#so i was finally at peace when he used his own position of power to thrown that annoying tree under the bus to clear kao's name 🙏🏿

[ochibrochi]

spontaneous magic manifestation was NOT mentioned in the parenting handbook 😬

I know this isn’t how magic in dc works, but the fact that Damian’s ancestry includes some pretty powerful magic users is… INTERESTING 🤔? Drabble under the cut!

I wanna preface that I'M NOT SAYIN' that Damian should/does have magic powers, but there’s still so much unexplored potential with Damian's character, and the thought that he has a dormant adeptness in magic is somewhat compelling to me. Most importantly it would FREAK! BRUCE! OUT!!!!! What is this, magic puberty 😭??

By DC laws, anyone has the ability to learn magic, but it is also possible to be an innate ability. The Al Ghuls are no strangers to the occult-- Ra's has had increasingly been portrayed as a magic user, and the recent establishment of his mother being a sorceress/witch?? Even Talia dabbled in a bit of magic, I think. There is a catch that their power is suggested to be due to Lazarus exposure, but for arguments sake let's say the Al Ghul lineage is inherently proficient in magic (and Lazarus exposure simply enhances it).

I can't recall "magic" being a part of Damian's training/upbringing (I'm still slowly catching-up on Damian comics so apologies if I miss any canon examples of magic use). Not sure why Talia wouldn't want her little "heir to an ancient assassin empire baby" to learn magic, but it would at least give reason to Damian not knowing about his magic potential, or lack of interest in it.

Through the power of pseudo storytelling, what if Damian's encounter with Mother Soul could have triggered a manifestation of magic that was once dormant; like a pressure cooker waiting to explode with energy when it hasn't been given a safe outlet.

I've yet to read a satisfying arc where Damian truly gets to contemplate his Al Ghul roots outside of "dad is good guy, mum is bad guy". Damian's initial character growth stems from him running away from, and renouncing his association with the League (i.e. "I'm nothing like you, mother and grandfather!").

The most recent thing I've read was Robin (2021), and whilst Damian is much more cordial with his mother, there's still an emotional distance and sense of distrust/resentment (for good reason, even if the context was some cartoonishly evil writing). But there is a silver-lining that they still appear to be fond of each other, in a melancholy kind of way.

Realizing he's "genetically" primed for magic would be especially confronting to Damian. There's no denying his Al Ghul blood, forcing him to confront a facet of himself he can no longer ignore or reject. A family that he likely has to approach for help/guidance.

Damian is put in a position of acknowledging this power could be used for good, to be stronger, to fight crime, balancing it with the implication that what he possesses could be rooted in dark magic (Lazarus enchantment).

If he decides to embrace it, would that be too much of an endorsement of the Al Ghul's dark occultism? Can he separate the two ideas? What if he can't control it? What if he accidentally hurts someone? What if has the ability to save someone where his other skills fall short?

Ideally, I'd love for this hypothetical story to lead into Damian exploring his Al Ghul heritage more intimately, historically, and spiritually (à la RSoB: Year of Redemption adventures). Another little coming-of-age self discovery journey.

I have my own little personal thoughts on what Damian decides to do with his magic powers, but I'd like to leave that open to interpretation... By the end of it I hope that he will at least find some forgiveness over resentment, and a balance between accepting that side of his family a little easier. It is finally a sense of inner peace :)

Any thoughts? Did I get any characterisation wrong? Let's talk over on my DC blog @arkhamochi! I'm currently trying to read all Damian-centric comics until I catch up with the current run. I'm hungry for discussion and analysis!!!!!!

[wint3rbarnes]

‘the other woman.’

summary ۶ৎ in which, bucky’s sneaks out at night to visit his neighbour.

warnings ۶ৎ 18+ content/minors dni, mentions of cheating ( loveless marriage ), age gap ( legal ), daddy kink, oral ( female receiving ), pet names ( doll, angel, baby, sweet girl ), praise kink, p in v ( protected ), bulge kink, aftercare, no use of y/n.

married, congressman!bucky x neighbour!reader

𝓐/n ۶ৎ first time writing smut in ages so hopefully it’s okay. please don’t copy, translate or repost my work to any other platforms. and please be kind; if you don't like it, simply move on. thank you for taking the time to read this ♡

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

‘and when her old man comes to call,

he finds her waiting like a lonesome queen.’

when bucky finally began to make peace with his demons, he knew he had to do something good that would overpower the terrible things he'd been forced to do. so, he set his sights on congress. and it was a difficult task. no one wanted the man rumoured to have assassinated a president anywhere near the halls of power. but bucky was determined. he threw himself into campaigning, endless events, and alliances. and then, of course, there was the strategic marriage, wedding the woman who was already a powerhouse in congress and state business. it was a gamble, but it paid off, securing him the seat as brooklyn's congressman.

he knew it was wrong, marrying for anything other than love ( power and position in his case ), but he buried it with the rest of his darkest deeds box that’s stored in his mind, convincing himself that the good he was doing in congress, the real change he was fighting for, justified the means.

moving into her modernised apartment, he hadn't anticipated you, his beautiful neighbour. his first day home alone, you brought over welcoming treats, and he'd been helpless as his eyes devoured every detail about you. the way you dressed, that skirt teasing him. the way you smiled, those pouty lips a silent dare to be kissed. the way you spoke, your voice a dulcet sound laced with playful undertones. your kind gesture revealed your gold heart that he found intoxicating. something about you pulled him in, ignited a desire unlike anything he'd ever known. he had to have more. he had to consume you, keep you safely tucked away, a treasure hidden behind a vault in his heart.

that was three months ago. and things have definitely changed since then.

most nights, when bucky knows his wife is fast asleep, he’ll use his stealth skills from being the winter soldier to quietly slip out of the apartment and into yours. that’s when he sees a whole new side of you. the lacy and mouthwatering fabric under your skirt, your lips swollen and puffy from his own, your voice breathless and erotic. angel by day, devil by night. he brings out a side of you no one else has seen, and he loves it.

and as much as you love it too, a pang of guilt tends to twist in your gut. he’s married, vowed to another woman. that same feeling begins to appear now, laying on the edge of your bed as bucky presses kisses down your legs while he slips off your sleep shorts.

he feels the subtle shift in you, a tension in the air only he can detect. he knows you better than you know yourself. knelt on the floor, he smoothes his hands over your creamy thighs, his gaze intent as he studies your face. your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, lost in thought, your eyes distant and unfocused ( and not in the way when he overstimulates you ).

"you're doing it again.” bucky murmurs patiently, his voice a low rumble. with a calloused thumb, he gently coaxes your lip away from your teeth, breaking the spell of your thoughts and drawing your attention back to him.

“hm? oh- sorry,” you sheepishly say, cheeks flushing. “i was just thinking about…her.”

his oceanic eyes soften, a sigh escaping him as he instantly knows what’s going on inside your beautiful brain. “doll, we’ve gone over this before. i don’t love her and she doesn’t love me. i’m a hundred percent sure she’s only with me to gain more popularity.”

it’s so easy for his words to soothe you. he’s so much wiser and has much more experience than you. he knows best, and you trust him wholeheartedly. you relax, but need one more reassurance. you hold out your pinky to which he chuckles and loops his own around. you know it’s childish, but pinky promises have always made you more at ease.

“c’mon, let your daddy take care of you, angel.”

and that’s all it takes for the atmosphere to change, becoming more charged. the wetness that was originally pooling between your thighs returns just by his lust-filled voice and him calling himself that.

you nod desperately, making him smirk. “good girl.” he praises, leaning down to press a kiss to your bare stomach and down to your waistband of your white, lacy panties. “so pretty. you always dress this way for me, don’t you, baby? only me.”

he takes the fabric between his teeth and he glides it down to your knees and you kick out of them. his breath hitches at your glistening, pink pussy. his blue eyes intensify like a storm brewing. he kisses up your thighs, coaxing them open with his hands and rests them over his shoulders, giving him better access to bury his face into heaven. when he reaches your pussy, he inhales sharply. “so sweet.” he groans, licking a slow yet long stripe up your folds, waves of heat washing over you.

his mouth latches around your clit, the sensitivity making your back arch like a delicate ballerina. he places a hand on your stomach, pressing you down into the silk sheets. his cold, wedding band is a relief against your tepid skin. you can’t bring yourself to think about what the ring symbolises as you’re so lost in him and his touches.

he pulls back from your clit after hearing your needy whine, admiring how swollen and twitchy it’s become, practically begging for more. he presses a soft kiss there before bringing his vibranium hand down. he drags your arousal to your clit, and you gasp as the coil in your stomach appears while he draws figure eights on your clit. the sounds of your wetness against his movements are bordering on lewd, turning you on either more. it seems to do the same for him as he grinds against the edge of the bed.

“fuck, you hear that? that’s how desperate you are for me. don’t worry, angel, daddy’s gonna make you feel so good.”

his words add to the euphoric sensations, a mewl flowing from your lips as his tongue circles around your entrance before delving in. your hazy eyes roll back, the sounds coming out of you making him double his efforts, and it isn’t long before your grinding against his face. he rewards you by groaning into you, the vibrations sending ripples through you and your hand immediately clutches his, needing something to hold onto as the knot in your stomach clenches deliciously.

your head throws back into the mattress as your legs quiver around his shoulders. the knot undoes, your orgasm hitting you like waves crashing into each other. intense yet welcoming.

bucky gives a few more leisurely licks, drawing out our release, before he pulls back, his scruff glistening with your cum and his eyes admiring every aspect about you: your hair cascading against the sheets like a halo that’s been corrupted, your chest rising and falling, making your pebbled breasts push against your bra, your bambi eyes venereal.

“did so good for me, doll. tasted so sweet.” he praises, his swollen lips dotting soft kisses up your stomach as he feels you relax. “you’re so beautiful when you cum.” he expertly undoes the clasp of your bra, gliding the venust fabric off and tossing it aside where the rest of yours and his clothes are.

he’s being gentle as he kisses the perky buds of your breast, suckling softly and tongue flicking out. he copies his actions with your other one, but you require more. you can’t get enough of him. he’s teasing you and you can tell by feeling him smirk against your skin.

“daddy, please..”

“please what, sweet girl? hm? tell me what you want.” he coaxes, pulling away from your chest and rising, the wet patch on his briefs and his impressive bulge causing your head to spiral like a rollercoaster.

“need you inside of me…please.”

he groans, palming himself. “god, you beg so prettily. my polite girl.” he slips his boxers off, and the sight of him never fails to make your mouth water. his thick length has a vein protruding from it, it’s head dripping with precum, red and in desperate need to be buried inside of you.

you’re legs instinctively shut at the size of him, but he soothingly coaxes your legs open, hovering over you. his eyes are full of heat and need, but there’s also a soft glint that reassures you he won’t ever hurt you.

bucky kisses you, sloppy and tongues messily dancing with each other, but brimming with so much passion it makes your heart skip. then, he guides himself into you.

thank goodness you’re on birth control because bucky always loves taking you raw.

your moans intwine together as he stills for a moment, feeling the way you’re walls are welcoming him with a squeezed hug. “missed this. missed being deep inside of you.” he breathes out, letting you adjust. “you okay, doll?”

you feel so full already and you’ve only taken half of him. it always takes a moment to adjust due to how big he is and how tight you are. “yeah…please move.”

he begins rocking his hips, slowly at first, building you up to it, before his pace quickens and your dulcet breaths shift into moans. “you’re so good to me, baby. welcoming a married man into your tight cunt.”

your body tingles with each thrust that’s deeper than the next. he looks and feels like a greek statue as you trail your soft hands down his hard chest and abs, tracing the lines and dips, your movements shaky with the way his body moves against yours.

he grasps your small hands in his vibranium one and keeps them above your head, his free hand propping your leg up, sliding himself in further until he’s nearly bottomed out. the moan you let out is amorous, one that he wishes he could have as it morning alarm. you clench around him as he discovers the spot that makes you see stars.

“right there, angel? yeah?” bucky grunts. “gonna make you forget your own name. all you’re gonna remember is how daddy’s cock feels.”

“‘m g-gonna cum...” you cry out, the fever in your stomach building rapidly, matching your heartbeat and coursing lightning through your veins.

“that’s a good girl.” bucky brings your hand, that was trapped under his, down to your lower abdomen, the gasp escaping you making his release approach as well. “you feel that?” he rubs your hand against the bulge in your stomach. “that’s me about to cum inside of you, doll. and you’ll take me so well, won’t you?”

you don’t have a chance to respond as your second orgasm of the night hits you, this one much more heightened than the first. you buck against him, shaking as not only stars, but galaxies form, sending you into a realm of pleasure you never thought was possible before him.

you milk him and it’s one of the greatest feelings he’s ever experienced, triggering his own release, and he buries himself to the hilt inside of you, letting out a rough groan. he’s been with numerous girls before, but no one’s ever made him cum as long and as intense as you have.

“fuck- there we go, sweet girl. gonna feel me for days.”

your hot breaths entangle with his in the air, the musk of arousal and the diamonds of sweat that are beading your forehead mixing in. as the white hot sensations begin to settle down, bucky leans down to press a kiss to the side of your knee that’s propped up before carefully lowering it and sliding himself out. you whimper softly at the loss of him, feeling empty, but he strokes your sides soothingly and kisses your forehead.

“i’m so proud of you. you did so well. made me feel so good.”

“you m-made me feel good too.”

he smiles softly at your innocent response, as if you weren’t moaning ‘daddy’ moments ago. “i’m glad, doll. all i ever want to do is make you feel good.” he tucks his hands under your thighs, and you instinctively encircle your arms around his neck as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. “c’mon, let’s get cleaned up.”

and so, he draws you a bath, the water full of bubbles, comforting your aching muscles. his touch is tender as he runs a cloth over your skin and between your legs, erasing any trace of what just happened. but the memory will forever be engraved into his mind, kept in a precious box dedicated solely to you. he washes your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp as he murmurs praises on how well you did and just to relax now.

he had slipped his ring off, the gold band now disregarded on the sink, a life he no longer intends to endure. he won’t keep you locked away in the vault of his heart any longer; you deserve to be front and center, bathed in the light of his love for the world to see. he doesn’t care if his image in congress crumbles, if his wife's scorn follows him to the depths of hell. he’s so close to dismantling valentina's empire, and when that job succeeds, he’ll come home to you and call you his.

after drying you off, your skin radiating the scent of vanilla he adores, he braids your hair as you converse about your day. he listens intently, offering a comment here and there. it’s never been just about physical intimacy with you. he cherishes your heart of gold, your whimsical habits, every facet of your being. you have a beauty that is more than skin-deep. his love for you is all-consuming, and he’s prepared to sacrifice everything for you. you’re his everything, the sun and moon illuminating his sky.

now, bundled in his arms, cocooned in the freshly changed sheets, his bare hand gently strokes the braided pattern of your hair, lulling you into a tranquil state. it feels as though a weight has been lifted, a burden finally released. "i wish you didn't have to leave." you whisper softly, the words heavy with the realisation that sunrise will force him back to his other life. back to his wife.

his lips brush against your forehead, a silent promise.

“i’m not leaving this time, angel. i’m staying right here, with you, where i belong.”

[xotaemintol]

Jaemsung threesome thoughts |unedited wip/scrap|

asabf/fem reader (she/her used, fem pet names used. i.e “good girl.” “Pretty girl.”)

This fanfiction includes the following: Oral sex f.r, fingering, double penetration(anal+vaginal), overstimulation, humiliation, dirty talk, kissing, nipple play, cursing, and more. IF YOU ARE A MINOR GO AWAY!

A threesome with Jaemin and Jisung was so nerve wrecking, you were shocked that they were even open to the idea of one, but they were both so sure. They’re both so big and strangely mix well when it comes to their style of sex, so you agreed easily.

Jaemin being so turned on by you being embarrassed by how good everything feels, he’d help Jisung relax a little more—making comments about how you react to all of his touches.

“She can’t even keep her eyes opened.” He’d tease as Jisung slid his fingers into you. Of course when Jisung notices your erotic expression he feels more confident in his touches.

The soft moans that emits from your mouth fuels the perverted side of them both, bringing out a horribly sinful duo. With Jisung fingering you and Jaemin kissing you it’s impossible to form a single thought. When Jaemin goes from just kissing you to groping your breasts, using his mouth to stimulate your nipples—Jisung decides that he can go further.

Going from fingering you to eating you out. It doesn’t take long for him to become drunk from the power he feels, being able to cause you so much pleasure that your whole body reacts makes him feel like he’s on top of the world.

“Does it feel good, hm?” Again, Jaemin can’t spare you a second of peace. As you succumb to the pleasure he mocks you. Asking you if Jisungs mouth feels good, making you describe how good his tongue feels on your pussy while praising him.

Jisung only becomes more perverted—closing his eyes as he grinds against the mattress, moaning into your pussy as he gets off to your praise and humiliation.

“Are you gunna cum, hm? You gunna cum on Jisungs tongue?”

Beside you, Jaemin presses open mouth kisses on your hot skin. The taste of your sweat and the feeling of your pulse on his tongue turns him on even more.

Strangled moans leave your mouth as you try your hardest to get out one clear ‘yes.’ You could only nod your head when Jisung began rubbing messy circles on your clit. With just a few more pushes from Jaemin and Jisung’s tongue you finally broke, releasing all over the lower half of Jisung’s face.

Of course this isn’t the end though, Jaemin has to eat you out next; so he switches positions with Jisung. The difference in the way they eat you out is so noticeable.

While Jisung is more careful, seemingly unsure despite his skill—Jaemin doesn’t hesitate. It’s clear that Jisung eats pussy for your pleasure, while Jaemin does it for his own.

Immediately your body jerked, you reached down and put your hands in his hair. You were hoping that Jisung would help you relax into the pleasure since it was clear you were sensitive, but instead —with a foggy mind, Jisung began kissing you.

Jaemin at first focused on just gauging how sensitive you were, and when he got an answer he stopped holding back.

Your legs trembled beside his head, threatening to shut at any given second as your hips bucked against his face. It took Jaemin to hold you down with his arm to keep you still. And when Jisung finally stopped kissing you he held your hands in place.

Unlike Jaemin he didn’t say much to embarrass you, his words were mostly of praise. Complimenting your taste, muttering how pretty your pussy is and how sexy your voice sounds.

“You taste so good when you cum, are you gunna let Jaemin hyung taste it too?”

Your body trembles against Jisung as he sits behind you, keeping you in place.

“It’s okay, I got you…I got you.”

When Jaemin looks at you he grins against your pussy, knowing you’re getting close again. You half expect him to stop but instead he keeps his eyes on you, it’s like he’s saying that he dares you to break eye contact. And you know better than to do that, so you do your best not to.

With Jaemin’s eyes on you, his mouth against your pussy. And Jisung’s body behind you, his dick pressed against your back—it felt like you were being turned into jelly.

As you got closer you couldn’t help but break eye contact, leaning your head back against Jisung as your hips shuttered against Jaemin’s face.

“There you go, such a pretty girl~look at that.”

Deciding on a position is easy. Knowing that your body is likely tired from cumming twice in a row, they decide that it would be cruel to make you do more than stand. So, Jaemin gets behind you, and Jisung gets in front of you.

The nervous feeling you had inside of you is soothed by their reassurance that they’ll be gentle and go slow until you’re ready for more. And just like they promised, they both enter you slowly. The thin wall separates their thick cocks inside of you—you can feel them both slowly sliding inside.

“Gosh you—you’re so tight…” Jisung whispered.

Your mind goes blank the second both of them are fully inside, neither of them move until they’re sure you’re fine. Jaemin is the first to ask; “Are you okay baby?” Jisung is too busy trying his hardest not to crumble under how good your pussy feels.

You weakly nod your head, gripping Jisung’s shoulders as your legs tremble. Jaemin does his best to keep you up straight, but it only becomes harder when they finally start moving—your body goes completely weak as they start slowly fucking you.

Your head falls back on Jaemin’s shoulder and they both attack opposite sides of your neck.

[mydearzero]

The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader - Chapter 10 | Dr. Sofen

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter. 

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader, therapy, depression, anxiety

Read it on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 9

WC: 2.4K

A/N: my apologies if there’s any formatting issues, this was written on my phone instead of my laptop lol

Bob’s first therapy session had seemed to be a success. He was doubtful it was going to work, but admitted it was nice to own up to his darker thoughts to someone who could be impartial about them. It was reassuring that he was finally getting professional help. Maybe in a few months, he’d be ready to start training his powers with the rest of the team, making him a real asset. 

Alexei had already begun boasting about battle strategies, though it felt a bit tasteless. You liked the man well enough, but he really needed to learn about boundaries and appropriate timing. This was not the time to start talking about ‘using’ Bob to their advantage, no matter how powerful he was. 

You sat in the waiting room, waiting for Bob to finish his next therapy session. You’d met her for the first time that day; A tall, blonde lady named Dr. Sofen. Her friendly smile gave you some peace of mind. 

The waiting room was decorated to look inviting, but really wasn’t very much so. The artwork lacked emotion. The paint was chipping off some of the walls. The water cooler dripped irregularly. The hour you waited for Bob felt more like six. You were shaking your leg, waiting for the minutes to pass when the door finally opened again. 

