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lisalamona · 1 month ago

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𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 - XV

Chapter XV: Wouldn't You Like

. Summary: Despite your brother's insistence, you stubbornly decided to join him and his men in the war. Now, are you prepared to face the consequences of your actions? . Pairing: Various x Fem! Reader . Warnings: drugs (holy moly!), non-sexual nudity (barely described) . Notes: Sorry it took so long 🥺

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Masterlist

The palace halls stretched far beyond what you could have imagined, a seemingly endless expanse of elegance and mystery. Vines wove their way up marble columns, their emerald tendrils twisting like delicate fingers, while flowers you had never seen before bloomed in breathtaking displays of colour. They extended through the halls as though they had grown naturally, yet at the same time, their arrangement seemed deliberate, as if the palace itself had designed them with purpose.

Every turn you took left you more and more disoriented than the last. You could only wonder how those who lived here managed to navigate it so effortlessly—it felt less like a palace and more like a labyrinth. Not even the winding corridors of the palace you had once called home could compare to the intricate twists and turns you were forced to weave through now.

Occasionally, you passed other nymphs moving gracefully through the halls, their ethereal presence only adding to the dreamlike atmosphere. Some carried woven baskets in the crooks of their arms, filled with items unknown to you, while others strolled in pairs or small groups, lost in quiet conversation. Regardless of their activity, their reaction to you remained the same: a fleeting look of curiosity, followed by a polite smile and a nod of acknowledgment before they continued on their way.

Choosing to ignore the stares, you focused on the nymph leading you. You kept a careful distance, staying far enough behind that you could bolt if necessary. Trust did not come easily to you, not here, not yet. From your vantage point, you could only see her back, but that alone told you plenty. Her hair was a cascading mass of curls, an orangey-red hue that shimmered like embers in the soft light filtering through the palace. The sheer length of it was impressive, reaching all the way down to her waist, and it was thick—voluminous in a way that made you wonder how long it had taken to grow. Nestled within her curls were flowers, some woven into tiny braids that were sparsely scattered throughout her hair, while others appeared to be placed at random, yet somehow remained perfectly in place, untouched by movement. Even as she walked, her steps light and almost bouncing, not a single petal fell.

Her attire was just as intricate. She wore a finely crafted chiton, its fabric flowing like liquid with every movement. The bottom edges were embroidered with swirling golden patterns, shimmering each time the material shifted. She was barefoot, though by now, you had come to suspect that where you were, shoes were not a necessity. Perhaps this was meant to be a sanctuary—a safe haven at best, or a cult at worst. Either way, you weren't letting your guard down.

Every so often, she glanced back over her shoulder at you, as if checking to make sure you were still following. These quick glances allowed you brief glimpses of her face—soft freckles dusting her cheeks, her delicate features framed by her fiery curls, and striking baby-blue eyes that locked onto yours for a fleeting moment before turning forward again. You were sure she could navigate these halls blindfolded.

Eventually, you arrived at a room. She opened the door with ease, holding it ajar as she waited for you to step inside. Hesitation settled in your gut like a heavy stone. Your fight-or-flight instincts flared, and gods, how you wished you had your sword right now. Still, you forced yourself to enter.

The room was narrow but cozy, bathed in the soft glow of natural light from a large, arched window directly ahead. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with neatly folded fabrics in a breathtaking spectrum of colors. Some gleamed with a silk-like sheen, while others were thicker, woven from coarser materials. Opposite the shelves, baskets overflowed with clothing—some wrinkled and in need of care, others draped haphazardly, as if recently discarded. The air carried the faintest hint of lavender, mixing with the subtle scent of linen and aged wood.

"Choose one." The nymph said behind you, propping the door open to prevent it from shutting completely.

You turned to look at her, confusion knitting your brows.

"I'm sorry?" Your eyes followed her as she moved effortlessly into the room, almost gliding. You studied her movements, trying to decipher her meaning.

She chuckled softly, bringing a hand to her mouth. Embarrassment prickled at your skin. You weren't sure what she was expecting you to do, but it felt like something obvious—like you had somehow missed an unspoken rule. Heat bubbled in your chest and quickly crept up your neck to your face.

She gestured with both hands toward the shelves of fabric. "You can choose whichever one you'd like."

You glanced at the shelves, then back at her.

"...Why?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if the answer should have been apparent. "You can't tell me that wearing that is comfortable. It looks like it's been through Hades itself."

Oh. That made sense now. She wanted you to pick something to wear.

And what was it with everyone insulting your clothing today?

Noticing your silence, she arched an eyebrow. "You do know what clothes are... don't you?"

"Yes!" The word came out far too quickly, and you cleared your throat, trying to salvage your dignity. "Yes, I know what clothes are."

"Well then, pick one."

Turning your full attention to the fabric, you hesitated. The sheer variety was overwhelming. After years of wearing the same few options, how were you supposed to decide now?

Blue? No, it reminded you too much of the sea, the wound still raw and aching.

Red? No, that damned eye still plagued your dreams.

So, instead, you reached for the one closest to you without thinking. It was a soft, barely-there shade of pink, the color so delicate it seemed to fade into the light. Your fingers brushed over the fabric, and it was softer than you expected, light yet durable. It felt... right. Safe. Familiar, in a way you couldn't quite place.

Perhaps that was enough.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes?"

"You don't sound sure."

"I was until you asked me."

She just chuckled, clearly amused, and walked over to one of the baskets filled with clothes waiting to be washed. She lifted it effortlessly into her arms, moving with the kind of practiced ease that suggested she had done this a thousand times before.

"Come." She said simply before turning on her heel and heading toward the door, fully expecting you to follow without question.

You stood frozen for a second, processing the sudden shift, before realizing she was already halfway down the hall. Letting out a breath, you quickly trotted after her, catching up in just a few strides. Even though some part of you still urged you to stay behind her, to keep a safe distance, you ignored it completely and matched her pace, walking beside her instead.

"I'm sorry, um..." You trailed off, suddenly aware that you didn't know her name.

"Aora." She answered without even glancing at you.

"Aora..." You repeated, testing the name on your tongue. You hesitated before continuing, "Could I know where you're taking me?"

"Well, you need a bath, and since I have things to wash, I figured I might as well take care of that too."

She led you through the palace, down a hallway that seemed to stretch longer than it should have, until finally, you reached the back of the structure. Enormous open doors led to the outside, where the sight before you made you stop in your tracks.

The place was breathtaking.

A natural spring stretched out before you, its water so clear it looked almost unreal. The surface shimmered under the sunlight, reflecting the towering trees that surrounded it like a protective barrier. Their branches intertwined above, forming a loose canopy that filtered the light into dappled golden patches across the grass and water. Wildflowers of every color bloomed in clusters along the water's edge, their petals dancing in the soft breeze. The air smelled fresh—earthy, yet faintly floral, with a trace of salt carried from the distant sea. It was secluded, untouched, and for the first time since you arrived, you felt the smallest sense of peace.

There was no one else here. No hidden figures lurking in the shadows, no watching eyes. Just you, Aora, and the gentle sound of rippling water.

Aora made her way toward a large rock to the right, setting her basket down. When she didn't hear your footsteps on the grass behind her, she turned to look at you, one brow raised.

"Well? What are you waiting for? I won't look, I promise."

You swallowed, mustering the courage to step closer to the water. Anxiety bubbled in your chest, a lingering hesitation you couldn't quite shake. Slowly, you set the article of clothing down on a nearby rock near where you planned to bathe. Your gaze flickered to Aora once more, checking to see if she was watching. She wasn't—completely lost in her own world, preparing everything for her own task.

Still, you hesitated, scanning the treeline, searching for anyone you might have missed. But there was no one.

Taking a deep breath, you stripped, pausing briefly to test the lake's bottom with your foot. The smooth stones beneath the surface felt firm, undisturbed. Assured that nothing lurked unseen, you placed your discarded clothes beside your new ones and stepped in, submerging yourself in one swift motion.

The water enveloped you instantly, a warmth that caught you off guard. It wasn't scalding, nor unnaturally hot—just pleasantly, soothingly warm, the perfect contrast to the tension coiled in your muscles. As you sank deeper, letting the water reach your shoulders, the tightness in your body gradually melted away. A breath you hadn't realized you were holding slipped from your lips. For the first time since you arrived, your mind felt quiet.

You floated there for a moment, staring up at the canopy of trees above, processing everything.

How had a group of people survived here, on an island in the middle of nowhere? How long had they lived like this? Why were they here?

And what was the deal with Circe?

The questions nagged at you, but one stood out above the rest.

Turning your head slightly, you called out. "Aora?"

"Hm?" she responded without looking up, focused on scrubbing one of the garments from her basket.

"This place... what exactly is it?" You hesitated before clarifying. "How is there a whole group of you out here? Why?"

Aora didn't answer right away. Instead, she wrung out the fabric in her hands, watching as the water dripped back into the lake. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, assured.

"It's a safe haven." she said simply. "Lady Circe gave us a home when we had nowhere else to go. She helped us through things no one else would. We trust her. I'm sure you will too."

There was no doubt in her tone. No hesitation.

A safe haven.

You weren't sure how to feel about that.

Some part of you wanted to believe her, to let your guard down just a little. But another part, the part that had kept you alive for this long, still whispered warnings in the back of your mind.

A slight unease settled in your stomach. Once you were finished, you'd have to talk to her—thank her, clear up the misunderstanding, and then regroup with the rest.

You said nothing, only sinking a little deeper into the water, letting the warmth soothe the questions that still lingered.

For now, that answer would have to be enough.

──────🐷──────

Odysseus felt a storm brewing inside him, emotions clashing and tangling in a way he couldn't fully comprehend. They swelled, pressing against his ribs, ready to explode and send him crumbling.

He was pissed. Furious that Eurylochus had the audacity to defy the only direct order that truly mattered to him. It had been simple—do not let his sister out of his sight. Do not let her get hurt. And yet, here they were. Eurylochus had failed something so basic, so vital, and now you were missing. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. The more he thought about it, the more memories surfaced—how you had been even as a child, always slipping away, always pushing boundaries. Maybe he should've known better. Maybe, deep down, he had.

He was exhausted. It wasn't just the kind of exhaustion that weighed on his limbs, slowing his every step—it was bone-deep, soul-deep, a weariness that blurred his thoughts and made his muscles feel like lead. His body ached from endless battles, from sleepless nights, from carrying the weight of too many losses. But more than anything, he was tired of fighting battles he wasn't sure he could win.

How did he even think he would defeat this woman?

All he had was his sword and his wit. And what use was a sword against someone who could turn men into pigs? Who knew what else she could do? As for his wit—well, it had failed him more than once lately. Once, his words had been his greatest weapon, a tool sharper than any blade, capable of bending even the most stubborn minds to his will. But ever since that happened, his silver tongue seemed to do nothing but twist the knife further. Every attempt at reasoning with an enemy had only led to more disaster.

All he wanted was to reach Ithaca. To hold his son in his arms, press his forehead to his wife's, and finally—finally—collapse into their bed, safe and whole. But fate seemed determined to pull him further and further from home.

He was frustrated—frustrated with you.

