#these queens have quickly become my favorites

[crowsongcaws]

(This is easily one of my favorite depictions of Codfather Jimmy, it feeds into my Empires s1 worldbuilding interest, and YES long hair!!! I love this account so much, I depend on each daily post, of course I had to write something)

The Codfather could feel a pair of eyes on him.

It wasn't an entirely unusual feeling—he was used to getting stray looks whenever he stood beside his sister. They'd see the Ocean Queen in all her glory, then their gaze would slide down to him, and he'd be able to feel the disappointment like a shiver and taste the pity on his tongue. He'd never quite gotten used to it.

This stare, however, was more persistent.

The Codfather tried to shake off the feeling, tried to keep himself focused on the emperor's meeting at hand, but the itch of it made him cave within a handful of minutes.

Glancing up at the current speaker, fWhip, he quickly let his eyes flicker to each person until his eyes met Smajor's. Immediately (the elf must have just then realized how long he'd been staring), he averted his gaze and fumbled with his pen to write down any sort of useful notes. The fins on the side of the Codfather's head flapped briefly in confusion, but he couldn't ask anything while fWhip was speaking, so he tuned back into the spoken topic and tried to return to his note-taking.

It was only after the meeting had come to an end that he suddenly found Smajor by his side. Admittedly, he was left flabbergasted by the sudden interest in him, and it was getting harder to assume Smajor's true interest had something to do with the Ocean Queen. Part of his inner turmoil must've been clear on his face because Smajor had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed.

"My apologies, Codfather," Smajor managed to say, formal and polite as usual—had he ever relaxed? "I just happened to notice the feather you've got in your hair, and I was wondering if that's a new fashion statement of yours?"

"I—I mean, yes?" The Codfather stammered, his confusion only becoming more apparent by the second. "Well, uh... it isn't a new fashion thing, or a 'fashion' thing at all, it's just... new for me."

Smajor tilted his head, just as confused.

Jimmy hurriedly added, "to the Cod, the sea and the sky are one and the same. Some of the more traditional people will say that this holds true enough that in this life, I may live as Cod, but in the next life, I'll be an Avian. So this feather, it represents the life before this one and the life I'll have after—that I always have and always will strive for the best no matter what."

"'The best'?" Smajor asked.

"Probably lost in translation over the centuries," he admitted, "so everyone interprets it differently. Some people say 'the best' means world peace, individual satisfaction with work or relationships, stuff like that, but I consider it to be personal happiness. I feel like it'd be hard to achieve anything else if you weren't personally happy."

At that, Smajor hummed in agreement, but he looked lost in thought. The Codfather hadn't expected to be sharing a part of his empire's culture so suddenly (or at all), but it struck him as comforting to see someone curious about it rather than the larger and more apparent culture of the Ocean Empire. Still...

"What made you ask?" he prodded.

Smajor suddenly seemed very blank-faced, his words failing for a handful of seconds before he finally said, "I thought you were engaged—"

"Engaged!?"

"—because avians in Rivendell, we—they—give feathers to those they're supposed to marry! And I didn't realize you were being courted by an avian, and the feather was so small, I didn't know if the courtship was supposed to be subtle and you were just walking around with it anyways because you wouldn't know that—"

"I'm not engaged! Lizzie would kill me if I was and she didn't know!"

The Codfather self-consciously brought a hand up to the feather, debating whether to tuck it away or remove it altogether in his wave of embarrassment, but Smajor was quicker—the elf reached out and grabbed his hand, startling them both.

"I'm sorry—" "I hope I didn't bother you—"

They both paused, and at that point, both had felt enough embarrassment to last for weeks. Smajor carefully pulled the Codfather's hand away from the feather, gently smoothing out the hair to not get tangled with the single feather.

"I'm sorry," Smajor repeated, "I just... didn't want you embarrassing yourself, and I just ended up embarrassing myself instead."

"It was a nice thought! And, well, it was nice to see someone notice. No one really asks about the Cod Empire if it isn't slime-related," The Codfather laughed, if only to mask his disappointment.

"... If you want to talk about it more, I'd love to learn more. None of my books ever teach much about the culture of other empires."

"Are you sure? It can be messy, and uh, a lot of it is just spoken history since it's so difficult to get everything written down in a majority-underwater empire—"

"Then I'll listen. Maybe take some notes if I can, so there's something in Rivendell about it."

The Codfather felt like he would genuinely cry over such an offer.

He eagerly said, "You know what? Sure! Just, send a letter! When you've got the time, of course. Leave the rest to me!"

...

Some years later, the Codfather would have a white feather of his own tangled in his hair.

...

One life later, an avian with bright yellow wings would wake up in a death game with the faintest memory of snow-cold hands and red poppies.

ah ... perchance a codfather ? or , If you are familiar at all with Jimmy's legacy smp , well . a jimmy clueless never hurt anyone ....

Day 75!

Codfather!! I just think he's pretty neat.

[poopflinger]

Omg the joint slay of trinity the tuck taylor and valentina im about to cryyyy

[etfrin]

⤷❝ The Quiet Gift | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | squirting, Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, possessiveness, fingering (f. receiving), bathroom sex, mirror sex, semi-public sex (there was a gala), pinv sex, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), dumbfication if you squint, dom sub undertones, degradation, ownership kink, breath play with a twist | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: continuation of the arranged marriage au, this is your one year anniversary with him with a gala held in place to celebrate, you get insecure because of some bitches and Coryo fucks you in the bathroom with sprinkles of your daily life with him.

⇢☾Request: this is a request (idk if i’m writing it in the write place im new to tumblr i usually use wattpad) young coriolanus snow bathroom mirror sex like him making u watch ur self come undone in the mirror

⇢☾A/N: enjoy everyone! And to one who requested, hope you like this! :) this might be my last post of this theme btw, i am getting sick of the blue :/

arranged marriage au: the study, mine to love

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

A year had passed of your marriage, a bond between two souls which wasn't much of a lie as before. Things with Coryo were better than you could ever expect. You thought he would isolate himself from you after your confession but so much had changed. He had gotten softer but more possessive. His edges are sharp yet he makes sure it's a shield for you, not something that would make you bleed.

Among his actions include changing your entire wardrobe (not without your opinion first), a library that connects to his office (his office is something you have access to at all times now), his room was now yours both (your favorite change), and last but not least a poison taster was included so that no attempts of assassination at the First Lady could be taken.

At first, you thought it to be extra, but knowing that it would put his paranoid mind at peace you allow it without much to say. He picked out your outfit every day, and sometimes you did the same for Coriolanus. He would frown as you decide what to wear or not for him for the day, knowing that some of the pieces don't match his style but when he sees your smile as you pick out the clothes. He smooths his frown and takes whatever horrible fashion statement you created for him and wears it with pride.

If anyone dared to speak up about it, he proudly said that his wife picked it out and everyone knew better than to speak a single ill word of the unspoken Queen of Panem.

Today was one of those days when you decided to pick his outfit. Today was something special after all. One year had passed since you had become Mrs. Snow, and a gala was to be held tonight to celebrate the union.

So yes, you were going to pick his outfit. You had even woken up early because of it. You giggled as you opened your eyes, your arm around Coryo whose hair looked impossibly messy, sticking out everywhere. It made him look years younger than he was. You chuckled at the sight, your heart clenching with the love you have for this man. You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead and then his cheek. You whispered, not expecting him to wake up until his alarm rang, “Good morning, Coryo”

You quietly slipped away from the bed and tiptoeed to the closet. The closet you both shared now. One side carrying every single piece of your clothing and the other side his. You wanted to pick out something different for your husband once, sick of seeing him in his white shirts and black vest. That's how you picked out a black suit with a white vest and a red silk shirt. You could imagine unbuttoning this off of him tonight and the thought made your body heat up and a giggle escaped your lips.

“What are you laughing about, doll?” A voice, his deep sleepy voice startling you. “Nothing!” You quickly said, turning to look at Snow, your breath hitching as his eyes were half closed and his hair turned into a mess of curls. Sometimes you wonder if this was all a fever dream and if you truly have the privilege of seeing him like this. You placed the clothes into a corner and went to him.