Bob was profusely thanking Dr. Sofen, who shook his hand and led him into the waiting room. You made eye contact with him and were slightly startled to see he’d obviously been crying. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheeks red. His hand was shaky as it left Dr. Sofen’s, who called for the next patient.

“Hey,” his voice was a little shaky as he addressed you. 

“Hey, you ready?” He nodded and you walked out of the stuffy waiting room. 

“How’d it go?” You asked as you pushed the doors to get outside. You held the door open for him and he quickly walked through it before answering.

“Yeah- uh. Nice, I guess. However nice therapy can be,” he laughed. He rubbed his eye with his palm, trying to alleviate the dryness caused by tears. 

“Do you want to talk about it? Kind of ironic, maybe, since that’s what therapy’s for, but I’ll listen if you want,” you rambled. He thanked you, but declined. He’d done enough talking in the last hour.

You walked with him to the subway station, ready to get back to the tower. This had only been his second session, but you could tell it drained him. Not too surprising, considering the trauma and emotions he was trying to work through. 

It was clear he was trying not to fall asleep on the ride home. Try being the key word. His eyes slowly drooped shut, head bobbing along to the movements of the wagon. Eventually his head found your shoulder and stayed there. A small smile crept up your lips as you felt it happen. You were glad he felt safe enough with you to drop his guards and fall asleep in public. 

You only woke him up when your stop was nearing. He rubbed the little bit of sleep from his eyes. When you reached your stop, you got up and reached for his hand. The crowd was denser than usual, so you held it as you led him through the crowded cart. You damned yourself for the tingles running through your fingers where your skin met his. This was your job, you couldn’t go feel like this about him. It really didn’t help that he’d grown so attached to you. 

You walked into the tower and waited for the elevator together. His face had cleared up during his nap, no more evidence of his tears visible. The elevator ride to the penthouse was comfortably quiet. You were curious as to what he and Dr. Sofen talked about during their session, but wouldn’t push him to talk about it. 

When you arrived back at the penthouse it was empty. It was the middle of the afternoon, so it wasn’t too surprising. Yelena had mentioned something about training, anyway. 

Bob was chewing on his bottom lip, something he did often when anxious, you’d noted. 

“What’s up?” You questioned, concerned his therapy session was bothering him more than he’d been letting on. 

“Maybe I do want to talk about therapy with you,” Bob decided. You sat with him on the couch, soft music playing in the background. You didn’t recognise the song, it must have been one of Ava’s obscure playlist left playing. 

“You can tell me. I’m not sure if I’m gonna be the best at giving advice, but I can try,” you offered. You leaned your elbow on the back of the couch and turned your body to face him. He mirrored your position, leaning comfortably into the couch.

“I don’t need advice, I think. I’m just curious where it’s all going. It’s hard to not be a pessimist about therapy when nothing in the past has seemed to work,” he sighed. 

“You’re probably thinking what difference talking about your problems could make, right?” He nodded in response. 

“Hmm, it’s difficult. It doesn’t work for everybody. Especially if you’re an over-thinker, which I’m getting the feeling you just might be. You already know where all your problems stem from. You know how you feel and why. All you need help figuring out how to stop feeling like that. And the answer to that differs for everybody. But I’m sure Dr. Sofen will work through the options with you,” you tried reassuring him, but it was likely nothing he didn’t already know.

“It’s just… I’ve felt like this for so long. For as long as I can remember, really. I guess I just don’t know who I am without that part of me,” he looks away. 

“It’s hard to imagine yourself happy?” 

He nodded and laughed lightly, though not out of amusement.

“I am happy with you guys. But I have these highs, and even during them I just can’t fully enjoy because I know within no-time I’m gonna be feeling so much worse. It’s hard to enjoy anything that way,” he explained. 

“And then you get the lows… Every time you hit one of those you feel like it might just be the last one because you’re not sure how long you can keep going like that.” Your heart hurt for him. He could explain it well, he understood his feelings. He just wanted a solution. 

“In the past… I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he turned his body away and looked down at his hands, trembling in his lap. 

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you told him. You were curious, sure, but really didn’t want to hurt him any more than he already was. 

“No- it’s okay. It’s not like you can’t go online and find my record,” he grimaced. 

“You have a criminal record?” You gaped. He nodded before elaborating.

“I had a meth problem. It was quite bad. One of the ways I tried fixing the problem myself, I guess.” He always spoke with such uncertainty, you noticed. I guess. I suppose. I think.

“Well, I’m glad that’s in the past. Thank you for telling me, though. That can’t have been easy,” you put a soothing hand on his knee. 

“It’s not that bad, actually. It’s not the talking about it that I have a problem with. I’ve just been… ‘bad’ for so long that at this point it feels like a new neutral, you know? People pity you for being depressed, but if it’s been long enough you don’t really know what the difference is. I can’t currently imagine what genuine happiness feels like. That’s the hardest part. Trying to imagine the future without being nihilistic about it.” He sighed deeply. 

“I’m really sorry that that’s the cards you were dealt. Life is not fair. If there’s anything I can do for you…” you smiled at him, but he looked away again.

“I know you don’t mean it like that, but it’s that exact look, the pity, that makes it difficult to talk about. Either way, I’m glad you’re here. It’s not exactly the right way to go about it, I must admit; forcing me to just never be alone. But it seems to be working, to some extent.” The smile he gave you was genuine, less sad. 

“I’ll try to work on the ‘no pity’ thing, but it’s gonna be hard when you give me those puppy eyes,” you joked. It instantly lightened the mood. Then Bob’s phone buzzed with a notification. 

“Walker asks what we’re doing for dinner,” he lets you know. It was a nice interruption of the conversation for him. 

“Who’s gonna be in tonight? Do you know?” You asked. Bob shrugged. 

“Bucky and Yelena are on the floor below, training, I think. Alexei’s probably around. Ava’s out, and I’m assuming from his text Walker wants to join.” 

“Take-out?” You suggested. You didn’t really feel like cooking, and a lot of the team had made it clear over time they really weren’t the best cook. Unfortunately you’d learned that the hard way. Bob usually tried and was proving a decent chef, but after the session today you felt like he could use some greasy comfort food. 

“Oooh, can we get Indian food?” Bob’s eyes lit up. 

“You don’t have to ask me for permission, silly,” you pushed his shoulder playfully. “If you want Indian, let’s order Indian. Not sure if Walker can handle any spice, though. Last time I made curry he coughed up a storm.” 

“Even more reason to order extra spice,” Bob grinned mischievously. 

Bob placed a large order at his favourite restaurant nearby while you put out some plates and cutlery. He’d let Walker know it would be Indian, and he suddenly had other plans. 

Yelena and Bucky arrived in the elevator, sweaty as all hell. 

“You both better shower before dinner gets here, no sweaty elbows at the dinner table,” you warned, pointing at Bucky, especially. He was extra greasy. 

“Okay, mom. Didn’t know you were our babysitter, too,” Bucky raised his hands in mock defense. 

“Hey, you better watch how you talk to my babysitter,” Bob threatened jokingly. You were glad he was able to see some amusement in the arrangement.

You thought back to what he’d said earlier, about it not being the most correct way to approach the issue. He had a point, but with how busy the team was, you understood they didn’t have many options. You were glad it had gotten you where you were now, though. The team was a nice change from Mrs. Lowinski’s cats, even if they were just as stinky at times. Especially Alexei. 

Speaking of the devil, the man came bouldering into the dining room. “Lena said Indian food. I hope you ordered many naan!” 

Yelena followed him closely, drying her hair with a towel. “Jesus, I’m starving,” she moaned. 

“The food here yet?” Bucky’s voice rang from the hallway. 

“Not yet! Any minute!” Bob replied. The setting was strangely domestic, considering the collection of people present. 

Bucky walked into the dining room and you couldn’t help but stare at his detached metal arm. He noticed the look and quickly reattached it, swinging his arm around for good measure.

“Not really comfortable in the shower,” he explained. 

“Ah,” you nodded. You couldn’t exactly speak from experience and agree. 

The intercom system announced the arrival of the food delivery boy, who came out of the elevator with more bags of food than he could realistically carry. Bob quickly scurried over, took all of the bags from the boy and slipped him some money. 

“Thanks, David,” he smiled. First name basis with the delivery boy? 

“No problem, Bob. Thanks again for the tip,” David grinned, quickly walking back into the elevator before it could go back down without him. 

You unloaded the many bags of food onto the table, making sure the stack of naan was close to Alexei. 

“So, how’s Dr. Sofen?,” Yelena asked Bob. 

“She’s great! Really understands what I’m going through, surprisingly. We’re still starting with basic info before we can go any further or deeper with the treatment, but it’s a good start,” Bob nodded, shoveling butter chicken into his mouth like it was his life’s mission. 

Yelena smiled contently. “Good.” 

“Think you can start training anytime soon?” Bucky questioned. The question clearly didn’t only surprise you. Bob choked slightly, coughing before he could answer.

“Training? I thought that was months away,” he spoke sheepishly. 

“Well, extensive training, yes. But there’s other things to train besides the control over your powers. We need to get some muscle on you,” Bucky pointed at him with his fork. 

You didn’t know how to tell Bucky that when it came to muscles, Bob was all set. Not the time. Don’t think about that. Suddenly your plate was very interesting. 

“I’m- uh… I think I’m… good? In that department?” Bob sounded unsure himself. Damn right he was good in that department. You stayed silent.

“You are small like deer. Need to become like bear,” some rice fell from Alexei’s mouth into his beard as he spoke. 

“Did we not fight here in this very building? I’m confused,” Bob said. “I won, by the way.” 

“Well yeah, but that was as Sentry,” Yelena interjected. 

“I mean, the flying and stuff was Sentry, but I’ve got muscle,” Bob was starting to sound defensive. 

“Bob’s good, guys. Don’t worry about him building muscle,” you finally cringed out. Bob’s head whipped towards you, eyes wide. 

“And how would you know that?” Yelena laughed. 

“Well- he- I- He sleeps in my room, sometimes. I know you all know that. Emphasis on ‘sleeps’, by the way,” you sputtered. You weren’t about to admit you’d accidentally peeked in on him changing. 

“Still doesn’t really explain-“ Bob stood up and lifted his shirt. Your eyes went wide as you now got a full view of his abdomen, right next to your face. 

“Well would you look at that,” Bucky said with an impressed face. 

“Robert! You are already like bear. But in deer clothing. Very good strategy,” Alexei slapped him on his back. 

Bob flushed red, clearly embarrassed he’d just done that. He lowered his shirt and sat back down, poking around his plate and not saying anything.

You exchanged a glance with Yelena. She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. You frowned and shook your head, communicating with her silently. She nodded and winked back. Whatever that might’ve meant. 

Somehow, Bucky did let up about the training, for now.

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[amethystarachnid]

Hey! I wanted to request Loki x reader fanfic. Can it be arranged marriage with slow burn au where the reader is a princess of a small kingdom who never thought she'd be marrying into a higher kingdom let alone Asgard. So is surprised when is betrothed to loki. She tried to give him benifit of doubt but we'll he acts like an ass and she decides to give it to him back equally. They both banter and throw sarcastic jibes during the courting period and after the marriage but over time they become friends and then lovers. Maybe She calls odin out on his bullshit and bias towards thor, and all the fun family dynamics with frigga and thor.

Thank you! And wishing you a happy new year!✨🍀

THE ROYAL LOVERS

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open (only by asks)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k (I dont think I can make it more slow burn than this lol)

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think

ᯓ★ Part 2

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You sit in the grand hall of your father’s castle, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the cold marble floors. The room feels heavier than usual, the weight of your father’s words pressing down on your chest. Betrothed. You turn the word over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out how this has become your reality.

“To one of Asgard’s princes?” you repeat, unable to mask the disbelief in your tone.

Your father nods, his expression grave yet tinged with pride. “Yes, daughter. This alliance is a great honor for our kingdom. A union with Asgard strengthens our position, ensures our prosperity, and secures peace for generations to come.”

Peace. Prosperity. You’ve heard these words countless times before, always in speeches or during court gatherings when foreign diplomats visit. Now they’re being used as the justification for altering the course of your entire life.

You swallow hard. “And which prince?”

A pause stretches between you, long enough for your heart to skip several anxious beats. Your father finally answers, his voice calm, though his eyes betray some unease. “Prince Loki.”

The name settles over you like a shadow. You’ve heard stories of Asgard, of its golden spires and indomitable warriors. Tales of its princes, too—Thor, the golden-haired god of thunder, beloved by all, and Loki, the sharp-tongued trickster whose reputation is far more ambiguous.

You straighten in your chair, forcing yourself to remain composed despite the storm building inside you. “I see. And when am I to meet this... prince?”

“Soon,” your father says. “King Odin and Queen Frigga have agreed to host a meeting at their palace. You will accompany me to Asgard in three days' time.”

Three days. That’s all the time you have to prepare yourself for the encounter that will determine your future. You nod stiffly and rise from your seat, excusing yourself from the conversation.

Once you’re alone in your chambers, the weight of it all crashes down on you. You pace the room, the rich fabrics of your dress swishing around your legs, your mind racing. Betrothed to a prince of Asgard. It sounds like something out of a storybook, but you’re no naïve dreamer. You know enough to understand the realities of political alliances.

Still, you can’t help but wonder: why would Asgard—a kingdom so vast and powerful it dwarfs your own—be interested in such a union?

Three days later, you stand before the shimmering Bifrost Bridge, its prismatic light almost blinding. The sight of it steals your breath, though you quickly compose yourself as the Asgardian guards usher you and your father toward the grand palace that looms in the distance.

The palace is even more magnificent than the stories described, its golden towers piercing the sky, its halls adorned with treasures from realms beyond your imagination.

You feel small here, insignificant. But you refuse to let it show.

In the throne room, King Odin sits atop his gilded seat, his presence commanding, even intimidating. Beside him stands Queen Frigga, her beauty and poise as striking as the rumors claimed. The sight of her eases your nerves slightly; she seems kind, her gentle smile a stark contrast to the stern expressions of her husband and the guards flanking the room.

And then you see him.

Prince Loki.

He stands a step behind his parents, dressed in sleek black and green, the golden accents of his attire catching the light. His dark hair is neatly combed back, his pale features sharp and angular. There’s an air of arrogance about him, a cool detachment that only adds to his enigmatic aura.

Your father bows, and you quickly follow suit, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Your Majesties,” your father begins, his voice steady. “It is an honor to stand before you. I thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

Odin nods curtly, his single eye fixed on your father. “We are pleased to have you here. This alliance is of great importance to both our realms.”

Frigga steps forward, her smile warm. “And you must be the princess,” she says, addressing you directly.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty. It is a privilege to be here.”

Frigga’s smile widens, and for a moment, you feel at ease. But the feeling is short-lived as you catch Loki’s gaze. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable.

“Loki,” Odin says, gesturing toward you. “This is the princess, your betrothed.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Loki’s lips curl into a faint, almost dismissive smirk. He inclines his head slightly but says nothing.

You suppress the urge to bristle. Fine, you think. If he’s going to be curt, so be it.

Frigga notices the tension and steps in, her voice soothing. “Why don’t the two of you take a moment to speak privately? Get to know one another.”

Your father nods in agreement. “An excellent idea.”

Before you can protest, you’re being led to a nearby chamber, Loki following behind you at a leisurely pace. Once the door closes, you turn to face him, your hands clasped tightly in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is thick, uncomfortable.

“So,” you begin, forcing yourself to sound calm. “It seems we are to be married.”

Loki leans against the nearest wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Indeed. Though I must admit, I find the arrangement rather curious.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Curious? In what way?”

He shrugs, his tone casual but laced with condescension. “Our kingdoms are not exactly equals. One might wonder what my father hopes to gain from such a union.”

The words sting, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you smile sweetly, matching his tone. “Perhaps he hopes I’ll teach you some manners.”

Loki’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regains his composure. “Manners? How quaint. I wasn’t aware my betrothed was a tutor.”

You take a step closer, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I wasn’t aware mine was a child.”

His smirk falters, and for a moment, you think you’ve won. But then he chuckles, low and amused. “You have spirit, I’ll give you that. It’s almost endearing.”

“Almost?” you echo, tilting your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I doubt you intended it as one.”

Loki studies you for a moment, his green eyes piercing. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And neither are you,” you reply, refusing to look away.

The tension in the room is palpable, an unspoken challenge hanging between you. Finally, Loki straightens, his expression unreadable once more.

“This should be interesting,” he says, his voice quiet but carrying an edge.

You don’t respond, watching as he strides toward the door and leaves without another word.

When you return to the throne room, Frigga gives you a knowing look, as if she can sense the clash of wills that just occurred.

“I trust you had a productive conversation,” she says gently.

You offer her a polite smile. “It was... enlightening.”

Loki says nothing, his expression calm but his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

As the meeting concludes and you prepare to return to your chambers at Asgard for now, you can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning of a battle of wits and wills. And for the first time since hearing of the betrothal, you find yourself almost looking forward to the challenge.

The news spreads faster than you’d expect. Within days of the announcement, the realms are abuzz with the most unlikely engagement of the century: Loki, the so-called “trickster prince” of Asgard, and you, the princess of a modest but proud kingdom.

You learn of the reactions secondhand—your father shares reports from neighboring realms, some of which range from incredulous laughter to outright disbelief. Even within Asgard, whispers fill the air. Servants, courtiers, even the warriors of the great halls exchange furtive glances as you pass, clearly wondering how and why such a union has come to be.

You, however, have no answers for them.

Forced to stay in Asgard for the duration of your courtship, you find yourself in a whirlwind of carefully orchestrated meetings, formal dinners, and—most excruciating of all—dates.

The first one is planned with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. Frigga herself announces it over breakfast, her tone pleasant but brooking no argument.

“The two of you will take a walk through the gardens this afternoon,” she says, her serene expression giving no indication that this is a royal decree rather than a suggestion. “It’s a lovely day, and I’m sure you’ll find the fresh air invigorating.”

Loki, seated across from you at the lavish dining table, barely looks up from his plate. “Invigorating,” he echoes dryly, his tone implying that being dragged into the sunlight is the last thing he finds appealing.

You sip your tea, determined not to let him ruin your mood. “It sounds delightful,” you say, forcing a bright smile.

When the time comes, the “walk” is as awkward as you anticipated. The gardens of Asgard are, of course, stunning, with vibrant flowers and towering trees that look as though they were sculpted by the gods themselves. But the beauty of your surroundings does little to ease the tension between you and your betrothed.

“You seem thrilled to be here,” you remark as you stroll along a cobblestone path, glancing at Loki. He walks a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression neutral.

“I’m beside myself with joy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes. “If you hate this so much, why not just tell your parents you’re not interested? I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Loki stops, turning to face you with an arched brow. “You think I haven’t tried? My father, as you may have noticed, is not particularly accommodating when it comes to matters of ‘duty.’”

You shrug. “Neither is mine. But at least I’m trying to make the best of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki says, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re positively brimming with enthusiasm. Tell me, is sarcasm a custom in your kingdom, or is it just your natural talent?”

“It’s a survival skill,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “Particularly useful when dealing with insufferable princes.”

Loki laughs—a genuine laugh, though he quickly masks it with a cough. “Touché.”

The rest of the walk is less tense, though the banter continues. By the time you return to the palace, you’re both mildly annoyed but also—if you’re honest with yourself—mildly entertained.

The dates that follow are no less eventful.

One afternoon, you’re coerced into accompanying Loki to the library, which he claims is his “sanctuary.” You quickly learn that by “sanctuary,” he means a place where he can hide from people and indulge in his penchant for mocking their intellectual inadequacies.

“You know,” you say, trailing your fingers along the spines of ancient tomes as Loki lounges in a nearby chair, “if you put half as much effort into being pleasant as you do into being smug, you might actually be tolerable.”

“Why would I aim for tolerable when I can achieve perfection?” he counters, not looking up from his book.

You grab the nearest volume and plop it unceremoniously onto the table in front of him. “Here. Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

Loki picks up the book, glances at the title, and smirks. “A Beginner’s Guide to Asgardian History? How quaint.”

You grin, leaning on the table. “Well, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with anything too advanced.”

For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and you swear you see a flicker of amusement there. Then he closes the book with a theatrical sigh. “Very well. Sit, and I’ll educate you—though I can’t promise you’ll retain anything.”

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve learned more about Asgardian history than you ever thought you’d care to know. And, despite his constant teasing, Loki is an excellent teacher.

Another date—a “ride” across the Bifrost on enchanted steeds—proves to be even more chaotic.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Loki asks as you mount your steed, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Of course,” you reply confidently, though your grip on the reins betrays your nerves.

As the horses take off, galloping across the shimmering bridge, you quickly realize that Asgardian steeds are not like those of your kingdom. They’re faster, stronger, and seemingly unbothered by the laws of gravity.

You let out an involuntary squeal as your horse leaps into the air, soaring above the bridge for a heart-stopping moment before landing gracefully.

Behind you, Loki laughs—an infuriating, delighted sound. “Having fun, princess?”

“Shut up!” you shout, gripping the reins tighter.

