#Non-Hinged Containers

[seiwas]

two-part something (shouto x reader)

wc: 1.3k

contains: christmas, holiday parties, santa, mid-20's pro-hero!shouto x assistant!reader

full fic sequel: three-part honesty

a/n: just a lil writing exercise on shouto! first time writing him hehe

shouto’s late to his agency’s holiday party tonight. 

he breathes out, warmth floating as white puffs from his lips. the heating system on his office floor has been turned off, subtext directed solely to him: whoever’s here today, at this time, shouldn’t be.

his fingers move deftly around his waist, routinary—utility belt unbuckling as he reaches his desk. 

the venue for tonight is on one of the lower floors—a function room where briefings and press conferences are normally held. the number of attendees has grown compared to last year’s, sidekicks doubling and staff tripling; expected, given the agency’s projected growth next quarter. 

this is the agency’s third move since humble days in a rented studio unit (one shouto stubbornly and adamantly paid for fully, on his own), but one thing’s invariably stayed the same—

shouto’s office has always existed in its own space, whether tucked in a corner or spread out over an entire floor.

and wherever that space is, so are you. 

he settles in his seat, leather creaking as he twists to stretch his back. it’s been a long night, being dispatched earlier for an emergency downtown. his hand reaches for the folder on his desk, fingers swiping to release the yellow paper clip on the far left corner—evidence of your presence. 

since being hired as his assistant five years ago, you’ve devised a system for shouto that he now deems essential to keeping his entire agency afloat. his own urgency for paperwork hinges on the color of your paper clips (blue for next month, green for next week, yellow for tomorrow, and red for now).  

he should listen to you; the details of this evening’s take-down can be set aside for tomorrow—tomorrow, when everyone’s allowed to clock-in midday for the sake of tonight’s festivities. knowing you though, you’ll still show up early, if only to go over his desk, ensuring to swap that yellow paper clip for red. 

if he finishes this now, you won’t need to ensure anything; in all the years you’ve been his first and only assistant–a perfect match for how much of a workaholic he is–you might actually opt to sleep in for once. 

besides, it’s more productive if he gets it over with; crimes and mishaps never take breaks to party, after all—even during the holidays. 

that’s what he’ll tell you, at least. 

the party’s more for everyone else than him, anyway. 

he clicks his pen, letting out another puff of warm air as he spreads the document in front of him: 

page 1: basic information. identification details, time markers, a summary of the take-down. 

page 2: breakdown of events. scene-by-scene, additional comments, a two-beat knock on his door. 

then comes your voice, soft, unsure—

“sir?” 

—before you step inside, heels clicking against the natural stone finish of his office floor. 

he looks up, wide-eyed, piercing gray and blue. 

your gaze flits to the papers in front of him, eyebrows scrunching before you sigh. there’s an all-too-familiar smile on your face, a quiet chuckle brought about by how characteristic it is of him to be in this situation right now. 

“sir, that report is tagged yellow.” 

he shifts, looking at your paper clip; without a word, the leather of his seat crinkles again. it’s like this with shouto sometimes, you’ve come to learn: a non-response is a response on its own.

when his eyes meet yours, you shiver. 

goosebumps litter the sides of your arms, the decision to forego your blazer leaving yourself exposed to the chill of tonight’s office air. you try to hide it, but some things are impossible to keep from shouto. 

of course he notices your jaw quivering. 

“are you cold?” he stands up immediately, already moving halfway out from behind his desk.

“i’m okay, sir,” you stop him just as quickly, hands motioning for him to stay where he is.

two beats of silence find him tilting his head, gaze as intense as it’s always been pointed towards you. 

“shouto.”

“pardon, sir?” you step closer, leaning forward. 

“call me shouto.” 

the red fabric in your hand almost slips from your hold. 

this isn’t the first time shouto’s insisted on you using his name—he offered it up the moment he hired you, and the day you searched store after store for his thrifted leather chair during the agency’s second move; he’s suggested it plenty over the years, a casual reminder that it’s no big deal—if the world can call him shouto, so should you. 

pro-hero shouto, top three in the charts. 

pro-hero shouto, late to his agency’s holiday party because of paperwork—his tendency to be a workaholic. 

pro-hero shouto, asking you to call him shouto, but not in the way the world does. 

his eyes don’t leave yours as you blink, swallowing down your feelings (inappropriate, you tell yourself). 

“shouto.” you repeat. 

he nods slightly, a small, imperceptible lift to the corners of his lips. there’s an awkward pause as he looks down to the papers on his desk then up at you again.

“the party,” you clear your throat, smoothing out the fabric between your fingers, “you’re running late to your own party, si–shouto.” 

he tilts his head again, confused, “is this party not for everyone else?” 

you blink—he’s got you there. 

“i guess that’s true,” you sigh, chuckling. a pause, “that report is still yellow, though.” 

blue and gray land on white, bond papers spread out on his desk. he could argue with you, but where has that ever gotten him? you’ve kept him in check for years—it’s how he’s managed to stay on top of things. 

he looks down at his jumpsuit, the same shade of blue since he was 15. not much has changed with the design of his hero suit, just an overall sleeker design fit to match his age. the utility belt still exists, albeit more compact and less clunky; a similar modification was done to the straps that run down the sides of his chest. 

if anything, the biggest change is how the suit has molded around him—shoulders more defined, arms large enough for the fabric to cling onto it. shouto’s build has always been lean, but the areas of defined muscle stick out more evidently now that he’s older, much taller and wider.  

“i don’t have a costume.” he pouts.

you grin, stepping closer to his desk, hips digging into the edge. the red santa hat unfurls from your hands as you wave it in front of him—a perfect match to the shades of his hair. 

he blinks before you catch it, the slight curve of his lips as he leans forward, dipping his head low enough for you to reach the top of it. you tiptoe just a bit when you open up the hat to place it over his head.

you’re gentle with your touch, fingers running through the strands of his hair lightly; you tuck them neatly underneath the fluffy white rim of the santa hat. 

(it’s warmer near him, you notice—his quirk regulating a circumference of heat around himself that extends to you right now, you know. but you’re confident you’d still feel your own version of it–on your cheeks, down your neck–even if he weren’t). 

the hat sits perfectly atop his head, much like anything else that’s on him. when you lean back, moving away to take a better look, you notice it—

midnight blue, the backdrop on shouto’s floor-to-ceiling windows, littered with speckles of white—the first snowfall, and one you stand in awe of.

—gasping at the sight. 

you’re still so near when your eyes light up, zeroing in on the view behind him. you can’t help it, that smile on your face, bright and pretty, he thinks; it’s a short moment, but he feels it, a two-part ‘ba-dump’ that resounds in his heartbeat. 

a/n: they thrift the chair bc it's real leather so buying a new one is just no-no + he texts natsuo otw home after the party that he feels a bit funny! (it's just his feelings 😭)

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[xxsabitoxx]

Unfortunate

Hantengu Clones x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: this fic contains dub-con/non-con, anal sex, brainwashing, dumbification, gang banging, rough sex, bukkake,, cunnilingus, rough oral, hitting and marking, degrading, using the reader as nothing more than a toy, taunting.

A/N: this took me too damn long. Curse this month bro, I haven’t had an time at all to sit down and write. Regardless, it’s better late than never right? So here it is, the full length fic. Also ignore the way the paragraphs get progressively longer. It just happens as I write and it’s no use trying to cut them in half lmao

Word count: 7.1K

“A village by the north mountains.” you mumbled to yourself, walking through the empty streets that made up the barely there village. “Some shit this is…” you grumbled again, your findings had been less than pleasant upon your arrival. The village itself consisted of only a few homes, less than ten from what you could tell. The larger of the buildings was likely a combination of essentials for the few residents that reside here. Though you couldn’t be certain any of them were left.

You had arrived to a massacre without any bodies, something that would look like a gruesome bear attack to any passerby. Though, you expected such a scene given the fact that it had taken you three days to arrive here. “How was there no one closer…” you still couldn’t figure out why you had been sent. It was obvious from the start that you’d never make it in time, yet your crow screeched for hours on end about how you must hurry to the decrepit little village at the base of the north mountains. It sucked, to say the least.

“Anyone out there?” Your voice bounced off of the empty homes, splatters of dried blood clinging to their walls. The doors had been ripped off their hinges, windows shattered and the remains laid sparkling on the dirt. It was a lost cause, you knew that, yet for some reason you kept trudging forward. It was eerie, nothing but the moon above illuminating the world around you. The silence wasn’t helping the chill running up your spine, it was obvious that the sooner you got out of here the better.

“Last call! If anyone is out there, make yourself known!” You peaked into the second to last home, confirming no remains and no survivors. “This is a waste of time.” You groaned, picking up your pace as you began making your way down to the last home. From what you could tell, the windows had been broken but the door seemed to still be intact. Maybe they’d run away to a nearby town with a tall tale of a demon attack, treated for minor injuries and hysteria. Though it was likely wishful thinking.

It didn’t hit you until you were a few feet away from the door, blood running cold as you sensed a presence. Immediately your hand flew to the hilt of your sword, heart rate spiking as you moved to take a step forward. Something was preventing you from calling out again, the presence in that house felt wrong to you. You pulled at your blade, unsheathing it a fraction as you pushed your body forward. Just before reaching the home, the door opened itself. At least that’s what your initial thought was until you looked down.

Your mouth seemed to dry up, the scent of that demon was undoubtedly an upper rank. It seemed to be an old man, crawling on all fours out of the home with tears streaking his unsettling face. You couldn’t even make out what he was whining about as he pushed himself into the moonlight. It took you less than a second to collect yourself, diving forward with your blade drawn as you swung for his neck. When your flames subsided you realized you had missed, he was no longer in front of you either.

He was wailing loudly now, your head whipped around to the source. He was behind you, clinging to the corner of one of the houses with tears still sliding down his cheeks. There was no denying it now, his appearance was misleading, his speech was that of an upper rank and so was his scent. You moved forward again, swinging your blade to unleash another fire breathing attack. This time, your blade connected, pain shooting up your arm as it sliced clean through the demon’s neck and slammed into the side of the house.

“Dammit!” You flinched as you brought your sword back, it had only chipped a bit but it was still more than capable of protecting you. The rush of adrenaline that shot through you wasn’t because of the fact that you had beheaded an upper rank. No, it was quite the opposite really. Your entire body seemed to come to life as you watched the severed head grow itself a new body. All the while, the headless body had seemed to replace its missing head.

He… no, they were younger now, your eyes widening as they both straightened. One held an odd looking staff, eyes glowing red as he looked you over with a scowl. The one beside him was holding a fan, green eyes boring into yours as his tongue stuck out. You swore it had the word relaxed on it, yet you were equally as sure that your fear was making you hallucinate. Without hesitation, you dove at the one with green eyes, not processing that he was lifting his odd fan in your direction.

Before you could even lift your blade, you were sent flying backwards, body slamming into the house behind you. A scream of pain left you as you landed, body throbbing as you pushed yourself upwards despite your muscles screaming in protest. It took you a moment to realize your ears were ringing, the noise only beginning to subside as his laughter finally reached you. The one with green eyes had a smirk plastered to his face as his laughing died down. “Oh she’s a feisty one, huh Sekido?”

“She’s a nuisance.” The red eyed demon finally spoke, moving to lift his staff as you surged forward again. Part of you knew this was a useless battle, there was no way you could take an upper rank on your own and expect to walk out of it unscathed. If anything, it pissed you off that you’d likely die on a shitty mission like this. One that should have been avoided altogether really. For some reason, his staff never hit the ground, not bothering to avoid your assault as you sliced his head clean off again.

The green eyed demon began cackling again, the noise high pitched and maniacal as he watched his other half separate once more. You jumped back, the screeching laughter pushing you over the edge as you brought down another attack on the green eyed demon. His laughter didn’t stop, even as his head was removed from his body. Rather, he laughed just a bit harder. You flew back again, eyes watching in disbelief as the bodies split off again. Both bodies gained new heads, both heads gained new bodies.

You had fucked up, big time. “Such a stupid thing! You couldn’t figure out that we wanted you to do this?” The green eyed demon laughed again, watching as you looked between the three of them. Laughing just a bit harder as you realized only three of them stood before you. “I-but…” there was a fourth. You were certain of it… so where the hell did he go? “Karaku…you’re so loud…” the blue eyed demon whined, eyes locked on you as he referred to the green eyed demon. “Shut it, Aizetsu.”

The red eyed one spoke again, staff hovering just a bit off the ground as he scowled at you. “You’re probably wondering where the fourth one went, huh sugar?” The green eyed demon taunted you, completely torn, you couldn’t figure out where to look. If your eyes left the three of them they’d likely attack. If you didn’t try to figure out the location of the fourth, it was likely he’d kill you instead. “C’mon, little slayer… Show us what you got…” the blue eyed demon spoke, voice somber and eyes filled with sadness.

“Urogi, quit playing around.” The red eyed demon bellowed, another name, but your brain was going too fast to remember it. The flapping of wings pulled you from your daze, head whipping in the direction of the noise but it was too late. Two claws grabbed around your waist, the sudden thrust upward knocking your blade straight from your grasp. A scream of shock left you as you were torn straight off the ground, head flying upwards to see what had grabbed you. Somehow, it was the fourth demon.

He looked just as the other three did, the only differences being his eyes and his limbs. Golden eyes stared down at you, a familiar smirk on his lips. Instead of arms and legs, he had claws. His limbs resembled that of a bird or reptile, large wings expanding behind him. You jerked as he stopped, hovering in the air as he looked you over. It wasn’t until he raised his legs that you realized he was using them to grasp you opposed to his arms. “What a pathetic thing you are…” he laughed as he let you go.

You began to plummet to the ground, body and mind so disconnected from your reality that you couldn’t even muster a scream before he swooped down to grab you again. Now, you were facing him, eyes wide and chest heaving. “You humans are so easy to break… though I must say I’ve never seen the fighting spirit leave someone as quickly as it left you.” He admired your petrified face, slowly descending until he was in earshot of his other halves. “Yah know, Sekido? We shouldn’t kill her just yet…”

His eyes trailed over your body, a cruel grin covering his face as he spoke. “Why don’t we have some fun with her? It’s been years since I’ve gotten my fill of human…desire.” The implications had you feeling hot, panic ebbing up the back of your neck as you squirmed in his grasp. “Oh? There it is…” he dropped you a moment later. The fall wasn’t a big one but it still hurt when you hit the ground. The panic was mixing with dread as you realized what the situation was turning to. “Fun? Urogi why can’t we just eat her…” the blue eyed demon whined softly as he stared at you.

“Oi, Aizetsu don’t be such a prude…” the green eyed demon spoke, walking over to where you sat on the ground. He crouched before you, smiling in a way that made you want to run. “She’d certainly have a good time, don’t you think Sekido? You know we need your approval to do anything…” he turned to look at the red eyed demon, a soft thump behind you told you that the winged demon had landed. You met the red eyed demon’s gaze, swallowing thickly as you waited for him to decide your fate.

“There are rules…you know. We each get a turn, no hogging her.” You got the chills, listening intently to the demons conversing about having their way with you. “Listen here, sugar.” The green eyed demon grabbed your face, keeping your attention on him as he spoke. “We’re gonna have a hell of a time with you… satisfy us and maybe we’ll let you leave here with your life.” Behind you, the winged demon snickered, feet dragging on the ground as he too crouched behind you. “You’ll be able to satisfy the four of us with your body, right?”

You didn’t speak, tears burning your eyes as you stared at the green eyed demon gripping your cheeks. “C’mon, answer him, little slayer. It’s not polite to ignore.” The blue eyed demon had somehow closed the distance, crouching down beside you as well. Three out of the four demons surrounded you, the red eyed demon that seemed to be their leader of sorts was still standing by the house he crawled out of. You opened your mouth but nothing came out, you weren’t even sure how to respond.

“You’ll be able to satisfy us, right?” One set of claws gripped your shoulder, tugging you back a bit so you’d be forced to look up at him. You flinched as you did, the green eyed demon’s hand was still gripping your cheeks. “Y-yes…” broken and weak, though the look in his eyes told you that’s just what he wanted to hear. “Good…Oi, Sekido? When can we start?” The yellow eyed demon grinned up at his counterpart, watching him set his staff to the side and finally join you all in the middle of the dirt road. “Now. Karaku, undress her, I’ll let the three of you have free reign for now.”

You swallowed, a noise of surprise leaving you as a single claw ripped your top open from being. “He asked me, Urogi.” The green eyed demon, Karaku, scowled as he moved to rip your uniform pants off of you. “You’ll take years, Karaku… let me help.” Cold air reached your skin simultaneously, pants and top being torn from your body, no longer able to hide any of your skin. “Ah, how modest humans are wearing under garments. How lame.” You felt your face growing warm as the blue eyed demon took you in. “It’s quite useless, I mean really the garment is so thin…”

Your legs were forcefully spread, as if to prove the point of the blue eyed demon. “She smells good, doesn’t she?” Your pants had been discarded, so had your top, nothing but a thin chest binding and your underwear were left to shield you from their wandering hands. “Fear and…arousal?” The winged demon began to laugh, clawed hands coming down to grope your breasts. “She looks ready to cry and yet her body is clearly reacting to this situation.” The green eyed demon kept your legs spread wide, allowing the blue eyed demon to bend down and get a closer look.

“You wanna eat her, don’t you Aizetsu… that smell is so intoxicating…” you could barely pay attention, the rough treatment on your breasts was making your head spin. You hated that arousal was pooling in your gut, cunt throbbing with need as three pairs of eyes stared at you. “I do… you’ll let me go first, right?” His hands were on you now, six hands total touching your body. It was dizzying, “yeah sure, I know you’ll bitch if I don’t… Urogi, take off the chest covering, it’s not necessary.” The green eyed demon shifted out of the way, hands still keeping your thighs spread.

The blue eyed demon, Aizetsu, was tearing your underwear straight off. Perfectly timing it with the winged demon’s motions of slicing your chest covering off. Now, you were completely bare, breasts and cunt on full display for the demons before you. How utterly humiliating. Tears burned your eyes again, this time they broke through the barrier and dripped down your cheeks. “Aww, that needy? How fucking filthy…” your eyes squeezed shut, arms and legs thrashing in their grasp as they held you in place. The green-eyed demon laughed, accompanied by his winged counterpart. Their laughter creates an unbearable symphony.

“C’mon now, no need to fight back. We’re not completely heartless… you’ll enjoy yourself…” his grip tightened painfully, a cry leaving your lips as you thrashed harder. “Aizetsu, quit sitting there like an idiot… get to work.” He mumbled some sort of complaint as he got down on his stomach, the position was too much for you to handle. Your head turned away, limbs giving up their useless fight of escaping the demons’ grasp. Aizetsu moved closer, hands accompanying Karaku’s on your thighs. His breath was fanning over your cunt, uttering a quiet “Itadakimasu” before delving in. You squealed, body thrashing at the sensation of his tongue.

A loud noise slipped past your lips, vibrating your throat as the demon below you kitten licked your cunt. “C’mon now, enjoy it… you won’t find anyone else to give you head like Aizetsu will.” The green demon cooed, face close to yours as his blue eyed counterpart found his rhythm. You could no longer thrash, their grips tightened almost suffocatingly as the blue eyed demon’s lips suctioned to your clit. You could taste blood with how hard you were biting your lip, desperate to not let any noises out. The green eyed demon seemed to catch on, two fingers coming up to pinch your nose. “Ah ah, you’re going to tell us how good we do.”

You gasped for air a moment later, head tilting back into the winged demon’s shoulder as two fingers stretched you open. Aizetsu was lapping hungrily, collecting your arousal on his tongue. He was whining, the feeling sensing vibrations through your clit as his fingers squelched with each thrust in and out of your cunt. Your body betrayed you, seemingly becoming wetter with each passing second. “Damn, hear that Sekido? Aizetsu’s getting her all worked up.” The winged demon behind you cackled, the green eyed one was far too engulfed by the sight. You couldn’t stop the noises you were making, mine fully focused on the pleasure washing over you as he curled his fingers.

“F-fuck…” you choked, eyes shutting as he grazed a particular spot inside of you. “Oh? Do that again, Aizetsu.” Kakaru smirked, gaze shifting from your cunt and your face. Aizetsu whined loudly, sucking your clit harshly and curling his fingers the way he had a moment prior. You convulsed, hips jerking despite their grip on you. You felt it then, the familiar build up in your gut, he was going to make you come. You became more vocal, body giving in to the pleasure he was providing. You held no shame, mind clouded with the desire to reach your climax. Your thighs tensed, a jumble of words slipping past your lips. “Hmm? What was that?” The winged demon cooed in your ear, eyes just barely peeking over to where he was still gripping your breasts.

“…onna…gonna…” you mumbled it over and over as if it were a prayer. Your entire body seemed to be set in fire, the tingling sensations shooting up your spine and down to your toes causing them to curl. “Oh! You’re going to cum aren’t you? All over Aizetsu’s mouth right? I’m sure he’d love to feel your tight cunt squirm around his fingers… right Aizetsu?” The winged demon hugged you tighter, motioning for the green eyed demon to do something you couldn’t see. The demon between your legs only seemed to work harder, fingers moving quicker as he focused all of his attention on your throbbing clit. The green eyed demon keeping your legs apart began massaging your thighs, the sensation enough to push you over the edge as you cried out.

You wailed, body convulsing in pleasure as your orgasm crashed down around you. You couldn’t hear anything outside of the ringing, vision growing spotty as you tried to force air back in your lungs. You hadn’t even realzied the mess you created until the blue eyes demon pushed himself into a kneeling position, a wet patch seeping into the dirt below. You half expected the death grip the winged demon had on you to loosen, he wouldn’t of course. His grip was still tight, eyes shifting around to look at his counterparts… not that you could see it. “Oi, Aizetsu good job…” Karaku laughed, eyes landing on Sekido with a relaxed smile. “Aizetsu had his fun, who’s turn is next? You better say me.” The green eyed demon was doing nothing to hide his erection.

Your limbs felt like jelly, body going slack in the clawed grip of the demon behind you. “It’s your turn, Karaku. Throat fuck her.” Those three words snapped you back to reality, watching as the blue eyed demon was pushed roughly out of the way. “I thought you’d never grant me the fucking permission. You don’t have to tell me twice.” The blue eyed demon groaned as he was essentially tossed aside, whining loudly at the green eyed demon for being so mean. You couldn’t muster any sort of reaction, instead your lips parted obediently. “Oh? Already becoming a well behaved little bitch Hmm? You want my cock don’t you?” Karaku was undoing his pants as he spoke, the winged demon still toying with your breasts while the blue eyed demon decided to sit back and watch.

You swallowed at the sight of him, he was a sizable length with veins running up his shaft. His skin was tanned, the tip was angry red and leaking precum already.. “keep your mouth open.” He’s pumping himself slowly, studying your eyes as your pupils dilate. He can’t help but chuckle at the fact that you’re already that far gone. “Leave it to Aizetsu’s wimpy ass to break her. One orgasm was all it took Hmm? Now you’re a needy little bitch in heat.” He’s pressing the tip to your tongue, holding back a shaky whine as your tongue wiggles around it. “Hold her tight, Urogi.” The winged demon holds you tighter, a loud whine emitting from your mouth as he rolls your nipples between his claws. His front is warm against your back, his breath still fanning against your neck.

You can’t help but close your eyes as the green eyed demon plunged his entire length down your throat. A loud whine changes to a strangled gag at the sudden intrusion. “Fuck…” it’s low, just barely audible to you over your struggled swallows. He draws back, watching as you blink your eyes open, lashes already clumped together from tears. “Oh that’s a pretty sight…” Karaku sighs, completely oblivious to his counterparts' gazes. All that matters to him right now is you and the pretty tears leaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t give you much time to prepare before he’s shoving himself back in. Karaku repeats this motion over and over, not slowing even as saliva drips down your chin and onto Urogi’s clawed hands. “Sekido…”

The winged demon is peering over your shoulder, watching his counterpart’s cock disappear between your lips over and over. “Let me fuck her… please this is too easy for an eager bitch like her.” You’re too focused on the dick in your mouth to even acknowledge the one prodding your back. “Not allowed… I’m the only one that will get to fuck her properly.” his tone is final, not even Aitzetsu bothers to fight that command. Yet, Urogi won’t settle for just your throat like Karaku. “Cmon Sekido! Please… she has more than a mouth and cunt you know.” The red eyed demon scowled at the implication. “You’re nothing more than an animal, Urogi.” The ladder didn’t take offence, rather, he laughed.

“Is that permission?” He cooed, clawed hands squeezing your breasts just a bit harder as you choked and wailed around Karaku’s cock. Sekido huffed, eyes pulling away from Urogi and back to your face. “Go ahead.” You’re being pushed around, the green eyed demon quickly grabbing hold of your head to keep you in place as the winged demon behind you lets you go. You’re shivering at the lack of warmth, not realizing how cold the night air was until his body heat was gone. “You’re doing good for a bitch that was trying to run away earlier.” He’s gripping your hair so tight you think he may rip it out of your head all together. His moans are echoing along the empty village houses, reminding you of just how atrocious these four demons truly are. 

“You can take it right? You’re handling my cock so eagerly, surely a whore like you can take it up the ass.” Panic ebbed through your body, no longer overwhelmed by the way he fucked your throat. Rather, your focus was on the pair of claws pushing you forward, hands scrambling to brace yourself using the green eyed demon’s thighs. You felt embarrassment  flood your cheeks, tears flowing freely down your cheeks as his claws spread you open. You’d never even dreamt of doing anything… down there. Now, you had no choice. “This will do, since Sekido’s too selfish to share her pussy.” The red eyed demon rolled his eyes “don’t make me revoke my blessing.” The position itself was humiliating, your nails digging into the demon’s flesh as something warm prodded your ass. 

You whined, something that sounded like a strangled “no.” But that didn’t stop him, his claws were back on you a moment later, dragging you back towards him. You squealed loudly as the motion forced him inside of you. It wasn’t gentle but it wasn’t harsh either, regardless the intrusion felt foreign, making you squirm as parts of you were stretched in ways you’d never felt before. Karaku showed you no mercy, fucking your throat without missing a beat. Your panic was making your throat restrict, which only made it better for him. You felt as if all air was sucked from your lungs, body completely paralyzed under their relentless attacks. “C’mon Karaku, now is no time to show off your stamina…” It seemed as if he could go on forever. 

“Shut… the fuck up… Urogi.” He couldn’t slow his hips even if he wanted to, your mouth was too addictive. The other demon only laughed, using it as a way to hide his strangled gasping. You were suffocatingly tight, clenching around him so hard it was nearly painful. “H-ha… Sekido wants to be selfish… therefore I’ll go for the next best thing. I bet your ass is even tighter than your cunt.” His lips were against your ear, making sure you heard him over your ceaseless gagging. It didn’t take long for him to start his fast and brutal pace, exiting and reentering your ass over and over. You had no time to process, nor did you have time to adjust, rather your body was forced to try and accommodate the sudden intrusion. “Shit…shit…” he was finally losing his composure. 

“There we go! About time Karaku, I was getting impatient.” For the first time, the red eyed demon seemed a bit pleased by the events taking place. The green eyed demon’s hands gripped your hair so tightly it brought a whole new cascade of tears streaming down your face. Paired with the relentless abuse of your bottom, you couldn’t understand why you were about to cum. The tension was building with each of Urogi’s thrusts, despite nothing you were used to being stimulated. You doubted you’d actually be able to reach your peak, rather it would be dangled right in front of your face, dragging you along the edge but never actually pushing you over. Your clit was throbbing, neglecting and wishing for the blue eyed demon’s mouth. 

You glanced over at him, just barely able to see him over the hip of his green counterpart, your eyes locked briefly. His face morphed into one of shock, tanned cheeks turning a shade of bright red before forcing his gaze away. “Stop prolonging it, I want her to myself for a fucking minute.” Urogi stopped his thrusting, burying himself deeply until you were squirming from the full sensation. He wanted to hear your pretty cries, not muffled by Karaku’s dick shoved down your throat. The other only moaned out a “fuck off” before yanking himself from your mouth all together. You gasped for air, your throat hurting from the constant abuse he had bestowed on you. Karaku’s load hitting your face caught you by surprise, sticky cum pairing your mouth, cheeks and chest.