You pulled him down, your hand on his nape and another on his cheek as you guided him to your lips. Morning breath be damned. His actions were reflexive with how his arms pulled you in closer as his lips pressed into yours. He smiles against your lips and soon both of your tongues tangle in an uncoordinated sleepy manner and you whimper into his mouth.

This was real. This was your reality and you would do everything to keep it as it is. You pulled back and he whispered, “What was that for, doll?”

“Just needed to make sure this was real,” you answered him. Your words make him crack a real smile, something even you saw rarely and it would only be possible in moments like this. Moments when you have shocked the man with your actions and words and made him fall harder for you.

“Well it is,” he grins. Before his expression clears up he focuses on the clothes you have set aside. “Outfit for today?” He asked. You nod and smile at him, gesturing at the clothes. “You would look handsome in them,” you said. “Don't I always look handsome?” He smirks, you laugh, “I am not falling for that trap, dear husband. I'll be in the shower, choose something for me.” You press a kiss on his cheek before leaving the closet.

After showering and wearing the red dress he had decided, both of you go on for your respective duties. The gala would start early in the day and there were a few hours left before it formally started as guests were already coming in.

The mansion was set up beautifully, no words could have possibly explained the amount of work and dedication to make this the event of the year, valued higher than the Hunger Games itself. In another universe, it may not have been possible, in this one however you somehow managed to crack into his heart and made yourself a higher priority.

You were doing finishing touches of your makeup when Corio came in, his hair slicked back but his body tense, his eyes unable to hide the shakiness in them. You don't say anything, letting the man have his moment of vulnerability. You knew you would mess him up even more if you pointed it out, so you continued your task.

You didn't pay him any attention despite the itch to turn to him. You force yourself to stare straight into the mirror, applying your lipstick for the night. That was until he came behind you, his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest, his head propped on your shoulder as you felt him take deep breaths.

You don't ask if anything is wrong, accepting the rare form of intimacy he initiated. Usually, you're the ones for the hugs, the genuine ones anyway. You knew despite everything you were like a math equation to Snow. His mind figured out the formulas to keep you to him forever, you doubted if he saw anyone as his equal but you were perhaps the closest thing to it.

You had accepted it long before, but moments like this when Coriolanus allowed himself to be a human meant everything to you. You fell for every version of him, the one that is an untouchable deity who could kill you without guilt, and the human he was, obsession filling in veins making you the sole objective of his mind as he already achieved Panem.

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths with him. In the end, you were human too and you broke. “What's wrong?” You asked, as softly as possible yet breaking the bubble that had formed.

He smirks through the mirror, his eyes meeting yours, a sense of superiority in the blue hues. “Nothing’s wrong, my doll,” he whispered to you, pressing a ghost-like kiss to your bare shoulder. His arms cage you tighter, making a small gasp on your lips. “Okay,” you smile at him.

“Ready to start the gala then?” You asked, “Snows are born ready,” he replied, his tone smug.

One of his arms was kept wrapped around his waist while the other opened a drawer to take out a small box. “For you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your neck. You opened the box, and in it was a gold necklace with the initial ‘S’. You blush, and leave it to Corio to give you a necklace with his initials for an anniversary gift. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your head turning back and you gave him the brightest smile. “Help me wear it?” You mumbled as you handed him the box.

And so he did, and now a necklace was on your neck, the letter ‘S’ sitting perfectly on your skin. It scratched an innate itch for Snow to see you wear this. A part of him had expected you to fight, and be disgusted by this action, his mind thinking of several ways to make (force) you to wear the necklace. But as always you surprised him with your acceptance, as if you knew that wearing this would help him with his possessiveness. You were truly the right woman for him.

With his arm around your waist, you walk into the celebration. Countless people, the top elites of the Capitol were attending the gala. Everything had to be perfect.

Alas, fate is nothing but fickle.

The rumors didn't catch your ears at first before slowly the whispers caught up to you. Too busy with your life in the mansion and with Coriolanus, you rarely were social. You never had many friends from the capitols' elites. And those who knew were merely allies for the future. So the gossip never reached your ears.

Gossip you knew better to believe. Words change when they travel mouth to mouth. It can be easily manipulated too, your husband was a living proof of that. The snake tongue of all of Panem. But when the words seemed to get louder and louder, you couldn't help but feel maybe it's tinged with truth.

Snow was busy talking to diplomats while you were politely having a conversation with the ladies. That's when the questions began about some things they had heard about Snow. Each worse than the other but nothing you didn't already know. You make sure to change their perspective whenever something new comes up. Coriolanus was still new at this position, anything could snatch the power away if either of you weren't careful.

Feeling like you have finished the job, you begin to move away, only to stop when you hear, “...even wearing a pendant with his initial, she's nothing more than a whore who was pushed up to play the role of the First Lady. A woman of her standing would never deserve such a title.”

It was true, when Snow asked you to marry you, it was sudden and he gained nothing from it. Nothing, no money, power, and just a few connections you had but he had already impressed them all beforehand so there was no need for you. Your history in the academy wasn't all that great either, you were never the best but wholly average. A man like Snow deserved the best.

Insecurity claws at your heart and even so with recent events you knew their words were wrong. Tears burned your eyes. Your hand goes to the necklace you had on, your fingers twirling the pendant. Meanwhile, despite Coriolanus' focus being mainly on talking sweet to the guests and gathering sponsors, his eyes were on you, your every moment, and each person you spoke to. He notices you walking away from the gala and into the hallways. He followed you.

You were in one of the many bathrooms the manor had to offer. You stared at the mirror, the necklace you were wearing, and your hands traveled to the back ready to take it off. That's when Coriolanus enters the bathroom, his footsteps stopping midtrack as you freeze too.

“Coryo,” you begin to speak, your hand at your side now. “I was just-” “Why were you going to take it off?” He interrupted you, his face twisted in a glare you never thought would be directed at you. You shrugged, trying to play casual, “It doesn't feel appropriate.” “Why?” He questioned his tone icy calm, spreading chills down your spine. “Because-” because you didn't feel worthy of it. “Because you're ashamed of me,” he scoffs, walking closer to you. His eyes now fully glaring at you.

You frown, “What? Coryo, no-” He tilts your chin up, as he leans in, his expression twisted in fury, “Then what? There's no other appropriate reason for you to take it off then.” In truth, something was getting lost in translation, the women you were talking to earlier were going to be accused of treason in a few days. The cause? The rumors (some truth mixed in as well) they had spread about Snow. They were invited out of courtesy and after this, they had signed their death certificate.

“It's nothing like-” “Then what?” He hissed, “Did you finally come to your senses? Did they tell you how much of a horrible monster I am? And a horrible president?” You knew some sort of major miscommunication had happened but you had no idea how to deal with it. Not when Snow pressed a harsh, hard kiss to your lips, teeth clashing and his tongue seemingly fighting with yours for dominance that you easily gave over.

“You can't escape me, doll. No matter how horrible you realize I am. Think about running away and it's your dead body that will be leaving this mansion.” he whispered against your lips, his hands on your waist, your body flushed against his as your back hit the counter.

You chuckled at his words, knowing that would never be your end. His eyebrows furrow in confusion and it makes you giggle even further. “Dove, I am not joking,” he said, looking straight in your eyes. “I know,” you smile at him, “You…” you shake your head, smiling, you were surely crazier than him. You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Those women said something… mean and it made me realize I may not be worthy of this necklace…” you begin to explain, hoping the explanation would calm him down.

You thought wrong. “You don't think I can decide who deserves to be my property, pet. Whom I let to be my queen,” he said, his tone deeper than before. He whispered, “I decided it's you. It's been a year since that decision and I haven't regretted it once.”

He manovaroued you so you were facing the mirror. He was right behind you, his eyes hard. “The woman you're looking at right now is mine. My pet. My wife. How dare you try to take off a mark of my ownership, doll?” You opened your mouth to apologize, but a moan escaped instead as he bit into your shoulder. He begins to press you against the counter, your body bending over as he continues to press wet kisses on your nape.