By the time the ride is over, your hair is a mess, your heart is pounding, and you’re thoroughly mortified. Loki, of course, looks as composed as ever.

“Well,” he says as you dismount, his smirk firmly in place, “that was exhilarating. Shall we go again?”

You glare at him, brushing strands of hair from your face. “Don’t push your luck.”

Despite the constant banter, you find yourself… not hating his company as much as you expected. Loki, for all his arrogance, is undeniably clever, and his sharp wit keeps you on your toes. He’s also surprisingly observant, occasionally making remarks that reveal a deeper understanding of you than you’re comfortable admitting.

For his part, Loki seems to enjoy sparring with you, though he never lets on too much. There are moments when his smirk softens, when his eyes linger on yours a little longer than necessary. But just as quickly, he retreats behind his usual façade of indifference.

The days pass, and the courtship continues, much to the amusement of the palace staff and the frustration of your parents.

“They’re impossible,” Odin mutters one evening after dinner, watching as you and Loki exchange yet another round of playful insults.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Frigga replies with a smile, her gaze warm as she watches the two of you.

Perfect. You wouldn’t go that far. But as you lie awake in your chambers that night, replaying the day’s events in your mind, you can’t deny that something about Loki intrigues you.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re starting to think that this arrangement might not be so terrible after all.

The day of your wedding looms ever closer, and Asgard hums with preparations. The golden halls are adorned with garlands of flowers, banners bearing the crests of your kingdom and Asgard hang side by side, and the palace is abuzz with activity. Servants scurry to and fro, courtiers gossip behind jeweled fans, and Frigga oversees every detail with her characteristic grace.

You, meanwhile, feel like a tightly coiled spring, caught between nervous anticipation and the persistent irritation that comes from dealing with Loki.

If the prince’s attitude was difficult before, it’s positively maddening now. You’re not sure what changed, but he’s been colder, more distant, his biting remarks sharper than usual.

One day, as you’re walking through the palace gardens, you decide to confront him.

“Alright, what’s your problem?” you demand, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.

Loki arches a brow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to corner him. “You’ll have to be more specific, princess. I have so many.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t play coy. You’ve been acting like an even bigger ass than usual lately, and I want to know why.”

His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You flatter me with your concern.”

“I’m serious, Loki.” Your voice softens, though your gaze remains firm. “If I’ve done something to upset you, just tell me.”

For a moment, his expression falters, and you think he might actually answer you. But then his smirk returns, colder than before.

“Perhaps I’m simply preparing you for the reality of being married to me,” he says, his tone light but laced with something darker.

Your stomach twists, but you refuse to let him see how much his words sting. “Fine,” you snap. “Be an ass. See if I care.”

You storm off, leaving him standing in the garden, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The tension between you only worsens with the arrival of Thor.

The golden-haired prince returns from a long mission, his presence immediately commanding attention wherever he goes. Thor is everything Loki is not—open, friendly, and effortlessly charming. He greets you with a beaming smile, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.

“You must be the princess,” he says, clasping your hand in his large, calloused one. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, returning his smile.

“Of course!” Thor’s laughter booms through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. “I can see now why my brother is so reluctant to share his time with you. He must be afraid I’ll steal you away!”

You laugh politely, though the comment catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Loki appears at Thor’s side, his expression carefully neutral.

“Thor,” he says smoothly, his tone deceptively light. “How delightful of you to join us. I see you’ve already met my betrothed.”

“Indeed, I have!” Thor claps a hand on Loki’s shoulder, grinning. “She’s delightful. You’re a lucky man, brother.”

Loki’s smile tightens, and you swear you see his jaw clench. “Yes,” he says, his voice a touch colder. “Lucky indeed.”

From that moment on, Loki’s demeanor shifts even further. He grows colder, more distant, and his once playful banter becomes outright cutting.

During a dinner with Thor and the royal family, you find yourself on the receiving end of one of his more caustic remarks.

“Tell me, princess,” Loki drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Have you been enjoying your time here in Asgard? Or is it too overwhelming for someone from such... modest origins?”

The table falls silent, all eyes turning to you. Thor frowns, clearly disapproving of his brother’s behavior, while Frigga gives Loki a sharp look.

You take a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Oh, it’s been lovely,” you reply sweetly. “Though I must admit, the company has been a bit... mixed.”

Thor bursts out laughing, while Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Well played, princess,” he says, his voice low and icy.

The tension between you only seems to escalate as the days pass, culminating in a heated argument the night before the wedding.

“You know,” you say, standing in the middle of the grand hall where the ceremony will take place, “if you’re so miserable about this marriage, why don’t you just call it off?”

“And bring shame to both our kingdoms?” Loki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think not.”

“Shame?” You scoff. “Oh, please. Everyone knows you don’t want this any more than I do.”

“And yet here we are,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger.

The argument spirals, both of you hurling insults and accusations until you’re both breathing heavily, standing far too close to each other.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air crackles with tension, and you half-expect Loki to say something cruel, something to end the conversation once and for all.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, princess,” he says quietly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

You’re left standing alone in the empty hall, your chest tight and your mind racing.

The day of the wedding arrives, and you wake with a mixture of dread and resignation. You’re dressed in an elaborate gown, the finest your kingdom has ever produced, and escorted to the ceremony by your father and a contingent of Asgardian guards.

The hall is packed with dignitaries and guests from across the realms, their eyes fixed on you as you make your way down the aisle. At the end of it stands Loki, dressed in black and gold, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

As you approach, you search his face for any sign of emotion, any hint of the man you’ve gotten to know over the past weeks. But he gives nothing away.

The ceremony proceeds smoothly, the vows exchanged without incident. But as you stand before the gathered crowd, your hand resting in Loki’s, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

When the officiant finally declares you husband and wife, Loki leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “The games begin, princess.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Bring it on, prince.”

The crowd erupts in applause, oblivious to the battle of wills raging between the two of you.

And as Loki leads you down the aisle, his hand resting lightly on yours, you can’t help but wonder what the future holds for this strange, tempestuous union. One thing is certain: life with Loki will never be dull.

The wedding feast is a blur of golden light, laughter, and endless toasts. Your smile is painted on, your cheeks aching as guests from every realm offer their congratulations. Loki plays his part impeccably, charming the crowd with his wit and occasional glances in your direction that are just shy of affectionate.

Inside, you feel like a tightly coiled spring, wound tighter with every passing moment. You know what comes after the feast. The thought sits heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The hour grows late, and when the last of the guests have finally departed, you’re escorted to the chambers that have been prepared for you and Loki. The halls seem longer than usual, the distance to your destination stretching endlessly as your nerves build.

When you reach the door, the servants offer you both polite bows before disappearing down the corridor, leaving you and Loki alone.

He opens the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His expression is unreadable, though his usual smirk is noticeably absent.

The chambers are stunning, of course—richly furnished and illuminated by soft, flickering candlelight. But all you can focus on is the massive bed at the center of the room, its silken sheets and embroidered pillows looking more like a throne than a place to rest.

Loki closes the door behind you, and you hear the faint click of the lock.

You stand frozen in the middle of the room, your hands clasped tightly in front of you as you stare at the bed.

“Well,” Loki says after a moment, his voice breaking the tense silence. “I suppose this is the part where we consummate the marriage.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to turn and look at him. “I... I know,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki studies you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to your surprise, he sighs and moves to the nearest chair, sinking into it with an almost theatrical air of exasperation.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” he says, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin on his hand. “I have no intention of forcing you—or myself, for that matter—into anything tonight.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he replies, his tone dry, “that we don’t actually have to do anything. All anyone needs to know is that we sayit happened. As long as we both stick to the story, no one will be the wiser.”

Relief floods through you, so sudden and intense that your knees nearly buckle. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” he says, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I find the idea of spending the night in awkward silence far more appealing than the alternative.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding quickly. “Alright. I... I agree.”

“Good.” He stands and moves to the other side of the room, unfastening his cloak and draping it over a chair. “We’ll sleep in the same bed—appearances and all that—but I promise to stay on my side. You won’t even know I’m there.”

You hesitate, glancing at the bed again. “Alright,” you say softly, your voice steadier now.

Loki changes into a loose tunic and trousers while you slip behind a screen to remove your elaborate gown and don a simple nightdress. When you emerge, he’s already lying on one side of the bed, his back to you.

You climb in cautiously, keeping to the very edge of your side. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and you can feel the faint warmth of Loki’s presence, though you’re careful not to look at him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable.

“Goodnight, princess,” Loki says after a while, his voice quiet but laced with his usual sarcasm.

“Goodnight, Loki,” you reply, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself.

The next morning, you’re awoken by a knock at the door. Loki groans softly, rolling onto his back but making no move to get up.

“Come in,” he calls lazily.

The door opens, and a group of servants enters, carrying trays of breakfast and fresh clothing. They’re followed by Frigga, who takes one look at the rumpled bed and your mussed hair and smiles knowingly.

“I trust you both slept well,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Loki sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair and flashing her a lazy grin. “Like babes in a cradle, Mother.”

You flush, quickly busying yourself with the tea that one of the servants has placed on the bedside table.

Frigga’s gaze lingers on the two of you for a moment longer before she nods, clearly satisfied. “Good. The court will be eager to hear that the union has been properly sealed.”

You nearly choke on your tea, but Loki remains perfectly composed, raising an eyebrow at his mother. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “They needn’t worry about that.”

Frigga gives him a pointed look, then turns to leave, her skirts sweeping gracefully behind her.

When the door closes, you let out a shaky breath, your cheeks still burning.

“Well,” Loki says, leaning back against the headboard with a smirk. “That was convincing enough, wouldn’t you say?”

You glare at him, though there’s no real heat in it. “You could have warned me she’d ask.”

“And deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you flustered?” He grins, clearly enjoying himself.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of public appearances and well-wishes from guests and courtiers. You and Loki play your roles to perfection, standing side by side and accepting congratulations with polite smiles.

But every so often, you catch Loki’s eye, and there’s a flicker of something there—something you can’t quite define.

As the sun sets and the festivities wind down, you find yourself wondering if this strange, tentative partnership might become something more.

The passing weeks blur in a mix of royal duties, public appearances, and private moments that seem far too fleeting. You and Loki settle into an unexpected, but not unwelcome, routine. It’s not one born out of affection, nor of any deep romantic feeling—at least not on your part—but something else entirely.

It’s friendship, of sorts, though it has an edge of guardedness on both sides.

Loki is still as sarcastic as ever, his barbed words often making you want to throw a pillow at him, but there’s a subtle shift in his attitude. He doesn’t try to make you uncomfortable, nor does he push you into situations that force your discomfort. Instead, he lets the two of you share moments of quiet companionship, moments that pass without him demanding anything more than just… being together.

At times, you even catch him offering a rare, genuine smile when the two of you exchange witty banter, the edge of coldness in his eyes softening for just a moment before it’s hidden away again.

It’s those moments—small, fleeting—that make you begin to wonder if there’s more to Loki than meets the eye.

But then, every time Thor is around, Loki retreats into himself. His demeanor hardens, his eyes become colder, and the playful teasing he once directed at you disappears, replaced by something almost resembling disdain.

It’s frustrating. You had grown used to Loki’s sharp wit and dry humor, but around Thor, he becomes a stranger. It’s as though he’s a different person entirely.

It’s in those moments that you realize just how much Thor’s presence affects Loki. The way his brother’s easy charm and warmth seem to have earned him the favor of everyone around them, especially their father, Odin.

The stark contrast between the two brothers becomes painfully obvious during family dinners.

On this particular evening, you’re seated at the grand table in the palace hall, flanked by Frigga on one side and Thor on the other. Loki sits at the far end, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on his plate. The tension between the two brothers is palpable, though it’s subtle, buried beneath layers of carefully crafted politeness.

Frigga chats lightly with Thor about his latest battle, her soft voice carrying through the room. You listen attentively, though a part of you can’t help but glance over at Loki.

You can feel the weight of his silence, the way he seems to withdraw into himself whenever Thor speaks. Loki only offers the occasional half-hearted comment, his tone distant, as if he’s not really a part of the conversation.

Frigga, ever perceptive, seems to notice as well. She glances between Loki and Thor, her expression one of quiet concern.

“Loki,” she says gently, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding, “is there something you wish to add?”

Loki straightens slightly but doesn’t look up from his plate. “No, Mother. I’m simply… observing.”

You can’t help but notice the way his jaw clenches, his gaze still fixed on his food as though he’s avoiding looking anyone in the eye.

Thor, ever the optimist, tries to break the tension. “Come now, brother. Surely you have a better tale to tell than mine. You’ve always been the more… creative one when it comes to storytelling.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward Thor, but the look he gives his brother is colder than you’ve ever seen it. There’s something there, something unspoken that hangs heavy in the air between them.

“I have no tales to tell,” Loki replies coolly, his voice flat. “Not tonight.”

The silence that follows is thick, awkward. You shift in your seat, unsure of what to say, and Frigga clears her throat, clearly attempting to shift the atmosphere.

“I’m sure Loki has many stories to share when he’s in the mood, Thor,” she says, giving her son a kind smile. “But for now, perhaps we should allow him the peace to enjoy his meal in silence.”

Thor seems to take the hint, though there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he nods. “Of course, Mother.”

But you notice the way he glances at Loki one last time before he turns his attention to you. He smiles, his usual warmth returning.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Thor says, his voice easy and kind. “I trust you’ve settled in well?”

You smile back, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, thank you, Thor. Asgard has been… more than welcoming.”

Loki stays silent, his fork moving absently as he pushes food around on his plate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long on him, but it’s difficult to ignore the way he seems to withdraw further with each passing moment.

Later, after the dinner has ended and the courtiers have dispersed, you find yourself walking the halls of the palace, your thoughts a tangled mess.

Loki’s behavior continues to trouble you. It’s clear that there’s something between him and Thor, something deep and unresolved. You can sense it in the way Loki acts when his brother is near, the way he retreats inward, shutting everyone else out.

And then there’s Odin. You’ve seen it too—the way the Allfather seems to favor Thor in ways that Loki could never seem to earn. The way Odin’s praise comes effortlessly to Thor, while Loki is left in the shadows, forced to fight for every scrap of recognition.

You’ve begun to notice the small things—the way Loki’s expression shifts when Odin speaks to Thor, or how he watches them both with an almost painful intensity when they stand together.

It’s hard to ignore the dynamic between them. Loki’s desire to prove himself to his father, to gain his approval in a way that seems perpetually out of reach, is something you can’t help but empathize with.

But you don’t know how to talk about it, how to approach him without making things worse.

That night, after the dinner, you retreat to your chambers, the silence of the room settling around you like a weight. Loki is already there, seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he stares out the window.

The flickering light from the torch on the wall casts shadows across his face, making his expression seem distant and closed off.

You hesitate in the doorway, unsure of what to say. But the longer you stand there, the more the words seem to push their way out.

“Loki,” you begin, your voice tentative, “I know things have been… difficult lately.”

Loki doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders tense at the sound of your voice. “Difficult? You mean the constant parade of Thor’s victories and Father’s adoration?” His words are sharp, laced with bitterness.

You step further into the room, your heart aching at the venom in his tone. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quietly. “But I can see it, Loki. I can see how much it hurts you.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, Loki sighs deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to stave off a headache.

“I don’t need your pity,” he mutters. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

You take a careful step closer, your voice soft. “I’m not pitying you, Loki. I’m just… I just don’t want you to feel alone in this.”

He laughs bitterly, his shoulders shaking as he turns to face you. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be cast aside, to never be good enough no matter how hard you try?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you look at him. “I don’t know what that’s like,” you admit, “but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly trying to prove yourself to someone who doesn’t even notice.”

Loki’s gaze flickers briefly to yours, and for a moment, there’s a crack in his armor. But it’s gone almost instantly, replaced by that familiar coldness.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he repeats, though there’s less conviction in his voice.

“I’m not offering you sympathy,” you reply firmly. “I’m just saying… if you ever want to talk about it—about anything—I’m here, Loki.”

He stares at you for a long while, his eyes unreadable. And then, with a quiet sigh, he nods once, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, princess. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

You nod, though your heart aches at the weight of his words.

“I’ll be here when you are,” you say softly.

Loki doesn’t answer, but the silence that falls between you is… less heavy somehow. Less lonely.

You’re not sure what the future holds for the two of you, but in that moment, you both find a small measure of peace.

And for now, that’s enough.

The days following your conversation with Loki are a strange blend of light and shadow. The weight of your words lingers in the air between you two, but there’s an undeniable shift. It’s subtle, at first—a slight softening in the way he looks at you, a rare but meaningful smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his lips.

But it’s clear, too, that there are walls around him, walls that are not easily torn down. You don’t press him further, content to let him open up in his own time, if at all.

Then, one evening, when the palace is quiet and the rest of the court is engaged in a distant gathering, Loki surprises you.

You’re walking down one of the many hallways, heading back to your chambers after a rather dull meeting with various nobles, when you hear his voice.

“Princess,” he calls softly, his voice carrying through the silence of the corridor.

You turn to find him standing a little ways down the hall, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. There’s something different in his stance—less guarded, more… open, though he still holds that impenetrable air around him.

You raise an eyebrow. “Loki? What’s the matter?”

He shifts, a subtle but noticeable tension in his posture as if he's deliberating whether or not to speak. Finally, after a beat of silence, he steps toward you, his footsteps soft on the stone floor.

“I… I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

You give him a careful look. “What about it?”

Loki glances down, avoiding your eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “About my father.” His voice tightens slightly, but it’s not the usual bitterness. It’s something more raw. “You were right. I… I’ve been carrying a lot of things for a long time.”

You wait, not wanting to interrupt, giving him space to speak.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone this, but…” Loki exhales slowly, his breath shaking as if he's letting something go for the first time. “I’ve never felt like I was enough for Odin. For my father. Not in the way Thor is. Not in the way that he needs me to be.”

You step closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice. “Loki…”

He shakes his head, as if frustrated with himself. “I’ve always tried to do everything he wanted. Prove myself, be the son he wanted. But it’s never been enough. Every time I think I’m close to earning his favor, Thor does something. It doesn’t even matter what. Odin just… adores him.” Loki’s words come out with a sharpness, like they’ve been pent up for years, and yet there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

You want to reach out, to comfort him, but you don’t. Not yet.

“Thor…” Loki scoffs, though it’s not with malice—more a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “He doesn’t try. He just is. And Odin… he praises him for every little thing. Meanwhile, I’m left to pick up the pieces, to try to carve out a place for myself. But nothing ever works.”

A knot forms in your chest as you listen to him. It’s impossible to ignore how deeply Loki’s words cut, how much he craves the recognition and love he feels he’ll never receive.

“I know it’s not Thor’s fault,” Loki adds, almost as an afterthought, as if the words pain him. “But sometimes, I just… I can’t help but resent him.”

There’s an ache in his voice that hits you like a physical blow, and without thinking, you step forward and place a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Loki,” you say quietly. “I can see how much this hurts you.”

His eyes soften for just a moment, a flicker of something—something like gratitude—before the walls go back up. But it’s a start.

“I know you understand,” he mutters, his gaze dropping. “It’s just… hard to admit, even to myself.”

The silence between you two stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels like a shared understanding, an unspoken bond that has formed between you.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you say softly, stepping back a little but keeping your eyes on him.

Loki looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gives you a faint smile. “Thank you.”

It’s more than he’s ever said to you in any of your interactions, and it makes your heart flutter, though you don’t show it.

“Anytime, Loki,” you reply, your voice steady, though your hands are trembling ever so slightly.

The next day, Odin makes his usual rounds through the court, his presence like a weight hanging over everyone. He speaks with courtiers, listens to reports from the generals, and gives out orders. But as usual, his praise for Thor is effusive, his voice rich with admiration.

It’s when you’re walking through the hall toward the council room that you catch the conversation between Odin and Thor. They’re speaking loudly enough for you to overhear, and you can’t help but wince as Odin lauds Thor’s latest achievement.

“Thor,” Odin says, his voice full of pride, “you’ve done the kingdom proud. Truly, your battle strategies are unmatched. I’m so glad to see you take your place as the leader Asgard needs.”

Thor laughs, clearly pleased, though there’s no sign of arrogance in him. “Thank you, Father. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of my allies.”

Odin waves off the sentiment with a chuckle, his voice warm. “Your humility is one of your finest qualities, my son.”

And that’s when it hits you—how blatant the favoritism is. How obvious it is that Odin is always quick to praise Thor, but Loki, despite his brilliance, is always left in the shadows.

Your chest tightens with the unfairness of it all. You’ve heard whispers before—how Odin has always placed Thor on a pedestal, how his approval has always been out of reach for Loki.

You’ve seen it yourself, in the way Odin looks at his sons. Thor, with his easy smiles and loud boisterousness, is clearly the favored one. Loki’s quieter, more calculating nature doesn’t seem to earn him that same adoration.

And something inside you snaps.

You’ve had enough of watching Loki suffer in silence. Enough of the obvious bias that Odin so openly displays.

With a deep breath, you step forward, deliberately interrupting the conversation between father and son.