Accompanied by your tears and drool, Karaku completely ruined you. “How’s that? What you hoped I would do, Sekido?” He was panting, tucking himself away before collapsing on the cold ground, the four of you watched him wipe sweat from his brow, eyes closing as he settled his breathing. “He acts like he even did anything… I’ll show you real stamina.” Karaku on the other hand wasn’t even bothered by the backhanded comment. He was more than satisfied for the time being. You sat there now, knees spread as his arms came up to hook under your armpits and clasp together behind your head. You were completely immobile, fully at his mercy. Tears still leaked down your cheeks but at a much slower pace. “You can handle this…” again, right shading your ear. 

Urogi’s hips began moving again, without anything occupying your mouth you truly had nothing to focus on but his cock shoved up your ass. How utterly humiliating that is, your eyes welled with tears as you thought about what this must look like from an outsider's viewpoint. Though your mind couldn’t wander for long, not when the red eyed demon was boring holes into you. You held his gaze with lidded eyes, lips parted and pussy dripping onto the dirt below you. You could see his jaw tense, patience wearing thin despite his emotion being anger. You were mildly impressed by that, maybe a little shocked at yourself for trying to seduce him over to you. You’d experienced all but one, in your lust clogged mind, you found yourself aching for him. 

“Oh how easy it is to break the human spirit.” He talks softly, too softly for you to hear over the wild moans escaping the winged demon behind you. “She might be exactly what we are looking for.” Karaku was still relaxed on the ground, hands folded behind his head as he relished in the cool night air. “I don’t think she’ll let us keep her…I’d rather not kill her yet…”  Aizetsu sighed, watching intently as Urogi used you. There was no right answer to a situation like this one, but you truly did seem so obedient. As awkward as it initially was, you found yourself starting to enjoy it. The sensation was odd but somehow he was hitting places you didn’t think would be possible, your orgasm still dangling in front of you but completely out of your reach without the extra stimulation you needed. “P-please…” you croaked out in a broken voice. 

“Please? Please what…”  He moaned, cock throbbing as you continued to suffocate him. He would cum by accident if you kept this up. “She probably wants you to rub her clit.” Karaku sighed in a cheerful tone, one eye peeking open to look at the lewd sight before him. “Oh? That's what you want? One wasn’t enough? Aitezu graced you with such a good one earlier.” you whimpered, hips falling back to meet his thrusts. The action was enough to catch him by surprise, a cruel laugh bubbling out of him. “What a needy little bitch… Aizetsu get over here.” Sekido didn’t argue as Urogi commanded the blue eyed demon, he was rather curious to see how it played out. Aitzetsu was up a moment later, crawling over to kneel in front of you with lidded eyes. “You want this?” he questioned softly as two fingers found your clit. 

“Y-yes…please…” the friction alone was sending heat straight to your cunt. “Like this?” he questioned again, head coming close to yours as Urogi nearly thrusted you into him. In a weird way, you wanted to kiss him. “Yes… just like that…fuck.” you were too sensitive, your walls fluttering as your second orgasm crashed over you. You wailed, ears ringing from the intensity of your release. Your face was still sticky, covered in drying cum and tears. A moment later, the winged demon was pulling out of you, painting your back and ass in his pearly cum. “Fucking…shit…” his head fell back, wings expanding as he came down from his high. “T-there you go Sekido… her pussy is all yours to ruin.” Aizetsu was still rubbing your clit, fascinated by the way you fell into him while also trying to pull away from his touch. 

“Aizetsu, leave her alone until I say.” The blue eyed demon huffed out a sigh, moving away from you entirely. Now, you were left on your hands and knees before the four demons. The winged one had joined the green eyed one on the ground, lounging as he watched his angry counterpart stalk towards you. “You’ve done surprisingly well for a little bitch that put up such a fight in the beginning. You liked being used as a toy, didn't you? I mean look at the way your pussy has been drooling, covering the ground in your slick arousal. Covered in my counterparts’ cum.” he’s undressing as he speaks, watching your lips quiver as you struggle to meet his eyes. “Don’t act shy all of a sudden, don’t think I overlooked the way you were undressing me with your eyes earlier. You were so desperate for someone to touch your needy little cunt.” 

Sekido had begun to undress as he spoke to you, watching as your eyes devoured every inch of tan skin exposed to you. There was something different about seeing him undress, as if you hadn’t seen the bare bodies of his green and yellow eyed counterparts. Part of you had to wonder what the blue eyed demon looked like under all his clothing…how you hoped you would be granted the privilege. “It was so easy to break you, look at you. Kneeling on the ground, completely naked, not even trying to run. Though I wish you would… I rather enjoy the chase.” he’s dropping his robes on the ground, exposing a cock that is bigger than the other two you dealt with thus far. You had nothing to say, watching him with wide eyes as he observed you. “Well, if you’re going to be an obedient slut, turn around and stay on your hands and knees. 

You did as you were told, switching your position so your ass and cunt faced him. Your head hung low, hips wiggling as you clenched around nothing at all. You couldn’t run away if you tried, you weren’t even sure why you would want to. Not when a dick like his was so eagerly waiting to fuck you. “Look at that, Urogi did a number on you and your back.” You weren’t even aware of the claw marks he had bestowed to your initially unmarred skin. A low thump told you that the red eyed demon had dropped to his knees behind you. What you didn’t expect was his tongue licking up your back. Blood and cum mixed together, a foul combination that the red eyed demon seemed to enjoy. “I nearly regret letting Aizetsu taste your sweet pussy first, I should have been the one to do it. If anything, I should have been first all together.” 

You whined, hips shoving back as if that would get him inside of you quicker. A harsh slap to your already sensitive ass had a sob curdling in your throat. “Don’t rush me or I’ll leave you with nothing.” you stilled, waiting for him to grant you proper relief. “You’d make a perfect pet, you know. Get you a nice collar and keep you on a tight lease. You’d be at our beck and call like an obedient little bitch in heat. You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” He wanted you as a sex slave, the rational part of your mind that was still somewhat intact wanted to run away, the rest of your mind was screaming out “yes.” how true his words were, how easily broken you were. “C’mon, answer me or you’ll never get the cock you so eagerly want.” you swallowed, lust winning the argument as you cried out a broken “yes…please I want that so badly.” 

“Atta girl…” you shrieked as he entered you in one go, splitting your walls apart as he bottomed out. “Shit…” you clenched, suctioning to his length so tightly he couldn’t pull himself out if he wanted to. You were warm, unbearably wet, soft and inviting. There weren’t enough words to describe the way you felt. “A demon like me doesn’t deserve this.” He choked out, panting as he waited for you to relax. He was the only one to give you a moment to adjust, little did you know it was fully designed for his benefit. Sekido couldn’t recall the last time he had experienced the warmth of a human embrace, probably decades ago if he truly had to guess. His stamina was well off, but your cunt was enough to unravel him in one plunge. “Can’t take it, can you Sekido.” You recognized the voice as the green eyed demon.

“Shut the fuck up.” he growled as his nails dug into your already tender thighs. As if to prove his point, he drew himself back, nearly pulling out all together before slamming back into you. You cried out again, nails digging at the frozen ground, searching for a way to keep yourself grounded as he picked up a deadly pace. Your entire body jiggled with each clap, his arms thrusting you forward and pulling you back to meet the thrust of his hips. The motions created an echoing symphony of skin hitting skin, wet squelches adding to it. You couldn’t breathe under the pressure, every drag of his cock grazed the points the winged demon had ghosted. You could feel warmth gushing out of you with each drag out of your cunt, dripping to the ground below. 

The sight must have been nothing short of pathetic, your body betraying you, stomping your pride into the dirt beneath you. You were too sensitive, another orgasm sneaking up on you as your cunt quivered around his length. Your ears were ringing again, loud wails escaping as you quickly became overstimulated. Sekido never slowled, pounding into you with the same ferocity as before, calling you degrading names as his nails dug into your hips. The overstimulation grew unbearable but that wasn’t enough to stop him. A fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks, blurring your vision as a warm gush of liquid splattered across his thighs and the ground below. “Oh? How cute she knows how to squirt.” you were still sobbing as he pulled out of you. 

“You aren’t quite deserving of my cum just yet, maybe you’ll earn it one day.” He grounded out, grabbing your hair and tugging you backwards. “Turn around and open your mouth like a good bitch.” he let you go, watching you fall over yourself as you tried to get low enough to take his length in your mouth. “Fucking…” he cut himself off, pumping his cock erratically before shoving the tip in your mouth. Salty, bitter cum coated your tongue. You swallowed, slurping as much of him as you could manage before he pushed you off of him all together. “Look at you, greedy little whore. You want more don’t you?” you nodded, eyes so heavy you could barely keep them open. “Aizetsu, fuck her throat since she seems to be thirsty.” You couldn’t be bothered to feel shame at this point, all you wanted now was the blue eyed demon’s cock. 

He didn’t need to be asked twice, immediately undoing his bottoms to finally let out his aching cock. Unlike his counterparts, he was smaller. However, where he lacked in length, he made up for in girth. Eager and exhausted you nearly fell flat as you tried to make your way over to him. He met you halfway, hand gently grabbing your cheek and guiding you to him. Your jaw aches from the previous abuse but you open anyways, happily taking him into your mouth and lavishing him with your tongue. “Wh–ahh… what an unfortunate creature you are.” he’s looking away from you, unable to handle the sight of you licking his cock so fervently. “Look at her, Aitzetsu. Unless you think it would make you cum faster.” Karaku cackled as he whimpered. 

His noise fueled you, relaxing your throat the best you could to take all of him. You swallowed, tears leaking down your cheeks still as you tried to pleasure him. The sad demon was far different than his counterparts, you were drawn to him because of it. He was seemingly gentler with you, softer and more whiny. He met your gaze again, cheeks blossoming a neon red as he tangled his fingers in your messy hair. You couldn’t feel the cold anymore, not even as you knelt bare before him, sticky from the mess his counterparts had made of you. Your tongue glided along the velvety skin, hand reaching up to toy with his balls. That earned a genuine cry from him, the noise making your clit throb despite how sensitive and used you felt. 

He wasn’t trying to hold back, not caring if he came embarrassingly quick. He could tell you were slowly but surely losing the battle of staying conscious. Seconds away from giving up all together the moment the adrenaline wore off. It was likely due to his more timid nature, you foolishly felt safe in his presence. You moved quicker despite your body’s protest, wanting desperately for him to cum and make more of those cute noises. Tears pricked his eyes as his body tensed, gripping your hair tightly and pulling you off of him. Your hands moved before you could think, wrapping around him and pumping steadily until he came all over your face and chest. You felt filthy, body struggling to stay upright as stars blinked across your vision. You were finally giving in, nerves no longer keeping you upright as you collapsed forward into the dirt. 

Aizetsu dropped to his knees, catching you just in time as your body went fully slack. “She lasted until all four of us were satisfied… she’s a tough one.” Karaku was pushing himself off the ground finally, watching Aizetsu use pieces of your torn up uniform to try and clean you off. “I take it we’re keeping her, right Sekido?” Urogi was standing now, stretching his wings dramatically as he yawned. “Might as well, she could be the perfect fit. Maybe if she proves herself over time, we can convince, master to turn her into a demon as well.” Karaku clicked his tongue. “He would never agree. Though we could ask Lord Douma…” Urogi flinched, watching Aizetsu haul you up bridal style. “That bastard would want a couple rounds with her before agreeing to that. I’m not willing to share outside of the four of us.” 

“That’s not a decision for you to make, Urogi.” Sekido scolded, albeit he agreed. Aizetsu was silent, holding you patiently while waiting for the other’s commands. “We’ll leave here for now, keep her blade and tattered clothing where it is. It’s likely they’ll send more puny slayers to try and locate her. If they find nothing but that, they’ll assume she's dead.” Sekido was picking up his staff, moving to walk out of the village. The other three demons shared a glance before following after him with you in tow. It seems you would never be getting back to headquarters, a futile mission had completely altered your life. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all. 

©️all rights reserved to xxSabitoxx. Please do not copy or repost my work on other websites. If you see this fic anywhere but my blog or my Ao3, the content has been stolen

[princessbrunette]

easter at the chateau was pretty non existent. atleast until bunny!reader came along.

they’d heard you before they saw you, the sweetest thing clad in white — bunny ears flopping atop your head and basket rumbling in your hand as you run across the dry grass, attracting attention of the two males on the porch.

“happy easter!” you squeal, diving into jj’s arms and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“jesus girlie, you got a rocket up your ass or what?” he pats your butt, his own smile unable to be hidden, always happy to see you. you jump down, straightening out your skirt.

“hi sweetheart.” john b seems less alarmed, arms crossed as he leans against the front door hinge. “uh, what’chu got there?”

“your first clue!” you pant, still out of breath from your eccentric entrance. you reach into the otherwise nearly empty basket, merely there for appearances and pull out a neatly folded pastel pink card, handing it to john b.

“clue?” he frowns, opening it up as jj wanders curiously over to his side.

“you guys are always chasing treasure so i decided to make you guys a little easter hunt!” you grin, eyes glimmering hopefully at the two. jj points his finger at you.

“now that? that is adorable. can this little hunt maybe like, wait until i’ve had some breakfast? or—”

“you have to do it now!” your voice cracks, looking devastated at his lack of enthusiasm.

“—you know what now is the perfect time for a hunt, actually so— that’s perfect, yeah—”

john b is smiling down at the card, reading the rhyming clue you’d scrawled in pretty little curlicue. it was terribly easy, but incredibly sweet. the brunette touches his chest with a genuine smile, looking back up at you.

“healing my inner child right now, y’know that?”

his blonde best friend snatches the card, adjusting his pants with the other hand as he reads over it. “when’d you have time to hide all these clues around anyway?”

“last night! when you guys were sleeping.” comes your simple smile, fiddling with the lace trim of your mini skirt. they look at you, and then eachother before shrugging.

“yeah, checks out.”

you follow them around, giggling on their tails as they pretend to struggle with your clues. when they arrive at the last card, you scramble away— waiting for them in the bedroom where the hunt ends, shedding your clothes to reveal a frilly white lingerie set, and presenting a carrot cake you’d baked just for them.

when they bust in casually, you’re stood with a grin — stopping them in their tracks. john b’s eyebrows jump up as his gaze rakes over you and jj is quick to fix his cap, licking his lips. “woah—”

“tada! s’me! i’m the prize!” you can barely contain your excitement. small kitten heels with the fluffy ball at the toe tip tapping against the wooden floors. john b is the first to break into a grin, closing in on you.

“you know, i had my suspicions that might be the case, but i didn’t wanna presume…” his voice is warm and deep and you’re already biting your glossy lip, gazing up at him like he hung the moon and stars as he strokes the skin around your waist.

“wow, really guys? on such a holy day?” jj sarks with faux disapproval as if he isn’t actively working his belt off his shorts. you thump your foot lightly.

“guys! you have to try the carrot cake first. worked hard on it.” you’re pouting, fluttering spiky black lashes up at your boyfriends as the darker haired of the two twiddles with the white fluffy bunny ears you’d secured to the top of your head.

“yeah screw that.” jj scoffs. you furrow your eyebrows, john b shooting him a look. “oh you know i love your baking babydoll but right now i got my mind on eatin’ one thing and one thing only.” he approaches with a charming smile, dropping a kiss to your lips as john b works your panties down your legs.

“pussy?” the brunette tilts his head.

“yep, pussy. definitely pussy.”

[ihfmseatsoch]

Hii, I don't know if you do requests but could we get Jimmy x sibling reader who, as teenagers/young adults do, decide to sexually experiment... but with each other? Preferably not full on non-con but as dubious or wild as you want. 🙏 Danke.

eeep i love this req... this is the quickest ive ever written a fic because i usually procrastinate so much 😭 brother jimmy just does smth to me.. i hope this is decent :p

—

older brother!Jimmy Zare x younger sibling!reader

gender neutral reader, genitals aren't clearly defined

genre: smut, dark fic

word count: 1.8k

warnings/content: dead dove, yours and jimmy's ages aren't explicitly specified but youre referred to as teenagers, incest, creampie, mention of parental abuse, codependency, you lose your virginity to each other, (how sweet ^_^) jimmy's a perv and an asshole ofc

Jimmy was annoying, as older brothers tend to be. You two would always bicker about things that didn't even matter in the long run. Ever since you were kids, he'd pick on you, stick gum in your hair, wrestle you to the ground and punch you in the back of the head; Normal sibling behavior.

Well, at least to you two, it was just how family treated each other. You shared the same abusive shithead of a father, after all. That's the one thing you had in common always brought you together in the end.

When Jimmy and your dad got in a fight and he'd stomp his way into his room, slamming the door behind him so hard you feared the hinges would break clean off, you'd always come and check on him. See if there were any fresh wounds you needed to tend to. He was still your brother after all, no matter how much he could infuriate you.

He'd rather eat dirt and glass mixed together and wash it down with a glass of gasoline than admit that he needed you. Needed your late night talks, bitching to eachother about life. Needed those moments where you'd pass a cigarette back and forth on the front porch at sunset, listening to the neighbors old dog yap at a squirrel across the chain link fence that caged him in his yard.

He needed you to keep him in check whenever he would slip into a depressive episode. Give him the whole, "Yeah, life sucks, but you don't need to kill yourself about it" pep talk.

In fact, the only reason you've stuck around is for Jimmy. If he wasn't born, you would've stolen your dad's truck, wallet, and drove seven states away. But the universe gave you an unstable older brother, and you'd rather not come home to see him dead. You kept him alive, and he was your responsibility.

Codependency combined with teenage hormones isn't a good mix, because that means you'll do anything for him, even at the expense of your dignity. You aren't stupid, you know he's bullshitting you when he walks into your room while you're half naked, claiming it was accidental, and that he was just looking for something which wasn't in your room to begin with. You don't miss the way his eyes linger on your body when you're wearing a tight fitting shirt, and then promptly excuses himself to his room. The walls between your room and his are thin, so you don't miss the sound of his groans and heavy breathing either.

What kind of little sibling would you be if you didn't help him out a little? Gotta give him some sort of practice for the future, don't you? Your poor big brother, all pent up and aching, puberty not helping to alleviate his constant horniness. And in all honesty, you haven't been able to get yourself off properly in a good while.

So one night, you go into his room without a word, his hand already reaching for his bedside drawer, which you already know contains porno mags he shoplifted from the gas station down the street. With an eye roll and that all too familiar glare of annoyance, he speaks, "Don't you ever fuckin' knock? Jesus..."

You pay no mind to his attitude. You're not here to pick a fight. In fact, he'll be grateful for your presence soon enough. "Am I not allowed to hang out with my brother?" You can't hold back your grin at your own teasing, which aggravates him further. "Not if you don't need anything. Get out."

Ignoring him once again, you approach him and sit right beside him on the bed. "Chill. I just wanted to ask you something." His eyes drift down your body, like they've done so many times before. You're intentionally wearing the shirt he likes. The one that gets him hot and bothered. Secretly, you're thrilled he noticed.

Jimmy stays silent, awaiting the question that's so imperative that you postponed his jerk off session.

"Have you ever fucked anyone before?"

You can hardly believe the words coming from your own mouth, and neither can he, his eyes widening with an indescribable emotion. Disgust? Discomfort? Bafflement? All three?

"What the fuck?" He scoffs, scooting away from you, but you don't allow him to escape that easily. You immediately get right back to your original distance.

"Have you?" You ask again, persistent as ever. He groans, covering his face in embarrassment.

"You're fucked up, you know that? Why the hell do you wanna know?"

"Because I'm tired of hearing you jerk off all the time. You obviously don't have anyone to fuck, or you wouldn't need those magazines to get off." You call him out, and it's clear your words ring truth, because he becomes increasingly flustered.

"Okay, what's your fuckin' point? You come in here to call me a virgin loser or somethin'?" He huffs, nudging you away as you draw yourself in closer. You grab his wrist to stop him from putting any sort of space between the two of you.

"Not this time, no. I actually wanna help you out." Your offer hangs in the air for a moment. He's speechless for the first time in his life.

"I've seen how you look at me. Don't try to deny anything. You're a teenage boy, I get it. It's fine." You break the tense silence between you by rambling. You actually feel a bit nervous now. What if he kicks you out of his room? What if you permanently made everything weird between the two of you?

"...And how are you gonna 'help' me, huh?" He still has that irritated edge to his tone, yet he's clearly intrigued. You decide to ease him up a bit. Test the waters, so to speak. Your hand finds it's way to his inner thigh, the outline of his cock already visible through his sweatpants.

"How do you want me to help you?"

—

And that's how you found yourself with his cock in your mouth, giving him his first blowjob. He's bigger than you expected, but as a devoted sibling, you force yourself to take it. You've gotta get some practice too, learn how to suppress your gag reflex. What better way to do that than suck your big brother off?

"Fuck— shit, you fuckin'... You're such a fucking whore. You like choking on your brother's dick, huh? You're a sick little bitch, you know that?" He grunts, degrading you for your actions like he didn't beat his dick fantasizing about this exact scenario several times. You simply hum in response. It's all you can do with your mouth full. You wouldn't consider yourself sick; just a thoughtful younger sibling.

It doesn't take long for Jimmy to grab a fistful of your hair, pulling your mouth off his cock, breathing stuttering as he attempts to calm himself down. He was getting close already. That alone makes you feel an immense sense of pride.

Jimmy grabs you and flips you over to your stomach with surprising ease, eliciting a yelp from you at his sudden manhandling. Greedy hands pull your shorts down to reveal your ass, a husky groan leaving his throat at the sight. "Jesus, ain't I a lucky bastard... havin' a little slut for a sibling. A slut with the hottest body I've ever fuckin' seen, no less."

He really has won the sibling lottery hasn't he?

You wince as he slips the head of his cock into your hole, losing your virginity along with him. You never expected your first time to be like this, not that you were expecting something all that special, either. Actually, you anticipated mediocre sex with some acceptably attractive guy named Kyle or Liam. This is marginally better, because at least Jimmy has a big dick.

And he's cute, but you wouldn't tell him that.

Jimmy lets out a deep, gutteral noise as he stretches your virgin hole around him, the feeling of your warm, gummy insides even better than he imagined. "Sh– Shit, you're tight. Gonna cut off my fuckin' circulation." He says with a strained groan, gripping your hips for support as he hovers over your body. He eventually inches his way in, balls deep inside of you, and god, can you feel it. All of him, all the way to your stomach. Sibling bonding has never felt this good.

"Ghh– fuck, you're big, Jim." You cover your mouth to suppress your own noises out of the fear that your father would hear you two. Although, it's probably a futile effort. Jimmy's bedframe is the squeakiest thing on the Earth after a lifetime of sleeping on it. All you can do is pray your dear ol' dad is passed out drunk on the couch again.

"Mhm." He agrees with your statement, his cockiness making you want to take it back, but before you can think of a retort, he thrusts, slow and experimental, causing you to lose your train of thought. A moan involuntarily leaves your lips. Jesus, how is he getting his cock to rub you in all the right places?

His gentle pace doesn't last very long, because soon enough, he's rutting into you in a way you can only describe as animalistic, the sound of his balls slapping against you filling the room, along with the string of grunts, growls, and curse words muttered under his breath. You bite down on his blanket, the material thick enough to keep you quiet as whimpering moans escape your throat, eyes rolling to the back of your head, your hole clenching around him whenever he hits a particularly pleasurable spot.

"God, if you keep squeezing me like that..." He trails off, sentence devolving into uneven breaths.

"Mmh– Yeah? I feel that good, huh?" You grin, eyes half lidded and already drunk off his dick, proud of yourself for making your big brother almost cum so quickly. Twice. Jimmy scoffs, rolling his eyes at your arrogance.

"Don't let it get to your head." He mutters. You still manage to annoy him when he's fucking you senseless.

You absolutely do let it get to your head when he cums, and an uncharacteristic whimper rips from deep inside his chest as he spills a massive, thick load inside your hole. You feel every ounce of the warm fluid filling you to the brim. Your own orgasm hits you, the hot wave of pleasure that washes over you like nothing you've ever experienced.

Jimmy collapses on top of you, sweaty chest pressed against your back. He's pretty lanky, so thankfully it's not enough weight to crush your lungs. After a minute of catching his breath, he sits up, and you follow suit. While he's slipping his boxers and old tank top with several ugly holes in the fabric back on, he says, "I'm gonna go smoke. You comin' with me?"

You would laugh at the absurdity of his offer if he didn't just exhaust you by pounding your guts. So after you clean yourself up and get dressed you follow him outside, where the sun is setting and the neighbors dog is just as irritating as ever.

[angelremnants]

Between Strength & Style l L. Laufeyson

PART ONE.⠀WHERE LUXE MEETS RESILIENCE...

summary : Loki’s probationary stint with the Avengers takes a surprising turn when Thor insists on dragging him to the team’s fluorescent-lit gym—a place he deems far beneath his dignity. His disdain shifts the moment you stride in with effortless confidence, transforming the mundane gym into your personal runway, commanding the room and worse, directly challenging his ego. Determined not to be overshadowed, Loki initiated a playful competition, vying to outshine you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. Yet, what began as irritation soon evolved into intrigue—and an electric chemistry taking place between you and forcing him to confront not only your undeniable allure but also his own battle for self-control. The only question left was: how many Fridays would pass before one of you finally caves in?

pairing : Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

warnings : Mature (16+), slow burn, eventual romance, eventual smut, sexual tension & innuendos (lots of it), suggestive content, flirting & teasing, emotional conflict, strong language. Proceed with caution if you're sensitive to such material.

word count : 15k

author's notes : And we're kicking off 2025 with me being an absolute simp for Loki and blending my gym goals with my fantasies. Huge shoutout to my ex the gym rat—I would’ve been completely lost without all the knowledge he dropped on me and the playful gym flirting we shared. Side note: I was listening to Sting at some point and couldn't help but notice how the chorus fit Loki so well: "I'm a legal alien, I'm an Englishman in New York". :')

I know I was supposed to start on my next Steve fic, but this silly little idea just couldn’t wait to take shape. It was so fun, I honestly spent my time laughing my ass off while writing some dialogues and screaming at certain things I wrote. Part two will possibly contain sexy time. Coming soon! It's in the works as I'm posting this. :p

NEW ! — Find the continuation here.

(ao3 version)

⠀

The Avengers had a strict, almost religious adherence to fitness. The gym wasn’t just a facility; it was a cornerstone of their lifestyle. Staying in peak physical condition was non-negotiable—after all, the world's fate occasionally hinged on how fast you could sprint, how hard you could punch, or how much stamina you could muster during a battle. It had become an unspoken sanctuary for them, a place that bridged their shared mission and personal pursuits. Within its walls, they weren’t gods, soldiers, or assassins. They were simply people, sweating out their stress and pushing their limits like anyone else.

But make no mistake—the Avengers’ gym was far from ordinary.

Spanning two gleaming floors in Stark Tower, it boasted everything a superhero could ever need: state-of-the-art equipment that looked more like experimental prototypes than fitness tools, reinforced floors capable of withstanding Thor’s hammer tosses or Hulk’s occasional tantrums, and enough space to host activities ranging from sparring matches to aerial combat simulations. Tony Stark, ever the showman, had outfitted the space with panoramic windows that overlooked Manhattan, creating a breathtaking backdrop for their grueling workouts. The sound system piped in everything from Steve’s retro playlist to Natasha’s instrumental beats, depending on who got to the controls first. And, of course, there was the infamous juice bar, complete with personalized protein blends and a weekly “Tony Special” that no one dared try twice.

Attendance wasn’t optional. Fitness was woven into the very fabric of their lives, an unspoken rule that even the most reluctant team members adhered to. It wasn’t just about preparing for missions—it was about maintaining discipline, bonding as a team, and, for some, finding a momentary escape from the weight of their responsibilities.