“You need a reminder about whom you belong to,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin making you shiver, heat spreading to your body as his hands unzipped your dress from behind, letting the fabric fall on the floor. “I am yours,” you moan to him as his palms knead your breasts through the bra. “Then you should have known better, my stupid bird.”

“You look away from the mirror even once…,” he said, his hands squeezing your breasts roughly, his head propped up to your shoulder, his face set in a smirk, “and that group of women dies.” They were going to die either way but you didn't know that.

You gasp, “Snow- '' His hands squeeze your breasts harder, bordering on pain. “It’s Coryo for you, dove,” he said, slowly yet firmly as if talking to a child. His hands move downwards, one moves to your hip, and for the other, his fingers slip inside your panties. You whimper when his fingertip touches your clit. At any other time, he would have been slow, and gentle when he was rubbing the bud but now? His touch was fast and unconcerned, his sole goal was to inflict punishment with pleasure.

He rubbed at your clit relentlessly, making you soak your panties with your juices. His other hand squeezes your hips. You whine, your eyes closing and he pinches your clit making you moan louder than you should, your eyes opening immediately to meet his gaze.

“Only warning, pet,” he whispered, his finger now playing with the clit even more relentlessly. Back and forth, up and down with no mercy, making the bud swollen and your pussy clench around nothing. “Yes, Coryo,” you gasp.

“My dumb pet can learn after all,” he whispered to your ear and then his lips kissed the clasp of your necklace. His fingers abandon your clit to swipe at your folds to gather your wetness. He chuckles as he continues to tease you like this, his hard cock pressing against your ass.

“Coryo,” you whispered and your eyes connected with his and you knew his fingers could feel the flex of your cunt around nothing. “That's it. Look at me, doll.”

He slipped his fingers one by one into your slit, the stretch making you gasp. “It's too much,” you managed to get out, your voice shaky. “You can take it,” he tuts. His fingers begin to message your wall, hitting every crook and canny you never knew existed. He twisted his fingers thrusting right at your g-spot making you moan loudly, your body was now completely bent over in front of the mirror and your hands gripped the counter for life. Snow continues to playfully stretch you out, scissoring your pussy with his long fingers.

When he finally deemed you loose enough, he pulled his fingers out without a warning making you whimper. He pulls down your panties around your knees, and then his hand unzipped his pant to take his cock out. Something in you liked how he was composed and fully clothed while having you like this, primal and debauched. It showcased Coriolanus perfectly, no matter how prim and proper the man was outside in the end he was as much of a mess.

His impatient was clear with his clenched jaw, one of his hands traveling upwards your body to grip your breast like a handle as his free hand guides his leaking, hard cock into your entrance. “I was going to fuck you good tonight, on a bed properly like a wife deserves,” he begins to say as he pushed in with a single stroke. Your mouth lets out a small scream as your pussy adjusts to his dick. “Instead I have to treat you like a whore, bending your ass over a counter and fuck you while there are people all over the mansion.” He shakes his head disappointed, he meets your gaze, “I expected better, doll.”

“Then why keep a disappointment around,” you snapped at him, making him raise his eyebrows at your tone, his cock twitching inside your walls. “I wonder that myself too,” he grunts, his face buried in your shoulder, his tongue licking your salty skin. “You’re my everything,” he whispered, “Don't you forget that, dove.”

It was a confession that made you turn your back and made you catch his lips. He groans into your mouth as both of your tongues play with each other, expressing words the others cannot say. His free hand went to grip your necklace chain, making you gasp as he fisted the chain and pulled at it, knocking at your breath in one go.

His hips had begun to pound into you, short, hard thrusts that made his cockhead press against your g-spot while his remaining length messaged your walls perfectly. “You don't have to think, doll. I am here to think for you. You don't have to think about deserving me, or Panem. You don't have to think at all, just be my bird. My bird only,” he grunts.

Your eyes had begun to see spots from the lack of air, he hadn't seemed to care as your pussy keeps squeezing around him because of it. He lets go of the chain, making you gasp and you take the air you desperately need as his thrusts begin to get sloppier. Coryo was too impatient, too worked up, too mad at you to care about your pleasure. You were a pet getting used and you loved every second of it.

“I love you,” you whispered to him, and he groaned in response, as his thrusts got slower. He was edging himself to last longer, for this not to end. He bites your nape, not hard as he does usually to make sure the mark fades in a few seconds. His hips continue to rock into you, both of his hands now kneading at your clothed breast. He makes your round flesh spill from the bra and cups them with a groan escaping his lips.

“You’re mine,” he said as he pressed wet kisses all over your neck and shoulders, “Mine.” Your pussy clenched around him, making his pace get even slower, frustration begins to claw your mind as your body tethers to the edge. “Yours,” you agreed. “Fuck me faster,” you plead.

He lets out a laugh, “No. You'll take what I'll give.” “Coryo, my love please!” You begged. His hips stutter, making you feel confused, before realizing why he had stopped. You hadn't called him that since that night and you realized you had leverage on the man.

“My love, please! Fuck me harder,” you spill, “Baby, please!” He clenched his jaw trying so hard not to give in to the instinct of rutting into you like an animal. Knowing that he was near the edge, you continue, “Cum in me and make me walk around the gala with your cum inside, please. Please, mark me!”

That did the trick rather perfectly. His hand wraps around your throat, not choking you but staying there as a comforting presence that shouldn't have been comforting at all. “My dumb pet has ways with words. Gotta fuck that out of you, my dove,” he smirked.

His hips begin to roll into you again, making you gasp and squeeze his dick with your slick walls. The start of it was slow and cautious before Coriolanus decided to throw it all in the wind. He takes half of his length out before slamming it back to you. The sound of hips snapping echoed into the air along with his grunts and your moans. He kept fucking into you, with no care about anything.

Both of your sights were obscene in the mirror and it turned you not to end. Your body had begun to heat, your pussy aching to cum after being played with for so long. The tension in your body was close to snapping, and he knew it too. Knew it the way your cunt kept sucking his cock in so well. His head was on your shoulder, his mouth breathing out hot air onto your skin.

“Look at me,” you whispered, and his eyes snap at you and not even a second later he spills into your cunt, fucking his cum into you as he lets out a whine for the first time. You gasp, feeling your build-up fading without snapping but Snow was never to disappoint. He pulled his cock out, just to stuff you with his fingers. You whimper, your sensitive walls twitching around his fingers, so close to breaking.

Coriolanus doesn't waste a second to thrust into your sopping cunt, your folds covered in his cum, and fucking that into you with his fingers. He crooks his fingers perfectly, hitting your g-spot and making you black out for a second as his fingers keep assaulting your insides without a care.

You gasp, your body starting to give up. Snow has to wrap an arm around you to help you stay balanced. “That's it, doll. Cum on my fingers. I will make you cum on my cock later,” he promised to you. You cry out as his fingers continue their fast pace of thrusting. And finally, finally, your orgasm builds up again. A single graze from his fingertip onto your spongy spot has you not only cumming but squirting too.

Even Coriolanus eyes widen in surprise as you spill your juices onto the floor, ruining your dress and everything. You begin to feel ashamed of losing control in such a manner, but Coryo curses, “Fuck, doll. Fuck, that was…” He couldn't even finish the sentence.

You close your eyes, feeling yourself close to losing balance, only for Snow to swipe your legs from the floor and carry you to the bathtub.

“I’ll take care of you, doll,” he said, “I’ll bring in a new set of clothes, wait.” “What about the gala?” You asked. He kissed your temple before he replied, “I told everyone to leave the moment you walked away. Told everyone you were sick and as your husband, I shall be taking care of you.”

You let out a raspy chuckle, it was rather amazing how Coriolanus Snow always turned everything in his favor. Even this would help his image of being a president who took such good care of his wife and would surely take the country to great lengths.

“Snow lands on top,” you whispered to him with a smile.

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @dollfacedalls @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy

[doromoni]

Off Track Pace | MV1 , ?

Ships Max Verstappen x presenter! Reader , ? x presenter! Reader , Platonic! Charles Leclerc x presenter! Reader

Genre : Fluff , Angst

Sub tags : mutual pinning , She fell too early , He fell too late,

Summary : A new f1 presenter and journalist has entered the paddock and she brings chaos along the way. And as competition looms , will the current Champion be as fast outside the track?

