#Can't wait for the pristine cut....

[fermentingheart]

Slay the Princess Spoilers

Slay the Princess is beautifully written, I think everyone—even people who have only see the game via screenshots—knows this. So, it's only natural that I see the lines everyone has silently agreed to be the most impactful floating around everywhere. However, one I have never seen mentioned yet, and my personal favorite line, is the one you get at the tail end of the forsaken Oblivion Ending.

"You have made a decision. It is the wrong one. I love you."

I know the Oblivion Ending is probably everyone's least favorite ending, but I think this line alone has made it my second favorite. It's so simple, especially when compared to the other lines in the game, but I love how it perfectly encapsulates Slay the Princess to me.

Two entities made to oppose each other, put in a cruel scenario where their ideals are tested, and their feelings for each other are stressed. Conflict is a natural part of relationships, and in some cases, it's even good! They're not going to agree on everything, or like everything the other does, but the Shifting Mound and the Long Quiet will always love each other, even when one has doomed the other for all eternity. There is forgiveness, and there is fondness.

[strixcattus]

This might be partly my own bias (from it being my experience) but I think I'm more right than not—the Fury is easily one of the, if not the, best Chapter IIIs to encounter first.

You get through your second chapter. You're used to the looping. Maybe you've even done a full route and think you know everything. And then the Chapter III title card fades and you're met with MEAT.

It feels like you've completely broken the world, but it's still in line with the format of the game. Some Chapter IIIs (Razor and MoC) break the game because they fall out of line with the format, so they work better once you've been through a couple routes and understand how things are supposed to work. But you can get the full effect of MEAT at any time. Others (Greys, Wraith, Thorn) break the pattern by taking away one of your options, which works just as well at the end of your first route as it does every time, but they can't match the sheer weight of looking around and seeing MEAT. The sound of the MEAT path. The MEAT cabin. The background music that's among the best tracks in the game.

Just. MEAT. You get past Chapter II and for your troubles you get MEAT. It really sets up how much you can break the game.

[randomciabatta724]

I can't hang out rn sorry, I'm on a path in the woods. And at the end of that path is a cabin. And in the basement of that cabin is a princess. I'm here to slay her. If I don't, it'll be the end of the world.

All in the company of the voices in my head and a very passionate antimonarchist

[pareidolla]

IT'S HERE!

okay okay okay so i won't be doing a proper liveblog of everything but i'll be reblogging this post w/ some reaction notes ♡ all spoilers will be tagged + kept under a read more for the next week so don't worry abt that (i know i've accidentally forgot to tag some voice combo spoilers so i promise to be mindful this time </3)

[deconstructthesoup]

All right, well, SOMEBODY'S gotta do a breakdown of the trailer, right?

[lesbianweed]

Slay the Princess AMV - The Bells of Lyonesse

this game and all the different facets of the princess make me feel so many intense emotions so i tried to make something that captured some of those feelings. this is a video about trust and violence and love, and it's my love letter to the princess and nichole's incredible voice acting for her 💖

[ifytikwid]

Vibrating out of my seat rn bc theres LESS THAN THREE HOURS

[mercuriallily]

I have 80 hours played of Slay the Princess and all 97 achievements how am I STILL finding new stuff

[bearimba-reblogs]

Got too much stuff I wanna draw and not enough time to draw it (I have plenty of time, I'm just Slow At Art and amazingly impatient. please send help.)

[shotmrmiller]

simon isn't a man you take home. he's for the literal streets. dresses like he's homeless because all that matters is that his throwing knives and handguns are pristine. the only reason his home is spotless is because he doesn't live in it, it's all for show. his pantry has only salt and mouse traps, his fridge a long expired bottle of ketchup and something that if anyone ate, they'd gain superpowers.

he's got a crazy look in his eye, and who can blame him after all that shit he's been through? gut-wrenching betrayal, unimaginable torture, then buried alive shoulder to shoulder with his ol rotting buddy, ol decaying pal? he joined the military a butcher's apprentice, and now he's an echo of what simon riley used to be, a fading silhouette that wanders the corridors in base. a ghost.

he has to play music whenever he's not at work just to keep the screaming voices in his head at bay, and it has to be loud enough to drown out the incessant high-pitched ringing in his ears. a cacophony of noise that wears his thin string of patience into in-existence.

he's a killer, he's a man who's donned his skull mask for so long that he's forgotten the face underneath.

you don't bring a man like him home. and when you eventually did, even your parents had agreed.

he looks one clown short of a circus.

he hovers over you like a ghost. (ha)

possessive, obsessive, paranoid.

he'll kill you if you try to leave him.

simon heard everything, not like they had tried to keep their voice down. it hadn't really mattered to him, empty words pelting knotted flesh only a sharpened knife could cut through. but you hadn't taken any of it.

his little hero, coming to his defense. it'd been the first time- in a long time- that his icy cold, tiny heart skipped a beat.

simon's always been his own savior. he saved himself from the shit life he had with his family by joining the army. he'd clawed his way out of his own grave, freshly turned soil stuck under his fingernails for weeks. he'd gone after the head of roba, in the name of vengeance. even now, he's a part of the justice league, the task force 141.

unsung heroes.

and here you were, standing in your parent's kitchen, all bared teeth and scalding temper- over him.

simon's so aroused that when he rises from where he's seated, he sways on his feet. there's no stopping him from briskly walking over to you and hoisting you up and over his shoulder, heading for the door.

there's no stopping him from throwing you into the backseat, and climbing in after.

you weakly try to stop him with stammered words, just wanting to know what the fuck he's doing but when simon starts to impatiently undo the button of your jeans, his confined manhood pushing up underneath you, it clicks.

you don't want him to stop when the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your slippery clit with expertise, thick fingers curling inside your swollen cunt.

you definitely don't want him to stop when his cock slides through your slick folds, his hand wrapped around his thick base. his tip pushes inside, mild discomfort already flaring. gravity then does the work, slowly sinking you onto him until his thighs are flush against your arse. the sweet, decadent burn of him splitting you in half sparking your nerve endings alight, from the waist to your knees.

you beg him not to stop when he fucks you in earnest; desire, sticky and wet, dampening the coarse trimmed hair of his cock. the air inside the truck muggy, heavy and thick with sex. he places his hand under your navel, right when he knows he is, and grunts when he gently presses down. the noises coming from you and your sodden pussy are obscene, lewd, downright vulgar and he wonders if you'd let him record it- to replace the banal music he usually listens to.

your breath hitches beautifully, and simon makes sure to watch how you let go of his shoulder to weave that hand downward to take yourself over the edge.