“Lord Odin,” you say, your voice steady and louder than you expect. Both Odin and Thor turn toward you, surprised by your sudden interruption.

Odin’s eyes flicker over you, but his expression remains neutral. “Princess,” he greets, his tone polite but distant. “What is it you need?”

You take a step closer, finding the courage you’ve never had before to speak your mind. “I think it’s time someone pointed out something that’s been bothering me for some time,” you say, meeting Odin’s eyes with unwavering resolve.

Thor looks at you, clearly surprised, but Odin’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve noticed,” you continue, “that you never seem to acknowledge your sons equally. You give Thor praise, constantly sing his virtues, while Loki…” You glance over at him, who stands with his arms crossed, looking more uncomfortable than usual. “Loki deserves the same recognition, and it’s time someone said it.”

Thor’s eyes widen at your words, and Odin’s gaze sharpens, though he doesn’t immediately respond.

“Princess, this is a matter between my sons and I,” Odin says, his tone calm but with an edge that warns you to back down.

But you don’t. “It’s a matter of fairness,” you say, your voice unshaken. “Loki is just as capable, just as brilliant, and he deserves the same respect as Thor.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, a heavy, thick silence that seems to hang in the air. Odin’s eyes study you carefully, as if deciding whether or not to chastise you.

But then, to your surprise, he lets out a slow breath. “Perhaps you are right,” he says, his voice thoughtful, though still carrying the weight of authority. “I will consider your words, Princess.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you turn to leave. You know you’ve probably made a powerful enemy, but for once, it feels worth it.

As you walk away, you can’t help but glance back at Loki, who is now watching you with a look of surprise—and something else, something softer.

Later that night, you’re in your chambers, lost in your thoughts when a quiet knock at the door pulls you from your reverie.

You open it to find Loki standing there, his usual composed demeanor in place, though there’s something different in his expression.

“Loki,” you say, surprised to see him. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “You didn’t have to do that. But you did.”

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he replies, his tone soft. “But that doesn’t make it any less… meaningful.” He hesitates, then takes a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve… you’ve done more for me today than anyone has in a long time.”

The words settle between you, and for a moment, everything is quiet.

You don’t know what to say. But somehow, it doesn’t matter. The air between you is charged, but calm, like a storm that’s waiting to break.

And then, without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you.

Loki’s breath catches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. His hand brushes yours, tentative but warm, and that’s when you both understand.

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment, the words unsaid but understood, and then you kiss—softly, tenderly, as if this moment, this connection, is something you both desperately need but never quite expected.

It’s gentle, quiet, and everything in between, and for the first time in a long time, you feel as though the walls between you are starting to fall.

The day after you stood up to Odin, something subtle but undeniable changes between you and Loki. The lingering tension that had once surrounded him, the cold barrier he had erected between himself and everyone, especially you, seems to soften just slightly. He still wears that aloof mask he’s perfected over years of deflecting people’s attention, but there are moments when he looks at you differently—like he sees you, really sees you, as something more than just the princess he was supposed to marry.

But of course, Loki is Loki, and despite the small shifts, he’s still a master of maintaining distance. He keeps his emotions locked away as tightly as his wit, but you’ve begun to notice the cracks. Maybe it’s in the way he lingers a little longer when you’re together, or how he catches your gaze in passing, holding it just a little longer than necessary.

Despite the changes between you two, the world around you continues to spin, and your role as the Princess of Asgard, as Loki’s wife, only grows more public.

The next day, after an awkward breakfast with Frigga, where she kept giving you knowing looks and you were pretty sure you heard her suppressing a sigh, you find yourself walking through the gardens, trying to escape the subtle whispers of court life.

As you stroll among the flowers, you hear footsteps behind you. A familiar, booming voice calls your name.

“Princess Y/N,” Thor’s deep voice rings out, and you stop, turning to face him.

Thor looks even more like the golden child of Asgard today, his wide smile blinding and a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, for what you did yesterday. Defending Loki like that.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I never saw it, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “The way Father favors me and how much it’s hurt Loki. I’ve always thought he was… I don’t know, distant, difficult. I didn’t realize I was a part of the problem.”

You blink, a little surprised by his sincerity. You’ve never seen Thor look so humble, so… vulnerable. It’s a stark contrast to the loud, boisterous warrior he usually presents to the world. “You didn’t know?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a little. “No, not really. And I’m ashamed to admit it. But I never thought about how he might feel when all the praise I get… it takes away from what he deserves. Loki’s clever, more than anyone gives him credit for. I see it now. I see how I’ve made him feel… less.”

Your heart aches a little. There’s so much more to Thor than the world gives him credit for, and perhaps there’s more to Loki’s pain than you even realized.

“Thor,” you start, your voice a little unsure but kind. “I think you need to tell him that. He needs to hear it from you.”

Thor gives a tight nod, the look in his eyes both heavy and sincere. “I will. But… I wanted to talk to you first, because I didn’t want you to think that I… I didn’t care.” He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I know you’re in a difficult position, Y/N, especially with Loki…”

You shrug lightly. “It’s not difficult. He’s my husband, Thor. I have a duty to him, yes, but I also want to see him happy. I don’t want him to feel this way anymore, either.”

“I understand,” Thor says with a soft smile. “And I promise you, I’ll try to make things right between me and Loki. But thank you. Truly.”

He offers a warm, brotherly smile and pats you on the shoulder, making you smile back, a little touched by the earnestness in his voice. It’s rare to see Thor so serious, but in moments like this, you realize just how much he cares about his family—even if it’s a little too late.

As the conversation dies down, Thor bids you farewell, walking off in the opposite direction to presumably find his brother. You remain in the gardens for a few more minutes, deep in thought. There’s a strange, almost bittersweet tension in the air now, an unspoken understanding of the dynamic between the brothers.

The next day, you find yourself walking the palace halls when you catch sight of Loki. He’s talking to a group of Asgardian nobles, but the moment he notices you, his demeanor shifts instantly. His sharp, emerald eyes cut toward you, his mouth forming a thin line. He says something to the nobles, and they scatter quickly, leaving him alone in the corridor.

You pause for a moment, unsure of how to approach him. But before you can decide, Loki walks toward you, his footsteps purposeful. You can feel the chill of his presence before he even speaks.

“What was that, then?” Loki’s voice is cool, his usual aloofness cloaking his words.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes narrow. “You and Thor,” he sneers slightly, as though saying his brother’s name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “You two spent an awfully long time together yesterday, didn’t you? Talking about me, no doubt. What was it this time? His concern for my well-being?”

You bite your lip, taking in the sharp edge of jealousy in his voice. You feel a slight pang of guilt, but you stand your ground. “We talked about you, yes. But it wasn’t to criticize you, Loki. It was about… understanding.”

Loki scoffs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and his gaze shifts toward the floor. “I see. Understanding.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Not me. Not him.”

Loki’s head jerks up, and his eyes flash with something unreadable. “I push people away because I know how this ends, Y/N. Thor always takes what he wants. He took Father’s love, and now he wants to take you, too.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, the raw, vulnerable emotion in his voice twisting something deep inside you. You take a step toward him, but he recoils slightly, his posture rigid.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, but there’s certainty in it. “Thor won’t take me from you. I won’t let him.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward you, the flickering of something darker in his gaze before he presses his lips together in frustration. “How can you be so sure?” His voice cracks slightly, and you don’t know how to respond, except to step even closer to him.

His face softens for a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see how fragile he really is, how deeply the idea of losing you, losing anything, is etched in him. You place a hand gently on his arm, your voice even softer now.

“I know because we talked. Thor and I. He knows the way you feel, Loki. He’s going to make things right between you two. You don’t have to push him away.”

Loki’s jaw tightens, and you can see the battle within him, the struggle to trust his brother again. But then, something shifts in him, and his gaze softens, if only for a moment.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Loki admits in a low voice, the words barely audible, as though he’s afraid of speaking them too loud, afraid of what they might mean.

You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin, and he leans into your touch. “You won’t lose me, Loki. I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice is steady, and you see his breath hitch slightly as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

He looks away quickly, his throat tightening, but the tremor in his shoulders betrays him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, barely holding it together.

“Don’t say that,” you reply firmly. “You’re not perfect. None of us are. But you deserve all the love and respect in the world. And I’m here, Loki. Always.”

He looks at you then, his expression softening with that familiar vulnerability you’ve seen fleetingly in the past few days, but it’s stronger now, more present than ever before. Without thinking, you pull him into an embrace, wrapping your arms around him tightly. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his body stiff in your arms, but then he exhales slowly, his breath shaky, and finally, he holds you back.

The weight of everything between you two finally lifts, and the walls crumble a little more. The steady rhythm of his breathing in your arms is all you need to know that he feels safe.

Later that night, when you retire to your chambers, Loki follows you, a quiet presence in the doorway.

You look at him, feeling something deep inside you—a need for closeness, for reassurance that everything will be okay. “Stay with me?” you ask softly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see something like relief wash over his face.

“I don’t think I can ever go back,” he says quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion, vulnerability.

You reach for him, and without another word, Loki walks into your arms, settling beside you on the bed. You pull the blankets up around both of you, and without a word, you curl up against him.

His arm drapes around you naturally, and you breathe in the warmth of his presence, the security of knowing that, no matter what happens, you

’ve found something real between you two.

“Thank you,” Loki murmurs softly, as if you’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted, even when you haven’t fully realized it yourself.

You smile, tracing circles on his chest with your fingers, whispering back, “No need for thanks. Just stay here, with me.”

The night deepens, and the world outside your chambers is cloaked in quiet, but inside, there’s an unmistakable warmth that envelopes both of you. Loki’s arm around you feels like the most natural thing in the world. As the minutes pass, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. There’s a comfort in the silence, in just being close to him. You feel safe here, as if this moment is yours and yours alone, something you both can keep in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Loki doesn’t speak, but the occasional brush of his lips against your temple is all the words you need. Each kiss is a small promise, gentle and soft, as though he’s trying to tell you everything his voice cannot. The warmth of his lips against your skin lingers long after he pulls back, and the weight of the past few months—the distance, the uncertainty, the doubts—slowly begins to dissolve. You realize now that it was never about the marriage contract, nor the obligations that bound you together; it was about this—this connection between the two of you that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface.

You kiss him back, tentatively at first, but as you feel him pull you closer, your kisses deepen. They’re slow and deliberate, as though you both want to savor this, to make sure it isn’t just a fleeting moment but a beginning. His lips are warm and soft, and every time they meet yours, there’s a spark—a connection that has been years in the making, one that now feels as though it’s blooming into something beautiful, fragile, and new.

The kisses grow longer, more meaningful, as if both of you are learning how to express the things you’ve kept hidden for so long. Loki’s hand gently cradles your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. He deepens the kiss slightly, and you meet him with equal fervor, the world outside fading away until there’s nothing left but the two of you, tangled in the quiet intimacy of shared tenderness.

When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you moves, just breathing in the same air. Loki’s forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath, still heavy with emotion.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something you can’t quite put into words. It’s a question, but more than that, it’s a plea—a quiet request for this peace to last.

“I will,” you reply softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. And you mean it, more than anything. You know that, in this moment, everything between you has changed.

The night goes on quietly, both of you finding comfort in each other’s presence, the soft and tender kisses gradually fading into the warmth of shared silence. It’s a perfect peace, a moment of vulnerability and connection that neither of you had ever expected but now can’t imagine living without.

As the days pass, the dynamic between you and Loki shifts. What once seemed like a forced relationship, something borne out of duty and circumstance, is now something more. The distance that once existed between you two has shrunk, replaced by an ease that only comes when two people begin to trust each other in ways neither expected. Your interactions are now filled with light touches, shared glances, and quiet smiles. There’s a softness in Loki’s demeanor that wasn’t there before—a gentleness that’s slowly replacing the walls he’s built around himself.

You see it in the way he looks at you, the way he seeks out your presence even when there’s no need for it. There’s an undeniable shift in his behavior, one that others notice, too.

Frigga, ever observant, notices the change in the air the moment she steps into the palace halls. She smiles knowingly when she sees the way Loki watches you during breakfast, his eyes soft and full of affection. It’s the first time she’s seen him like this in a long while—less guarded, more present. She watches you both from across the room, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and relief. For all the missteps and misunderstandings, she’s always known that the two of you could find something real.

Thor, too, sees the change, though he’s not as subtle in his observations. He slaps Loki on the back one afternoon, his booming laugh echoing through the palace halls. “Well, well! Looks like someone’s finally figured it out,” he teases, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Loki stiffens at first, but then the corner of his lips quirks up, a smirk that’s less mocking and more content than it’s ever been. “What do you mean?” Loki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t play coy,” Thor says, his tone playful. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s about time, brother.”

Loki sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’m not in the mood for your commentary, Thor.”

But even as he says this, there’s a subtle flush to his cheeks, a fleeting moment of embarrassment that makes you chuckle softly. Loki’s pride may be as sharp as ever, but there’s a vulnerability there too, one that he tries to hide behind his biting sarcasm and quick wit.

As the days go by, your connection to Loki only deepens. The two of you spend more time together, finding moments of quiet solace amid the chaos of palace life. You talk—about everything and nothing at all. You learn more about each other in those quiet, unspoken moments than you ever did in the months before. It’s in the way he brushes your hair out of your face when it falls in your eyes or how he looks at you when you laugh at something absurd he says. It’s in the way he remembers small details about you, like the way you take your tea or how you always tie your shoes in the same knot.

The change doesn’t go unnoticed by the people around you. The courtiers whisper about it, the nobles gossip behind their fans. They notice the way Loki looks at you when you enter the room, how his eyes soften when you speak. They notice how the two of you sit together at dinner, heads close, sharing small private jokes no one else seems to understand. The shift in the way he treats you is almost palpable, and it doesn’t take long for the rest of the palace to catch on.

But the real surprise comes from the children.

It starts innocently enough. One evening, as you walk through the palace gardens with Loki, you hear giggling in the distance. When you look around, you see a group of young children playing near the fountain. They stop as soon as they notice you, eyes widening before they run over to you, their faces alight with excitement.

“Princess Y/N!” one of them exclaims, a little girl with bright red hair. “Is it true that you and Prince Loki are really married now?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the question, but before you can answer, another child chimes in.

“Yes! I heard you two are so in love!” The child’s voice is full of awe, as though this is the most magical thing they’ve ever heard.

Loki scoffs, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “I assure you, we’re simply fulfilling our duties. Nothing more.”

But the children aren’t convinced. They gather around you, bombarding you with questions. “When will you have babies?” one of them asks innocently.

You blush deeply, not quite sure how to handle the question. Loki looks absolutely mortified, but there’s an amused edge to his expression.

“Well,” you start, unsure of what to say, “we haven’t really discussed that yet. But we’re very happy.”

“Oh, I bet you are!” another child giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. “You two are always together now. You must be so in love!”

Loki looks at you in mild horror. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I think we’ve just become a fairytale, Loki.”

The children’s excitement doesn’t end there. The next day, they’re playing again, this time reenacting your supposed “love story” with elaborate costumes. They insist on calling you and Loki the “Royal Lovers of Asgard,” and you can’t help but smile at their innocent enthusiasm. It’s impossible not to see the joy they find in the idea of your relationship, an idea that, in their eyes, is full of magic and wonder. The way they view you both—so wrapped up in this imagined romance—is innocent and sweet, and it makes you realize how far you and Loki have come.

As the days go by, the children’s stories spread throughout the palace. The courtiers begin whispering more frequently about the Royal Lovers, and soon enough, even the servants are in on the tale. You and Loki have become the subject of countless stories, both real and imagined. The court’s expectations of your relationship have shifted, but for the first time, it feels like you’re not just playing a part anymore. You’re both actively shaping this life, together.

And for all the teasing from Thor and the gossips from the children, there’s a part of you that feels proud of what you’ve built. It may have started as a duty, a contract forged by fate, but now it feels like something more. You and Loki are no longer bound by obligation alone. There’s affection, there’s trust, and there’s something deeper—something far more real.

It’s not the fairytale the kingdom expected, but it’s yours. And somehow, that feels perfect.

part 2 with royal kids? ;)

[fantasydreamland]

The Man I Once Knew

aemond targaryen x fem wife reader

Summary: Your happy marriage with Aemond turns cold when the war begins. The power continues to warp his mind until he is no longer the man you once knew. When he demands you fly your dragon into battle you finally reach your breaking point.

Notes: 18+ only!!! Slight suggestive smut, ANGST, fluff kinda, physical abuse, definite spoilers, some script from the ep.

based on the scene where aemond is trying to get heleana to fly dreamfyre into battle.

Word count: 1.7k

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You were Rhaenerya’s oldest child, betrothed to Aemond in an attempt to make peace with the family when King Viserys was still alive. When the war began and Aegon usurped the throne you remained loyal to your husband. He treated you well, much better than you had expected. You’re not even sure when you fell for him, all you knew is you were soon madly in love with each other. It was an easy choice to remain by his side.

But this war had turned Aemond cold, colder than he was before. He was always known as the cold quiet prince but with you he showed nothing but warmth. As of late, he had hardly shown you that same warmth. His mind twisting and warping from his new found power. It became even worse after Aegon’s injury. The prince regent was now drunk on the power of the iron throne he has so desperately wanted and was now so close to getting.

Now he returns to your shared chambers long past when you were asleep and was typically gone by the time you woke. You had only been intimate a couple times since the war started, before that it was hard to keep your hands off one another for even one day. Even then, these rare times were now fast and rough, he was no longer tender and gentle with you as he had been. He no longer took his time ravishing you, he would quickly pound into you until he found his own pleasure and rolled off of you to sleep. You were not sure how things went so wrong, but you could hardly bear it anymore. Your pillows were tear stained as you contemplated your life.

**********

You were sitting and talking with Alicent, explaining all of your thoughts and fears about Aemond and what is to come. She had become like a second mother to you, always showing you kindness even with her issues with your own mother. She pitied the position you were in now, she herself had been wanting an escape from this dreadful place and this dreadful war.

“What would you think about leaving this place?” She softly asks.

“Where would I go?” You respond sadly.

Just then there’s a knock at the door.

“The prince regent, your grace.” The guard announces before Aemond strides into the room.

“(Y/n), here you are.” He says before throwing a glance to Alicent. “Mother.”

“I was just going to bed.” You say casually.

“The crown has need of your service.” He says flatly.

“Now?” Alicent asks.

“The Pretender has raised new riders against us and we must answer in kind.” He explains. “I need you to fly with your dragon into battle.”

“Aemond.” Alicent chimes in.

“I do not wish to fight.” You say in a gentle voice.

“Our wishes must take second place now to what is necessary to preserve the throne.” He eyes you sternly.

“I won’t burn anyone.” You stand up defiantly.

There’s a short pause as Aemond stares you down and in that moment you could not even recognize the man you once knew.

“It isn’t a question.” He says as he grabs your arm.

“Aemond.” Alicent says again.

“They have defiled our birth right! Made commoners into dragon riders!” He begins shouting and yanking harshly on your wrist as he tries to pull you out of the room.

You struggle to pull away from his strong grip while Alicent continues calling his name as she tries to help you from his grasp. He ignores your pleas and sounds of pain as the anger blinds him.

“It is a sin and must be punished!” He continues yelling his demands.

“May I remind you that is still your wife?”

“We are in peril today more than yesterday!”

“Was it peril that moved you to burn the town of Sharp Point?” Alicent counters. “Peril or basest fury at your own humiliation?”

Aemond finally lets go of his tight grasp on you, causing you to stumble back in tears. Alicent’s words only reminding you of the monster he has become. Burning down a town full of innocent folk out of anger towards the enemy.

“You wish to rule the seven kingdoms but you rain ruin and death upon its smallfolk when you’ve been insulted… because it makes you feel strong, and now you seek to corrupt your wife. Of all of us, the gentlest and most deserving of your protection.” Alicent smacks him on the arm.

“And who will protect her if cannot protect herself?” Aemond snaps.

“And who will she be if her mind is broken?” Alicent snaps back.

“Tis no longer our rule that is threatened, our very lives. Would you not have us prevail?” Aemond tries to make you both see reason.

“Not like this.” Alicent responds.

Aemond looks to you still holding onto your sore arm and staring at him in tears before his gaze returns to Alicent.

“NOT like this!” She pushes.

Aemond pauses another moment before turning and storming out of the room without another word.

**********

The severity of his actions begin to sink in. Aemond cursed himself for putting his hands on you. The fear you had in your eyes as you looked into his. You had never looked at him that way, you had only ever looked at him with love and kindness. But he saw the fear and resentment that everyone else had always showed him, you were the only person who didn’t look at him like he was a monster. He couldn’t bear the thought that you now saw him that way too. Perhaps he had truly become one.

**********

Aemond found you standing alone overlooking the dull lights of the city in the night sky. You hadn’t bothered going to bed as you planned, you knew you would not sleep anyway so instead you went to take the night air.

“Wife…” He says softly as he approaches from behind you but you don’t acknowledge him. “I know you wish no harm to anyone. But in a time like this… when the good of the realm depends on us….” He continues gently, almost reaching out to touch your arm before hesitating and pulling his hand away.

“My mother is not a dragon rider. She cannot understand that you and I have a truer call to head.” He continues.