Fridays were sacred.

Steve Rogers had instituted weekly group training sessions with all the fervor of a drill sergeant assembling his troops. These weren’t just about staying in shape—they were a way to assess the team’s physical and mental states when they were off duty, to spot weaknesses, and to build camaraderie. But “lighthearted” was a generous term when describing these gatherings.

“Lighthearted” was a stretch when it came to some members of the team. 

Steve approached his workouts with military precision, every move calculated and methodical. He was a relentless taskmaster, his circuits punishing even for those who had superhuman strength. Natasha was equally intense, her fluid, controlled movements a testament to her assassin’s training. She moved through her routines like a panther on the hunt—silent, deadly, and impossibly graceful. Clint, in contrast, trained like a lone wolf, using the quieter corners of the gym to fine-tune his aim or practice his balance on precarious surfaces.

Thor treated every session as a challenge to prove his godly might. His booming laughter echoed off the walls as he lifted weights that no one else could budge or turned sparring matches into theatrical displays of Asgardian strength. Bucky stayed at the edges, quiet and focused, his every movement deliberate as though his training was less about fitness and more about control. And then there was Tony, who somehow managed to mix workouts with tinkering. It wasn’t uncommon to see him squatting with a set of repulsors strapped to his wrists, testing their durability mid-session.

The gym was, in short, a finely tuned machine—a symphony of sweat, grit, and camaraderie.

And then Loki entered the picture.

He hated the gym. He loathed it. The very concept of it offended his sensibilities, a joke to his Asgardian practices. The idea of “working out” was not only unnecessary for someone of his divine stature but also painfully mortal in its mundanity. To the God of Mischief, the gym was a prison masquerading as a temple. The sweat, the grunts, the clanging of metal against metal—it was all so beneath him. He didn’t need to build strength or stamina; he was a god. And yet, as part of his probationary agreement to join the Avengers, Loki was expected to participate. 

Why on Midgard—or any realm, for that matter—would one willingly subject themselves to mundane physical labor? For a god, no less? The idea was completely ridiculous, though he had quickly learned that this argument did not hold much weight when hurled at Thor or any of the other Avengers.

He resisted, of course. Loki had become something of an escape artist when it came to group gym sessions, weaving elaborate excuses and literal illusions to avoid stepping foot into the gym. He had tried every trick in his arsenal to escape these sessions: conjuring illusions of himself running laps, pretending to bear injuries, and even disappearing mid-session with a sly smirk and the faint shimmer of green magic. Once, he had gone as far as feigning a “sudden illness,” complete with a convincing pallor and a strategically weakened gait. 

But none of that worked.

Loki suspected that Stark’s Artificial Intelligence, F.R.I.D.A.Y., was in league with Thor, keeping tabs on his every move and dutifully reporting his attempts to escape. Every time he tried to slip through the cracks, a disembodied voice would politely but firmly inform Thor of his absence. Loki didn’t have proof, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Stark had programmed the AI specifically to torment him.

Without fail, his brother would drag him back to the fluorescent-lit hellhole of the gym, wielding Mjolnir like a schoolteacher brandishing a ruler. Loki suspected that Thor took far too much joy in these acts, his booming laughter often echoing through the gym as he tossed Loki over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Brother,” Thor would say, his voice tinged with amusement as he brandished Mjolnir, “you may think yourself above this, but if you wish to remain part of this team, you will endure it like the rest of us.”

And so, Loki endured, dragged back to the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the gym time and time again.

But if the clanging weights and Thor’s incessant laughter grated on Loki, nothing annoyed him more than you.

You were his antithesis in every conceivable way. Where Loki saw the gym as a prison, you saw it as a sanctuary. You thrived there, radiating an energy that he found both baffling and irritating. You weren’t loud like Thor, nor were you the silent, brooding type like Bucky. Instead, you were relentless—a force of nature who tackled workouts with a precision that rivaled Clint’s arrows.

You always seemed to have an easy smile, a flicker of amusement dancing in your eyes as you darted between machines or launched into another grueling set. You approached every workout with enthusiasm, treating each challenge like a personal battle to be won. Your determination was palpable, your focus unshakeable. But it wasn’t your dedication to the gym that truly got under Loki’s skin; it was your attitude.

You had no qualms about speaking your mind, and you were quick to match Loki’s biting sarcasm with quips of your own. Your sharp tongue, paired with your unflappable demeanor, made you a particularly fun target for Loki’s antics. He found your relentless optimism grating, and your tendency to challenge him downright infuriating. But it was precisely these traits that made you so... fun to provoke.

Quite frankly, he found solace in riling you up.

All he had to do was comment on your form, or question the weight you were lifting, and you would rise to the bait every time. It was, he supposed, the only thing that made these wretched sessions bearable.

Of course, he didn’t think much of you beyond that. You were a mortal, after all. A clever one, perhaps, but still mortal. The fact that you managed to worm your way under his skin so easily was simply a testament to his boredom, nothing more.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Loki had discovered this during his very first group session. You had called him out—publicly, no less—for standing idly by while the rest of the team warmed up.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” you had teased, hands on your hips. “Afraid you’ll chip a nail?”

The room had gone silent, all eyes darting between you and the god as they waited for his response. 

The corner of his mouth had twitched, a glimmer of amusement flashing in his emerald eyes. “Hardly,” he drawled, his voice as smooth as silk. “But I fail to see the point of mimicking your primitive rituals when I could achieve the same results with a flick of my magic.”

“Oh, sure,” you had shot back, unperturbed. “Because magic’s going to save your ass when you’re out of breath halfway through a chase.”

The tension broke with Thor’s booming laugh, followed by Steve’s approving nod.

From that day on, it had become a game between the two of you. He would conjure illusions to distract you mid-set, question your form with exaggerated disdain, or mutter sarcastic comments just loud enough for you to hear. For all his protests, Loki found himself looking forward to these exchanges. You were clever, sharper than most mortals, and your unflappable confidence intrigued him.

And you? You gave as good as you got. You’d roll your eyes at his dramatics, challenge him to exercises he clearly despised, or make snide remarks about his “delicate Asgardian constitution.”

It was all in good fun—or so you told yourself.

The peculiarity of your training wasn’t just the intensity or the focus—it was the way you turned the gym into your runway. Where others wore functional athletic gear, you brought a level of fashion that could only be described as couture-meets-athleisure. You had an eye for proportions and colors, pairing fitted leggings with chic cropped tops, effortlessly layering with lightweight jackets, or wearing statement sneakers that seemed designed to catch the light just right. Even in the middle of a grueling set, you exuded confidence, every movement precise and deliberate, every outfit an unspoken declaration: I own this space.

You knew you looked good. Whether or not you consciously acknowledged the wandering eyes that followed you, you thrived on the attention, making it clear—without ever saying a word—that you were the reigning queen of the gym. There was a proud tilt to your chin, a glimmer in your eyes as you caught your reflection in the mirrors, as if silently reminding yourself that you had earned this. And for good reason. The way you carried yourself was a testament to your hard work, a visual declaration of pride in your strength and discipline.

Even Loki, who had spent most of his time mocking your relentless energy and discipline, could not deny the appeal. His sharp tongue rarely stilled when you were around, but more often than not, it masked the moments when his eyes lingered a fraction too long. He told himself it was merely curiosity—analyzing your absurd obsession with turning every mundane workout into a parade of style and flair. Yet, there were times, in between his biting remarks, when he caught himself watching you with a strange mix of irritation and intrigue, noting the way the faint sheen of sweat only seemed to enhance your glow rather than detract from it.

The more he observed, the more he realized just how much you enjoyed being the center of attention. Not in a boastful or arrogant way, but with a quiet confidence that made it clear you knew you were admired. And that, of course, irked him to no end. You had claimed a throne he hadn’t even realized existed until now—the crown of the gym’s fashion icon, the darling of the Avengers' collective admiration.

Loki was no stranger to attention. He had spent centuries perfecting the art of standing out, whether in Asgard’s golden halls or Midgard’s bustling cities. His wardrobe was a testament to his vanity: sleek, tailored suits, flowing robes, sharp leathers—whatever suited the weather, his mood or the gender he chose to embody for the day. He prided himself on his taste, on his ability to effortlessly outshine others with his sense of style. He was, after all, a god. If anyone could dethrone you, it would be him.

The idea took root almost immediately: Loki would dethrone you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. It wasn’t about vanity—well, perhaps it was—but it was also about proving a point. If anyone deserved to claim the title of sartorial excellence, it was him. The God of Mischief would reign supreme, even in this mundane, sweat-soaked realm.

He decided right then and there that this wasn’t just about workouts anymore. This was war.

And Loki? He intended to win.

After all, he was always destined to be king. What’s another throne stolen, if only a metaphorical one?

⠀

⠀

The first Friday Loki launched his attack was one for the books.

The gym buzzed with the familiar sounds of clanking weights, motivational shouts, and the hum of treadmills. Steve was barking out orders to a pair of rookies who were trying to figure out how to do a proper squat, Thor was loudly boasting about his ability to deadlift more than any mortal in the room, and Tony—typical Tony—was multitasking on the treadmill, holding a holographic interface in one hand while doing intervals. You and Natasha had just finished a punishing round of planks and were at the juice bar, catching your breath and swapping jokes about the ridiculous amount of protein shakes people seemed to consume in this place.

Her sharp wit and easy banter were usually more than enough to distract you from any physical discomfort, but not today.

Even Natasha couldn’t hold your attention when he walked in.

You noticed the shift in the air before you even saw him. At first, you didn’t quite register what was happening. It was subtle, like a wave of electricity passing through the room. Conversations slowed. People’s movements faltered for a split second. Even the sound of clanging weights seemed to dull slightly, as if the gym collectively held its breath in anticipation. You could feel eyes shifting toward the entrance, and when you looked over, you nearly choked on your spit.

There he was.

Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, and notorious gym hater, strolled into the gym like it was his personal parade. You’d seen him here before, of course. Usually, he lingered in the background, arms folded, observing Thor’s attempts to get him involved in some sibling rivalry over strength. But today? Today was different.

For one, he wasn’t wearing his usual dark leathers or Asgardian garb. Instead, he had opted for what could only be described as a masterclass in Midgardian gym couture. A black compression tank clung to his lean, lithe frame like it was painted on, emphasizing every sculpted muscle with effortless precision. The deep armholes revealed teasing glimpses of his toned sides, and the dark fabric set off his alabaster skin in an almost unfair way.

The material emphasized his toned arms, his chest, and the subtle flex of his abs when he moved. Every inch of him was artfully showcased, and it seemed to have the exact effect he was after. The room was practically buzzing with appreciative glances.

But that wasn’t even the most distracting part.

His joggers—dark, fitted, and stretching just enough over his thighs—hugged his legs in a way that could only be described as sinful. They tapered neatly at the ankles, revealing his bare feet, adorned in simple black trainers. A few people did a double-take, but you, of course, noticed all of it. And you hated how your eyes traced the lines of his body despite yourself.

And then there was his hair.

Usually wild and untamed, his raven locks were now swept back into a low, effortlessly messy bun. It looked like he had spent exactly five seconds on it, yet it was somehow perfect. Casual but purposeful, messy but precise. And for reasons you couldn’t entirely explain, it made your stomach flutter in a way you definitely didn’t want to admit.

“He’s up to something,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at him.  “And I don’t like it.”

You didn’t realize you were staring so intently at him until Natasha spoke.

“What gave it away?” she asked with a sly grin, lifting her protein shake to her lips. “The way he’s strutting across the room like he’s starring in a fashion show, or the fact that his outfit looks like something straight off a GQ cover?”

"That’s the thing," you sneered under your breath, huffing as you crossed your arms. "He’s way too comfortable here."

Natasha just quirked an eyebrow and chuckled. “Uh-huh. You know, I always wondered if he could look that good without his usual dramatic flair. Turns out, he’s even more distracting in gym gear than in his Asgardian getup.”

Your scowl deepened as Loki’s gaze swept lazily across the gym, lingering for just a moment too long when it reached you. He tilted his head, his smirk curving even further, before continuing his casual prowl toward the free weights.

“He’s not even here to work out,” you said, turning back to Natasha.

“Of course he’s not,” she replied, her lips quirking into a sly smile. “He’s here to annoy you. And judging by the way you’re staring at him, it’s working.”

You shot Natasha a sharp look, but her grin only widened. She was thoroughly enjoying this. You had to admit, Loki's presence was causing more of a stir than you'd anticipated, and despite your best efforts, your eyes kept drifting back to him.

He was moving through the gym now, his casual stride somehow managing to command attention in a place filled with some of the strongest people you knew. He wasn’t even trying, and that made it worse.

“I am not staring,” you hissed, trying to desperately convince yourself while jerking your eyes away from him and fixing them firmly on Natasha.

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Sure you’re not. But hey, I get it. The hair’s doing things. The arms, too.”

“Natasha.”

“What? I’m just saying, he’s got the whole ‘tall, dark and handsome in gym gear’ thing down. Maybe that’s the real mischief—making everyone forget they’re supposed to be lifting weights and not staring at him. It’s distracting. And you’re totally distracted.”

"Not happening," you retorted, but your voice was a little less convincing than you wanted it to be. You couldn’t deny that the sight of Loki in a fitted tank top that clung just right to his lean frame, revealing the subtle play of muscles beneath, was an attention-grabber. His joggers did nothing to mask the long, graceful lines of his legs, and as he moved, you found yourself noticing details you'd previously managed to ignore: the effortless way his black hair framed his face, the glint in his eyes that always seemed to carry a secret he was more than happy to keep.

Loki seemed aware of the effect he was having, too. When his gaze flicked toward you again, the smirk curling at the corners of his lips was downright smug. He knew, and he reveled in it. You braced yourself, straightening up and setting your shoulders as his long strides carried him across the gym floor. He stopped in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, his smirk firmly in place.

“Enjoying the view, pet?” His voice was smooth and rich, and you hated the way it sent a shiver down your spine. You mirrored his position and also crossed your arms, tilting your head as you glared up at him.

“Hardly,” you shot back. “I was just wondering if you’d finally decided to try blending in with the rest of us mortals.”

“Ah, yes,” he drawled, glancing down at his outfit with mock curiosity. “Midgardian spandex. Quite the cultural achievement. Though I must admit, it’s a step up from those garish uniforms Stark insists upon.”

You rolled your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. “You look like you’re about to pose for GQ, not lift weights.”

Loki leaned a little closer, his smirk never faltering. “I’m afraid you’re simply crossed that the star of today’s show is most certainly me." His eyes glittered with amusement as they swept down your form before meeting yours again. "You’re not the first to notice. But don’t worry, I’m used to the attention.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but Natasha cut in with a snort of laughter.

“Alright, you two, break it up,” she said, waving her hand between you like a referee. “Some of us are here to actually work out.”

Loki’s smirk didn’t falter as he straightened, his green eyes flicking to Natasha with a glint of amusement. “Far be it from me to interrupt such noble pursuits, Agent Romanoff.” He turned back to you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. “Try not to let me distract you, pet.”

And with that, he sauntered off toward the free weights, his long strides and effortless grace drawing more than a few admiring glances as he went.

Natasha watched him go, then turned to you with a knowing grin. “You’re blushing.”

“I am not,” you snapped, though the blood rushing up your face betrayed you.

“Right,” Natasha interrupted, sounding far too amused for her own good. “Maybe you could distract yourself from him for a second, unless of course, you’re planning to throw yourself at him like everyone else.” She waved a hand, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“Natasha!” you hissed, but it didn’t have the desired effect—she was grinning from ear to ear.

“Don’t deny it,” she slyly replied as she sipped her shake. “You know, I’ve seen him make a lot of people mad, but I’ve never seen him this dedicated to pissing someone off. Congrats, I guess?”

“He’s not pissing me off,” you muttered, glaring at Loki’s retreating back. “He’s just… annoying.”

“Sure,” Natasha said, smirking.

Before you could formulate any kind of retort, a low whistle cut through the air. You turned toward the sound just in time to see Loki doing overhead presses with a pair of heavy dumbbells. His presence seemed to have an almost magnetic pull, and as he passed by a group of agents, several of them couldn’t help but glance at him—some even a little too long, caught in the spell of his unnerving charisma. His movements were slow and controlled, every line of his body radiating strength and precision. The tight top did little to hide the way his muscles flexed with each lift, and the sheen of sweat on his skin only seemed to amplify the effect.

One of the agents passing by all but stopped in his tracks, staring openly at him with wide eyes. Loki, as always, was quick to notice. He paused in the middle of his walk, glancing over his shoulder, his lips curling into a devilish smirk.

“Oh dear, careful there,” he called out, his voice smooth and teasing. “You might want to watch where you’re looking. I’d hate for a fetching creature like you to trip over the lingering effect of my charm.”

The agent, a relatively new recruit, blushed crimson and stumbled in his walk, fumbling with his dumbbell as if it had suddenly gained weight. Loki’s smile only widened as he slowly lowered his gaze to the ground, as if examining his almost clumsy reaction.

“Ah,” he said with mock disappointment, “we wouldn’t want to add embarrassment to your list of misfortunes, would we?”

The poor man muttered something incoherent, cheeks burning brighter as he hurried away, his awkwardness palpable. Loki’s chuckle, soft and teasing, echoed in the air behind him, and he turned back to his dumbbells with the ease of someone who had just won a victory in an ongoing game.

“Oh my god,” Natasha groaned, half-amused, half-exasperated. “You have to go give him a taste of his own medicine.”

You glared at the back of Loki's head, watching him grab a towel and casually drape it over his shoulder, his arrogance practically dripping from every movement.

“You’re right. Game on,” you muttered, pushing yourself up from your seat and striding toward him with quiet determination. If he wanted to play this game, you were more than ready to beat him at it.

Natasha laughed, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “That’s the spirit. Now go wipe that smug grin off his face.”

As you approached, you saw Loki glance over at you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as a grin tugged at the corners of his lips. He was expecting you.

“Ah, she finally manifests herself,” he began, tilting his head slightly, “come to join the ranks of my admirers? Or is this simply an opportunity for you to bask in my presence?"

You shot him a look of feigned disinterest, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the free weights beside him.

“Not exactly,” you replied coolly. “I just wanted to see if you’d been working on your form, or if you were still too busy flexing in the mirror.”

Loki chuckled, a rich sound that practically oozed with self-assurance. “Ah, I see,” he said slowly, leaning in just a little, enough to lower his voice to a near-whisper. “So you’re one of those who prefers to focus on technique over the end result. Admirable. But I must confess…” He leaned closer still, until his lips were just inches from your ear. “The result is the technique.”

You felt a flare of heat rush to your face, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you gave him a pointed look, stepping back and crossing your arms more firmly. “Keep telling yourself that,” you said, offering him a smirk of your own. “But if you’re planning to keep distracting everyone with your ‘technique,’ maybe you should get a private room. The rest of us are here to work.”

Loki’s eyes gleamed with mischief as he straightened up, flicking his towel over his shoulder and sending you an almost playful glance. “Oh, I do love a challenge,” he murmured, as though the words were a promise, and then he effortlessly turned away to continue his workout.You stood there, your mind still swirling with that smug little smirk and the way his breath had brushed so close to your skin. It was far from over, and you had no intention of letting him think he’d won this round. Game on, Trickster.

⠀

⠀

The second Friday had a palpable tension in the air, as if everyone knew something was going to shift today, but no one knew exactly how. The gym was quieter than usual, with a sense of anticipation hanging over the team like a thick fog. You, however, had a different idea for today. You weren’t the same as the others—always polished, always well put-together in some way, but today you were about to leave everyone guessing.

You walked into the room in an outfit that could not have been further from your usual appearance. Your sweatpants were a dull gray, high-waisted and hanging just right on your frame, but enough to leave the wandering eye guessing about the shape of your form. The hoodie you wore was oversized, swallowing your frame, the sleeves long enough to hang just past your fingertips. The hoodie’s color was muted, and the cap pulled up over your head was the only thing that hinted at the familiar sense of control you usually had. Your hair was left down today, cascading in soft waves, slightly tangled from the lack of attention yet still effortlessly styled. There was no sleekness, no polished edge to your look—just simplicity and ease. Somehow, it worked, and there was a quiet power in how little effort it seemed to take.

You casually crossed the gym toward the wall, water bottle in hand, and you could already feel the eyes of your teammates following you. The contrast between your normal, tightly controlled persona and the relaxed, effortless confidence you radiated today was enough to make anyone pause and take notice. But the person you were waiting for—the one you knew would be most affected by your transformation—was Loki.

Sure enough, not long after, said god walked in. His usual tight-fitting black workout gear was his go-to for showing off, the sleek fabric hugging his frame, every movement emphasizing the muscles that rippled beneath the material. But today, unlike last week when he had gone for a polished yet sharp look, Loki’s attention seemed caught somewhere between sizing you up and attempting to keep his usual air of superiority.

As he entered the gym, his eyes immediately flicked over to you. You were sitting cross-legged against the wall, deep in conversation with Bucky. His sharp gaze narrowed, and the familiar smirk—half taunt, half self-assured—made its way to his lips. Loki sauntered toward you with that characteristic air of confidence, almost like he had an agenda that involved rubbing your nose in it.

"Quite the shift in wardrobe, isn’t it?" Loki’s voice cut through your conversation, dripping with that same playful taunt. “Did last week’s little performance leave you with a sudden desire to renounce attention? Perhaps you're now looking to blend in, like a shadow?”

Your lips quirked up in a sly smile as you took a slow sip from your water bottle, not even bothering to look up at him right away. The only acknowledgment you gave him was a slight raise of your eyebrow, eyes still trained on Bucky as you finished your conversation with him. The lack of immediate reaction seemed to throw Loki off, just as you had intended.

The soldier standing beside you shot a look at Loki, his grin widening. “Careful, puny god,” he intervened, his voice a little too amused. “You’re starting to sound like one of those bad guys in the movies who can’t get the girl’s attention, and it’s driving him crazy.”

You suppressed a chuckle, casting a brief glance at your companion before returning your attention to the task at hand. Loki, however, wasn’t so easily dismissed. His gaze lingered on you, searching for a hint of reaction.

“Oh, Loki,” you replied casually, meeting his gaze only after taking your time. “Not everything has to be a performance. Some of us are just here to focus."

The words were simple, but there was an underlying confidence in them that made Loki’s smirk falter for a fraction of a second. He tilted his head slightly, his sharp green eyes narrowing as he tried to process your response. He wasn’t used to being ignored or dismissed in such a calm manner, especially by you. It was a reaction you’d like getting used to, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit smug about it. Loki, the god who prided himself on control, was already thrown off by your indifference.

Before he could respond, Steve’s voice rang out across the gym, cutting through the tension.

“Alright, Avengers, time to assemble!” Steve called, and immediately, the atmosphere shifted as everyone gathered to form pairs. You could hear the shuffle of feet and the sound of various team members cracking their knuckles, ready for the workout ahead.

You stretched your arms overhead, muscles extending lazily. You had no intention of getting up nor getting overly involved in today’s sparring session, not unless it was absolutely necessary. 

“Think I’ll stay over there today,” you said in your usual low, steady voice. “Proximity combat is a little too personal for me, anyway. I prefer to prepare mentally first.”

Steve shot you a wry smile. “I understand, [Y/N], but this is hands-on. Come on, get in there. The more you work with the team, the better.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes dramatically but without actually showing any reluctance. “Don’t worry about me, Cap, I’ll be fine. I already did my warm-up, anyway.”

Loki, who had been watching the exchange, raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that you weren’t jumping at the chance to compete. “Oh, please. You can’t tell me you're actually avoiding the fight today.”

You gave him a look that was more bemused than anything else, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “Not avoiding anything. Just taking my time. We all have our methods.”

You had never been one to show off, but you could tell that he was getting increasingly intrigued by your laid-back confidence. He didn’t know how to react when you weren’t playing his usual game. You weren’t worried about the training session itself, but Loki was. He was keenly aware of the dynamic, especially when the pairs were being called up.

"Tell me, does the simplicity of your attire reflect the simplicity of your game?" Loki asked, his voice smooth like velvet, but with a sharp edge that betrayed his curiosity. His eyes scanned you, lingering for a moment longer than they should have, his smirk never faltering.

You glanced over, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips. "You’ll find out soon enough, Loki. When it’s my turn."

“Is this some sort of riddle?” he asked, his tone darkening, a hint of annoyance creeping in. “You think you can just dismiss me like I’m some passing distraction?”

You simply smirked, taking another casual sip of water, making a show of it to further ruffle his feathers. “Not a game, Loki. Just not interested in playing along today.”

Bucky desperately tried to hide his growing smirk as he nudged you playfully. “Ouch, man. Looks like you’re losing her to the whole 'I’m too cool for you' vibe.” He could barely keep his voice steady as he watched the Asgardian scowl.

He was so used to being the one in control of the situation, not the one scrambling to keep up. And now, it seemed you were throwing him off his game entirely, which only served to heighten his fascination with you.

With one last glance at the two of you, Loki muttered under his breath, “This isn’t over.” The tension was palpable, but before he could say anything more, Steve’s voice called out, signaling the start of the upcoming matches.

The duos for the first round were quickly formed, each chosen based on skill sets, strengths, and weaknesses. The first pair to face off was Loki and Sam, and as the match began, it was immediately clear that Loki was in his element. Every move he made was calculated, and fluid, his body working in perfect harmony with his sharp instincts. There was an intensity to his movements that commanded attention—the way he twisted with the grace of a predator, the elegance of someone who had trained in the art of deception and control for centuries. His magic flickered at the edges, as if it too was eager to lend him an edge. It wasn’t long before Sam found himself outclassed, Loki easily outmaneuvering him with a mixture of skill and playfulness that left no room for doubt. The moment Sam stumbled, Loki was there, his victory secured with minimal effort, a smirk already forming on his lips as he looked down at his defeated opponent.

He strode toward the sidelines, his posture exaggerated with pride, every step oozing with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was capable of. He could practically feel the attention of the room on him, the admiration of his peers—it was a familiar sensation.

But when his eyes sought out yours, expecting to find at least some hint of acknowledgment, he was met with the unexpected: you were looking at Bucky, engaged in a casual conversation with him. You weren’t watching him. Not even a passing glance. Your attention was fully on Bucky, your face soft with that effortless smile you reserved only for certain people. It made Loki pause mid-stride, his brows furrowing as he tried to reconcile the fact that, for once, you seemed completely uninterested in his performance.

He felt a strange unease twist in his chest, something he couldn’t quite place. The indifference you showed was almost palpable, and it hit harder than any of the quips or taunts that usually got under his skin. Surely, you just hadn’t noticed? Or maybe you were playing coy, pretending to be unimpressed? The thought made him grin a little wider, but the feeling gnawing at him didn’t go away. You weren't looking at him, and it wasn’t just that—there was something in the way you laughed with the soldier, something that made him feel like an outsider, a player who had been left on the bench.

His eyes narrowed, and without thinking, he shifted his attention back to Sam who was still recovering from their match, his expression darkening. He wasn’t used to this. To this feeling of being... disregarded. Of being ordinary.

Bucky leaned in closer to you, his voice low and teasing. “Think you’ve got him rattled already?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, finally giving him a small, playful look. “Could be. I want to think so, but I don’t want to give him the pleasure of looking at him and making it seem like I care about his reaction.”

“Well, this should be fun,” Bucky said in a low voice, enough so only you could hear him. “Loki’s not used to being ignored, is he?”

You shot him a dry look. “Not in the slightest.”

Bucky chuckled softly, his tone full of amusement. “Must be getting a rude awakening, then.”

Your indifference was practically driving said god crazy, and he scowled even deeper when Steve called your name to get into position for the next match. "Oh come on, not now," you muttered, rolling your eyes. "Is it really necessary?"

The blonde’s usual cap-tipped grin only deepened. "Yes, now get moving."

Bucky gave you a small, encouraging nod. “You’ve got this,” he said with a grin that suggested he knew exactly that they were all in for a spectacle. “Show him what you’re made of.”