Face claim: Sofia Wylie

A/N : I’m so sorry luvs! I’m working on updating Clash of Champions , i promise ~ it’s my uni’s finals exams so I gotta focus on that first… so here’s a peace offering.

Part 2.

Media day, usually on a Thursday — a day that most Formula 1 drivers dread. A day where cameras followed their every move, interviews with journalists that twisted their every word and silly PR stunts forced on them by their teams. It used to be just all racing and winning podiums, but modern Formula 1 is all about media politics and sponsorships.

If you were to ask any driver on the grid if they were given the chance not to do PR, they would say yes to skipping it. But not everything about media day is horrendous.

Not when a new motorsports journalist joins the paddock that was an absolute sweetheart and delight to have around. A natural on the job — she always made sure that every driver that she interviewed was comfortable and enjoying their time with her and the segment.

the.Y/N

liked by skysportsf1 , lissiemackintosh, f1 , and 689,270 others

the.Y/N first day on the job? . i’m not nervous, you are! (She said literally shaking)

skysportsf1 Welcome to the team Y/N! ❤️

the.Y/N thank you kind employers. 🤍

lissiemackintosh Babe!! It’s finally official. Congratulations!

the.Y/N Thanks to you Babe!! I swear I would’ve been lost without you 😭

User1 who is she?

the.Y/N literally no one

User2 Ohhhh a new commentator? 🤔

User3 maybe she’s a journalist?

scuderriaferrari the kids had fun. They want their clay statues on display!

User2 Clay statues?? Hello?? Wut?

User3 Same question, Clay statues??

the.Y/N wait and see 🤷‍♀️ , the interview would drop tomorrow? Maybe~

User4 Its her first day and she literally had an interview with Charles and Carlos in Ferrari???

the.Y/N well no , the first interview was with Lewis Hamilton … so. 🤭

User5 WHAT?? Ok , queen slay!

User4 damnn , imagine being new to your field and already interviewing the big guys.

mclaren Do us next please 🙋‍♂️

redbullracing get in line!

the.Y/N gotta stop by Aston first , sorry besties.

User6 OK WHAT IS HAPPENING, ms. Y/N who are your connections 😭 i want in.

User7 why are all the teams here??

Y/N L/N was the F1 presenter and journalist who put drivers willingly out of their comfort zones and made them try something new. You genuinely loved what you do and you were passionate about it. You never showed partiality among the drivers, you treated everyone with the same attitude — this earned the respect of all drivers on the grid.

You were quickly becoming a paddock favorite. The fans enjoyed the content you put out and the drivers looked forward to your interview when they saw your name on their schedule.

Interviewing with you usually meant cheat meals and unusual activities that you thought they would like.

the.Y/N

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, and 740,155 others

the.Y/N maybe bowling isn’t the best idea. @charles_leclerc you suck, ngl. New vid out on Monday at the sky sports channel🤍

charles_leclerc i hate you ❤️

the.Y/N no you don’t 😌

charles_leclerc no, i don’t

User1 I love their dynamic so much!! I need more of the Paddock siblings pleaseee

User2 I can’t wait for more of Y/N bullying Charles into weird things and Ferrari doing nothing about it🤣

landonorris but why is charles in a cowboy costume?

the.Y/N i dunno? He just showed up in that 🤷‍♀️

charles_leclerc You told me we were riding horses and you wanted me to wear smth cowboy!!

the.Y/N oh yeah! Lmao

landonorris should i feel bad?

the.Y/N Nope. He’s happy either way. Aren’t you @charles_leclerc?

User2 NOT THE LMAO . Y/N thank you being you

User3 Y/N giving us Cowboy Charles , yes ma’am

User3 JUST DATE ALREADY!

the.Y/N EW. No

charles_leclerc Ok , the ew was unnecessary. But same. No thanks :)) i’m not dating my sister .

User4 Charles call y/n his sister 🥺

However, No matter how much you tried to keep things professional by being just a driver: journalist, something your boss commented during a quick meeting because fans kept shipping you with every driver. What you found weird is that most drivers you see as older brothers and some even uncles (don’t tell Nando). Plus most of them had girlfriends!

Nevertheless, your relationship with them seems to always end up with them hanging around your office at Sky, whenever they are free. Even the older drivers like Nando, Lewis and even Nico and Kevin use your office as an escape from the chaos of their motorhomes.

You didn’t mind hosting the older drivers in your room, as they were usually tame and kept to themselves as they read the books on your shelves in peace. They usually plop themselves down your couch and place the oversized plush you always bring on their lap. They always brought you snacks, so you looked forward to the times when their heads popped in your door and asked if they could come in.

But when the younger drivers visit your office? And if they came in groups — which they usually do. Oh boy, it was either a clusterfuck of them stealing snacks from your secret stash or your office becoming a den for hot gossip in the paddock usually led by the one and only Charles Leclerc.

Case in point. You now have Charles, Carlos, Max and to your surprise Checo in your office. The older Spanish-speaking driver was a rare visitor, but a welcome one nonetheless.

But considering the topic in discussion, you understood the presence of the two Red Bull drivers.

You were in the middle of typing away on your laptop when suddenly they barged in with ice cream tubs and spoons at hand then found a spot to sit and made themselves comfortable.

“Is Newey leaving Red Bull?” Charles asked Max and Checo, as he scooped a bite from his ice cream.

“We have no clue! Christian is saying nothing to us. Nothing” Max exclaimed exasperated as Checo nodded in agreement.

“So Adrian Newey is moving to Ferrari?” You questioned as you pointed your spoon at Charles

“Y/N, I love you like a sister and I know that you’re incredibly smart, but sometimes you are stupid. We’re clueless in Ferrari, hence my question ”

You threw your wooden spoon at the Monaco-born Ferrari driver. Which he easily avoided thanks to his fast reflexes. Freaking f1 reflexes!

“ I wasn't the person who got named for being stupid— HEY! Max give that back!! You don't even like salted caramel” You were trying to rebut Charles’ insult but were distracted when Max took your ice cream for himself.

Max just shrugged and placed his half-consumed chocolate brownie fudge ice cream in your hands — his spoon still in it. You didn’t complain further as you took his spoon and took a bite yourself. Yum! Brownie fudge is your favorite.

“Dude, what is even going on inside Red Bull? What was Horner under investigation for?” Carlos pressed on, trying to find answers. You were curious yourself

“Everyone is being weird. They’re keeping things from us. “ Checo added. You knew that they were truly left in the dark because if they knew they would’ve spilled instantly. NDAs be damned.

“Every interview, people keep asking if we know something! one more journalist and I swear I’ll run them over with my car! I hate each one of them” Max grumbled to himself.

You coughed. You knew that you were an exception but you couldn’t help but mess around with your friends.

“Don’t even, Y/N. You know you don’t count. “ Max waved you off.

“Wow! Thank you for that babe. Way to make a girl feel special” you said jokingly to the Dutch driver, as you winked dramatically. To which he only rolled his eyes — making you and the rest of the drivers laugh.

Max was immune to your flirting, unfortunately. It sucked especially when you had a tiny …. Ok big … HUGE crush on the 3 time world champion.

Max to you was like an Older brother’s best friend — Where you were the little sister crushing on him and you didn’t have a chance. You knew that like the other drivers, he just saw you as a little sister. But still you couldn’t help but fall the star driver of Red Bull.

Everything started when you brought your niece to the paddock because your sister had an emergency. You were scheduled to interview Checo in the RB motorhome and your niece was starting to feel fussy and you were slightly panicking on what to do— when Max suddenly came to your rescue and took your niece out to ice cream.

You admit you found Max attractive even before— like so damn attractive, but that was it— nothing more. But when you found Max carrying your niece in his arms as they played inside his garage, you knew that you were a goner to the charms of Max Verstappen.

You have been pinning for Max for a year now. You wished that you had the confidence and courage to just confess. But the fear of rejection freighted you, so you settled to just keep your friendship with the devastatingly handsome Red Bull champion.

