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foncethefool · 4 months ago

Text

Until the lock breaks

Oh stars, this story took an absolute wild fuckin turn from where I meant to take it originally, it becomes an emotionally wild ride, so have fun~

The summer sun hung heavy over the playground, baking the pavement until the air shimmered with heat. Jackson’s knees were scraped raw, dirt clinging to his pale skin and smudging across his flushed cheeks. The older boys circled him like vultures, all sharp elbows and cruel laughter, shoving and knocking him down again and again — a sniffling, soft little thing too scrawny to fight back.

The biggest of them, a smug twelve-year-old, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and reeled back to finish the game with a punch — but the hit never came.

Instead, a blur of wild limbs and fiery hair came crashing into the boy’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him in one brutal, unthinking punch. The boy doubled over, and the others froze, staring as the girl stood her ground, fists clenched, her freckled face set with pure defiance.

The afternoon sun caught in her hair, making the light, stringy ginger strands glow like a flickering halo — bright, untamed, and brilliant. To Jackson, still sitting in the dirt, she looked less like a girl and more like some fierce, redheaded guardian angel sent to save him.

“Leave him alone, or I’ll make all of you cry,” she snapped, her voice sharp and unshaken.

That was all it took. The pack scattered, dragging their coughing leader away, too stunned to challenge her.

When the dust finally settled, she turned back to Jackson, crouching low and brushing the dirt from his scraped palms with surprising gentleness. Her smile was wide and fearless, like she’d just won a prize.

“You’re a soft boy,” she said, matter-of-fact and without a hint of teasing. “But that’s okay. I’ll protect you.”

She offered her hand, small and warm, and as he slipped his scraped fingers into hers, she gave it a firm shake, already sealing the deal.

“I’m Sophia,” she announced, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Now you.”

He swallowed the last of his sniffles, voice small and soft.

“...Jackson.”

Sophia grinned, sharp and bright. “Jackson. Got it.” She stood up, tugging him along with her like he weighed nothing. “Well, you’ve got a friend now, Jackson. I’ll keep you safe.”

And just like that, the world wasn’t so scary anymore — at least, not as long as Sophia was there.

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They were caught somewhere between childhood and something else — not quite old enough to leave behind the world of scraped knees and sleepovers, but old enough for thoughts they didn’t yet know how to name.

Sophia had grown into herself like a wild thing finally learning to stand still. The frizzy, sun-bleached orange that had once crowned her head had deepened over the years, settling into a richer, darker shade of red that swayed and bounced when she moved — though the fire in her spirit hadn’t dulled a bit. She was lean and toned, the kind of strong that came from endless afternoons spent climbing fences and sprinting through fields, always chasing some thrill.

Jackson had grown, too — but into the opposite of her. Where Sophia was sharp edges and steady strides, he was all soft lines and quiet habits. His frame was thin, almost fragile, like he’d been stretched just a little too tall for his own good. His hair, long and pale, fell in bright, silken strands whenever he let it down from the loose bun he usually wore, the soft locks brushing against his narrow shoulders. He didn’t bother cutting it, not once.

When people asked why, his answer was always simple, almost sheepish.

"It just feels more natural."

Most days, the two of them spent their afternoons together in Sophia’s room, the silence between them a comfortable thing. She’d be sprawled on her bed, thumbs busy on her game controller or lazily scrolling through her phone, while Jackson sat cross-legged on the floor, thumbing through whatever manga or novel had captured his attention that week.

Without fail, Sophia’s hands would eventually drift toward his hair, weaving through the soft strands like it was second nature. Sometimes she’d just stroke it absentmindedly, her fingers combing through the pale gold, or twisting a lock until it curled and bounced back. The first time he’d asked her why, her answer had been simple, and as matter-of-fact as ever.

"Your hair’s pretty. And it’s soft. I like it, is all."

The words had painted his cheeks a delicate shade of pink back then, his heart skipping somewhere between embarrassment and something else he didn’t yet understand. But as the days blurred into months, the shyness faded, replaced by a quiet contentment. Now, he didn’t flinch when her fingers combed through his hair — he’d just hum softly, the sound more feline than human, his body relaxing into her touch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Sophia’s favorite pastime, though, was braiding his hair. Almost every afternoon played out the same way: Jackson sat at the foot of her bed, legs folded, a book resting lightly in his lap, while Sophia perched behind him, her hands moving with gentle precision as she worked the soft strands into a neat, perfect braid.

Neither of them ever said much during those moments. They didn’t need to.

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They were on the cusp of adulthood, teetering on the edge between childhood and whatever came next — a mix of nerves and excitement pulling tight around both of them.

Jackson, ever the quiet one, had flown through school with ease, top of his class without ever really trying. Sophia, on the other hand… Well, she’d scraped by, more than once leaning hard on Jackson’s patience and his sharp mind to drag her through. What she lacked in academics, she more than made up for on the track, her body honed and athletic. Colleges had already come sniffing, waving scholarships for her speed, while Jackson had been offered a full ride purely on his grades.

Still, no matter how different their paths looked on paper, the two were inseparable. Always side by side, always orbiting each other. More times than either could count, there were little moments — a brush of hands, a glance held just a second too long, shoulders bumping on lazy walks home — sparks of something neither fully understood, but both felt all the same.

Jackson had struggled with himself as he grew, though he rarely spoke about it. He hated the rough shadow of facial hair creeping onto his face, always shaving the second it appeared. He lived in oversized hoodies, sleeves long enough to swallow his hands, and when asked about it, he’d only mumble, “It makes me feel safe… or whatever.” More than once, Sophia had caught him staring too long at the front windows of lingerie stores, and once, when she’d teased him — asking if he was shopping for a girlfriend — the look on his face had twisted her stomach with guilt. She never joked about it again.

His hair had grown long over the years, soft blond strands that hung almost to his back when let loose. His bathroom was lined with a small army of products — for his hair, his skin, his face. Sophia had marveled at it more than once, realizing he took better care of his appearance than even she did.

But somehow, graduation crept up on them, and with it came one last night of being kids. A final evening before the world would start pulling them apart.

That Thursday evening, Sophia had slipped out of her house under cover of dark, bare feet silent on the pavement as she climbed through Jackson’s bedroom window — a habit as old as their friendship. They’d talked for hours, voices low and soft, both buzzing with the same cocktail of anxiety and anticipation. And now, in the late-night quiet, they simply laid side by side, the silence warm and heavy. Words had run dry. Being close was enough.

But then Sophia reached out, fingers brushing against his, her hand curling around his own in a quiet search for comfort. Jackson had expected the usual flutter of embarrassment, but the gentle squeeze of her hand told him all he needed to know — for once, the unshakable Sophia wasn’t so fearless. She was scared. And right then, he wanted to be strong for her.

He shifted, wrapping his arm around her and drawing her in close, guiding her head to rest against his chest. She nestled there without resistance, hands clutching lightly at the hem of his pajama shirt as her breathing slowed.

“You smell nice,” she mumbled, voice soft as a feather. “Like lavender and honey.”

A quiet chuckle rumbled through him, his fingers weaving through her hair, gentle and slow.

“Are you complaining?”

She shook her head, the motion barely a whisper against his chest.

Silence stretched between them, long and comfortable, until Jackson thought she might’ve drifted off. But then her voice broke the quiet once more — soft, heavy, almost lost to sleep.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. You’re so important to me.”

Her words settled deep in his chest, blooming a warmth so bittersweet it nearly ached. He let the silence hang a moment longer, unsure if she was even still awake, before whispering back,

“You saved my life, Phia.” The nickname rolled off his tongue like an old song, worn smooth by years. “You saved me so many times, I lost count. I don’t feel like I can ever be myself with anyone else but you.”

Another pause, softer this time, as if the world had held its breath.

“I remember the day I met you,” he murmured, voice barely more than air. “That first day you saved me. I thought you were my guardian angel. I still think I was right.”

Sophia shifted against him, the weight of sleep pulling her down, her voice barely audible.

“I’ll always protect you. I never wanna be without you.”

Jackson’s eyelids grew heavier, his fingers still tangled in her hair, his gaze lingering on the soft red curls resting against his chest.

And, finally, sleep took them both.

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It wasn’t unusual for Sophia to invite him over. She still called, still checked in, even if life had pulled them apart. The distance between them wasn’t measured in miles — it was measured in growing silences, in glances that lingered too long on his sunken eyes, on his increasingly thin frame, on the way his hoodies hung looser and looser over time.

Her voice on the phone had been soft, almost too soft.

"Hey... come over, okay? Just for a little while."

When he arrived, the house was warm — too warm, like it was trying to make him comfortable before he even noticed something was off. The walls were painted with soft, calming colors, decorated sparsely but tastefully, the way her success allowed. The scent of lavender drifted lazily in the air, sweet and familiar.

They talked, the same way they always did. About work. About people. About everything and nothing. But there was something strained under Sophia’s words, something Jackson couldn’t quite name. She kept watching him, her gaze flicking between his eyes and the way his fingers tugged self-consciously at his sleeves, the way his hand brushed against his chin when the faint shadow of facial hair caught the light.

When he excused himself for the bathroom, Sophia moved to the kitchen. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the tea. She crushed the small white capsule between spoon and porcelain, watching the powder dissolve into the dark liquid. Slowly, methodically, she stirred the tea, the motion mechanical — her gaze fixed on the swirling dark, as if the answer or forgiveness might float to the surface if she waited long enough.

When Jackson returned, he accepted the mug with that small, polite smile, the kind that never quite reached his eyes anymore.

The conversation drifted as the tea slowly vanished. His voice grew softer, his head heavier. His hands fumbled with the cup until it slipped from his grasp, clattering harmlessly against the carpeted floor. Panic flickered behind his eyes, but before it could bloom, Sophia was already at his side, catching him as his body slumped forward.

Her hands found his, clutching his fingers tightly, her thumb brushing gently across his knuckles like it might be the last time she’d ever be allowed to hold him this way.

"It’s okay..." she whispered, her voice barely steady. "You don’t have to fight anymore, Jackie."

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When Jackson woke, the world was soft and dim, but wrong. His limbs felt heavy, weak. His head swam, the sharp edges of panic rising to the surface as his body shifted — and he heard the sound of metal.

A collar. Around his neck. A chain clinked against the cold wall when he moved too fast.

The basement wasn’t a dungeon. It wasn’t cold or cruel. The walls were painted a soft, pale color, the carpet plush beneath him. A proper bed sat against one wall, neatly made with soft sheets. A small bookshelf rested within reach, lined with his favorite books, arranged in careful order — the same titles he’d lost himself in as a child. There was even a toilet tucked neatly in the corner, and soft light spilled from a standing lamp rather than the harsh overhead bulbs.

Everything was too familiar. Too comfortable. And that only made it worse.

His voice cracked as panic finally overtook him.

"Phia! Phia, what’s going on?!"

She appeared in the stairwell, descending slowly, her face pale, her eyes swollen and rimmed red from crying. She looked at him like her heart was breaking all over again.

"You’ve been miserable, Jackie," she whispered, her voice small and strained, the old nickname clawing at her throat as she said it. "I... I’ve watched you suffer. I tried to talk to you, but you always smiled through it. You always hid it. And I can’t stand it anymore."

Her hands clenched at her sides, nails biting into her palms, her voice trembling as the words tumbled out.

"I want to protect you, but I can’t if you won’t let me. You won’t let anyone."

Tears welled in her eyes again, spilling over unchecked.

"I... I had to do something, Jack. I had to help you. This is the only way I could figure out how."

She stepped closer, kneeling by the edge of the bed. Her voice was barely a whisper.

"You’re going to get a shot. Every week. It’ll knock you out for a while... and it’ll start replacing the hormones that have been hurting you. Estrogen, Jackie. It’ll help. I know it will. I promise you’ll feel better, even if you don’t believe me yet."

When she finished, silence swallowed the room.

Jackson’s wide, tear-filled eyes stared back at her, unblinking, the betrayal cutting deeper than any words could. His breath hitched, and the tears spilled down his face in hot, silent streams.

When she reached out, hand trembling to brush his hair away from his face, he flinched — recoiling from her touch like it burned.

And in that moment, Sophia’s heart shattered. She stayed kneeling, her hand hovering uselessly in the space where his warmth had been, watching him shake with silent fear.

"Even if you hate me, Jackie," her voice cracked, barely holding itself together, "even if you never forgive me... I’ll be okay with that. As long as you’re safe. As long as you don’t have to hurt anymore."

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The first shot

He fights. Stars, he fights.

A thrown book, trembling hands, desperate strength that doesn’t match hers — Jackson tries, but Sophia is too strong, too practiced at protecting him, even from himself. She holds him down as gently as she can, pressing his face into the soft carpet, whispering “I’m sorry” over and over as the needle slips into the soft flesh of his hip.

When he wakes, his face is bare. His skin smooth. His hair still damp from washing. His body cleaned while he was unconscious.

Sophia sits a few feet away, eyes swollen from crying. She couldn’t let him wake up alone, even if he’d never forgive her.

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The days bled together in the dark, each one slower than the last. The first week, Jackson didn’t sleep — not really. When exhaustion finally pulled him under, it was shallow, restless, the kind of sleep that left his body aching more than rest ever could. When he woke, it was always the same: the collar cold against his throat, the chain heavy across the floor, the faint smell of concrete and old wood pressing into his senses like a second skin.

The first week, he begged. God, he begged. For answers, for mercy, for Sophia. The girl he knew. The girl who promised to always protect him.

But she never raised her voice. Never snapped at him, never argued back. When she came down the stairs, it was always with a tray — simple food, sometimes his favorites, sometimes just something soft and easy to swallow. She never set it too close, always sliding it along the floor like he was a frightened animal. He never ate while she watched. Not once. But when she climbed the stairs, he’d devour every bite, hunger winning out over his pride.

Some nights, he’d cry until his throat gave out. The kind of ugly, shuddering sobs that left him clutching the chain like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

“Please wake up,” he whispered into the dark. “Please let this be a dream.”

But it never was. The cold never changed. The silence never broke. The bruises on his arm where she held him down still bloomed purple and yellow, proof this was real.

When the second week came, and with it another shot, he fought again — weaker this time, his muscles drained from too many nights of crying and too little food. She still held him down, still whispered apologies, still slid the needle into his skin as gently as her shaking hands would allow.

The cycle repeated. Day after day. Shot after shot.

By the end of the month, the begging had stopped. The fight had dulled into a quiet, seething ache that lived behind his eyes, and Sophia — she never stopped talking. Even when he gave her no answer, she’d sit nearby and fill the space with stories, with memories, with dreams. Sometimes, just the sound of her voice would crack him open all over again.

But he never let her see. He waited until the light at the top of the stairs flicked off, waited for the sound of her footsteps to disappear, before he let himself cry.

Because even then, even through all the betrayal, he still couldn’t let her see him break.

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The days stopped feeling like days. They stretched long and gray, a smear of endless sameness. The sharp edges of his anger softened, worn down not by peace, but by exhaustion. He didn’t fight the shots anymore. The last time he’d tried, he hadn’t even made it halfway across the room before Sophia caught him, arms wrapped around him more like a mother holding her child than a captor restraining her prisoner. She never hurt him. She couldn’t. But her strength always outmatched his, and that made the defeat cut even deeper.

Now, when she came with the syringe, Jackson just looked away. His silence had become his armor, the only piece of himself he could still control. The needle always came, whether he fought or not. He learned it hurt less if he didn’t resist.

Sophia talked to him every day. She told him about the world beyond the basement walls — the news, the changing seasons, the places they used to visit together. Sometimes she brought down little things. A new book. His favorite candy. A scarf in his favorite shade of blue. Small gestures, meant to fill the space between them. Meant to remind him of who she was, even if he could barely recognize her anymore.

The loneliness hit hardest at night, when the quiet pressed in from all sides. That was when the changes whispered to him, soft and unfamiliar. His emotions didn't fit the same way they used to. Anger came and went in waves he couldn’t predict. Small things made his chest tighten, his throat ache. Sometimes for no reason at all, tears welled up behind his eyes, hot and sudden, and he’d bury his face into the pillow, refusing to let himself cry where anyone could hear.