You had been stubborn and reckless since the moment he first laid eyes on you. As a child, it had been adorable, the way you would cause mischief and grin your way out of trouble. But you weren't a child anymore. You were a soldier, one of his men, and it was time you started acting like it. You needed to learn to take orders, to respect him as more than just your brother. He wouldn't always be there to save you. How many times had he told you that? How many times had you ignored him? It was infuriating. When he found you, he was going to make damn sure you understood—whether you liked it or not.

If he found you.

And that was the worst part of all. Because underneath the anger, the frustration, the exhaustion—he was scared.

Gods, he hated admitting it, even to himself, but fear was curling in his gut like a snake. He was terrified of what he would find when he reached this so-called palace. Were his men hurt? Were they even alive? Were you alive?

His breath came unevenly at the thought.

What if something had happened to you? What if he was too late? What if—No. Enough.

You were alive. You had to be. He repeated it like a mantra, like a prayer, forcing himself to believe it. You were alive, and when he found you, you were going to get the scolding of a lifetime.

He had made a decision. He needed to be sterner with you. If you wanted to be treated as an equal to his men, then that was exactly how he would treat you. If you refused to follow orders, you were out. He wasn't about to let you cause more casualties just because you couldn't control yourself.

...And yet, a whisper of doubt slithered into his mind.

That's what you wanted, wasn't it? To be treated as an equal?

Then so be it.

Odysseus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His mind wandered back to Eurylochus' words—how that woman had taken down half his men in mere seconds. Through trickery, sure, but still. It was unsettling. She had magic, something he had no defense against. How was he supposed to defeat her?

He supposed he could try charm, but that was risky. Considering what she had done to his men, he wasn't about to tempt fate. He had no desire to end up as a pig himself. That thought alone had him gritting his teeth. His men were idiots. What kind of respectable man fell for a woman's flattery so easily? He coul dunderstand why she had seen them as pigs in the first place.

His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rustling above him.

Leaves shuddered, and something that sounded almost like a bird's cackle echoed through the trees.

Normally, he wouldn't have given it a second thought—just the wilderness being the wilderness. But something about this sound was off. It was unnatural, something he couldn't quite place, and his instincts screamed at him not to trust it.

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes snapping to the towering trees above, scanning for movement. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Silence.

Then—the sound again. This time, from behind him.

He turned sharply, but there was nothing.

A slow, creeping unease settled over him. He knew he wasn't imagining it. Something was there, moving, circling. Watching.

Then, it came again, this time from his right.

Odysseus moved faster now, his head snapping toward the sound, but still, he saw nothing.

A voice sliced through the air, smooth and amused.

"I must say, what a brilliant speech you gave back there. Truly admirable."

His body tensed, every muscle coiled like a drawn bowstring. The voice—it was coming from everywhere. Nowhere?. It filled the air around him, slipping through the trees, slithering into his ears as if the very wind carried it.

His grip on his sword tightened.

"Who goes there?" His voice was firm, demanding.

"Don't worry, I'm just a friend wanting to help."

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they had the opposite effect. Odysseus only tensed further, his grip on his sword tightening. If anything, that cryptic response put him more on edge. His brows knitted together as he remained silent, waiting for the voice to reveal more.

"You know, Circe's not a foe easily beaten. You'll need help. A blessing, if you will. Divine intervention. And who better to lend a hand than a certain god?"

At the mention of a higher being, Odysseus' body went rigid. A god.

That single word sent a shiver down his spine, and not in a good way. The last time he had encountered a god, it had gone horribly wrong. Poseidon had ensured his life became a waking nightmare, and the thought of another divine figure meddling in his fate was... unnerving, to say the least. His lips pressed into a tight line, his mind racing.

"Someone who's not afraid to... send a message."

The voice now came from directly beside his left ear. Too close.

Odysseus whipped his head around, eyes darting wildly, only to find nothing. His pulse quickened. The unseen presence toyed with him, shifting, flitting out of reach. Then—a tap.

Right shoulder.

He spun sharply, this time ready for a fight.

Instead, he came face to face with a man.

No, not just a man.

The figure hovered inches above the ground, clad in the garb of a traveler—flowing robes in warm hues of gold and burnt orange, a satchel slung across his chest, its contents impossibly heavy yet carried with effortless grace. His hat, tilted just enough to obscure his eyes, bore two small, feathered wings, identical to those adorning the sandals on his feet.

"Hermes." Odysseus exhaled sharply, realization dawning like a heavy weight upon him. His stomach twisted.

Even after all these years, after all he had seen—gods still unsettled him.

You'd think he would have grown accustomed to their sudden appearances, to the way they materialized out of nowhere, uninvited and all-knowing. But he hadn't. And deep down, he knew he never would.

Hermes took in Odysseus' stunned expression and threw his head back in laughter—a sharp, cackling sound, identical to the one that had followed him through the woods. A chill ran down the back of Odysseus' neck. So that had been him all along.

The god was entertained. Amused.

That, more than anything, put Odysseus on edge.

Still chuckling, Hermes draped an arm around Odysseus' shoulder, his grip far too casual for someone discussing life or death matters. "Now tell me, darling, " He began smoothly, "wouldn't you like a taste of power? To wield more than mere words? To beat her at her own game?"

Odysseus remained stiff beneath the god's touch, his mind spinning. He hated being played with, and this felt an awful lot like a game.

Hermes extended his free hand, as if striking a deal. "Trust me, you'll want my help."

Odysseus narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Hermes let out an exaggerated sigh, as if Odysseus was being impossibly slow. Then, in a voice laced with mischief, he began listing off horrors like they were items on a menu.

"Well, for starters, she can turn you into an animal. One that'll end up on her plate if she's feeling particularly hungry."

Odysseus stiffened.

"She can make you fall hopelessly, helplessly in love with her—have you worshipping the very ground she walks on, as if she were the love of your life."

Odysseus' blood ran cold. Was that what had happened to his men? Was it magic that had lured them inside the palace? Not just temptation—but enchantment?

"And worst of all," Hermes continued, his voice dipping into something almost dark. "she can conjure up a monster—a three-headed beast that will rip you apart before you even have a chance to scream."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Odysseus swallowed hard.

He had known this would be difficult. He had known Circe was no ordinary woman. But this? If Hermes was telling the truth, then he was truly outmatched.

Hermes, sensing the shift, leaned in, his voice honeyed. "So, I'll ask again—would you like my help?"

The god extended his hand once more, fingers outstretched. Waiting.

Odysseus stared at it.

Everything in him screamed not to trust Hermes. The god was a trickster, a deceiver. His very existence revolved around twisting words and warping truths. But at the same time...

What other choice did he have?

He could not afford to fail here. His men—you—were counting on him.

His pride warred with his logic. His instinct told him to refuse, to rely on his own cunning, as he always had. But this was not a battle of blades. It was magic against man.

And he was only a man.

Slowly, Odysseus exhaled. He weighed his options, searched for an alternative, found none.

He reached out and clasped Hermes' hand.

"Yes."

The moment the word left his lips, Hermes' grin stretched impossibly wide.

Not once had the god stopped smiling, but now? Now, his delight was palpable, almost unsettling. If Odysseus wasn't already rattled by what Circe was capable of, he might have found it downright unnerving.

But there was no turning back now.

──────🐷──────

Once your bath was over, you slipped into the newly acquired chiton. The fabric was softer than anything you had worn in years, its airy weave allowing it to drape effortlessly over your skin. It moved with you, flowing freely rather than constricting, a stark contrast to the garments you had worn before—thicker, sturdier fabric built for battle, meant to endure rough training, long marches, and the ever-present threat of war.

This one was different. Gentle. Elegant.

You ran your fingers over the golden embroidery woven delicately into the hem, small intricate details that shimmered under the light. It was the kind of craftsmanship you would expect to see of a queen. It almost felt undeserved.

A simple rope, tied neatly around your waist, was the final touch.

Your hair, still damp, clung lightly to the back of your neck. You let it fall naturally over your shoulders, the cool air refreshing against your skin.

It had been so long since you'd had a bath like this—peaceful, unhurried. No shouts of men echoing around you, no need to rush before the next battle, no stale smell of sea salt and sweat clinging to your skin. You hadn't realized just how much you'd missed this.

Aora, who had been quietly finishing her task, glanced over and gave you a nod, gesturing for you to follow. She gathered the rest of the garments she had been washing and led you back into the depths of the palace.

You tried to memorize the twists and turns of the halls as you walked, noting the carved archways, the way ivy seemed to grow unchecked in some corners of the corridors, as if the palace itself was alive. But the effort was futile—Circe's home felt like a labyrinth, shifting and endless, refusing to be understood.

By the time you arrived at the courtyard, Aora turned to you.

"Stay here." She instructed. "Circe will be with you shortly."

And just like that, she disappeared into the palace once more.

You did as you were told, not daring to wander.

Instead, your gaze drifted, exploring in silence.

A flowering vine curled up one of the marble pillars beside you, its twisting tendrils creeping toward your height. The deep green leaves shimmered under the golden light, and nestled among them was a single bloom—a soft purple hue, petals unfurling like silk. You reached out without thinking, fingertips grazing the air just before touching—

A sudden chorus of squeals shattered the quiet.

You jerked back instinctively as a flurry of movement burst through the doors you had entered from.

A herd of pigs came rushing in, stumbling over one another, their distressed cries filling the air. At first, you thought they had simply escaped from a pen, but something about their movements—frantic, panicked—made your stomach twist.

Nymphs guided them across the courtyard, ensuring none broke away from the group. But as they passed, one of the pigs—small, trembling—locked eyes with you.

It stopped abruptly, squealing louder than the rest, its gaze wide and desperate.

And for a fleeting moment, your breath caught in your throat.

Because something was wrong.

It wasn't just an animal's cry. There was something in its eyes. Something... almost human.

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

Before you could process it further, a figure slid into place beside you.

A hand reached out—not harshly, but with a practiced, effortless motion—and with a simple nudge of her foot, Circe redirected the pig.

The creature hesitated, glancing between you and the sorceress before reluctantly rejoining the rest of the group, ushered along by the nymphs.

You stood frozen, watching them disappear into another chamber, heart still hammering.

Why had that pig looked at you like that?

Before you could ask, Circe plucked the flower you had been admiring earlier—the soft purple bloom, vibrant against her fingers. Without a word, she reached up and tucked it behind your ear, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face in the process.

Her touch was featherlight. Almost... gentle.

"I trust the bath was to your liking?" She mused, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

You blinked, forcing yourself to refocus. "Yes," You managed. "thank you. And for the clothing as well."

Circe waved a hand dismissively, as if the gratitude was unnecessary.

"But," You continued, shifting your weight, "I should probably head back. My brother must be worried."

Circe's expression didn't change, but there was something in her gaze that sharpened. "Your brother?"

"Yes," You nodded, straightening. "I came to this island with him and his men. He sent half of us to scout it while the others remained back. You see, we got stranded after—"

"Half of you?"

Something in her tone made you pause.

"Yes," You confirmed, though her reaction unsettled you. "I can say on behalf of all the men you took in, as well as myself, that we'd be indebted to you. We appreciate your generosity. I wish I could stay longer, but my brother—"

"We are your family now."

The words were said smoothly, effortlessly. As if they were simply true.

You stiffened. "You need to understand—those men weren't a danger to me. I chose to travel with them. All those years ago, I made that decision."

Circe tilted her head slightly. "Sometimes we think we choose things," She said, voice calm, "but in reality, we have no other option. We do it to survive."