"impatient little pet, can't even wait f'me to get ya there, eh?" the low chuckle he lets out is cut short at the feeling of your slick walls fluttering around him, making him groan. he keeps his sharp gaze on you when your body tenses, back arching as you jerk fast, little circles over your pearl. he plants his feet and begins to thrust upward, your weight nothing to his strength and-

how beautiful you look in the pleasure he brings you.

it's cliche, truly, that he comes when you do, but he couldn't care less in this instance. your cunt squeezes him like a silken fist, a tight vice that milks his cock almost painfully so. his grip around your waist is bruising, but it only adds to the sensation- the delightful bite of pain prolonging your pleasure.

the base of his spine tingles from his climax, and his breathing is ragged. alive. your hands skim the wide breadth of his chest, as if brushing off the dirt he'd once been buried under.

his little hero.

you took him home, so now he takes you to his.

(...don't look in the kitchen, pet.)

[blacktabbygames]

Slay the Princess is now one of the top 200 highest rated games of all time on Steam. Absolutely unfathomable to think about. There's something like 70,000 games on Steam.

Thank you so much to everyone who's left a review! And thank you so much to everyone who's enjoyed the game.

We can't wait to share even more of it with you this fall — The Pristine Cut is gonna blow the initial release out of the water ^^

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Could you do Navia, Clorinde and some other girls of your choice with a s/o that says "Those look quite heavy, mind if I hold them for you?" as they hold out their hands

(Genshin Impact) Navia, Clorinde, Chiori, Furina, Lynette, and Arlecchino's S/O asking to hold their hands

I ain't even gonna lie to you anon, I was this close to writing something entirely else before I did a double take. Can't-Read-Chris almost came back after such a long absence.

Navia at first is confused when S/O speaks up.

(Navia) "Huh? But I'm not holding anything-"

When her eyes glance downwards to their hands, Navia's confusion quickly turns into amusement, with the faintest hint of a blush.

(Navia) "Ooooh! Smooth, S/O!~"

Navia energetically takes S/O's hands into her own, leaning close into them as she laughs.

(Navia) "If you're offering, then of course! Do carry these heavy hands, S/O!"

Clorinde takes a second to process what S/O was asking. The only thing she had was-

...Ah. Her hands.

Clorinde quietly chuckles as she gently offers her hand to them, letting her palm squeeze around S/O's.

With how amused she is, Clorinde doesn't particularly care if anyone sees her like this, her focus entirely on S/O.

(Clorinde) "My thanks, S/O. Chivalry is not dead yet, it seems."

Chiori raised an eyebrow since she wasn't carrying her usual swords for cutting, let alone working at all.

Sighing out loud, Chiori finally realizes what they meant as her eyes rolled.

(Chiori) "How long did it take you to come up with that line, S/O?"

Well, since they offered, it'd be rude not to accept.

Chiori fingers interlock around S/O's, only slightly flustered from holding hands in public.

It was less so feeling everyone's eyes on her, and more the fact she was obliging that gods awful pick up line.

(Chiori) "I guess I can't criticize you too much since it worked...But I might anyway."

Furina pouts for a moment.

(Furina) "I-I am perfectly fine of carrying objects myself, thank you-"

...Wait, she wasn't even holding anything.

Oh.

OOOOH.

Furina tries to bounce back from that blunder, her hands fidgeting before promptly chuckling with as much confidence as she could muster.

(Furina) "Ah, you are quite sly, S/O! Very well, I will permit you to hold onto these pristine hands!"

Though this is her reaction in public. In private, she'd just shove her hands into them blushing madly.

Lynette's ears twitch for a moment before her eyes glance back up to S/O.

(Lynette) "...Is that really the best you got?"

Not that she knew any better lines herself, but that was probably one of the oldest ones in the book.

...Oh what the hell, not like she couldn't fault them for the complete confidence they had saying it.

Lynette's thumb brushes against the back of their hand idly as they walk side by side.

She's blushing ever so slightly, but her blank face remains. Although, her tail is swishing back and forth faster than it was before.

(Arlecchino) "Heavy with what, I wonder?"

Arlecchino knew exactly what S/O meant, but if they were going to be cute about this, then maybe she would be too.

(Arlecchino) "Are you sure your own hands are up to the task?"

Letting S/O make the first move to grab her blackened hands, she allows her grasp to relax into theirs.

She feels how soft their hands are to her own, admiring how gentle their touch is.

Judging by their happy expression, they didn't particularly seem to mind, which suited her just fine.

