softly behind her. the agent tosses his keys onto the bed, setting his hat to dangle off the closet handle. he raises his hand to gesture toward a desk tucked into the corner of the small room, reaching into the tiny fridge below him.

y/n complies, taking a seat onto the grey rolling chair after taking out her notepad and pen. harry hums a tune unbeknownst to y/n, ambling over to desk and setting down two mini bottles of liquor. harry still doesn’t say anything, stepping off to grab an uncomfortable looking wooden chair to sit beside her. a larger notebook already sat in the corner of the desk, accompanied by two different books, a pen, and a few files.

she does the favor of slipping the notebook toward him, along with his black pen before she opens her own notepad, reading over her information.

harry flips open the book, landing on a blank page. he effortlessly writes out the beginning part of the report, elaborating on the tip they received, jotting down the execution of the bust. she watches intently, his words neat and small. she shifts in her seat, clearing her throat to grab his attention. “remember to put down how many agents we had on the ground.” she pauses, her eyes meeting his as he glances toward her. “and um.. who was there, and did what.” she trails off, noting the smile playing upon his lips.

“file cabinet brain.” he murmurs, chuckling to himself before he averts his attention back to the paper, continuing to write. “let me see y’notes.”

she slides over her notepad, harry not breaking eye contact from his pen and paper as she does so. she watches the man before her, curls falling in front of his eyes and the muscles in his forearm flexing with every word he wrote. a small chuckle escapes his lips, letting his pen fall onto the paper as he leans back into his seat. “a fuckin’ fish.”

her eyebrows furrow, his expression shifting from concentration to amusement. “a fish.” yn says back, harry grinning.

“i love it.” he laughs, shaking his head. “never a dull moment.”

her lips curl upward, a breathy laugh emitting from her. she shakes her head, fidgeting with the red pen between her fingers. “why a fish do y’think?”

he shrugged, his smile still present. “desperation and innovation go hand in hand, darlin.” he mumbles, a hint of mischief in his gaze. he shakes his head from his own thoughts, leaning forward again to continue the report.

the night wore on, exchange of details between the two. occasional laughter fell from them, recounting the events from today. it was unusual, and a drug stuffed fish was a first for harry. y/n often stole glances at the man beside her, he was pretty, undeniably so. harry could feel her gaze, too, but didn’t mind it. her eyes on him felt good, a warmth settling in his chest. it was no question that she was beautiful, arguably the prettiest woman in their unit. and it was exactly that, that grounded him. the bureau, an agent. she wasn’t just a pretty face, she was a colleague. not only that, but his subordinate. he remained silent as he printed his name on the final page of the report, turning it toward y/n to allow her to do the same.

“and it’s only 11.” he sighs with a smile, carefully taking out the pages from the notebook and setting them into a manila folder. he slouches into his seat, taking the small liquor bottle and twisting off the cap, throwing it aside. he shoots her an expectant glance, which prompts her to do the same with the other bottle - and they both swallow it bitterly.

y/n’s face twists, placing the bottle back onto the table and shaking her head. she wasn’t use to drinking without a chaser, and although she tried to remain stoic in front of her boss - the taste simply prevented her from doing so. harry laughs, letting his head lean back against the chair with a smile. “can’t hold your alcohol?” he hums.

“i tried to keep a straight face, at least.”

he shifts with a smile, sitting up and letting his arms cross over his chest. “that you did, sugar.”

light laughter lingered in the air, filling the small room with an unfamiliar warmth. y/n tried to shake off her slight embarrassment from her previous whiskey induced face scrunch, forcing a half-smile. “i can handle alcohol.” she insisted, sounding a bit more defensive than she wanted. “just been a while.”

harry raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. “coulda fooled me, honeybee. that was quite the scene.” he chuckled, leaning farther into his chair. “no shame in admitting it.”

she grins, the lightness in the moment contrasting the tension in her chest. “alcohol isn’t my forte.” she shrugs. “besides, i’m working anyway.”

“work hard, play harder.” he smiles, a glimmer of something in his eyes that made her shift in her seat. the more time she spent with harry on this job, she became more aware of the unspoken boundaries between them that almost seemed like they could burst if you squint hard enough. harry was her superior, a flamboyant force of nature, while she was still figuring out her place in the world. working alongside him felt like it could be intoxicating, but y/n felt the weight of her reservations.

silence befalls them once again, and before she could speak, a knock echos from outside harry’s door. he perks up, crossing the short distance and pulling it open, revealing an exasperated niall. he pushes past his tall frame, not acknowledging yn as harry shuts the door behind him, confusion settling upon his features. niall’s back is turned toward y/n, the man mumbling something unintelligible as harry flickers his eyes between the two before him. his face hardens, gaze stuck on yn before he parts his lips. “i’ll see you in the mornin.” he dismisses, nodding toward y/n.

she’s taken aback, but shifts to stand up. she bites the inside of her lip, picking up her pen and notepad before warily looking back up at harry. his expression didn’t falter, eyes trailing her frame as she slips out the hotel room with a small frown. she lets the door click shut behind her, the conversation between the two men muffled and fading into the background. with a sigh, she headed toward the elevator to go up to her own floor, the unsettling thought that abrupt meeting between harry and niall was somehow connected to the four bricks of stolen drugs gnawing at her. each step felt heavier than the last as the weight of the situation settled in, leaving her with an uneasy sense of curiosity and concern.