You frowned, the weight of her words sinking into your chest.

"I understand what you're saying," You admitted, "but it doesn't apply to me. Not in this case, anyway." Your voice grew steadier. "Those men are under my brother's command. And he—"

Your lips curled slightly, determined.

"My brother would never let me get hurt. Not that I would let myself get hurt. Especially by them."

Circe regarded you carefully. "How?"

You gave her a small, almost teasing smile. "A sword and strongly worded replies are a lady's best friend."

She chuckled, a quiet, amused sound. Then, after a pause, she glanced at you, as if considering something.

"Say, dear," Circe murmured. "while you're here, would you mind teaching us some of your skills?"

Your brow arched. "Who says I'm staying?"

"You said you were hungry before, yes?" She ignored your question.

The words were casual. But there was something else underneath them, something that made your breath hitch for just a moment.

Circe smiled.

You swallowed.

Oh.

You were playing a game you hadn't even realized had begun.

──────🐷──────

Hermes rummaged through his satchel with a vigor that bordered on theatrical, his entire arm disappearing into its depths. The bag seemed bottomless, endless, filled with trinkets, scrolls, and gods only knew what else. Odysseus' patience wore thinner with each passing second.

His mind was already racing ahead, anticipating what he might find at Circe's palace.He knew he had to act fast, but here he was—waiting for a god to dig through his belongings like some absentminded merchant at the bottom of a chest.

Just as he opened his mouth to snap something impatient, Hermes let out an excited gasp.

"Here we are!" The god's voice rang with triumph.

He yanked out a delicate white flower, its thin stem arching between his fingers. The petals glowed softly, reminiscent of moonlight caught on still water. Odysseus stared, watching as Hermes turned it this way and that way, inspecting it like a jeweler assessing a fine gem.

Despite being buried under a ridiculous amount of other things, the flower remained pristine, untouched—as if the satchel itself had known to protect it.

"Behold!" Hermes declared, extending it toward Odysseus with an exaggerated flourish.

Odysseus took it, rolling it between his calloused fingers. It was... just a flower.

His brow furrowed. How was this supposed to help him?

"How is this going to—?"

"Oh, darling." Hermes chuckled, clearly amused by his confusion. "You ask, yet you hold the answer." He pointed to the root of the plant, tapping it lightly. "Here lies the power you'll need to take her on."

Odysseus frowned, bringing the plant closer to his face, inspecting the thick, knotted roots. What kind of magic did this thing hold? Was it poisonous? Was he supposed to rub it on his skin? Burn it?

Seeing his clear lack of understanding, Hermes sighed and elaborated. "Once you consume and digest it, you'll be able to manifest a being of your own creation."

Odysseus snapped his gaze back to the god, baffled. "You're bluffing."

Hermes smirked and tapped his forehead— a little too hard, causing Odysseus to flinch.

"You lack imagination, darling."

Odysseus' mind reeled. A being of his own creation? That was impossible.

Before he could voice his doubts, Hermes cut him off. "It's only for a moment, though. Until you've beaten her."

Odysseus didn't know whether to be relieved or more unnerved. This felt... too convenient. The gods never offered help for free. There was always a price.

His grip on the flower tightened. "And what do I give you in return?"

At that, Hermes cackled, his laughter echoing through the trees. "Oh, please. Just using it is enough. Believe me, darling."

That was hardly comforting.

Odysseus stared at the plant, weighing his options. This could easily be a trick—a cruel one. But at this point, what other choice did he have?

Hermes clapped his hands together, startling him from his thoughts.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Eat it."

Odysseus hesitated. "...Now?"

Hermes gave him a look. "Well, yes. You need to fully digest it, darling."

There was no point in dragging this out. Odysseus inhaled sharply, then took a bite.

Instant regret.

The moment his teeth sank into the root, a harsh bitterness flooded his mouth. It was earthy, like chewing on damp soil and tree bark, but somehow worse. The texture was fibrous, stringy, almost rubbery, forcing him to work his jaw painfully just to break it down.

His stomach immediately recoiled, his gag reflex kicking in as his throat threatened to reject the vile thing altogether. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to swallow.

His eyes watered.

Hermes grinned.

"You might want to sit down for this."

Odysseus barely processed the words, but his body was already feeling... strange. His limbs felt lighter and heavier all at once, like he was floating but also being pulled downward by an unseen force.

Hermes, ever the entertainer, leaned in conspiratorially.

"Oh! And you won't guess what it's called."

Odysseus, struggling to chew a second bite, shot him a glare.

With visible effort to keep from laughing, Hermes blurted—

"Holy Moly!"

Odysseus froze mid-chew.

"...Ah?"

The absurdity of the moment was almost enough to snap him out of what was happening—almost.

Because then, the effects started to hit.

The world around him began to tilt, as if the earth itself had suddenly decided to move beneath him. Colors sharpened, sounds stretched, the rustling of leaves and the crackling of Hermes' laughter stretching unnaturally long before snapping back into place.

His body felt both detached and hyper-aware, like his nerves were vibrating under his skin. The cool evening air against his face turned to warmth, then cold again, then warm.

Hermes, now looking far too entertained, crouched beside him, resting his chin on one hand.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

Odysseus barely registered him. His vision blurred at the edges, his mind both racing and slowing at the same time.

It was going to be a long few hours.

BONUS: A little high Ody for the road :)

. Taglist: @permanently-nothere @lemonberryberry @supernatural-bangtanboys @doodle-with-rhy @yonkersworld @pookiezme @keikeiluvyou @hornehlittleweeblet2

#epic the musical x reader #epic x reader #greek mythology x reader #platonic x reader

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angelremnants · 3 months ago

Text

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. :p

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.

⠀

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

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

⠀⠀

dividers ©️ @cafekitsune .

⠀

PART ONE.⠀|⠀NEXT PART.

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shrikeseams · 1 year ago

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Thinking about fiber arts within the scholomance. Iirc the only time we see it within the school is El doing crochet, but like. I cannot buy that everyone is primarily mending their clothes with magic. Fiber crafting is such an incredibly old and incredibly basic and pretty universal activity for humans. And those kids all have extremely limited access to new clothing, which makes all kinds of mending a very useful basic skill, especially considering kids could learn it early. Teaching your kids to mend by hand is one more bulwark parent can give them against the various hazards of the scholomance. And we know that spells can be woven into fabric, so there's also potential applications there, above and beyond 1) basic safety and quality of life from well-tended clothing and 2) potential to build mana via hand work that you're going to have to do one way or another no matter what.

But apparently nobody is darning socks to build mana? They have access to shit like platinum, but not wool? C'mon. A drop spindle is straightforward enough to cobble together. Wool *should* be an accessible material, either as artificer workshop materials or supply room stuff. There should be at least a handful of kids in each year spinning fiber (and building mana), and then doing darning/mending on commission (and also building mana again). And that goes tripply when it's established that magical mending doesn't actually replace the shed/worn away fibers!

Plus, fiber craft is ancient. No way there aren't a dozen traditional embroidery /weaving / knitting designs that act as spells. Protection against harm, but also things like preventing damage in the first place. Magic may provide an expedient quick fix, but there should be plenty of space in the scholomance economy for more traditional options.

I know El's whole deal is supposed to be non-representative re: mana budgeting and use, but also. If people are already weaving magical cloth outside the school, I cannot conceive of a situation where mending-for-hire or, idk, tablet weaving or knitting/crocheting to spec isn't considered a normal and desirable supplemental 'income ' source.

#Scholomance

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a-strawberry-mouse · 4 months ago

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An outside of Tumblr ask:

How big of a hole can you fix using thread?

Oh how I wish I could condense my brain's reaction to this question. At least I can give a shorter version than I did irl.

TLDR: Infinity or 1/4 of the things length without added fabric patches. *In my experience*

That depends on a couple of things!

How much time are you willing to put into it and do you consider full darning, where you weave a new section in the hole, only thread?

Because if you consider darning only thread, the amount is infinite. You can Theseus ship something. Fabric is made of thread or fibers and you can replace it as things wear out.

I know there some small non-violent debate that weaving new sections directly into the fabric still counts as new fabric.

I personally consider any mending work done to an object becomes the object. A mended jumper versus a jumper with mending.

But assuming you mean only thread, not woven, then that's going to depend on the hole and material. A parachute getting a parachute stitch can have some long, long tears.

Sashiko stitching can do a whole lot. I'd say that a lot of my stitching is a lazy/time efficient sashiko. WIP example below:

(Same tear, I flipped it because I liked the look)

I say I'd call it that... because I'd been doing it for years and then someone told me it was.

I used to call it Lines of Running Stitch. I uh, I mean it's a descriptive name. Sashiko means, "little stabs," so I wasn't too far off. I learned from books how to see and embroider. Then I learned from trial and error.

True sashiko is gorgeous and I do eventually plan on doing more of it. I need to catch up on my mending pile and tutorial work first.

I'm almost done with the script for... A single video. Which is uh, I'm behind. It happens. Thankfully I do this for free or I'd be fired.

#hand stitching #sewing #repair #mending #visible mending #embroidery #wip #ecofriendly #hopepunk #blanket #answer

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wafflepatterns · 1 year ago

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Meet new sewing pattern <Komugi> Over shirt

A new item is just published from Waffle Patterns. Meet Over shirt <Komugi> sewing pattern, a work wear style over shirt with many functional pockets. Depending on your fabric and design choice, it will be a work shirt, uniform-like service shirt or outdoor style shirt jacket. You can make just a simple shirt as well.

View A features a hidden button stand front opening + patch side pockets + an inside pocket. The patch side pockets are 2 types ; side opening or layered type. The cuff is no-opening design.

View B has a normal button stand + seam pocket + back bent and cuff opening.

The chest pocket design has 2 options, layer type or zipper pocket.

View A is intended as non-scratch design suitable for a work shirt especially if you are working on fragile things. View B can be made as a more outdoor-like shirt jacket with details like cuff openings or a vent. But of course you can choose and mix the options as you like!

The khaki sample in the photos features viewA, and the red plaid one is view B. The caramel brown one has mixed features.

My favourite feature is the sleeve patches. Adding compliment textures/colours is really fun! But you can sew without them, too.

Please make your creative style by mixing your favourite details.

The pattern is drafted for woven fabrics. Light-medium weight durable shirt fabrics are recommended. like corduroy, duck, twill, denim, linen, flannel, light wool or canvas etc.

It is not impossible to use very light drapery fabric, but those are not suitable for some details like patch pockets or vent.

Also, some very thick/stiff fabrics might not work well for details like pockets with facing. In that case, please consider using other lighter fabrics partly like the inside yoke, facing, or pocket parts.

Please choose a suitable one for your design intension.

For the caramel brown sample in the photos, I used cotton canvas. Suitable for work shirts and very easy to handle. The contrast fabric used for the sleeve patch and pocket layer is faux suede.

If you want very durable patches, leather or rubber-mixed fabrics are used for professional work apparel. But for general daily usage, like mine, design oriented choice like nice compliment colours or textures will be enough. Using leftover or old clothes is a fun choice, too.

The khaki sample is cotton ripstop. This one is also very suitable for work wear. The patch part is mixed twill.

The red plaid one is light wool backed fleece. I backed all the pieces with fleece except the folded parts like pocket openings or hem.