With an exaggerated sigh that seemed to draw every eye in the gym, you smoothly rose from the ground, taking your time. Every step was measured, as if you weren’t in any rush to show what you were capable of. The others could feel the shift in the air around you, the subtle yet undeniable presence that you commanded without a single word. You could practically feel the way Loki’s eyes followed every movement you made, but you didn’t let it faze you. 

Slowly, deliberately, you pulled your hoodie off. The gym, which had been buzzing with conversation and the light sounds of stretching, seemed to pause as every set of eyes turned toward you. The motion was so effortless, it almost seemed like choreography, and as the fabric slipped away from your body, revealing what was underneath, there was a collective shift in the air.

The defined lines of your abs came into view first, marking your taut skin that spoke of years of dedication, strength and control. The tight sports bra you wore accentuated every curve, every inch of muscle you had worked so hard to sculpt. Your sweatpants, low-slung and hanging just enough to showcase the V-lines that traced your inner thighs, fit you in a way that didn’t demand attention—but it certainly garnered it. The room seemed to suddenly lack air, and you could feel the temperature rise as the atmosphere shifted from casual banter to a raw, electric tension.

Loki’s gaze immediately swept over you, his pupils dilating as he took in the full scope of your appearance. His eyes flicked all the way down your body, then traced back up to your face, but it was the way he was looking—like he couldn’t quite focus on any one part of you—that gave you a clue to how he was feeling. His sharp breath, barely audible in the silence, was the only sound you could hear over the thumping of your own heart, but the way his chest rose and fell gave away more than words ever could. He wasn’t prepared for this. He hadn’t expected you to be... so revealing.

You dramatically tossed the hoodie back to your previous spot, where Bucky effortlessly caught it mid-air. With a playful smirk, he let out a teasing wolf whistle, clearly amused by the scene. “Damn, doll,” he called you out with a grin. “Lookin’ like a fine piece of art over here.”

Loki’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “Must you be so uncouth, Barnes?” he bit out, his tone sharp but laced with just a hint of indignation. The faint twitch in his jaw betrayed the irritation simmering beneath his cool facade, though whether it was directed at Bucky or his flustered reaction, even Loki couldn’t quite say.

Bucky, entirely unfazed, chuckled and tossed the hoodie onto the bench. “Relax, snowflake. Just calling it like I see it.”

You reached up to gather your hair into a ponytail in a swift and efficient movement, but there was a quiet grace to it that only added to the overall aura you exuded. The way your muscles flexed as you tied it back, the fluidity of the motion, all of it seemed effortless, second nature to you. It was all the more striking against Loki’s own dramatic flair—theatrical, exaggerated, designed to draw eyes to him. He was used to being the one who commanded the room with a mere flick of his wrist, the one who could manipulate and control with his every movement. But now? Now, it was your body that spoke louder than any words or gestures ever could.

Loki's breath hitched imperceptibly, a momentary lapse in his carefully constructed composure.  His jaw tightened, his body tensing as he tried to regain control of himself, his eyes momentarily lingering longer than they should on the soft curve of your waist, the way your hips swayed when you took your first step toward the arena. Every part of you, every inch of skin and muscle, seemed to demand attention—yet, you didn’t seem to care about it. You were focused, your steps silent but certain as you advanced toward the battleground, the confidence in your stride undeniable.

You reached the center of the arena and gave him one last, almost imperceptible glance, and that was enough to make him falter. His heart rate had picked up, and he cursed under his breath. His usual self-assurance had wavered, replaced by an unfamiliar unease. There was something about the way you carried yourself—like you were a force of nature, untouchable, yet impossible to ignore—that rattled him in a way that very few people had. He could feel his composure cracking under the weight of the attention you hadn’t even realized you were commanding.

The arena buzzed again, the murmur of voices rising as your opponent—the one who would face you next—looked on, unsure whether to be impressed or intimidated. But Loki, for all his control, could not shake the feeling that he was the one standing on unstable ground.

And then, Steve announced the match-up.

“Loki and [Y/N], your turn.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed as he turned his attention toward you, his smirk faltering for just a split second. It was subtle, but it was there—an almost imperceptible shift in his usual confidence. He watched you move into position, calm and collected, your very presence seemed to knock him off balance. The way you stood there, completely unaffected by his earlier display, only served to fan the flames in his mind.

He couldn’t let you get away with this. Not again. Not when you were so effortlessly pulling his attention in every direction, when your quiet strength was becoming impossible to ignore. The playful taunt he had been intending to throw your way now carried an undercurrent of something he couldn’t quite acknowledge, but still something that bothered him. He knew what it was, even if he didn’t want to admit it. It was frustration. 

“Ready to taste defeat, pet?” Loki’s voice rang out, smooth and velvety, laced with both a challenge and amusement. The words slipped effortlessly from his tongue, but beneath the surface, the slight tremor of frustration lingered. His green eyes watched you intently, like a predator sizing up its prey, but there was something more. Something you couldn’t quite define, but you could feel it crawling beneath the surface.

You tilted your head slightly, the movement small but deliberate, eyes narrowing just the slightest as your lips quirked upward in a knowing smile. Your posture remained relaxed, but there was a steel edge to the way you carried yourself now—a quiet strength that seemed to radiate outward. You could feel the way the entire gym was watching, how every inch of focus had shifted onto the two of you, but you didn’t let it faze you. Your gaze met his without hesitation, and you matched his playful tone with one of your own, voice light but carrying an underlying confidence that made it clear you were anything but intimidated.

“I’m not the one aching for a taste of something, Trickster,” you replied smoothly, the words slipping off your tongue like a promise. The glint in your eye—the challenging, unwavering look that met his—spoke volumes. You weren’t just here to go through the motions. You weren’t here to entertain him, or anyone else. You were here to prove something. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Loki's smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second, the faintest hint of surprise at the blatant innuendo flickering across his face before it vanished. He recovered quickly, though, leaning into the moment as his expression shifted into something far more dangerous—half amusement, half intrigued.

“Careful now,” he growled, his voice lowering ever so slightly, the edges smoother than before but carrying an unmistakable sharpness. The faint flush creeping up his neck betrayed him, but his gaze never wavered, studying you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved. “Promises like that tend to come with consequences.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick with meaning. It wasn’t a threat; it was a statement of intent. You were ready for this moment, for the challenge he presented, and you weren’t backing down. Your cool demeanor only served to heighten the electric tension between you. He could feel it now—how you were playing him at his own game, how your words and actions were slowly chipping away at the armor of self-assurance he’d spent so long building.

Bucky stood near the sidelines, arms crossed casually over his chest as he kept his gaze fixed on the two of you. His focus never wavered as he observed the back-and-forth between you and Loki. There was something electric in the air, and he couldn’t help but feel a little more invested in the outcome than he expected. 

With a wry grin tugging at the corner of his lips, Bucky leaned in toward Steve, who had been quietly watching the exchange with growing interest. He whispered under his breath, careful not to break the flow of the moment, but unable to hide the amusement in his voice. “I think she’s got him right where she wants him.”

Steve glanced over at him, brow slightly raised in curiosity and a smirk already playing at the corners of his mouth, betraying his ever-serious Captain demeanor. “You think so?”

Bucky nodded, eyes flicking back to you as you casually prepared for the sparring match by wrapping your knuckles, your body language practically dripping with self-assurance. “Oh yeah, definitely,” he assured, voice low but filled with confidence. “Loki’s too used to getting the upper hand in these things, but this time she’s challenging him for the spot. And you can tell he’s not sure how to handle it.”

Steve’s eyes followed the scene with a thoughtful expression, the wheels turning in his head as he took in the dynamic. He gave his best friend a knowing glance, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, let’s see how she handles it,” he said, voice laced with a quiet confidence of his own. “Kid’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

The atmosphere in the gym felt electrified, thick with the unspoken tension between you and Loki. The sharp clang of Steve's voice signaling the start of the match barely registered as your focus narrowed on his every movement. His sharp gaze stayed locked on you, calculating and predatory, his posture deceptively relaxed but ready to strike.

True to form, Loki made the first move, his steps smooth and predatory as he closed the gap with surprising speed. He didn’t waste time, weaving in with a series of feints meant to throw you off. But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you shifted closer into his range in grand audacity, your movements fluid and unyielding as you met him head-on. The sharp crack of his elbow slicing through the air missed its mark as you deflected it with a quick parry, your forearm brushing his as you stepped into his space.

Loki’s lips quirked upward, a sly smirk tugging at the corners. “Not bad,” he slipped in, his voice smooth and low, as though he was testing you and complimenting you at the same time.

But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. You used the momentum of his strike to pivot, bringing your body closer to his, forcing him to retreat a step. The shift in proximity wasn’t lost on him, and you caught the flicker of surprise that darted across his features before his mask of confidence returned.

He countered quickly, twisting to trap your wrist in an attempt to throw you off balance, but you slipped free, ducking low and sweeping a leg toward his. Loki leaped back to avoid the sweep, his quick reflexes saving him from the mat, but the action pushed him further off his rhythm.

Your advantage grew as the fight devolved into sharp close combat, every movement a test of speed and control. Loki was fast, his strikes calculated and deliberate, but you were faster, your motions seamless as you anticipated his next move. Each block, deflection, and strike left him recalibrating, searching for an opening that simply wasn’t there.

You could see the irritation brewing in his expression, the sharp edge in his narrowed eyes as his breath came heavier. He wasn’t used to being outmaneuvered, least of all so consistently. You could practically feel the frustration radiating off him.

“Frustrated already?” you teased, your voice light but challenging as you ducked under another swipe and leaned in close, your breath brushing against his jaw for just a second before you danced back out of reach.

Loki’s jaw tightened, his smirk slipping for the first time as his focus sharpened. He surged forward suddenly, his arms locking around your wrist to pull you off balance, but you twisted fluidly, your bodies nearly colliding as you maneuvered out of the hold. The shift brought you chest to chest for a brief second, the proximity enough to unnerve even Loki.

“Come on, Trickster,” you taunted, your voice dropping just slightly as you glanced up at him through your lashes. “Is that all you’ve got?”

The faint pink that crept up his neck wasn’t missed. His grip faltered, just slightly, but it was enough. You capitalized instantly, slipping free and ducking beneath his arm. Before he could react, you shifted close again, pressing your palm to his chest—not hard, just enough to distract him. And then, with a smirk that he didn’t quite know how to interpret, you did the unexpected: you leaned in, just enough for your lips to brush the shell of his ear.

“Gotcha,” you whispered.

It was barely a breath, a fleeting moment, but it sent him reeling. His entire body stiffened, caught entirely off guard by the motion, and his split-second hesitation was all you needed. Twisting sharply, you hooked your leg behind his and used your momentum to pull him off balance. Loki stumbled, his footing completely lost as his back hit the mat with a thud.

You stepped back, grinning down at him as you straightened, your breath steady despite the exertion. You watched as his chest rose and fell sharply, his flushed face half-hidden beneath the mess of dark hair that had fallen into his eyes.

“Better luck next time,” you said in an almost teasing way, the tension between you growing even thicker. “Though I do appreciate the effort.” The gym was quiet, save for the faint sound of his breath catching in his throat as he tried to regain his composure. You could feel the electricity in the air intensifying, the challenge now fully embraced.

Loki’s eyes burned with frustration, his pride wounded more than he cared to admit. He was a god, accustomed to being the center of attention, controlling every situation with a flick of his wrist and a smirk. But you—you—had managed to completely dismantle that with nothing more than your calm confidence and precision.

His teeth ground together as he shot you a glare, seething with irritation. “You’re playing a dangerous game, [Y/N],” he said, his voice sharp, but there was an undeniable fluster behind the words—his usual control slipping with every passing second. He was not used to being made to look like this, to being outmaneuvered so effortlessly.

You didn’t even seem to acknowledge the weight of his threat, instead smoothly backing off, a casual smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “What can I say? I like keeping things interesting. Can’t have you getting bored,” you replied, voice light, but with a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

And that was it. The last straw.

Loki, already feeling his temper flare, lunged at you with an almost animal-like snarl, hoping to catch you off guard this time. But you were prepared. The moment he moved, you shifted your weight with that same effortless grace, sidestepping him like he was nothing more than a fly. 

With a flick of your wrist, you sent him crashing down onto the mat, hard.

There was a beat of silence as Loki lay there, chest heaving in disbelief, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. His hair, usually so perfectly styled, was now mussed, and his cloak was askew. The whole scene was a jarring contrast to the image he’d worked so hard to maintain.

He swallowed hard, attempting to steady himself, but the way you stood over him with such quiet authority made it impossible to focus. Your presence was imposing, your posture effortlessly graceful, and every movement you made seemed carefully coordinated. The slight tilt of your head, the faint curve of a smirk on your lips—everything about you exuded control. It was clear you had the upper hand, and the effect it had on him was both unsettling and undeniable. His eyes, despite his best efforts, couldn’t help but be drawn to the way your form exuded power and confidence. The sharp lines of your body, the subtle flex of your abs as you shifted, the slight forward tilt of your pelvis as you crossed your arms—it was all framed perfectly by the soft glow of the gym light, and it hit him like a revelation. He had underestimated you in more ways than one.

Bucky, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t suppress a grin. “Well, that was something alright,” he said, voice dripping with amusement. 

Steve, who’d been quietly observing the exchange, let out a sigh, shaking his head. “This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?”

You glanced at the two of them, your lips curving into an easy smile as you wiped your hands. “Don’t worry about him,” you said lightly, your tone teasing. “He’s just a little startled. He’ll recover.”

Loki, still on the mat, let out a frustrated growl, his face flushed with both anger and something that felt a little too much like embarrassment. He glared up at you, unable to hide the flustered irritation that now flooded his system. He wasn’t used to this. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to be the one in control, the one who had the upper hand. And yet, here he was, on the floor, defeated by someone who had barely broken a sweat.

As you turned to leave, talking with Bucky and Steve, Loki seethed, his body still tense with the humiliation of it all. This is not over, he thought, his mind racing for a way to redeem himself. I will get her back for this.

But for now, he lay there, absolutely flustered, trying to control the mix of emotions swirling inside him—irritation, pride, and a hint of something else he wasn’t ready to confront yet. He quickly stood up, adjusting his clothes and trying to compose himself, but there was no mistaking the flush in his cheeks and the tightness in his jaw.

“Oh, I’ll have my revenge,” Loki muttered to himself, eyes narrowing as he watched you from across the room, his heart still pounding in his chest. “Just wait.”

The 1-1 was marked on Loki’s scorecard, and as he slowly pushed himself up, he scowled, trying to shake off the lingering effect your victory had on him. The amused look you gave him only deepened his irritation, but one thing was clear: this was far from over.You laughed with your compeers, completely oblivious to the storm you’d just stirred up in his mind that began to race with plans, schemes, and the faintest spark of something else—a determination that he would be the one getting the last laugh.

⠀

⠀

You hadn’t seen Loki all week. After that chaotic Friday showdown, you assumed it was finally over—that the tension had reached its peak and now it would settle back into normal gym routines. You’d thought that, maybe, you’d taught him a lesson he wouldn’t forget.

But as you were talking to Sam and Tony, venting your frustration, you heard the unmistakable sound of feline steps hitting the floor. You knew that stride all too well. Of course, it was him. And, of course, he was about to make an entrance.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you scoffed, disbelief dripping from your tone. The week of silence had made you forget how intense things could get when Loki was around. You thought you’d dodged a bullet, but it seemed the universe had other plans.

Sam's eyes gleamed with amusement, a slow smile spreading across his face. Tony, on the other hand, barely hid his grin. Both of them knew full well what Loki's reappearance meant.

“Woman, you really thought he was going to let it go after that last little scene?” Sam chuckled, his voice low but full of amusement. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms and watching Loki’s every move with a knowing gaze. “The guy’s like a cockroach. You just handed him the perfect reason to come back for more.”

Tony, ever the instigator, didn’t miss a beat. He shot you a teasing grin, leaning in slightly as he waggled his eyebrows. “So, that was quite the performance last Friday,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he gestured between you and the door. “And here I thought you had him all figured out. Looks like I was wrong. Clearly.” He dragged the word out for emphasis, clearly enjoying the aftermath of that heated moment between you and Loki.

Your eyes narrowed at Tony as you placed your hands on your hips, half in annoyance, half in amusement. You couldn't hide the corner of your mouth twitching upward, despite your best efforts to keep the facade of irritation intact. The whole match had been a rollercoaster, and as much as you’d convinced yourself you’d come out on top, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you hadn’t fully won. The mind games, the tension… they were far from over.

“I thought I had the upper hand,” you muttered, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation. “I mean, after that last move, he was the one on the floor looking like he’d been hit by a freight train.” You stopped, catching the flicker of doubt creeping in at the edges of your thoughts. “Guess I underestimated him.”

Tony shook his head, grinning like the cat who got the cream. “Oh no, you’ve got it all wrong, Glamazon. Frosty loved that show. He ate it up. It’s exactly what he needed to get under your skin. You made it too easy. I’m almost impressed.” He jerked his thumb toward the door, where Loki had just entered the gym.

And damn, was it hard to look away.

Loki walked in, his usual air of confidence radiating through every step, like nothing had ever happened. But this time, the outfit was different. Daring, even. He strode into the gym with the kind of assurance that made everyone in the room turn their heads. And there was no denying it—he was flaunting it. The dark green, form-fitting performance shirt clung to his torso in a way that left little to the imagination. The mesh on the sides and back offered tantalizing glimpses of his skin, daring you to look, daring you to react. It wasn’t just the fit—it was the challenge in his very presence.

And then, the shorts. Those shorts. High-slit athletic wear, the gold trim practically glowing against the black fabric. You could feel the heat of your gaze flicker down, almost involuntarily, as the slits revealed a generous portion of his toned thigh, the compression leggings underneath leaving just enough to the imagination. The effect was maddening, and you found yourself completely captivated by the sight.

As he walked by, each step seemed to make the slits ride up higher, exposing more of those muscular thighs. Your gaze lingered a moment longer than you intended. The way his legs flexed with every stride sent an unexpected jolt through you, a wave of heat rushing to your chest. You felt the urge to look away, but it was impossible. The image of his thighs—powerful, perfectly sculpted—began to invade your mind.

A sudden thought hit you, one you couldn't shake. You imagined your hands trailing up those legs, feeling the tension in his muscles, the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. The thought of running your hands over them made your breath catch, your mind racing with vivid fantasies of what it would feel like to be wrapped around those thighs. Get it together, you mentally scolded yourself, but it was too late. The fantasy clung to you like a stubborn shadow.

He was just so damn shameless. And so tempting. Everything about him was designed to taunt, to provoke, to ensnare. And as much as you wanted to resist, your body had other ideas. Loki knew exactly what he was doing—every glance, every step calculated to make you lose control.

You exhaled slowly, trying to regain composure. Two can play at this game, you thought, your mind racing to formulate a response. You weren’t going to back down. Not now.

Sam let out a low whistle, leaning closer to you. “Okay, I see what you’re dealing with,” he said, glancing between you and Loki with a grin. “I don’t know, man, looks like he’s really trying to get under your skin today.” His voice was teasing, but there was a glint of seriousness in his eyes. He knew this wasn’t just about working out—it was about playing mind games. And Loki was very good at them.

Tony, as always, had to add his two cents. “Oh, I get it now. This is one of those ‘play hard to get’ things, huh? You can’t fool us. We all know you’re enjoying the view. The guy practically glows with that outfit. And we all know what happened last Friday... that little show you two put on? No one’s forgotten about it. Puny god sure hasn’t.” He grinned, watching you closely, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable you were getting under the weight of their teasing.

You scowled at him, trying to suppress the heat that was rushing to your cheeks. “We were just messing around,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest. “And it was all him, to be fair.”

Tony raised both hands in mock surrender. “Yeah, and I’m the next Pope.” He gave you a knowing look, his grin wide and mischief written all over his face. “I saw the way you two were looking at each other. That wasn’t just a wrestling match, it reeked of flirting. Ew, by the way.”

“Tony, you’re closer to being the Antichrist than the Pope,” you shot back, your voice dry with sarcasm.

You groaned, suddenly aware of the gossip that was circulating among your friends. Sam and Tony had seen through it all—they knew exactly what was going on. And now, they were feeding off of it, enjoying your discomfort.

Loki, however, had already caught wind of the attention he was drawing. As he stepped into the center of the room, his eyes slid over to you, catching your gaze for just a moment. The smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips was nothing short of dangerous. He wasn’t fazed by the gym’s collective attention. In fact, it seemed like he was basking in it, as if this was exactly what he wanted.

Loki gave you a once-over, his gaze lingering longer than necessary. It was as if he knew exactly what was going through your mind. His lips curled into that mischievous smile that always made your stomach do flips. There was something about the way he looked at you—something far more personal than just the game he was playing. And you couldn’t help but notice the gold chain dangling from his neck, glinting in the light. It was subtle, but it caught your attention. And you couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel, how it would look, catching it in your teeth as you—

“Well, then,” Loki’s voice broke through your thoughts, smooth as silk. “I hope you’re ready for round three, my dear. I wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

The words hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you were speechless. He’d been watching you, observing you, knowing exactly what effect he was having. You couldn't suppress the thought that came rushing to your mind: Oh, I’m definitely up for more rounds than you can think of.

And then, just as quickly, the heat rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. You quickly pushed the thought away, trying to regain your composure.

Sam and Tony exchanged amused glances. They clearly weren’t going to let this go anytime soon.

“I spy with my falcon eye someone looking a little flustered,” Sam said with a raised eyebrow, his tone light but laced with amusement. He glanced over at Loki before turning his attention back to you. “Something you want to share with the class?”

Tony leaned back, crossing his arms as he took in the scene, his grin growing wider. “I don’t know, Tweety. I think we’re witnessing something here.” He looked at Loki and then back at you, practically gleaming with mischief. “It’s like a reality show, but better. Someone cue the theme music.”

You rolled your eyes, your face still warm. “I’m just trying to get through my workout. Can you guys not make this awkward?”

Loki’s gaze flickered between Sam, Tony, and you, his smirk curling deeper. “Ah, I see,” he said smoothly, his voice rich with amusement as he took a step closer. “Trying to keep your cool while the circus goes on around you.” He lingered a moment, eyeing you like a predator sizing up its prey. “But, my dear, there’s no harm in keeping things… entertaining.” His tone dropped lower, almost sultry. “Are you sure you don’t want me to keep you company while you work out? I’ll be here, of course, but don’t let me distract you.”

Sam smirked, his arms still crossed. “Bit too late for that, buddy.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the rush of heat flooding your cheeks. “No, thank you. I’m just trying to get through my session without it turning into a drama show.”

Tony chuckled, looking between you and Loki. “Go on, do your thing, Ms. Olympia. We’ll be here, making sure everything’s as interesting as it can be.”

You huffed, shaking your head at them, desperate to regain some sense of focus. “I can’t even work out with you two around. It’s like I’m in some kind of bad sitcom.”

Loki chuckled darkly behind you, the sound low and wicked. His voice dropped, more teasing now. “Perhaps you’d like me to… help you with that focus issue. It’s a bit hard to concentrate when your thoughts keep wandering, don’t you think?”

Sam let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying this a bit too much. “Ooh, this is good. I’m here for it.”

Tony grinned, raising a thumb up in approval. “Keep it up, you two.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked toward the leg press machine while grumbling about how you were surrounded by complete fools. You could feel Loki’s eyes following you, the intensity of his gaze almost tangible on your back. You tried to tune it out, but every step you took, every breath you drew, was tainted by the knowledge that he was watching. And it was impossible to ignore.

The air in the gym felt thick with anticipation as you adjusted your position on the leg press machine, trying your best to ignore the electric pull of Loki’s presence just a few feet away. It was supposed to be a simple leg day. Squats, lunges, some basic machines, a few stretches—nothing too exciting. But the way Loki was setting up at the squat rack, his movements so deliberate, made it clear this was no ordinary gym session.

Your mind had barely adjusted when he began his first set, the weight crashing down with a sharp thud. You couldn’t help but glance over, just for a second. His posture was perfect—shoulders broad, chest out, a small hint of a smirk curling at his lips. The man knew how to draw attention, and the workout attire didn’t help either.

But then it started—the thing you had been dreading.

Loki moved to the mat and set up for hip thrusts, his back against the bench, his legs spread wide to grip the weight bar. The moment the weight began to lift, his breath hitched, low and guttural. A soft groan slipped from his lips as he pushed his hips forward, and despite yourself, you glanced over to his form.

Your pulse quickened as you watched his muscles tense, his body arching in that perfect, rhythmic thrust. You tried to tear your eyes away, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. It was just an exercise. Just an exercise. Just focus on your own workout.

But it was impossible. The sound of Loki’s breath—those soft, strained groans that seemed to vibrate through the floor—was distracting. Each thrust, each controlled movement of his hips, echoed in your mind. You tried to ignore it, biting your lip as you switched positions and grabbed your weights. Deep breath. In. Out.

You couldn’t.

Every time Loki’s hips rose, there was that groan. That low, guttural sound that was more sensation than sound. It made your skin tingle in ways you couldn’t understand. Your thoughts were already turning to places they shouldn’t. The images, vivid and undeniable, started to form in your mind—hands trailing up your legs, the way his body moved with power, the flex of his muscles beneath your touch.

"Focus," you told yourself, but it was getting harder by the second. You quickly shoved your headphones in, cranking up the volume as loud as it would go. The thumping bass of your playlist should’ve drowned out the world. But it didn’t. Loki’s grunts still filtered through, faint but undeniably there, and now they were mixing with the beat of your music in ways that had you gripping the machine a little too tight.

Stop it, you mentally scolded yourself. It’s just a workout. He’s just... working out.

But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to feel those powerful thighs under your hands, your body pressed against his, those same hips that were now thrusting against the air. His groan vibrated through your very chest, and the fantasy came alive—too alive. You tried to force it down, but it lingered, stubborn and insistent.

You focused on your leg press, forcing your body into the motions. Down, up, down, up. Your legs were burning, but your focus was elsewhere, your body aching for the release of tension you couldn’t get. Loki’s continued grunts—soft, rhythmic—were driving you mad.

Suddenly, you felt the eyes on you again. You glanced up, catching a glimpse of him watching you, that dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was watching you, studying you. He didn’t even pause his workout, his hips thrusting upward again with a languid fluidity that had your breath catching in your throat. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing, knew the effect he was having on you. His eyes lingered just a second too long, and you saw the flicker of smugness on his face.

Before you could even fully process the shift in the air, Loki suddenly appeared at your side, startling you. You flinched, and before you could react, he moved one of your earpieces to the side, his fingers brushing dangerously close to your ear. You stiffened, dismay flooding through you as his touch lingered a moment too long. You hadn’t even noticed him move, and now, with him standing so close, you couldn’t focus on anything else.

“You look like you’re struggling,” he remarked, his voice smooth, dripping with an edge of mischief that made your skin heat. You glanced over, but quickly averted your eyes when his locked onto yours. That familiar smirk tugged at his lips, and you couldn’t help the flutter in your stomach. 

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up, meeting his knowing gaze. There was no escape now, not even in the sanctuary of your headphones.

"You've been staring," he purred, the teasing lilt of his voice making your pulse race. "Can't keep your eyes off me, can you?"

Hearing him speak made those deep, sensual sounds that slipped from his lips earlier strike your memory again in a thick whiplash. Your focus wavered, unable to hold its ground. The way he moved, the way he seemed to possess every inch of the gym with his presence—it was too much. The thought of him so near, teasing you without words, had your thoughts spinning, your concentration slipping further.

“I can help you, if you’d like,” Loki added casually, his voice now dipped in a teasing tone that made your skin flush. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself, after all. It would be such a shame if you... collapsed under the weight. You wouldn’t want to get yourself into any kind of... compromising position now, would you?”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your cool. You bit your lip, trying to focus on the weights in front of you, and not the crafted image of Loki’s body beneath those tight shorts.

“I’m good,” you said, forcing a nonchalant tone into your voice as you adjusted your stance.