And his body...

Little things. So little he could almost pretend they weren't there. His face stayed smoother longer. The coarse stubble that had always shadowed his jaw grew in patchy, thinner. His chest felt... odd. Not painful, not yet, but sensitive. Brushing his arm too close or lying on his stomach would send a sharp little spark through him that he couldn’t explain. The weight of his own skin felt different. Softer.

It scared him.

And Sophia... she never looked away from the changes. She saw them. She watched them. But she never pointed them out. Instead, her voice grew softer, her touch lighter — careful, like she was trying not to frighten a wounded animal.

Sometimes, when she brought his meals, he found himself murmuring a soft “Thank you.”

And one day, out of nowhere, when she answered his whispered “Hello” with that old, warm, gentle “Hey, Jackie,” it didn’t make him flinch the way it used to. The nickname slid into his ears like an old song he couldn’t quite hate, no matter how much he wanted to.

That night, when the light at the top of the stairs flicked off and he curled beneath the blanket, he found himself running his fingers over his chest, tracing the faintest curve he swore wasn’t there before.

And for the first time in months, the tears that came weren’t all fear.

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He couldn't tell how long it had been, but, the silence wasn’t so sharp anymore. It had dulled into something soft, almost companionable. Jackson still spent most of his time with a book in hand or staring at the ceiling, but when Sophia came down the stairs, he didn’t flinch the way he used to. Sometimes, he even looked at her.

The changes in his body couldn’t be ignored anymore. They crept up slowly, day by day, until one morning he caught the way his chest curved beneath his shirt, the faint swell pressing against the fabric when he shifted. His skin had lost its roughness, growing softer to the touch, and his hair — longer now than it had ever been — slid like silk down his back, brushing against the small of it when he stretched.

The mirror, of course, was a luxury he hadn’t been given. Sophia knew better. But his hands were mirrors enough. The slope of his waist felt different beneath his fingertips. His thighs had filled out, carrying a new softness, a new weight. He hated it. He hated how natural it felt, how some part of him didn’t want to hate it at all.

And his emotions — they were worse than before. The littlest things could send him spiraling. Some days, the sound of Sophia’s voice was enough to make his chest twist and his eyes sting. He didn’t know why. Neither did she. And yet she always stayed, sitting at the edge of the bed, talking about nothing in particular, giving him the space to either answer or ignore her.

And sometimes, he didn’t ignore her. He started asking questions. Small ones, cautious and dry. About the world. About her work. About the weather. About books. About things that didn’t matter.

And sometimes, when the loneliness felt too heavy, he’d slip — and call her “Phia.” The old nickname didn’t taste as bitter on his tongue as it used to.

Sophia never pointed it out. She only smiled, soft and sad, and kept talking like nothing had happened.

The nights were the strangest. When he knew she was asleep upstairs, he let himself explore the body he barely recognized. The quiet glide of his hands over the curve of his chest, the way his skin reacted beneath his touch — it left him breathless, confused, and ashamed. But he did it anyway.

Because for the first time, it felt real. He felt real.

And when the guilt clawed at his throat, the only comfort came from the soft creak of the floorboards upstairs — the reminder that Sophia was still there, even if he didn’t know whether to love her or hate her for it.

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“A whole year,” Sophia said, her voice bright, but her eyes betrayed her. They always did. The guilt lived there like an old tenant, too comfortable to leave.

Jackson sat on the bed, his hands folded in his lap. He looked thinner, smaller, though the softness in his body said otherwise. His hair was long now, hanging over his shoulders in dark waves, brushing the tops of his arms. He didn’t look at her when she set the box down on the bed, but he didn’t flinch away either.

“What’s this?” he asked, voice flat but not hostile.

Sophia shifted from foot to foot, rubbing her wrist nervously. “It’s... a gift. I remember when we were younger, you’d always stop at that little shop, you know the one.” Her words tangled together, long pauses breaking them apart, like she wasn’t sure which ones she had permission to say.

He opened the box slowly, like it might bite him. Inside lay the sundress — soft, light blue, with thin straps and delicate folds — and beneath it, black lace lingerie, neatly folded and paired with thigh-high stockings and a garter belt.

“You don’t have to wear them for me,” Sophia blurted out, hands rising defensively. “I just thought — if you ever wanted to — for you. Only you.”

He didn’t answer. Not at first. His fingers ghosted over the soft fabric, lingering too long before snapping the lid shut. “No,” he murmured, voice low. “I’m not wearing them.”

Sophia nodded, lips pressing into a thin line. “I understand.”

She gave him his shot, like clockwork, and left quietly, without another word.

But later that night, when the house was quiet and the dark pressed in close, Jackson sat on the edge of his bed, the unopened box back in his lap.

His hands trembled when he pulled the dress free. The fabric was softer than he’d imagined, and as he slipped it over his head, something shifted. The hem brushed against his thighs, light and easy, the neckline sitting awkwardly against his unfamiliar chest — but the fit, the feel of it, the weightlessness...

It felt right.

And that was the part that cut deepest.

He stared down at himself, hands fisting the skirt, and the guilt sat heavy in his chest, raw and searing. This wasn’t supposed to feel good. It wasn’t supposed to feel like home. And yet the longer he sat there, the more the weight of the dress comforted him, the more natural it felt against his skin.

Unseen, at the top of the stairs, Sophia sat curled against the banister, watching through the thin slats of wood. Her heart ached with the bittersweet sting of it — the quiet, guilty wonder in his eyes, the way he twirled a lock of hair around his finger like he used to as a kid, the fragile balance between self-loathing and self-acceptance written plain across his face.

She didn’t make a sound, only pulled her knees tighter to her chest, and wiped away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

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Time softened the sharpest corners, dulled the sting of memory, and reshaped the space between them into something more like habit than comfort. The basement wasn’t a cage the way it had been at first — but it wasn’t home either. It was... limbo.

The fights had long since faded. The panic, the begging, the tears that once soaked the pillow he tried so hard to hide from her — all distant echoes now, worn thin by the slow, grinding march of routine. The pills came with dinner, and Jackson took them without resistance, swallowing them down like one more spoonful of obligation.

The space between them, the silence, had softened too. Not healed. Just worn smooth like sea glass.

The trust between them had been shattered the night Sophia drugged him. A beautiful, irreplaceable vase, smashed into too many jagged pieces to ever be whole again. She had spent two years gluing it back together, conversation by conversation, meal by meal, tender moment by tender moment. The shape had returned, but the cracks were still there, spiderwebbed veins of old wounds, impossible to ignore.

And the edges still cut them, when they weren't careful.

Some nights, he asked her to braid his hair — the way she used to, when they were young and the world was simple and safe. His voice, small and uncertain, barely reached her ears when he asked. And always, always, Sophia said yes, no matter how much her hands trembled at the soft, familiar weight of his hair in her fingers.

But even those moments couldn’t smooth over the sharp places entirely.

Sometimes he would pull away halfway through, retreating to the bed’s far corner without a word. Other times he wouldn't meet her eyes, the gap between them wide enough to drown in, even when they sat side by side.

And Sophia never pushed. She couldn't.

Instead, she offered small gestures, like pebbles laid in the foundation of the shaky bridge between them.

One evening, she came downstairs with a binder — worn and heavy, packed with notes and pages printed from forums, guides, handwritten reminders, and encouragements. Voice training advice. Exercises. Diagrams. Tips for finding the soft, quiet voice that had always belonged to him, even when the world told him it shouldn’t.

She didn’t say much when she set it on the bed. Just... "In case you wanted to."

Jackson stared at it for a long time, hands folded neatly in his lap. His face unreadable, but his silence told her enough. The binder sat there for days, untouched — until one night, when she came down later than usual and heard the faintest, quietest sound from the darkened room. His voice. Practicing. Awkward, unsteady, but undeniably his.

Sophia sat on the stairs that night, head bowed, listening to the shy, broken notes floating up through the cracks in the door. Her throat ached with all the things she wanted to say, but couldn’t.

The trust between them would never be whole again — but it was something. Enough to cut her, enough to comfort him, enough to survive.

For now.

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The lingerie had always been there, folded neatly at the end of his bed like a question he couldn’t answer. Some nights, it felt like a punishment — a reminder of the new skin he was meant to grow into. Other nights, the fabric called to him, whispering soft, dangerous truths he wasn’t ready to accept.

But it wasn’t the lace or the shame that saved him. It was the wire.

That sharp, cold strip hidden inside the softness, as if the thing had been designed for him all along. He spent nights working the wire against the metal frame of the bed, scraping it down until it was thin, sharp, and pliable. His hands bled for the effort, but he never stopped.

When the lock finally clicked open one silent night, Jackie didn’t cry. He just stared at the collar resting loose in his hands, and then fit it back around his neck, making sure the latch only looked shut.

And then, he waited. He needed one last piece: her trust.

The night of the plan, he played his part perfectly — letting her braid his hair, even asking for it. His voice soft, almost affectionate, as he mumbled, "I... missed when you used to do this, Phia."

Sophia’s hands trembled, pausing mid-braid. That little nickname — it had been so long. She didn’t want to read into it, but her heart ached with hope.

When she finished, Jackie turned, eyes wide and soft, and asked quietly, “Could you.....” a hesitant pause, and a deliberate one "The lingerie, could you help me try it on?"

Her whole body stilled. The words she’d longed to hear — an olive branch she’d imagined, but never thought would come. She nodded, swallowing hard, trying not to let her hope show.

Trembling hands reached for the shelf she knew he kept the lacy items on, she had stared at them hundreds of times, wondering if Jackie ever tried them on. Her attention was split, her gaze was soft, hesitant.

And that’s when he struck.

As she reached over, fingertips ghosting the soft fabric, he gave the collar a hard yank, popping the clasp and with a desperate movement, he shoved the metal collar around her throat.

The sound of the lock clicking shut was louder than any scream.

Jackie scrambled back, shoving himself agaisnt the far wall, out of her reach

Sophia’s breath hitched, but she didn’t fight. She didn’t even move.

She sank to her knees, hands gently curling around the collar’s weight, her head bowed. The silence stretched between them until her voice finally broke through, soft and so unbearably sad.

"...Jackie."

She’d known, deep down, this would happen. She’d always known. But the moment still shattered something inside her.

He stood there, pressing himself against the wall, as far from her as he could get, his chest heaving, tears already burning the corners of his eyes.

And Sophia? She just looked up at him, offering the smallest, almost forgiving smile.

“I always wondered... when you’d stop letting me win.”

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Jackie ran — faster than he thought his legs could carry him, heart clawing at his throat, lungs burning, the cold air upstairs slicing at his skin like it was trying to wake him from a dream.

The front door stood there, just a few feet away. Freedom. A world he’d almost forgotten how to exist in. His hand shot out for the lock — but froze, suspended midair.

Out of the corner of his eye, in the glass of a painting hung by the hallway, something caught him. A flicker. A ghost, maybe. But when he turned, it wasn’t a ghost at all.

It was him.

No — not him.

For the first time in more than two years, the face looking back wasn’t the miserable, hollow-eyed boy he'd carried like a burden his whole life. The sunken cheeks were gone, the harsh angles softened. His eyes, still wide, still scared, held something new behind them. His hair tumbled long and unkempt around his face, framing it the way he never believed it could.

He didn’t look like the person who’d been dragged down those basement stairs.

He didn’t look like Jackson.

His feet moved on their own, away from the door, away from the promise of outside. He stumbled into the bathroom, flicking the light on with trembling fingers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, stared at himself — fully, clearly.

And he didn’t hate what he saw.

The reflection was imperfect, unfinished, awkward in the way all new things are — but it was his. The curve of his face, the softened lines of his jaw, the swell of his chest beneath a shirt that hung too loose in all the wrong places, the way his hair slipped down over his shoulders.

He reached up, fingertips grazing his cheek, his lips, his throat.

It wasn’t the boy who needed to escape anymore.

It was the girl who had never been allowed to exist.

And the thought hit him harder than any locked door or heavy collar ever could:

Who am I, if not Jackson?

For the first time, the question wasn’t terrifying. It felt like a beginning.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Jackie didn’t go back downstairs.

Not right away.

The bathroom felt like another world, sealed off from the weight of the house — from the weight of her past self. The cold tile pressed through the thin cotton of her pants, the chill soaking into her bones, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

She sat there, back against the bathtub, knees pulled tight to her chest, eyes fixed on the foggy mirror as if the girl she’d seen there might disappear if she blinked too long.

Her mind was a storm. Guilt and relief clawed at each other inside her chest, raw and tangled. She should’ve run. She was supposed to run. That’s what this had all been about — the planning, the quiet obedience, the pills swallowed without protest, the collar unlocked, the trap laid.

Freedom was only a few feet away. And she couldn’t take it.

Not yet.

She wasn’t the same person who had been dragged down into that basement. That boy — Jackson — he’d been left behind somewhere along the way, his sharp edges worn away by months of silence, the slow drip of change, and the bittersweet comfort of Sophia’s presence.

And now... who was she?

She traced circles against her own wrist, fingers brushing over the soft skin — softer than she remembered, the kind of softness that wasn’t earned through survival, but through something else. Something intentional.

Every inch of her body felt foreign and familiar all at once. She’d grown used to the changes — the slight curve of her chest, the way her waist pinched in, the way her voice sometimes hit softer notes even when she wasn’t trying. But this was the first time she’d seen it. The first time the mirror hadn't lied.

She let her head fall back against the cold porcelain, closing her eyes.

Her chest ached. But not with fear, not anymore. Something else bloomed there now — hesitant, trembling, but undeniably alive.

The world beyond that front door would demand answers. Names. Identities.

And for the first time, Jackie didn’t know what to give them.

She didn’t cry. Not right away. The tears came later, soft and tired, when the weight of it all pressed too hard. When she let herself grieve the boy she was, the boy she was never meant to be.

And when the tears stopped, and the silence settled heavy and warm, she whispered the words to herself, testing their shape like a secret:

I’m still here.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The house had been silent for hours.

Sophia hadn’t moved from where she knelt on the basement floor, her hands still resting loosely in her lap, her breathing shallow and even. The collar around her neck felt heavier with each passing minute, a weight she wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted to take off. She knew this moment would come — she'd known from the moment her hands first trembled over a syringe, from the moment she'd crossed that line. But knowing and feeling it were two different things entirely.

The sharp click of the basement door latch made her flinch.

Her heart stilled. For the briefest moment, she imagined the heavy tread of boots — police, neighbors, someone who would take her away, finally. But the sound that followed wasn’t the cold stomp of authority.

It was soft.

Gentle footfalls. Careful, hesitant. Light.

She lifted her head.

And there, standing at the foot of the stairs, was Jackie.

But not the boy she’d known. Not the angry, flinching creature who’d once scowled at her from behind a curtain of unkempt hair. The figure that stood before her now held something else in her eyes. Not defiance. Not hatred. Not even fear.

Something unspoken hung in the air between them. A question neither of them had the strength to ask.

Sophia swallowed, her voice barely a whisper, fragile and cracked at the edges.

"...Jackie?"

The name tasted wrong on her tongue. And from the way the girl’s lips pressed into a soft, uncertain line — as if she didn’t quite recognize it either — Sophia understood.

“Sophia.”

The name floated from her lips like it had always belonged there, tender and careful, spoken as though saying it too loud might shatter the fragile thread stretched between them.

Sophia’s breath hitched at the sound, her chest tightening with something heavier than guilt, heavier than relief. It wasn’t the voice of the boy she'd once known — not entirely. It wasn’t the sharp, defiant child who had fought her every step of the way. It was new, unsteady, a little broken around the edges, but undeniably hers.

And for the first time, Sophia didn’t see the person she'd forced, or the person she'd tried to protect — she saw the person who had grown, against all odds, between the cracks.

Jackie stepped forward, slow and uncertain, like every part of her body was learning to move for the first time. One step. Another. The gap between them dissolved with each quiet, cautious motion until she stood in front of Sophia, the woman who had been both captor and comfort, the only home Jackie had ever really known.