I bought all those fabrics from my local fabric market, but most of them are from years ago. I wanted to share where I bought them, but I actually forgot all.

I think light water repellent or windproof fabrics are nice functional options, too.

<Size>

The shirt is drafted regular fit.

I made on size bigger the red plaid sample because I wanted to wear this as a jacket. Also because the fabric gets thicker with fleece backing.

The caramel brown and khaki samples were made with just fit size.

If you attach the hidden button stand design, it is better to use flat and thin buttons for clean look opening.

*********************

The sewing pattern includes 18 pages of instructions and all the sewing processes are described with detailed illustrations. The pattern files are available for both home printers (A4 or US letter) and copyshop(A0 format).

You can check other photos of this model on my Flickr page.

The over shirt -Komugi- (size 32 - 54) PDF sewing pattern is available here. Also in the Etsy shop.

Special discount price until 13th Mar 2024 (CET) with other popular patterns. No discount code is needed! The sale page is here.

***** Special offer for Paper pattern and free shipping Paper pattern + PDF option is available limited time. *The paper includes only the pattern, please print out the instruction by yourself or read it with your tablet or PC. The PDF + Paper listing page is here.

Enjoy your sewing!

(Japanese post here 日本語ポストはこちら).

**********************

follow me! Instagram /// Facebook /// Shop /// Pinterest /// Newsletter

#sewing #sewing patterns #wafflepatterns #diy fashion #other tip

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escapismbook · 2 days ago

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ESCAPISM

CHAPTER 9 | GOOD GIRL

→ Pairing: Jimin x reader (female)

→ AUs: non idol!au

→ Genre(s): dark romance, smut, mature, mafia

→ Trope(s): club owner, selling pictures, drug use, forbidden romance, dark, slow-burn, seductive, mafia

→ Rating: mature/explicit (this is mature/explicit content, so you have been warned.)

→ Word count: 5.2K

→ warnings + triggers: explicit smut, (female), heavy smut, possessive, kissing, fingering, a blowjob ( male rec ) dirty talk, pet names, needy!jimin, dom&soft!jimin

→ Author’s note: Escapism is a dark romance—intense, poetic, and deeply atmospheric. It explores desire, deception, and the pull of the forbidden. This story is also written by two authors. Both working on the two couple. Please read with caution. For those who stay, welcome to a world where love and darkness intertwine.

Jimin's lips continued their journey down Moon's body, each touch calculated with a precision that only heightened the anticipation. When he reached her hip bone, his mouth nipped playfully at the skin, eliciting a soft gasp from her. Released from his grip, her wrists fell to her sides, offering themselves as if in surrender to the hands that roamed over her like a man on a mission. Jimin's lips trailed deliberate kisses down her thighs, before settling between her legs with a grip on her hips that was both firm and demanding.

Moon's request was delivered with breathy authority, an intriguing blend of command and confession, "Kiss me right there," the words woven with urgency and trust. Jimin's eyes darkened, glancing up to meet her gaze with a silent vow.

His eyes darkened at her request, the intense gaze he lifted to hers charged with electricity. His lips hovered just above the thin fabric of her underwear, and with a determination that spoke volumes, he obliged. Kissing her through the material, his mouth was hot, wet, and unyielding, his tongue flickering against the sensitive skin beneath. When he finally pulled back, his eyes twinkled with satisfaction as he assessed the dampness he'd left behind.

"You're so wet for me," he whispered, his voice gravelly with desire. "Can I?" he asked, eyes locked onto hers, fingers hooked into her panties, poised to strip away the barrier between them.

Just a nod was all it took for Jimin's eyes to gleam with excitement. Gently, he hooked his fingers into the material, slowly pulling it down her legs. Each movement was rough but gentle, the contrast setting her nerves alight. When Jimin drew back to admire her bare form, his gaze roved over her with a mixture of desire and admiration that was both affectionate and consuming.

He moved back into position between her legs, his touch feather-light as his hands traveled up her thighs, his eyes capturing every expression of hers with an intensity that seemed to etch the moment into eternity. His lips left a trail of kisses on her inner thigh, his fingertips lightly nudging her knees apart, offering him better access to where she craved him most.

"I want to make you feel good," Jimin murmured, his voice dripping with sultriness. "Just relax and let me take care of you." As he spoke, his lips ghosted over her most sensitive area, teasing and exploring with a devotion that left her breathless. His mouth worked its magic, masterfully navigating her body like a well-tuned instrument. Her gasps and moans guided him, feeding his determination to the perfect rhythm, the pressure that made her with.

"More," she breathed, her voice a seductive plea that did little to hide her growing need.

Jimin's mouth journeyed to her hip again, grazing it with his teeth before positioning himself over her, pinning her to the bed while his breath tickled her ear. "Do you want my fingers, baby?”

Her response was near immediate. “Please.”

His eyes glinted at the musical quality of her words, a smirk lighting his face. " Since you asked so nicely. '' he mused, voice rough and laden with anticipation. With deliberate care, he repositioned himself, her leg gliding up to rest over his shoulder. His fingers traced an agonizingly slow path from her knee up her thigh, only brushing against the areas she craved his touch the most.

Eyes glistening with mischief, he rose enough to capture her gaze. "Ready?" he asked softly, and her eager nod sent a mercurial thrill through him. Instinctually, she followed the path of his teasing hand movements as it traversed her form down once more. His fingers, slicked slightly with saliva, finally connected with the sensitive flesh that begged attention.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?” he asked, his voice oozed with playful torment. The only response she could give was a moan—every sensation he delivered too overwhelming to permit rational thought. "Use your words, baby," Jimin coaxed, the high stakes of his request clear in the heavy deamnd of his voice. “Tell me what you want, Moon.”

Somehow, she managed, between breaths, between waves of mounting pleasure. "Please."

His eyes gleamed, a chuckle bubbling up softly. "Please what?" he inquired, his tone a mix of innocence and seduction. "You need to be specific. I can't give you what you want if you don't tell me."

A groan escaped her, the inability to articulate her desire growing exasperating. Jimin's smile was playful, his amusement evident. "You're so cute when you're like this," he teased. "So desperate and needy. It makes me want to tease you even more.”

"Please, Jimin, just..." she gasped, unable to finish.

Tilting his head, a smirk on his lips, he queried further, "Just... what, baby?"

Her patience waned, her body trembling with need, only his touch consuming her mind. "Use your fingers, please.” She finally managed to say.

Jimin's smirk widened, the heat in his eyes intensifying. "That's more like it," he purred. "Good girl."

He obliged, fingers finding their mark as her back arched with pleasure. Her gasp filled the room, hands clutching the sheets as Jimin moved with intent, his touch sure and deliberate. More—she craved it, and hips lifted of their own accord to meet his pace. Jimin chuckled, holding her hips in place. "Not too fast, baby," he cautioned, voice low and commanding. "We've got all night."

His touch slowed, becoming gentler, a torturous dance of pleasure withheld. Jimin's eyes revealed mastery, expertly balancing her desires with a tantalizing restraint. Her body was aflame, nerves on edge, pleasure building ever closer to the peak. He watched her closely, his gaze deeply fixated, breathing ragged – a reflection of his own desires.

"You're so bautiful like this," he whispered, voice heavy with longing. His fingers moved with precision, finding all the spots that made her breath catch and body shiver. He leaned in, voice more breath than whisper, "I love how you react to me, how your body responds to my touch. It's like you were made for me."

His words sent shivers down her spine, the possessiveness and need dizzying her senses. Moans were her only response, wordlessly surrendering to his ministrations. Jimin's fingers continued their dance, the pressure increasing as he sensed how close she was getting. His breathing was ragged, the look in his eyes almost feral. His gaze was fixed on her, his entire focus on her, on giving her the pleasure he knew she craved. "I want you to let go for me," he said, his voice low and commanding. "I want to feel you come apart beneath me. Can you do that for me, baby?”

Her body jerked involuntarily under his touch, his words and actions too much to resist. She could feel the wave of pleasure building inside her, about to crest over, and all she could do was cling to him, her hands clenching at his shoulders. "Harder," she gasped out, her body beyond her control.

He moved his fingers faster, the change in pace sudden and unexpected, his eyes locked on her face as he watched her unravel. Her body arched, her head thrown back, a strangled cry escaping her lips as the wave of pleasure crashed over her, obliterating her mind with the intensity of the sensations coursing through her body.

Jimin smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Anything for you, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, sensual purr. His movements became rougher and more intense, his fingers working mercilessly as he aimed to fulfill her command.

He leaned in, his mouth grazing the sensitive skin of her ear, as he nipped and kissed every inch of skin he could reach. "Come for me," he said again, his voice a rough, sensual growl. "Let go, baby. I've got you."

Her body shook, tremors running through her as she gripped the sheets, the only thing anchoring her to reality. Jimin took in the sight, his eyes hooded and lustful, his own desire becoming more and more urgent. "That's right," he murmured, his voice rough and ragged. "You did so well, baby."

He kissed the top of her head, his hands stroking over her back in a gentle, soothing motion. "I'm not done with you yet," he murmured, his voice growing rougher around the edges. "I'm not even close to being done with you." He pulled back, his gaze roaming over her body as if to make sure she was still intact. "But you need to rest, baby," he said, his voice gentler this time. "Let me take care of you for a bit."

Jimin followed her gaze and chuckled softly, his gaze darkening. He held up his hand, his fingers glistening with her moisture. "You want to clean my fingers, baby?" His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of anticipation in his eyes.

Jimin's lips curled into a smirk, his gaze never leaving hers. "Be a good girl and clean them up, then." He held his fingers up to her mouth, his expression a mix of command and daring.

Jimin's eyes darkened as he watched her lick his fingers, his lips parted slightly in surprise and arousal. Her gaze locked with his as she continued, the tension between them growing thick with desire.

"You're amazing, baby," Jimin's voice was a low, rough whisper. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her mouth as she cleaned his fingers, his breathing ragged and labored.

Jimin's other hand moved to cup her chin, his touch possessive and firm. "You're so good at obeying my commands, baby. It drives me wild." He leaned in, his mouth hovering just above her. He took her lower lip between his teeth and tugged slightly, then his tongue slid into her mouth, exploring with a desire that's almost primal. He's trying to memorize every inch of her, wanting to burn the memory of this moment into his mind. The kiss deepened, and he moaned softly against her lips. His hand moved to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair and holding her in place. He couldn't get enough of her, his body pressed against hers tightly, as if trying to mold her to him.

Moon's eyes fluttered open to the soft light filtering through the curtains. Her body ached in the most pleasurable way, a reminder of the night before. She shifted, her muscles still warm from the intensity of the passion that had consumed her, but as she looked around, her gaze landed on the figure of Jimin, already up and getting dressed.

The room was quiet, save for the rustling of fabric. Moon’s breath caught in her throat as she watched him pull on his t-shirt, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders. The soft glow of the morning sun highlighted the sharp lines of his jaw, his face a picture of calm after the storm that had been last night. He didn’t even seem to notice her awake yet, focused on pulling the t-shirt over his head, his back to her.

For a moment, the vulnerability in his movements took Moon by surprise. This wasn’t the cold, controlling Jimin she’d come to know; this was something softer, more human. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were trying not to wake her. And for once, the air around him wasn’t heavy with the usual tension. It was like a moment of peace—a rare moment that Moon was unsure how to read. Her chest tightened at the sight, unsure whether to let herself feel something for him in this quiet space or to remain as distant as she always had.