You continue staring blankly over the city, your silence was like a dagger in Aemond’s chest.

“Come with me…. to Harrenhal…” He pleads, his quiet voice cracking as tears lined his eye. “We will lay waste to Daemon and his army. Let our enemy see that we will answer outrage with outrage.”

You lightly shake your head in disappointment. You were waiting to hear his apology for his outburst earlier but he only continued pushing the issue.

“And if I refuse? Will you burn me as you did Aegon?” You say softly, Aemond’s breath hitches at your words.

You finally turn around to meet his silver lined eye filled with a tornado of emotion. Anger, sadness, regret, desperation, fear. He had told you the full story of what happened at the battle at Rook’s Rest, but he explained it like he had no other choice. You were never sure if you truly believed him.

“I just don’t know who you are anymore Aemond…” Your own eyes begin to water as you try to hold yourself up strong. “You are not the man I once knew. I used to pray to the gods that you would be king some day, and now… I have never been more terrified of that happening.”

“What are you saying?…” Aemond softly mumbles.

“I am saying… I can no longer remain by your side as you destroy the world before you. I plan to leave King’s Landing on the morrow. Where I will go, I do not know. But I fear if I remain here my fate is already sealed, and I’m not ready to die due to your ignorance.” You say boldly through your fear and sadness, holding his eye contact.

Alicent had plans for you both to escape the city, find somewhere quiet to live out the rest of your days peacefully. The last thing you had wanted was to leave your husband, but it was no longer love keeping you here, it was only fear. But fear was also your motivation to leave.

Aemond’s entire being felt aflame as he comprehends your words. He was already losing this war and everything he had worked so hard for. But the idea of losing you was unbearable. You were everything to him, his wife, his love, his life… his future queen, and now he was about to lose you for good. His heart shattered and his stomach twisted at the thought of never seeing your beautiful face again, or hearing your laugh, or seeing your smile that he realized he had not seen in a long time, knowing that was likely his fault too. You hear a slight sniffle before he takes a slow shaky breath as his eye continues to bore into yours, his mind processing.

“I could have you killed.” He whispers almost inaudibly, though you both know there is no real threat behind it, only hurt.

Even if you abandoned him he would still love you. Even if you joined the enemy he would still love you. Even if you utterly despised him… he would still love you. He knew this was his own fault he pushed you away, the only thing that ever truly mattered to him.

“It wouldn’t change anything.” You whisper back.

You brush past him as you silently walk back inside the castle. Aemond wished to grab you in that moment, hold you so tight you could never leave him. But instead he watches in pure devastation at your departing figure as you walk away from the man you once knew. A tear falls down his face while his entire world officially crumbles to pieces around him.

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[wildsaltair]

Nightmare

Pairing: Maximus Decimus Meridius x reader

Rating: T (hurt/comfort, angst, fluff)

Word Count: 2.3k

Tag List: @enjisbf, @nasatshirts, @empressenchanted

Author’s Note: Up until now I've never posted any Maximus fanfiction because it's always just sort of been something I did for my own enjoyment, but this is one that I don't mind sharing :) @streets-in-paradise inspired me by sharing some Maximus love with me, so this is dedicated to her (and all you other wonderful people who have made Tumblr a place where I can share my passion for this wonderful man)! There's a lot of love poured into this fic, so I hope y'all enjoy it :)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You are not surprised to learn that Maximus has nightmares. The details of his past are something you can only guess at, though he has alluded to the terrible battles and bloody escapades that haunt his memories. You also know that his refuge in your home is the first peace he has known since he was a child.

But you are not prepared for the sheer forcefulness of his first nightmare. He’s asleep next to you in bed, pale blue moonlight filtering through the window of your room, but you are awakened by his movements in the middle of the night. He’s jerking back and forth, his face twisted in a look of concentration, agony, and terror. You can’t help the fear that rises in your throat at the sight.

He makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, one hand gripping the sheets tightly enough that his knuckles turn white. Blinking yourself into consciousness, your heart tightens at the sight. Even all these miles and months away from battle, still his past pursues him in dreams.

His next convulsion shakes the bed, and you instinctively reach out to him, hoping to wake him from the nightmare. It proves to be a mistake the second your hand presses onto his shoulder to shake him awake.

His eyes fly open at your touch, but it’s abundantly obvious that he is not awake, still seeing visions of whatever memory he was in a few moments ago. The look in his eyes is one of pure survival instinct, of a desperation that breaks your heart.

A split second later, you’re flat on your back, and the full weight of his body is pinning you down against the bed. You barely have time to register the shock of his swift movement before you realize that you did not wake him up. Blinded by memory, all he can see is his opponent, and the thought drives you to panic and try to wriggle out from under him.

Grinding his teeth, he grips both your wrists in his left hand and restrains them above your head effortlessly, despite your struggling. You call out his name softly, then more loudly, but still he is lost in the nightmare.

You thought you had tasted his strength before, when he’s made love to you and demonstrated how easily he can hold you in whatever position he chooses, but this situation gives you an entirely new perspective of his strength. A second after flipping you over, his right hand is around your throat, his thumb pressing into your jugular with enough force to crush it.

You’ve never been afraid of him once, but in this moment, without a single hint of recognition in his eyes and all his power focused on choking you, you are so terrified you can barely react. You can’t even use your hands to try to push him away.

Knowing that you may only have a few seconds to react, you gasp out his name as loudly as you can, the word immediately drowned out by the pressure on your throat. Your vision is fading to black a moment later, all the feeling in your hands gone from his vise-like grip.

But your strangled cry reaches past the fog of his nightmare somehow. The pressure on your throat releases, and his eyes widen suddenly, letting you know that he’s finally awake and realizing what he has been doing.

You can never forget the look in his eyes at that moment. All the terrifying forcefulness, the single-minded fierceness, the brute strength that made him such a force of nature on the battlefield — it all vanishes in a split second, dissolving into a gaze of such horror and regret that it shatters your heart instantly. You know that from this moment forward, he may never truly trust himself with you again, a thought that devastates you for him.

You can’t move for a moment, still struggling to catch your breath, and the look of horror in his eyes only increases as he pushes himself off you. He seems torn between the need to gather you in his arms and the fear of hurting you as he just did. His lips move, but no sound comes out.

You draw a ragged breath, reaching out one hand toward him desperately. “I’m all right,” is all you can manage. “I’m all right.”

You try to push yourself to a sitting position, but you find that you simply cannot, still so shaken from thinking you were about to be choked to death by the man you love, who you know would rather die than cause you any harm. His hands are trembling wildly when he reaches out to steady you.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he says, his own breathing so erratic that you wonder if he can feel your pain. “I couldn’t see you. I didn’t know it was you.”

He’s repeating himself in absolute shock, his eyes scanning every inch of your face, your neck, your arms to see what damage he’s done to you. His shaking only worsens, but he doesn’t lay a hand on you during his frantic checking over you for injuries, just lets them hover as if he’s afraid to touch you again.

You manage to sit up this time, steadying yourself with a calming breath and trying to give him a relaxed smile. “I know, I know,” you murmur, reaching out to brush your hand over his ruffled hair. He almost recoils at your touch.

“I could have killed you,” he whispers, involuntarily shifting himself to the edge of the bed away from you.

You keep running your hand lightly through his hair, determined to reassure him. “Of course not,” you promise. “You were only dreaming. It was just a dream.”

“It was just a dream,” he echoes, but not in agreement. “A dream of a battle in which I almost died. In which I killed so many men I could never count them.”

You don’t betray a single hint of fear, just scooting forward to close the distance between you. You use both hands now, framing the sides of his face as his eyes search your face desperately.

“I’m perfectly all right,” you assure him with a smile. “See? No harm done at all.”

“You don’t understand,” he insists vehemently, his voice breaking. “I could have killed you. I didn’t know it was you. I only saw my enemy and thought of killing him.”

Seeing how shaken he is, you push forward and clasp your arms around his neck to steady him. He still doesn’t touch you, doesn’t return your embrace. You can feel his whole body quaking in your arms.

“You don’t understand,” he repeats. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I don’t need to know,” you whisper in his ear, stroking his hair rhythmically in the way he always responds to.

He actually pushes you away this time, his hands gentle on your forearms as he puts space between you again. His eyes are blazing, his face as white as your sheets. “You don’t know,” he murmurs again, dropping his hands. “I could snap your neck with one twitch of my wrist. I could break your wrists, your ribs, your spine as easily as I can hold you down.” He holds his hands up in front of you, eyes wide and haunted. “You have no idea what these hands have done.”

“I don’t care what they’ve done,” you argue, seizing his hands with yours before he can pull them away. This time, though, he doesn’t make a move to pull away, freezing in place while he watches you carefully. Slowly, intentionally, you kiss the backs of both his hands, his knuckles, his fingers, to demonstrate your words. “I know you, and I love you, no matter what you’ve done.”

He shakes his head, though his eyes drift closed at the touch of your lips on the base of his palms. “No,” he half-whispers, “no, no.” Your heart tightens seeing him so tortured, knowing that all this anguish lurks beneath his stoic exterior every day, hiding so you can’t see it. “I should never have risked you like this.”

“You’ve never risked me,” you insist. “You’ve never done anything but protect me.”

“Until tonight,” he counters sharply, his eyes flashing open and fixing on yours with his typical intensity magnified. “It only takes one time. I should never have taken the risk.”

You can read the meaning behind his words — that he thinks he can’t trust himself to sleep next to you. The thought of giving him up, especially for this reason, is utterly unacceptable to you.

“I am not afraid of you,” you tell him firmly. Your words seem to affect him, because the tension in his shoulders lessens fractionally. You kiss his hands again and again, then rest your cheek against the roughened skin that you love so much.

“You should be,” he replies softly, the severity in his voice already decreasing. You can see the waves of exhaustion and sorrow washing over him, and you reach out your arms to enfold him again. This time, he accepts your embrace, folding his arms around your waist gently and resting his forehead in the crook of your neck. His skin is burning hot against yours, his arms still trembling.

“I could never be afraid of you,” you whisper. “I could never be afraid of the man who has protected me and cherished me. You have treated me so gently, so tenderly all these months. Never once has it crossed my mind to be frightened of your strength.” You press a kiss to his shoulder, then the side of his neck. “I take pride in having the heart of a man so strong, so capable. I know you would never hurt me.”

He shifts you in his arms, lifting you slightly to align more easily against his body. You can feel the deep, shuddering breath he draws while he thinks about your words. “I would never mean to hurt you,” he replies, “but in a dream, I cannot tell the difference between memory and reality.”

“I believe you would be able to keep yourself from truly hurting me,” you reassure him, threading your fingers into his hair at the base of his neck. He reacts to your touch with a hand sliding up your back to cradle you closer to his chest.

“And if I could not?” he whispers in response, his lips pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck. “If I should wake and find you dead by my hand?”

You shake your head, feeling tears spring to your eyes. Any fear you felt in the moment while he was holding you down is completely gone, lost in the tender embrace he holds you in now. “I do not believe the gods would allow such a thing to happen. Not to you. Not to us.”

He releases a shaky breath, one that glides across the exposed skin of your neck. He ducks his head to press a kiss to your collarbone, letting his lips linger there in a way that makes you shiver in his arms. “I am honored by your trust.”

You smile in response, dragging your fingertips lightly down his sides, over the deep scar that slices down his ribs. “I could never trust another man on earth as I do you,” you reply. “My only fear is that I may drown in the love I see in your eyes every day.”

He kisses your collarbone again in response, then moves upward slowly, pressing his lips to the soft hollow of your throat, then the underside of your jaw at your pulse point. Lifting you up effortlessly with his hands hooked under your arms, he repositions you so that you’re straddling him.

He then rests his fingertips, feather-light this time, against the sides of your neck. He strokes his fingers over each mark they left, then presses the softest of kisses against each one. Goosebumps break over your skin at the intimacy of his actions, of the wordless apology in every touch.

He lowers his forehead against yours, eyes closed as he breathes you in. “I do not know what blind fortune allowed me to find you,” he murmurs, touching his lips softly against the corner of your mouth, “but I thank them every moment for the gift of holding you like this.”

At your affectionate smile, he finally gives you the ghost of one in return, though his eyes are still haunted. You suspect that he will retain that haunted look for some time, no matter how many reassurances you offer.

As the intensity of the last while calms, he shifts you in his arms again, cradling you gently and laying you back against the pillows. He leans up on one arm, facing you, and you reach up a hand to stroke the side of his face. His expression softens again, giving you a look of utter fondness and devotion that makes your heart melt.

He leans forward slowly, as if asking your permission, and you gladly grant it. His lips touch yours with a gentle brush, then a bit more pressure. His tongue slides across yours in the way that always sends shivers up your spine, and one of his hands reaches up to stroke your hair, the other resting lightly on your waist. He kisses you once, twice, three times, each one more tender than the last, then lets his lips linger against yours for a moment more.

“I love you,” he says softly that you barely hear it, but rather feel it against your mouth.

“I love you,” you return, “more than I can say.”

One last kiss, and he finally lays down beside you, his face mere inches from yours and his arm folded across your waist. He takes his time in going back to sleep, choosing instead to gaze at your profile in the soft moonlight, but sleep finally takes him. And when you finally close your eyes, content to sleep peacefully beside him again, it’s to the sound of his even breathing and the warmth of his protective embrace.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

More of my fanfiction if you're so inclined :)

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Paper Trails Leave Bleeding Hearts

Oh my gosh I actually talked to some amazing people (thank you @callofdreams my beloved) and I think I finally found a good way to keep going with Summoner König. So, after a very long pause, enjoy the second part of Paper Trails Leave Bleeding Hearts. Finally, someone stops our dear Summoner before they make a stupid mistake.

Part One

Tws: None? Eldritch horror maybe? Manipulation, coercion

Wordcount:

Art from This Post

Rest of the Story Below the Cut

Paper Trails Leave Bleeding Hearts

Your hand lowered to the page as your heart fell out your chest. The pen weighed heavily in your hand, the light seemed dimmer than before. When you looked up, Gen. Cusker’s grin was too wide on his narrow face. The tip of the pen dropped further and further to the page.

A thought flashed through your mind.

You didn’t want to sign.

Despite your best efforts, your hand was out of your control. The pen drew closer and closer to the page against everything you tried. You grabbed your wrist, but even still your hand lowered to the contract.

“What’s wrong?” Gen. Cusker’s voice echoed despite the intimate space.

“I don’t want to sign,” you whispered fearfully, “I’m not ready. I don’t want to do this!”

Your hand halted in midair. No matter how hard you tried to move your muscles, they were completely frozen in place. Nothing could be done. You were pinned in place by something far, far more powerful than you would ever be.

“Why don’t you want to sign?” Gen. Cusker’s lips curled down in a sneer.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you said, “I’m not ready. I don’t want this.”

“I offered you billions, world peace, safety from any and all suffering, and yet you don’t think this is a fair trade?” Gen. Cusker’s voice rose into a snarl, “everything the world could offer and you’re saying it’s not enough?”

“I didn’t say that,” you stammered, “I just don’t-”

“You really think you’re in a position to deny us!?” Gen. Cusker’s voice rose to inhuman levels, “you think you’re above your superiors?”

“I just-”

“YOU NEED TO LEARN YOUR PLACE.”

You hand slammed down onto the paper. All fatigue left you in an instant. You thrashed like an animal, screeching and hollering as you tried to rip your hand back from the invisible force. Ink sprawled across white paper, the pattern of your name began to form, letter by letter on the visage.

“Stop!” you begged, “please, stop!”

“I can’t let you go.”

“You can’t do this to me!”

“Your sacrifice will be noted in history books for generations to come.”

“No!”

Your words fell on deaf ears. Gen. Cusker’s eyes glazed over coldly as he watched you. Tears and begging were completely lost on the man. Whatever had been human in him had died long, long ago. You were begging for mercy from a husk of a man.

The second letter was put down on the page. Black strokes were agonisingly drawn out. You fought as hard as you could. But why?

König was just your summon, but he wasn’t. He was more than that by now. He was your best friend. He’d protected you, saved your life, he’d gone so far as to show you a world beyond the limits of your own reality. He… He loved you.

You didn’t know if you could say the same just yet, but you wanted to.

Your eyes widened as the realization froze the blood in your veins.

You wanted to love König.

Time stopped around you. Your arm snapped to your side and the pen rolled along the floor. Gen. Cusker’s mouth was kept in a thin line. All the tension in the room swept away in an instant.

Blood rushed through your limbs as you managed to pull your chair back and stumble away from the desk. Around you, the world was eerily silent. Not even the distant dinn of chatter in the halls permeated the walls. All was quiet, still.

You tentatively stepped towards the paper. Your name was still scrawled on the paper. Without another word, you took the paper in your hand and ripped it to shreds. Tiny little pieces snowed down onto the table and carpet.

It was gone. But why? What happened?

“König?” your voice quivered.

No.

Like static through your brain, the voice cut through your mind.

“No?” you curled in on yourself and looked around for who was there.

Come to me.

You shook your head childishly, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“I don’t know who you are,” you hiccuped.

You know me, dear.

“I… I do?” you rubbed your nose clean.

Come to me. Then we can speak more.

Where were you meant to go?

With no other ideas, you turned around to the door. Nothing about it seemed different, but there was a curl of something strange inside you when you looked at it. It felt like something was pulling your skin in towards it, leaving your bones in place.

You hugged yourself as a desperate attempt to try and stay strong. Behind you, Gen. Cusker was still in his seat. The paper was still torn to pieces. You were still huddled into yourself. There was nothing stopping you from staying. You could give in. Or, you could try and leave.

With nothing else to do, you stepped towards the door and put your hand on the knob. It felt almost burning hot under your touch. Without moving your hand, the doorknob twisted open and the door swung out.

You peered around the door and saw a dark void.

Come in, the voice urged you, it’s safer here.

Your feet moved before you made up your mind.

The door eased shut behind you with a click.

The sound of footsteps echoed around the space. All around you an impenetrable void cloaked your being. You felt awkward, not fully trusting each step but still pushing forward. Fear traced your nerves as you walked.

“Hello?” you called out into the silence.

It’s good to see you again, Summoner.

The voice was less urgent, more soothing. It sounded almost… Loving.

“How do I know you?” you asked.

You are my son’s mate.

You froze in place.

Thousands upon thousands of eyes of all different types opened up to look at you.

“Wait,” a smile crept onto your tired face, “König’s mom?”

I am here.

“You…” you let out a relieved laugh, “you saved me! Oh my God you saved me!”

Of course, her new voice whispered into your mind, you are König’s mate. I would never let your relationship die before it’s even begun.

“Thank you, thank you so-”

Though I’m curious why you hurt my son.

You froze.

Summoner, did you not tell me you were his mate?

The memory of your first meeting with König’s mother flashed through your mind.

“I did,” you admitted nervously.

Then why did you tell him otherwise? Or were you lying to me?

You winced. The memory of König leaving you alone in your room was still fresh in your mind. You had told his mother you were his mate, but then you’d gone completely against that not weeks later. It was no wonder König was so shocked and hurt. The entire time you’d known each other you’d run hot and cold on your relationship. Even still you were confused by your own feelings.

You want to love him, and yet you refuse to let him into your heart. I don’t understand, her voice sounded less angry and more… hurt.

You cleared your throat, “I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel.”

You lead him on.

“I’m not meaning to!” you retorted before softly adding, “I do like him. He’s incredible. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And yet?

“He’s my mate because of our contract,” you clarified, “and we’ve been taking it… Slow?”

Taking it slow?

“As in, we’re trying to figure each other out. Or at least,” you hissed, “that’s what I thought. I still don’t really know König. He’s… He’s kinda…”

He’s an unfathomable concept to a mortal mind.

“Exactly,” you snapped your fingers, “it’s hard to have a relationship between us. Not that I don’t like him, but it’s just that I don’t even really know who he is!”

He has done his best to let you into his heart, you know.

“Okay but he literally reads my mind,” you pointed out, “he knows everything about me. Literally everything. He can correct my own memories. I don’t know how but he can.

“I am just a human! I never asked to be in this relationship! I didn’t know what I was signing up for!”

König’s mother hummed slowly, the sound like creaking bones and wind through grass.

He has not done the most to try and court you in human ways, she admitted.

“Not really!” you threw up your hands, “I mean, yes? He has? But he hasn’t? I don’t know! It’s all so confusing and I don’t know what to do. I lo-like him, I think he’s amazing, I want to be with him forever, but I just don’t know what being his mate even means? What do relationships mean to immortal beings?”

You corrected yourself.

“That’s the part you focussed on?” you huffed.

It’s the most important part.

“Of course it is,” you muttered and rubbed your nose bridge, “of course it is.”

Relationships do not differ as much as you expect them to, König’s mother added, our values are not so different. Love, partnership, comfort and companionship. Truth, honesty, communication and mutual respect. These are the basic principles that underlie all relationships, no?

“I mean, yeah but, like, no? A huge part of companionship is finding common ground. It’s hard to do that when I’m going to die in less decades than I have fingers and my ‘mate’ is going to live until the end of time, and even then I still don’t know.”