As time went on, and nothing but friendship between you and Max developed — You’ve come to terms with the process of letting go of your feelings. Even when you’ve already met his mom and sister, hung out in his yacht and spent nights over his place when movie nights with Charles and his girlfriend went too late. You knew not to think anything of it.

And you were right to think nothing of it. Because not a week later, rumors had spread all over the paddock that Kelly Piquet had set her eyes on Max. You didn’t believe it at first, but when you saw with your own two eyes them engaged talking happily in his garage. The sparkle in Max’s eyes had solidified your will to move on.

A few weeks had passed and Kelly’s presence was constant in the paddock. Everyone had speculated that she had become Max’s girlfriend. But no one was sure, not even you — Max had been silent about it.

You tried to be happy for them you did. But you can’t blame yourself for wishing that it was you instead. Even to this day, you are still trying to forget and bury your feelings for Max.

“Y/N? Y/N? Oi Y/N” You suddenly were startled out of your thoughts. You forgot that you were still with the drivers in your office.

“What? Sorry, I just remembered something. What did you say?” You asked Charles as he was the one who called you.

“I asked if you had an interview today” Upon hearing the words of the Monegasque, your eyes grew wide as you remembered that you did have a job to do and you were indeed almost late.

“SHIT! I DO I’m late! “ You suddenly sprang up from your seat and quickly gathered the things you needed — while the 4 drivers looked at you with amusement.

“Who’s scheduled for you today, Y/N?” Max had also sat up from his seat and gave you an opened bottle of water.

You received the bottle from Max. You didn’t have to thank the driver — just one look from you and he knew.

The other drivers looked amongst themselves as they saw your exchange with Max. Everyone had a knowing look on their faces.

“I'm going to Mclaren today! I have the whole day with Lando. “ You said as you closed your once abandoned laptop and placed it in your bag — the one Max gave you on your birthday.

“What have you planned for Lando, Y/N?” Checo asked curiously. He still remembered his interview where you both made bracelets and stuffed toys for his daughters — his daughters loved it and went to sleep with it every single day.

“Oh! I’m taking Lando to a rage room, then drive-thru for food.” You explained happily to the older Mexican driver.

“Which part of that is the interview?” Charles had interjected

“While we eat the food in the parking lot, duh,” You said as if they should’ve already known. Well, they should by now.

“You know Y/N, Lando likes you right? ” Carlos had suddenly dropped a bomb on you. You didn’t expect it at all.

“What?” Max had suddenly said — catching all of you off guard. You didn’t understand, why Max had reacted so suddenly. But you pushed that aside for now as you continued to stuff everything you need in the bag

“What do you mean, Lando likes me?” You asked Carlos, with your eyebrows scrunched together.

“He likes you. Like you know? Take you out on dates and all that” Carlos replied as he gauged your reaction.

“Ohhhh, that’s cute! how did you even know about it, Carlos” you asked not taking any of it seriously.

“Cute?” You heard Max muttered under his breath.

“He told me. I won’t spoil anything else. I’m not even supposed to say that he likes you, but oh well.” Carlos shrugged as he finished off his ice cream.

“What do you think about Lando?” Charles suddenly asked you. The Ferrari driver leaned forward

“Will you date him if he asks you ?” Checo then joined the conversation.

“ You should say yes, I mean you two are the same-“ Charles had suddenly grown excited.

“Ok whoa, calm down dads. He hasn’t asked anything yet! “ you exclaimed

“But will you say yes if he asked?” Max then asked you, his eyes piercing your soul. After all of the other questions, Max was the one to Catch you off guard.

“Uh yes, I guess? I mean, why not? Lando is fun And he is single right … ” You were panicking so you said yes, even when you knew that you weren’t ready for anything like that since you still held feelings for Max.

“ YES! I thought that you-“ Charles wasn't able to finish his sentence when you cut him off.

“OK, bye guys! See you later. I need to go!” And just like that you were gone, leaving the four drivers in your office — not letting them question you further.

“I swear, that kid is weird.” Charles shakes his head from side to side at your actions.

“Lando likes Y/N?” Max had asked again just to make sure that he had heard the Spaniard correctly.

“ Lando is a good kid. They’ll make a good couple, no?” Checo asked no one in particular, as Max was not moving from where you left him.

“Wait, wait… since when did Lando like Y/N?” Max asked confused, looking green with jealousy. Fingers tingling as they clenched on itself

“Well he was interested in Y/N since the beginning but he backed off since everyone thought that you two had a thing” Carlos explained as he stood up and went to raid your snack stash.

“Yeah, but now you’re with the daughter of Piquet. what’s her name again? KELLY! yes, kelly. So Lando is taking his shot” Charles added

“You knew? Charles, you knew about Lando?” Max was aghast at the knowledge that was just receiving now.

“Well yeah? I was the one to encourage him to ask Y/N out. ” Charles shrugged nonchalantly. He knew about your feelings for the Red Bull driver, but he also saw how hurt you were when Max started seeing Kelly out of nowhere. Charles wanted to help his friends — specially the ones that he grew to love like his own sibling in any way that he could. Plus it was time for Y/N to have fun, and Lando Norris is exactly that.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Max was conflicted. His emotions growing uncontrollably by the second.

“ Mate, we haven’t seen you for how many weeks! You were always out with your new girlfriend. Even Y/N had no contact with you “ Carlos explained to Max.

silence filled the room, when suddenly pings of notifications sounded all over the rooms.

And Charles couldn’t help but whistle.

“Well he sure does move past” he had added.

Your story

As Max looked at his phone. Your Ig story flashed. His heart had started to hurt and the feeling of a pit in his stomach grew. it was as if someone punched him right in the gut.

And another notification ping had popped . And it only made Max’s stomach churn even further.

landonorris

[aphroditelovesu]

Hello. Yandere husband Aegon the Conqueror ?

❝ 🔥 — lady l: I love Aegon and I feel that lacks content for him, so I'm doing my part. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of death and toxic relationships.

❝🔥pairing: yandere!aegon the conqueror x female!reader.

Even though Aegon already had two wives, he still chose to marry you. People often say he married Visenya out of duty, Rhaenys out of desire, and you out of love. But what few knew was how much in love he was with you.

Aegon the Conqueror dedicated his love to you intensely and silently. Amid the challenges of the newly unified kingdom, your presence was his strength. There was no doubt who his favorite wife was.

Some said you were chosen as his third wife as a way to stake a greater claim on Westeros, still fragile after the Conquest. You were a good choice, you came from a good family and you had honor, which was enough for others, but Aegon was in love, he was obsessed.

He fell in love with you quickly, being enchanted by your manner, your personality and your beauty. There was something about you that attracted him and he knew he couldn't let you go. He wanted you to become his wife and so it was done.

Some expected reservations from his sister-wives, but there were none. Visenya and Rhaenys liked you and supported Aegon's choice. The preparations were made and you quickly married him, becoming his third wife, Queen and the one he loved most.

Life with Aegon brought joys and challenges. His obsession flourished even in difficult times, consolidating a unique partnership between you. The court commented on the happiness that emanated from the king when he was at your side, and the union between you strengthened the bonds of the kingdom.

He was a loving and dutiful husband, Aegon would always make sure that you were happy and satisfied and if there was something that bothered you, you should talk to him without hesitation. Your happiness was the priority for him.

Aegon pampers you without limits, bathing you in gold, jewels and silks, everything worthy of a Queen. Your whims and desires were met immediately. If you just wanted to eat cake for breakfast, for example, you would have cake every day.

Your husband always sought your advice, confident in the wisdom and vision you brought, your opinion was always considered the most important. The complicity between you was evident, and although it aroused envy in some, Aegon would not let them harm you.

You played a vital role as the king's advisor and confidant, contributing to the stability of the kingdom. Aegon, in turn, never failed to express his gratitude and admiration for the woman he chose as his Queen. He adored you completely, from head to toe and would make sure you knew that every night.

Most nights, Aegon spent by your side. He shared a room with you, unusual for Kings, but he wasn't just any King. He loved you more than anything and wanted you to know that. He loved sleeping cuddled with you, your legs tangled together and arms wrapped around you. Aegon feels at peace by your side.