She stayed still, her eyes following the lines of his back, feeling the weight of the intimacy from the night before, still lingering in the room between them. But then, as he finished dressing, pulling the hem of his shirt down over his jeans, Moon’s breath hitched, unsure of what would come next. Would he just leave, like it had all been nothing to him?

Jimin stood in front of the mirror for a moment, running a hand through his messy hair, not glancing at her as he grabbed his jacket. He moved with his usual controlled grace, a man who seemed unaffected by the world around him. To her surprise, the silence was broken when he turned to face her, his gaze soft, his features unguarded for just a moment.

His lips quirking slightly, as if amused by her laziness. Moon frowned, a knot tightening in her stomach. “You’re leaving?” she muttered, unsure why the thought felt so unsettling.

Jimin took a step toward the bed, and before she could react, he leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss. It was gentle at first, almost tender, different from the fierce intensity of the night before. His lips moved against hers in a slow, deliberate caress, as though savoring the sweetness of the moment. When he finally pulled away, Moon was left breathless, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Be ready by 3 p.m.,” Jimin murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m taking you out.”

He didn’t give her time to respond. He was already grabbing his keys, his expression unreadable again, the mask of cool indifference slipping back into place. But his eyes, when they met hers, carried something that felt like... commitment. Something that didn’t need to be said.

Moon blinked, still processing the kiss, the words. Without saying anything else, Jimin left, the sound of the door clicking shut behind him, leaving her alone in the quiet of the room. She lay back down, her heart racing, still feeling the heat of his lips on hers. What did this mean? What was happening between them?

The clock ticked by, and by the time 3 p.m. arrived, Moon found herself standing in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. She had no idea what kind of date Jimin had planned, but somehow she knew it would be nothing ordinary. After all, nothing with him ever was.

She pulled on a simple and casual outfit, one that clung to her body in all the right ways. Her hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and she kept the makeup minimal—just enough to highlight her features, to enhance the feeling of mystery that she always wore so well.

At exactly 3 p.m., there was a knock at the door. She opened it to find Jimin standing there, looking effortlessly stylish in a sleek jacket and dark jeans. His gaze softened the moment he saw her, his eyes scanning her form before meeting her gaze. “Hello, baby,” he said, his voice low and approving.

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she gave a small nod, stepping out of the apartment and into the waiting car. It was a silent drive, the city outside a blur of lights and motion, but the air between them was thick with unspoken words.

The car stopped at a small, quiet café nestled on a cobblestone street. The kind of place that felt tucked away from the world, intimate and personal. Jimin led her inside, a subtle smile on his lips as they sat at a corner table, tucked away from the rest of the patrons. The conversation was light, a dance of teasing and quiet moments of connection. Jimin wasn’t as cold as he usually was. There was a warmth in his eyes, a subtle vulnerability that made Moon feel like she was seeing a side of him that very few got to witness.

They spent the afternoon wandering around the city. Jimin held her hand as they strolled through a park, laughing softly as Moon tried to steal his hat, teasing him about how it made him look like he was trying too hard. He took her to a mall, and then around Seoul. And later, they sat at an outdoor café, the sun beginning to set.

Jimin sat across from her, his expression calm but his eyes dark, lingering on her every movement. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping gently on the table, though his gaze never wavered from her. Moon had noticed it earlier—the way he studied her, as though he couldn’t get enough of her. She’d felt the same way, of course, her mind replaying moments from earlier in the day, the kiss they had shared, the electricity between them.

They had both tried to keep things light, to maintain an air of normalcy, but it wasn’t working. The tension hung between them like a storm waiting to break, thick and suffocating. It was a game now, but neither of them wanted to play by the rules anymore.

Moon’s fingers wrapped around the rim of her cup, her mind racing as she caught the look in Jimin’s eyes again. He was different tonight—softer, yet there was something dangerous about the way he was watching her. Her breath caught, and she finally dropped her gaze to the table. Her heart raced. She could feel it—the pull, the heat radiating from him. But she wasn’t going to let it take over just yet. Not without testing him, without letting him know exactly what was happening between them.

She set her cup down, her fingers brushing the edge of the saucer, then met his gaze. “You know,” she began, her voice low, “it’s been a nice evening.” She paused, watching his eyes flicker with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “But we both know this is going somewhere else.”

Jimin didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he simply watched her, his expression unreadable. It was the quiet that made the moment feel so charged, the way his eyes seemed to linger on her lips before moving back to her eyes. He was savoring this—savoring the slow burn of the moment.

Moon swallowed, the weight of the silence pressing on her. She could hardly breathe, the tension between them making her pulse race. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “Find a hotel.”

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and direct. There was no pretension, no games, just the raw truth of what they both wanted. It was almost a challenge, daring him to act, to make the next move.

Jimin smirked, reaching across the table to entwine his fingers with Moon's, as he rose from his seat with an air of quiet confidence. "I know just the place," he said, his voice a seductive whisper, leading her outside with a gentle yet determined grip on her hand.

Their pace quickened as they approached his sleek, silver car parked under the dimming city lights. Moon's heart raced with anticipation, each step a thrill as Jimin opened the passenger door for her, his eyes dark and inviting. “Let’s go," he instructed softly, an underlying authority in his tone that made her pulse quicken. She settled into the plush leather seat as Jimin shut the door behind her with a quiet assurance, then glided smoothly into the driver's seat. As the car purred to life, they slipped out of the parking lot and onto the vibrant streets of Seoul, the night softly humming with the glow of neon lights. His focus was unwavering, his hands steady on the wheel, but she could sense the coiled tension beneath his calm façade.

Stealing glances at his profile, Moon admired the way the fluctuating shadows accentuated his strong features. There was a captivating allure in his composure, a confidence that drew her in. As if sensing her gaze, Jimin's lips curled into an amused smirk. "Like what you see?" he teased, his voice low and infused with mischief.

"Yes, and I want to suck you off so hard right now," Moon replied, her words hitting him like a jolt.

Jimin inhaled sharply, caught off guard by her boldness. His eyes grew darker, a dangerous edge creeping into his seriousness. "Be careful what you ask for, baby," he murmured, his voice roughening.

She traced her finger along his arm, feeling the heat of his skin beneath her touch. '' Let me taste you '' she urged, her voice sultry with intent.

Finally, Jimin maneuvered into the parking lot of an upscale, five-star hotel, the car coming to a hushed halt. Momentarily, the world outside paused as he switched off the ignition. He turned to her, an intense look of desire in his eyes, before stepping out and handing the keys to a valet.

With a firm grip on her hand, Jimin led Moon into the opulent hotel lobby, their entrance bold yet understated. The grandeur of high ceilings and a sweeping staircase surrounded them as he checked in under an assumed identity, paying in cash with an easy fluidity. Room key in hand, he swept her to the elevator, each step charged with the promise of what lay ahead.

The penthouse button lit up as the elevator climbed, the silence loud with expectation. When the doors opened, Jimin wasted no time pulling her inside the lavish suite. The city's lights painted patterns on the floor-to-ceiling windows, while the soft glow of lamps set the perfect mood.

In the bedroom, grandeur met intimacy. Jimin locked the door with a resolute click, then turned to her, his eyes ablaze with depth and longing.

"Sit," she commanded, ushering in a new dynamic with her assertive tone as Jimin chuckled lowly, a hint of playfulness returning.

"Bossy little thing," he murmured, his voice deepening. "You don't waste any time, do you? Impatient, aren't you?"

He settled on the bed, legs slightly apart as he watched her approach without hesitation, hands deftly undoing his belt. Jimin's breath hitched, his heartbeat quickening in sync with hers.

Moon gathered her hair into a ponytail, her movements deliberate as she knelt before him. "You have no idea how much I like seeing you like this," Jimin confessed, his voice thickened by the heady mix of dominance and submission. "But I don't like waiting, baby."

"You will wait," she asserted, lifting her gaze to meet his.

Jimin's laughter was a dark, seductive rumble. "You're a bit bratty tonight, aren't you?" he remarked, amusement laced with an edge. "You like making me wait?"

Her lips pressed against his stomach, her tongue tracing gentle lines over his skin. Jimin's head fell back as a raw moan slipped past his defenses. "You're teasing me," he growled, voice heavy with a needy urgency. "You're torturing me on purpose, aren't you? You want me to lose control?"

Moon shook her head, denying his question as she eased his T-shirt off. "No, you have to wait."

Jimin's low growl reverberated between them, fists clenching with restraint. "You're testing my patience," he breathed, his voice strained and desire-laden. "You're being a very naughty girl right now."

Her kisses trailed down his chest, her every movement deliberate and sultry. "Am I?" she whispered, her breath warm against his skin.

His gaze locked onto hers, desire burning as she continued her descent, the lightest touch of her tongue tracing over him. Jimin's breathing turned ragged, his mind a swirling haze of pleasure and longing. "Oh, you little tease," he groaned, hands tangling in her hair, eyes wild with hunger. "You're driving me crazy."

He watched her kneel back down, her mouth traveling lower, his breathing growing heavy as she looked up at him, licking his tip with deliberate slowness. "Oh, you little tease," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You know exactly what you're doing to me, don't you?"

Moon nodded silently, her eyes locking onto his, communicating a fire that words could not capture. Every flick of her tongue was calculated, deliberate, sending shivers up his spine.

Jimin groaned softly, his head falling back as she continued, each touch driving him further into an abyss of pleasure. "You're driving me crazy," he gasped, his voice rough and shaky, yet tinged with a hint of admiration. "You're being such a good girl, but also so bad at the same time. It's a dangerous combination."

Their eyes met once more, the air between them charged with an electric tension. Jimin's breaths grew ragged and shallow as she took him deeper, and he couldn't restrain the low moan that escaped his lips. "God, you're so good at this," he gasped, his grip tightening in her hair, a physical manifestation of his growing desperation. "You're making me lose control. I don't know how much more I can take."

With every moment, the room seemed to shrink, encapsulating them in a world where nothing else existed, where all that mattered was the intoxicating interplay between them. It was as if they had forged a language of their own, spoken in gasps and glances, a dialogue of desire that consumed them both.

Jimin's hand tightened in her hair, pulling her in even closer. He was losing himself in the pleasure of the sensations she was giving him, his body trembling almost uncontrollably. "God, yeah... keep going," he said in a breathy tone, his other hand coming to rest on the back of her head. Jimin's eyes, dark and filled with desire, locked with hers. "You're so good at this. You have no idea how much I've been wanting this."

He threw his head back, a low moan escaping his mouth. He couldn't believe how good she was making him feel. Jimin was slowly but surely losing control, and the fact that she was able to get this kind of reaction out of him was driving him crazy. "That's it, baby. Don't stop. Keep going," he pleaded, his voice getting rougher and more urgent. "You're so good to me. You're making me feel so good," he moaned, his hands gripping the sheets as she continued to work him. "You're driving me out of my mind. I need you. I need you so bad."

He was completely losing control now, his body at her mercy. He couldn't hold back much longer, and he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Please, don't stop," he pleaded. "Please don't stop, I'm so close. I'm so close. Please, baby, don't stop."