[bokutosbiceps]

jell-o shots

eustass kid/monkey d luffy/roronoa zoro/trafalgar law/vinsmoke sanji x afab!reader | slight smut/fluff | ~900 words 

warnings: suggestive/18+ themes, mild cursing ?

a/n: i was listening to one of my fav podcasts (the basement yard) n they were talking about how some girls use the way that guys do jell-o shots to gauge if they're good @ eating pussy. so i ran w it 😁 also def a modern au ,, thinkin bout doin more of these 🤭

18+ MDNI | under the cut for length

you can't tear your eyes away from the man across the granite kitchen island. the way his tongue shoves into the sticky jell-o, laps at the sides of the cup, and swirls around the bottom to clean up any leftover sugary alcohol has you feeling dizzy and squeezing your thighs together. as if he couldn't get any more irresistible.

maybe it was the fact that you'd already thrown back a couple of drinks. or maybe it was the fact that you'd just imagined your boyfriend’s tongue doing that to you instead. but you were feeling particularly brave, particularly needy. 

he sees you watching, and you can tell that he's wondering why you're staring at him so intently. his eyes call you over, and you take a few shaky steps around the island to sidle up next to your man.

you smooth your hands over his shoulders, your nails digging into his deltoids for stability as you lean in and whisper “can you eat pussy like that?”

eustass kid bursts out laughing. it's a hearty, wry laugh that has you pushing out your bottom lip and furrowing your brow at him.

“why the hell are you laughing?” you whine, pouting at him.

kid glances at you out of the corner of his eye, picking up another jell-o shot and repeating his ritual. he enjoys the feeling of your hold on his bicep tightening, and how you subconsciously press yourself further into him. 

he lets his eyes travel further down to where he can see you rubbing your thighs together, and he feels a familiar hunger starting to burn in the pit of his abdomen.

once the cup is left pristinely crystal clean, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest. you can feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear and he huffs out another laugh.

“i wanna see you get on your knees and beg, doll.”

monkey d luffy blinks at you, a small smile stretching across his lips as he realizes what you had whispered to him.

“you mean can i eat you out? yeah! you wanna?” luffy chirps, picking up another jell-o shot and practically vacuuming out the sugary alcohol in one go. you watch, feeling like your legs are going to give out.

luffy grabs your waist with his arm to help prop you up against him. he's still grinning at you, eyes searching yours for any affirmation of what he had asked.

he pinches your side playfully and presses a kiss to your clavicle, then rests his head on top of yours, happy to be enjoying the party with you. but now there's something else he'd rather be enjoying, and he's still waiting for your answer.

so you nod, a movement so slight you’re worried that luffy wouldn't notice. but then luffy’s scooping you into his arms and running upstairs with you cradled to his chest, searching for any open bedroom or bathroom he can use to indulge in his favorite meal.

roronoa zoro straightens up slightly, pushing his nose into the air and looking at you out of the corner of his eye. his lips are set in a firm frown as he studies you for a bit, and then they’re stretching into a sly smirk. 

he doesn't say anything, just backs you into the counter behind you and grips your waist with both of his hands. he leans in closer to you, pressing his cheek against yours. you can feel his thigh pressing against the seam of where your own thighs are clenched together, prying them apart.

you shudder at the way zoro’s hot breath is wafting across your neck, and you about explode when he presses a warm, wet kiss to the nape of your neck. he rests his face in the crook of your neck and you can feel his lips smile against your skin.

“you wanna find out?”

trafalgar d water law scoffs at you, wrinkling his nose and setting the empty cup down on the island. 

“are you drunk?” he asks lowly, noticing how you're gripping so tightly onto his arm. you squeeze your thighs together once again when you feel his warm breath fan across your face and his hazy, grey eyes bore into yours.

“no.” you purse your lips, pressing yourself further into him. “i just…need you right now.” you give him a pointed look, feeling your cheeks heat up as you glance back down at the cup. he follows your gaze and snorts a chuckle out through his nose.

how could he resist you when you were so cute, being so desperate for him?

“come with me.” law rubs the small of your back and allows you to lean on him as he guides you through the party and upstairs. “let me take care of you.”

vinsmoke sanji is flabbergasted. the empty cup falls from his fingers and onto the counter. he's staring at you, wide eyed and blushing. 

you shift uncomfortably under his stare, wondering if maybe you'd made a mistake, come on too strong perhaps. but your train of thought is quickly derailed when sanji grabs your hands and presses them to his chest.

“you mean it, princess?” sanji asks you, his eyes shining. his pupils are practically heart shaped as he beams at you, hands trembling as they held yours against his palpitating heart.

“mhm. right now.” you say softly, giving him a coy smile. you blink, and suddenly you're in sanji’s arms and he’s making a beeline for the nearest bedroom. sanji’s on a mission to serve you like the princess you are, party be damned.

taglist: @usoppsstar | @luffysprincess | @pileofmush | @anemptypuddingcup | @kingofthe-egirls

[the-kr8tor]

okok listen..

yk how some fica about hobie is like him tapping on the window, you let him in and he’s hurt and you fix him up? what about the other way round 😮

ikik I’m so smart 😘

So cute! Thank you for requesting, hope you like it ❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw injury, cw violence mention, spider-woman! Reader, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie sits on his patchwork couch, he strums his guitar softly, a rare tune escaping from the scruffed but well loved instrument. His steaming cup of tea sits next to his notebook where his numerous cluttered thoughts are scribbled about. Some are doodles, a few are coherent enough to become lyrics for his new song.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he says under his breath, crossing out a word that does not fit well with the song. Notebook abandoned, he sticks his pen on the shell of his ear to strum the strings again.

The houseboat suddenly jostles, soft enough not to spill his drink, but hard enough to knock his pen off his ear. Hobie, knowing full well what— or who the cause of the shake was, closes his notebook immediately before he could see your masked face peek out of the circular window like a gopher.

You knock then wave to him excitedly. He feigns annoyance through narrowed eyes, which made you pout under your mask. He can't see it, but he knows you're giving your signature vigilante pout and puppy dog eyes that he can't resist.

Without a second more, he stands up, socked feet creating friction on the carpet. Opening the window for you, you lean on the sill, elbows propped up on the chipping paint.