Loki chuckled darkly, a sound that sent a chill up your spine. “Are you sure?” His eyes tracked your every movement, and his words lingered in the air like a challenge. “It seems like you could use some assistance. Maybe a little guidance... in the right position?”

Your breath faltered. He wasn’t even pretending anymore, was he? Every word felt like it was wrapped in double meaning, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could endure it. His gaze followed you as you moved to the squat rack, watching you carefully. When you tried to start your set, Loki’s voice floated over again, his tone almost too smooth.

“Don’t strain yourself now,” Loki called with an exaggerated innocence, leaning against the nearby rack. “Let me help you out. I’m quite good at supporting... heavy loads.” His eyes twinkled with that dangerously charming glint, knowing full well how far his words were pushing the line.

His words carried more weight than just an offer of assistance. His lips curled further, clearly aware of what his proximity was doing to you. You swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of control, but it was slipping through your fingers, one teasing glance at a time.

You tried to clear your throat, attempting to steady your breath, but all you could think about was the way his body moved���each thrust, each groan, each deliberate motion that seemed aimed directly at you. The air was thick with tension, thick with him, and you could feel it clouding your thoughts like a drug.

“I think I’ve got it covered,” you talked through your teeth, trying to ignore the warmth pooling low in your belly as you adjusted your grip on the barbell.

Loki’s smirk only grew, his breath heavier now, louder as he moved to prepare his next sets. "Mh, I’m sure you do. But I’ll be here if you need to drop anything. I’m quite capable of catching things... especially when they fall out of control."

You could feel the tension building in your body, a mix of frustration and arousal swirling together. Your focus was shot, lost somewhere between your workout and Loki’s innuendos. Those seductive sounds that followed each thrust, seemed to be pulsing through your eardrums, practically vibrating in your bones.

"I said I’m fine," you finally snapped, irritated with both yourself and him. “I don’t need your help.”

The sensation of Loki’s eyes on you, the sound of his breath, the feel of his proximity—it was all too much. You couldn’t take it anymore. Your heart was racing, and it wasn’t from the workout. It was from him, from the teasing, from the way he seemed to find endless amusement in rattling your composure. It felt like he was intentionally trying to push you to the edge. You grabbed your towel from the bench, a sharp motion born from irritation, and stormed off to the treadmill, needing a change of pace. The last thing you wanted was to be anywhere near him at that moment. You couldn’t let him get to you—not anymore. Not like this.

Your focus was slipping, the heat of your skin betraying the resolve you were desperately trying to hold onto. You couldn’t afford the distraction. The only thing that could save you now was a good run, something that would let your muscles burn, let your thoughts bleed into the rhythm of your steps. Something that would drown out the chaotic swirl of fantasies and irritation that he had stirred up in your mind.

You punched in the settings on the treadmill, fingers moving with precision, though your mind was nowhere near as composed. The moment you hit "start," the belt began to move, and the familiar, repetitive thud of your feet against the treadmill’s surface became your anchor. You jammed your headphones back in, cranking up the volume, hoping the music would drown out the thoughts that were threatening to break through your focus. Music usually worked. But right now? It wasn’t enough. Not with him still in the background, somewhere in the periphery of your mind. You kept one muff slightly over one ear, just in case he decided to come prowl on you again.

You could feel it again, though. His gaze. It was like a weight pressing against your back, making your skin feel tight. You could almost feel him watching, studying you, though you refused to look. Not now. You kept your eyes fixed straight ahead, blocking out everything but the rhythm of your feet, the steady burn in your legs. Your mind was still racing, but you forced yourself to settle into the movement. You weren’t going to let him distract you anymore.

The sound of his low chuckle reached you from across the room, cutting through your thoughts like a hot knife. Your pulse skipped. You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the sensation of him still lingering, even from afar. It wasn’t enough. His presence had a way of bleeding into everything you did. But then—another sound. A soft giggle, the clear laugh of a woman, cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your feet stilling for just a fraction of a second.

You glanced to the side, and there he was. Standing at the weight bench, effortlessly chatting with someone—another woman. She was hanging on his every word, eyes sparkling with amusement as she laughed at something Loki had said. The sight of it hit you like a slap, sharp and immediate. Your gut twisted. Of course, he’d move on to someone else. Of course, he’d find someone new to charm, to entertain. Like it was nothing.

Your jaw tightened as your mind churned, irritation bubbling up once again. The way he was smiling at her, the way she was laughing, so easily caught up in whatever he was saying—it was like a reminder of how little you actually mattered to him. It was all a game to him. And you? You were just another piece on the board.

You turned back to the treadmill, determined to ignore him. You increased the speed, pushing your legs harder, faster, ignoring the strain in your muscles as they burned. You would focus on the run. You would make yourself focus on the run. The burn in your thighs, the tightness in your calves—it would ground you, it would help you forget about Loki.

But, of course, the sound of his voice was already creeping up beside you.

You felt the treadmill shift slightly, the subtle change in the rhythm of his footsteps as he jogged up next to you. You tried to block him out. You kept your gaze forward, staring at the wall ahead, trying not to even acknowledge that he was there. But the steady thud of his feet, the near-perfect, effortless pace with which he kept up, began to fill your ears, and before you knew it, his voice was slipping into your consciousness like the softest whisper.

“Trying to outrun me now, darling?” Loki’s voice was a silky purr, the words slow and deliberate, dripping with a teasing, almost predatory quality. "I do hope you're not tiring so easily. I’d hate to think you can’t keep up.”

You clenched your jaw. His proximity only made the effort to keep running feel harder, more impossible. But you weren’t about to let him win.

You shot a glance at him, your breath sharp. Loki was jogging beside you, his form so relaxed, so effortless. He barely seemed to be trying, while you were fighting every inch of the treadmill. His smile curled up at the edges, his eyes dark with mischief as he matched your pace.

“Oh, what’s wrong? Not used to the pressure?” he teased again, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper. “I thought you liked a challenge. Or is that just for when I’m the one in control?”

His words sliced through your focus, making your breath hitch. You ignored him, pushing yourself harder, willing your body to keep up.

But of course, Loki wasn’t done.

“You know," he continued smoothly, his pace not even breaking as he leaned in closer, his voice dangerously seductive, "I could make this a lot easier for you. If you let me guide you… show you how to keep the rhythm steady, how to control your breathing." His words dripped with innuendo, his every syllable teasing a deeper, more tantalizing meaning.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” you snapped, hoping your voice didn’t shake as much as you felt. You didn’t look at him as you turned the treadmill speed up again, pushing your legs to move faster. You had the advantage of effort now, your muscles burning as you tried to shake off his presence.

But he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. Loki kept pace, not once showing any sign of struggle. His stride was effortless, like he was gliding through the air while you were forced to fight for every step. His voice, smooth as ever, slid through the air again, and you couldn’t help but feel his words wrap around you like a physical touch.

“I can’t help but wonder," Loki mused with a smirk, “are you running away from something?”

Your pulse spiked. The words hit their mark, pushing all the right buttons, pulling at your composure. You gritted your teeth and tried to ignore him, focusing on the speed, on the burn, on the rhythm. You couldn't let him derail you, not again.

“If running is all it takes to get you panting like that, darling, I can think of far more enjoyable ways to leave you breathless. Shall I show you?”

“Will you just shut up?”

You couldn’t help it. His words were a physical weight on your chest, like a pressurizing force. Your heart was racing—not from the run, but from him. You clenched your jaw, furious with yourself for letting him get under your skin like this.

Suddenly, your foot caught the edge of the treadmill, and in that instant, time seemed to freeze. You stumbled, your legs buckling beneath you, and without even a pause, Loki’s hand shot out, catching you by the waist. His grip was firm, secure, pulling you back into him effortlessly.

Everything stopped—except for the feel of his hand on your waist, his chest pressing against your back, the warmth of his breath on your neck. You could feel his heart beating against your spine, the tension between you two so thick it was almost tangible.

“Careful, now,” Loki’s voice purred, low and dangerous, as he leaned in, his lips grazing your ear with a softness that sent shivers down your spine. “Wouldn’t want you to fall… though, I’d gladly have you on your knees if that’s where you’re trying to end up.”

His breath lingered against your skin, hot and intoxicating, his words dripping with intention. It was as if time had slowed, every breath you took mingling with his, making the air thick with something more than just the scent of sweat and effort. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and for a split second, you forgot the pain in your legs, forgot the purpose of the run. All you could feel was the electric heat of his body just inches from yours, the weight of his words pulling you in like a magnetic force.

He didn’t just hold you steady. His fingertips danced on the small of your back, tracing little circles that made your skin tingle. The sensation was maddening—gentle, yet firm, teasing you without even trying. Each motion of his hand sent waves of shivers through you, and despite your attempts to hold it in, a soft, involuntary sigh escaped your lips.

You tried to focus, to pull away, but his grip only tightened slightly, keeping you close. Your thoughts were swirling, the line between annoyance and something far more dangerous blurring with every breath he took. It was all too much—his touch, his scent, the feel of his body against yours, and those little circles on your back that made you shiver and almost surrender to the sensation.

Finally, you yanked away, breaking free from his teasing hold. Your hand shot out, grabbing the towel from the bench, and in your rush to regain your space, you slapped it against his thigh with a little more force than you intended, your fingers brushing against his skin as the towel made contact. You didn’t mean for it to feel like that, but the heat in your cheeks was unmistakable.

“What I’d like is for you to fuck off, Loki,” you retaliated with a tight voice, though the words betrayed the truth—that it wasn’t the teasing that bothered you. It was him. All of him. The way he could unsettle you, make your pulse race in ways you weren’t ready for.

But even as you spun on your heel to storm away, you could hear him. His voice, smooth as velvet and laced with the sort of amusement that made your stomach tighten.

“Oh, I’m definitely getting ideas now,” Loki called out, a sly grin curling on his lips. “That slap of yours... so eager. You know where to find me if you decide you want to explore any of them.”

You couldn’t help it. Your breath hitched as you threw him a quick glance over your shoulder, eyes narrowed in mock annoyance, but the heated look in his gaze made it clear that this wasn’t over. You flipped him off, the motion sharp and a little more dramatic than you intended, but you couldn’t mask the rush of heat that surged through your body, making your skin feel too warm.

Your water bottle was a poor substitute for what you really needed, but you chugged it anyway, hoping to drown out the craving that had started to build in your chest. The cool liquid did nothing to cool the burn inside you, the heat of him still lingering in your senses.

You knew exactly what you wanted. But it wasn’t water. Not anymore. Not after that.

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[wttcsms]

time, mystical time (cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine) ; simon "ghost" riley.

pairing simon "ghost" riley x f!reader  word count 3.3k  synopsis snapshots of the defining moments in ghost's life. content contains slight angst, mild descriptions of alcohol abuse (ghost's father) + domestic abuse (non-explicit desc., but the act itself is mentioned various times), a bit of tiny look into my take on ghost's background, nsfw content, slight size kink, breeding kink, creampie, domestic fluff, pregnant!reader in some scenes, children (dad!ghost) author's notes takes place in this au & honestly is a lot more enjoyable of a read if you read that fic (+ the other connected one shots [go on my masterlist]). fun fact: simon is referred to as simon in the scenes with only you and his family. he's ghost anywhere else.

His mother had always told him that as a baby, he was always rather quiet. Scared her half to death, she would say, ‘cause he’d rarely ever cry. Even the doctor got worried when he first came out. 

Looking back at his childhood — perhaps the lack thereof — Simon assumes it’s probably instinctual. With a deadbeat drunk of a father armed with a heavy hand, being quiet probably saved Simon’s life more times than he wants to admit. He’d be knocked upside the head for the littlest of reasons, shouted at for even less. 

I’m the man of the house. 

His father’s slurred justifications for doling out unfair punishments ring through the dark halls of his childhood home. Simon hears it while he cowers inside his closet. His room is dark because his father doesn’t believe in nightlights, and mum got slapped hard for daring to go against his wishes and trying to sneak Simon one. She thinks he didn’t see it, but Simon sees a lot more than he should. Since then, he’s been sleeping in the dark. It’s not so scary anymore. 

There are scarier things that lurk in the light, anyway. 

It’s stuffy in the closet, and he knows it’s stupid to hide here because dad will find him any second now. The punishment is bad when he gets to drinking, and it gets worse whenever Simon tries to hide. 

A loud thump against his door makes Simon hold his breath. Then, the door bangs open from the weight.

Kicking doors open comes second nature to Lieutenant Riley. 

The loud crash of the door popping from the rusty hinges shocks the poor girls previously trapped behind them. All of them stay huddled together, staring fearfully at the loud, big men toting even louder, bigger guns. The hollowed cheeks, hopeless eyes, and array of bruises on their skin makes him sick. It’s a hot summer’s day, and Simon hates that after all this time, his observation from his childhood still stands true:

There are scarier things that lurk in the light, anyway. 

A bit hypocritical, he supposes. After all, he walks around in broad daylight, and he’s certainly no saint.

With the help of the rest of his extraction team, Ghost makes quick work of herding all the girls out of this depressing underground prison and out into a free world. He’s careful to be gentle with his touches, nothing more than a gentle guiding hand. Even with his gloves, he can’t be certain he’s not tainting them. Sins don’t wash away as easily as blood does. 

He’s the last one to leave, but he doesn’t exit alone. 

For a while, he felt a tight grip on his arm. Someone’s been clinging onto him this whole time, and with everything that’s happened, he can’t find it in his heart to shake them off. With no other distractions present, he finally turns to see who’s gotten so attached to him.

This is it. 

This is the moment where Simon Riley claims his life begins.

It’s such a juvenile feeling, he thinks. Waiting for his phone to ring, wondering why you haven’t texted or called. It’s so silly. So what he saved your life? It’s not like you owe him anything. It’s his job. He had a duty. Nothing more, nothing less.

Besides, he’s an asshole. Not the type of asshole who thinks he’s entitled to your company since he rescued you, but the type where Soap and the rest of the team aren’t too surprised he doesn’t have anyone to come home to. 

He can’t sleep. 

It’s been weeks since he gave you that burner phone. Surely you would have called, even sent a simple “hello”, if you really wanted to. He knows there’s not much to do in that facility. He knows that you haven’t been sleeping well. He knows that he should go to sleep; he’s got an early flight to catch in an active warzone, and there’s no way in hell he’s gonna get any semblance of rest as a result. 

Instead of sleeping, he’s grabbing his own burner phone off the nightstand and staring at the screen. It’s a simple enough task, really. He can just head straight to his contacts list and click the only one that’s there. Isn’t it traditional for the guy to call first, anyway? Or is he just fooling himself into thinking that you’re waiting for him to make the first move? Do you want him to make the first move? 

He’s never experienced this before. This newfound, boyish anxiety. The equal mixture of both hopelessness and hope churning in his stomach every time he sees you; do you think of him as much as he thinks of you? The question is then followed by a decisive no. He hasn’t survived this long because of blind optimism, so there’s no point in indulging in it now. 

Will you come back then? 

You looked up at him while asking this question, and you looked like an angel unfairly punished to walk alongside man. He wanted to spend the rest of his life constructing a stairway to heaven that you could use to make it back to your rightful home. When you look that beautiful and then proceed to ask him a question, what else was he supposed to say besides,

Whenever you want me to. 

Perhaps God truly is as merciful as he is all-seeing, because after a minute of contemplation and staring longingly at your contact, his phone screen lights up with the notification he’s prayed for (the only thing he’s ever prayed for, really). 

You’re calling him. 

And true to his word, he’s on his way. 

He’s never said I love you before, and as a result, he’s too scared to make his first attempt to do so, even though you just told him those three words yourself.

(He might tower over you, but looks can be deceiving. Simon thinks you’re much stronger and braver than him, in all the ways that matter.)

I love you.

He resists the urge to beg you to say it again and again and again, on repeat for the rest of your lives. 

He doesn’t say it back immediately, but he does let you take off his mask for the first time.

He doesn’t realize that the wide-eyed, awestruck, soft gleam in your eyes as you take him in, fully, for the first time is the same starry-eyed look he gets whenever he looks at you. He has a feeling you’re well aware of it, but now he finds the courage to confirm it.

“I love you.” 

And with a smile that could bring him back to life, all you have to say is, “I know.”

His mask is in your hands, after all.

“You never quite outgrow it, do ya?” Tommy’s got his hands in his pockets, but Simon can still picture the wedding band on his younger brother’s finger. He had been happy when Tommy tied the knot with Beth, if not a bit jealous. 

Now, though, Simon’s got his own wedding band. It’s tucked underneath his uniform, hanging from the same chain his dog tags are. It rests against his chest, in a spot closest to his heart, right where it — you — belong.

Dad’s dead. Tommy says mum cried, but he couldn’t understand why. After all, she’s the one who faced his wrath for the longest. She’s been on the receiving end of all his harshness. She’s the one who’s taken the most hits, the hardest hits. Simon nods in agreement but doesn’t tell his brother that he thinks he might know why.

Simon knows his mother is a good woman. A long time ago, his father wasn’t the man he knew growing up. He doesn’t know when the change in his personality happened, and Simon somehow feels like it’s his fault. He was the catalyst, the trigger. While she was pregnant with him, that’s when the violence and the drinking and the anger started. He knows mum isn’t crying to mourn the man he became; she’s just finally safe to grieve about the man she loved and lost. Simon hasn’t been able to face her in a while since he’s come to the conclusion that his being born was the cause of everything horrible that has happened to her. 

“No, I suppose not,” Simone says. The house feels smaller than he remembers, but when he walks into his childhood bedroom, he’s transported to darker times. The room is as big as the whole world again. This room, this damn house, is his only world. He’s nine and cowering in fear again. He’s little again. He’s scared again. He wants to run away, but his scrawny little legs won’t let him. Dad won’t let him. 

Then he blinks and realizes that the room hasn’t changed all that much.

Within the next week, Simon gets the house demolished and the land sold. 

“Ta-da!” You present to him a knitted, baby-blue blanket. The beginning stitchwork is sloppy at best with considerable improvement the further he looks. Between every thread, Simon can practically feel the love that’s stitched in it. 

“You like it?” You ask him, looking at him expectantly. 

“It’s perfect.” 

“Liar!” Your laugh rings through the cabin, and Simon feels like he’s being bathed in sunlight from the warmth of the sound alone. It’s distinctly yours, and he doesn’t want to be the barbarian who just takes and takes, but he wants it all to himself. He wants to catch it from the air and stuff it in his pockets and save it for when he’s in a foreign country and can’t sleep at night. 

“Why would I lie? It’s perfect.” You’re perfect.

“I messed up, like, five times trying to get this damn thing started! And it was so hard to get into a good groove since Simon Jr. thinks he’s a little football player. He’s been kicking like crazy!” To prove your point, you get closer to Simon and take one of his large hands, placing it on your growing belly. He’s sitting, surrounded by tools and pieces of a crib that he’s trying to build, and all he can do is look up in admiration at you, the most beautiful woman to walk this earth, an angel too good for this world, the mother of his child, his wife, you. Your hand is on top of his, and you squeeze it gently, and he loves the way the diamond on your wedding ring glitters in the sunlight. 

“He’s a strong one, alright.” Simon chuckles, feeling the way his son bumps against your belly. 

“Must get it from you, then.” 

That’s funny. Simon was just about to say that he’s pretty sure he gets it from you. 

When he’s with you, Simon likes to take things slow. He can be rough at times, demanding and conquering you with nothing but brute strength and vulgar compliments. Like a true soldier, you take all of his transgressions in stride. 

Tonight is one of the nights where Simon will indulge and finally take things slow. He likes to savor every moment he gets with you because no matter how much time has passed, the pessimist in him doesn’t stop reminding him that time is fickle, and the future is never promised. 

But Simon wants to build a future with you. Simon has built a future, but he’s greedy. So, so greedy. He wants more, he wants all of you, he wants everything you’re willing to give him. The way you part your legs for him, how you willingly — lovingly — let him in, even though nature resists.

No matter how many times he’s split you open on his cock, even with the slickness of the previous two orgasms he so happily wrung out from you, there’s still resistance as the width and length of his cock struggle to slide into your cunt. 

“It’s okay, love, let me in.” His whispers of reassurance are barely heard over your little whimpers. You’re nodding, trying to be a good girl for him, but the fact of the matter is that Simon Riley is incredibly too big. He is a god among men, and you find yourself squeezing his hand tightly as the first few inches of his cock make its way into your warmth. 

“I know, darling.” He mumbles, but his gentle words are spoken roughly. Desire coats every syllable, and his voice is gravelly. He’s holding back, restraining himself from giving in and giving it to you roughly. His hand, so much larger than your own, squeezes back. He’s slowly pushing more of his length inside your needy cunt, and you moan at the feeling of being complete. 

You don’t realize the tears that are welling up in the corner of your eyes as he completely enters you, the tip of his cock perfectly pressed against your cervix. Simon’s always been good at mixing pain and pleasure, and tonight is a testament to that. 

“More, please.” It comes out like a weak, little whine, and Simon is putty in your hands. Completely malleable to your every whim and desire. His love wants more? He’ll give you everything. 

Your lashes are wet with your tears, and he watches as tiny streams of tears fall down your heated cheeks. Your face feels warm to the touch, Simon realizes, as he leans down to kiss away your tears. Poor thing. You must have exerted yourself too much when you were thrashing around earlier as he refused to remove his mouth from your precious pussy until you came in his mouth. 

You’re no match for the sheer strength and power of Simon, who’s built like a Greek god and probably just as powerful. You surrender to the overwhelming sensation of his cock stroking in and out of your cunt, and you’re damn near shameless in your greed and desire for more. 

“Cum in me. I want you to give me another baby, wanna grow our family with you.” You toss your head back in pleasure, feeling the way his grip on your hand tightens at your words. The two of you move perfectly together; you wrap your legs around his waist as his free hand grips your hip to keep you steady. 

“Yeah? My wife wants me to fuck another baby into her?” Simon grunts, doubling his efforts to ensure that his cock hits deep enough to press against all the spots that have your walls tightening around him. 

The throbbing of his cock and the allure of expanding your family with Simon, with having a part of him always, even after the two of you have left this earth, is enough to send you over the edge. The ecstasy is all-consuming; all you know is Simon. You feel him to the depth of your core, his heat pressed against your own, your shared bedroom heavy with lust and love. 

He loves the way your body goes slack from the intensity of your orgasm. It lets him know that he’s fucked you just the way you deserved to be fucked, filled to the brim with his cock and his cum and all his love. He kisses you hard, savoring the natural sweetness of your lips pressed against his own. He muffles your moans as you feel the endless stream of his cum spilling inside of you, the warmth of it all being almost too much to bear. 

“Mmmf,” You pull back from his kiss, just so you can look him in the eyes as you give him his favorite reminder in the world.

“I love you.” 

He responds with another deep kiss. It says enough. It says I love you, too, and we’re going for a round two. 

He has all the time in the world with you.

He doesn’t feel any pain. That’s odd.

He looks back to the last minute. He heard the distinct sound of a gun firing, and he stumbled a bit as fate had its cruel fun and allowed the bullet to miraculously hit him in the one area his bulletproof gear just so happened to miss. What are the odds? 

He looks down. A dark stain is forming on his uniform, and the spot only continues to grow bigger. He moves a hand down to where the stain is at — it’s wet. A fresh wound. Fuck.

The sentiment is shared with Soap, who for once in his life doesn’t have anything smart to say. Ghost wants to say something cheeky, then. Just to keep him calm. It worked with Tommy. 

What’s the matter? Don’t worry about me. Should’ve seen the other guy. Almost had him in the last round. 

The words, Ghost realizes with growing dread, don’t quite come so easily.

It’s like his brain knows what he wants to do, but nothing is going as planned. Soap is saying something, but he just can’t quite make out the words. Johnny, speak proper fucking English, why don’t ya? 

No. That’s not the issue. Ghost frowns, but he doesn’t think Soap notices because of his damn mask. He can’t speak for shit, and he can’t hear, either. Actually, now that he’s really trying to take in his surroundings, everything’s a bit hazy, too. Like someone’s put some stupid film over everything, and stuff’s all slightly blurry. Just out of focus, just out of reach. 

“—get you home, alright?” The words sound all jumbled up, and Ghost only really catches the last end of whatever Soap’s blabbing on about. He’s a good kid. Great soldier. Stellar human being. He mentioned something about going home, but that’s just silly. The mission isn’t over yet, get it? They can’t go home ‘til the mission’s complete. 

“—don’t close your eyes—”

Home sounds nice. Warm vanilla in the colder seasons, jasmine with equal hints of something fruity and floral in the warmer ones. You fill the house with these scents, even matching your daily perfume to it. Doesn’t matter much to him, though. He hugs you close to his body and breathes in deeply, and he can still smell just you. No perfume will ever compare. 

Oh, and a busy kitchen. You’re covered in flour, his son sits on the counter, his daughter in her high chair. The entire kitchen comes to life, and every time he sees all three of you giggling in unison, his favorite sound of all, this kitchen becomes his whole world. This is what he goes to war to protect.

Baby blue walls and a crib. Crayon drawings of a stick figure family. Watching his daughter’s first steps and his son clinging to your legs. 

Maybe Soap’s right. Forget the mission. He should just head home.

But first, he’s really fucking tired. He’ll shut his eyes just for a minute.

He blinks a few times, eyes struggling to adjust to the light. Light slaps against his face were the cause for his waking up. A damn shame, honestly. He rarely dreams, but when he does, it’s of you, and he was dreaming about something certainly worth remembering for the next time he’s reunited with you. 

He rolls over to confront whoever dared to ruin the one good rest he’s had in a long time, only to come face to face with bright, innocent eyes the same shade as his own. 

“G’morning,” his son says, the words still clumsy on the two-year-old’s tongue. When Simon doesn’t answer immediately, he resumes slapping his father’s face.

“I’m up, buddy.” 

The little toddler claps his chubby little hands together in pure joy. 

“Dada home?”

Like a sight for sore eyes, you appear in the doorway, gently opening the door and pushing it open. You’ve got your daughter in your arms, and you look ready to scold the young boy for disturbing Simon until you realize that he’s already awake. There’s that smile of yours that Simon loves so much, the one he swears could bring him back to life.

“I’m home.”

author's note i intended for these little scenes/glimpses of his life to be the things ghost sees as he's bleeding out on the field. get it? the whole "life flashing before your eyes" thing BAHAHAHA. don't worry, he's alive and very much well, enjoying much needed domesticity with you + your little family. the last scene is him fucking u good and well, and that's the lil dream he was having. muahaha

[rotworld]

28: Cold-Blooded

art by @exorbitantsqueakingnoises

you've known for years that your best friend nor comes from the most dangerous and prominent dragon crime family in town. you've never worried about it too much, but you probably should have.

->original work. explicit; contains non-con, graphic descriptions of violence, manipulation, murder, feral behavior, possessive behavior.

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Red flag number one: Nor shows up at your door two hours before the party. There’s a pair of plastic drycleaning bags slung over his shoulder and he’s dragging a suitcase behind him. You don’t want to let him in but he does that thing you knew he’d do with his big, pretty tourmaline eyes and the saddest, most pathetic pout like a kitten begging to be rescued from a storm drain, and you cave. He waltzes right in like he owns the place and makes a beeline for your bedroom.

“This should be everything,” he says, laying the drycleaning bags out on your bed before he kneels to get the suitcase open. “Yours is on the left. Go ahead and start putting it on, I’ll help you with the ties in a second.” 

“You’re kidding.” You very pointedly don’t get a response. “You said this was a normal party.”

“It is normal,” he insists. “For me.” 

The zipper shrieks apart and he spreads the suitcase open across the floor. There’s an antique wooden box inside that smells faintly of floral perfume, the surface carved with intricate looping symbols that wouldn’t look out of place along the borders of a medieval tapestry. The hinges creak when Nor opens it. Small decorative jars of colorful glass and gold filigree sit in red velvet. There are brushes clasped by leather straps to the inside of the lid, ranging from broad, puffball bristles to very fine points. 

“What does that mean?”