Without a word, Jackie lowered herself to her knees, mirroring Sophia’s position on the cold concrete floor.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The silence wasn’t heavy with fear or anger anymore — only the weight of everything unsaid. Everything they couldn’t put into words.

Jackie’s voice, when it came again, was quiet. Fragile. Barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t know who I am.”

And Sophia, her throat tightening, her voice cracking under the force of all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t, only managed a simple reply.

“…I know.”

The silence between them stretched long and heavy, filled with everything they’d been too afraid to say, everything they hadn’t known how to say. The air was thick with questions neither of them had answers to yet, and neither of them seemed to know where to start. It wasn’t comfortable — but it was real. Raw. True.

Sophia swallowed hard, her heart shattering in a thousand ways, yet she couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up from her chest. It was nervous, uncertain, but it came with the kind of ease that only a shared history could provide.

“Well… at least the collar’s not choking you anymore.”

Jackie’s lips trembled, the fight she had carried for so long crumbling with that one off-hand joke. Her eyes welled with tears that threatened to spill, and for a moment, she just stared at Sophia, seeing the woman she had once been and the stranger she was now.

The sound of her quiet laugh — a laugh that wasn’t forced — broke something in both of them. Sophia’s own tears followed, spilling over without warning, a fragile release of the tension that had weighed them down for so long.

Jackie let out a small, choked laugh, almost a sob, and for the first time in forever, she felt it. The lightness. The tiny flicker of freedom. It wasn’t complete. It wasn’t perfect. But it was there.

Sophia’s voice trembled, trying to hold on to the last shred of humor between them. “I guess... I didn’t get the size right, huh?”

And despite everything, despite the years, despite the pain, they both laughed. A soft, quiet sound that was more healing than anything else had been in a long time. Their tears mixed, not in sorrow, but in something that felt like a fresh start — the first step to something neither of them could quite grasp yet.

But they were there, together.

And that, at least, was enough for now.

----------------------------------------------------------------

The sun streamed in through the open window, warm golden light spilling across the cozy living room. It was quiet, serene. Jackie sat at the desk by the window, the soft click of keys filling the air as she typed, her focus entirely on the code flickering across the screen. It had been years since she’d felt this at peace, and the realization still hit her sometimes, like the calm after a storm.

From the kitchen, the familiar sound of Sophia humming softly, the clink of dishes as she prepared lunch, was a comforting reminder of just how far they had come. The past felt like an eternity, the pain, the struggles, now distant memories that were slowly fading, replaced with something more real, something that felt like home.

"Jackie!" Sophia’s voice drifted in, sweet and teasing, like it always had been. She entered the room, holding a cup of tea in one hand and a small plate of cookies in the other, a soft smile playing on her lips. Her presence still had the same calming effect on Jackie, even after all these years.

Jackie smiled, her fingers pausing on the keyboard as she turned to face her. "What's that?" she asked, the warmth in her voice unmistakable. The years had turned her into someone different, someone stronger, but it was Sophia's touch that always brought her back to who she had been — and who she was becoming.

Sophia sat beside her, placing the plate of cookies on the desk, then handing over the tea. "Just thought you might need a little break. You’ve been at that screen all morning." She stroked Jackie’s hair gently, her fingers lingering as if she could never quite get enough of the simple touch. There was so much tenderness in her actions now, a tenderness that Jackie had come to recognize as a part of her love.

Jackie took the tea, her hand brushing against Sophia’s as their fingers intertwined for a brief moment. There was no tension now, no fear, just the comfortable rhythm of two lives that had found their way back to each other.

"It's perfect," Jackie whispered, her voice thick with gratitude, her smile full of something deeper now. "Thank you, Sophia. You always know exactly what I need."

Sophia laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from Jackie's face. "You deserve it. All of it. Every bit of it."

Jackie’s heart skipped at the softness in Sophia’s voice. There was a time when she would’ve fought against the comfort, against the love. But now? Now, it felt like the only thing that truly mattered.

As they sat there, together, the weight of their past no longer felt like a burden but a testament to their survival. The collar was gone, the pain had faded, and now they could focus on the future they were building together.

And that future, as they both knew now, wasn’t just about surviving anymore. It was about living. Truly living.

---

A few months earlier, things had been different. A sunny day on a hill, the warm breeze fluttering their hair as they sat on a blanket, surrounded by the vast expanse of sky and grass. They’d had a picnic, their laughter filling the air, untainted by the past. It was then that Sophia had reached into her bag, pulling out a small box, her eyes full of love, full of vulnerability.

"Sophia..." Jackie had whispered, her breath catching in her throat. "What... what are you doing?"

And then, with a soft smile, Sophia had taken her hand, the box in her palm. "Will you marry me, Jackie?"

It had taken Jackie a moment to process the question, to feel the weight of it. To realize that, yes, after everything, after all they’d been through — she wanted this. She wanted Sophia. She wanted a future with her.

The answer had come easy, tears welling in her eyes as she whispered, "Yes."

And that yes had changed everything.

---

Now, here they were, living together, building something new. Jackie, once locked in a basement, now working from home, her skills in software giving her the freedom she’d always dreamed of. The work was hard, challenging, but it was hers. It was something she could control, something that had been built through years of struggle and survival. And with Sophia by her side, it felt like everything was possible.

"I love you," Jackie whispered as she took Sophia’s hand again, her thumb brushing the back of her palm.

Sophia’s eyes softened, and she leaned in to kiss the top of Jackie’s head, the gesture so simple, yet so intimate. "I love you, too," she replied, and for a moment, there was nothing more important than that.

Their lives, though far from perfect, were finally their own — and that was enough.

#bittersweet #emotional manipulation #trauma bonding #tender captivity #toxic devotion #slow burn #forcefem #force feminization #soft #psycological transformation #captivity and care #found self #dark fiction #hurt/comfort #soft angst #romantic tragedy #lesbian

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milfjuulpod · 1 year ago

Text

five times melissa is possessive

content warnings: mentions of alcohol

“You get locked out of your computer again?” You asked with a smile as you entered Melissa’s classroom. She had texted you that she needed help with something, so here you were within a minute. “No, I can't find the worksheets I downloaded and I don’t even know what to search for. I’m so frustrated I wanna rip the computer off the desk and chuck it out the window,” The older teacher responded, getting out of her chair to make room for you and leaning against the desk she threatened to do damage to.

Sitting down, you began combing through her files in her downloads folder. You found them immediately, but didn’t wanna bruise her ego by telling her straight away. You leaned back, and a small but ornate picture frame caught your eye. Inside, it held a photo of you and Melissa, standing outside of a restaurant downtown.

You remembered that day like it was yesterday. It was the first time you had hung out with the redhead outside of work, the two of you arrived together meeting everyone to watch a game.

“C’mon hon, I’ll drive you home.”

“Wait! I need a picture, of us.”

Melissa’s laugh was like music to your ears, a symphony of happiness and warmth. “A picture? For what? Proof that I didn’t kidnap ya?”

“No silly, proof that we hung out and had a good time. You know, for the memories.”

She chuckled but accepted, wrapping her arm around your waist as she pulled you in and leaned in close for the picture.

“Perfect. I’ll send it to you.”

“Whatcha lookin’ at over there?” Melissa’s voice pulled you from the memory. “This picture of us, cute that you have it up here,” You told her, tracing your fingers over the details on the frame. She smiled before responding, “Yeah, I like to look at it throughout the day, it reminds me that I still have good things in the world.”

II.

The gym was full of bustling bodies getting ready to hear the announcement Abbott’s fun-loving principal had prepared for the day. Of course right next to each other were Melissa and Barbara, but Melissa’s purse held the seat to her right. Countless times she denied teachers and staff the chair, despite how full the room was getting. She was running out of excuses at this point, even Barbara had to ask. “Who are you holding that seat for?”

As if on cue, you finally came through the double doors. Janine waved you over to her, somehow she saved and scored seats close enough to the front, but a low voice stopped you from continuing in that direction.

“Hey, kid,” Melissa hollered for you and motioned you towards her. Silently, you stood for a second, torn between the better seat and Melissa. Not to mention if you ignored Janine, you’d have to spend the next week making up for it. Upsetting Melissa, you’d have to spend the next...

Quickly you made up your mind and walked towards the redhead, and she moved her purse just in time for you to sit down. You mouthed an apology to your other friend just in time.

“Finally, what took you so long?” Melissa asked you quietly, as Ava could now be seen on stage.

“Sorry, I was trying to finish up the last batch of test grading for the week.” You answered, honestly. Trying to keep your voices down, Melissa and you scooted closer together, leaning into each other’s spaces. Although, you noticed the older woman had stuck her heeled boot around the leg of your chair and you realized you couldn’t move it if you tried.

Despite Ava starting her announcement, Melissa kept talking to you. “It’s okay, hon. I just had to fight off a couple of vultures to keep this seat for ya.” You blushed at the idea of Melissa shooing people away from the chair you currently occupied.

“You didn’t have to do that, y’know. Save the seat for me and all. I’m sure I would’ve found space somewhere. But thank you.” Melissa huffed at your response and tried (barely) to not roll her eyes. “I know, but I like sitting here. I always sit here.”

You squinted at her for a moment, trying to connect the dots between your statement and hers. What did it matter that she liked sitting here? Nonetheless, you started paying attention to whatever the principal was talking about now, in hopes that it had been enough time for her beginning rambles to have subsided.

As the presentation came to an end, slowly everyone shuffled out of the gym and to their respective rooms, and quietly the three of you waited in your chairs for the masses to leave. While people-watching the room, you picked up on the conversation to your left.

“I should’ve known,” Barbara muttered to her friend. You assumed Melissa gave her a confused look, because Barbara not-so-subtly gestured to you and your seat. Melissa just rolled her eyes once again, but turned her attention to you. Her green eyes made you feel a rush of emotions as they met your own. “Hi,” she said quietly, as if she was worried about scaring you off. “Hi,” you replied. “Ready to go?” She asked, grabbing both of your bags off the floor as the two of you stood up.

The walk back to everyone’s classrooms was quiet, but you didn’t miss the look Barbara gave her friend again as she made her way into her own room. “Here’s your bag, hon. I’ll see you at lunch?” Melissa asked, handing you your belongings as she leaned against the doorframe of your classroom. “Yes you will, and thank you.” You replied, trying to hide the blush with your hair as you took your bag from Melissa and finally found peace inside your own classroom.

III.

You walked with your favorite redhead up and down the aisles of the grocery store, picking up ingredients for dinner tonight. After having a rough day, Melissa offered to make you dinner. You agreed, but only if she’d let you be there for every part, including the store. Usually the Italian liked keeping every part of cooking to herself, but she found herself enjoying sharing it with you. Even the mundane aspects like the grocery store were turned into such a lovely time between the two of you.

“I’ll go pick out the onions for the sauce, last time I left the job to someone else I regretted it. Would you mind picking out the wine hon? I’ll meet ya over there and then we can check out.” Melissa asked before leaving the aisle the two of you were in.

“Sure, see you over there,” You replied, and the two of you split ways momentarily. Taking your time, you slowly went down the first aisle of wines, reading each label carefully. Even though Melissa always trusted you with the wine, you were nervous every time. Down the second aisle, a gentleman approached you.

“Need help finding anything ma’am?” He asked. You took a step back from the wines before replying.

“Oh, no, thank you. My friend will be here in just a moment.” You went back to scanning the bottles, but the employee continued talking.

“I see you’re looking at our Bogle merlot! You know there’s a great winery with a merlot that has a very similar palette.”

“That’s nice, is it close by?” You asked to be nice, but didn’t bother looking at the man.

“It is, I know this area very well. Grew up here my whole life.” He replied. A couple minutes passed like this, him grasping at straws to continue the conversation and you completely disinterested. Finally, you grabbed a bottle and started walking away.

“Y’know if that’s all you’re getting I can check you out over here!” He offered. Before you could deny him yourself, a familiar voice spoke up from behind the two of you.

“She’s with me actually, we were just leaving,” Melissa announced her presence and began walking towards the two of you. You hoped the employee couldn’t read her as well as you could, but based on his wide eyes, your hope fell flat. It was clear the redhead was annoyed, and annoyed at him no less. She refused to break eye contact with him, glaring the entire time. When she caught up to you, she didn’t bother slowing down as she looped her arm with yours and continued to the checkout line.

“Took long enough Mel,” You teased, hoping to calm her down. Her lack of response told you it didn’t work. “I’m excited for dinner tonight, and I hope you liked the wine I picked out.”

“I’m sure I will, and I hope that guy loses his job here so he can stop preying on pretty girls that come by to get wine for their dinner plans,” She spat, but not at you. She was good at never making it at you.

“Oh calm down, babe. He was just doing his job,” You lied. You knew he was being a little too nice to you, but Melissa didn’t need to know those details.

“Well he was doing it too well for my liking.”

“I’ll make sure to never leave your side at the grocery store again, that way if another too good employee comes by you can stop them for me,” You joked. Melissa smiled again, and it was a beautiful sight to see.

“Good, I don’t like getting mean in front of ya.”

“Yes, you do!” You laughed. Melissa loved getting an attitude in front of you. She knew you liked it just as much as she did.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

IV.

Melissa knew she had a jealous streak, and when it came to you, a possessive streak as well. Most of the time neither of you minded, it made you feel special and the redhead feel wanted. Occasionally, Melissa had a hard time containing her emotions, especially the feelings she has towards you. She hated when those came to the surface.

So she sat, filled with jealousy and self-pity, as she watched you ignore her existence throughout the entire lunch period. Usually, you sat right next to her, she could talk about her morning and you would listen, occasionally offer advice. She loved getting to hear your version of your morning, since it was usually very dramatic and made her giggle, always.

Not today, though. Today, you were too occupied with the new librarian. Instead of listening to Melissa rambling, you were listening to him. She knew you didn’t like men very much, but it didn’t matter. The fact that you didn’t even greet her and there was only ten minutes left of lunch was enough to ruin her mood. Before the bell rang, Melissa sighed and packed up her things as quickly as she could. She said goodbye to Barbara, but not to you. If you weren’t going to say hello, she wasn’t going to say goodbye. She did, however, give you a dirty look at the last second before the door shut behind her.

You froze, it had been a long, long time since Melissa has given you a look like that one. Usually it was reserved for serious issues or people she didn’t care for too much, so you started going over the day in your head wondering what was going on with her. This morning you hadn’t seen her, and you hadn’t stopped by to chat with her for lunch yet, so-

There it was. With a sigh of relief you ended your conversations and made your way to the feisty redhead’s classroom. Instead of knocking, you slowly opened the door and allowed yourself in.

“Hi lovely, how was your lunch? I didn’t get a chance to talk to you so I wanted to stop by before grabbing the kiddos,” You announced your presence to the other woman, which went almost ignored. It wasn’t until you made it all the way to her desk that she spoke to you.

“Lunch was fine, I noticed you were busy with the fresh new hire so I kept my distance. Seemed like you needed it,” She responded shortly. She knew what she was doing was wrong, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted your attention desperately, even if it was negative.

“Melissa...” You started, waiting for her to meet your gaze before continuing. She looked at you with anger, but you knew her, you knew that look. The only other time it happened was when you ditched your plans with her for an impromptu tinder date that went poorly. (She never let you live that mistake down, by the way). She was hurt, her feelings were hurt and she didn’t want to tell you.

“Why are you yelling at me? Is it because I didn’t talk to you all day?” You asked with a hint of teasing in your voice, enough to let Melissa know you were serious but not upset with her. She nodded, still having trouble admitting exactly what was going on inside the beautiful mind of hers.

“You know just because I’m friends with other people doesn’t mean I love you any less. And if you wanted to talk to me, you could’ve done so.”

Melissa sat there for a moment, digesting your words slowly. She looked away before responding. “I know, I just-It’s hard. I want your attention but I don’t want to ask for it. If you’re not giving it to me then I just think you don’t want to anymore.”