The harmony between you, Visenya, and Rhaenys solidifies the strength of the Triple Crown. The three of you, the Three Queens, work together to overcome political and social challenges, uniting the kingdom under the symbol of the dragon. Your presence, as the beloved Queen, triggers a period of stability and prosperity.

Aegon is extremely overprotective and possessive over you and this only got worse after Rhaenys' death. He knows he would go crazy if something happened to you and he can't allow anything to happen. He's suffocating and will be breathing down your neck for as long as he can and will kill anyone if they cross you, if they cross him.

You are the only person who can truly control him and Aegon will be happy to let you do so. There is no doubt about who holds all the power over him. Aegon would do anything for you, he would kill everyone for you, slaughter anyone for you. Yours and yours alone.

Once Rhaenys died, Aegon's obsession only grew stronger, Visenya's as well. They lost someone important and not all the destruction caused is enough to make up for it, they couldn't lose you too. Aegon cannot lose you. May the gods forbid, but if something were to happen to you... The world will know the true fury of the dragon.

Your love with Aegon not only stood the tests of time but blossomed into a deep connection that inspired songs and legends. In the halls of the Red Keep, where the flames danced, it was clear that your union was more than political; it was a bond intertwined by the most darkest feelings. It was a shame the bards didn't know about his obsession.

Aegon loves you, he truly does, and although he may be consumed by jealousy and anger, he would never lay a finger on you. He respects you too much to humiliate you in such a way. After all, you are his wife and his Queen and his favorite.

[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★ 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? ;)

[corroded-hellfire]

I can 100% imagine that while reader put headphones in her tummy when she was pregnant with Eliza or the new pregnancy, she would make the baby listen to Billy Joel and when she's distracted or if she fell sleep, Eddie would change it to any of his favorite metal bands 😂

I love this idea so much! It’s very them, lol. I set this while reader is pregnant with Eliza 🩷

Words: 1.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

It’s became a running joke between you and your husband by your third trimester. The first time it happened, you had still been in the first initial throes of pregnancy, the exhaustion wreaking havoc on your system every day. It wasn’t uncommon for Eddie to come home and see you curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Sometimes you’d be in bed or even soaking in the bath, but the couch seemed to become your late afternoon snooze location. 

One day when Eddie came home and saw you bundled up beneath your favorite purple blanket, he smiled and headed towards the kitchen. But he froze halfway through the living room. What was that sound?

Eddie turned, eyes searching high and low for whatever could be creating the low murmuring sound that filled his ears. He took a few steps closer to the couch and realized it was coming from you. 

Carefully, as not to disturb you, Eddie lifted the blanket and let out a small chuckle when he saw the headphones planted securely on your tummy. They were connected to your portable CD player, and as Eddie crouched down to be on the same level as your stomach, he tried to peek into the little window to see if he could tell what CD was inside. No luck, though.

Instead, Eddie moved as slowly and silently as possible to pull the headphones off your barely-there bump. He held them up to his ears to hear what you’re playing for your baby.

Brando, "The King and I", and "The Catcher in the Rye"

Eisenhower, Vaccine, England's got a new queen

Marciano, Liberace, Santayana, goodbye

“Oh, my sweet baby,” Eddie whispered. “What is she making you listen to? No, no. I will not let your mother subject you to Billy Joel. Wait right here. Well—you don’t have a choice, really.”

Eddie gently set down the headphones and pushed himself up from his crouched position. He took a few steps over to the stereo tucked in the corner of the room and rifled through his collection of CDs.

“Ah. Here we go.”

He plucked one and came back over to you, leaned down again, and quickly and quietly switched out your CD for a Metallica one. It took a moment to load, but then he pressed play and held the headphones up so he could hear.

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

And nothing else matters

“Much better.”

Eddie smiled to himself as he slipped the headphones back on your tummy and headed upstairs to get cleaned up.

Not even ten minutes later, you walked into your bedroom just as your husband was coming out of the adjoining bathroom. 

“Hey, baby,” he greeted. Then he saw the unimpressed look on your face. “What?”

“Why did I fall asleep to the smooth voice of Billy Joel, only to wake up to the depressing Nothing Else Matters?”

“Hey, when I came home, We Didn’t Start the Fire was playing. Not exactly the most cheerful song.”

“Keep your mitts off my headphones. Or it’s war, baby.”

And it became war. 

Sometimes you would grab your CD player and headphones right before Eddie came home, just for him to find you subjecting your child to your music. The only time he wouldn’t take the bait was if he was exhausted from work. Which meant, most times he had the energy to grab a metal CD and replace it with whatever pop one you had in.

Occasionally, this led to physical struggles, which involved a lot of laughing and rolling around on the floor with one another. The first few times that Ryan and Luke heard you squealing from the roughhousing, they’d come in to check on you. After the fourth time, they knew the sound meant another music battle was going on. 

When you got your energy back in the second trimester, it became harder for Eddie to switch out the music because you weren’t randomly falling asleep as much. Which meant he needed a new plan of attack. Sometimes after you’d fall asleep in your bed at night, Eddie would tiptoe over to grab your portable CD player and headphones, pop a Metallica disc in, then put the headphones on your belly. If you didn’t roll over and knock them off or yank the cord, you’d most likely wake up in the morning after the CD finished.

It leads you to now, where you’re sitting on your bed on a Saturday afternoon, the windows open and letting in the warm summer breeze and the pleasant birdsongs. Eddie has his head in your lap, one hand on your pronounced bump. 

“Was that another kick?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a wince. 

The baby was now reaching the point where she’d be awake all night, moving around and not allowing you to get any sleep. It was getting uncomfortable, and you were hoping having Eddie here, rubbing your stomach would lull her to sleep. No dice so far.

“Here, can you hand me my headphones?” you ask, nodding towards your nightstand. “Maybe music will help.”

“And what music, may I ask, are you intending to play for our little sweet pea?” Eddie raises his eyebrows at you.

“I’ve had luck with Piano Man before,” you tell him.

“Don’t you think we should try—”

“No,” you cut him off. “Metal music makes her rowdy.”

“That’s my girl.” Eddie grins.

“Be a proud papa later. Right now, help your wife get some rest.”

“Wait…” Eddie hops off the bed and disappears out the bedroom door. He comes back a minute later brandishing a CD case.

“Have you tried this?” he asks.

You hold your hand out and bring the case closer once your husband hands it to you.

“The Phantom of the Opera? Huh. No, I haven’t. There are some good songs that could be used as lullabies in here.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Eddie says as he crawls back on the bed with you. “Here, I’ll set it up for you.”

You watch as Eddie opens the case and pops the CD into the player, a fond smile on your face the whole time.

“So, we’ll call this a truce right now?” you ask.

“I suppose so,” Eddie says, handing you the headphone. “Guess you and I have to be a team against this hyper baby girl.”

“Right. When she pops out, we can try to sway her with our music,” you add.

“Deal.” 

Eddie holds out his hand and you shake it with a chuckle.

You situate the headphones on your stomach just as Eddie presses play.

Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation

Darkness stirs and wakes imagination

Silently the senses abandon their defenses

Your husband curls up next to you and slowly rubs his hand up and down your belly. It only takes a few minutes before the movement in your womb slows down. You breathe a sigh of relief and rest your head against Eddie’s. 

“Better?” he whispers.

“Mhmm,” you hum, letting your tired eyes fall shut. 

A soft song is whispered near your ear and it takes you a moment to realize it’s Eddie singing Piano Man.

“Thought this song was a no?” you ask, voice already halfway fallen into sleep.

“Yeah, for the baby,” Eddie says. “But it’s too late for you. Your taste is solidified. So, I might as well give in.”

Eddie’s teasing tone makes you chuckle. He presses a kiss to the side of your head before picking up the tune again. 

Sing us a song. You're the piano man

Sing us a song tonight

Well, we're all in the mood for a melody

And you've got us feeling alright

[cregansgf]

Hi can I request a Daemon x Targtower reader please? I'm thinking she's Helaenas twin and her and Alicent are REALLY close. She met Daemon at Laenas funeral and instead of him marrying Rhaenyra he decides to take his girls to Kingslanding. He is TG if possible or just team red as he wants the throne and the greens kinda agree as long as he either Helaena or Reader. But if you can make him TG could you have him be a good uncle to the Targtowers? But Reader is his favorite.