"You're amazing," he gasped, his eyes locked on her. "So amazing. You're making me feel so good. I'm so close, baby. Please don't stop. I need you."

His words were coming out in short, ragged bursts, and he was visibly losing control. He was so close to the edge, and he didn't know if he could hold on much longer.

"I need you," he pleaded. "I can't hold on much longer. Please, don't stop, baby. Don't stop."

"Oh god, that's it," he moaned, his body shaking and trembling with need. "You're driving me crazy. I'm losing it."

He was on the edge, so close to losing control that it was almost painful. He was completely at her mercy, and she had him wrapped around her finger.

"Please, don't stop," he pleaded. "I'm begging you. I need you. I can't hold on much longer. I'm so close, please don't stop, please, baby, please."

Jimin's hand tightened in her hair, pulling her even closer, as if trying to merge her essence with his own. The delight crashing through him was intoxicating, each sensation bottling up within him until it threatened to burst free. "God, yeah... keep going," he breathed, his voice a symphony of desperation and need. His other hand steadied itself at the back of her head, securing the intimate moment. Jimin's eyes, dark and brimming with an insatiable craving, locked onto hers. "You're so good at this. You have no idea how much I've been wanting this," he uttered, his voice like velvet draped over molten desire.

Throwing his head back, a reverberating moan escaped him, as if his soul was singing in rapture. He was astonished at how adeptly she commandeered his senses, every touch sparking an exhilaration that coursed through him like wildfire. Jimin's composition was unraveling, the seams of his control fraying with each passing second. The awareness that she evoked such an uncontained reaction spurred him further into delirium. "That's it, baby. Don't stop. Keep going," he urged, his voice sliding into a husky, fervent command. "You're so good to me. You're making me feel…" His words faded into an aching moan, fingers clutching the sheets as she continued her adoration. "You're driving me out of my mind. I need you. I need you so bad."

He was on the precipice of surrender, caught in the throes of an unstoppable tidal wave, his body her willing subject. The edges of his world, the contours of his control, were slipping, blurring with the heated urgency of his proximity to the edge. "Please, don't stop," he pleaded, sincerity threading through his every word. "Please don't stop, I'm so close. I'm so close. Please, baby, don't stop."

"You're amazing," he gasped, his gaze not wavering from hers, affirming her dominance. "So amazing. You're making me feel so good. I'm so close, baby. Please don't stop. I need you," he confessed, each syllable tumbling out in ragged breaths. He was teetering on collapse, unaware of how much more restraint he could muster.

His voice descended into a plea, raw and exposed. "I need you," he repeated, "I can't hold on much longer. Please, don't stop, baby. Don't stop."

His body wracked with need, every muscle contracting under the strain of contained ecstasy. "Oh god, that's it," he groaned, nearly incoherent, "You're driving me crazy. I'm losing it." Vulnerability saturated his plea, surrendering himself wholly to her unwavering presence.

He teetered perilously on the brink of release, every fiber of his being attuned to the climax rushing to greet him. "Please, don't stop," he implored, "I'm begging you. I need you. I can't hold on much longer. I'm so close, please don't stop, please, baby, please."

"Oh, god," he gasped, rendered speechless by the impending tempest. "You're amazing. You're so amazing. I don't know how much more I can take. I can't hold on anymore."

As the crescendo approached, his submission became palpable, leaving him exposed and yielding. "I'm gonna come," he panted, his voice tattered and breathless, "I'm gonna come. Don't stop. Don't stop, baby, please. I need you. I need you so bad."

His body convulsed with the convulsive ecstasy of release, a profound moan resonating from the depths of his being. Control slipped from his grasp, but he was past caring, wholly enveloped by the overwhelming rapture. "Oh, God," he exclaimed, astonished, "That felt so good. You're incredible. I don't know how you do this to me. It's as if you hold all the power over me."

Moments passed, the echoes of bliss reverberating, as he caught his breath and gazed at her, an unrestrained smile curling his lips. "That was incredible," he whispered, his voice threaded with awe, "You're amazing, baby."

Breathing deeply, he tried to center himself, to rein in vulnerability. Yet, he trusted her implicitly. "Please, come here," he mumbled, extending an inviting hand. "I need you. I need to feel you close to me."

She crawled into his waiting arms, falling into the warmth of his embrace. His protective grip enfolded her, pulling her closer to his racing heartbeat, revealing his shared susceptibility. He held her, his own form quaking still, some words unsaid but understood, as he nestled his face in her hair, grounding himself in her presence. He pulled back a little so he could look at her. His eyes are still dark and filled with desire, but there's something else there too. A vulnerability that he doesn't show often.

#escapism #bts #bts jimin #bts fanfic #bts jimin fanfic #bts jimin smut #park jimin #park jimin smut #bts park jimin #bts smut #jimin smut #park jimin fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin bts #bts mafia series #bts mafia au

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cvt2dvm · 3 months ago

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Fashion Ins and Outs for 2025

In:

Vintage Furs/ Genuine Fur

Real Leather

Cottons, Linen, Hemp fabrics

Wool, Hair, & Silk

Woven rather than treated stretch factors

Feather and Down stuffed products

Buy Once Clothing

Quality

Well Fitted and chosen undergarments

beeswax lanolin and non-petroleum/silicone based waterproofing waxes

Out:

Faux Fur

Imitation Leather

Polyester, Acrylic, and Spandex based fabrics

Polyfill in bedding and garments

Green Washed fabrics like Bamboo & Viscose

Petroleum-based products

Wasteful Microtrends and Shien hauls

Quantity

Skipping Underlayers/ Poorly fitted undergarments

synthetic waterproofing treatments and materials

#cvt2dvm #studyblr #self care #self improvement #self love #study blog #vet med #Ins and outs #Fashion #Sustainable Fashion

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soharmonyzombie · 15 days ago

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Diaper Materials: A Comprehensive Guide to What Makes the Best Diapers

When it comes to choosing the best diapers for your baby, understanding the materials used in their construction is crucial. Diaper materials not only determine the comfort and fit but also play a significant role in absorbency, skin health, and environmental impact. In this guide, we’ll dive deep into the world of diaper materials, exploring what makes them effective, safe, and eco-friendly. Whether you’re a new parent or simply looking to make more informed choices, this article will help you understand the science behind diaper materials and how they contribute to your baby’s well-being.

Why Diaper Materials Matter

Diapers are one of the most essential baby products, and their materials directly impact performance and safety. High-quality diaper materials ensure:

Superior Absorbency: Keeps your baby dry and comfortable.

Softness and Comfort: Prevents irritation and chafing.

Breathability: Reduces the risk of diaper rash.

Eco-Friendliness: Minimizes environmental impact.

Understanding the materials used in diapers can help you choose products that align with your priorities, whether it’s performance, sustainability, or affordability.

Key Diaper Materials and Their Functions

1. Absorbent Core: SAP and Fluff Pulp

The absorbent core is the heart of any diaper, responsible for locking in moisture and keeping your baby dry. Most modern diapers use a combination of Super Absorbent Polymers (SAP) and fluff pulp.

SAP: These tiny granules can absorb up to 30 times their weight in liquid, turning it into a gel to prevent leaks.

Fluff Pulp: A natural material derived from wood fibers, it provides bulk and helps distribute liquid evenly.

Together, these materials ensure maximum absorbency while keeping the diaper thin and lightweight.

2. Top Sheet: Soft and Breathable Fabrics

The top sheet is the layer that comes into direct contact with your baby’s skin. It’s typically made from non-woven fabrics like polypropylene or polyester, which are:

Soft: Gentle on delicate skin.

Breathable: Allows air circulation to reduce moisture buildup.

Quick-Drying: Wicks moisture away from the skin to prevent rashes.

Some premium diapers also use plant-based materials like bamboo or cotton for a more natural feel.

3. Back Sheet: Waterproof and Flexible

The back sheet is the outer layer of the diaper, designed to prevent leaks while allowing flexibility for movement. It’s usually made from polyethylene or biodegradable materials like PLA (polylactic acid).

Polyethylene: Durable and waterproof, but not eco-friendly.

PLA: Derived from renewable resources like cornstarch, making it a sustainable alternative.

4. Elastic Components: Fit and Comfort

Elastic materials are used in the leg cuffs and waistbands to ensure a snug fit. These are often made from synthetic rubber or spandex, which provide flexibility and prevent leaks.

5. Adhesives and Tapes: Secure Fit

Adhesives are used to bond the layers of the diaper together, while tapes allow for adjustable fastening. These materials are typically latex-free to avoid allergic reactions.

Eco-Friendly Diaper Materials: A Growing Trend

With increasing awareness of environmental issues, many parents are turning to eco-friendly diaper options. Here are some sustainable materials gaining popularity:

1. Bamboo Fiber

Bamboo is a renewable resource that grows quickly without pesticides. Diapers made with bamboo fibers are:

Biodegradable: Breaks down faster than synthetic materials.

Antibacterial: Naturally resists odors and bacteria.

Soft: Ideal for sensitive skin.

2. Plant-Based SAP

Traditional SAP is derived from petroleum, but plant-based alternatives made from corn or sugarcane are now available. These are:

Renewable: Sourced from sustainable crops.

Biodegradable: Reduces landfill waste.

3. Compostable Back Sheets

Some brands use compostable materials like PLA for the back sheet, which can break down in industrial composting facilities.

How to Choose the Right Diaper Materials for Your Baby

When selecting diapers, consider the following factors:

1. Skin Sensitivity

If your baby has sensitive skin, opt for diapers with natural, hypoallergenic materials like bamboo or cotton.

2. Absorbency Needs

For overnight use or heavy wetters, choose diapers with a high-quality absorbent core containing SAP.

3. Environmental Impact

If sustainability is a priority, look for diapers made with eco-friendly materials and minimal plastic content.

4. Fit and Comfort

Ensure the diaper has stretchable elastic components and a snug fit to prevent leaks and discomfort.

The Future of Diaper Materials

Innovation in diaper materials is ongoing, with researchers exploring new ways to improve performance and sustainability. Some exciting developments include:

Smart Diapers: Embedded with sensors to monitor hydration levels and health indicators.

Fully Biodegradable Diapers: Made entirely from plant-based materials that break down naturally.

Reusable Diapers: Modern cloth diapers with advanced absorbent layers for convenience and eco-friendliness.

Conclusion

Diaper materials play a critical role in ensuring your baby’s comfort, health, and well-being. From absorbent cores to eco-friendly alternatives, understanding these materials can help you make informed choices that align with your values and needs. Whether you prioritize performance, sustainability, or affordability, there’s a diaper out there that’s perfect for your little one.

By staying informed about the latest advancements in diaper materials, you can provide the best care for your baby while minimizing your environmental footprint. So, the next time you shop for diapers, take a closer look at the materials—they make all the difference!

#anya mouthwashing

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shankartechx · 1 year ago

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Different Ways to Use Geotextile Fabrics

Shankar Techx is a leading geotextile fabrics manufacturer in India that also provides woven Geotextile materials for diverse requirements. These Geotextiles made of non-woven materials are used primarily for drainage, filtration and separation. The Woven geotextiles, on the other hand, are ideal for stabilization or reinforcement. For more information, contact Shankar Techx or request a quote.