“Whatcha doin'?” You ask, voice muffled by the mask. He faces the whites of your mask, flicking where your nose should be. “Ow, grumpy.”

“What am I doin'? I should be askin' you that. You do know I gave you a key for a reason, right, love?” His eyebrow raises questioningly, piercing shining in the moonlight. “It's almost midnight, get your arse in ‘ere.”

You shrug with a chuckle. “I got held up by Goblin.”

“I swear if I ever see that wanker flyin’ ‘round—”

“—You'd throw a molotov at him!” You finish for him. “I know, my love.” Patting his cheek, you climb into the houseboat like usual, groaning and wincing when your skin pulls at your injury.”

“You hurt?” He helps you up on your feet, hands holding your arm, worry etched on his handsome face. “Love?” He asks again when you don't answer, his hands reach up to the hem of your mask, not pulling, waiting for your permission.

“Just a tiny bit.” Your pained wince under your tone says otherwise.

“Can I see?” Hobie asks, thumb brushing along your clavicle. With a nod from you, he gently tugs at your mask, effectively pulling it off without aggravating any injuries you might have on your face. “That doesn't look like a tiny bit, love.”

He sighs, eyes roaming along the tiny cuts along your face. But his main concern is the large gash along your jaw that runs up to the side of your nose. It's an angry wound that still bares goblin's unmistakable mark from his claw. Your mask in his hand feels pristine despite the injury, he wonders if you changed it before you got to his place so he wouldn't worry too much.

“I know, ugly, right?” You give him a weak smile when his silence cuts through you. “I–I just wanted to stop by so you don't worry when the radio broadcasts the fight in the morning.” Cupping his cheek, you reach up to flatten the folds from his knitted brows. “You'll get old really quick if you keep doing that.”

“Not ugly.” He shakes his head, hands falling down to your shoulders to rub soothingly. “Still bloody fit.” You give him a gentle smile. “Sit down, let me take care of you, yeah?”

You inhale sharply, you'd be lying if you tell him that you're all fine and dandy after getting pummeled on the ground. “I can just go home, I really just wanted you to see me now so you don't have to worry about me tomorrow.”

“Well, I can worry now, or tomorrow. I choose now, love.” His eyes soften under the moonlight, and you can't help but surrender and embrace him fully. He hugs back, arms wrapped around your middle protectively, knuckles tracing your spine. “Anythin’ else I have to worry ‘bout?”

“Nothing else, I'm just due for some cuddling.” You say as you peck the underside of his jaw lovingly.

“Doctor's orders, I bet?” He whispers, eyes closing, face hidden in your hair whilst avoiding your scratches.

“Yeah, I have a prescription and everything.”

Hobie chuckles, patting your behind to make you place your feet on top of his. Once you get the message, he waddles towards the couch with you still in his arms. You help by giggling into his skin, lips meeting his warm cheek.

He sits you down gently, “I'll get the kit, stay.”

“Yes, sir!” You mock a salute, making him chuckle.

“Far from it, love.” He leaves, but not without you smacking him behind the second he turns around. Looking over his shoulder, he smirks. “You're playin’ a dangerous game.”

You tilt your head, lips curling into a playful smile. “I know exactly what I'm doing, Hobs.”

With a roll of his eyes, and a quip on the tip of his tongue, he walks towards the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit. All with a grin on his lips, and stomach doing flips.

You've almost fallen asleep on the couch when he finally comes back. The cold sting of the antiseptic hits your cheek as he dabs it with a cotton ball. “Ouch.” You can't seem to look away from his eyes when he sits this close to you.

“Almost there, I'll make this quick.” He says while he lets you wrinkle his shirt in your grip.

“Why is it every time I see you I get lost in your eyes?”

“You see me everyday. You tellin’ me you get lost every time I look at you?” His movements pauses, eyes twinkling under the lamp. “How do you get anythin’ done?”

“Oh,I try.” You wink, but your wound prevents you from winking fully, making you look like you're spasming.

“Alright, you bloody flirt.” Chuckling, he places his thumb over your eyelid to make the skin relax. “Did you get him?”

“Mm-hmm, I got him by electrocuting his ass.” You lean into his touch as he continues to tend to your wounds.

“That's my girl.” He nudges your nose with his own, and then gives you a quick kiss on your lips. You chase his lips when leans away, pouting again. “All done. You didn't need any stitches.” He rubs your thighs affectionately, smiling sweetly at you. “Stay the night?” He knows you'll eventually heal before lunch tomorrow, but he'd still tend to you no matter how many times you tell him about your abilities. He'd do it every time you come to him.

“Absolutely.” You close the distance, breath fanning across his lips as you kiss once, twice, before moving away. He sighs, smiling in content. “If you tell me what you're working on.” Glancing towards his notebook, you give him a sly smirk.

“Cheeky.” He grabs the notebook before you could. “No.”

“Aw, come on, Hobie! Just a peek!”

[writingfics-passingtime]

hi, can you please write about the reader overthinking decorating a pumpkin and loki threatens to tickle them if they don't start it 🤗🤗

I can still post pumpkin content cause it's still November, right?

Here's a sassy, stoic reader, an absolute teasing menace Loki, and a tender, emotional ending (because I can't help myself).

word count: ~4300

pairing: Loki x female reader

content / warnings: sexual tension, suggestive banter, flirting and touching, tickling, swearing

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a suggestive relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: thank you anon ~ I wasn't going to respond yet because my prompts aren't open, but I've seen a few other writers receive and fulfil this ask, and I've liked seeing what other have done with it. My imagination went a little wild. Thanks for your message x

If anyone has an idea for a title, help a girl out

The room was alive with voices, clinking bottles, and the occasional scrape of a knife against pumpkin flesh. The compound’s main dining hall had been transformed into an unlikely tableau of domesticity. Avengers, gods, and spies bent over their assigned gourds with varying levels of skill and enthusiasm. Stark’s pumpkin already looked like a disaster of glitter and questionable wiring, while Natasha’s had been carved into a clean, menacing grin, a masterpiece of precision.