I swear there is no length too long for this request. The longer the better honestly.

hi! this one is a little shorter as i left it off so i could make a second part, i hope you don’t mind !! (thank you sm for the request.)

Now i’m not a TG personally so i am trying my best and i hope this turns out how you want <3

𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝖽𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗋𝗒𝖾𝗇

team green!daemon targ x younger fem!reader

Helaena and Y/n sat upon a rock, both of their minds far away as people around them spoke to one another.

Helaena had some sort of creature in her hand while Y/n tried very hard not to stare at the man across from

her.

Daemon Targaryen. A man old enough to be her own father.

And the man whose wife just died.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him drink from a cup, his face blank as he kept his distance from everything and everyone.

It was only when his eyes met hers she quickly looked away, her face turning a dark pink as she pretended to be looking for a bug like Helaena, not daring to look back at the prince.

She missed the way his eyes lingered on her, a hint of intrigue and amusement now forming as he watched her pick up a bug and leg it crawl across her palms.

His eyes drifted towards her sister and brothers, noting the miserable look on each of their faces. An idea struck him as he let his eyes wander back towards Y/n, a small smirk forming on his face.

Three days had passed since then, each day Y/n spent with her mother and sister, liking their company much more than everyone else’s.

She was sat with a needle in her hand, following the septa’s instructions carefully.

That was until her mother came in with a large smile, “May I borrow my daughter?” She questioned, looking over at the septa.

The Septa simply nodded giving the queen a gentle smile before the two left the room, leaving Y/n’s things behind.

“Is everything alright mother?” She asked, biting the inside of her cheek, her mother has never interrupted her lessons before.

Alicent stopped walking once they reached one of the many gardens, turning to face her daughter, she placed her hands on the girls shoulders and bent down to her level, coming face to face with her.

“Do you wish to marry one day?”

Y/n’s eyes widened “Are you going to ship me off?”

“No! no, my sweet girl, I would never.” Alicent assured, cupping the young girls cheek. “There is someone who wishes to marry you once you become 17. You would be able to stay here in Kings Landing, in your home, with me.”

Relief filled her as she took in her mother’s words, “Is he old and .. fat?” She nearly whispered, earning a small laugh in return.

“He’s rather handsome.” Alicent smiled, “Come.” She spoke, standing straight and grabbing her daughter’s hand, guiding her towards the training yard.

She followed behind her mother silently, looking around at all the flowers as they passed.

Once they arrived at the training yard Alicent had stopped, letting her daughter watch.

Her breath hitched when she noticed him.

Daemon.

“He wishes to marry .. me?” She questioned with wide eyes, unable to take them off him as he easily won against his opponent.

“Yes, sweet girl. But only when you turn 17 and only if you wish it.”

Her eyes stayed on Daemon, watching as he moved so easily with a sword in his hand, his confidence practically spilling from him.

When his eyes met hers she could have sworn her heart stopped for a moment.

He wanted her. He wanted to wed her. He could have any woman he pleased and yet he chose her.

He flashed her a quick smile before he returned to his training and that had been all she needed.

“I’ll wed him.”

[cheesesoda]

calling you out based on your favorite triplet!

it’s ya girl back at it again with the call out posts

cw: mentions of mental health issues, sexual trauma, and EDs

nick: if you’re a nick girl/boy/person, i get the feeling you’re the oldest. you sometimes tend to feel sorry for yourself and then you feel bad about feeling sorry for yourself and it becomes a vicious cycle. you probably have either dealt with body image issues or an eating disorder (idk every nick person i’ve met has dealt with that). you’re probably pretty insecure and you constantly compare yourself to all your friends and it’s tearing you apart. you have a hard time accepting compliments because you simply don’t believe them. i think there’s a lot you don’t talk about but then you blame others for your secrecy and feel bad for yourself, as if they just don’t understand. maybe try letting people in and let them have a shot at trying to understand you. you’re not an enigma.

songs you remind me of:

prom queen by beach bunny

not strong enough by boygenius

idontwannabeyouanymore by billie eilish

sippy cup by melanie martinez

orange juice by melanie martinez

tv by billie eilish

matt: if you’re a matt girl/boy/person, you’re probably the quietest one of the group. you possibly grew up without many friends and you often feel left out or unseen. you were the quiet kid and never really talked. you’re very nurturing and you try to take care of all your friends because you want them to know you see them. you’ve most likely dealt with mental health issues (specifically anxiety and/or depression). you tend to overthink a lot and you probably have a lot more to say than you actually say. you were probably the one who walked on the grass, the one who was the photographer but never in the photo, and the one who sat alone at lunch. as a kid, you went unnoticed but now you’re not. as a result, you end up purposely excluding yourself from your current friend group(s) because it’s what you’re used to and then you end up isolating yourself but you don’t realize that you’re doing it to yourself. i hope you’ll see that people do notice you and they do care about you. you’re not invisible.

songs that remind me of you:

the archer by taylor swift

chosen last by sara keys

letter to my 13 year old self by laufey

nobody by mitski

afraid by the neighbourhood

everything i wanted by billie eilish

chris: if you’re a chris girl/boy/person, i think you grew up too quickly. you probably had to start looking out for yourself at way too young of an age and now you have a hard time accepting nurturing and loving treatment. i get the feeling that you were sexualized from a young age too and you probably have some sexual trauma. as a result, you act hypersexual because it’s what you’ve been made to believe you’re supposed to be. people don’t take you seriously, probably because you are the funny one or the pretty one but you’re actually very observant and analytical. you notice things most people don’t. you’ve often been the butt of the joke in the friend group so now you make fun of everyone else before they can make fun of you. you might come off as mean but i think you’re just scared of being vulnerable. you definitely have commitment issues which probably stems from your childhood trauma (including but not limited to family issues). you end up getting yourself into dangerous or unhealthy or self destructive situations because it’s what you’re used to and you think it’s what people expect from you. you don’t have to follow your self fulfilled prophecy. you don’t have to be what others tell you that you are.

songs that remind me of you:

goddess by laufey

labyrinth by taylor swift

safeword by tv girl

don’t miss me by claire rosinkranz

brand new city by mitski

first love/late spring by mitski

[nightcolorz]

I would love to hear your thoughts on autistic Armand, if you haven’t already spoke about this! Imo he’s very autsitic coded, and it’s very precious to me as an autistic iwtv fan :]

OMG!!! RUNS AROUND. Yes lmao I talk about this a lot actually it is one of my favorite Armand things to meta about bcus I’m also autistic and he is my special interest🙏I was trying to find some of the stuff I’ve written about autistic Armand but tumblrs search engine makes it near impossible to find anything so I gave up 😭, but believe me they r out there. Even tho I talk about this a lot I would love love love to talk about it some more for u anon because I can never get enough of armandtism.

I first figured Armand was autistic when I was reading the vampire Lestat because when he is first introduced he is completely non verbal and only communicates through the mind gift. through further explanation it’s very much implied that he does this because he finds putting his thoughts into words hard and he considers just projecting them into peoples brains much easier. Armand speaks out loud for the first time like more than halfway through the book, and lestat is surprised to hear him lol. This is super autistic I feel like that’s obvious 🙏 it’s basically the vampire power equivalent of using a non verbal communication device. Armand having trouble with connecting with people, understanding how to “fit in”, and talking r prevailing parts of his character throughout the whole series (not just tvl) which solidified my headcanon into basically a canon fact in my mind lol.