“Mel, no, no.” You stepped closer into her bubble and leaned against her desk. “I’ll stop anything I’m doing for you. Just ask, if I’m not showering you with enough love and affection already.” She smiled at that, thankful to realize you weren’t that mad at her.

“Okay, sorry for snapping at you hon. I won’t do it again,” Melissa looked up at you through her eyelashes and pouted out her bottom lip. You knew it would probably happen again, but you didn’t care. After a few months of nonstop flirting and teasing, you figured out Melissa returned some sort of feelings for you. However, it was just as clear that she was scared of whatever this was. Every time the two of you got close to having that conversation, she backed away. You could practically see the words falling off her lips before she would swallow them again. So you remained patient with her, she was worth waiting for. That much you knew.

“It’s okay my love, just save the glare for the other guy next time, yeah?” You playfully shoved her shoulder to punctuate your sentence, which got you an eye roll from the Italian. “Yeah, yeah, you’re fine.” You gave her one more sincere smile and hopped off the desk to go back to your own classroom.

“Hon?” Melissa’s voice stopped you at the door.

“Yeah?”

“I love you too.”

It had been a few weeks since Melissa’s last “outburst,” if you would even call it that. But the “days since last incident” counter was about to go down to zero.

Melissa sat at the bar, waiting for your drink and hers, as she watched you float between your friends. She let her green eyes roam over your figure, the way your dress hugged your skin so tightly, she wished it was her own hands. The way you so effortlessly swayed your hips to the music, like you didn’t even realize it was happening. The older woman was so mesmerized, she almost missed the bartender setting down the two drinks beside her. As soon as she got sight though, she grabbed them and made her way over to you.

Out of the corner of your eye, there she was, beautiful as ever. It didn’t matter if it was the alcohol or Melissa, but you felt incredible.

“Thank you beautiful, what do I owe ya?” You asked as you grabbed your drink from your friend’s hand.

“How about a dance?” She answered your question with a question. Melissa let you take a couple sips before taking the drink back and dropping them off with your friends. As she turned around, the woman was about as red as her hair when she saw a man coming up behind you getting ready to try and dance.

You don’t know whose hands were on you first, but very quickly you were behind Melissa as she was staring down a much taller man.

“Can we help you?” She yelled more than she asked, keeping an arm over your side as she kept you behind her. You knew what was about to happen, the stranger was going to say something sly, Melissa would say something worse, and you’d calm her down before getting her on the dance floor again. Something in you decided to change that routine though, usually you stayed quiet when she got this way, stayed clear from the path of Schemmenti rage and watched thoroughly entertained.

Instead of staying out of her way this time and waiting for her, you leaned into it. How could you not when Melissa was getting ready to fight someone over you? You placed your hand gently over hers and rested your chin on her shoulder, immediately noticing her eyes flash over to you. Her grip tightened around your thigh in response.

“I was just trying to dance with a pretty girl, didn’t know that was a problem,” The stranger spoke and took a few steps back, throwing his hands up in false surrender.

“It is.” Melissa said, about to take a step forward, unwilling to let him get away. You felt her body shift against you and quickly wrapped your left arm around her, holding her against you.

“Baby, should we step outside for a second?” You asked Melissa, making a point to let her feel your breath linger for a second. She might get onto you for making her so flustered later, but that would be better than getting kicked out for a bar fight.

Without answering, she took your hand in hers and led you to the back exit, ignoring the questioning looks from your friends behind you. The cold wind felt sobering against your hot skin, although your hand was kept warm by Melissa’s. She was gripping it so tightly still, you wondered why she was still so frustrated.

“Mel? Are you okay?” You asked. Letting go of her hand you stood in front of her, gently brushing a few stray hairs behind her ear. Her cheeks were still so red, hands clammy, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen her look at you so wide-eyed before.

“I...” She started. Melissa looked at your lips for a moment before returning to your gaze. “He can’t touch you like that.”

“I don’t even think he got a chance before you were back over there. Besides, why can’t he?” You challenged her. It was risky, hopefully with a reward.

She tightened her grip on your hand and pulled you close so your bodies were flush together. Sure, you knew a couple tricks to make Melissa blush or get flustered, but she was exceptionally good at it. Her fingers against your lower back started moving back and forth, sending chills up your spine. Her other hand let go of yours and found itself getting tangled in your hair.

“Because dolcezza, can he touch you like this? Hm? Would you be this needy for anyone else? You’re mine, you know you are.” The older woman’s words sent heat through your body.

“Prove it then.”

As quickly as the words were out of your mouth, Melissa’s lips were on yours. She was gentle at first, giving you an opportunity to stop if you want. When your own hands found themselves reaching to touch her more, she knew she got you. Her hand in your hair tugged a bit, and when you moaned in response Melissa took the opportunity to taste you. Feeling her groans against you, because of you, was a new high you would forever be chasing. Her grip on you was tight, she was unrelenting, not wanting to let you out of her sight again.

It was like the past few weeks of Melissa keeping her mouth shut had built up inside of her, she needed you, and she needed you to know that. Feeling herself getting too worked up, she gave you a few more kisses before pulling away. You couldn’t help but whine when she did so, missing her lips already.

“Yknow, I might keep letting people flirt with me if it means you kiss me like that every time,” You softly spoke. Melissa couldn’t help but laugh at that, even though the both of you knew she would not put up with that. Certainly not anymore. You were finally hers.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary fics #reader fic #wlw fic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti headcanon #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti imagine

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with-my-calamitous-love · 8 months ago

Text

last 5 years running out my mouth

katsuki bakugou x reader

one night, amongst the crowds and the music, katsuki wonders why he’s looking for you- he knows you don’t go to parties, anymore. themes of (katsuki’s) depression and substance usage

i love you 5sos nation 🪐 inspired by you dont go to parties

5 am.

katsuki’s clinging to his couch. everyone on his contact list, and everyone on their contact lists and so forth, stood in his house. red, drunken eyes dart around, as if looking for someone. though he knows its futile. you’re not there. at least, not anymore.

he groans, sitting up. he needs to vomit. this isn’t a good look for a new, fresh-faced hero. he pushes through the crowds, starting to kick people out. he didn’t care where they went, just not here.

he knocked over a vase. he’s probably offended a bunch of people. he’s trying to make it to a place in the apartment that doesn’t reek of alcohol and dead dreams- an ambitious attempt, to put it nicely.

he groans, bumping into someone. he grows even more frustrated when he sees who it is.

“katsuki, you’ve gotta sit down, man.” kirishima says, directing his friend to the bedroom. kirishima is a party goer, but lately, he knows to stay sober enough to keep things in check. someone had to be bakugou’s jailor.

katsuki doesn’t protest, sitting down while the redhead ushers everyone out of the house. he sighs, returning to the bedroom, seeing bakugou sitting there, his head in his hands.

“fuck… i don’t know.” he pinches the bridge of his nose. he doesn’t curse out of anger or hatred; he curses out of sadness. katsuki sits there, like theres vultures spinning around him, waiting for their time to strike.

what a tragedy.

bakugou opens his mouth to say something, but the overwhelming urge to vomit takes over. kirishima walks over, pushing him onto the bed and making sure he lays on his side. he stares, heartbroken, wondering where it all went wrong.

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you prayed he’d just talk to you, about his fears and about his doubts. you wish he’d be honest about his panic attacks, especially after the war. he’d wake up in a cold sweat, remembering the fighting, remembering the tears. but some invisible barricade caged his feelings inside his heart. this had to be his battle.

he’s still there in the darkness, feeling like a heartless monster. he’s starting to come undone, the sadness in his bones seeping into the security and confidence once embedded in him. maybe he isn’t who he set out to be in the first place.

but he’s not gonna let you know that.

“told you i’m find, moron.” he says, spooning you. he hopes you don’t notice how glossy his red eyes are, but you do.

“katsuki, please-“

“i’m fine.”

you bite your lip. if you can’t get him to open up, maybe you can take his mind off of it. a party never hurt anybody, right?

“…denki’s throwing this get-together tomorrow night.” you say, proposing the idea to him. “its a reunion for our class. we should go. it’ll get your mind off of… whatever it is.”

he scoffs, musing that he’s too good for parties. “yeah, a bunch of lightweight assholes i have to drive home? no thanks.”

“oh c’mon, it’ll be fun.” you pout.

it’ll be fun, and because you’re desperate to see a smile on his face again, even if its from laughing at his friends drunken antics. anything that’ll have even a semblance of your katsuki back.

“i’ll think about it.” he can’t say no to that face.

and that was the first time you ever saw katsuki drink.

he can handle his alcohol well, actually. he keeps you close by him, starting with one shot, and then another, and then kissing your neck in front of all your friends while his bitter breath tickles your skin.

he was laughing, enjoying himself. he was surrounded by people who diminished his doubts. a night of partying and fun did him some good.

what you didn’t anticipate, however, was how often he was attending them now.

the fame followed him everywhere. katsuki would end up in different celebrities’s basements, with close friends or even strangers. at first, you went with him. but it were as if the alcohol formed oceans between you two, separating you from katsuki.

he’s spiralling and you can see it. he’d chase down all that pain with shots, and all that trauma with drunken dares and released inhibitions. at first, you went with him to have fun. then, you went with him to make sure he didn’t take his foot off the breaks. now, you couldn’t bring yourself to go at all.

“katsuki, you need to stop.” you say, following one of his nasty hangovers.

he groans, clutching his temples. “don’t… god, you’re making my head spin, [y/n].”

“i’m making your head spin?” you scoff. “no, thats because you were out till 3 last night.”

“it was denki’s birthday.” he tries to excuse himself.

“no, it was sero’s, and they told me you were shitfaced for most of it!” you raise your voice, tears brimming.

his eyes widen, seeing how upset you are. he knows its irresponsible, but he also knows being drunk was a way to feel something, anything other than sad. given the choice between drowning in whiskey and drowning in tears, he chose the one that was capable of poisoning him.

“please.” you plead. “stop with the parties, with the drinking. its hurting you!”

“i have it under control!”

“you don’t!”

he stands up, his hangover more evident than ever. “god fucking damnit, [y/n]. if all you’re gonna do is bitch and moan like a fucking extra, just go!”

exactly 2 seconds in, katsuki realized what he said. but he’s too late.

theres a palpable silence in the air, followed by the sniffling crinkle of your nose as the tears cascade down.

“[y/n], babe, baby, i’m sorry. fuck, i-“

you slap him, cutting him off. his head whips to the side, just taking it. he wants to argue back, but he knows he deserved that.

you pack up your things, and he doesn’t have it in him to try and stop you. he begs in his mind for you to stay. secretly, you’re begging that he’ll beg.

but he doesn’t. and you leave.

subsequently, katsuki’s partying habit goes from controlled to dangerous.

he’s never not drunk, never not out doing something with people he doesn’t know. he’s always staying just a bit too late, but always manages to kick himself out in time to get to work. he’s always irritable, in part to the hangovers but largely in part to your absence.

people are starting to catch on. maybe not the fans, who adore him and his looks no matter what, but his colleagues have noticed a shift. the no-bullshit, toughed out dynamight sunk somewhere beneath his rising blood-alcohol levels.

still, he looks for you. he wonders if you’re still on the couch, singing karaoke with your friends, belting and humming along to the tunes. he thinks you might be in the kitchen, making yourself a drink and calling an uber in advance. or maybe you’re in the washroom, overstimulated, your anxiety taking over. anxiety he knows all too well. the anxiety he tried to hide beneath parties.

some nights, he’ll drunkenly stumble into the washroom, whether its his own or someone else’s. he’ll wonder if you’re there, sitting on the sink, ready to leave with him to your shared home.

but its another lonely night.

you don’t go to parties anymore.

because you’ve stayed at home, crying over photos, wearing his hoodies. everything you’ve learned about katsuki during your split had been against your will. there was silence from him, but the whispers of news and gossip tabloids could scream. you’re mad, yes, but you also pray for his safety.

selfishly so, you hope he still looks for you at those parties. at least there, he cares a little. maybe even more than you realize.

right now, he’s sitting on the couch with kirishima, denki, and sero. though all of them have had a bit to drink, katsuki is undoubtedly the worst of them all. he’s bitching about you, about missing you, about how you left him.

“she just.. got up and fucking left.” he slurs, leaning his head back. the mood is killed, and no one really has the energy to argue. except maybe for denki, who points out the obvious.

“you told her to leave. and she had a good reason for bringing it up to you, dude.” denki says. “can’t blame her for walking out on you.”

silence. the calm before the storm.

exactly 5 seconds later, katsuki is positively losing his shit, yelling at denki who just sits there, dumbfounded. kirishima is holding his friend back while sero attempts to position himself between the two. its one thing to be yelled at. but being yelled at by katsuki bakugou? thats something else.

“i don’t know what to do, man.” sero says, looking at eijirou for answers. the redhead honestly isn’t sure either. one thought crosses his mind, but he’s worried.

“get him to sit down.” eijirou says. “i’m calling [y/n].”

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“hello?” you say into the receiver. theres a pit in your stomach hearing ejirou’s voice, knowing he wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t an emergency.

“hey [y/n], listen… katsuki’s drunk, and he’s yelling at denki… i’m so sorry, but… you think you can come get him?”

god, its exhausting being a good person sometimes.

“yeah, i’ll be right there.” you huff, grabbing your car keys. eijirou thanks you, knowing you might be the one thing that calms him down right now.

all 3 boys help get him into your car. your heart clenches, seeing just how badly he’s been doing. he’s sick, and he’s tired. his eyes are swollen from crying, you know it.

eijirou leaves you with a long hug, arms embracing you. “take care.” he says. “call me if he acts up. he might need someone to kick his ass.”

you chuckle, for what feels like the first time in forever. “yeah, he could.”

when you re-enter the car, you don’t start it right away. you look over at katsuki in the passenger seat. maybe he’s starting to sober up, or he’s drunk enough where he’s starting to be honest.

“i’m so fuckin’ sorry, babe.” he says. you just nod, eyes welling up with tears, words failing you.

he laughs bitterly, head leaning your way. “i’m a mess, [y/n]. like, a real mess. doctor told me i have depression. i didn’t tell you ‘cause i didn’t wanna look weak. pathetic, right? i feel pretty weak right now.”

you look over at him, already wanting to cry all over again. you should have seen the signs. right now, they are so glaringly obvious- the detachment, the avoidance, the drinking….

“and i miss you more than anything.” he says. “i wish i just… talked to you more. even if its your shitty knock-knock jokes.”

you’re crying, but you do scoff a little, holding his hand. “my knock-knock jokes are not stupid.”

“knock knock.” he says.

“who’s there?”

“i still love you. and thats the worst part about all these damn parties… you weren’t there. i don’t care about parties if you’re not there.”

that might have been the most sober thing he’s said all night.

you don’t say anything, not ready to forgive. but you do place a kiss to his cheek before driving him home.

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a few days later, katsuki shows up to your house at 9 o’clock sharp- a new record considering the recent events. he called in advance, but your heart still skips a little when you open the door and motion for him to enter.

the bags under his eyes have reduced. he’s nor slurring his words, and he’s not snapping at all. he seems… better.

“i uh… brought you coffee.” he says, awkwardly handing you the cup. “i got you some sugar and creamer, cause i didn’t know how you like it.” he shoves his hands into his pocket and takes out the packets.

“katsuki, i have that all here.” you almost laugh at his nervousness. its clear that this has taken a hold on him. as he sobers, he feels the need to rebuild himself again.

“right, sorry, smartass.” he says, he sounds like an asshole, but its a nickname you’ve both grown used to.

physically, he seems like he’s finally gotten some rest. on the inside, however, you can see the turmoil in his eyes. he had spent weeks drunk on distractions. now, he’s facing all the things he’s fucked up.

you think back to what he said in the car. about his diagnosis, about his struggles. you wonder just how long he’s been feeling that tv static in his head, how long he’s been bullying himself. you wonder how strong his demons are, how they’ve got hands and how he was struggling to fight them.

it breaks your heart.

“i… i know what i told you the other night.” he huffs, hands in his pockets. “i remember that much.”