Nor looks up with a pleading expression. “I’ll handle everything, okay? That’s why I brought all this stuff. And I’ll be next to you the whole time, I swear, I don’t even want to go to this stupid thing but my dad won’t get off my ass about it. We’ll just hang out in the corner, eat some food, and slip out when nobody’s paying attention.”

“This is a family thing?” He nods pitifully. How can a dragon, in human skin or otherwise, look so much like a scolded puppy? “Don’t just spring this stuff on me. I would’ve gone if you told me from the start, you don’t have to lie.” It wouldn’t be the first formal event you’ve saved him from and it probably won’t be the last. So why is he being so cagey about it? You pick up the drycleaning bag set aside for you and frown. “Nor,” you say slowly. “What is this?”

He grins, showing off a mouthful of daggers. “It’s your outfit,” he says, knowing damn well that’s not what you meant.

Red flag number two:the “clothes” are a tangle of sashes and scarves that will show far more than they cover. You peel off the plastic and run the material over your fingers. It’s nice for sure, really nice. Each sash is made of sleek black fabric that’s velvety smooth but lightweight and flowing, decorated with embroidery in intricate geometric patterns. The stitching is luminescent and changes color when you look at it from different angles, shimmering in a prismatic cycle from red to blue as you slide it across your palm.

“What kind of party is this, exactly?” you ask. 

“Dinner party with lots of standing around pretending to be important. You know, the usual.”

This certainly doesn’t look usual to you but you lose your train of thought when Nor suddenly undresses without warning or shame. He exhales slowly, pushing stark white hair out of his face and flexing the muscles in his back. 

A line of jagged bone like a miniature mountain ridge juts from his spine, bloodlessly piercing a thin membrane of pseudo-skin. You can see his wings trying to form, an unsettling squirming in the flesh of his shoulders, but he keeps them tucked away for now. His tail snakes out at the very bottom, a lithe rope of solid muscle with stiff thorny protrusions along the top. What used to be a pair of little rounded nubs have grown into snaking upturned horns, brown and rough like tree bark. Skin hardens in glinting patches along his back and down his sides. Nor’s scales are gold and nacreous silver. Seeing him shifted, whether half or whole, always steals your breath.

“I don’t love this either,” he says, his tail flicking irritably. “But it is what it is.” You’re surprised that there’s an identical outfit in the other bag. He puts it on with practiced ease, knowing exactly how and where to loop and tuck and tie each sash. The result is an elegant, form-fitting garment criss-crosses his body that accentuates rather than conceals. His chest is framed with black stripes over and under it, the scales of his hips on display in the gaps left at his sides. Long panels dangle in front of and behind his legs. There’s a strategically spaced gap left for his tail.

Looking him over, you realize it’s not quite the same outfit. His is plain. The sashes are undecorated, lacking any pattern or embroidery. 

“Did you mix these up?” you ask him.

He looks at you, head tilted and pupils narrowed into long slits. “No?” he says, sounding confused. “This one’s for family and that one’s for a, uh…guest. We really need to get started on yours, by the way. We’ve got like a thousand pieces of jewelry to put on each and then I have to do the ceremonial markings.” He gestures at the bottles and brushes. You haven’t even done anything and you’re already feeling overwhelmed.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to embarrass you. Shouldn’t you bring someone, uh…I dunno, prettier?” 

“Don’t ever say that again.” Your heart leaps into your throat when Nor lunges at you. You stumble back, pinned to the edge of your bed when he plants his hands down on either side of you. His eyes are wide and he’s baring his teeth, practically snarling at you. “What does that even mean, ‘embarrass me?’ You’re perfect. If I wanted someone else, I would’ve asked someone else. I want you—” You’re both startled by the sound of his claws ripping through your sheets and mattress. He backs off immediately, tail drooping and claws clutched against his chest like he doesn’t trust them. “I want you to come,” he says sheepishly. “There’s lots of people I could ask, but you’re…special. You always have been.” 

It makes you roll your eyes when he says stuff like that. It’s not that Nor is never sincere, but his reputation as a heartbreaker is legendary. He was a menace in high school and you’ve heard through the grapevine that he hasn’t changed much since, still a pretty face with a silver tongue and habit of never calling back. The two of you were a romcom waiting to happen—a rich boy who never heard the word “no” in his life and the only kid who wouldn’t kiss his ass, but things never went that way. You were the only constant in a rotating roster of fairweather friends who liked his family’s money and lovers he couldn’t be bothered to keep, the only one he’s ever asked to keep him company at these stiff family get-togethers.

You hold up the sash again, grimacing. “How do you know this’ll even fit me?” 

“Magic,” Nor says, waving his hand dismissively. “Now come on, hurry up and try it on.” His tail swats your leg when you don’t move fast enough.

It’s not like there’s nothing there. There always has been. Simmering just under the surface, there’s this tension you’re both afraid to acknowledge out loud. Nor insists that you get changed in front of him and watches just a bit too intently when you undress. He stands behind you when he ties the sashes in place, his chest pressed against your back and his breath blowing softly against your ear. He stretches the fabric from your waist to your shoulder and runs his hand over it, smoothing his palm over your skin. You offer to hand him the next one but instead he bends over you, forcing you to bend with him, and reaches for it himself.

You can feel him against your back. His pectorals, the firm, lithe muscle of his abdomen, his cock nestled between your thighs with only the fabric of the sash keeping it from twitching against your skin. He’s cool to the touch but he gets warmer the longer he’s pressed against you, absorbing your body heat. “Nor?” you say, your voice quivering with—nerves? Anticipation? Do you want him to stop or do you wish he’d keep going?

“Yeah?” he says, low and husky. He tilts you back upright and keeps working like nothing happened, stretching the next sash across your body. You shiver when he secures a tie at your neck, the tips of his claws softly grazing your throat. “What? Did you want to ask me something?” The tip of his tail coils loosely around your ankle. 

“Do I get a coat, at least? I’m freezing.” 

He snorts. “Don’t you remember what these are like? It’s a dragon party. You can bring one, but you won’t need it when we get there.”

Nor’s touch still lingers and sometimes grazes somewhere sensitive, but there’s some distance that wasn’t there before. He talks while he gets you ready, reminiscing on all the trouble you used to get up to together at these parties—more accurately, all the trouble he’d get into and you’d witness. Tearing holes in the tablecloths and knocking over very expensive floral arrangements with his tail, sneaking off to the kitchens and begging the chef to make you both an early dessert. She always did. You’re not the only one that sad, soggy cat look works on. 

The ceremonial markings take almost an hour all by themselves but Nor is surprisingly focused and patient when he wants to be. The symbols he draws are small and complicated. You can’t see what he puts on your forehead or neck but the small shapes he draws on your arms and legs are repeating, interlocking shapes, something like broad, flattened diamonds. Scales, you realize. They’re a scale pattern—Nor’s scale pattern. 

The brush tickles when it grazes your stomach. Nor teases you for squirming but he behaves for the most part. You try not to think about why that disappoints you so much. Tucked into a zipper compartment on the other side of the suitcase is a small fortune in gold chains, bangles, rings and necklaces. You don’t want any but Nor insists. “Going to be a little awkward to drive in all this,” you say.

“No worries,” he says. “Dad sent his driver.” 

You’re in the backseat of red flag number three for a drive that is both excruciatingly long and far too brief. The driver is wearing a suit and tie. He calls Nor “sir” and opens the door for you, then doesn’t say another word. It’s late and everything is shadow beyond the headlights and the faint glow of the moon on a winding country road. Nor wants to make conversation but you’re too unnerved to offer more than one-word answers and sounds of acknowledgement. “It’s like a business thing, but also just a fun thing,” he says, trying and failing to put your mind at ease. “A bunch of family friends come over and everyone catches up. We’re nosy. It’s a cultural thing. You’re supposed to announce anything new you’ve got going on, like if you’re going on a trip or getting mated.” 

“Do you have anything to announce?” you ask.

His hand rests on your thigh, thumb tracing the dried scale patterns he drew on your skin. He doesn’t answer. 

Nor’s father lives atop a hill at the edge of town. To call it a house or even a mansion is like calling the ocean “a bit of water.” The sprawling estate has a forest for a yard, complete with a tranquil lake where Nor used to swim as a boy, the water glittering on his scales like morning dew. The home itself is best described as a castle, a three-story complex of gray stone spires. The car pulls into a circle drive with a fountain in the center. Soft orange candle light flickers behind the curtains, not on the first or third floor but exclusively on the second. 

To your horror, Nor’s father is standing outside. He watches the car pull up with a scowl on his face, waiting beneath the arched entryway. He’s dressed like you and Nor but his sashes are far more numerous and extravagant, draped like a robe over his frighteningly tall figure. 

“Am I supposed to be here?” you whisper. “Why is he glaring at me?” You shrink back when the driver opens the door but Nor puts a hand on your shoulder and pushes gently. 

“Yes, you’re supposed to be here. And he’s not glaring at you, he’s glaring at me,” Nor says. He follows you out and grabs your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. “It’s fine,” he insists gently. “Don’t worry, okay? Just trust me. I’m going to take care of everything.” 

You want to ask him what the hell that’s supposed to mean but you never get the chance because his father walks over. Druezaghrath never makes himself more than half-human. He looms over both of you, amber eyes flicking back and forth in black sclera. His scales are gold and his horns are much larger than Nor’s, but they arch straight back instead of curling up like his son’s. 

“You’re nearly late, Norlathellios,” he rumbles.

Nor cranes his neck and looks his father in the eye without flinching. “Can’t be late to my own fucking announcement,” he says. “What’re you gonna do? Start without me?” 

Druezaghrath narrows his eyes and smoke trickles from his nostrils. His tail thrashes, striking the concrete behind him hard enough to shatter it. His gaze flicks to you when you flinch at the sound and you avert your eyes. “Save your defiance. You have a challenger.”

“Fine.” Nor squeezes your hand. You don’t want to follow him when he starts moving. You dig your heels in. Something is wrong here, about all of this. Nor looks back at you with that sad expression but it doesn’t work this time. “Come on,” he says, tugging your hand a little harder. “I told you, it’s fine.” 

“Go inside,” Druezaghrath says. “We’ll join you shortly.” 

Your stomach lurches in panic. This is so much worse. Nor doesn’t want to go but he glances up at the cold stone and flickering windows with a solemn expression. “They’re already scared,” he says. “Go easy.” 

“Nor?” you say, your voice pitched in terror. He lets go of your hand. You try to reach for him but Druezaghrath’s large, coarse claws close around your forearm and drag you to a stop. “Nor, wait!”

He does, but only for a second. He looks back and his smile is bittersweet. “Sorry about all this. You’ll get it, when it’s over. It’ll make sense. And maybe you’ll…” He doesn’t finish the thought. His gaze flicks up to his father looming over you and he takes a deep breath. Then he turns on his heel, sashes fluttering, and disappears through the front doors. You try to follow him and don’t make it even one step, Druezaghrath’s grip on your arm tightening to painful, bruising pressure. 

“I need you to understand something,” he says. He turns you around and you see his eyes glinting like a predator’s in the dark. “If you run, I’ll catch you. You won’t get anywhere close to the property line. You don’t want to waste my time like that, and you need to save your strength. Nor has been looking forward to this.” His grip shifts down and he holds up your wrist, examining the ceremonial markings. “I really should’ve seen this coming,” he muses. “He was always so particular about you.” Your trembling makes him exhale sharply in amusement. “He didn’t tell you a single thing about what’s happening tonight, did he? That boy…” 

A whimper slips out when he starts moving and pulls you with him, far stronger than Nor and completely unconcerned with how much you fight and struggle. He drags you through a foyer so dark you can’t see your hand in front of your face, then up a carpeted flight of stairs. 

“My son has requested an audience to witness his mating announcement,” he explains, ignoring your pleas and protests and begging. “Some say he’s too young. I was well into my second century before I considered such a thing. There are concerns that a mate at this age might affect his decision making and negatively impact the family business. He must prove two things tonight: that he is capable, and that you are compatible. It sounds like the first test is already underway.” 

You don’t know what he means until you hear something in the distance, too muffled at first to make out. Something falling? Something hitting something? Candles flicker in wall sconces, lighting a long hall to a pair of wooden doors cracked ajar. You hear a low, rumbling growl like the grinding of stone and then a much shriller animal sound of distress that makes your blood run cold. Something crunches and splatters. Something hisses and wheezes, flailing against the hard stone floor. 

Druezaghrath approaches the doors first. He nudges them open, peering inside. You don’t want to look. Now everything you hear is wet—the slick sound of sharpness parting flesh, liquid spilling, soft things squeezed and crushed until they burst. “Is he…okay?” you whisper. Druezaghrath looks at you like you grew a second head. You don’t know why you’re asking, either. You don’t want to be here. You’re scared out of your mind. But the idea of him getting hurt, of those awful noises coming from him, makes the horror unbearable. “Nor, is he—he’s fighting someone, isn’t he? Is he hurt?” 

Nor’s father tilts his head, looking at you as though spotting something he finds interesting, maybe even appealing, for the first time. His grip on your arm loosens, his thumb rubbing gently at the bruises he left behind. “Your mate is strong,” he says with quiet pride. “I hope to see you match that strength.” He pushes both doors open and throws you forward. 

You might’ve caught yourself if the floor wasn’t wet. You land badly on your hip and shoulder and everything stings for a moment, the room out of focus. It’s red. You know that much. And it’s no mystery what all the red is because the acrid, metallic stench of it fills your nose. A circle of candles, mostly melted into puddles of wax, delineates what must have been the dueling grounds because the blood only rarely trespasses that boundary.There are people here—dragons, a crowd of them, gathered at a distance. They stand beyond the reach of the light so all you can make out are towering silhouettes and glinting eyes. 

No one speaks. Maybe this kind of announcement needs no words. Maybe Nor’s face says it all. You see him in the center of the carnage, skin and robes drenched in clinging gore and viscera. A body twitches on the ground at his feet, more than half-dragon and covered in scales. It’s disemboweled, an unraveled loop of entrails cooling beside a horrific gaping wound in its belly. It was clawed open. You can see everything inside from the curled bars of a ribcage to colorful organs. Nor holds a severed wing in his fist, clutching shattered, jagged bone and scrunched cartilage oozing blood between his fingers. The other wing lies on the floor, shredded and limp like a torn sail.

The sound of you slipping and falling attracts his attention. His pupils are blown wide and for a moment, you wonder if he even sees you. If he’s so lost in bloodlust that he’ll attack you next. You flinch when he drops the wing. It lands with a heavy, squelching thud, tattered membranes leaking fresh puddles of blood. He kneels, gathering you in his arms with his staggering inhuman strength, lifting you up and standing in the same fluid motion. 

“This is my mate,” he tells the others. The cold sharpness of his voice makes him sound like his father. He pauses a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd. Looking for dissent, maybe. For someone else to tell him he’s too young to have what he wants. No one does. He lets out a breath that rumbles like a growl, exhaling smoke. “Then it’s settled,” he says quietly. He starts moving. Not towards the crowd or the door, but to the center of the circle of candles. To the corpse of whoever he just killed. You call his name but he doesn’t hear you. Maybe he doesn’t care. He’s already come this far and nothing’s going to stop him now. Certainly not you. 

Nor sets you down gently. The gesture is ruined by the disgusting sounds of the organs puddled under you. You’re sitting in it. There’s blood and muscle and jutting bone and vein-streaked offal everywhere. It smears over your ceremonial markings and stains your sashes, turning the embroidery bright red. Nor kneels in the same mess. He reaches out and cups your face with his filthy, gore-covered hands. He kisses your forehead with bloodstained lips, then your cheeks, and then just briefly, chastely, on the mouth. 

“I love you,” he says. “I’m so sorry.” 

You struggle when he climbs on top of you. You don’t care how it looks or what it might mean to the people watching, if it ruins the whole announcement. You don’t want this. But Druezaghrath was right—his son is strong. You had no idea because he’s never used that strength against you before. He doesn’t care that you flail and kick at him. He flips you over and pins you down with one hand, forcing you flat against the sticky floor. His claws shred your sashes with such perfect precision that he never scratches your skin. 

You get loose when he tries to line himself up with your entrance. You don’t get far before he’s on you again, dragging you back into position with labored breaths. It suddenly hits you that he just killed someone—just fought someone to the death in the time it took his father to walk you up the stairs—and he’s still faster than you. Still able to force you back down and nudge your legs apart. You hear him moan quietly and the slick sounds of his fist working his cock before the tip starts prodding at you. You whimper and he shushes you.

“I know, baby. I’ll try to make it quick,” he murmurs. He lays himself over your back and you’re completely trapped. Was he always this much heavier than you? Or did he always hold back when you play-wrestled as kids? He moves his hips slowly at first, testing the waters. He pays attention to the noises you make. He doesn’t stop, no matter how much you sob, but he listens intently to how your breathing hitches as his thick tip spreads you open. He’s gentle. He’s going so, so slowly. It’s almost worse than if he were rough. There’s no pretending this is something else. It’s him, it’s Nor, as sweet as he’s always been to you. This unspoken thing lurking between you is suddenly dragged up into the light and it hurts to look at.

You’ve always wanted him but not like this.

Nor thrusts his hips and more of his length sinks into your body. He’s big. The stretch stings but he’s got a hand tucked under you and slipping between your thighs, fingers carefully working your sex. “You’re so tight,” he whispers against your ear, kissing and licking the lobe. “I know you’re scared, but it’s all gonna be okay. I’ve got you. Just feel this.” Every shock of pleasure makes your head spin. You don’t want to enjoy this, but Nor learns your body in a matter of minutes. He searches for the places that make whimper in a different way and then he teases them mercilessly. 

One hand stays between your legs, dexterous fingers stroking with just the right amount of pleasure to make your hips buck against him. The other wanders, lingering anywhere sensitive. He never stops fucking you. He’s pumping his hips now, sinking deeper and thrusting harder. Your hands slip on the floor in search of something to hold onto, something to anchor you. All you find is the dead dragon and everything that should be inside it piled outside, making a sound of mindless distress when you grab onto something that’s still pulsating. None of Nor’s sweet nothings soothe you but he doesn’t stop trying. His voice is a constant heated murmur, only interrupted when he pauses to kiss and suck at your neck. 

“You’re doing so good, baby. So, so good. I want you to cum for me. Can you do that?” 

You can’t. You don’t want to. Not here, not in front of all these people—is Druezaghrath here? Watching this? You feel sick. You can’t. But Nor doesn’t let up. He mouths at your pulse, strokes you harder, fucks you faster. You’re moving and you didn’t even realize it, didn’t mean for your body to move against his fingers and back into his thrusts. He pushes your legs even further apart and then he really starts rutting. The sound of flesh slapping flesh, your hips meeting, his balls slapping your ass as he hilts himself inside you over and over again, fills your ears.

“Cum for me,” he begs you. “Baby, please. Cum on my cock. Doesn’t it feel good? I’ve been practicing for this—for you. It’s okay to like this. Just let go.” 

Practicing, he said. Is that what all of that was before? All those furious ex-partners, all those sobbing confessions, all those angry late night calls and texts that made him turn his phone off and go back to pretending he was cuddled up against you in a totally platonic way? Just practice for the person he really wanted? 

“I love you,” he murmurs. You hate that it makes you tighten around him. “You like it when I say that? I’ll say it as many times as you want for the rest of our lives. I love you, baby. Fuck, I love you so much…” He keeps saying it, keeps whispering his devotion until the sounds mean nothing. Eventually, it happens. You don’t want it to but he nips at your neck and grinds his cock deep inside you, and you scream. It’s the worst and best orgasm of your life. Nor drags it out as long as he can, fucking you through your shuddering gasps and whimpers until you’re limp underneath him. He pulls out but your relief is short-lived. 

He turns you over onto your back. You barely recognize him. His eyes are different. Wilder. Glazed in pleasure. The blood has dried to his skin, dark red smears on his chin, his chest, his arms. His gaze rakes your body and then he’s reaching for you again, lining his cock up with your aching entrance again. 

“Almost done, baby,” he rasps. “Just a little more. Just gotta make me cum and it’s over. Don’t think, okay? Don’t think about anything. Just feel me. Feel this.” You can’t. You try to tell him that but your voice is hoarse and weak. You let out a strangled whine when he pushes into you again. He tells you he loves you again. He apologizes again. He kisses you with ferocious hunger and your legs wrap around his waist. He moans against your mouth, a hand stroking your thigh. 

You cum before he does, back arching, arms wrapped around him. Nor keeps saying just a little more, just a little more, praise and promises. Eventually, you take his advice without even meaning to and stop thinking about anything at all.

[disappearinginq]

I really wish I could be convinced that more people would be interested in non-ship stuff for fandoms I'm in.

Look, we all know we write for ourselves. I get it. I do. But my desire (ability) to finish things is hinged on feedback. My two longest fics that I wrote the fastest were because of audience engagement. And because I knew I had people I respected and liked reading, and I wanted them to enjoy the read, I wrote better.

Now I feel like I'm just stuck in No Man's Land of fandom, and while I have like a dozen things half finished, they never seem to actually BE finished because if the audience is me, then I know how it ends. There's not much point writing it down.

So this is basically my To Do List.

The Rookie - I just don't care about what 90% of the fandom cares about

1. Series of one shots that establish Angela and Tim's BFF status that may or may not lean Tim aspec because I'm me.

2. Pre series flashbacks to Tim in his time in service when he survives an airstrike that kills two of his friends and almost kills him.

3. Trauma Tim post season 6, because in rapid succession, he loses his job on metro, he witnesses his old team die in a way eerily similar to the way he was almost killed in the airstrike, had a friend commit suicide in front of him after confessing to being dirty, gets accused of being dirty himself, and is again almost killed in close quarter combat (among other things that will remain unmentioned here)

Slow Horses

1. Do not ask me why but I love the idea that Lamb potentially met River was he was a kid because he had to work closely with David Cartwright and River is always where he's not supposed to be

2. River goes missing, and for once, not his fault. Lamb has to come to terms that just because he pretends not to care, doesn't mean anyone buys it

3. Post season 4, somebody finds out that River is the last remaining son of Frank's assassin cult, and it goes about as well as can be expected. I fully intend to have Lamb use this line: "trying to detain you is like trying to nail jello to a tree".

Magnum PI (yes, I still work on these)

1. Finish Wrong Side. I actually have like another 10-15k words on it, but it's not in order or complete scenes, but it does include Thomas’s recovery and discovery that Hannah is the one who sold them out

2. I have like 6 other chapters to Bad Things Happen that I half wrote but then retired the card

3. Crossover with MacGyver because I thought Mac could use some down time in Hawaii after season 4 and the last half of season 3

Tracker 1. Colter goes missing during one of his cases, and I borrow heavily from an episode of Lethal Weapon wherein Colter will be held hostage in an illegal drug trial that he stumbled into and now finds himself an unwilling participant, and I drag Russell into it because that is how big brothers work

Hudson & Rex - honestly, I have the most written for this fandom, even though the fandom itself is pretty quiet, but it's most of a bingo card 1. Finish Oh The Weather Outside is Frightful because damn son it's been years

2. In no particular order, I have Bad Things Happen Bingo It's Not My Blood, Stitches, Caught in a Snare, Falls Through the Ice and three others that fit other prompts - a boating accident, Charlie finally finds himself at the bottom of a well (sort of) and completes his "Timmy and Lassie Scenario" bingo card, and where Charlie realizes he's developed claustrophobia after having a mine collapse on him, being locked in a freezer storage, almost crushed by a shipping container, buried alive, etc and gets stuck in an elevator with Jesse

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (4)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Author's Note: Lots of blood drinking (+ its underlying issues), suggestive themes, mention of bodily fluids, and at least dubious consent for vampire turning ahead.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel @miss-oranje-disco-dancer ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 4: Bury Me

Leon had reached a row of converted Victorian-style residential buildings in the Lower West Side of Uptown Raccoon City. Tall, stained glass windows lined their exterior, accented with a mixture of gabled and Mansard roofs. Pointed arches embellished with corbels and fretwork adorned the structures, detailing their rich architectural history. Despite them appearing frozen in time, harking back to the 19th century, everything else had been modernized for their inhabitants.

Scanning his keycard on the reader, he slipped in through the back entrance and hurried towards the rarely used service elevator that was stationed out of sight in a narrow corridor at the rear end of the building. He swiped his card again to gain access to his specific apartment floor, punching the button several times erratically, even though it had already lit up on the first try. Upon noticing that he had accidentally smudged blood from his hands onto it, he muttered a string of curses while using the cuff of his shirt to wipe it off.

Holding you close, he planted a desperate kiss against the crown of your head, as if by some miracle you would wake up from this nightmare, safe and sound in his arms. Your body temperature had dropped considerably, and with each passing second, he could feel your vitals waning as your life force ebbed into oblivion.

“Come on, stay with me,” he begged, his visage crumbling under the weight of grief, and out of habit, he thumbed at the gold cross pendant hanging from his necklace. If there was a god, he would let you live.

As soon as the elevator doors parted with a resonant ding, he sped out towards the only apartment door on the top floor. Feeling the side of the frame for a familiar indent, he pressed against it, and a matchbox sized cache slid out, containing a crescent shaped device. Attaching it to another metallic apparatus that he carried around in his pocket, he slotted it through the keyhole while simultaneously adjusting what looked like gears of an old-fashioned clock into place. 

Despite all these years, he still had a penchant for puzzle solving, seeing as his former workplace, the Raccoon Police Station, had been a labyrinth in itself. And what better way to put his hobby to use than to invest into the security of his haven, by creating his own intricate lock mechanisms, complete with false walls and hidden passageways. It may seem a little over the top, but sometimes it was comforting to lose his nights designing and crafting the things that had made him human in the beginning.

With a satisfying click, the heavyset door creaked open on its hinges, revealing an immaculately kept and minimalist loft. He dashed in, shutting the door behind him before pushing the coffee table away and setting you down gently on the rug. You were the only blemish in the room, bleeding out from underneath him, staining the fabric in the pattern of angel’s wings.

He felt your pulse, weak and unsteady, and you were nearly gone. It crushed him to see you like this, your skin ashen and pale — the only shade of blue he never liked. As you lay there unresponsive like a corpse before him, he knew he needed to go through with what he had planned for you all long along. Even so, he had a hard time coming to terms with it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! He was meant to woo you, give you a taste of what the unlife had to offer, bring you over to his side and both of you would, what—? Live happily ever after? 

Fucking hell, Leon. What the fuck were you thinking? he swore at himself internally. Ada’s words came back to haunt him. She was right, he had let his emotions get ahead of him again. Regardless, he had to fix this mess, and letting you die was out of the question, as was turning you into a mindless ghoul addicted to a blood bond. No, he would never do that to you.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, brushing the strands of your hair, which had clumped together in dried blood and sweat, out of your face. You were so deathly cold in your slumber…

Then, he broke the first of his promises and drained you dry. Images of you flooded his mind again as he latched his mouth onto your neck. He could feel your fears, your joys, and your sorrows. The first steps you had taken as a child, captured through the lens of an old home video; the family and friends you would leave behind; long, solitary walks in the woods; dancing your heart out in smoky nightclubs; ceiling-high shelves filled to the brim with musty books and DIY costumes you’d pieced together from scraps; every trinket and memento — all the signs of life that had made you happy.

There was no time for regrets. He could make you happier, he vowed. He will, he had to.

At the very last drop, he licked the bite marks close and let go, slashing his wrist against his teeth before placing it to your lips. His own sanguine fluid coated your lips in a cherry red stain, restoring a semblance of life to your otherwise waxen complexion, as it dripped down your throat. Slowly, your jaw began to move, lips puckering up as it suctioned against the open wound, the tip of your tongue licking across it over and over again like the sweetest nectar you’d ever savored.

“There you go, angel,” he panted, feeling the pressure grow taut around his wrist as he stroked your hair tenderly with his other hand. “Just a bit more.”

He concentrated on the act, investing the power of his vitae into you, passing on the curse of Caine which he had carried with him all this while. On top of that came the Bane and Compulsion of his clan, as well as its Disciplines and strengths.