You heard a sigh rattle through your bones.

All things will come in time, she said, unless you continue down this path. You haven’t spoken to my son since.

“Yeah, so, who’s bad at communication now?” you put your hands on your hips.

The eldritch god was silent for a beat, then she said, I will speak to him.

“Thank you!” you exclaimed.

However, you must agree to speak about this, her voice sharpened, your world may be home to the most exquisite sweets I’ve ever known to exist, but do not think I will not smite you from existence if you break my son’s heart.

You sighed, “I figured.” You looked around the void to see all the various eyes of all different colours and sizes. One that looked larger than a house blinked at you slowly.

You slowly let yourself drop down to sit cross-legged on the vast emptiness of space. The warmth made you sleepy. A part of you just wanted to close your eyes and curl up where you were.

You need to rest, don’t you.

“Yeah,” you mumbled quietly.

You cannot rest here though.

You blinked slowly, “I figured. But where am I supposed to go?”

The thought of the military played at the edge of your mind.

Don’t think about that, König’s mother chided you, I can find you a safe place.

“Where though?” you asked warily.

At your new home, she said, why don’t you go rest.

You were about to ask where when an eye closed and opened to reveal a red wooden door. The fluidity of the transition had chills crawling through you. It would take a while before you got used to these sorts of things.

Go, she urged you, and don’t come back until you talk to my son.

“I don’t know how to come here without him,” you reminded her.

And it will stay that way until you talk, she huffed.

Without any more arguing, you hauled yourself up to your feet and stumbled towards the door. At one point you nearly tripped, but an unseen force held you steady and ushered you out.

When you crossed the threshold, you were in a rustic looking room with a large open bed. The smell of wood and salt warmed you as you crawled under the warm covers and laid your head on the plush pillows.

You might’ve complained more, but you figured you’d explain to König when he found you. After all, there was a lot to talk about now.

Konig Dump

Konig Alternate Universes

Summoned!Konig

[lurkingshan]

I have a lot of feelings about The Story of Minglan (which I finally watched!) and its themes about patriarchy and class and intergenerational trauma and striving for survival under an oppressive system that demands fealty and will never just let you live by your own choices. We saw in every major storyline that these characters were granted no peace to live the way they wanted. Tingye had to fight for years to recover his reputation and attain status to give himself the freedom to build the family he wanted. Minglan had to battle through several unwanted attachments and couldn’t live a day in peace without someone trying to foist concubines on her or demand she use her status to buoy them. Heng was forced into marriages he didn’t want and had to give up the only wife he actually desired for the sake of soothing powerful egos, because the cost of not meeting those demands was actual life or death for his clan. In this story even the eventual emperor was not the emperor by choice—he was forced into the position as a matter of survival. There’s so much to unpack in this drama and it is far more than a romance.

That said, one of the most interesting things it did from a romance perspective is give us a smart, competent battle couple that spent nearly half of the drama married to each other despite being on the slowest of slow burn arcs to arrive at mutual love and affection. Ostensibly, you could call them a battle couple right from the jump in that they were a united front against enemies, backed each other up without fail, and talked together about (most of) their plans and schemes. But even as all of that was true, they were not on the same emotional wavelength, and they struggled to understand each other.

This is a couple that first connected and established some baseline trust in each other as children and always believed in each other’s intelligence and good character, and yet when they married as adults, they wanted completely different things from their marriage. Tingye wanted to be in love with his wife, and was, and couldn’t understand why it didn’t feel mutual. Minglan wanted to live up to the ideal image for a respectful and competent wife of that era, and did, and couldn’t understand why her husband was so discontent. As @dangermousie pointed out here, these are both trauma responses that make perfect sense given each of their backgrounds. And while the drama milked a lot of comedy out of their inability to understand each other on this impasse, I also found it so sad that their past trauma made it hard for them to communicate past this divide, and for Minglan to open herself to the vulnerability of loving someone.

I’ve seen a lot of complaints from viewers who were mostly here for the romance about how long it took for them to get on the same page. While there were definitely moments when I was ready to bang their heads together out of frustration, the fact that it took several years in story time for Tingye to effectively communicate that he genuinely wanted the real Minglan, and for Minglan to believe that and trust him enough to let her emotional guard down, is what makes it feel so well-earned and rewarding when they finally get there. It’s rare to get the luxury of sitting in a fictional world for this long to watch traumatized people slowly heal via their love for each other and build the family they want with each other. And it’s because we got to see that whole process that I feel confident their happy ending will stick.

[fraugwinska]

Hey! Me again!

Could I get an Alastor x Female reader where she tells him she's pregnant, he's so stunned he thinks it a joke until she shows him the positive on the test and it shocks him to the core but after the initial shock he's overjoyed.

My dear jezebel <3 Thank you for being so patient! I took a few liberties from the ask, I really hope you don't mind! After a lot of rewrites and edits - I'm finally happy to share it with you! Thank you for the ask, my dearest! TW:Sickness&death-Light smut-Minors DNI-5.2k words

Autumn had always been your favorite season.

The most colorful of the four; from your bed you could always see various shades of red, orange, green and yellow, all mixed together to create a vibrant, warm impressionistic painting. Just looking at the bright shades outside had always made you smile.

There was also this peaceful ambiance around autumn that you could feel but not quite understand. Something so profound and yet ephemeral in a way.

"Should I close the window before I go?", Alice asked you, a sad smile on her face. Your favorite hospice nurse had spent her last shift before her holiday almost exclusively with you - somehow you both knew there wasn't much time left. The sickness that ate away at your body was unforgiving - you knew it was simply a matter of days now, and even that was generous. Alice must've sensed it, too.

"No, no.", you replied with a warm smile. "Leave it open. The night nurse can close it later."

Alice nodded, said her goodbyes and gave you a kiss on the head before exiting the room, carefully closing the heavy wooden door with a thud of painful finality. Breathing had become painful lately, but despite the sting you inhaled deeply, just to burn the smell of bristle leafs and warm wood into your memory. Right next to the memory of him.

Alastor.

Summoning him hadn't been easy, especially since you were bedridden and almost constantly monitored. Not only did you have to take special care of choosing the right night to be left unsupervised - you had to bribe Alice and make her believe it was her own idea to give you a few hours to be on your own, which you claimed to need desperately. The internet had been your biggest friend in the weeks before, preparing - you had used the time you had at your disposal to research on shady websites and occult forums who to summon, how to do the ritual and, in case he said no, which bargain to offer. And you chose Alastor.

It was the name that spoke to you the most - Unusual. Mature. Vintage. Mysterious. Powerful and yet gentle, in it's own way. 'Mans defender'. 'Avenger'. The more you read about him on dubious servers and obscure wiki's, the more you were sure it should be him. Still able to use your hands back then, in the chosen night you managed to follow all of the instructions perfectly, even while bound to your bed. When the living shadow appeared out of nowhere, twisting and contorting into the shape of a tall, handsome, dapper dressed demon, the tiny handheld radio you had in your hands slid from your weakened grip and your heart skipped a beat. As he stepped nearer, the perceived humanity of his appearance disappeared before your eyes - long, black fingers ending in red talons, small antlers sitting in between fluffy crimson-colored ears, razor-sharp teeth and blood-red irises shining with curiosity. He stopped just a foot away in front of your bed. As he began to talk, to introduce himself - as though being summoned by gravely sick human women were the norm - you stopped him with a raise of your hand, the action draining your already weakened body and mind.

"I know who you are. Alastor, the Radio Demon."

"My reputation precedes me, then!", he chimed, his voice pointed, melodic and so enchantingly and contradictorily full of life. His whole posture, his devious smile and the way his eyes glinted in the dim moonlight made it very clear that he was a dangerous creature, and yet, you felt strangely at ease.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this summoning, my dear?"

You swallowed hard, knowing full well that if you wanted him to accept your deal, you needed to choose your words carefully.

"I... I am dying."

Alastor's grin twitched, but he said nothing, only tilted his head and waited for you to continue, hands folded behind his back.

"I've been sick my whole life, I...", you felt the need to explain, so that your offer wouldn't sound so... well, pitiful.

"Ever since I was born, I have been bound first to my crib, then to a bed, the hospital and now this hospice. I have never been allowed or even able to go to school, or make friends, or just... do things that children ought to do. Even though my life was always going to be short lived."

You could feel tears forming in your eyes, but blinked them away - you didn't want to cry in front of him, you felt pathetic as you were already. "I missed out on every milestone, every first experience a girl should have. First trip to a park, first day at school, first friend, first kiss, first... everything. And I'll miss out on so many more. I just want to have one normal thing, one 'first' before I die. One memory of a real and happy experience. Of something good."

"And what, pray tell, would that be?", he asked, a brow raised, his smile growing wider. He could probably hear the beating of your heart as you took a deep breath. This was it. Now or never.

"I want to lose my virginity."

The silence following your calmly stated confession was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. It took a while for Alastor to say something.

"Oh my, you really don't mince words, do you, darling?"

You shook your head.

"I have no time to waste. Every second counts."

"Believe me, little one, I'm quite... flattered that you'd go through the trouble of a summoning ritual for this... let's call it: venture. But... why me? Aren't there any men up here you would rather be with?"

"Have you looked at me?", you laughed bitterly. "I'm a sick, dying 20-something in a hospice bed. No man would ever so much as touch me. If I'd even get to meet anyone, since I can't get out of this bed anymore without a nurse. I have nothing to offer a partner anymore. No beauty, no future, not even money. I have only my soul. Please."

The last word came out as a whisper. Alastor's eyes glowed red in the growing darkness, his grin ever-present. He seemed to consider it for a moment, the sound of humming static the only sound in the room and you feared he might reject you.

"If I were to agree, would you truly be willing to pay the price for it? Your soul, darling, is a very precious thing. Do you know the implications of it's loss?"

You nodded.

"Yes. You can have it. It's not worth anything anyway."

Alastor stepped forward, his eyes locked with yours. He didn't sit down on the bed, instead he stood right beside you, bending over until his face was just inches from yours, the back of his hand lightly brushing your fringe out of your face. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of blood and something earthy, like wet soil or moss. He smelled like a forest in autumn.

"It is worth quite a bit, actually. More than you can imagine, I'd wager.", his voice was quiet, almost unfiltered and utterly beautiful. "But I can see you are dead set on it - Pardon the wordplay."

His sharp claw pressed into your skin, eliciting a gasp. He followed the curve of your cheek to your chin, lifting it to better access the side of your neck, just under your jaw. Your skin broke out in goosebumps because for the first time in your life, you felt a touch that was not clinical, not meant to treat you or wastefully bide you more time. This touch was gentle and purposeful. Sensual, maybe. A soft sigh escaped you against your will.

Alastor let out a hum that was not entirely unhappy, before bringing his face dangerously close to yours. You could feel the ends of his fluffy hair tickling your face, the tip of his nose lightly brushing against your skin.

"A happy memory, you say. One satisfying experience in return for your soul. I am certainly not usually known for my kindness, dear.", he muttered against the skin of your cheek, before turning towards your lips. So close. Your heart was beating as loud and as fast as it could, making you dizzy. "But I think we have ourselves a deal."

The golden hour has passed, turning bright orange light into fading blue to black. And the air was turning colder. The memory of that night was the only thing you thought about as you slowly felt death approaching.

The way his lips felt against your mouth, his tongue and the sweet taste he left on your lips that still lingered whenever you ran yours across them, recalling the sensation just once more. He had been gentle, patient, always asking and never assuming or forceful. He made sure you were comfortable before exploring you, careful in the places he touched, mindful in tasting you, praising you for the sounds you made. He allowed you to do your share of exploring, too, and although he wasn't human you found his body still wonderfully, beautifully male, no matter his thin, soft taupe fur and his many, shimmering scars. The memory of the moment when he had finally filled you, tender and slow, was as much sweet pain as it was blissful pleasure, and you found solace in his warmth and the steady, rhythmic pace of him moving inside you as you spilled his name, over and over again until he spent himself inside you, bodies deeply connected. It was hard for you to believe that all of it had been actually true, and not just one big fever dream your dying mind had cooked up to send you off gently when Alice woke you from your sleep later that night, wondering aloud why you didn't turn off the little, handheld radio on the floor that was still playing soft jazz music.

But the little, red and blue marks on your collarbones and the one red-and-black strand of hair you had found on your pillow were telltale signs that everything had been indeed real, and you made sure every detail was etched into your heart, into your body and into your skin. It was, and would remain forever, the happiest moment of your entire life.

'I hope my soul is worth enough...' you thought as the coldness finally embraced you, tears running freely down your cheeks now, but the smile on your face was wide and warm, and the last thing you heard before falling into your final sleep was the gentle hum of a breeze that brought in the smell of earth and rain and leaves.

Alastor had no need for sleep. He usually didn't spend his nights sitting in his favorite chair, motionless, listening to music. He was far too busy, too full of life and plans and energy to sit around and just wait for morning. And yet, there he was, sitting and brooding for the last month, every night, his ears tuned in on the low, static-y noise coming from the old-fashioned radio he was holding. A radio eerily similar to hers.

'How did it come to this?', he wondered for the thousandth time, like a broken record. 'Why did I do it?'

He couldn't fathom the reason for his actions that night, why he had given in to the strange, frivolous request of the frail young woman. Why he had agreed to take her virginity, of all things, in exchange for her soul. Granted, she wasn't the first to offer him that, not by far. But usually, the soul was the last thing a sinner offered, after a great many things of lesser value had been already offered and declined in return. It was, in essence, the most desperate measure, taken only by those who had nothing else to lose.

And yet, she had promised him her soul in the very beginning, treating it not as a valuable bargaining chip, but as an expendable object. A thing without use or worth. He didn't know what had intrigued him so much that night. She had been sickly and fragile, her skin almost translucent in the pale light, and yet there was a spark in her eye. Determination, maybe. Her voice had been strong, if quiet, and her smile, although sad, was still familiarly bright. The way she spoke and her body language had made it clear that she had been not as much afraid of him, despite her frail and vulnerable position, as she had been anxious about his response. She was clearly clever and resolute, despite her lack of personal experience. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to follow through the summoning ritual.

"I have nothing to offer a partner anymore. No beauty, no future, no money. O only have my soul. Please."

He couldn't remember a single instance where someone had begged him with the simple word please and he gave into it. And yet, he had accepted her plea - The whole of her soul, in exchange for a meager, single moment of ridiculous passion. The mere thought had repulsed him before: Body on body, blunt thumps of fleshes, debauched obscenities... it was something that had never held his interest. He felt like it was something unrefined and animalistic, something he had always regarded as unnecessary and obsolete. Until then.

Her body had responded so eagerly, so sensitive, so ready to his touches. It had been clear she hadn't lied about her virginity, and yet her eagerness, her fearlessness had surprised him. Acting solely based on instinct and the morals he was brought up with, no real experience of his own himself, he had tried to be as careful and gentle as he could, and somehow, her inexperience had made it... easier. She was not expecting anything in terms of skill, and thus he had to guide her through the process, allowing him to set the pace and giving him ample time to react to her reactions. Sweet gasps, subtle tremors, faint flushes - all of which had told him how she had felt, what had been pleasurable and what had been uncomfortable. He had been able to take his time and make sure she enjoyed herself. It had been fascinating and even... pleasurable for him, too.

Despite the obvious pain, she had kept her eyes open, watching his face intently as they connected. He had felt the warmth and the tension around him, and her little, breathy gasps had been such pleasant sounds that when she had finally found her release, it had triggered his own, foreign as it had been. She had sighed his name in pure bliss, and in that moment he had felt as powerful and as satisfied as the night he had gained his title as Radio Demon.

And when the deed had been done, the girl had smiled so serenely, he was sure he had rarely ever seen anything that could rival her in beauty.

Alastor shifted uncomfortably at that thought, trying to will away the memory and the sensation that the mere thought of her smile invoked.

It had taken a few minutes, but eventually he had collected himself and put his clothes back on. Her eyes had followed him, the spark back in them and even brighter than before, her smile not faltering even when her tired lids had drooped down, slowly lulling her to sleep. Alastor had stood there, in the small, plain hospice room, watching her for a while, a strange feeling in his chest. The deal hadn't been solidified by a handshake, her soul not yet firmly bound to him and the contract void if not officially sealed, but he couldn't bring himself to wake her. Something had stopped him.

The memory of her face, pale and beautiful, smiling so peacefully even in her slumber, made the corners of his lips twitch. She would've made a magnificent addition to his collection of souls. And yet, and yet... He had decided then and there that her soul would find its way to him, eventually. But not through the proposed deal. So, he had left, the exchange unfulfilled, the pact broken, turning on the small radio she had let slip onto the floor just as he heard her caretaker returning to check on her.

'Oh, how the mighty have fallen.', he mused bitterly, a small laugh escaping his lips.

"Alastor?"

Charlie's voice was a mix of concern and curiosity, muffled by the thick, wooden door of his room. She sounded worried, probably wondering why he had excused himself from the hotel's interactions more and more for the past weeks. He was about to ignore her, not in the mood to talk to anyone, especially not her, persistent thing that she was, but when her soft knock followed her call, his smile widened tightly and his eyes flashed red.

"Charlie, dear, I'm afraid I'm not available at the moment.", he called out, his tone a bit sharper than usual.

"Sorry, but...", the princess sounded hesitant, and he could hear her shuffle awkwardly outside. "It's just... There is someone in the lobby, wanting to speak to you. It seems... important."

He got up from his chair with an annoyed sigh and switched off the radio, straightened his clothes and smoothed out his hair and bow tie with one swipe. Whatever business matter was brought forward, Alastor didn't feel like discussing it. The smile he wore was razor sharp and dark, a result of his annoyance and brooding mood, and yet he couldn't bring himself to feign his cheery personality just quite yet. Maybe this mystery visitor would be a suitable punching bag to let off some of that steam.

When Alastor finally opened the door and walked down to the lobby next to a flustered looking Charlie, his breath hitched involuntarily and he froze mid-stride. Charlie stumbled at the sudden lack of motion next to her, the deafening static sound and the chime-like tuning of a radio startling her so much she flinched away from him.

"H-Hey Al!?", she called in shock, "Are you okay?"

He didn't move, didn't even react - his attention was solely focused on the figure standing at the front-desk, who, just a moment ago, had talked to Husker before turning around upon hearing him.

Hell kept her skin white and almost translucent in it's spite, but granted her soft, shimmering silvery fur in it's mercy. Her frame wasn't thin and frail anymore, she looked plush and healthy, soft curves where there had been nothing more than skin and bone before. Keeping almost all of her human features intact, the small, round ears protruding from her hair, the pink-tipped nose and the long and slender tail were definitely characteristics of a dormouse, their ends almost silver and soft-looking. Her eyes were of the same gentle color that he remembered, and when her lips spread into a sad, tender smile his breath was stolen away completely.

It was the same smile. The very one he hadn't been able to purge from his mind, and most likely never would.

"Alastor."

The sound of her voice, quiet and melodic as it had been weeks before, felt like an invisible touch that pulled the air out of him. Not enough to suffocate him, but he was still reeling none the less.

"So you finally succumbed, it seems..."

His usual bravado was absent, his voice lacked it's sharp, jovial tone, sounding more like he was actually talking. Charlie could do little more but watch with widened eyes, seemingly unable to fathom the scene right in front of her.

"What are you talking about, Alastor? How do you know...", the princess spoke carefully and uncertain, her eyes wandering from one demon to another, but she was quickly interrupted, not by him, but by...

"It's a long story better told another time, Miss Charlie.", she said with a genuine smile on her face, still not able to take her eyes off Alastor. She took a few tentative steps towards him, careful, but certain in her movement, a confidence about her that hadn't been there before. Her head tilted in an enigmatic way and she spoke again, this time solely directed at him.

"I'm truly sorry to impose. But I was hoping we could talk... privately."

Alastor nodded mutely, not able to think clearly, before taking a deep breath and straightening his back to tower over her once again. Husk seemed to notice his shift in composure, raising a brow when he passed him by on his way back behind the bar, noticing the strangely satisfied looking smile on Alastor's face that was as unnerving and frightening as always, but with a different tint that even Husk must've trouble placing guessing by the suspicious look that fell over the cat's face.

"Of course, my dear, my office will suffice. If you'll excuse us, Charlotte? We'll be only a short while."

He didn't wait for her response but took his guest by her arm and guided her past an astonished Husk and clearly confused Charlie, leading the girl down the hall and to his office, the air between them thick with something undefinable, and neither of them dared to speak until the heavy mahogany door fell shut, effectively cutting off all outside interference.

Her cheeks were flushed when she stepped closer towards him. The tips of his claws brushed against her fringe, following the curve of her soft ear, across the back of her delicate neck to pluck a strand of her hair, pulling it towards him and running the silky fiber between two fingers and over the pad of his thumb, bringing it to his lips with a deep, pleased inhale.

She looked up at him, her smile shy but hopeful.

"You remember me.", she said with a chuckle, her voice a bit higher, her ears twitching and her tail swaying behind her, showing her emotions all too easily. Alastor nodded, not letting go of her hair just yet.

"How could I not, dear. It's not common for me to leave a contract unsettled, you know."