“…why didn’t you say anything?” you dare to utter, wanting to see his pain and wanting to shield him from it.

he pauses, finding the right words. “…i don’t know. i’m a hero, i’m the god damn best. i didn’t wanna look weak.”

“depression isn’t a weakness, kats.” you remind him, that familiar nickname rolling off of your tongue in a way that makes his heart ache. “especially after everything you’ve been through.”

he knows what you mean. the relentless training, the fights, all the times he thought he was going to die. honestly, he didn’t think he’d make it this far. everyday could have been his last.

“it just… hurts.” he admits, wincing at the vulnerability in his tone. “so damn much… like… i don’t know. like i’m trapped.”

his voice cracks at that last part.

“i don’t know what to do. how to deal with this. i just know i’m sick of parties. i’m sick of being away from you. i-“

you cut him off with a hug there, enough to get his eyes misty. he hugs you back instantly, fitting in with you like a puzzle piece. burying his face in your neck, he inhales and lets himself get lost in you.

“you don’t have to know what to do.” you say, stroking his back. “as long as you’re done hurting yourself. i’m here, you asshole.”

you shed a few tears as well as katsuki sobs that he’s sorry. but as you hold him, he admits to himself that vulnerability didn’t kill him- it just brought him closer to you. after days of searching for you at parties, during lonely nights, you’ve got him again.

and he’s never letting you go.

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dirtyvulture · 1 year ago

Note

I have been summoned...yk the drill, also I wasn't able to connect the recent one on vulture's feed but here ya go!

warning: a badly written smut

Your mission ended after two weeks. It means that Natasha has been edging herself for the past fourteen days since you were gone, and lucky for her, you're returning home today. She has been thinking of finally having you in your bed, planning on plowing you down the mattress—

The minute your warm mouth wraps around her cock, accompanying the warmth of your hands that are gripping her, the grip on your hair tightens, and a whimper escapes Natasha's mouth when she cummed inside your mouth. Natasha started blabbering an apology when she realized what just happened, but as much as you wanted to punish her, you couldn't help but let Natasha have her pleasure for a while, so you let her lead.

The sweat covering your bodies is incomparable to the mess you are both doing. Natasha holding your hands from behind while she's trying to fit her massive cock in your tightest hole. You could feel her stretching you out as you took her inch by inch.

"ty takaya uzkaya, printsessa." You're so tight, princess Her thick Russian accent slipped out of her tongue as her spurts covered your hole when she was halfway through her shaft. She couldn't fit herself fully, so she decided to just pump in and out of you, pushing her juice as far as she could inside you. The next thing she did was slip her drenched shaft inside your pussy that's been completely neglected by her since earlier. The low groans she's letting out always make your knees buckle just like hers right now. The hand that was binding your wrists together found its way on your hips as Natasha uses you like the fleshlight that was shown on the video message she sent a week ago before she completely left you unread after you sent tons of videos and photos of you playing with yourself once you're in the hotel room you stayed in.

"YA polozhu v tebya rebenka, dorogaya. Yebat'! Nichto ne sravnitsya s tvoyey kiskoy." I'll put a baby inside you, darling. Fuck! Nothing compares to this pussy of yours Your moans and the slapping of your skin are the only things that can be heard inside the room, but you're sure everyone in the compound knows what's going on inside your room especially after Tony called out Natasha to calm herself down when someone down there couldn't help but stand when the redhead saw you.

You knew that Natasha's deep inside you when she grabs one of your hand that's gripping the pillow and putting them on your lower abdomen. The bulge is prominent as she continuously fucks you until she empties herself once again inside. The string of Russian curses were muttered under her breath before she pulls out and thanked you.

"Oh, sweetheart. We haven't even started yet. Not after you disobeyed my orders."

-🍉

🍉 has outdone themselves, I'm frothing and foaming at the mouth

#🍉 anon #vulture answers #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut

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shiorihyugawrites · 5 months ago

Text

Red Regrets

Twelve years ago, Levi Ackerman made the hardest decision of his life—he left behind the only woman he ever loved, believing it was for her own good. But fate is cruel, and when a fiery redheaded boy with a familiar scowl crosses his path, Levi is forced to confront the past he abandoned. The truth he never knew. And the woman whose heart he shattered. (Levi x OC)

Chapter Three: The Confrontation & The Shadow

Levi left the vacant room and made his way down the corridor, each step feeling heavier than the last. Passing by several Scouts who were still baffled by the chaos, he gave them a curt nod—enough to signal that he had things under control. The weight of his conversation with Preston still lingered in his mind. That brat. My son. The words felt surreal, rattling around in his skull. Yet the more he turned it over, the more it made a heartbreaking kind of sense.

He inhaled slowly, fighting to compose himself. Now was not the time to unravel, not when the Scouts were teetering on the brink of disbandment and trust among the populace was at an all-time low. Too many soldiers had died in recent months—taken by Titans or lost in the battles against the Armored and Colossal Titans. Morale was shaky, resources were strained, and top brass in the government was circling like vultures. Levi knew that Erwin had bigger priorities than Levi’s personal troubles, yet here they were.

At the end of the hallway, he found the door leading to the main meeting area. Pushing it open, he saw Erwin, Hange, and the newly formed Special Operations Squad—Eren, Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Connie, Sasha, and Historia—all waiting. They looked up the moment Levi entered, and he could sense their curiosity radiating in the tense hush.

Eren, perched on the edge of a chair, shifted awkwardly. “Captain Levi,” he began, “Is everything—”

“Quiet,” Levi said sharply, cutting him off. He hated snapping, but he didn’t have the energy to handle their questions. “Whatever you think you heard, it’s none of your business. Understood?”

The squad exchanged hesitant glances. Sasha looked like she wanted to speak but thought better of it. Jean frowned and folded his arms, but he kept his mouth shut. Mikasa’s gaze swept over Levi, concern flickering in her eyes, while Armin looked away, possibly guessing that pushing Levi right now would be a terrible idea. Historia remained composed, though her posture was tense, clearly aware that something significant had occurred.

Hange, standing slightly off to the side, cleared her throat. “We’ve wrapped up the briefing about our next steps,” she said, eyeing Levi carefully. “Everyone’s just waiting to hear if there are any adjustments to the plan. Once we’re finished, you can speak to Erwin in private.”

Erwin inclined his head in agreement. He studied Levi with that same assessing gaze he always wore, as if trying to see straight through Levi’s hardened exterior. “Yes. Let’s proceed.”

Levi gave a curt nod. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Erwin looked at the small group of young soldiers and resumed what seemed to be a continuing discussion. “We’re in a precarious position,” he stated, voice calm despite the tension in the room. “The Military Police and the higher-ups in the government want Eren under their control. They see the Scouts as a threat—especially after we lost so many in recent battles. We believe they’re pressuring the king to curtail our activities, if not shut us down entirely. Our next moves have to be strategic, and we have to keep Eren’s location secure.”

Eren swallowed, his posture tightening. He looked ready to speak, but Erwin lifted a hand to forestall him. “Captain Levi will be heading this squad. Your job is to keep Eren safe, gather any information we can on the Titans, and await further orders. At the same time, we need to be prepared for… internal conflicts. There are factions within the walls that don’t trust us.”

The group nodded in unison, though their faces betrayed various degrees of apprehension. Armin spoke up quietly, “Understood, Commander. We’ll do our best.”

Jean’s voice cut in, betraying a hint of skepticism, “And if the government tries to arrest us first? What then?”

Levi glanced at Jean, but it was Erwin who answered, “We’ll deal with that scenario when it arises. For now, maintain a low profile. Concentrate on training, watch your backs, and follow Captain Levi’s directives.”

An uneasy silence settled, broken only by the shuffling of boots. Levi then said, “If that’s settled, you’re dismissed. Go prepare yourselves.”

The young Scouts stood, saluted, and began filing out, shooting puzzled looks at Levi and the Commander. Hange followed behind them, giving Levi a fleeting nod that seemed to say, “Hang in there.” Once the door closed, only Erwin and Levi remained.

Erwin let out a quiet exhale. “So,” he began, lowering his voice, “the boy came here looking for you.”

Levi pressed his lips into a thin line. “Yeah. Slipped past the guards. Caused a commotion.” He couldn’t quite keep the frustration out of his tone, though whether it was directed at Preston or himself, he wasn’t sure.

Erwin’s expression was serious. “And? Did you speak with him?”

Levi looked away, fixating on a crack in the wooden table. “He wanted to ask if I’m his father.”

Erwin’s eyebrows rose slightly. “He confronted you with that, did he?”

“He’s a straightforward little brat,” Levi said, a mix of admiration and annoyance lacing his voice. “He demanded answers I didn’t fully have. But…” His voice trailed off, a swirl of conflicting emotions welling up inside. “Erwin, I’m fairly certain he is mine. The timeline fits, and… well, the resemblance is pretty damn obvious.”

Erwin nodded gravely. “I see. So what do you plan to do?”

Levi’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know,” he admitted, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. “I can’t just walk away now. That would… I’ve already done enough damage to Penelope. But I don’t know if I can be what the kid needs. I never had a father, and the father figure I did have was nothing but a piece of shit. And every time I get close to someone, they end up…” He paused, rubbing his temple. “Dying.”

Erwin’s gaze softened, a rare display of compassion from the stoic Commander. “Levi, these are valid concerns. But you owe it to both yourself and the boy to try. Abandoning him now would only guarantee his resentment. And Penelope, from what I’ve seen, is strong-willed. She’ll stand her ground on how she wants to handle this.”

Levi let out a bitter chuckle. “Stand her ground? That’s putting it mildly. She slapped me hard enough to make my head ring. I don’t blame her, though. I left her without a single word of explanation. If she hates me, I understand.”

Erwin was silent a moment. Then he placed a reassuring hand on Levi’s shoulder. “I realize this is coming at a terrible time, with the scouts in crisis. But you need to address it, or it will eat away at you. I can’t have my best soldier distracted in the middle of everything that’s happening.”

Levi lifted his gaze to meet Erwin’s. He knew the Commander was right. His thoughts were already splintered—one part on the turmoil threatening the Scouts, another part on Preston and Penelope. If he didn’t confront it head-on, it would linger. “So what do you suggest?”

“I think,” Erwin replied, “you should take this evening off. Speak with her. If that means traveling back to Wall Sina or meeting her somewhere else, we’ll make arrangements. The Scouts can manage one night without you.”

Levi looked skeptical. “We’re on the verge of being shut down or arrested, and you’re telling me to take time off?”

Erwin managed a faint smile. “I know it sounds absurd, but it’s necessary. You can’t function properly if your mind is spinning. And I trust Hange to handle the immediate concerns. She’s more than capable.”

Levi mulled over Erwin’s words. The last thing he wanted was to let the Scouts down. But the memory of Preston’s pleading eyes and Penelope’s furious face weighed heavily on his conscience. “Fine,” he said at last, voice subdued. “I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Erwin withdrew his hand. “I’ll have Hange fill in for you for the remainder of the day’s duties. You can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Levi gave a single nod, his throat feeling tight. “Alright,” he murmured. He glanced toward the door, half expecting Hange to barge in with a snarky comment, but everything remained quiet. “Thanks… for understanding.”

Erwin’s eyes held steady. “We’re comrades. We trust each other’s judgment. Now go and handle your personal situation. The Scouts need a clear-headed Captain.”

Levi straightened, tugging slightly at the cravat around his neck. “I’ll talk to her,” he said, though the mere thought sent a swirl of anxiety through his stomach. He’d never been one for long talks—especially not about feelings. Penelope, on the other hand, was passionate, fiery, and had more than enough reasons to hold a grudge. He imagined the conversation might end in another slap, or worse. Yet he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. “Erwin,” he said without turning around, “if something goes wrong tonight—if the Military Police show up or we get any signals from the government—send word.”

Erwin nodded. “You have my word.”

With that, Levi stepped out into the hallway. He began making his way through the fortress-like halls of Scout HQ, passing various soldiers who saluted him as he went. Some shot him confused glances, likely wondering about the ruckus earlier, but he kept his eyes forward. He had no desire to explain anything.

Soon, he reached the courtyard where the fiasco with Preston had unfolded. He could almost see the reflection of his younger self in that brat—tough, scrappy, and uncompromising. It was still a strange thought, to imagine he had a child in this world. A child he’d never held, never seen grow up. Guilt gnawed at him, but so did a glimmer of determination. If there was a chance to fix some part of the damage he’d done, maybe he owed it to them both to try.

He left HQ, heading for the stables. If he was going to make the journey to Wall Sina before nightfall, he needed a horse—and official permission to pass through the checkpoints. He had no illusions that this was going to be a pleasant reunion. Penelope was likely still seething, and if she hears about Preston’s “visit” to the scouts, she might be on a warpath. But he’d rather face her anger than live in ignorance any longer.

Kenny once taught him how to survive, not how to live with other people. He had no roadmap for fatherhood, no clue how to mend the heartbreak he caused. But if he’d learned anything in the Scouts, it was that you had to face your demons, even if they towered over you like Titans. And in Levi’s mind, there was no Titan bigger than the past he’d left behind.

Saddling up a horse, he cast a final glance at the looming walls of the old estate. The wind ruffled his dark hair, and he tightened his grip on the reins. For an instant, he wondered what Penelope would say to him. Would she call him foolish? Would she tell him to leave and never come back? Or had some part of her been waiting for this moment too?

He shook off the swirl of doubts. Duty demanded he act. Whether that duty was to the Scouts, to Preston, or to his own conscience, Levi Ackerman wouldn’t run anymore. So he kicked the horse’s flank and rode out, heading toward the place he’d avoided for so many years, determined to finally face the past head-on.

…

Levi arrived in Wall Sina as dusk settled, the streets bathed in a warm, golden glow. He had spent the better part of the afternoon discreetly asking around about Penelope’s clinic location, careful not to draw too much attention. The Scouts’ reputation was shaky, and the last thing he needed was a horde of Military Police prying into his personal matters. Fortunately, despite Penelope’s strict appointment policies, her name was well-known in the district. It didn’t take long for a few talkative shopkeepers to point him in the right direction.

He dismounted at a modest two-story building with a large sign bearing Dr. Iverson’s name. The clinic looked quiet from the outside, with only a few lights burning behind the windows. Levi’s gut churned as he tied off his horse at a small hitching post. This was it—no more running. He’d come to see her face-to-face, talk to her without pretense. He inhaled deeply, trying to settle his nerves.

Pushing open the front door, he stepped into a modest reception area. A lone nurse stood behind a wooden desk, rummaging through some paperwork. She looked up at the sound of his approach, and her eyes widened when she recognized his uniform and the distinct expression that many knew belonged to Captain Levi of the Scouts.

“Captain Levi!” she exclaimed, voice trembling with surprise. Her gaze flicked to the Survey Corps insignia on his cape. “I… Is everything alright? Are you injured?”

Levi gave a curt shake of his head. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m here to see Dr. Iverson.”

The nurse blinked, clearly uncertain how to handle the request. “Do… do you have an appointment?”

Levi exhaled, wishing he’d anticipated this formality. “I don’t. But it’s important.”

She hesitated, pressing her lips together. “I’m sorry, but Dr. Iverson generally doesn’t see anyone without an appointment unless it’s a life or death emergency.” The nurse lowered her voice apologetically. “She’s very particular about her schedule, especially these days. She just finished with the last patient and was about to close up.”

Levi swallowed down a flicker of impatience. “I’m not a patient. I’m… a friend.” The word felt awkward in his mouth. He wasn’t sure he had the right to call himself that anymore, but it was better than telling the nurse, I’m the man she hates most in the world.

The nurse studied him in disbelief. “A friend?” she echoed, adjusting her glasses. “I, uh… didn’t know Dr. Iverson had friends in the military. Especially not…” She trailed off, unable to hide her amazement. Captain Levi was practically legend throughout the Walls.

Levi’s gaze flickered down the hallway behind her. He could hear muffled voices—one distinctly Penelope’s, pitched in irritation. The nurse glanced nervously in that direction, clearly torn between her boss’s strict rules and the intimidating presence of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

Before she could decide how to proceed, the sound of Penelope’s raised voice drifted closer, echoing off the corridor walls: “I cannot believe you did this again, Preston! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You’re supposed to be at school, not gallivanting around heaven knows where!”

