Meowchelle



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    Loki has never been an omega's choice. They always choose a different alpha to look after them during their heat, even a servant can be preferable to the seidr-using second prince. Loki tries to pretend he's immune to their constant dismissals, but it hurts. All he wants is to be someone's protector and caregiver. To give them the affection they crave when vulnerable. It's why when one more omega scans the feasting hall for an alpha, Loki does not expect them to choose him.

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    30 Mar 2026

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    “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

    What is—?

    He’s…

    He’s awake. He’s upright. The fire splitting his spine is entirely gone. Instead there’s a fist pressed against his chest nearly hard enough to bruise, keeping him pinned to the wall behind him.

    And Leon Kennedy is glaring at him, eyes angry and distrusting—and cold, that’s the strange thing. Cold, as if Luis didn’t take his last breath before those very same eyes not thirty seconds ago.

    (Or: Luis, in a time loop.)

    Translation available in 中文-普通话 國語!

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    11 Mar 2026

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    “You sure, Redfield? You don’t seem like the type to go for a friends with benefits situation.”

    Chris has gone radio silent at his outpost deep in the mountains of southern Europe and the BSAA is stretched thin for personnel to extract him.

    Leon volunteers.

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    04 Mar 2026

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    Leon hasn’t felt someone touch him without malicious intent in a long time. When he meets Luis, that changes. He can’t stop thinking about it. It’s driving him crazy. And after waking up from a heated dream about Luis, only to find said man on his doorstep, there’s only so long he can deny how much he wants this. And fuck, he wants it.

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    26 Feb 2026

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    A strong hand on either hip, Luis guides his thrusts.

    “There we go, querido.” He speaks in a low voice, tone dropped and accent thick. “Feel good?”

    Leon chokes on his breath, spits out a rushed, “Yes. God, yes.”

    Sparks fly behind his eyelids with how hard he keeps them squeezed shut, and the muscles in his arm strain with the effort of holding the pillow close to him in a vice grip. His hips stutter every few thrusts, and he chases a high that he can feel creeping up on him.

    His pants still hug his hips, the fly open. The shirt has fallen back down his chest, the wet spot from his teeth and tongue and spit sticks to his stomach, caught between his body and the pillow and held there.

    “Who’s making you feel this good?” Luis asks.

    Under his breath, Leon answers. “You.”

    The radiator hums. The rain patters against the window.

    One hand leaves his hip to cup the side of his face. A thumb draws the outline of his lips, hovers at his Cupid’s bow. “Say my name, Leon.”

    or;

    In which Leon indulges in his fantasies and Luis overhears.

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    26 Feb 2026