"I had a feeling that might've been the case, since it took me so long to find you.", she said quietly. "So, my soul..."

"... is still yours, yes."

She wasn't looking at him, directly. Her gaze went over his suit, to his hands and cane, then back to the floor.

"Why?", she asked, a hint of confusion and hurt in her voice, her silken hair slipping from his fingers.

"Why didn't you claim it? You had every right, after all. I offered, you agreed and..."

Alastor didn't speak, couldn't speak. The answer was right on the tip of his tongue, and yet he wasn't sure if he wanted to share it. It felt... strange, and foreign, and not quite comfortable. But it was undeniably true, now - with her in front of him - clearer than any time in the last weeks in his chair, each night, in front of the fireplace.

He wanted her. Not just her soul. Her. So, he settled on silence and a half-truth, instead.

"It wasn't the right time, dear."

Her face turned to him, her eyes searching his. He felt exposed, like her eyes were piercing him.

"And now...?"

"That remains to be seen. Why are you here?", he countered, stepping back to put a more comfortable distance between them.

"I came to see you, because..." She swallowed hard, and Alastor watched her throat, the soft swell of her breasts under her modest blouse, the slight rise of her belly. "When I arrived in hell, I felt... weird. I thought it was because of all the changes, this new body and... generally being here. But it didn't go away, this.... feeling. I made friends with a lovely imp couple, they took me in after I fell. The wife, Millie, took me to a doctor because she got worried when I couldn't stop throwing up..."

Her face grew hot, a flush spreading across her cheeks, her ears folding back against her head.

"Alastor, I'm pregnant."

A loud bang rang through the hallway as Alastor dropped his cane and a deafening feedback noise filled the room. For the first time in what must have been decades, his face betrayed him completely, the smile ripping at the sewn edges as it dropped violently. He felt dizzy and his head was spinning.

"Impossible.", he breathed, the word almost getting stuck in his throat. The very notion was ridiculous, unheard of - clearly that must be a crude joke. Alastor started to laugh, though sounding not as amused and booming as he would've hoped, but more hysterical than anything else.

She stayed silent, looking at him with sad, but serious and almost pleading eyes as the truthfulness of her confession began to sink in and his laughter slowly died. He took a tentative step forward, a million questions running through his head, the sheer amount overwhelming his usually so precise mind.

"So, a month ago, it...", he stopped, feeling the corners of his mouth pull wider.

"...yes. The doctor told me there are only a handful similar cases like this known since hell was created... The circumstances are 'too specific' and it normally takes a vast amount of intimate interactions' between a hellbound sinner and a living, fertile human he said... Seems like you knocked me up with one round, buster." She wrung her hands, her smile forced and unsure. "Listen, Alastor... I know it sounds impossible. I mean, I couldn't believe it at first when he told me so I understand you can't, too... but I don't expect anything, I really don't. I just... I wanted to see you again, and-and you deserve to know, and..."

"Darling, hush.", Alastor interrupted, a sense of clarity taking hold of his chaotic mind. He had never felt a desire for a family, not in his lifetime nor in his death. Partners were liabilities and a distraction, relationships nuisances if they strayed beyond the borders of business or at the very most friendly aquaintances. He had no need for things like these in the past, looking down on people desperate to seek out partners, claiming to be lonely when in truth they were just weak or simply starving for a touch of the 'opposite sex' to make up for their own inadequacy.

Now, faced with the reality of fatherhood in a matter of minutes and the prospect of his life being bound to another - one who, undoubtedly, bore his child, no less - Alastor would be lying if he had claimed a part of him didn't absolutely reel at the prospect. A responsibility greater than his own had just fallen into his lap - a vulnerability he never asked for and certainly didn't expect.

But.

A part of him would come into the world, no matter whether it would look human, or demonic like him, or whatever strange combination of them both: This child would be proof of him. Him, not anyone else. There would be a person dependent on him for guidance and protection, a legacy he would be allowed to leave, a lineage that could one day claim that he, Alastor, had been the founding cause. His legacy. His blood and his seed had created another being against all rules and logic, an offspring, maybe a girl, maybe it would resemble him, or her, or even... his mother.

Despite the incredulity and the sheer panic the revelation brought, the longer he looked at the tiny dormouse in front of him, the more he realized how similar her traits were to his own mother's. Soft, but determined. Sad, but brave. Young but aged.

No, this hadn't been just some fleeting fling - Alastor had to believe in fate, given what she told him. There had been a reason why he didn't seal the deal that night. Why he had agreed to her request so easily. The more Alastor thought about the potential of a shared offspring, along with a loyal partner on his side, about the what-ifs and could-bes, the more appealing and pleasant the future appeared. She was carrying a being he created, one that had his essence – All the more stronger his grin widened, stretching so far it caused his cheeks to ache, but his blooming glee knew no bounds. He saw, to his own surprise, not a weakness or vulnerability.

But his greatest achievement.

With a laugh, this time sincere and booming and loud instead of hysterical, he picked her up on her waist, knocking the air out of her in a gasp, and swung her around several times.

"O-oh! Oh my goodness!", she stuttered, eyes wide and brows furrowed. "Alastor, calm down!"

"Oh, no no no, I simply can't! Dear, do you have any idea what a marvel you have wrought!?", he exclaimed in delight, setting her back down and bringing both hands up to her cheeks. "We've created a magnificent abomination!"

Her head shook as she chuckled, still nervous but with an edge of relief in her voice. "That's certainly one way of saying it. But... are... are you saying that... you are okay with it? That you..."

"What, dear?", he cooed, her big eyes shining hopefully as her ears twitched curiously. His chest swelled with affection, and he gently squeezed her cheeks between his hands.

"Does a daddy on your side scare you, darling?"

"N-No-oh."

The title invoked a peculiar reaction, and he made a mental note to use it again soon enough, as her cheeks flushed in a dusty rose. Alastor felt an unfamiliar and somehow primal pleasure at the sight of it, a surge of happiness in his chest, the warmth of it nearly too much. He pulled her face against his, smothering her with a kiss. He wasn't familiar with such embraces, but she felt like she was specifically molded to fit perfectly into him, her ears flicking with every beat of her racing heart.

There were tears welling in her beautiful eyes, and as he kissed her cheeks and brushed them away with his thumbs. Oh yes, Alastor was filled with a new kind of giddy excitement.

"Come on, dear, let's not waste time to spread the good news!", he exclaimed, unable to reign his euphoric mood, and before she could comment on his actions, he reached out and lifted her over his shoulder in one fluid movement, ignoring her startled squawk. The look of utter bewilderment on her face almost made him break out into more laughter, but he was already out the door, ready to take his child's mother, who was, without a doubt in his mind, bound to him forever with a force much stronger than any deal he could've made, downstairs to tell the news to his fellow friends, who would have no choice but to learn what a truly dangerous deal looked like.

[bellepeppergirl]

Radahn Didn't Want This

I've seen a lot of fan content lately about Radahn and Miquella consensually becoming one another's consort, and while I can somewhat understand how people came to this conclusion, I do not believe it to be accurate. I do not think Radahn wanted to be Miquella's Lord nor Consort.

For starters, I feel as though it would completely go against what Radahn is. He idolizes the past; the eras of Godfrey and Radagon where they fought wars unending in the name of the Erdtree and the Golden Order. He stylizes himself after them, brandishing lions and his red hair to show his connection. I do not believe he would want Miquella's age. Not only would that age be against what Godfrey and Radagon fought for, but it would also likely be an age too peaceful for Radahn.

Secondly, we know Radahn learned gravity magic so that he could fight the stars, holding them in place. Why did he do that? We didn't know, but we are informed that Radahn has to die and this has to be undone so that Ranni can become a god, because freezing the stars also froze fate. I think there's two reasons he did this; to stop Ranni from becoming a god, and to stop himself from becoming Miquella's consort. He knew Miquella wanted him, he knew Miquella had the ability to sway anyone over, so he seized the stars to ensure it couldn't happen. To remedy this, Miquella sent out Malenia and her Cleanrot Knights during the Shattering to defeat Radahn, thus stopping his gravity magic and allowing Miquella's plan to go through. I think this is also why he's still alive after Malenia nuked him; he is absolutely determined to not be Miquella's Lord; to not lose his own control. The determination is what keeps him going despite the fact that his brain is literally rotted away.

Then we have the fact that Miquella is not exactly a stranger to doing things nonconsensually. The entire party in the DLC was brainwashed by him, including Ansbach, who desperately wanted revenge against Miquella. He also took advantage of Mohg and used him to gain access to the Realm of Shadow and revive Radahn. Miquella doesn't believe anything he is doing is wrong. He is permanently a child after all, so he is naive and believes that, regardless of what you want, what he wants is more important because, in his eyes, it's what is right and what is going to fix the world. Miquella throws out various parts of himself, including his love, and I think that this could also imply that he is trying to rid himself of the guilt he feels for taking advantage of people, including Radahn.

We also can have our hearts stolen during the final battle of the DLC and, when this happens, we do the Let Us Go Together emote, which strongly resembles you reaching out for someone's hand as if to marry them, or be their consort. A possible link to the fact that this is what happened to Radahn.

And speaking of the fight, halfway through it, Radahn begins to glow red. This stops, however, when Miquella arrives and climbs atop Radahn's back, beginning the second phase. During this phase, Miquella's placement on Radahn's back and shoulder greatly resembles Serosh's position of Godfrey. Serosh's purpose was to hold Godfrey back; to prevent him from acting as Horah Loux so that he would be more suiting to Marika's goals and desires. I think a similar thing is happening here; Radahn is breaking free and Miquella is taking position upon his back and using his powers of seduction to keep that rage, that desire for freedom and status quo, all contained, lest his plans be foiled.

Radahn doesn't even speak during the fight and I really think that, had he been there of his own volition, he would have at least said something. No, it is only ever Miquella who speaks. Not only during the fight, but also during the cutscene at the end. It is Miquella who makes a vow with Radahn. Never once do we hear Radahn's side or answer, only that Miquella wants him to be his Lord.

In fact, if I remember correctly, the original Japanese text in the description of Promised Consort Radahn's weapons straight up say he doesn't want to be Miquella's Lord. I will say to take this with a grain of salt though, as I played the game in English, do not speak Japanese, and do not remember the source of this information. But, given all that I've said, and how common mistranslations actually are in these games, I am still inclined to believe it.

Radahn does not want to be Miquella's Lord. Radahn wants things to stay the same; he wants the era of the Erdtree to stay because the Erdtree had many enemies and it took many wars and genocides to ensure that it rose to power and stayed in power. Radahn stopped fate, likely in an attempt to keep himself free of Miquella's poisoned words, and his determination to be free of the fate Miquella threw upon him is what kept him alive all those years after the Battle of Aeonia. Miquella doesn't understand Radahn's resistance, nor does he accept it. He believes his end justify any means, no matter who gets hurt or who he has to manipulate, just as Marika did before him.

[redrose10]

Hi, I hope you are well! I really enjoy your work and I always look forward to new pieces 🫶🏻 please may I request a Yoongi ff 13 (soul mates), trope 5 (unrequited love), prompt 34 (so I guess this is the end) and 53 (not the right place, not the right time) please make him mean 😭

If the request is too difficult or weird, please feel free to skip it, thank you 💜

Hi! I hope this is okay!

< Maybe In the Next Life >

Warnings: Swearing, slightly suggestive, very minor mention of the scooter incident, being sold off as a servant

Soulmates, Unrequited Love

#34 “So I guess this is the end.”

#53 “Not the right place, not the right time.”

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

Everyone has different goals in life. Some want to be famous, some want to run a successful business, some want to travel the world. Some don’t want any of that and have their own ideas of happiness. The one goal that everyone has in common though, is to find their soulmate or so you thought. It’s the only way to achieve eternal peace once and for all. Otherwise you have to relive your life over and over and over, each time searching for your soulmate and trying to fall in love. But…your soulmate has to also fall in love with you too.

Every time you were reborn and you grew into an adult the memories of all of your past lives would come back to you. You had seen many horrible things over the years. Wars, famines, diseases, and natural disasters all took their toll on you. Every time you remembered all of the family and friends you had lost it broke you down a little bit more each time. It was getting to be too much.

The one person you knew would be a constant in every life was your soulmate because you were destined to find the same person every time until the two of you fell in love with each other.

You can still remember the first time you met him. It was your first life and you were sixteen years old as was he. In a spot of desperation your parents had sold you to his family as a servant. He was a part of a very noble family. His father was the king making him the prince, you never even suspected that he could possibly be your soulmate, but one evening you were tasked with helping him bathe and dress for the annual ball when you saw it. On his chest was a small faint tattoo of a heart. Every time you touched it the ink would darken. Just like the tattoo you had would do the same when he delicately ran his fingers across it. Immediately he rejected you. He scoffed because how could Prince Min Yoongi, the future king, have the soulmate of a lowly servant girl. You spent the rest of that life living as his servant, watching as he brought woman after woman into his palace to run his hands over their tattoos hoping they would darken at his touch even though he knew it was useless, finally he’d resort to just using them as a sexual release instead while you were forced to look on.

The rest of your lives have been filled with much of the same. Eventually running into Yoongi not even needing to check the tattoo any more because you already knew. He was always born into a position of power. Princes, emperors, heirs to fortunes. He always rejected you because you were never good enough. There was that one time you thought he might’ve been falling for you, but he ended up getting a bout of cholera that he unfortunately passed away from, so it didn’t matter any ways. Other than that one time you were always a nobody in his eyes and not worthy of his love.

Even now in the life you were living currently. He was an idol. A kpop superstar. Often deemed a member of the biggest boyband in the world. Wealthy. Powerful. Looked up to by many. And you…you were nothing of that sort.

The thing about soulmates is that you can’t go searching for each other. Everything has to happen organically. So even though you knew of Yoongi and you could’ve gone to a meet & greet or a concert, you had to just let destiny run its course and bring the two of you together.

Which of course it did. You were working in an office building entering numbers into a computer all day. It was one of the most boring jobs you’d ever had but it paid the bills and had good benefits. On your way to work this morning you stopped to grab a coffee but instead of your usual caramel latte you also grabbed an iced americano for your new co worker. You manager had informed you last week that you were going to be getting a new desk partner. They wouldn’t tell you who or why, but when you walked into work with your coffees in hand you found out exactly why.

Yoongi was sitting in the seat next to yours, already typing away at his computer. He was fulfilling his military service as a social service agent and apparently was being moved to your department. You had a feeling it had something to do with a recent incident of his, but you weren’t going to bring that up to find out for sure.

You dropped the coffee down in front of him but before you could even speak he looked up and rolled his eyes.

“Great, this is exactly what I need right now.”, he grumbled.

“Hello to you too.”, you spat back feeling hurt.

The worst part of this whole entire thing was that you had fallen in love with him many many lives ago. His smile always melted your heart. He had beautiful eyes and a deep voice that would give you goosebumps. You always had a thing for the cold heartless guy who still had a soft spot and that fit Yoongi perfectly in every life. Unfortunately he never felt the same about you.

“Y/N…let’s not even waste our time. We know it won’t happen.”

“Yoongi, why can’t you at least try? Please. I’m tired. I’m tired of spending my life looking for you, waiting for us to find each other just for you to immediately shut me down. Give me…give us a chance.”, you begged. You didn’t care that you were sounding desperate.

He ran a hand over his face, “Fine.”

“Here is the address to my place. Be there at 8pm tonight.”, he said handing you a piece of paper.

You accepted it before powering up your computer and getting the day started.

Walking into Yoongi’s place you were in awe of the size, the luxury. Even his door handle looked like it cost more than your rent and you were once again reminded that he was above you.

“I hope you still like kimchi jjigae.”, he said as he led you into the dining room.

“Of course. Sounds great.”

Dinner was going smoothly. The two of you talked, mostly he talked while you listened. His stories were much more interesting and exciting than anything you had to say. But he did ask about your job and and family and friends.

As the night came to an end you knew that you had to talk about things. Yoongi knew too. You could tell from the way that he was avoiding eye contact with you.

“Soo uh are we going to have a second date?”, you chuckled hoping to lighten the mood.

“Date? This wasn’t a date.”

You felt your heart sink.

“Then what was it? Why even ask me to come over.”

“Y/N…”, he grumbled already irritated.

“No Yoongi, why ask me to come over here? Why cook me dinner and ask me about my life? Why make me think you were actually going to give us a chance?”, you were nearing tears at this point. He took another sip of his beer before getting up to walk away from the situation.

Quickly you ran after him until you managed to step in front and stop him, “No Yoongi! You’re not running away from this…from me. Why can’t you just give me a chance? I love you. We’re soulmates. We’re meant to be together.”

He startled you when he through his beer glass in the sink causing it to shatter.

“Fuck Y/N! I’m so sick of hearing about soulmates. Don’t you think maybe if you focused on something other than your soulmate you might actually achieve something in life. Are you content just always being a nobody that no one cares about? Y/N I don’t care if some stupid tattoo makes me your soulmate. I don’t love you. I don’t care about you. I will NEVER marry you. So move on Y/N.”

You watched as his chest moved up and down until the tears blurred your vision too much.

“B-but you’re my soulmate? Who else am I supposed to move on to?”, you whispered.

After having a few minutes to cool down he looked at you with softer eyes.

“Y/N the reason…the reason I asked you here tonight is to tell you that I’m already married.”

Your mouth dropped open, “What?!”

He nodded, “To another idol. We got married privately about a month ago. The news is going to be officially released this weekend so when I found you I decided I should tell you myself before you find out that way.”

It felt like your world was crumbling around you. “Y-you’re married? How? I’m your soulmate. Not her. Not some random woman. Me! Me Yoongi!! The person that’s been chasing after you for centuries.”

You could see the anger return to his face.

“Don’t be so dramatic Y/N. And don’t EVER talk about her like that. I don’t care what some stupid tattoo says. I love her. I love her in ways I will never feel about you. You need to move on Y/N. Find someone that makes you happy in THIS life and stop worrying about future and this soulmate bullshit.”

You stared at the floor in silence while trying to make sense of everything. You could feel him take a step closer to you.

“You know…Namjoon doesn’t believe in this soulmate shit either. Maybe I could introduce you to him if you’d like. I know he’d be good to you.”

“So what? So I guess this is the end?”, you snapped completely ignoring his offer about Namjoon.

He took a deep breath before gently pushing you towards the door., “Yeah it is. It’s just…not the right place, not the right time.“

He handed you your jacket and mentioned something about seeing if he could be transferred again, but you told him not to bother. You were putting in your resignation first thing Monday morning.

“Maybe in the next life.”, he whispered as you walked through the door without sparing him a glance. When you heard the door click shut you dropped to your knees unable to control the wave of emotions that hit you at the realization that once again you were destined to spend eternity searching and pining for the love of your soulmate.

[starmatzz]

uhhh imagine the members teasing hongjoong about his height in wanteez ep but seonghwa obv teases him the most, calling him short and feeling in charge but the tables turn when the recording is over and ykyk👀

umm yes please🙏🏻 i like the way your brain works😈

Small Victories

hongjoong x seonghwa

smut | mdni

1.9k

Seonghwa’s teasing about Hongjoong’s height takes an unexpected turn, shifting the dynamic between them. What starts as playful banter becomes a moment of tension, vulnerability, and quiet understanding.

nsfw tags under

rough sex, pet names, teasing, stimulation, crying, aftercare, degradation, humiliation, power play, dom!hongjoong, sub!seonghwa

Read on ao3

The members were in the middle of a lively Wanteez episode, laughter filling the room as they prepared for the next game. The task was simple: stand in order from tallest to shortest. Everyone eagerly got into position, but when they looked at Hongjoong, the teasing began.

“Look at this, our leader—finally the shortest one!” Wooyoung teased with a grin, nudging Yunho, who was a head taller.

“Yeah, Hongjoong, you’ve officially been dethroned!” Yeosang chimed in, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

The others joined in, laughter rippling through the group. Hongjoong just shook his head, chuckling at their antics, but there was a flicker of something more behind his eyes—something simmering beneath his usual calm demeanor.

And then, Seonghwa, usually reserved, decided to join in. His voice was playful, yet his eyes gleamed with something more mischievous.

“Seems like you’re the shortest one now,” Seonghwa teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced at Hongjoong. “Guess the rest of us are just taller… by a lot.”

The others chuckled, but the air between Seonghwa and Hongjoong grew heavier. Hongjoong’s smile tightened, his gaze sharp and unwavering as he looked at Seonghwa. The playful tone of Seonghwa’s words hung in the air, and the sudden shift in Hongjoong’s expression didn’t go unnoticed, though the others continued to laugh, oblivious.

Seonghwa felt the intensity of Hongjoong’s stare, but he kept his composure, shrugging casually and pretending like nothing had changed. “What? It’s just a joke,” he said with a carefree tone, though inside, his heart was pounding a little faster.

Throughout the rest of the episode, Hongjoong avoided Seonghwa’s gaze, his eyes lowering whenever Seonghwa looked his way, his expression guarded. But every so often, Seonghwa would catch a glimpse of Hongjoong’s hooded eyes, the sharp intensity behind them almost palpable. Despite the playful atmosphere, a tension lingered between them, unspoken and unresolved.