A boy’s voice—Preston—mumbled something in reply, too faint for Levi to catch. But he recognized the sullen tone, and a pang of guilt tugged at his chest. Preston had skipped school to visit the Scouts HQ that very morning. He must have come home to face his mother’s wrath.

The nurse flushed and tried to regain control of the situation. “I’m sorry, Captain,” she said in a hushed tone. “But Dr. Iverson is busy. Perhaps if you come back—”

Levi waved her aside, stepping around the desk. “I’m going to see her,” he said simply.

She gaped, torn between warning him again and letting him pass. Ultimately, she seemed to decide that physically stopping Captain Levi was beyond her abilities. She ducked her head, deciding to let him handle the consequences.

Levi made his way down the hallway, following the sound of Penelope’s voice. Each step tightened the knot in his stomach. Would she slap him again, or worse? He wouldn’t blame her. Still, he had come this far and couldn’t turn back now.

He turned a corner and stopped short. Penelope stood with her back partially turned, clad in her usual fitted attire beneath her white doctor’s coat, that rose-red hair cascading down her shoulders. She was facing Preston, who wore a rumpled school uniform. The boy hung his head, arms crossed defiantly, but Levi could see the guilt in his eyes. Penelope gestured emphatically, her anger palpable.

“How did you even manage it this time?” she demanded, hands on her hips. “I have half a mind to install guards outside the classroom just to keep you inside, Preston.”

Preston mumbled something inaudible, and she huffed in exasperation. “Don’t mumble. Do you know how many times I’ve told you that skipping school isn’t going to solve anything? Where did you go?”

“I… I can handle myself, Mom,” he tried, though the conviction wavered in his voice.

Penelope ground her teeth, frustration evident. “You certainly think so, don’t you? But I told you already, if you skip school again, you’re not going to see the light of day for a month!”

Levi cleared his throat quietly, making his presence known. Penelope stiffened at once, whipping around so fast that her hair flared out behind her. The fury in her golden eyes flared hotter as she recognized him.

Preston, on the other hand, looked simultaneously relieved and terrified. His eyes flicked to Levi, then back to his mother. “Captain Levi—” he started, as though unsure whether to greet him or brace for a storm.

But Penelope cut him off. “You,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at Levi. “What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone. I don’t want you anywhere near my son or my clinic.”

Levi sighed, steeling himself. “Pen,” he said softly, though he recognized her immediate flash of anger at the nickname. “I just—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “You may refer to me as Dr. Iverson. Because that’s all you are to me—a stranger.”

Preston stood quietly, looking between them with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Levi tried to compose himself, taking a step closer but keeping his hands visible, almost in a gesture of surrender.

“Look,” he said, “I didn’t come to start a fight. I just want to talk.” He cast a brief glance at Preston, who held his breath.

Penelope’s eyes blazed. She knew Levi well enough to sense that he wouldn’t leave without saying what he’d come to say. But fury and hurt warred across her features. “What part of get out didn’t you understand?” she demanded. “I have half a mind to call the Military Police right now and have them drag you out in handcuffs.”

Levi felt the sting of her words like a physical blow. “You really hate me that much,” he muttered, although it was more a statement than a question. Her glare answered him well enough.

“If this is about any of that crazy military business going on with the Survey Corps,” Penelope snapped, “find someone else. I want no part of it. And neither does my son.”

Levi’s heart clenched at her protective tone. He remembered their younger days in the Underground, when he had been the one so fiercely protective of her. And now here they were, reversed in every possible way. “This has nothing to do with the scouts,” he said. “I… wanted to talk about Preston. About you. About what happened before.”

Her lips twisted in a mix of rage and sorrow. “What happened before?” She let out a humorless laugh. “You mean when you broke my heart, told me you never wanted to see me again, then ran off to join the scouts and left me?”

Levi winced at the venom in her tone but forced himself not to look away. “That’s not… I never would have left if I’d known you were pregnant,” he managed, the words escaping before he fully considered the weight they carried.

Penelope’s face contorted, and for an instant, Levi thought she might actually draw a weapon. Instead, she raised her hand in a swift movement, aiming another stinging slap at his cheek. He anticipated it this time, catching her wrist in midair. His grip was firm but cautious—he had no desire to hurt her.

“That’s enough,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I’m not going to stand here and let you keep hitting me.”

Their eyes locked, and it was as if the whole hallway froze in that moment. Levi’s heart hammered, and he saw tears threatening behind her furious gaze. The last time she’d looked at him like this, he had turned away, determined to cut her off for her own good. Now, it felt like the hardest thing in the world to stand his ground.

Penelope’s voice broke through, low and trembling with pent-up emotion. “You have no right to my son. No right to talk to me like we’re still… anything. You made your choice, Levi.”

Preston, standing to the side, appeared torn between wanting to intervene and wanting to vanish. The boy’s eyes darted between them, and something shifted in his expression, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

Levi glanced at the kid, releasing Penelope’s wrist gently. “Is he mine?” He knew the answer, but a part of him needed to hear the words from her mouth, even if it cut him deeper.

Penelope’s lips parted, and for a moment, she seemed caught in an internal struggle. Then her shoulders sagged, and she let out a strained breath. “You left me two weeks before I realized I was pregnant. You never wrote. Never came back. I had to survive on my own and do whatever it took to protect him.” Her voice wavered, but the anger coiled beneath it never fully subsided. “So yes, he’s yours by blood. But you don’t get to waltz into our lives now and pretend to care.”

Levi’s stomach twisted. He’d expected the confirmation, but hearing it spoken aloud tightened a vise around his heart. “Penelope,” he started, but the weight of her name on his tongue felt foreign and heavy. “If I had known—”

She cut him off. “Don’t! You can’t undo what you did. You can’t undo leaving me alone down there. I don’t want your excuses.”

Preston stood utterly still, absorbing every word. The shock on his face was clear as day, though it was mixed with a swirl of anger, curiosity, and maybe a glimmer of longing. He swallowed, and a shaky breath escaped him. “So… you really are my father,” he said, the words sounding strange in his own ears.

Levi’s gaze flicked to Preston. In that moment, he saw the boy’s vulnerability, the confusion, and he felt a pang of regret so sharp it almost brought him to his knees. “Yes,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed, arms crossing over her chest as though she was trying to shield herself. “Well, you know now. But it changes nothing. You have a war to fight, Captain. And I have a son to raise. Alone.”

Preston shifted uncomfortably, glancing between them. He looked as though he wanted to ask a million questions—why Levi left, how Penelope survived, what it meant for them now—but words failed him.

Levi forced himself to stand firm, though every fiber of his being urged him to reach out. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice gruff. “I know it doesn’t make up for anything, but I am. Let me at least—”

“No,” Penelope snapped, cutting him off with a sudden fierceness that startled even Preston. “You don’t get to show up and decide you want to fix everything. Preston and I have managed all these years without you, and we’ll continue to do so.”

Levi pressed his lips together. He didn’t expect forgiveness right away—maybe not ever. But a seed of desperation took root inside him. He needed to find a way to bridge this gap, if only for Preston’s sake. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he said. “I just want—”

Penelope spun on her heel, clearly finished with the conversation. Her voice came out clipped, filled with finality. “Get. Out. Now.”

Levi lingered, torn between respecting her demand and pushing further. He caught Preston’s gaze. The kid’s wide eyes held a tumult of emotion, but there was also a flicker of understanding.

A silent beat passed, then Levi nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, each syllable weighed with regret. “I’ll leave.”

He turned and walked down the hall, passing the stunned nurse on his way out. Penelope stood rigidly, arms still crossed, refusing to watch him go. Preston remained rooted in place, silent but trembling with the flood of revelations.

Outside, night had fully fallen, and the soft glow of lanterns lit the street. Levi paused on the clinic steps, the cool air hitting his face. He wanted to storm back in, to try again, but he knew Penelope’s anger was a formidable barrier. For now, he had little choice but to give her space—though every instinct told him that leaving them behind again would only deepen the rift.

He walked to his horse and mounted in silence, heart heavy with a decade’s worth of regret. As he rode away, his thoughts churned: This can’t end like this. I won’t abandon them again. No matter how furious she is, I have to find a way to make it right.

But how he would manage that, in a world crumbling under the weight of Titans, corrupt government, and the scars of his past, remained an agonizing unknown.

…

Penelope stood frozen in the hallway, listening to the fading echo of Levi’s footsteps. For a moment, she felt her legs weaken, and she had to brace a hand against the wall. Preston was still there, gazing at her with wide, worried eyes. She tried to smooth her expression and keep herself from trembling, but it proved impossible. All she could see in her mind was the flicker of guilt in Levi’s eyes, the way he caught her wrist and admitted he hadn’t known about her pregnancy. Memories flooded back, some treasured, others agonizing.

Preston hesitated, glancing at the spot where Levi had disappeared. “Mom… you’re shaking,” he said quietly, voice full of concern.

She swallowed, forcing herself to stand tall. “It’s fine, Preston. Go wait in the lobby. I’ll be right behind you.”

He frowned, not convinced. “I can wait—”

“Go,” she repeated, sterner this time. “I need to finish locking up in here.” She knew that once he was out of her sight, she might finally release the tears she held back.

Preston pursed his lips, clearly wanting to argue, but he relented. He turned down the corridor, each step hesitant, until he rounded the corner. Penelope let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand against her racing heart. The tension and anger coursing through her had peaked; now all that remained was the raw aftermath.

The nurse approached from behind, her face etched with worry. “Dr. Iverson, are you alright? That man—Captain Levi—he left in quite a hurry…”

Penelope’s voice came out tight. “I’m fine,” she said, though she sounded anything but. “I just need a moment, okay?”

The nurse nodded, stepping aside as Penelope pushed open the door to a small staff restroom near the end of the hall. Once inside, Penelope locked the door behind her and dropped her forehead against the mirror above the sink. Her reflection, cast in flickering lantern light, showed wide eyes and a pallid complexion. She breathed heavily, feeling the sharp sting of tears.

“Damn you, Levi,” she whispered to her reflection, voice shaking. She remembered how he used to hold her when they were both just scrappy kids in the Underground, how he protected her from every threat lurking in the shadows. She remembered the heat of his kiss when he finally confessed he loved her. And then she remembered the way he left, scarring her with cruel words to push her away.

A sob built in her chest. She tried to fight it, but her emotions won out. Her breath came in rapid, uneven bursts. Her reflection blurred as tears slipped down her cheeks. She felt lightheaded, nauseated, as though her entire past had collided with her present in an instant. Pressing both palms flat against the sink, she willed her heart to slow down, to keep from spiraling into a full-blown panic attack.

But the memories wouldn’t stop. She saw again the moment she discovered she was pregnant—alone in a cheap rented room on the surface, no friends, no contacts, just the knowledge that Levi was gone for good. For weeks, she had walked around in a numbed haze, terrified and furious, determined to survive only because of the child in her womb. She forced herself through medical school, financed by a deal Levi and Erwin had set up, but with no guidance, no shoulder to cry on. How many nights had she cried herself to sleep, missing him, hating him, loving him all at once?

Her breathing quickened as her throat constricted, and she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. The weight of her conflicting feelings left her suffocating. She ran the tap, splashing cool water on her face, hoping to quell the storm. One breath, then another. But the tears still came, unstoppable.

A gentle knock at the door made her jerk upright. “Mom?” Preston’s voice carried through the wood. “You okay?”

She wiped her eyes hastily, swallowing hard. Of course he’d worry. Preston always noticed when she was upset. He might not have known the full story, but he knew enough to sense her pain. “I’m fine,” she lied, steadying her voice. “Just give me a minute.”

There was a brief pause. “Okay,” he said softly. “Take your time.”

Penelope closed her eyes, taking another few seconds to gather herself. She couldn’t fall apart now, not in front of her son. Preston needed her to be strong. She took a shaky breath, pushed away from the sink, and ran a hand through her rose-red curls, trying to compose herself. When she finally opened the door, Preston was standing there, eyes filled with concern.

She stepped out, avoided his gaze, and beckoned him to walk with her down the hall. “Come on, Preston,” she said again, a bit more calmly. “We’re going home.”

Preston eyed her, torn between obedience and wanting to help. “Mom, are you sure you’re okay?”

She nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yes. I’ll be fine.” Then she added, “But we will be talking about you skipping school again once I get home.” Her tone softened; the usual anger was dulled by exhaustion.

Preston mumbled an agreement, hugged her quickly, and made his way out. Penelope watched him leave, then leaned back against the wall, exhaling. She still felt unsteady, but she would manage. She had to. After a moment, she motioned for the nurse to gather her things. Together, they locked up the clinic.

Through it all, Levi’s face lingered in her mind—a face she had both loved and loathed, the face of a man who had once been her entire world.

…

Meanwhile Levi rode back toward Scout HQ under the dim starlight, the horse’s steady gait doing little to calm his turbulent thoughts. It had been years since he felt such raw emotion. The chaos of Titan battles, the trauma of watching comrades die—that was a familiar darkness he carried. But this was different. This was a personal grief, laced with regret and longing.

As the towering structure of the Scout Regiment’s old estate came into view, Levi slowed his mount. His chest felt tight. If only he had known Penelope was pregnant back then, he would never have walked away. He replayed the moment he broke up with her, telling her cruel things to drive her away so she wouldn’t follow him into the Scouts. He hadn’t wanted her living in constant fear of his death. Yet, in trying to spare her pain, he realized he had inflicted a far deeper wound.

The idea that he could have married her, built a life with her and their son, gnawed at him. Instead, he had left her to raise Preston alone. Guilt chewed at his insides. Preston’s accusatory gaze flashed through his mind. The boy’s eyes had asked silently, Why did you leave us? Levi had no satisfactory answer.

Lost in thought, he failed to notice a figure lurking in the shadows of a nearby building. As Levi guided his horse through a narrow street, someone trailed at a discreet distance, blending with the darkness. A tall man in a brimmed hat, coat draping around his lean form, followed Levi’s route with uncanny silence. For the briefest moment, the man’s lips twitched in something resembling a sly grin.

Kenny Ackerman had watched from afar the entire time Levi was in Wall Sina—first noticing him near Penelope’s clinic, then trailing him as he rode out. It had been years since Kenny laid eyes on the scrawny kid he once took under his wing. Now Levi was grown, known throughout the Walls as Humanity’s Strongest. Kenny’s eyes glinted with mischief and a hint of cold pride. Kid’s turned into a real piece of work, huh?

Kenny kept a sizable distance, not wanting to alert Levi to his presence. He was in no rush. His nephew—if one could call their strange, violent relationship that—had no idea Kenny was still around. And from the look of it, Levi was preoccupied. Kenny suspected it had something to do with that woman. He’d heard rumors of a brilliant doctor from the Underground who made her mark in Wall Sina, rumored to have a fierce temperament and mesmerizing beauty. He put two and two together. People talked, and Kenny made a habit of listening.

He watched Levi dismount at the Scout HQ stables, handing the horse off to a stable hand with barely a word. Levi’s shoulders slumped as though the weight of the world bore down on him. In the soft lantern glow, Kenny could see lines of tension etching Levi’s face. A surging curiosity bubbled up in Kenny. He wanted to know what had rattled Levi so deeply. Had the brat actually found someone who mattered to him beyond the mission, beyond the unrelenting cruelty of the battlefield?

Kenny chuckled quietly to himself. If so, that was a weakness he might exploit—or at least poke at—when the time was right. He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and slipped away into the night, confident that Levi hadn’t sensed him. Patience was a skill Kenny had honed for decades, and he had every intention of revealing himself in a manner that would guarantee the biggest impact.

…

Levi trudged into HQ, ignoring the handful of Scouts who glanced at him, wanting to ask about his day’s absence. He beelined for his quarters, nodding curtly at a watch soldier by the main doors. Once inside the small room he called his own, he leaned against the door, closing his eyes. The memory of Penelope’s furious expression—and the heartbreak simmering beneath it—wouldn’t fade. Neither would the sting of Preston’s baffled longing.