You couldn’t explain why your body reacted so naturally to it, but your appetite for his vitae was insatiable, like an insurmountable tidal wave heading towards shore. Your eyes flew open and you caught his ocean blue gaze. Gasping for breath, you clamped down on his wrist even harder, earning you a gratifying moan that fell from his lips, as they twisted into an expression of excruciating euphoria.

Likewise, you felt the build up of sheer bliss with an underlying tinge of agony within you, as you continued drinking from him, unable to stop yourself, no matter how much you tried. Every fiber of your being burned like a warm, inviting flame. You were the epitome of a phoenix in a pyre, combusting and being reborn again, walking barefoot across searing hot coal unharmed, as the fire raged on. From ashes to ashes, dust to dust, into eternal life.

And then he appeared before you like an ethereal, ghostly apparition, kneeling in the pews of a cathedral you didn’t recognize, praying fervently to a crucified man on a wooden cross. Subsequently, the scene switched to a hectic office space, permeated with the shrill sound of phones ringing and papers flying in every direction. There he stood in the center of the room, like the eye of a storm, a handgun secured in his holster as he moved the pins around on a crime board. One vision blurred into the other and it felt as if you were seeing his past, present and future all at once.

An immense rush of ecstasy filled your senses at the final image of you riding him like a horse, as if you were experiencing it for yourself firsthand. Sweat poured down your naked bodies as you rolled your hips back and forth against his lasciviously. His calloused hands squeezed the sides of your thighs, encouraging you to move faster as he thrust up into you. In the throes of passion, you threw your head back and cried out in excess, but found it muffled against his wrist as you abruptly returned to reality. Your eyes went straight to his, and the knowing look on his face gave it away, confirming that you had partaken in the last vision together.

The Beast was gnawing at the cage in his chest again as you suckled more of his vitae. A hunger arose within him and he was aware that the deed had been done. The primary hurdle was getting you to stop.

“Angel, my love,” he called to you softly, “That’s all I can give you.”

You had heard every word he said; they were crystal clear, but your head remained fuzzy, as if it were wrapped in layers of cotton wool, dampening your thoughts. He could see it in your glazed eyes that you were unable to register what he had requested of you, but he couldn’t bear to tear himself away.

“Please, angel,” he whimpered. “Let go.”

At that point, something in you clicked. Perhaps it was the sight of a broken man, crouched in the middle of his living room, weary from all the bloodshed and the cruel hand fate had dealt him tonight. You wanted to do everything you could to soothe his pain. The same pain that had crept up in his voice the night he put you to bed, and when he had wondered out loud in the park if you could accept him for who he was.

Loosening your grip, you tilted back, allowing him to retract his hand as you ingested the rest of his vitae in your mouth. Nothing could ever come close to the intensity of what you had just felt. Gradually, you came down from the high and your ragged breathing evened out. A numbing weight pressed against your body as your eyes fluttered before closing. Was this it? Was this the end? All you could think of was what a peaceful way it was to die.

A shiver ran down his spine as Leon caressed your cheek, watching you fall back to sleep again. Even his own Embrace hadn’t gone this far. Of course it had been the best thing he had felt in the world, but this, with you? It was on a completely different plane. The memories, the shared sexual intimacy, how—? Did he hallucinate that? He still hadn’t figured it out. It was something for maybe the Tremere, unfortunately, to advise on.

But he had bigger things to worry about now. This was only a temporary respite before you would awake in torment, and he needed to find a way to ease that as quickly as possible, despite being so ill-prepared. It would be the first lesson he’d have to teach you and one of the worst.

━━━━━━━━━━━

A set of steely arms wrapped around you the moment your body jolted upright as you came to. Disoriented and unable to think straight, you struggled to break out of their hold as you heard Leon’s voice in your ear, “Shhh… it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me.”

You tried to speak but only unintelligible growls escaped your mouth and you continued thrashing about wildly, as a gut-wrenching pain ripped through your flesh and bones. It felt like hundreds of rats were clawing their way out of your stomach as your eyes searched the room rabidly for the offending source that was driving you insane.

And then you saw him. A man in a fancy business suit, unconscious but propped up against the wall. His hands were bound with rope and a nasty bruise swelled at the side of his head. You let out a torturous wail when it finally dawned on you that the very substance you had been lusting after was his blood. It smelled incredible from where you were seated and you were frothing at the mouth like a deranged animal.

What the fuck was going on?! your mind screamed, while you made guttural noises in retaliation. Is this—? Oh god, no! What did he do to me?

There was a persistent throb in your corner teeth, as if they had been plucked out by force and something foreign had been put in its place. You ran your tongue over them, they were elongated and sharp. Just like-

Leon? He pulled you flush against his chest, trapping you in his iron grip, and with a sense of urgency, he spelled out, “Listen to me, you’re not gonna like this, but you need to feed on him.”

Shaking your head violently, your eyes rolled back as if you were possessed by a demonic entity, while you fought with all your might against him and your overzealous hunger. No, no, no, fuck that! I won’t—!

“If you don’t, you will lose control and murder everyone in your path,” he explained.

Noticing how you continued to resist him vehemently, he added, “You won’t have to kill him, I can show you how.”

You whined, scratching at his hands and crying like a hapless pup. There was no need for you to articulate it in words. He understood everything you were going through — the inner turmoil and mental dilemma at your first feed. Except, you had it worse off than him. At least back then, he knew what he was getting himself into and accepted it. You just didn’t have the privilege of time.

Shambling across the floorboards, he brought you closer to the man. “It’s not easy in this state, but you’re strong, and smart. I know you can.” He paused, shifting his grip on you so that he could point out an obscured trail along the man’s neck. “You need to hit one of the arteries or veins for a clean feed. Usually, you’d take it slow and be more careful, but we don’t really have an option tonight.”

Suppressing another painful whine, you tried your utmost to follow his instructions as a beast-like creature went berserk in your chest, bashing it way through your ribcage. Focusing on the area he had identified, you could more or less make out the veins protruding from his skin, like an ultrasound.

“Here, the jugular,” he indicated. “You can start with that, but don’t drain him fully. I’ll help you to stop, just remember to lick it close at the end, okay?”

Nodding, you sobbed out a vague agreement, though your feet were kicking out furiously, itching to be set free. It felt like your mind and body had been separated in two, and neither worked in tandem with each other. The scent of this man’s blood was overpowering, it was making you giddy.

As soon as he let you go, you lurched forward, grabbing the man’s neck roughly as you plunged your teeth into the vein you’d singled out. A viscous, intoxicating liquid enveloped your mouth as you had your fill. Raw energy flowed from one end to another, restoring function to your organs and limbs, as they began to come under your control again. The more you drank, the clearer your mind became, and the Beast within you quietened, satiated from the elixir that seemed to nourish your entire being and soul. Soul? Did you still have one, especially after this?

From a distance you heard your name, accompanied by an appeal to cut it short. Once again, you were thrown into the depths of a battlefield, where each side struggled for dominance as its victor. It felt too good to end it here. Why should you obey? a voice inside you sneered.

A pair of hands gripped your shoulders from behind. Leon’s tone was stern and resolute: “Stop, lick the wound now.”

His command reverberated through your hollow chest, rattling your bones as you submitted to him. Swabbing your tongue over the puncture site, you released your prey as Leon pulled you away. Splotches of bright crimson covered the man’s attire as well as your own. It had been a messy affair.

“I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.” His voice was tender again, as he turned your face to his. Dragging his fingertip along the spilled blood trickling down your throat, he scooped up the remains and sucked it into his mouth.

By now, he was an expert in cleaning up after his elders, having done his fair share of dirty errands. That’s what neonates like him were good for. At least it would come in handy tonight. The man was still alive, drowsy as hell, but his heart was beating. He had taught you well.

“You did this to me.” The accusation rang like the toll of a bell in his ears, as he watched your expression change into one of pure hatred and disgust. 

But before you could continue on with the verbal onslaught you had been saving up for him, a debilitating pain struck, blinding you in the process as you clutched your abdomen and trembled turbulently. What—? When will this ever end?

You were physically dealing with the bitter aftermath of being snatched from the hands of death and flung into rebirth through abnormal means. Anything within you that didn’t need to be there anymore would be cleansed in the next few hours, as your body was dying and disposing of the needless waste. It was not like this in the movies. You wanted to laugh at the outright ridiculousness of it, but all you managed were terrified shrieks. 

It was humiliating to be brought down this low in front of him — the man who went from someone you had started to fall for to the last person in the world you wanted to be in the same room with. You hated him for what he had done to you. The fire came back, but this time it was like being burnt at the stake; it was harrowing. 

To Leon, you could never degrade yourself in his eyes. He stayed with you the whole time, rubbing reassuring circles on your back as you writhed in agony, dirtying his rug with vomit and piss. 

Though she had cared in her own way, Ada never did this for him. He remembered his transformation like it was just yesterday. The serene peach walls of her bathroom, equipped with fluffy towels, aromatic diffusers, and soft music playing in the background, like a spa he couldn’t enjoy. He had been tucked away safely in the bathtub, the door locked on him, as he shivered uncontrollably like a junkie. She couldn’t bear to see him like this — his face covered in snot, stinking up the place with a vacant look in his eyes. It was a mess, but a controlled one.

With you, he wanted it all — the good and the bad. He couldn’t offer you the luxuries that Ada had with him, but he would be there beside you, taking care of you like the sire he desired to be.

━━━━━━━━━━━

There was a sense of déjà vu when you awakened for the second time that night. Or was it morning? You couldn’t be sure anymore. Somehow, you had ended up on a double bed that wasn’t your own and in clothes that you’d never wear — not unless you were a lingerie model on the cover of a magazine spread, or one of those rich housewives looking to spice things up in the bedroom. In your last conscious moments, you thought you had soiled yourself, but now you were squeaky clean. Did Leon—?

“Hey.”

Speak of the devil. 

You whipped your head in his direction, and saw him leaning against the banister of the stairs that connected the partially open, mezzanine-like level to the main floor below, which it overlooked. Out of a sense of self-preservation and modesty, you crossed your arms over your chest, hugging yourself tightly.

Stifling a laugh, he smiled at you bashfully like a teenage boy in front of his first crush. “It’s, um, my sire’s.” He gestured towards your outfit. “I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t have anything else.”

Sire? Letting yourself go, you peered down at the fitting lace chemise that clung to your body, still feeling vulnerable and naked under his gaze, as you speculated over what he meant.

“It suits you,” he complimented, either oblivious to your bemusement or attempting not broach the subject at this point.

The remark he had made, even if with good intentions, made your blood boil. “Does turning me into a monster suit me?” you spat, getting up from the bed as you strode towards him in fury.

A flicker of remorse flashed across his eyes and his breath hitched. He thought he could stall for time and reconcile with you before having the talk, but he had been blindsided by your astuteness. Despite that, he tried to pacify you. “Angel…”

But you weren’t having any of it. “Shut up!” you hollered, slapping him hard across the face. The blow was harsh enough to send his head snapping to the side, leaving a vivid red handprint marked on his cheek. “I’m not your angel, and never will be!”

He could’ve punished you for your insolence, but chose to suck it up and tolerate it. You were clearly struggling to accept your new circumstances.

“Okay, I deserve that,” he conceded, gingerly rubbing the side of his face where it stung.

You didn’t seem to care though, in fact, you were absolutely livid to the point where you couldn’t speak. Casting him a venomous look of disdain, you drew in labored breaths, your chest rising and falling in rapid, heaving motions.

His watery eyes met yours, and you saw the pain and hurt brimming in them. “You would’ve died back there,” he whispered. “I couldn’t let that happen to you.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you withdrew from him, gripping the edge of the bedpost so intensely that a huge chunk of it broke off. Wait, just how strong were you now?

He glanced over at the damage and winced. Dammit, I liked that bed, he sighed to himself. 

“I wish I did,” you muttered, eyeing the piece of metal in your hand skeptically before chucking it to the side. “You could’ve done your job and buried me.”

That was when he lost his cool. “Don’t say that,” he hissed sharply, his gaze smoldering like dying embers, as he marched forward, seizing your wrist to prevent you from backing away. “I just wanted to help—”

“Help?” you questioned testily, challenging him head on with a fierce glare. “You forced me to drink some guy’s blood!”

“You would’ve died,” he reiterated, using the same excuse in a loop as if he never heard you.

“He could’ve died!” you retorted, with the same stupid line of argument that Leon had been falling back on each time.

“Well, he didn’t, and he’s fine!” He threw his hands up in the air in frustration and huffed as he pivoted to one side, before turning back to shoot daggers at you. “A little anemic, but fine!” he expounded for good measure.

There was a slight pause until you fired back, “Go fuck yourself, Leon S. Kennedy,” letting every syllable of his full name roll off your tongue mockingly.

A low growl erupted from his sternum. He wanted to yank you roughly by the hair, throw you onto the bed and teach you a lesson. Jesus Christ, Leon, don’t go there. Get a hold of yourself! 

Instead, he bottled up his anger and composed himself. Releasing a deep, slow breath, he evened out his tone, reasoning with you. “Look, like it or not, you need to come to terms with… what you are.”

You hadn’t backtalked him yet; that was a good sign.

“If you want to survive these nights, then I’m the best shot you got.”

Even though you held nothing but contempt towards him in your heart at that very moment, you realized that ultimately, he had a point. And so, you grudgingly raised the white flag. “Fine,” you relented. “But I will never forgive you.”

Another compromise. He could work with that, for now.

[ajwrks]

—believer

overlord x gn! human reader | pt 2

once again, this isn’t 100% cannon LOL. i’ve also decided that there is going to be more than two parts to this. i was also reallyyyy thinking about having a little bit of fortress maximus x reader too because why not

word count: 1.8k | prev,, next

“what are you here for?”

chromedome's metallic voice reverberated along the narrowed hall. his words practically coaxing you to tell him, confide in him. you resisted with a stubborn close of your eyes.

why are you here? you knew that question quite well in fact. the chance to see overlord welcomed you with false hope you wished to abandon, but maybe, just maybe—

“y/n!” chromedome called out. your eyes shot up to see the lightly colored autobot looking down at you with narrowed optics through his tinted visor, darting around on your human face for a plausible answer.

“you tell me first. why are you here?” you inquired, your question dragged out with a quirk of your brow.

“i want to enter his mind.” that’s all he led with.

like a wild bird, your heart thumped erratically against the cage of your ribs, seeking air, seeking freedom from this arising feeling. cold sweat slicked your clenched palms. he’d find out. he’ll know. your thoughts reawaken with being fully cognizant of what’s about to happen—chromedome is adept in mnemosurgry and there was no doubt in your mind that he’d uncover something that would tear down your reputation here on the lost light, but it was fruitless to stop him.

“i thought you gave that up for good,” you probed him in an attempt to relent and turn around. chromedome laughed weakly.

“i thought so too,” with that, the heavy door, shy away from the entrance groaned at its rusted hinges. the phase sixer was constrained and suspended in the center of the cell. his helm lulled as he muttered the same two words.

“kill me.”

his presence alone sent sparks trickling down your spine. why were you here? well, whether you wanted to deny it or not, you were attached to this effigy of menace and grandeur.

—

garrus nine. it was a notable, high- security prison containing dangerous criminals and decepticons. so far into the crux of space; isolated, just for it to be captured by decepticons and break out into war.

during that time, you were stationed there amongst many to help cater to the needs of these… criminals. exactly like you were doing now—but except, it was a calmer bunch. it made no sense. why help the needs of the top dangerous decpticons thrown behind bars for a reason? you just needed the money and the experience, and then move on to bigger things, but other plans were made for you.

the war made your trek back to normalcy rigerious. having to hide away in the little protection provided— you and your fellow interns. it was a non-spoken rule: if you stayed out of it, you’d live. that was exactly what you all abided by. this frenzy for claiming garrus nine lasted for days, until that crazed, sadistic decepticon overlord attacked and took over the entirety of garrus nine.

overlord displayed his nature by initiating horrible experiments. he forced the prisoners to fight one another— it was perturbing. you were forced to watch. it didn’t take much time for overlord to figure out that there were organics on garrus nine. he exploited them, and you to ensure that everything he had done would be engraved deep in your mind.

so where does the attachment come from? overlord had taken an odd liking to you. on the time he did have alone, he’d call on the company of the humans to ridicule.

“you don’t look at me with much fear. i plan to change that,” oh a plan that he so desperately wanted and something he didn’t get. his grave mistake was treating you like you meant something.

—

“it’s a simple enough proposition,”

the spark extraction room resembled a murder house. neon purple energon slowly dripping off the large slab. the air was thick with the fresh scent of it, parts of the autobot that lied in a pool of his very essence were fragmented and strewn about like scattered teeth. your mind begged you to look away, but your heart protested. overlord wanted you here, he wanted your eyes to look at no one but him and his twisted actions.

“you tell me how to get into the aequitas chamber, and i make the pain stop,” he demanded with a grin dawning on his face plates. fortress maximus gave no answer— you weren’t even sure he physically could. frozen with the shock and pain coursing through him. giant nails penetrated deep into his plating, his leg missing— unease bubbled in the pit of your stomach, threatening to boil over the top and spill out.

“you’re being timed fortress maximus— every second of hesitation, i continue.” not even a second passes and overlord already has his chainsaw raised in a ready position, hovering over his other leg he was going to take. upon that sight, your head snaps away. looking at nothing but the wall. the vibration of the chainsaw stalled and silence took over.

“don’t stop looking, my sweet,” he jeered. unbearably slow, your head cranes back to look at the table and his sick operation.

he was looking at you.

fortress maximus pleaded with his dull optics. you could only do so much. the whites of your eyes swelled with your tears of sorrow.

it was over, but seemingly took centuries. his rasping screams dying in his throat— something you wished never to see or hear again.

“you did well, sweet.” that pet name made you stir from your trance. “i will make sure to reward you,” his servo palms the blade of your shoulder whilst the other one grazes over your hip. he backs away— shudders rack through your body.

“now! clean me up, would you?” he hummed with a repulsive smile. you spent an hour scrubbing away the grime and energon as he studied your efforts. he told you stories about his past experiences as a phase sixer, and even threw compliments at your face. in the weirdest way, he complimented how you are... appealing physically as an organic. it just made your brows furrow deeper the more he talked you to death.

overlord was kind enough to let you rest on his shoulder. soothing you from your nightmarish thoughts in the midst of your slumber. it meant nothing to him, but everything to you.

—

you knew very well that these moments wouldn’t last forever. the wreckers had came to garrus nine to claim what they had lost. you had no idea what had happened outside of the prison, but upon your rescue and being escorted onto a spacecraft you saw overlords skeletal remains— perfectly intact. his outer shell reduced to nothing but loose embers. you stopped in your tracks to fully grasp what you were seeing.

overlord was gone.

“it’s okay. he’s gone,” a human, feminine voice spoke to you, trying to comfort your worries, but you had none. at least not the type of worries she thought you had. the woman in the red space armor put pressure on your back to keep you going. you obliged.

that day, you never thought you’d see him again. until the news of overlords reconstruction came to you— through a connection, you easily found out that prowl was adamant about developing autobot phase sixers and tried hard to convince chromedome to get into overlords mind and scrape up the things they needed to commence the process. the only bit of relevant information you needed was where overlord was being moved to, and it was the lost light. it was laughable at how quickly rodimus succumbed to the demands of prowl. they needed human liaisons, and you needed to be one of them.

acting like you never knew of overlords existence was the key so you could wait for the perfect moment to exploit it, and it was given to you on a silver platter.

—

chromedomes spikes that extended from his fingers were embedded deep into overlords helm. there’s no telling how long this has been going on for. you stood there patiently, watching every subtle move, expression, twitch of the eyes, every mutter or breath— your back was stiffly planted up against the burning cell wall. you always wondered why chromedome pursued a profession as inherently bad as this one. he knew the drawbacks but still persisted.

“megatron is alive?!” overlords voice was quiet but thunderous. there was a shift in the air, growing dense. you jolted from his outburst watching the events unfold. his optics flicker with ruby red with a stretching smile that promised something sufferable but intangible.

seconds pass

minutes pass

with the pull of his outstretched arms, overlord effortlessly breaks through his shackles. like playing cards toppling over from its highest peak, and to gracefully fall to the ground. a grin— feral and triumphant tugged at overlords face. you watched as he knelt down to gaze down at chromedome who lied pathetically on the floor.

“breaking free of these paper chains was never the problem— i just lacked the motivation. but if megatron is alive, then there’s everything to play for,” he leaned in closer. “don’t worry. you’ll find your voice and your legs soon enough. you know the side effects of prolonged deep reading better than i do,”

his optics now landed on you, sneering as he made his way to you. his looming presence intimidated you after so long. you felt the wall pressing into your back once more.

“now, i remember seeing you in his memory,” he bent down to meet your gaze. a rough servo clamping down on your chin to direct your attention properly. you winced quietly but obeyed his silent command. “i must say, i didn’t expect my dear organic to follow me to the end of the universe—“

“i wanted to be with you.”

distance was non existent as he was closer than before. you could feel his exhales fan your face— your lips. you could tell overlord didn’t expect those words to fall out of your mouth.

“you left me.”

the crack of your voice told you to back away, but the iron grip he had on you was going to make that impossible. after a while, overlords expression relaxed slightly, and so did his hold. he looked back at chromedome steadily, recovering his strength again. he released you.

“your devotion is admirable,” dryness clung to his words. leaving you to crumble down further onto the floor. you couldn’t help but ponder to yourself if this was all for nothing. overlord explained to chromedome on how he won’t attempt to block his way to get to him, but for the time down here in the chamber, five seconds is all it’ll take.

“run as fast as you can chromedome. you’re already too late,”

the vault door closed. letting darkness engulf the chamber. the faint orange lights buzzed against its fleeting life span. chromedome struggled to get up on his pedes. he briefly paused to watch your sobbing figure. hurriedly he reached you in staggered steps to assist you from up off the floor.

“i’m sorry chromedome i—“

“it wasn’t your fault,” he hushed you with the remaining calmness he had. to his best ability, he got you and him to the chamber door and plugged in the code. chromedome darted out, running up the hallway stairs to the shining light. you followed right behind him.

you were met with a chaotic scene. a storm of bodies attacking overlord.

as cowardly as it was, all you could do was watch.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You toss another can in the bin. The kitchen is littered with your mother’s addiction. Vodka bottles line the counter and beer cans sit in piles on the tile. In some, you find the putrid remnants of forgotten mouthfuls. You rinse them over the sink and fling them over your shoulder, listening to them land in the tall container.

The house rankles with neglect. The walls are layered in filth, the floor is unswept, and the couch is dingy. You shake your head and mutter. 

You’re reminded of the teen girl who trod through her mother’s mess every day on her way to the front door, her room her fortress; the only space she could claim as her own. That sacred stronghold she kept spotless in a measly grasp for an ounce of control. 

You drop another can in the sink and back away. You shake the stale dregs from your fingers and flee without a second thought. You stumble out onto the shady porch and gulp in air. Fresh, fertile, and free.

You sit on the highest step and hang your head. Your eyes flick over to the basket of flowers. Your foot twitches, wanting to kick it into the dirt. You sigh and tilt your chin up.

You’re sad but not for your mother. You know you should be. No one else will mourn her. They’ll all whisper about how she wallowed in her filth, how she died lonely and abandoned. But they won’t care. They won’t grieve her.

Neither will you. What they don’t say behind their hands is that she was rotten with the liquor. Bitter to the core. The bottle was her shield and her weapon. Her excuse to be what she was. Vile and venomous.

You don’t miss her, you pity her. You stand and face the house, your eyes tinge as you glare at the screen door. Splinters fill the dents in the frame and rust recedes from the hinges. The birds chirp louder and louder and all at once, the world is quiet.

Paralysed, you watch yourself run up the stairs and stop before the door. Twenty years younger but just as broken. Your shadow listens with her ear tilted. A man’s voice rumbles from inside and your mother croaks in return.

“She’ll be home soon,” she says before she sucks on the neck of the bottle, a loud glug bubbling from its depths. “Plain but quiet.”

Your lip trembles and you falter as if you’ve been struck. The teen girl turns to face you, she’s about to run but the door opens and she’s caught. 

“There you are,” your mother’s voice chafes in her throat, “we got company–”

You lunge forward to grab the girl before she’s dragged inside. It’s too late. Your knee hits the step and you shudder. How cruel were those village gossips, to warble about the girl but they never said a cross word about their own husbands.

Your stomach fills with bile as you push yourself to your feet. You won’t go inside. Not this time. You turn away and heave, swiping the tears from your eyes. You swear you can hear the girl screaming and sobbing as you walk away. Just like all the others who ignored her.

Your feet carry you without a destination. Water trickles noisily and lures you in. You sit on the overturned tree and watch the ripples lap over pointed rocks. 

You should burn the place down. A pile of ash is worth more than those stained walls. You look down at your hands and shake them out, as if you can shed the memories like snake skin.

Only one person heard that girl. Just the one but he turned out just the same. It was never empathy, only a trick.

Forget him. Forget all of it. You sat in that room, across from that doctor, and you did just that. You’re not going to let it back in.

A twig snaps and you sit straight, breath hitching as you search the shadows between the trees. The sunlight flickers through the leaves and the water reflects the world in warped lines. You stand and go to the river’s edge, looking down at yourself. Not a girl anymore, just a tarnished woman.

“Somehow,” the slither jars you but doesn’t surprise you, “I knew I’d find you here.”

You don’t answer him. You know that’s what he wants. For you to shake, to shriek, to do what you did then. To grovel for him to stop, to go away. Just there, on the riverbed, pebbles jabbing into your stomach, your face soaked with the cold water.

“Offer still stands.”

“I don’t want your money,” you say to his rippled reflection.

“Mm, but we both know you need it.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” you sneer, “you never did.”

He snorts, “I know a lot about you. I know how you feel, I know how you whine and beg and–”

“Are you so pathetic? You cling to the past like some desperate old man. This isn’t high school–”

“No, it isn’t,” he agrees, “yet here we are and hardly a thing has changed,” Loki struts along the river to its narrowest breadth and steps across, “you are still nothing, and I am still me.”

“A big fish in a tiny, dried up pond,” you spit as you sidle away from him.

“I am the same shark–”

You bend and grab a sharp rock. It’s big and thick and just holding it cuts into your hand. You spin and whip it in his direction. It just misses his shoulder as he sidesteps, plunging a foot into the riverbed. He snarls and kicks his shoe up, shaking it like a wet cat.

“Why would you do that?” He hisses.

“I’ll do it again,” you bend to take another stone, “I will bash your fucking face in.”

“Whooo,” he whistles and snickers as he crosses his arms nonchalantly, “she’s found her voice.”

“Fuck you,” you grip the stone and rear back your arm, “I won’t miss again.”

He tilts his head and his nostrils flare. His snakish eyes narrow and he clucks, “neither will I.”

You stand, locked in stalemate, waiting for the other to crack. He drops his arms, hands on his hips as he raises his chin defiantly.

“I waited twenty years,” he snarls, “what’s a little longer?”

He twists on his heel and hops over the river. You squeeze the rock as you watch him stride away. Arrogant and assured. You fling the rock and it bounces on the ground after his heels. He doesn’t look back as he disappears into the forest.

The beast might hide to lick his wounds, but he always comes back.

[seiwas]

sellie bee! for your game > touya + flicker?? (if you feel comfortable writing for him again, your touya from the shoto fic was so beloved to me) 💕

amber!! thanks for sending in a lil prompty 🥺 ofc i would write him again!! for you!! anything!!! 🥺 my touya from that fic is also so dear to me 🥺 i'm glad you like that little guy 🥺

help me get back into the writing groove! send me a character + any word and i'll write a short blurb about it!

contains: non-canon au, childhood friends

touya + flicker

there's a light by your bedside, one that flickers when its loose wire finds itself tangled around the leg of your bed frame. it doesn't happen all the time, but it's always bothered touya, ever since you were kids.

"fuyumi says that when lights go on and off like that they can go boom," he mimics an explosion with his hands, not quite knowing the term for it yet at 5.