And then there was you.

Your pumpkin sat pristine and untouched in front of you, its smooth surface mocking your indecision. Brushes, carving tools, and paints were scattered around your space, all conspicuously unused. You held a small knife in your hand, twirling it absently as you stared at the blank canvas.

“Do mortals often find themselves defeated by vegetables, or is this particular weakness unique to you?”

Loki's voice slid over you like velvet, dark and rich, tinged with mockery.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a fruit, actually.”

“Ah,” he drawled, moving closer. “Semantics. How very like you.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the table, his long, lean frame clothed in casual, dark fabrics that clung just enough to remind you that he wasn’t of your world. His sharp blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed your untouched pumpkin.

“You’ve been staring at it for nearly an hour,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Surely even you can’t find this much to overthink.”

You exhaled sharply, finally meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m waiting for inspiration.”

“Or perhaps you’re simply afraid to begin.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse stumble. “One wrong cut, one poorly chosen stroke, and the whole thing could be ruined. What a tragic metaphor for your careful, overthought life.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” you said dryly, turning your attention back to the pumpkin. “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

“Work?” His laugh was quiet, mocking. He moved closer, the faint rustle of his clothing brushing against your senses like a whisper. “Sitting frozen with indecision isn’t work, darling. It’s fear.”

You bristled but kept your voice calm. “If you’re so invested in this pumpkin, why don’t you decorate it yourself?”

“Because I find your quandary far more entertaining.”

He stepped around behind you then, his tall frame casting a shadow over your seat. His presence loomed, a magnetic pull you both resented and couldn’t entirely resist.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he said softly, his voice close now, the faintest trace of his breath against your ear. “Either you begin decorating this ridiculous fruit, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

You turned slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. They gleamed with dark amusement, his smirk widening as he caught the way your lips parted involuntarily. “Oh? And how exactly would you do that?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I could start with this.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against your sides, featherlight but enough to send a jolt through you. You stiffened, gripping the edge of the table as his touch lingered, just shy of maddening.

You twisted in your chair to glare at him. “That’s your plan? Tickle me into submission? How original.”

His chuckle was low, dark, a sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Oh, I think it would be quite effective. And besides,” he murmured, leaning closer, “I suspect you’d secretly enjoy it.”

Your breath caught at the sheer audacity of him, the way his voice dipped into something so sultry, so intimate, that your stomach twisted. “Sounds like you're desperate for an excuse to touch me,” you shot back, your tone sharp despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more deliberate. “Desperate? No, darling. Just curious.”

His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, as if he could see straight through you to the rapid beat of your heart.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the tension coiling taut as his words hung there, daring you to respond.

Your grip on the table tightened as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as heat coiled low in your stomach.

It felt like gripping the steering wheel of a car spinning out, but you snapped the moment.

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are."

Loki laughed, soft and wicked. “Of course not. And you're the picture of composure, as always."

His hand brushed against yours then, the faintest graze of his fingertips, and you swore the room tilted.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice a low murmur, his eyes locked on yours. “Prove me wrong. Pick up the brush. Start decorating. Show me you're not afraid of a little fun.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the dark amusement in his smirk, the sheer magnetic pull of him it was... intoxicating.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you grabbed the brush. “Fine,” you said, your voice tight as you dipped it into the paint.

Loki straightened, his smirk triumphant but his eyes still glinting with wicked intent. “There’s a good girl,” he said softly, the words like a caress against your ear.

It left you burning long after he’d stepped away.

As you focused on the paint in front of you, doing your best to ignore the heat coursing through your veins, you felt the thrill of his words linger.

The brush hovered over the pumpkin, the orange, unsullied skin glaring up at you like a taunt. Loki had retreated to the far end of the room, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table as he spoke with Thor. You knew it was only a matter of time before his attention flickered back to you, the heat of a flame too close for comfort.

You had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm under his gaze any longer.

Sliding the brush down as quietly as possible, you rose from your seat. The soft scrape of your chair legs across the floor was muffled beneath the ambient chatter of the room, and Loki didn’t so much as glance your way. Your pulse quickened as you edged toward the door, heart hammering with every step.

He didn’t follow.

Once you’d slipped into the quiet of the hall, the tension in your chest eased, and you let out a breath you were very aware you'd been holding.

You made your way toward the compound’s library, the solitude of it a welcome balm. The others would still be occupied for at least another hour - enough time for you to lose yourself in the pages of your book and avoid whatever game Loki had been playing that almost made you crack.

The library greeted you with its familiar quiet, the scent of leather sofas and paper a comforting presence. You found your usual spot tucked away in a far corner, a large bay window cushioned with soft pillows overlooking the courtyard. Settling in with a contented sigh, you pulled your book from where you'd wedged it between the seat cushion and the wooden frame.

The story drew you in almost immediately, the tension of moments ago dissolving into the words on the page. The sunlight filtering through the window began softening into twilight, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow.

The quiet here was sacred, untouched by the chaos of the compound. As you turned the last few pages, your chest loosened, the illusion of safety creeping in.

Surely, he hadn’t followed you. Surely, Loki had other things to occupy himself-

Surely not.

“I expected better from you.”

The voice slithered into your ears, so low and sudden that your breath caught in your throat. With all your years of training, you managed to stay frozen. Futile, though. You knew he could see right through it.

You looked up, and there he stood, shadowed and immaculate, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of a single, golden lamp. His icy blue eyes glinted with cruel amusement, his lips curling into a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“How... predictable,” he continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You flee like a rabbit, thinking you can burrow away from the wolf.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced yourself turn back your book. “I don’t recall fleeing,” you started, turning a page. “I walked out, actually. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the difference in your old age.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling over jagged peaks. “Ah, there it is. That fire you wear like armour. Does it soothe you to pretend you’re unshakeable?”