Pulling off his jacket, Levi set it aside and raked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t usually allow himself to wallow in emotions, but this night, the regrets were too thick to brush off. After all the death and pain he’d witnessed, the single act of walking away from Penelope loomed as one of the greatest mistakes of his life. Maybe he should have stayed. Maybe they could have faced the danger together. But he had made his choice, and now that choice was coming back to haunt him in the form of a son he never knew and a woman he still loved, though she clearly despised him.

He exhaled, heavily. Outside the narrow window, the stars shimmered, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside him. He could almost imagine Penelope’s voice as a teenager, mocking him for his serious face, or teasing him in a rare moment of laughter. He missed that sound more than he’d ever admit.

As he stood there in silence, a faint prickle ran down his spine, a soldier’s instinct hinting that something was off. He glanced around, half-expecting a threat lurking in the shadowed corners of his room. But it was empty—just him and his regrets. Levi shook off the unsettling feeling. It was probably just the aftershock of the day’s revelations. He was on edge, haunted by ghosts of his past.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the door. For now, he resolved to bide his time. Penelope’s fury was raw, her pain deep. Rushing her would only make things worse. But he couldn’t abandon her again, nor would he abandon Preston. He had no idea how to be a father, but he’d try. He owed them that much.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily. And outside, hidden from his view, a silent figure wandered the streets, taking note of every locked door and guard rotation around the Scout HQ, harboring his own plans that would collide with Levi’s life soon enough.

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cheerysmores · 8 days ago

Text

Red like me

Pairing: Female Inquisitor/The Iron Bull

Tags: Trevelyan Inquisitor, Mage Inquisitor, Smut, Rope Bondage

Rating: E (18+)

Summary: Bull ties up the Inquisitor and they fuck their feelings out

Read on AO3

***

Bull had always found something intimate about rope. There was a deliberateness to the restraint, more artful than a belt or cuff. It didn’t matter if it was to pleasure or probe someone, the knots still needed patience, time– time for every hidden emotion to flicker to the surface whether they opened their mouth or not.

He took that time now as he crossed the scarlet rope over Penn’s shoulders and down between her breasts. She sat in silence on the bed, amber eyes fixed to his hands as the harness slowly took shape. He lingered on every tie, letting her fall into the rhythm of it. Her gaze might have been soft but her body hid nothing. Bare and flushed they could both see the untempered iron so rigid under her skin. He’d learned how to warm it right up.

He gently cupped her throat before explaining exactly what he was going to do with his hands, then his mouth. Her breath fluttered under his thumb, a blush blooming from each finger until her skin blazed red as the bindings.

He smiled. Redheads were already a weakness, but discovering how many different shades of crimson Penn could turn before she begged for mercy was something else entirely. The rosy hue of her cheeks, her nipples, her cunt– fuck . Not throwing her down and pounding her until the bed frame cracked was rapidly turning into his own test of patience.

It was what they needed once, he reminded himself, but not right now. When it first happened, it was fun. Easy. A flame stoked then blown out. She’d ride him as hard as one of the Inquisition’s mounts and he’d watch her perfect tits bounce until she staggered like a baby deer to the next war table meeting. Win win. He was good at pegging what people needed. Some wanted to be broken like silence and others like teeth. Killing, interrogating, fucking– it all came down to details and Penelope Trevelyan’s were easy. Thousands of lives and a future that wasn’t drowning in demons rested squarely on her shoulders. The Inquisitor’s shoulders. She stood tall and solid as an oak amongst the crowds, but sometimes still she needed someone else to take the reins and tell her exactly what to do.

That need had been carved like a scar on her face ever since they’d left Adamant Fortress. She’d smile for the nobles and her troops, pretending thoughts of the fade weren’t pulsing like a migraine behind her gaze. Her mask was good, and unlike the feathered crap at Halamshiral, it actually hid the truth from anyone but a Ben-Hassrath’s eyes. He spotted her in the darkness of the yard when she thought she was alone, clawing at herself like the spiders she saw were still running over her. Ribbons of scratches still trailed along her arms, stinging and present as the memories that put them there.

He gripped the ropes a little tighter. Fucking demons . Always shitting up everything.

Standing toe to toe with a Nightmare the size of a freaking building wasn’t something that dissolved with a few glasses of ale. Everyone had their own cures. He had Cassandra beat him with a stick until the green of that place broke apart. Penn had her own release.

Four words pulled him back to her room, softness wrapped in the steel of a command.

“Make it go away.”

And that he could do. Banish the Inquisition from her bedroom walls– away from titles, accolades, freaky cracks in the sky. No more soldiers or nobles begging for strips of her like vultures circling flesh. Just the two of them for as long as that door stayed locked.

Bull paused as he tightened the bindings around her wrists. “Remember your watch word?”

Penn nodded, her gaze fixed to the knots. He hooked his finger into the rope under her collarbones until her eyes met his again. There was still a thought caught there, a fly twitching in dark honey. He brushed the swell of her lip until he saw it disappear.

“I need you to tell me, Kadan.”

Penn’s mouth finally twisted into the arrogant smirk she wore so well. “Katoh,” she answered before softly biting the tip of his thumb. “And that is the only time you’ll hear me say it today.”

He chuckled and pushed her onto the bed. “Good girl.”

He moved her hands over her head, tied the cuffs to the headboard, then took a long minute to admire the ropes cradling the ample curves of her torso. Beautiful … and a far cry from the woman he’d met whilst drenched in the Storm Coast’s rain. Five seconds in her presence had told him everything he needed: rosemary on her neck, berries staining her lips, hair wound to tight perfection on her head– the power of her nobility had been washed away by the Circle but the fingerprints of it were everywhere. The world was literally breaking apart around them and appearances were still everything to that crowd. Bull’s first thought had been how easy it would be to crack that shiny veneer.

His eyes drifted to the red curls between her legs.

Okay. Maybe his second thought.

He plucked the knot that held the ties around her breasts. Another time he’d go further, leashing her arms to her thighs so she was arched and panting, or maybe he’d even suspend her from the ceiling. He wasn’t exactly sure whether that chandelier would hold though…

Penn’s impatient huff halted his rather fun image.

Okay, one step at a time . He grabbed a length of silk from the nightstand and held it in front of her. “Still want this?”

She lifted her neck. “Yes. Maker. Please .”

He cradled the back of her head as he wrapped the cloth over her eyes. “No Maker here right now. Just us.”

She jerked forward and nipped his bottom lip just hard enough to sting. “Just us,” she murmured, soothing the indentations with her tongue. “Now, don’t you dare hold back.”

The sound of Bull flipping her over and slapping her ass broke the quiet. He roughly massaged the flesh, admiring yet another bloom of red under his palm before slapping her again. She hid her gasp in the blanket, but he pulled her braid until he could hear the splinters of her breath.

“Trust me, Kadan,” he said, dragging his thumb through the slickness between her legs. “You won’t have to worry about that.”

Bull was true to his word, taking her apart meticulously for what felt like hours. He started slowly, dragging his fingers over every patch of bare skin, mapping, teasing, never lingering where she’d want him to. Enough time in her bed and he knew exactly what she’d beg for, curse for– things she’d never say aloud while they played like this. Inching up her spread thighs and over her hips, avoiding her flushed clit again and again until he could almost see the word bastard clamped between her teeth. He ghosted over it for the briefest second as he kissed her jaw. He wanted her lips, but that would come after. After he’d pushed her to the edge, felt the true bite of her hunger and stoked the gold embers of her eyes to a blaze. Then they could both be soft.

He lingered between her legs, watched the frustration tighten and break across the tan clay of her expression as her bound hands grabbed at nothing. He wondered if she wanted to paw at his back or his chest, maybe grab onto horns and pull as hard as she could and how much he wanted to let her.

He leashed his own want, leant down to tongue over breasts instead. Something crackled above them as he sucked each nipple, then her throat until she’d be judging the Inquisition’s next prisoner with a love bite throbbing proud and purple above her collar. It crackled louder as he pulled away, finally noticing the energy sparking erratically between her palms.

The air smelt thick and hot as a storm. He sat back and waited for it to calm. The first time they’d run into this little problem, she’d climaxed so intensely she’d accidentally sent a bolt straight down his spine and summoned thunder loud enough to rattle teeth.

Not the first time he’d been struck by lightning but the only time it had happened while hard.

He rubbed his hands over her torso as the energy faded, followed the intricacies of the rope, then the patterns of scars that twisted between them. He’d spent their first mission together quietly studying the marks not hidden by her armour: magenta burns, neat dagger slices, pale crescents from the jaws of what looked like a bear– only the one through her right eye stumped him. He’d gotten his answer a few weeks later when he finally caught her at Herald’s Rest, her words wet with strong wine and stronger annoyance.

“‘ Scars are stories for men but stains for women, Penelope .’” She’d parroted her mother’s sneer, the P of her name spat like a sour bite of fruit. “Didn’t matter that I was… like… six and bleeding from falling off a fucking huge wall. It was just another item on the laundry list of my flaws she’d been collecting since I came along and ruined her figure. And… and when they realised I was a mage? After almost burning down my entire bedroom? She called it a blessing. Because now I was the Circle’s problem and she wouldn’t have to find me a husband. And you know what? Good . Fucking… spending a miserable little life with one of Father’s dusty trading associates. Maker, they all had such awful breath, staring at me like I was one of their prized sows and loudly wondering how many babies that could get out of me before I started to turn .” Penn had slammed down the glass hard enough for the stem to crack. “Oh but apparently that was the best I could do because I wasn’t fetching like my sisters. Or because I couldn’t balance a bloody book on my head. Or because I was too tall, broad, loud, whatever she felt like pick pick picking at that day…”

She’d spilt for hours, her eyes bouncing manically back and forth like the two bottles sloshing in her gut. Eventually they’d landed on him, soft as dewy grass and set in skin that was rapidly turning the same shade of green. “Well she can fuck all the way off because Andraste chose me. Me . Just as I am.” A breath. A snag on the tumbling thread of the story as her wine dark smile flickered. “Right?”

She’d darted outside to puke and collapse before he could answer. Carrying her snoring body to bed was the first time he’d seen her room, the first time he’d seen the starburst scar over her hip as well– a souvenir from the dragon they’d killed in the Hinterlands. He had his own collection of stains and stories hacked into his skin. None held a candle to the fire that ignited in his belly that day.

Penn’s hand clamped over that wound as she stood atop its golden head. Spectral sword buried in its eye, face flushed, armour ragged, hair fallen from its style in a crimson mess down to her hips. She hopped down without a word and yanked one of its teeth out like a carrot from the soil. The picture of something ancient and righteous and the most fucking attractive thing he’d ever seen.

“Bull?”

Penn’s voice dragged him back to the present. He’d stopped moving, eye fixed to the necklace resting against her chest. A tiny piece of that same tooth and a much larger piece of his heart.

Kadan.

“If you stop now I swear to the Maker I’ll–”

Her words ripped into a scream as he plunged his tongue inside her. He found the blade’s edge, pushed her to it with his lips around her clit and the salt-tang of her pleasure dripping down his chin.

Tall, broad, loud– words to describe a dragon slayer, a warrior, a bad-ass. Words spat like poison and sharpened like hatchets to cut her into shape. Just like Tal-Vashoth. It still tasted like shit in his mouth, just like it was designed to. The labels of the Qun were forged like brands: who he was, what he did, all he could ever be– now little more than a beast. One choice to save his boys and everything changed. Even the ropes under his fingers. A lifetime ago he tied them on himself– the Dar-saam, an echo of their bindings to the Qun.

They wrapped her now. Something new. Something beautiful. A reminder that he wasn’t bound to anything anymore.

“You’re the Iron Bull. And no one can take that from you.” Something she’d mumbled into darkness, fingers lazily dancing over the scar left by the Qun’s assassin. He’d caught the words like a breath, turned them over until the pain wore flat.

No one could take that from him. His life. His boys. His kills. His wants… And he wanted to stay. In the Inquisition, at her side, in her bed (among more creative places). Through demons, darkspawn, batshit crazy magisters trying to be Gods– to the end of this insane journey and back. As long as she wanted him there.

“You could be mine.”

Bull bit her thigh before roughly bringing her down on his cock. And Fuck. She was hot, tight, perfect as always. Wide open and aching for him to finish her.

He planned to. Just not quite yet.

Bull took her on her side, her front, his fingers digging into her waist until tears darkened her blindfold. He saw her watchword bitten back, the consonants rolling on her teeth like shards of metal. He’d stop the moment she uttered it. Fold up the scene, pull away or hold her, finish her in any other way she wanted. Inside her or not the rules they laid here were sacred as her Chant. Months of trust could shatter in a breath, and those shards drew blood.

She swallowed the word back, wrapped her thighs around his middle and squeezed hard enough to punch out an exhale. A laugh coloured her next moan.

Feisty minx.

She could probably crack his skull between those thighs if she tried hard enough, though at this point it wasn’t so much of an if than a when. He’d watched her split a cask open with them before, the wine and his fantasies that night all the sweeter for it. Suffocating while she sat on his face was an infinitely better story than being picked out of some demon’s teeth. The writing on his headstone wouldn’t even need to change all that much.

He died doing what who he loved.

The thready scent of smoke filled the air as he pinched her nipple. One of the ropes was smouldering under her finger.

He slapped her ass until she stopped casting. “Be good. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Fucker.”

Bull dragged his lips to her ear. “Keep that up and I’ll leave you tied up and frustrated for the next lucky visitor to find. Maybe some blushing serving girl… or a guard who won’t know where to look. Or Josephine?” He traced her lips, smearing the lipstick like fresh blood under his touch. “I know she likes to deliver her reports personally.”

He jerked back before her answering bite could split his thumb, then spent a good few moments admiring the masterpiece of scarlet skin and sweat under him. He’d seen the way the people here looked at her– hungry, desperate, awed. Watching her walk a head taller than most, wondering what the Inquisitor looked like under the robes that clung to her body so tightly.

And they could wonder all they liked. Only he got to know, got to watch her arch for him, curse for him, twist and wrench against her cuffs until the headboard itself groaned its frustration.

“That nightmare wanted to tear us in half,” she finally gasped.

Bull gripped the plush of her ass harder. “Not a chance. Piece of fade, piece of crap.”

Her thighs pressed his hips, squeezing for dear life as he fucked the fade’s shadows from his mind.

“It could- ah – it could still be out there, you know. Waiting. Scheming.”

The bedframe slammed harder against the wall with each thrust. “No way. It’s gone. Gone .” Slam. “And who killed you?” Slam. “That’s right.” Slam slam slam . “Iron fucking Bull.”

Lighting forked in the rafters. It cracked above a storm of breath and screams as he pushed her closer to the edge and away from the bullshit of the real world.

And when she finally came, both her voice and the headboard shattered.

He held her after they finished. The ropes lay in a pile on the floor along with several charred chunks of the bed. Idly he wondered if Penn would spin a story to Josephine or tell the truth when she mentioned that she’d need a new one. Preferably one that was sturdier. And less flammable. She laid silently, shifting against his fingers as he brushed the marks left by his mouth. Beyond her windows, the still world murmured. The ring of swords, shouts from merchants, the chitter of nobles’ complaining about the cold– life going on. He slung his arm over her waist and tugged her closer. It could all stay away for just a little longer. At least until he remembered how to walk again.

Penn twisted the blindfold in her free hand, the silk briefly covering the green light flickering there.

“I really thought I was chosen. That this thing proved it.” Her murmur was near silent. Not quite angry, just tired.

Bull stayed quiet, letting the thought hang in the warm air between them. It’s a conversation he expected ever since he noticed that she’d stopped praying. It wasn’t enough time to think of a good answer.

“Andraste needed me. She wanted–” Penn squeezed the blindfold into a tiny ball and let it fall to the floor. “And it was all just a big accident. Wrong place. Right time. I let the Divine die for me. I let Maker-knows however many others die for me and none of it even means anything.”