After the episode ended, the members went their separate ways, retreating to their own apartments to unwind. Seonghwa, feeling the warmth of a long day settle into his bones, slipped into something comfortable. His pajama set was soft, the fabric hugging him just enough to feel cozy as he settled into his favorite chair. The familiar soundtrack of Animal Crossing filled the room as he absentmindedly moved his character around, his mind wandering.

It was just after 10 PM when the peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by a knock on his door. Seonghwa paused, glancing up with a raised brow. His first instinct was to ignore it—maybe one of the others had forgotten something—but then his gaze drifted to the clock, wondering who could possibly need something this late.

He stood up, stretched, and shuffled to the door, still wrapped in the warmth of his pajamas. As he opened it, the figure standing in the doorway caused his heart to skip a beat.

The air felt heavier as the door to Seonghwa’s room creaked open, revealing Hongjoong leaning against the frame, his sharp gaze locked onto Seonghwa.

“Short, huh?” he murmured, his voice low, almost a challenge.

Seonghwa froze mid-motion, his hand hovering over the desk. “What are you talking about?”

Hongjoong stepped inside, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, unreadable. “You called me short earlier. Thought I’d remind you who you’re talking to.”

The room felt smaller as he closed the distance between them, his presence overwhelming. Seonghwa swallowed hard, his pulse quickening under Hongjoong’s intense stare.

The door clicked shut with a soft finality, and Seonghwa’s attention snapped to Hongjoong.

“What's the matter? You looked so confident before.” Hongjoong’s voice was calm, almost too calm, as he turned the lock with deliberate slowness. The faint click echoed in the room, louder than it should have been.

Seonghwa straightened, his expression unreadable, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. “What are you doing?”

Hongjoong leaned back against the door, arms crossed, his smirk growing. “Just making sure we’re not interrupted,” he replied, his tone casual but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut.

He took a step forward, and Seonghwa could feel the shift in the air, tension rolling off Hongjoong in waves. The way his eyes gleamed, dangerous and playful, made it hard to tell if he was teasing—or serious.

“You’ve got something else to say about me, Seonghwa?” Hongjoong asked, tilting his head. “Say it now.”

Seonghwa shook his head, his breath hitching as Hongjoong took another step closer. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, his smirk unfaltering. “Didn’t mean anything, huh?” he echoed, the words dripping with mock disbelief. “Funny how it didn’t sound that way earlier.”

Seonghwa’s gaze darted to the locked door, then back to Hongjoong, who now stood just a foot away. The air between them felt charged, like a storm brewing.

Hongjoong had a playful smile on his face as he teased Seonghwa, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. "Well, well, look who's not so confident now that we're alone," he said, pushing Seonghwa onto the bed gently. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he looked down at him, enjoying the sight of him lying there beneath him.

"On all fours." Hongjoong ordered, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. 

Seonghwa’s breath hitched as the silence stretched between them, the weight of Hongjoong’s gaze unrelenting. He glanced away, but it did nothing to ease the tension curling in his chest.

“Well?” Hongjoong prompted, his tone sharper now, a quiet command that left no room for argument.

Without a word, Seonghwa turned to his knees, his movements deliberate and slow, testing the reaction. His hands met the mattress next, and before he realized it, he was on all fours, his head slightly bowed.

Hongjoong tilted his head, his smirk widening into something unreadable, both amused and satisfied. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of mockery.

Seonghwa didn’t dare look up, his jaw clenched. The situation felt absurd, and yet, the intensity of Hongjoong’s presence left him without the strength to protest.

Hongjoong crouched slightly to bring his face closer to Seonghwa’s level. “What happened to that sharp tongue of yours?”

Seonghwa swallowed hard, his fingers curling against the blanket. “I… didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hongjoong chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Didn’t mean to,” he echoed, his tone dripping with playful malice. “Good. Keep that in mind.”

With a swift movement, Hongjoong pulled Seonghwa's pajama pants down. The sudden action made Seonghwa gasp, feeling the cold air brush against his exposed skin. 

"Since I am that short, I don't even need to prepare you, am I right?" he said, voice husky as he unbuckled his belt, kneeling behind Seonghwa. "I bet you won't even feel it."

"Hongjoong—" Seonghwa whined, feeling Hongjoong's hands cup and squeeze his ass. 

"Quiet." Hongjoong ordered, giving the other a sharp slap on his bottom. He watched the skin turn a light shade of pink, smiling in satisfaction. 

"Can I trust you if I ask you not to make a noise?" He leaned closer to Seonghwa's ear, teasingly rubbing his tip up and down Seonghwa's hole. 

Seonghwa's breath hitched in his chest, gripping the blanket under his palms. Not waiting for an answer, Hongjoong covered the other's mouth with one hand as he thrusted into him with one swift move. 

Tears rimmed Seonghwa's eyes as he felt the burn at his entrance, loud screams getting muffled by Hongjoong's hand. The stretch was insane, but he would lie if he said he hadn't experienced this already. 

Hongjoong immediately started to fuck into him, his hips snapping at quick pace. 

"Look at you," he cooed, gripping Seonghwa's shoulder with his right hand, pushing his whole body back against his own roughly. "Making fun of me and my height, yet you are here crying, completely helpless." 

The slapping sounds echoed through the room, and Seonghwa was pretty sure he would be bruised from how tightly was Hongjoong holding him. 

With another sharp thrust, Seonghwa's body fell forward and he buried his face into the pillow. The action earned a chuckle from Hongjoong, who only grabbed his hips with both hands, fingers digging into the soft flesh. 

"Ho-ongjoong.." Seonghwa cried into the pillow, arching his back to allow the younger push deeper, hitting his prostate. 

"Fuck..Hwa.." Hongjoong groaned, pushing his head down into the soft pillow as he continued to snap his hips at an animalistic pace. He felt the tension build up in the pit of his stomach—and by the whimpering sounds of the man under him, he knew he was close too. 

He slapped Seonghwa's ass once again before his hips twitched, the muscles on his thighs tensing up as he came into him. 

The final slap was all Seonghwa needed to cum untouched, making a mess on his blanket with star print on it. 

After catching his breath, Hongjoong pulled out, watching his seed ooze of out Seonghwa's abused hole, dripping on the white sheets. 

"So messy.." he shook his head, turning him around. Despite the tear streaks on Seonghwa's face and his messy hair, Hongjoong only found him more beautiful. The sight of his boyfriend laid out before him, vulnerable and disheveled, sent a surge of affection through him. He leaned down, gently brushing away some of the tangles in Seonghwa's hair and tracing his finger over the tear streaks on his face.

Despite the roughness of his previous actions, Hongjoong couldn't help but soften at the sight of Seonghwa's tear-streaked face. He paused, looking at him with concern, and asked gently, "Did I hurt you?" Leaning closer, he began peppering Seonghwa's face with kisses, his touch becoming gentle and tender. Each kiss was a reassurance, a way of apologizing for any pain he may have caused.

Seonghwa shook his head, holding onto him as his eyes fluttered close. 

"Come on,” he said, his voice softer now, though the command lingered in his tone. “Let’s wash up. You look like you need it.”

He led the way to the bathroom, his presence still commanding even in the quiet of the night.

In the warm light of the bathroom, they moved around each other in comfortable silence, the earlier tension melting away with the sound of running water. Seonghwa splashed his face, stealing glances at Hongjoong as he washed up beside him.

“You’re quiet,” Hongjoong remarked, glancing at him with a faint smirk.

“Just… tired,” Seonghwa muttered, his voice soft but genuine.

Hongjoong chuckled. “Then let’s fix that.”

Once they were done, Hongjoong grabbed a towel and tossed it over Seonghwa’s head, ruffling his hair playfully. Seonghwa protested, swatting him away, but a small smile tugged at his lips.

Back in the room, Seonghwa barely had time to sit before Hongjoong scooped him up with ease, ignoring the surprised yelp.

“Hey!” Seonghwa protested weakly, but Hongjoong only grinned.

“Relax,” Hongjoong murmured, putting him onto the bed and laying him down gently before crawling in beside him. He pulled Seonghwa close, wrapping an arm securely around his waist.

“Better?” Hongjoong asked, his voice low, the edge from earlier completely gone now.

Seonghwa nodded, resting his head against Hongjoong’s chest. “Yeah. Better. And I am sorry for earlier...”

Hongjoong hummed in response, his hand tracing soothing patterns along Seonghwa’s back. "It's fine baby, I know you're a tease." he whispered—never being actually upset about it in the first place. The night settled around them, quiet and warm, the earlier tension replaced by a comforting stillness as they drifted off together.

[professor-doc-emeritus]

I love the dichotomy we get between jinshi and the emperor that shows off how the traits that make jinshi a great prince, boss, friend (husband 👀👀👀👀) are the very same traits that will make him a terrible emperor.

His hard working streak that lets him handle his weird assignments with grace and manage the clashing egos of the inner palace is what will get him killed by overwork as emperor since he has no real head for delegation. It took 11 volumes and the intervention of most of his immediate family just to get jinshi to hire a secretary. The emperor always being free to host parties, sleep with the consorts, and bust jinshis balls in-between it all is, much like lakan always being free to annoy maomao, actually a sign of him being god-like at delegation and organizational management.

His lack of ego and willingness to look the fool if it gets the job done is great for avoiding political snafus and getting to the truth of things. It's genuinely the thing that makes all his expeditions to the western capital so wildly successful: he really doesn't gaf about how he's seen by the public, so long as the job gets done and his friends aren't in immediate danger. It's also the exact opposite of what you need from a head of state who's legitimacy is not-insignificantly based on the public perceiving you as an instrument of the will of heaven. The emperor being willing to kill people and their families over slights jinshi (and most sane human beings) would be willing to let slide is cruel and inhuman, but it's also what keeps the populace at large from being able to organize against him and challenge the imperial power.

Jinshis compassionate streak, his urge to save as many people he can and find the best solution for everyone possible, makes him great to work for. He'll give you assignments that match your hyper fixation, work around your crippling social anxiety, give you a post that just-so-happens to involve you staying with the love of your life for a few months. More over, he isn't gonna risk his life and your position over petty ego or greed when he can find a peaceful solution instead. But the hesitation he feels at using people like tools, and his unwillingness to act if it means throwing people under the bus, is what will lead to death and destruction if he's the emperor. Especially in a time of war. The current emperor is willing to ruin lives and crush nations if it reaches a goal, advances an agenda.

Finally, jinshis loyalty, I'd say even more than his looks, is what draws people to him. He loves his toys, can't stand to give them up. It makes him a great romantic figure. But when you're the emperor, and you need to be willing and able to marry someone for political ends, produce as many heirs as possible regardless of who with, and set aside the feelings of those women for your own sake, that loyalty is poison.

Idk, so often in stories with these systems they sorta follow the logic of "if he's a good person he'll be a good leader." I think it's cool to have a series talk about how being a leader involves being EXTREMELY comfortable with being an asshole, for a myriad of reasons, and how someone being pleasant to work for wouldn't make them an effect monarch.

[thedinanshiral]

Bellanaris.

After witnessing Solas' regrets through his murals in The Veilguard many wondered, what exactly was his relationship with Mythal?

Even the Veilguard members had questions and discussed about it.

Spoilers for everything. Goes with this one too, if you want more of Solas analysis from me.

He followed her without question -or reserving the ones he had- and maybe reconsidered that love in their friendship when her crimes with the evanuris outweighed what Solas could stand, when he asked her to run away with him and she declined, and by the time she listened and tried to stop the others it was sadly too late. When Solas started his rebellion he was already carving his own path away from her, but their love was still present and it was because of that love that he warned her, and that she finally decided to listen. She may have been his dearest friend and he did everything for her. When he writes to Ghilan'nain and says "you would not be the first to sacrifice your morals for love" he was talking about himself, he was referencing his personal experience because that's what he did with Mythal.

I'll be blunt, i don't think they were romantically entagled. It's been mentioned in past games that the ancient elvhen related with each other on different levels that present Thedosians may struggle to comprehend. Now knowing they were originally spirits helps understanding things a bit better; spirits are beings of raw, intense emotions, whatever they feel they do so on a much higher degree, and whatever words they used to communicate it once translated fail to convey their real, full meaning.

I think Solas and Mythal were friends, but friendship for them was felt much strongly. There was love between them but not in the sense we'd imagine it now.

They were not equals, there was an imbalance neither were truly aware of until Solas rebelled and maybe then he started understanding their differences and from there his feelings for her changed, as he changed, his purpose twisted from Wisdom meant to guide in times of war, into a rebel leader fighting in what were supposed to be times of peace. He went from being a friend to becoming the enemy.

The romance with the Inquisitor may have been a last minute addition to the game (I have my doubts, it's too perfect and fits too well with everything to have been improvised) but it makes perfect sense only a female elf Inquisitor can sway him like that..because it's reminiscent of his relationship with Mythal, that past bond coming back to haunt him except this time the roles are a bit reversed: he's the powerful god, she's the simple mortal. But Lavellan is far from being a simple creature and she reminds Solas of all he ever loved and cared about and changes a terrible broken world into something that can be fixed, She turns his despair into hope, the fact she came out in such a way from the same world he broke tells him something may still be saved..

In both instances Solas finds himself in the service of a powerful elven woman in a position of leadership trying to save the world. But with Lavellan there's no protocols, there's no real hierarchy, with Lavellan they're more like equals, they're partners. There's no master and servant, there's people on equal standing fighting together for a common goal.

Lavellan becomes Solas' partner in a way Mythal could not and would never be able to.

Mythal was possibly Solas' first relationship, whatever label you'd like to apply there, a loyal friendship sustained mainly on his one-sided devotion to her that he eventually grew out of. While Lavellan is real, realized love, a relationship that may have started out of necessity, finding mutual respect that turned it into friendship, later developing further into something both wanted and neither could ignore. There's no one-sidedness with Lavellan, there's only mutual desire, this love unlike the past one is overwhelming, requited and wanted. Lavellan makes the first move, she's the one that isn't running away and in fact, in Trespasser and later finally in Veilguard, she shows him she's the one willing to run away with him. She's the one willing to do for him the sacrifices he once made for Mythal, even when she doesn't have to, when there's no ancient bond, mandate or obligation of any kind. Lavellan is willing to be with him out of her own free will and for the love she holds for him.

For roleplaying and replayability it would have been great if Solas could have been romanceable by more Inquisitors, but by his nature and personal history it makes absolute perfect sense that only a female elf could. Now we know he was a spirit and spirits are at their core very simple and fixed creatures, interestingly ironic considering they come from a realm where nothing is fixed. Solas isn't just stuck in his ways, he's a spirit! There's a limit to what he can understand and experience, even if he's a spirit of wisdom and is very knowledgeable, his nature is still limited (as we all are), his focus is singular, and a female elf Inquisitor fits right into that singular focus of his. Making other races romanceable for him would have broken that and it would have taken away from the Thedas pattern and his personal pattern as well.

He left the fade to enter the physical world because an elvhen woman he loved asked him to, and he followed her loyal to a fault until he had to break away from her when she chose an abusive status quo over his desperate cry for freedom and justice.

He destroys the world as a result in a desperate attempt to save it, and wakes up thousands of years later to find one person who shows him something of all he loved lives on and in doing so gives him purpose. Spirits need and crave purpose and Lavellan gives him just that.

He falls in love, something he could have never foreseen, an event completely out of all his calculations, but the pattern is shifting, there's no longer an evident imbalance, he's treated as an equal, even when she learns who he is she still talks to him like he's just the man she loves.

And on his lowest point when he's about to repeat a past mistake and destroy a world trying to save it, he returns to the Fade accompanied by the elvhen woman that loved him back with a devotion he was never shown before. Some may argue they're not equals, because he's Fen'Harel and she's a mortal elf he lied to for the better part of a year, that they're not equals because he always kept that secret from her and maybe took advantage of her affection to get what he wanted. But they are equals in the end in the sense that they feel the same way, and are capable of the same sacrifices for each other, and their respect is mutual in equal measure.

Solas may have been mistaken, but had their circumstances been different you know he would have stayed with her, as he wanted to. Most of his dinan'shiral is fueled by monumental guilt, regret, shame and a hurt sense of duty and that's what prevented him from giving in to his feelings for Lavellan, just as he understood Lavellan wouldn't abandon the Inquisition for him, and wouldn't just let him burn the world without opposition. Because Lavellan also has duties she's devoted too as much as she's devoted to him. They're an unstoppable force and unmovable object clashing against their will and if it weren't for the people around them you know a Lavellan that is on equal standing with Solas would have confronted him, maybe neither would have succeeded, maybe they would have died in each other's arms if it came to it.

But fortunately it didn't have to end that way, and yes, I'm sure Solas knows too well he doesn't deserve her (because she's too good), that she doesn't deserve him (because he's such a mess), but Lavellan has always been there to prove him wrong and he welcomes that with a smile.

I headcanon my Gallia Lavellan would be a spirit of Devotion. Wisdom and Devotion make an odd pair, but she's Devotion all around, mostly for him, their love that endured everything, but she's also devoted to the truth, to their causes, to the people, to Thedas, she's devoted to doing the right thing and to doing it as best as possible; she's devoted to continue learning about the world, protecting those she love, and those who have no one to look after them.

She does all that by following him into the Fade, by becoming the fixed point in his life, his North, his Anchor, to remind him what should be done, not only what must be done, to remind him of what truly matters. She doesn't simply follow him into the Fade out of love for him but out of love for the world, which is another thing they have in common.

Lavellan is truly his match, and Solas is aware of it in a way that makes him more ashamed for everything he's done and feel more undeserving of what is yet to come for him by her side.

I don't think Wisdom turned to Pride, I think Wisdom became Pragmatism in the wars, later turned to Regret for most of his life and through Devotion's love and perseverance he returned to Wisdom with a renewed love for life. Maybe he's become Love now, love for her, love for the world he's protecting, love for his people, and for all that love he decided to sacrifice himself, his own freedom, to spend in eternity with his one true love.

And for once in his very long and troubled life i think this time he made a choice he does not regret.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME BALDUR'S GATE 3 / PART SIX

leave us in peace and we shall leave you in kind.

cut the crap.

we just want to go home.

enough of this charade.

i'll not play pretend anymore.

you'll soon learn what it means to ally yourself with the likes of this garbage.

i'm free now, and i'm never going back.

fuck them.

felt good letting off a little steam.

if i burn any hotter, i might explode.

don't get too close until i've found a way to calm down.

it's a bit early to be getting into tragic backstories.

let's save the scar-show for later after we've worked up an appetite for tragedy.

in the grand scheme of things, i'm inconsequential [to her].

she favored me like a child favors a captive pet.

it had the makings of a good stage show, but i did not want to be one of the players.

torture, bloodsport? or perhaps just a good old-fashioned walloping?

you owe me nothing.

i could extort you, if that's what you want.

you're teasing me now.

ignorance is alive and well it seems.

don't make me get the wooden spoon.

you'd best have one hells of an apology for me.

if you think your precious little god holds any power here, you're in for a surprise.

do you treat all your guests so poorly?

i don't like busybodies.

you are as thick as they come.

are you telling me you made love to a goddess?

i shared a bed with a goddess and yet i wasn't satisfied.

shall i share the story behind it or would you rather head straight to its sordid finale?

how are you still alive?

we've come this far together and we'll continue on together.

even i am tired of the sound of my own voice.

i'll rip your spine out of your asshole.

i'll use your blood to spice my stew.

i'll keep you alive until i've sucked the marrow from your bones.

killing me is a waste of time.

you bastard, you ruined everything.

this is an interesting way of thanking me.

a slap is all you deserve.

a hag was never going to help you.

they don't help anyone but themselves.

that double-crossing, filthy, lying hag.

focus on the positive.

forgive the aroma.

perhaps that is why i have survived so long where more fearsome peers have not.

your loyalty is admirable but misplaced.

his kind have charm beyond our mortal means to resist.

who'd keep a secret like that from his friends?

you can't trust anyone these days.

even in the middle of nowhere, he can reach me.

why do you insist on exhuming the past?

people think the biggest threat to a vampire is a cleric with a stake.

they're scheming, paranoid, power-hungry beasts.

i am what i must be, says what i must be.

how does it feel to be a devil?

i can't tell if you're being silly or serious.

you have to admire the man's ambition.

i promise i will not betray your trust.

you kept me by your side despite the menace i am.

i learned quick how to stay alive.

to feel invincible again.

this isn't where i thought i'd end up.

maybe when this is all done, you can show me where you came from.

i'm not normally one to begrudge someone their secrets, but..

i'm already blessed to have you at my side.

don't you cut a fine figure.

i am not some lower city coinlad offering you a tumble.

there is nothing so depressing as learning one's true value.

i could use someone with your skills.

they're ravenous predators with fangs like daggers.

it's hardly an irrational fear to harbor.

you've been decent to me, so far.

everyone's got their own fears.

maybe that's what i like about you.

all of this was for nothing.

if you're here to help, get to the fight quickly.

gods, i thought you were one of those beasts.

i'm not chasing after it, if that's what you're thinking.

the little beast's charming once you get accustomed to the smell of rotting flesh.