(when you recall the memory, you realize that he must have meant a spark, not the flickering of lights.)

it bothers him so much that he figures out a way to fix it by age 10. he uses a small claw clip, a translucent gray plastic you've seen on his mother many times before. he clips the wire to your bed frame that way, keeping it in place.

it's a bandaid solution, because time creates cracks on the plastic, the metal spring falling apart despite being fused at the hinges.

(and again, looking back, you should have noticed that time had left its mark on touya the same way.)

the light flickers again.

"you'll have shitty eyes if you don't change it," he moves the wire aside until it stops. at 15, touya's become jaded. what once was a twinkling set of aquamarine is now a dull pair of teal, staring straight at you as he speaks.

you know it has something to do with his family, but you don't ask unless he talks about it.

(in hindsight, maybe you should've. because when touya runs away from home the following year, you only catch glimpses of him in the next ten years.)

he visits you at 17, taller and dressed darker than what you're used to. his hair is dyed a jet black, a few cuts and bruises scattering the expanse of his arms. he sees that your light is still flickering and fixes it like muscle memory, not once acknowledging the fact that it's been two years since he's seen you last.

"you can stay with me," you offer him, desperately.

he gives you a wry smile, "can i?"

and you know it's not really a question. you'll be heading off to college soon; there's no real place where you can keep him.

when you move into your dorm in the first year of uni, you leave your lamp behind but find that the lights in your shared bathroom flicker just as bad. it makes you think of him, in the lonely hours especially.

you're surprised when you bump into him at age 20, near campus, barely recognizing him at all. for a brief moment, you see the same shock mirrored on his face, but it disappears when you blink, and when you say his name, "touya—"

"dabi," he corrects you.

it's at 22, when you move into your own apartment and bring the same light from your childhood bedroom, that you find your thoughts floating back to him once more.

you offered right before graduating, the last time you saw him―told him you'd be moving into a new place and he could stay with you there. no one would know about it, no one would bother him.

but touya is a flight risk, appearing in and out of your life like the flickering of your bedside light. you outstretch your hand and he bats it away instinctively, withdrawing from you until he feels like you won't bring it up again.

you do though, every time. the next year, the year after that, when you're both 25. you look for him more consciously now, finding that he's always somehow nearby―by the potted flowers on your windowsill that remain alive despite week-long work trips; by paid for cups of coffee in cafes, the doors whooshing shut as you look for who it could possibly be from.

you've known touya for almost all of your life, and giving up on him isn't an option at all. your heart can't take it, the same way you can't bring yourself to fix your bedside light, its flickering an odd source of hope that he might one day be so fed up, he'll have to come and fix it himself.

and then he'd have to stay―to keep the flickering at bay. to keep the light working. one day.

[adickaboutspoons]

@bogeymangrandy I’m sorry - I know it’s prolly bad Tumblr etiquette to address a reply in a whole new post, but this is kind of too big an answer to address in the space a reply offers.

So the weird, shitty unchecked racist stuff isn’t JUST contained to episode 5. In episode 3, Izzy says Ed “was a wild dog, and we dealt with him like one.” It’s to set up the “doggy heaven” line, which is doing some heavy lifting in terms of conveying to Izzy exactly how much Ed trusted and confided in Stede, but referring to a MOC as a dog, especially a wild one, is still fucking gross, and, worse, it’s only part of a pattern of racist sentiments. In episode 6, Izzy tells Ed “I thought you were Roach” - that old “they all look alike to me” chestnut. Thanks, I fucking loathe it.

But episode 5 is particularly packed with troublingly racist bullshit, and carries with it connotations for the wider season.

The most straight-forward is when Stede tells Izzy that Blackbeard “credited you with a lot of his skills,” and then “you taught him everything he knows.” If it’s meant to be read as true, it’s attributing all the talent, skill, and brilliance of a MOC to some white dude. But even if it’s meant to be read as Stede flattering Izzy to get what he wants out of him (which I think it is - the whole thing with the fog in season 1 episode 4 kind of hinges on Ed having knowledge and skills that Izzy does not), it’s still not great because it means Stede thinks stroking some mediocre white guy’s ego is worth more than Ed’s reputation, which means he learned nothing from the tavern scene in season 1 episode 10 where he similarly disparages Ed’s reputation for the gratification of his white compatriots.

Similarly, consider him shouting “those fucking barbarians!” after the mostly POC (and Pete) crew rip his red coat, and compare to “You savages!” in season 1 episode 2 when Stede thinks the indigenous people who have captured him have roasted Wellington and Hornberry on a spit. But at least in season 1 Stede gets rightfully called out for being a racist. Season 2 has yet to push back.

Then, there’s the portrayal of retributive justice (the idea that, for justice to be served, a transgressor has to be punished). We start the episode with Ed in his penitence onesie and cat bell. And there is that whole Biblical connotation of sackcloth as an expression of humility, but it also calls to mind the ill-fitted and low-quality material of prison uniforms, with the cat bell as a low-tech ankle monitor, uncomfortably tight and alerting everyone to his position at all times. I’ve seen his non-pology framed as a corporate “apology” and I do think that’s mostly what they’re going for here, but there’s also an element of the preformative penitence that prisoners are forced to undergo during parole hearings. This is Ed being punished for his Kraken-era transgressions.

Now compare to how Izzy, a white dude, has been offered rehabilitative justice this season - never had to grovel, never had to debase himself, never even had to offer a single word of apology for any of the dire shit he inflicted on the crew in season 1, but was nonetheless given the unconditional support and resources he needed to transform into essentially a completely different person. 

It’s not just the races of the people upon whom these different modes of justice are being implemented that is significant - it’s also the races of the aggrieved parties in how they respond to the “justice” imparted by the retributive model, because we also see two direct, individual applications of retributive justice in the episode; Ed offering Lucius to push him overboard, and Fang describing how he brutalized Ed’s body after Jim knocked him unconscious. With Lucius, we see that he experiences a momentary thrill of vengeance, but almost immediately it flares out, and he’s still just as traumatized as before, and perhaps even more obsessed with Ed. Clearly, for him, a white dude, this primitive, Hamurabian form of justice does not give him closure. With Fang, a MOC, it’s the exact opposite - Ed terrorized him, he beat Ed up, and now they’re sweet.

In isolation, this wouldn’t read as implying that white people are more “civilized” and “evolved” than POC - except all the other POC that Kraken!Ed tormented are also seemingly fine now. Jim and Archie are immediately laughing and joking about torture after the non-pology, and Frenchie is debuting a new fancy cat flag and pointing out that “at least he’s wearing the sack” when Lucius starts freaking out about Blackbeard being back. There’s also a running through-line across several episodes about the supremacy of white, colonial values and civility, but I’ll get back to that in just a moment.

Because now we have to talk about the matter of the curse. Because, again, we’re seeing a break-down across racial lines. Team Curse is Jim, Archie, Olu, Frenchie, Roach, and token white guy Pete (the Swede having abandoned the crew for his new paramore, Buttons having transmogrified, Lucius busy being traumatized elsewhere, and Wee John just MIA). Team “Curses aren’t real” is Izzy and Stede. So this isn’t like season 1 where everyone is just kinda hilariously science illiterate and superstitious (like with the “not a mermaid” conversation) - instead, we’ve got a group of superstitious POC vs. the rational, enlightened White Dudes. And the White Dudes are unequivocally correct. Peanuts ARE a serious allergen (and a legume, not a bean). Yeast is what causes bread to rise, not fairies. Ergo curses AREN’T real, and the crew are being irrational. So when Stede relents at the end and agrees to give up his suit, it’s not him conceding that there is validity to his POC crew’s worldview - it’s a white dude condescending to the poor, simple-minded, uncivilized folk even though he’s for sure in the right. Isn’t that just SO magnanimous of him? Isn’t it awfully white of him?

And given that the White view is the Right view in episode 5, we have to start interrogating the other places where that idea shows up. In episode 1, we hear a white priest bloviating about how "The natural condition of humanity is base and vile. It is the obligation of people of standing, such as yourselves, to elevate the common human rabble through the sacred transaction of matrimony.” Normally (and at the time when I first watched it) I would clock this as CRITICAL of the tendency of predominantly white cultures to be self-congratulatory of how THEIR ceremonies are so much more CIVILIZED than those of the savage  - as though they invented the concepts of commitment and monogamy, and as though those concepts are inherently better than the alternatives. But then we have Ed, a MOC, issuing an objection - not to the specific union, but to the concept of a nice, white wedding in general, followed by a raid that Jim later comments on: “Is it just me or was the wedding thing a bit over the line?”

And, consider, in season 1 episode 3, Jim drops this line on Olu when he points out that Jim killed one of Jackie’s husbands: “We live in a state of nature.” So the “natural condition” is intrinsically tied up with that hyper-violent pirate lifestyle, and if even one of the practitioners thereof is clocking it as “a bit over the line” - does it not follow that the bloviating priest was RIGHT? That the white man sure DOES have that burden to take up, doesn’t he?

Which is exactly what Ricky is proposing in his little speech in episode 6: "It's up to us fine gentlemen to stand up against this modern piracy and stay vigilant". And we KNOW that Ricky is full of shit. We KNOW that he’s backing up his racist agenda with a self-serving, revisionist narrative. But maybe it would be better if he also didn’t, maybe, have a point? I guess what I’m saying is that I really miss the days when a racist got a knife through the hand or their ship burned down and it was something to be celebrated, and that I’m not loving the idea this season that maybe the racists are kind of in the right.

[doberbutts]

Multiple things can be true at once.

Laws banning dogs kept outdoors are often deeply linked with classist and racist lawmaking, and primarily affect the poor [regardless of race] and populations of color [regardless of wealth].

While many breeds *are* intended as indoor companions, many more breeds have historically been kept in some sort of outdoor containment, and the concept of keeping dogs inside is incredibly recent in pet owning history.

Many breeds, including breeds you may not expect, often prefer to be outdoors if the climate matches their usage.

Many breeds, including breeds you may not expect, were developed primarily outdoors and often need to be forced to spend time inside, where they spend a lot of effort trying to figure out how to get back outside.

Outdoor dogs who escape or practice nuisance behaviors are experiencing a containment or enrichment problem. This would not be bettered indoors as the dog would begin door dashing, breaking through windows, and exhibiting equally destructive and disruptive behavior inside as well.

Keeping dogs inside or outside is a largely cultural debate and many cultures and dogs developed within these cultures hinge on the dog staying outside.

All animals should be confined to their owner's property and only removed from said property under the owner's or trusted handler's supervision. All animals should be fed and given water. All animals should have shelter from hazardous weather. These are non-negotiable tenants of responsible animal care.

And, finally: the people who neglect the dogs they keep outside will often also neglect that same dog of kept inside, even if the other animals inside the house are well kept. This is often a symptom of a larger problem such as struggling with behavior management so it's just "easier" for the dog to be outside, or monetary concern which is not going to change just because the dog is in the house. Bringing the dog inside keeps it from freezing to death, but doesn't magically put food in it's bowl or enrichment in it's brain. Often these dogs are put into a crate or small room and abandoned that way- I literally have a dog right now that experienced exactly this.

[critical-skeptic]

What Came First: The Chicken or The Egg?

Dear Dr. Tyson,

First, I must commend your valiant and seemingly conclusive answer to the age-old question: Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Your application of evolutionary biology to a question that traditionally lies within the philosophical realm is a prime example of science's ability to engage with metaphysical dilemmas. However, I would argue—after an excessive amount of time spent obsessing over this very topic—that, by your own logic and through a more pedantic refinement of the terminology involved, the answer is not as settled as you suggest. In fact, the chicken, not the egg, must have come first.

Let me explain.

Your conclusion, that the egg came first, hinges on the broad evolutionary assumption that the question refers to any kind of egg—especially an evolutionary precursor to the chicken, such as the egg of a proto-chicken. You argue that a mutation in the genetic material of the proto-chicken resulted in the first true chicken hatching from a non-chicken egg. This is biologically sound, and I do not dispute your evolutionary framework.

However, this argument, elegant though it may be, sidesteps the nuance embedded in the original question. When one asks "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" we must assume, by context, that we are referring specifically to a chicken’s egg. That is, an egg laid by a chicken that contains a chicken. The question does not simply ask about the evolution of all egg-laying creatures; rather, it implicitly narrows the focus to chickens and their reproductive mechanisms.

To answer this question with the precision it demands, we must re-examine the terms. If we take "egg" to refer to a chicken’s egg—as opposed to the egg of a proto-chicken or any evolutionary predecessor—then we must acknowledge that a chicken’s egg cannot exist until there is a fully formed chicken capable of laying it. The egg laid by the proto-chicken was indeed the vessel that contained the first genetic chicken, but it was, by definition, a proto-chicken’s egg, not a true chicken’s egg. A chicken’s egg can only come from a chicken.

So, following this semantic precision, the first chicken must have existed before the first true chicken’s egg could be laid. In other words, the chicken—the fully formed, genetically distinct Gallus gallus domesticus—must have come first to produce the first true chicken’s egg.

Your conclusion, therefore, though derived from impeccable science, relies on a subtle but crucial imprecision in language. The question as posed is not just about evolutionary timelines but also about biological classification. And while it’s tempting to sidestep the semantics in favor of a neat evolutionary narrative, doing so undermines the integrity of the original question, which, by its nature, demands we consider the chicken and its egg as distinct from their evolutionary ancestors.

Thus, I submit to you that the answer, at least in this more rigorously defined framework, is the chicken.

Of course, you have more significant scientific conundrums to tackle, and this playful philosophical debate may not warrant such an unhealthy degree of focus. But I hope you’ll appreciate the spirit of this response, as it mirrors your own commitment to using science to address even the most absurd of human questions.

Yours in intellectual camaraderie,

The Critical Skeptic

[alexissara]

Upcoming Sapphic Games Goddess List

Hey, well to my check in with upcoming sapphic games, this list cover every single game I saw in my research that is in active development that showed signs of sapphic content. This list because of time of writing potentially may contain a game or two that was released or just by the time of you reading this later but I am doing my best while looking at everything I can to figure out where gay may be. Games on this list are filled with my opinions and don't represent the companies opinions and I wasn't paid or anything to put any games on this list. This post is split into 5 categories Non Visual Novel, Narrative Games, Make Your Own Gay, A Gay Exists and Potentially Gay. So feel free to skim across sections.

Non VN

These are games that are not visual novels that are centered on an explicitly sapphic character. This character's sole romantic interest does not need to be sapphic but the sapphic desires have to be seen as a core part of the character or game. 

Cycle

All Lana wants is to figure out the mystery behind her mother’s death. She embarks in a Megaman Zero inspired journey into a strange tower to get her answers. Lana has a girlfriend who is a core part of the story and is prominently shown in the trailers, art and stuff. I believe I even saw her fighting side by side with her girlfriend in a boss battle in the latest trailer. 

Contains: Sapphic Lead, Her Girlfriend 

Thirsty Suitors 

Enter the world of a Southeast Asian bisexual disatar Jala in one of the most stylish games I’ve ever played [the demo of]. It blends some fun skateboarding, with a really neat turned based RPG, and apparently even a cooking mini game into one complete package. The RPG combat is fun, funny and delightful. The story hinges on two romantic relationships that have broken down for Jala, both of whom are women, one she recently broke up with that leads her to go back to her home town and the relationship she fucked up big time in her home down with her former best friend. She battles against her not so evil exes in these RPG style mind palace fights where they resolve their feelings current and former and come to some kind of resolution. 

Contains: Bisexual Lead, at least two ex girlfriends 

Boss Game [PC Release]

This game is already out but it has a PC release coming up and that’s amazing and great and opens the game up to more people. A pair of Girlfriends need cash and so they take gig work hunting demons but as they take the jobs they start to figure out what’s really going on and to do the right thing. 

Contains: Cis Lesbian [lead], Trans Lesbian [lead], A non binary character, a bisexual character 

Kitsune Tail 

A mario inspired adventure about a little gay fox girl trying to save her crush from also a cute villain she might be into. It’s a super adorable platformer with a very light hearted tone invoking classic games with a modern queer twist.

Contains: Sapphic Lead, Sapphic VIllain, Sapphic Damsel 

Love’s Crescendo

This is a Rhythm game visual novel hybrid about a couple of lesbians who are both doing music in their lives at this pivotal point. Valerie and Cadence complete each other, musically. This romantic musical adventure gives a lot of sweet and cute moment for these two and nice musical gameplay. 

Contains: Two Lesbian of color Leads 

Narrative Games

These are Visual Novels and similar games where the gameplay is mostly reading a story, maybe making choices along the way or playing a few mini games but the mini games do not comprise the core gameplay loop of the story. 

Love In A Bottle 

Ankora is a lesbian love demon looking for love, in a visual novel point in click adventure she can choose to go after four different ladies. This game boasts a bit of dress up on on Ankora you can unlock while playing the game. It’s a rare dating sim where everyone is a clear adult and everyone is another kind of fantastic creature. 

Contains: Let’s Go Lesbians, Let’s Go 

Pen Pal Princess: A Queer Romcom Visual Novel 

You play as a queer princess looking to make her own love story. This is a game about online dating in a modern fantasy setting, it’s a cute and sweet concept and feels so relevant in a world where so many queer people date long distance. 

Contains: Sapphic Lead, some amount of sapphic romance options

Flower Knight Hú Dié

A solar punk RPG with a lesbian main character, Hú Dié. After the Flower Knights failed her most important friend she wanted nothing to do with them but she finds herself thrown into a situation dealing with the monsters and more that infest the world. 

Contains: Lesbian Lead, Sapphic Romantic Interest 

High Elo GIrls 

You play as a black college dropout who gets drafted into an all women esports team. You can choose if she is Top, Jungle, Mid, DPS, or Support and the kind of relationship she has with each woman. I am not currently aware if polyamory is an option but there is some degree of customization to the relationships. 

Contains: Sapphic Lead, 5 women to romance including at least 1 trans woman. 

Hardcoded 

You're a sexy trans girl android and you are gonna have sex with some people. There is mysterious in this cyberpunk world you gotta solve and the best solution for a service android like you is fucking your way to the top. You explore, make out with hot women, and do your thing. 

Contains: Lesbian lead, Big old lesbian cast [maybe they have some other sexualities and genders]

Make Your Own Gay

This category goes over games that queerness is an option but I believe it is possible for a heterosexual who doesn’t like gay people to play the game and just kinda, miss the queerness. This is typically games where you choose to ship characters together, normally your avatar character. This places games under a pretty high bar because straight people are not very smart on the whole and are really bad at reading media critically or engaging it.  For me a lot of these games are obviously queer in some way and also these games are not out, so I have no way of knowing for sure. This placement is not an insult and I actually expect several of the games in this part of the list to be some of my favorite games. 

Fields Of Mistria 

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Explore dungeons, fight monsters, and more. Customize your character with a selection of appearances and customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

The games special thing is an amazing 90s anime aesthetic. It’s magic for farming system also seems particularly streamlined. 

Contains: Women, Men and Non Binary characters you can romance. Customizable character. 

Moonstone Island

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Explore dungeons, fight monsters, and more. Customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

This games special thing that it has monster tamer with a really fun deck building element for your attacks. 

Contains: Women, Men and Non Binary characters you can romance. Character who you can just assume is whatever gender, they are never gendered. 

OVA Magica

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Explore dungeons, fight monsters, and more. Customize your character with a selection of appearances and customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

This games special thing is that it’s kinda like pokemon and has cute little slimes. 

Contains: Some women you can romance  Customizable characters. 

Story Of Seasons: A Wonderful Life 

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Customize your character with a selection of pronouns and appearances [She/He/They] and customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

This games special thing is that you grow old and die and get to see your kid grow up. 

Contains: Women and men you can romance. Customizable character including three sets of pronouns. 

Fae Farm 

In this game, you start a farm in a new town, connect with local villagers learning their stories and potentially even romancing some of them, your gender does not matter. Enjoy a cozy environment of lovely people and enjoy a wonderful farming adventure. Explore dungeons, fight monsters, and more. Customize your character with a selection of pronouns and appearances [She/He/They] and customize your home and make it feel like it’s truly your own. 

This games special thing is that is has online multiplayer and fairy shit. 

Contains: Some Women you can romance. Customizable character including three sets of pronouns. 

Lakeburg Legacies 

A city, kingdom, town, world building type game where the game centers around pairing the people you put into your town, having them work jobs and create resources and them creating babies. You can decide what characters you want to move into your town and pair them with your gender of choice so you can filter out men totally if you don’t wanna see them [except you can’t pick babies genders]. It doesn't’ appear to have any trans stuff going on and the characters are like randomly generated silly things with a few traits. Still it’s a fun type of this game and I could see myself enjoying a few loops of it. 

Contains: The ability to pair people up with the gender of your choice. You can’t control the gender of their babies. 

Our Life: Now and Forever 

This is a truly deeply in depth life sim that trades the depth of romantic options opting for two to give you a truly ridiculous amount of customization about yourself from growing up and transitioning changing your pronouns to altering all sorts of things about yourself and relationships. This is a game about living your life from childhood to adulthood together with someone.

Contains: Genderfluid and Lady Romantic lead, your able to pick your characters pronouns, transition them during the course of the story, and more. Customizable kind of relationship dynamic from love at first sight to slow burn. 

The Office Type

What if office stuff was hot, you can date that hot office stuff. It’s a dating sim where you can pick your pronouns and stuff and date all sorts of office themed hotties. 

Contains: Choose your own romances and choose the genders of all the options in the game between Lady, Guy and non binary. 

Imperial Grace

A diplomacy and romance visual novel where you make choices for your kingdom and choose who you would like to smooch. 

Contains: Contains Customizable Queen, 1 lady you can romance, has a detailed list of triggers for players to be aware of what their getting into. 

Solace State

A cyberpunk story about building a revolutionary movement as Chole. YOu build relationships with people and communities. Chole can hack people’s brains and get information on their thoughts. A moral system that seems to be based around your choices in not a binary way but a, how do you evaluate the ethics of doing the actions your doing to make the world better. You can make the world worse or better in the game. 

Contains: 1 Lady you can romance 

Call Me Under 

An Eldritch Horror romance where you can pick between three sets of pronouns He/She/They and romance a collection of hotties in this 50s inspired horror world while trying to figure out about the missing people in town and the other horrors brimming of late. You can be half siren or a human depending on that things in the story will change. 

Contains: Several Women and Non Binary romantic options, a Sapphic Polyamarous route, character who can pick between human and half siren and She/he/they pronouns. 

Stray Gods: The Roleplaying Musical 

A muse has died and your character got her power, now the worlds a musical and you gotta solve her murder otherwise you're gonna be the one who pays for her getting killed. It’s a unique musical visual novel with a big cast of big names. 

Contains: Woman Lead, two romacable women [? not confirmed], main character is probably canon bisexual but couldn't confirm in demo so here for now [but probably actually a narrative game].

Spirit Swap

Spirits are all around us and matching 3 pops them. In this match three game you play as Samara and look for love while trying to fix the issue with the spirits in town to utterly amazing low-fi tracks. For people looking to take a break from the story of the game you can also enjoy several other mods including playing against other players. 

Contains: Multiple Romantic options of varying gender including sapphic ones. Main character is probably canon bisexual but in the demo her attraction to men was a lot clearer to me then her attraction to women and I think a straight person might not catch she is gay. 

Love Shore

A true cyberpunk adventure where you pick between one of two protagonists. For our purposes your Farah.  This game is probably not properly a make your own gay but your not gonna get any sapphic content in one route and I think you can technically avoid it. Regardless, this game boasts a really awesome weaving plot and some sexy horric monsters you might be able to kiss too. There is some hidden stat elements which is a neat part of the game and it overall seems really cool. 

Contains: Your selection of one of two protagonists, one of whom is a woman and queer. You got to choose her to get to the sapphic stuff with at least three romance options that are ladies.

Gales of Nayeli 

This game is still really early in development as far as I know so it’s hard to say how much will remain consistent but I was told directly that Nayeli and Keri could have a romance and Nayeli is the title character of the game so the main character of the story is sapphic to some extent [they also assured me it wouldn’t be the only sapphic pairing in the game]. I simply cannot judge if that is something we see in the story because we’ve not got that kind of trailer yet. There is also an avatar, one we can assume can have romances, you can pick their pronouns but not edit their appearance. This looks like a really fun strategy RPG in the vein of Fire Emblem, with grid based tactics and if your into that and want some sapphic stuff, this is one to keep an eye on. 

Contains: Sapphic pairings between party members, self insert character who you can choose the pronouns of but not edit the appearances. 

A Gay Exists

This Category is for games with ensemble casts, in which a sapphic character might exist in the game, be playable, be unavoidable but they are also not the focal point of the story but instead just a small part of the story. A gay does exist in this game they in theory could even be in the lead but you might not know it like a game starring Wonder Woman or Harley Quinn where in canon they might be bisexual but the game simply might avoid ever stating it. 

Granblue Fantasy Relink 

Set sails through the sky in a high flying action RPG with a wide cast of characters from the popular gacha series Granblue Fantasy. It features the canon bisexual icon Rossetta as a playable party member seemingly from the start of the game. 

Contains: At least one playable canon bisexual. Player insert who can change genders on the fly. One playable subtextual sapphic knight. 

Granblue Fantasy Versus Rising

Bullshit could or could not be blazing in this Arcsystem Works fighting game follow up expanding the cast of Granblue Fantasy Versus and the general contents of the game. We don’t know the full roster but the roster of all the last game is included giving us for sure several pieces of representation. 

Contains: Two Trans women, one canon lesbian, several more subtext sapphics. 

Potentially Gay 

These are upcoming games I think probably will be sapphic to at least some extent in any of the above categories. Simply put, unlike the one’s above, I Am not confident enough to include them in the lists above because we simply haven’t seen any evidence to show that sapphic stuff exists. At least not in any trailer, demo, interview, or whatever that I researched when putting together this already very long list, so please be easy on me. 

The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood 

The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood is a card creating, fortune telling, narrative game about revenge, isolation, and more. You play as Fortuna, a witch who has been put into isolation without her magic or the ability to see anyone else by her Coven’s leader. She calls on a mystical being and makes a pact so she can get her revenge.  During the game you can express romantic, sexual, etc desires and it seems like you’ll be able to craft some relationships as well as the cards. 

Rune Factory 6 and Rune Factory Dragon 

In these games you’ll probably be able to pick your pronouns, romance people regardless of gender, and use magic to enhance your farming. Both will likely contain dungeons with simple combat and a light action RPG story to play. You probably can get married and have kids, you maybe won’t be able to customize your character beyond picking gender but you probably will be able to customize your house. 

Fantasy Life I: The Girl Who Steals Time

The first fantasy life made it where you could only be straight but at this point, Fantasy Life would be the last remaining life sim series to not let you be gay unless they totally cut out romance.  I think literally the last life sim with romance to not let you be gay was like Rune Factory 4, a 3DS game.  This game isn’t a farming game but it stands out next to the sims and other similar games as well. 

Hades 2 

The first one had a bi guy lead, I assume this time you’ll be a bi girl. 

Dark Deity 2 

The first one had an gays, I assume this one will have an gays as well, hopefully more, I wasn’t totally in love with how they did supports in Dark Deity 1. 

Beastieball 

Really this one is just vibes based, the art style says “queer” to me. Also your little beasties can start romances with each other and tehy don’t have genders but I bet you could do some making your own gay shipping with your little pokemon. 

En Garde! 

The vibe of the main protagonist is serving lesbian.  Please Devs at Fireplace games, tell me she kisses a woman, even in private, I won’t tell anyone if I am not allowed too, the game looks fun and I just want her to kiss a girl. 

--- That is all for now but if you enjoyed me doing all this research and putting it together in a really nice place for y’all then consider backing me on Patreon or Ko-fi or recommending me for work,I got my card on my page with professional contact info. Other than that you can always just follow me, reblog, share on whatever other social media sites are your poison.  If you know any other sapphic games that are not yet released PLEASE let me know,  want to know them all and I’m going to keep a new list after this article goes up for a few months from now when a lot more of these games are out or maybe next year around not E3 time again.