Bull didn’t stop stroking the soft red marks on her neck. “Last I checked you were still the only person who could get enough people on this damned continent to stop yelling and focus on the asshole trying to make himself a God.” He tilted her chin up. “I think that means something.”

Penn shoved her glowing hand under the pillow. “They do it because they think I’m holy.”

“I don’t.”

She laid with the words for a moment. “You don’t. You really don’t.” She repeated it like a mantra until her cheek was against his chest again.“Thank fuck you don’t.”

Bull curled a strand of damp red hair around his thumb. That particular truth from the fade was a wound still not ready to heal. No destiny, no higher calling– life was what it was. Random. Ugly. And fucking amazing sometimes. One day she’d believe him, that she’d always been so much better than holy– she was good . Out in the world drenched in blood and muck for this cause rather than hiding in a Chantry or a palace.

“Why do you follow me then?” she suddenly asked, eyes boring like twin stars into his. “After everything, you and the Chargers could do anything you wanted.” She rolled away the moment his mouth opened. “If your answer has anything to do with my tits I will blast you straight out of that window.”

There was a weight under her smirk, something raw.

“Now that is something I’d like to see. But you want a serious answer. Alright.” Bull heaved himself to the edge of the bed, enough space for her to see all of him, that there was nothing but the truth between their bodies. “It’s because I want to. And because you want me to. I’m a better man for having met you, Kadan. I just hope this made things a little easier on your end.”

Determination settled over her face. “Not this. You. I love you.”

The words came in a rush and settled somewhere warm in his chest. This woman . This beautiful, strong, extremely naked woman that broke bones and hearts on the daily still found ways to slip under his skin and make him feel like he could take on a Vinsomer with his bare hands.

“You going soft on me, Kadan?” he smiled, shifting slightly closer.

For once there was no retort, no witty comeback that clashed with his words like blades in the air. Instead she glanced down, busied her hands untying her braid. Bull cupped both her wrists, waiting until she looked at him, until the expression on his face banished every inch of doubt colouring her cheeks.

He eased her back to the mattress, letting the rest of the day dissolve into nothing but the two of them with his lips on hers and the four easiest words he’d ever spoken.

“I love you too.”

#dragon age inquisition #the iron bull #iron bull #inquisitor x iron bull #mage inquisitor #my writing #One day I will make an OC that DOESN'T have red hair

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sinful-lanterns · 8 months ago

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since the vibes of the event are very wild west I can't stop thinking about a saloon where Pearl sings, Mira serves drinks and Korryn is the hot cowgirl in town🤭

Imagine reader as a wanted criminal, and Korryn is a bounty hunter... one day she's finally able to catch us and brings us to the saloon to drink something, before the other women notice us all tied up in her arms 😌

I don't need to mention that the bounty is long forgotten when all 3 think about the same thing. the thought of Korryn drinking something and kissing us while she does it to make us taste it is 🤤 and if we spill some Pearl or Mira would lick it slowly...

special mention to Pearl and Korryn sandwich while they take turns to fuck us with their straps nghh,, maybe Mira loves to watch and please herself, sometimes kissing us sloppy while we bounce and moan, long after she could even swap with one of them, who knows 👀

-🧶

CW: Alcohol, body shots, foursome, mentions of strap ons, implied double penetration, voyeurism

Imagine these women eying you like vultures the moment Korryn corrals you into the saloon, binding you to her side with some rope and her sharp gaze, intimidating you to stay in your place while she sits at the bar and orders you both some drinks. It’s a late night, so only you, Korryn, Mira and Pearl are present at the saloon. The tension thick and palpable while all three women practically undress you with their eyes. For a criminal, you sure were a pretty one, almost too pretty. Both Mira and Pearl were looking at each other with the exact same thoughts; Korryn only took you here instead of the slammer, because she wanted to have some fun with you…

A few drinks in, and Korryn is bold enough to make the first move. The bounty hunter’s hands are rubbing up against your thighs, then comes Pearl who hums sweetly in your ear before nibbling on it. Mira is the last to the show, but she kicks the whole thing up a notch when she pulls your mouth into chaste kiss— which soon turns into a tongue-filled kiss as she opens your mouth and forcibly pushes alcohol in for you to taste. The kiss is sloppy and incoherent, beads of liquor dripping down your neck while Korryn and Pearl eagerly chase to lap it up.

It isn’t long before they physically undress you themselves. Sandwiched between Pearl and Korryn (the two redheads lmao) and feeling the ends of what appears to be strap ons grinding against both sides of your crotch area. Mira doesn’t appear to have a strap of her own, but that’s alright as she takes her place right on the top of the bar where she serves her guests. Spreading her legs in front of you and fingering herself to the sight of Korryn and Pearl fucking you on one of the saloon tables.

Well, those tables were already quite sticky after a long day of tending to guests. A little more mess isn’t gonna hurt, right? Not like Mira, Korryn or Pearl care though. It’s late into the night and they can have you all to themselves, the criminal who got just what they deserved 🩷

#⛓️ mbcc lovepost #🧶 anon #korryn smut #ptn korryn smut #ptn mira smut #mira smut #lady pearl smut #ptn lady pearl smut

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hmtaxidermy · 7 months ago

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A lot of tape on this one but, trust me, when it’s done it’s going to be cool.

You see the vision.

#wip #redhead duck #duck #bird mount #taxidermy #vulture culture #taxidermist #cw dead animal #tw animal death #tw dead animal #cw animal death #oddities

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goaskalexonline · 1 year ago

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𝘔𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳, 𝘔𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳

Kraków, Poland - 2023

#vulture tattoo #turkey vulture tattoo #ink #inked redhead #poppy tattoo #tattoo inspo #tattoo inspiration #money piece #moth tattoos #floral tattoo #blackout tattoo #boudoir selfie #inked girl

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the-mortuary-witch · 1 year ago

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LOKI

WHO IS HE?

Loki is the Norse god of mischief and trickery. He is known for his unpredictable and manipulative nature, which frequently involves playing practical jokes or pranks on other gods, mortals, and giants. He is also the god of fire, and he has a strong connection to the underworld and the realm of the dead. Loki is often portrayed as a shapeshifter who can take on the form of various animals, including snakes, foxes, bats, and even horses. He is also often associated with fire, creativity, innovation, and destruction.

BASIC INFO:

Appearance: his appearance in Norse mythology can vary greatly, depending on the source. In some depictions, he is described as being a tall and handsome male figure with red hair and a beard. In other depictions, he is described as being a more feminine or androgynous character, with long and straight red hair, along with smooth and pale skin.

Personality: Loki is a clever and devious character, known for his ability to manipulate and deceive others with his cunning and wit. He is also known for his unpredictable nature, his tendency to get himself into trouble, and his proclivity for causing chaos and disorder. He is often seen as a trickster and a troublemaker, who enjoys creating disruption and chaos.

Symbols: serpents, wolves, ax, raven, masks, fire, Bjarken and Logr Runes, fishing nets, earthquakes, infinity snake and ouroboros, number 8, chaos star, runes that spell out his name: Laguz, Othala, Kenaz, Isa as well as the rune Hagalaz, and Helmet of Dread or the Helmet of Horror

God of: mischief, trickery, and fire

Culture: Norse and Germanic

Plants: mistletoe, birch, common Haircap moss (Loki’s Oats), bentgrass (Loki’s Grass), cinnamon, dandelion, beech, blackthorn, elder, elm, ivy, juniper, mullein, thistle, mint, holly, cedar, juniper, elder, clove, patchouli, tobacco, willow, and yew

Crystals: jade, obsidian, sapphire, amethyst, garnet, citrine, black tourmaline, serpentine, carnelian, fire opal, black onyx, cat’s eye, xenotime, chrysoberyl, and labradorite

Animals: salmon, birds (crows, ravens, falcon, and vultures), flies, goats, flea, horses, wolves, serpents, foxes, spiders, and wasps

Incense: dragon's blood, frankincense, myrrh, patchouli, basil, cinnamon, pine, wild berry, rum incense, and anything sweet and musky

Practices: shadow work, transformation, astral projection, insight, and chaos magick

Colours: green, gold, black, and yellow

Numbers: 4, 8, and 13

Zodiac: Gemini

Tarot: The Fool, The Tower, The Devil, The Wheel of Fortune, Page of Cups, and Seven of Swords

Planet: Mercury

Days: Saturday, Lokablót, April Fool’s Day, Yule, Mabon, Samhain, Friday the 13th, the 13th of each month, and Lokabrenna Day

Parents: Fárbauti and Laufey

Siblings: Odin (blood brother), Helblindi, and Býleistr

Partners: Angrboda, Sigyn, and Glut

Children: Fenrir, Jörmungandr, Hel, Váli, Narfi, and Sleipnir (Odin’s horse)

MISC:

Fire: Wagner combined Loki with Logi, the fire god, in his Ring Cycle. And ever since, Loki has been associated with fire and magic in pop culture. There are some very iffy pieces of evidence that Loki might have had some historical connection with fire (e.g., the Snaptun stone and medieval folklore about the Ash Lad) but the scholarly consensus is “Nope, blame Wagner.” That said, fire, with its dual roles of creation and destruction, enlightenment and passion, is a pretty potent symbol for Loki even if it doesn’t have a historical basis.

Red hair: Loki’s hair colour is never mentioned in the lore, and there are some illuminated Icelandic manuscripts in which he is shown as a blond or brunette. The fire god mistake mentioned above probably popularized the redhead image. (Interestingly, Thor is canonically a redhead.)

Fishing nets: in Gylfaginning, Loki weaves a fishing net while on the lam and hiding from the Aesir. (The story kind of implies it’s the first fishing net, although Ran is also credited with inventing them elsewhere.) Loki turns into a salmon to escape but ends up being caught with his own creation,

Earthquakes: the prose epilogue to Lokasenna claims that earthquakes are caused by Loki writhing in pain when Sigyn leaves to empty her venom-catching bowl.

Masks: while Odin, not Loki, takes the name of Grímnir (the masked one) in the lore, masks are a fairly logical thing to associate with a shapeshifter.

FACTS ABOUT LOKI:

In Norse mythology, Loki is known as a chaotic and mischievous figure who frequently causes problems for the god’s.

Loki is connected to the realms of chaos and trickery and is often seen as a troublemaker and instigator of conflict.

He went as Thor’s bridesmaid (when he dressed up as Freyja) to go with Thor to get Mjölnir back from Thrym.

Loki is a powerful deity with a wide range of abilities, including shapeshifting, sorcery, illusions, and knowledge.

He is closely associated with the concept of trickery, often utilizing his skills as a master manipulator to cause trouble for the god’s.

HOW TO INVOKE LOKI:

The best way to work with Loki is to respectfully is to approach him with sincere devotion and reverence. He is a God of mischief and chaos, so a certain level of humor is appropriate when working with him, but that doesn't mean you should take him lightly or treat his power with disrespect. To worship him respectfully, make an offering, either something tangible or a gesture like writing a poem or performing an act of mischief and chaos in his name. Be genuine and open in your intention, and don't be afraid to get a little mischievous yourself.

Some ways to works with Loki include:

Doing things that embody his energy and traits, such as pranks or mischief

Making offerings to him, whether physical or spiritual

Creating a dedicated altar space

Studying and researching Norse mythology, particularly his role in it

Performing rituals and spell casting to seek his guidance and insight

Meditating on his energy and listening for a response

Performing acts of chaos and destruction

Seeking to gain his protection through protection magic or rituals

PRAYER FOR LOKI:

Great God Loki, bringer of chaos and master of deceit, I come to you seeking guidance and destruction. I offer my heart and spirit and ask for your blessing in this pray.

Thank you, Great God Loki, for listening to my words and walking by my side on this journey. I leave this altar/ritual space in your hands, and I ask for your protection and mischief wherever I may go. Hail Loki.

SIGNS THAT LOKI IS CALLING YOU:

Feeling a strong attraction or draw to his energy or presence

Having repeating thoughts or dreams about him

Feeling drawn to chaos or chaos magic

You’ll start seeing his name everywhere – in books, on TV, online, etc.

There might be a sudden change in your life, an unexpected sometimes painful change

It will seem someone is playing tricks on you, particularly when it comes to your spiritual spaces like your altar

Be wary of fires that are started in random places

You might see his symbols or signs everywhere you go including the snake, spider, runes like Hagalaz and Isa, the Chaos star, number 8 or Ouroboros

The TV show Loki or Marvel character might start popping up everywhere (yes I believe Loki communicates through this guise because it’s a form we know and understand)

You might already have a connection with Odin, Loki’s brother

Spiderwebs will appear in your space – in the home, workplace, or vehicle

Loki’s sacred animals will appear as signs to you including the horse, fly, spider, snake, salmon, vulture, wolf, fox, etc.

Experiencing signs of change or transformation in your life

Feeling a sense of rebelliousness or mischief within you

A sense of giddiness, playfulness, and light-heartedness after praying to him or meditating on his energy.

Feeling of warmth or presence in the air around you.

An increased sense of creativity, spontaneity, and a general desire to explore and experiment.

Feeling a connection with nature or animals in a new or stronger way than before.

Experiencing unusual or unexpected occurrences that seem a bit too strange to be coincidental.

OFFERINGS:

Green, gold, black, or yellow candles.

Incense: cinnamon, dragons blood, pine, wild berry, rum incense, and anything sweet smelling, musky, or a mysterious scent would be appropriate.

Crystals: jade, obsidian, sapphire, amethyst, garnet, citrine, black tourmaline, serpentine, carnelian, fire opal, black onyx, cat’s eye, xenotime, chrysoberyl, and labradorite.

Art or poetry.

Toys, such as the ones you used to play with as a kid.

Acts of chaos, subversion, or mischief.

Hanging mistletoe at Yuletide.

Foods and drinks: sweet foods (mochi, pixie sticks, cake, chocolate with nuts or funny names, pastries, candy, etc), alcohol, spicy rum, hot peppers, mulled wine, coffee or other caffeinated/energy drinks, honey, cinnamon, and red fruits.

Knives and daggers.

Doing something you are scared of (safely).

Cool leaves you find.

Images or drawings of: salmon, birds (crows, ravens, falcon, and vultures), flies, goats, fleas, horses, wolves, serpents, foxes, spiders, and wasps.

DEVOTIONAL ACTS:

Challenge authority figures and shake things up.

Break rules and defy expectations.

Live a life of surprises and twists.

Burn things (safely) in dedication to Him.

Explore your trickster side and have some fun with your mischief.

Embrace the shadow-self.

Let your inner child out (if not heal them first).

Don’t take yourself too seriously.

Be the devil’s advocate.

Speak the truth and uphold it. This also involves speaking your mind about politics and issues.

Express yourself.

Indulge in art or create art. (Loki loves it when people dive deeply into their creative fire. He also rewards them for it).

Live life to the fullest.

Light a candle for him the moment you wake up and during bedtime. (I personally found out that he likes green candles, but if those are not available, white can suffice).

Burn some incense (cinnamon, sandalwood and dragon’s blood are some of Loki’s favourites but if he tells you otherwise, it’s okay).

Stop planning and just be in the moment.

Embrace chaos (and make it your bitch, as Loki would say).

Cultivate a sense of mystery and playfulness.

Be unpredictable and keep your friends on their toes.

Push your boundaries and experiment with your boundaries.

Break the norm and be yourself.

Adopt a prickly succulent baby or an abandoned animal. If you can’t adopt, volunteer in shelters or be a foster paw-rent.

Collect toys that you will both enjoy.

Play board or video games.

Cook meals and eat with him (cook whatever meal catches your fancy and then eat at his altar).

Hoard jokes, puns and memes (VERY IMPORTANT! Loki loves his humour but in good taste. He seems to dislike and would often refute humor made in bad taste like triggering and racist jokes).

Give without expecting anything in return.

Share laughter with loved ones.

Light a candle in his honour.

Be kind to those who are outcasted.

Wear a piece of jewelry that reminds you of him.

Doodle.

Watch a fiery sunset.

Draw him and/or write to him.

Smiling.

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