You scoffed, even as your pulse betrayed you. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone whose only hobby seems to be tormenting me.”

“Torment?” he echoed, his voice silken as he closed more distance between you. “My dear, if I were tormenting you, you’d know it. Shall I demonstrate?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning another page of your book. The words blurred before your eyes, but you kept your expression neutral. “If you think I’m going to feed your ego by reacting, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

"Why did you refuse to take part?" There was something unnervingly earnest in his voice that pulled at your heart. "Why did you leave?"

You looked up, wearing a mask of indifference and sarcasm. “I didn’t realise decorating pumpkins was a matter of state importance.”

The smirk tugging at his lips was slow and predatory, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Such sharp words, little rabbit. Always so quick with your tongue when your heart’s trying to claw its way out of your chest.”

Your pulse spiked, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you tilted your head, letting a slow, sardonic smirk curve your lips. “You said you weren't desperate, Loki. But you seem to have taken to taunting me for sport."

The laugh that slipped from him was low and sinuous, curling like smoke through the still air. “Oh, I don’t need sport to occupy me. But you…” He leaned forward, the space between you vanishing in an instant. “You’re far too entertaining to resist. Especially when you’re trembling behind that mask of yours.”

“I’m not trembling.”

“No?” His voice was a purr now, his breath brushing your ear as he lowered himself just enough to meet you at eye level. “I suppose you weren’t squirming earlier, either. Like prey in my hands.”

Your cheeks flared with heat, but you kept your expression neutral. “You sound obsessed.”

“And you sound very ticklish.”

The way he said it - smooth, dark, laced with that damned smirk -sent a ripple of mortification through you. It was all the confirmation you needed of his intentions to follow through on his earlier threat.

It was inevitable.

So you leaned back, lifting your book as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze. If you were going down, you were going down swinging. Well, verbally, at least.

“You’re overplaying your hand.”

“Oh, am I?” He stood to his full height, towering over you now, his shadow eclipsing the faint light. “Because the ones who act so tough, so stoic, so unbothered... they’re always the most fun. It’s so very delicious to watch them fall apart.”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” You forced your tone into something light, dismissive, though your grip on the book tightened. “That you’ve got me figured out?”

His smirk deepened, his head tilting as he studied you like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “I don’t need to tell myself anything. You do all the work for me.”

Your lips parted for a retort, but his eyes flickered down to the slight tremor in your fingers, the way your knees shifted restlessly against the cushions.

And you saw how his smile widened, satisfied and predatory, when he saw all the hallmarks of someone about to flee.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, voice dropping to a velvet whisper. “Run. It’ll be more fun for me.”

For a split second, you froze, torn between logic and instinct. Then you bolted, your book tumbling to the seat as you darted for the nearest gap.

But Loki was faster.

You didn't make it two full steps before he caught you with a preternatural ease, his ensnaring hands dragging you back against him in one smooth motion. His low chuckle brushed your ear as he manoeuvred you down onto the window seat, half-pinning you on your side with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

“Pitiful,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery. “And here I thought you’d make it a challenge.”

You shoved at him, scowling. “Let me go, you overgrown-”

Whatever venom you’d prepared was shattered as his fingers pressed into your ribs, curling with precision against the fabric of your sweater. Laughter burst from you, loud and uncontrollable, and you immediately clamped your lips shut, mortified by the sound.

“Ah,” Loki purred, his grin widening. “There it is. That lovely sound you try so hard to keep from the world. Go on, darling. Let me hear it again.”

“Loki, wait- no!” you gasped, but his hands had already found the curve of your waist, his fingers pinching with precision that felt criminal.

“No?” he echoed, mockingly incredulous. “You were so calm a moment ago. What happened?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, squeezing tighter, his nails grazing the bare skin of your sides. You quaked at the contact, laughter spilling out uncontrollably as he found every sensitive spot with uncanny accuracy. Your hands clutched at his forearms, his chuckle hot and tempting against your neck as your head fell back in mirth.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice low and commanding, the words a dark melody against your ear. “Why did you run?”

“I- I...” you wheezed, twisting in his hold, going nowhere. With a ferocious, defiant growl, you yelled, "I... walked!"

Loki paused, his lips curling in that knowing smirk, and then he tickled harder, digging in with precision. You crumpled back against him, laughing helplessly, unable to catch your breath. Every sound that left your mouth was a mix of laughter and helpless gasps, each one a surrender to him, to the unrelenting tickling.

“Let's try again,” Loki commanded, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me why you fled.”

You struggled to pull yourself together, trying to come up with another witty retort, but before you could speak, Loki found an especially sensitive spot, just under your ribs, and his fingers locked in with a brutal efficiency. You shrieked, squirming beneath him, but he held you there with the effortless force of a god, his smile widening against the shell of your ear.

You thrashed harder, your laughter raw and breaking, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ll- kill you-”

“You’ll what?” He laughed, low and dark, his fingers picking up speed again, pressing and kneading with wicked precision. Every stroke of his hands felt like it was designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits and then some.

The realisation hit like a blow: he could read you. Every shudder, every hitch in your breath, every twitch of your body. And worse, he was enjoying it, adjusting his touch with the kind of skill that only centuries of mischief could hone. His hands didn’t just tickle; they teased, tormented, mastered you.

"You- oh my g-" you gasped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "You absolute fucking-"

“Such language,” he chided, his tone a tease of disapproval. “And after I’ve been so gentle.”