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bardic-tales · 3 months ago

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As part of my delve into the magic system for Fantasy Worlds Collide, I explored misc magic questions based on the Celestial Realm. This is a look of the rules and logic behind the magic system.

Are the laws of nature and physics actually different in this world (to accommodate magic), or are they the same as in real life? How does magic fit in? How do magical beasts fit in?

The laws of nature and physics in the Celestial Realm are fundamentally different from those in the mortal world, shaped by divine will and celestial energies rather than physical constants. Gravity, time, and light function fluidly, often bending to the intentions of higher-ranking celestial beings or the Creator Deity. Magic in the Celestial Realm is intrinsic, woven into the very fabric of existence. It is not learned or externalized but flows naturally from the essence of celestial beings, each of whom embodies specific virtues or divine attributes. For example, the Seraphim manipulate spatial dimensions effortlessly, creating sanctuaries or portals without disrupting the balance of their surroundings.

Magical beasts in the Celestial Realm, such as Seraphic Sentinels and Ophanim Spirits, are direct extensions of celestial will. They do not operate within ecological constraints but exist as manifestations of divine order. Their presence serves specific purposes, such as guarding sacred spaces or punishing transgressors. These creatures are sustained by celestial energy rather than consuming physical resources, reflecting their role as agents of the divine rather than independent beings. Their powers and appearances align with their functions, contributing to the ethereal harmony of the realm.

If there are imaginary animals, how do they fit into the ecology? What do they eat? How much habitat do they require? Are they intelligent and/or capable of working spells, talking, etc.?

Imaginary animals in the Celestial Realm, like the Cherubic Guardians or Behemoths, are not bound by traditional ecological systems. They neither eat nor require specific habitats but exist as embodiments of celestial virtues or divine justice. For instance, the Cherubic Guardians inhabit regions aligned with their governing virtue, such as charity or diligence, and their "habitat" reflects the abstract qualities they embody rather than physical needs. These creatures require vast, symbolic territories, such as forests that respond to their presence by growing impenetrable or luminous.

Many celestial beasts possess intelligence far beyond human comprehension, often capable of telepathic communication or articulating divine decrees. Their capacity to work spells stems from their innate connection to the Celestial Realm’s magical essence rather than learned skills. Behemoths, for example, can manipulate shadows and emit elemental breath attacks as natural extensions of their purpose. Such creatures do not merely act instinctively but carry out their roles with a profound awareness of their divine missions.

Where did civilization begin? What directions did it spread? How was its development affected by the presence of magic? The presence of non-human races, if any? The direct or indirect action of the gods?

Civilization in the Celestial Realm began at the Alabaster Citadel, a radiant city forged by the Creator Deity as the nexus of divine governance and harmony. The Citadel was constructed atop the Pillar of Light, a symbol of peace and goodness. From this central point, celestial civilization spread outward.

The presence of magic deeply influenced this civilization, eliminating the need for material resources or physical labor. Structures are formed from pure energy, and knowledge is shared instantaneously through divine channels. The non-human races, such as the Thrones and Virtues, contributed to the realm’s development by embodying specific functions, from maintaining spiritual purity to fostering growth and empathy. The direct actions of the Creator Deity and the council of Archangels ensured that the spread of civilization remained harmonious, with conflicts resolved through divine intervention rather than war or strife.

In what ways can magic or spells be abused? How often does this happen?

Magic in the Celestial Realm, though inherently divine, can be misused when celestial beings stray from their intended purpose. Such abuse typically stems from pride, jealousy, or a desire for autonomy. For instance, a Dominion might attempt to reshape time excessively to gain an advantage, risking catastrophic distortions across planes. Similarly, a Seraph might manipulate space selfishly, creating barriers that disrupt the flow of divine energies. These acts of defiance are rare but not unheard of, often leading to severe consequences such as exile or corruption into fallen forms.

The frequency of such abuse is mitigated by the omnipresent watchfulness of higher-ranking celestials and the Creator Deity. However, when it occurs, the repercussions ripple through the Celestial Realm, causing imbalances that demand immediate correction. The Ophanim Spirits, for example, might be deployed to track and neutralize rogue entities, while the Thrones sanctify affected areas to restore order. These incidents serve as cautionary tales, reminding all celestial beings of the delicate balance their magic must uphold.

Which peoples/races/cultures are considered the most civilized? Which are most technologically advanced? Which are most magically advanced? Least advanced?

In the Celestial Realm, the Seraphim are considered the pinnacle of civilization. Their profound wisdom, intricate knowledge of divine law, and their ability to act as mediators between the Creator and other celestial beings set them apart. They embody humility and possess unparalleled magical abilities to purify corruption, mend broken realms, and wield spatial manipulation. The Cherubim, known for their vast knowledge and foresight, are also highly regarded for their cultural sophistication and dedication to charity and guidance. They maintain extensive celestial libraries that hold the collective wisdom of the cosmos, and their temporal manipulation abilities make them among the most magically advanced.

On the other end of the spectrum, the Giants, though respected for their immense physical strength and endurance, are seen as the least advanced culturally and magically. They are often isolated in the frigid, barren northern regions of the Celestial Realm, where they focus on tasks requiring brute force rather than intellectual or magical prowess. While they are invaluable to the realm's overall balance, their limited engagement in celestial politics or higher magical practices renders them less influential in broader societal structures.

Is magic legal? All magic, or only some types? Do laws vary widely from country to country, or is the attitude generally similar?

Magic in the Celestial Realm is not only legal but integral to its very fabric. However, its use is tightly regulated according to divine law, with strict guidelines on its application. All magic must serve a higher purpose, such as upholding virtues, maintaining balance, or aiding in the Creator’s grand design. Certain types of magic, like spatial manipulation and temporal interference, are restricted to high-ranking celestials like Seraphim and Watchers, as these powers can have profound and far-reaching consequences. Unauthorized use of such abilities is considered a grave offense, punishable by banishment or the stripping of one’s celestial rank.

Attitudes toward magic are generally uniform across the realm, as governance is centralized under theocratic aristocracy. However, minor variations exist based on the virtues each region prioritizes. For instance, the Dominion of Diligence strictly enforces magical laws to ensure cosmic order, while the Principality of Temperance emphasizes moderation and balance, even in magic use. This unified approach reflects the realm’s overarching focus on harmony and the alignment of all actions with divine principles.

What wild animals, actual or imaginary, live in this area? Are any of them potentially useful — e.g., for fur, whale oil, hides, magical ingredients, hat feathers?

The Celestial Realm is home to numerous ethereal creatures, many of which are inherently magical and serve specific roles within the divine ecosystem. Doves, for example, are symbols of peace and carry celestial messages across realms. Their feathers are imbued with calming magic and are often used by celestials to craft quills for inscribing divine decrees. Another prominent creature is the Stag, whose shimmering antlers contain restorative energy, making them a valuable resource for healing and purification rituals. However, these animals are never hunted; their offerings are considered gifts, willingly shed or bestowed by the creatures themselves.

More mysterious are the Foxes, whose fur shifts in color to reflect the constellations. These elusive creatures are revered for their connection to cosmic secrets, and their fur, when gifted, is used to craft cloaks that enhance a celestial's ability to navigate the fabric of space. The realm’s strict moral code ensures that these beings are treated with utmost respect, and their contributions are seen as sacred rather than material.

Are there magical beasts, like dragons and unicorns? If so, which ones? How many? Are they common, or are some endangered species? Have any been domesticated?

The Celestial Realm is home to numerous magical beasts, each imbued with divine attributes and symbolic significance. Among the most prominent are the Seraphic Sentinels, Cherubic Guardians, Ophanim Spirits, and Behemoths. These creatures are not mere animals but manifestations of celestial virtues and cosmic forces, their forms often reflecting the awe-inspiring majesty of the divine. For example, Seraphic Sentinels with their fiery, multi-eyed wings serve as watchers over sacred grounds, while Behemoths, with their tri-headed, elemental ferocity, guard the innermost sanctuaries. Other creatures, like the ethereal Sylphs and Harpies, embody the realm's natural elegance and serve specific roles in its harmonious ecosystem. These beings are plentiful in some areas but scarce in others, often residing in regions aligned with their intrinsic virtues or purposes.

While many of these creatures are untamed and serve as protectors of the realm’s sanctity, some, like the Sylphs, have been partially domesticated by higher-ranking celestials for tasks such as maintaining the environment or assisting in rituals. However, the process of domestication is rare, as most of these beings operate on a level of sentience that makes them akin to equals rather than subordinates. Despite their powerful nature, some species face threats from cosmic disturbances or encroachments from other realms, making them an essential focus for celestial preservation efforts.

Are there magical artifacts (rings, swords, etc.)? If so, who makes them and how? Are the spells permanent, or do they wear off after a while?

Magical artifacts in the Celestial Realm are rare and hold immense power, often created by the Archangels or with the Creator's direct blessing. These items are forged in the Eternal Forge, a sanctified place where celestial fire and divine energy combine to create indestructible relics. For example, a blade wielded by Dominions to enforce cosmic balance, imbued with permanent enchantments that prevent it from being wielded for unjust purposes. Another artifact, a crown, grants its wearer the ability to sanctify spaces and is a symbol of the Thrones' authority over chastity and spiritual protection.

The spells on these artifacts are typically permanent, as they are tied to the essence of the virtues they represent. However, their power can diminish if the artifact is misused or if its wielder strays from the path of virtue. In such cases, the artifact may return to the Eternal Forge for re-sanctification or be reclaimed by the Creator. These relics are not commodities; they are entrusted to celestials deemed worthy, and their loss or misuse is considered a grave failing.

Where is scientific and/or magical research done — universities, private labs, under the auspices of the ruler/government, etc.?

In the Celestial Realm, scientific and magical research is predominantly conducted within the divine sanctuaries, under the auspices of the ruling Archangels, whose responsibilities include overseeing the realm’s cosmic order and nurturing the virtues. These sanctuaries are sacred spaces where divine knowledge is studied and protected. Scholars—primarily lower-ranking celestial beings such as the Powers or Principalities—are tasked with researching divine magic, celestial laws, and metaphysical concepts. These scholars work in collaboration with the Archangels, who supervise the most delicate and complex studies that relate to the functioning of the universe, the nature of divine beings, and the future of the cosmos.

Research is typically done in the form of divine decrees, prophecies, or visions granted by the Creator Deity, and these studies are tightly controlled to maintain harmony and order within the Celestial Realm. Magical research focuses heavily on the exploration and mastery of divine magic, with a particular emphasis on its application for healing, protection, and combating dark forces. The celestial researchers are tasked with unlocking new methods of harnessing the Creator Deity's will, as well as maintaining a balanced relationship with mortal realms through the careful manipulation of magic. These practices are taught through an elaborate system of divine instruction, where higher-ranked beings such as the Seraphim or Archangels lead apprentices. Research is not conducted for purely academic purposes; it is deeply intertwined with the divine purpose of maintaining order and preventing the encroachment of darkness, such as demonic influence. The realm's structure emphasizes the sanctity of knowledge, where the pursuit of understanding must align with celestial ethics and uphold the virtues assigned to each group within the hierarchy.

Given the magical/technological level of this society, what is an appropriate ration of farmers or food producers to urban residents? If farm production is based on magic, how many urban residents are going to starve if the spells supporting farming (weather, land fertility, etc.) fail suddenly?