His fingers danced lower, teasing the curve of your hips, and the laugh that escaped you was so deep, so raw, it left your chest aching. Loki stilled for half a heartbeat, his grin sharp as he took in the sound, before redoubling his efforts. He pressed his thumbs into the tender space just above your hipbones, his fingers curling to squeeze in a way that had you screaming, your body writhing in his iron grip.

“Okay! Okay!” you gasped, tears of mirth welling in your eyes.

“Speak, then,” he commanded in low and silken voice, his fingers unrelenting. “And don’t lie to me. You won’t like the consequences.”

“I—” You hesitated, your breath hitching, but he gave you no mercy. His nails dragged lightly over your ribs, and the sound that tore from you was half a laugh, half a desperate gasp.

“Speak."

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself!” you finally choked out, your body trembling beneath his. “I didn’t want to make something stupid and have everyone see how bad it is!”

Immediately, his hands stilled, and you gulped in a shuddering breath. He unwrapped his arms from around you and leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. You shoved at him weakly, as if not quite believing he was retreating.

“Well,” he said, standing and staring down at you, admiring his handiwork, “you’ve certainly made a spectacle of yourself now.”

You glared at him, flushed and breathless. “You... are insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, his grin returning, “are utterly fascinating. Shall we?”

Before you could protest, he hooked his arms under your knees and around your back, sweeping you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the door. You squirmed in his grasp.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“Delivering you back to the battlefield,” he said, his smirk a knife’s edge. “You’re not escaping that easily. You’ve still got a pumpkin to ruin, and I, for one, am thoroughly invested in the spectacle.”

You groaned, your head falling back in defeat. "I hate you."

The smirk in his voice was undeniable. "No, you don't."

The dining hall was no longer the lively scene it had been earlier.

Now, it was deserted, shadows stretching long and dark across the room, flickering with the faint light of a few dying candles. The scent of melted wax and pumpkin guts permeated in the air, and the silence was nearly oppressive.

Loki carried you inside, his grip firm but not unkind, and though you didn’t resist, you couldn’t help but feel a smouldering irritation at the way he seemed to enjoy this small victory. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, steadying you, as though daring you to bolt again.

You stepped forward, stopping just shy of your untouched pumpkin. Its smooth, orange surface gleamed in the low light, mocking you. The tools remained where you’d left them, and the weight of your earlier frustration pressed at the edges of your mind.

“I... don’t know what to do with it,” you said finally, turning back to Loki. You hated how the admission sounded - small, almost defeated - but there was no taking it back now.

Loki’s sharp gaze softened imperceptibly. His lips twitched, but the smirk didn’t fully form. “Then I shall help you,” he said, his voice low and smooth, offering no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he sat in your chair with that infuriating ease, his presence commanding even in the simplest of movements. His eyes met yours, glittering with a mixture of challenge and amusement, and he reached out a hand, curling his fingers in a silent demand.

“What are you-” The words barely left your mouth before you realised he was beckoning you to sit on his lap. Heat flushed through you, unbidden, and you scoffed, trying to mask it. “You do realise chairs are meant for one person, don’t you?”

Yet, unwilling to have him see how he was sliding under your skin, you turned and settled yourself against him. His muscled chest brushed against your back, his legs firm and solid as your seat.

“And yet, here we are,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His hand settled at your waist - an anchor, not a cage. “Now, let’s see if we can salvage your poor, neglected pumpkin.”

You scoffed, grabbing the carving tool. “Fine. Show me your masterful technique, Your Highness.”

The title came out sharper than intended, but Loki only chuckled, low and indulgent. He leaned closer, his shadow engulfing yours, and reached around your shoulder to guide your hand. His fingers slid over yours, his grip firm but not harsh. “Relax,” he murmured. His voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “You grip it like a weapon. This is art, not war.”

You bit back a retort and let him guide you. His body was close enough that his every movement brushed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Together, you began to carve into the pumpkin, slow and deliberate. His free hand flexed against your waist, your free hand steadying the canvas.

As the shapes emerged, you realised they weren’t ordinary designs. They were runes.

Norse runes. Delicate, intricate, and entirely unreadable to you.

Loki worked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his hand steady as he traced the lines with your hand.

“What does it say?” you asked eventually, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured, “You’ll see. Keep holding it steady."

The tension between you grew with every passing second. His touch lingered long, his presence close. Every shift of his body beneath yours was impossible to ignore, every brush of his breath against your skin a reminder of just how thin the line between teasing and something real had become.

When the carving was done, you slipped off his lap, feeling the need for a the brief moment of distance for your sanity, and retrieved a candle from the sideboard.

But the room felt colder without him holding you.

You lit the wick and placed the candle inside the pumpkin, watching as the light filled the carved runes, casting jagged shadows across the table.

You turned back to Loki. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on you as though he could see straight through to your very thoughts.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. This time, you sat side-on. His hands settled instinctively, one on your back, one on your knee, holding you steady. With his height, your faces were almost level, but you still had to look ever so slightly up.

“What does it say?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between you.

“The name of a great warrior,” he said, his tone mockingly reverent. “Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.”

You arched a brow, your lips twitching. “Let me guess. Your name?”

His grin widened, and the silence was answer enough for you.

You rolled your eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet undeniably fascinating,” he countered, his voice a low purr. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, more tender. Relieved. "There it is." His words were almost a sigh.

You tilted your head, raising a brow in question.

“I was beginning to fear you didn’t know how to smile.”

The intimacy of his words rendered you speechless for several, long seconds. Your mind faltered, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“What? You don't remember what happened like... twenty minutes ago? I recall laughing to the point of tears, thanks to you.”

“That was different,” he said simply, his tone quieter, earnest.

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken things. His hand moved in slow, deliberate patterns against your back. “It must be exhausting,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to sympathy. “Always bracing for the next crisis.”

His sudden sincerity caught you off-guard. You fidgeted with your hands, stained with pumpkin pulp, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“Isn’t it?” His hand stilled on your back for a moment before continuing its slow, soothing movements. “You are allowed moments of meaningless joy. To partake in frivolity. It doesn’t make you weak.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft and humourless. “I take it you didn’t buy that I was embarrassed about the pumpkin?”

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Not for a second.”

You looked up, straight into him. "But you let me go."

His gaze fell to your lips, as if he were already missing your smile. Mourning it. Plotting a witty remark or flirtatious comment that might see its return.

He then looked back to your eyes, swallowing harder than usual, his voice now gentle. “I thought you were due for some mercy. You... seem to have very little for yourself.”

The words settled over you like a weight, heavy and undeniable.

And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

"It feels wrong," you admitted in little over a whisper. "To... do things like this when so many people-" The breath caught in your throat and you had to look back at your hands, sniffing to buy some time. "It's selfish. Carving pumpkins. Decorating. Laughing at stupid things. People are out there suffering, and I’m here playing holiday games. Safe.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate movements along your back. It brought you far more comfort than you'd ever admit out loud. Not yet, at least.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, the usual sharp edges dulled. “You cannot bear the weight of your world every hour of every day. Even the strongest flame falters if it is not tended.”

The rawness of his words cut through your defences. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but your lips twitched as you tried to deflect. “You know,” you muttered, half-laughing as your head dipped, “getting tickled to death felt a lot less exposing than this conversation.”

His chest vibrated with a low chuckle, and when you glanced up, his smirk had returned, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I’m happy to oblige,” he drawled, his fingers curling against you as if preparing to pounce.

You shot him a warning look, though you couldn’t quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, wouldn't I?” he teased, his hands still hovering ominously close.

"No," you shook your head, that twitch turning into a smirk. "I sat with you of my own free will. Trusting you. You won't jeopardise that."

The playful glint in his gaze softened slightly as he settled back, studying you with a quiet intensity. "The little rabbit may just be a fox after all," he mused, ceding his advantage.

He studied you for a good, long while, you both sitting in a comfortable silence as he traced idle patterns against your back, his thumb brushing your knee.

Finally, you swallowed your nerves, and broke the silence. "Thank you. For your help.”

You looked back to the table, eyes roaming over what he'd carved with your hand;

The name of a great warrior. He'd said. Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.

"Runes are... actually quite beautiful."

He hummed softly in agreement.

You turned your head slightly, eyes still on the sharp lines. "What would my name look like?"

Then, you looked up at his face, and your breath caught.

His eyes were alight, faintly glittering from the flickering candle inside the artwork. Something between a smile and something far more satisfied curled onto his lips as he nodded at the runes.

"Exactly like that."

[kneelingshadowsalome]

what if engel is a virgin but insanely boy crazy 👁👄👁 and she will/can never not be

Hoooo boy!

NSFW below the cut

So, um. Reader never told König if she's experienced or not (if she was a virgin then my thoughts and prayers are with her.) Part of König's hostility in the crazy mating scene comes from his belief that Engel is not a virgin. He is extremely jealous of everyone reader might've had before him, so he guides his frustration to heated, possessive sex, stripping her with a knife, and so on.

But if we imagine you told him it's your first time, then things would go slightly differently. König would be much more delicate with you!

And good God… He would be even more enamored. You're kind, you're sweet, you're innocent and you're a virgin too?

König can’t believe his luck. You're just perfect. He can’t stand the thought of you with other men so finding out you're in fact untouched is only a blessing. König wants to be the only one who makes you scream and sigh. And what an ultimate fantasy: he gets to corrupt a pure, pristine virgin (of course König would never put it this way. He's simply introducing you to pleasure. Nothing wrong with that, right? He has good intentions! He's the best choice if you wish to feel good, ja ❤️)

So, König tries to keep his cool as he asks if this is what you truly want (yes? please say yes) and if this is the right time (this is as good a time as any, you just need to trust him!), is he truly the man you want to give yourself to? (tell him he’s the one, you will not regret it.)

He tries to be a gentleman and at the same time can't keep his hands off you. Hands steal their way under your clothes as he tries to persuade you by whispering things like: "I will be good to you, there’s no need to be afraid. I will be gentle, I promise…" But it’s difficult to believe anything he says because his hands are trembling, the whole man is trembling and throbbing and panting already.

If and when you're willing to have sex, König will take you in a classic missionary. No pounding from behind, no crazy unhinged mating press. And he prepares you first! With his tongue, perhaps pulls out an orgasm or two so that you will be relaxed and ready for him. It’s very likely that König pumps himself through an orgasm too while pleasing you with his mouth because he’s waited so long for this moment. Your taste and the sounds you make as he licks you to ruin are far too much. He will erupt in mere minutes and then be hard again in no time for the main event.

König tries so, so hard to control the urge to just plow you until your eyes roll in your head. He tries his best not to simply pound himself straight into oblivion. He wanted you before, sure, but now his want is doubled. Tripled. He fears he will hurt you and basically shakes from the effort to restrain himself as he finally enters you.

He goes a little over the top with the praise, too... You feel so good, nothing has ever felt better, you're such a good girl when you said yes, Lieber Gott you look cute like this, he knew you were made for him, etc. And he wants to know that you feel good. Not just to check if you're ok, but to hear how he makes you feel. Does he give you pleasure? Do you like it when he does it slowly? He can be more rough if you want. How does it feel to have a man inside you for the first time?

He's sweating from love and frustration, the hunger becomes all-consuming as he approaches his peak, and you get to see a sliver of who this man truly is underneath all that fake composure. As sad as it sounds, there's a chance he is so lost in you that he cums before you. He just can't help it. But he will make sure you get all the pleasure you need before the night is through and be extra attentive with the aftercare ❤️ (Also he would definitely be one of those guys who check if there's blood after you did it because he thinks it's a given that there is)