The Celestial Realm operates with an unparalleled efficiency in food production, thanks to its divine infrastructure. Magic-infused fields, tended by Virtues and other agricultural-focused celestials, yield an abundance of sustenance that nourishes the inhabitants without the need for excessive manual labor. These crops and resources are self-replenishing, sustained by blessings from the Thrones and Virtues, ensuring eternal fertility and protection from natural decay. As a result, only a small percentage of the celestial population—roughly 10%—is dedicated to food production. This allows the majority to focus on governance, research, and maintaining the realm’s balance.

However, this reliance on magic does come with risks. Should the blessings falter due to celestial conflict or corruption, the realm could face severe shortages. The redundancy of divine enchantments and stored reserves mitigates such risks, but a prolonged failure would lead to resource scarcity, especially for urban centers reliant on these magical provisions. In such cases, celestial beings are capable of surviving extended periods without sustenance, as their divine essence compensates for physical nourishment. This unique resilience ensures that while the ratio is low, the system remains sustainable even under duress.

What are the major political factions at present? How long have they been around? Which factions are allies, which enemies? Are there any potential new forces on the political scene?

The Celestial Realm’s political landscape is shaped by a hierarchy of factions led by Archangels and other high-ranking celestials. The dominant faction is the Council of Virtues, a coalition of Archangels who oversee governance and ensure the realm adheres to the divine principles of the Creator. Each Archangel represents a virtue and governs a specific region of the realm, balancing autonomy with collective decision-making. This system has existed for eons, fostering stability through its focus on collaboration and ethical governance. It was created after the civil war started by Lucifer and his rebelling army.

Opposing the Council, though less openly, is a faction of celestials who believe the realm should embrace more progressive interpretations of divine will, allowing for greater individual autonomy. While not inherently rebellious, their views often clash with the traditionalist Council, creating tension in debates over policy and governance.

Recently, a rising faction called the Luminous Accord—a group of Virtues and Dominions advocating for increased emphasis on direct intervention in mortal realms—have begun to circulate. Though still nascent, this group’s ideas challenge the realm’s long-standing non-interventionist stance, hinting at potential shifts in celestial politics. These factions maintain an uneasy balance, their debates shaping the future of the realm.

Are magic users a force in politics, or are they above it? Are there national politics that revolve around magic/wizards (i.e., trying to outlaw, protect, or promote certain kinds of magic, trying to draft wizards into a ruler’s army, licensing of magic users, etc.)? Do wizards have a lobby? Do they need one?

In the Celestial Realm, magic is an intrinsic aspect of every being, from the Archangels to the lesser Seraphim, rather than a learned skill. This universality makes the concept of “magic users” as a separate political force redundant. Governance is deeply intertwined with divine powers, which are seen as a direct manifestation of the Creator Deity’s will. The Archangels, as governors of virtues, embody the highest authority and use their celestial magic to maintain balance and enforce divine law. Their power is not subject to mortal-like debates but flows from their inherent connection to the divine order.

Politics in the Celestial Realm revolves around upholding virtues and maintaining cosmic balance. While celestial beings may differ in interpretations of these virtues, debates occur within the Archangels' council rather than being influenced by lobbying or external factions. The Creator’s will is the ultimate arbiter, making celestial politics a matter of moral alignment rather than power struggles. Efforts to promote or regulate specific kinds of magic are unnecessary, as the Creator bestows abilities aligned with each being’s role and purpose.

How much has the presence of magic affected strategy and tactics in general? Is magic used primarily for intelligence gathering, or are there spells that are of use on the battlefield? If battlefield magic is possible, how can it be defended against?

Magic profoundly shapes celestial strategy and tactics, especially in their eternal battle against corruption and chaos. Celestial beings wield magic for both offensive and defensive purposes, ranging from barriers of sanctity (used by Thrones) to purifying corrupt forces (a specialty of Seraphim). On the battlefield, Archangels lead with devastating displays of power, such as summoning celestial storms or altering the fabric of reality to disorient enemies. This strategic use of magic ensures overwhelming superiority against threats, both external and internal.

Defenses against magic are equally critical. Thrones and Dominions specialize in creating sanctified barriers and maintaining cosmic order to prevent breaches in celestial defenses. Battles often resemble grand metaphysical clashes rather than physical confrontations, where the manipulation of space, time, and virtue determines outcomes. Intelligence gathering relies heavily on Cherubim’s foresight and Powers’ enduring vigilance, allowing celestial forces to anticipate and counteract potential threats before they manifest.

Is healing generally a magical process? If so, how does the magical healing talent work? Does a magical healer have to consciously direct the healing process (meaning that lots of knowledge of anatomy, etc., would be required), or does magical healing simply speed up the normal, unconscious healing process in the patient? Is there more than one kind of magical healer (as there are surgeons, eye doctors, etc.)? Are there both magical and non-magical healers, and if so, are they rivals or simply different specialties?

Healing in the Celestial Realm is entirely magical, governed by the Seraphim and Virtues. Magical healing involves a seamless interplay between celestial energy and the natural regenerative abilities of the injured. Seraphim, embodying humility, direct the process by channeling divine energy to mend both physical and spiritual wounds. This requires deep focus and often results in the healer sacrificing their own vitality to restore balance. Their understanding of anatomy is less scientific and more instinctual, guided by their divine essence.

There are distinct specialties among celestial healers. Seraphim focus on purification and restoration, while Virtues excel in empowering others, allowing the injured to regenerate more rapidly through their own innate connection to the divine. Healing talent is a birthright, not a skill that can be acquired. Non-magical healing is nonexistent in the Celestial Realm, as all injuries—whether physical or metaphysical—require the intervention of celestial powers to restore harmony. This ensures there is no rivalry among healers; instead, each complements the other’s abilities.

What level is medicine at? Who are the healers? Do you have to have a talent to heal, or just training? Who trains healers, herbalists, apothecaries, surgeons, magical vs. nonmagical healers, etc.?

The Celestial Realm transcends traditional medicine, relying entirely on divine healing processes. Healers, primarily Seraphim and Virtues, receive innate knowledge of their craft as part of their divine purpose. This knowledge is intuitive rather than taught, flowing from their connection to the Creator. Training focuses on honing their ability to channel celestial energy and mastering the emotional resilience needed for their role, rather than understanding mortal concepts like herbalism or surgery.

Training is conducted under the guidance of higher-ranking celestial beings, often Archangels, who imbue the healers with greater insights into their divine purpose. While there are no apothecaries or surgeons in the mortal sense, celestial healers specialize in various aspects of restoration—spiritual purification, corporeal regeneration, and even the mending of realms themselves. The emphasis remains on maintaining the harmony of the celestial order, ensuring that all injuries or imbalances are resolved in alignment with divine law.

Is forensic magic possible? Commonly used? Used only for certain types of crimes (and if so, what)? Are the results of forensic spells admissible in court as evidence? Is it something any wizard can do, or do you have to specialize?

Forensic magic exists in the Celestial Realm and is highly specialized, primarily used for investigating crimes that threaten the divine order or virtue-based governance. This includes violations like corruption of sacred sites, misuse of celestial power, or betrayal of the Creator's laws. Forensic spells are designed to trace spiritual imprints, reveal concealed actions, or reconstruct events through divine echoes left in the fabric of the celestial world. These spells require a high degree of expertise and are performed only by Virtues or specialized Thrones with the spiritual purity and discipline needed for such work. The intricate nature of these spells ensures their accuracy, but they demand significant energy and time.

The results of forensic spells are admissible in celestial courts, provided they meet rigorous validation by a council of Dominions who oversee evidence integrity. Their findings are often considered more reliable than physical evidence due to their divine origin, although errors can occur if the spellcaster lacks experience or the spell is tampered with. Forensic magic is not common and requires intense training, often taking centuries to master. Lesser celestials or those outside the appropriate roles cannot perform these spells effectively, ensuring that only the most qualified handle such investigations.

Are there separate civil and criminal courts? Human and non-human courts? Is there a separate court or procedure for magical crimes? What is different about each type of court? Are judges or other court officials required/forbidden to know magic? Is evidence obtained by magic acceptable in court? Is evidence obtained by magic considered more reliable or less reliable than physical evidence or eyewitness accounts?

The Celestial Realm maintains separate courts for civil and criminal matters, as well as distinct procedures for magical crimes. Civil courts resolve disputes related to celestial domains, governance, or breaches of virtue, often mediated by Principalities who ensure balance and fairness. Criminal courts handle transgressions like treason, sacrilege, or acts disrupting the divine order, presided over by Archangels or Thrones with the authority to mete out divine justice. Magical crimes—such as the corruption of sacred energy or unauthorized time-space manipulation—are tried in specialized tribunals overseen by Powers and Dominions with expertise in cosmic law.

Judges and court officials are required to possess magical knowledge, as understanding divine energies and celestial law is essential for fair rulings. Magical evidence is admissible and generally considered more reliable than physical evidence or eyewitness accounts due to its divine nature. However, its reliability hinges on the expertise of the spellcaster and the proper validation by celestial authorities. Eyewitness accounts and physical evidence are treated as supplementary, with the understanding that the spiritual and metaphysical dimensions often hold greater truth in celestial matters.

Can magic be used in the arts, and if so, how — paint that glows, pictures that move, flutes that play themselves, etc.? Is there a separate branch of purely magical art, such as illusion?

Magic is deeply integrated into the arts of the Celestial Realm, creating works of unparalleled beauty and wonder. Paintings that shimmer with divine light, sculptures that emit celestial music, and textiles that shift with radiant hues are common. Musical instruments, such as enchanted harps or celestial flutes, play themselves in harmony with the will of their creator. Celestial artists infuse their creations with spiritual energy, allowing their work to resonate with virtues like hope, love, or harmony. These artistic expressions often serve as a form of worship or a means of fostering spiritual growth among celestial beings.

A distinct branch of magical art focuses on divine illusions, where creations become immersive experiences. These illusions are crafted by Virtues and Cherubim, who use their powers to evoke emotions, tell stories, or inspire awe. Such works often depict celestial history, the Creator's glory, or parables of virtue and redemption. Unlike mortal illusions, these magical arts have lasting effects, imbuing viewers with enlightenment or profound emotional shifts. This form of art is highly revered, considered both a sacred duty and a form of divine communication.

Is there a special place in the Celestial Realm for pets and their spirits?

The Celestial Realm hosts a serene haven known as the Rainbow Bridge, dedicated to the spirits of pets who have passed on. Here, these beloved companions don angelic wings and exist in eternal peace, surrounded by fields of starlit flowers and streams of liquid light. The Bridge is a sanctuary of comfort and joy, where the spirits of animals continue to play, rest, and radiate love. Many act as silent guardians or guides for mortals and celestials alike, offering solace through fleeting appearances or whispered reassurances.

Uniquely, this realm allows certain pets, especially cats, to traverse between the Celestial and Mortal Realms. Their journeys are thought to be expressions of divine will, offering guidance or comfort to those in need. These spirits, untouched by mortal corruption, embody the virtues of loyalty, love, and joy. The Rainbow Bridge serves as a symbol of the Creator's boundless compassion, where even the smallest lives are cherished and granted a place of eternal happiness.

#fwc: ff #bardic tales #bardic-tales #wb: magic and magicians #wb: magic misc #passion project: fantasy worlds collide

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