When Armand is first introduced in iwtv his strangeness is chalked up to his vampirism, but it’s soon revealed throughout tvl and qotd that Armand is considered a strange outcast by other vampires. The things he struggles with r unique to him and r not representative of vampires in general. His otherness/strangeness can also not be chalked up to his trauma or his age turned because Armand was also an outcast as a young child. It’s described in the vampire Armand that Armand was not understood by his parents or his community because he was obsessed with and freakishly good at painting. His community interprets his unusualness as a sign of some divine intervention, the priests believe he is a saint or a prophet sent to earth, even at times saying things implying that he is “not human”. Unusually high quickly developing skill in childhood is an autistic trait, as is hyper fixation on an activity/topic that becomes a core identity factor and prevailing obsession. The affects of Armand’s trauma only worsen the severity of his autistic traits. C-ptsd and autism often overlap and coexist in autistic people who were traumatized in childhood, which seems to be Armand’s case.

in queen of the damned Armand is at his peak autistic lol, I feel like this is when most book readers gain that head canon. The Devils minion chapter revolves around Armand using Daniel as a guide to help him learn how to be “normal” and to blend in to the modern age. Armand can’t seem to figure out how to blend in on his own because he is unable to understand social norms of any time period enough to integrate himself into society. Armand is in love with technology and what most would consider monotonous sensory experiences. He stares at his own reflection for hours, he loves kitchen appliances and watching ingredients whir in blenders, cameras, he watches the same movie over and over again and never gets bored of it. The way Armand fixates on technology really reminds me of how a lot of autistic people played as children. He enjoys repetitive, sensory behaviors over “fun”. For Armand this means watching the same things repeatedly, which is a form of visual stimming. There r moments where Armand is trying to understand his world, but is so blind to what he is trying to understand that he goes about his discoveries wrong. Such as in qotd when he tries to interrogate strangers to gain information on societal norms but he only gets uncomfortable glances. Armand is desperate to understand and to connect but he is consistently inherently alienated, whether it be from humanity or from other vampires or from himself.

Armand also can not process his memories comprehendingly. This is part trauma part autism, but autism is def a factor. Because of his repressed trauma induced memory loss Armand finds it difficult to talk about himself to people. This is worsened by Armand being unable to comprehend the aspects of story telling that he needs to be able to tell people about his life. Armand explains to Daniel that he vividly remembers small details, such as dates and weather, but he could not tell Daniel what “things were like” because he “doesn’t know what that means”. Literal thinking, the inability to grasp vague, fiction based concepts like narratives and metaphor, and strict fixation on minor details like numbers, are all autistic traits!

Armand also struggles heavily with emotional regulation. He is described as often having intense and extreme meltdowns where he cries and screams and breaks things. Armand is easily bothered, in tva he mentions that he covers his ears when he is overwhelmed. The vampire Armand begins actually with Armand becoming overwhelmed in public and trying to escape to an attic so that he can be alone in silence. Armand copes with his intense emotions by putting on a mask of neutrality. He is often described as expressionless and blank, uncanny. But this is a mask, and when Armand can no longer mask and his disguise lapses his facial expressions r described by lestat as being so over the top and emotional that they are disturbing and weird. Over the top unnatural facial expressions as well as blank unreadable ones are both autistic traits. For Armand he is naturally overly emotive to the point of being considered horrifying, and he hides this by taking the opposite extreme. Either way, either expression Armand puts on causes him to be socially outcast.

Armand often describes feeling like there is something wrong with him that causes him to be isolated from others and he’s not sure what it is. In prince lestat he tells Gregory that he doesn’t know why it’s so hard for him to have relationships when other vampires are fully capable of doing that. In the vampire Armand he explains to David that he’s crazy because his mind isn’t built right and his senses are tripled so he shouldn’t bother trying to understand him. I rlly relate to this as someone who felt like I was from another dimension as a child bcus i didn’t know the unspoken life rules everyone else did.

Armand is often treated like a child by the other vampires and assumed to be emotionally immature and too fragile and insane to be helpful. Armand says in the vampire Armand that he doesn’t consider himself an adult because he can’t function like one. This could be due to the age he was turned, but it’s shown to us that characters like Benji and even to an extent Claudia r able to self regulate and function appropriately despite being turned even younger then Armand was.

in conclusion, book Armand is an autistic person who was never given proper support or understanding because the environment and the time period he was born in decided to alienate him further rather then work to help him socialize and learn appropriate skills, and because of the necessities he has been deprived of and the horrible trauma he endured Armand is never able to learn to function in the way he was likely capable of. this recessive quality in pair with his autism caused Armand it be unable to cope or self regulate or learn ways to understand himself since he wasn’t given a chance to in his formative years. He’s a great representative of what many autistic people who experienced intense child abuse experience.

Im rlly happy with the shows portrayal with Armand so far partly because he is omg, so autistic. Show Armand shares so many of book Armand’s autistic traits. inability to understand himself or others, fixation on small details but inability to understand the big picture, etc. even his iPad is autistic asf! My ipad is my comfort item that I carry around with me to self sooth, and this is def the vibe Armand’s iPad gives me in the show. Even assads performance is autistic! He is able to play Armand masking and Armand unmasking, the stilted expressions he gives and the blank stares, the uncomprehending earnestness. AGHHHH!! Assad stims with his fingers when Armand is nervous too which is just an amazing touch. I hope the show explores Armand’s autism, because that would literally be a dream come true. Even still, for now I’m satisfied.

thank u so so much anon for the ask this made me so happy 🙏❤️ autistic Armand means so much to me and has gotten me though some tough times. Understanding and analyzing Armand helps me understand myself better and feel more comfortable with how I am. Earlier this year I gave myself a concussion because I was harmfully stimming during a meltdown, and while I was in the emergency room I was holding the vampire Armand and imaging that he would relate to what I was going through. So yeah he is very special to me too! And once again it makes me so so happy that u got me to talk some about it. I hope this was coherent or interesting lol I felt like I was all over the place

[wordbunch]

dad Boromir headcanons

a/n: more specifically this is girl dad boromir!! purely self indulgent and based on my personal fantasies. oops. still hope u think it's cute and leave it a nice comment/reblog/sth... 🥰💌

for a few days after she is born, Boromir just walks around on the verge of happy tears

needless to say he is wrapped around her pinky finger from the very first second of knowing her

nobody except you, him, Faramir and your fellowship friends are allowed to hold her (maybe don't let Merry and Pippin babysit immediately)

his protectiveness grows tenfold, both of you and your daughter

"now i have two queens of my heart"

my headcanon is that Gondor hasn't had any princesses born in a loooong time so historically it would also be a very exciting occasion!

Boromir is 101% hands-on and very quickly catches onto many tips and tricks for caring for an infant, all courtly protocols be damned! that is his babygirl and his wife and just you try keeping him away!

no matter his obligations and plans, if she falls asleep on him, or clutching a strand of his hair, his finger, ear, clothes, anything, you can bet he isn't moving anywhere

he covers her tiny ears if he hears anyone nearby uttering what he deems inappropriate words (his standards for inappropriate words also changed significantly)

comes up with the best stories and changes his voice to fit different characters

if your daughter's first word is anything close to 'dad', he will all but proclaim a national holiday complete with a feast istg

aunties Éowyn and Arwen love love having their little girl time with her and will teach her different, but amazing things respectfully

Boromir does his very best to openly express love and affection towards your babygirl - lord knows how he grew up

you know sometimes he isn't sure what to do or how to say something, but your heart swells while watching him give his best

your love for each other deepened as you watched each other grow into the new phase of life

for real, he was nothing but loving towards you before, but now...

he becomes so attuned to your needs it blows your mind

little appreciation gifts are a very common occurence

while you try to keep the bath time relatively tidy and not cause a flood every time, Boromir makes it his mission to make it as fun and chaotic as possible

the little princess of Gondor has the cutest clothes and toys imaginable

especially when she starts to express her wishes, Boromir will do anything to make them come true

"my love, don't you think she is a little too young for a pony?"

"but she said she wanted one!"

"...she was talking in her sleep, Boromir"

"see, it is her dream to have a pony!"

luckily you win and she doesn't get a pony at the ripe old age of barely 2, but you partially cave in and say she can feed and pet ponies when you visit your friends in the Shire

those family outings are always so much fun and some of your favorite memories

everytime your girl is being very stubborn, and your husband is exasperated, you like to remind him she's his daughter through and through

when she grows up she will take no shit but will be so kind and warm and interested in so many things

truly the best of combinations, Boromir and you almost congratulate each other on doing a splendid job

tagging some friends just because

@lady-of-imladris

@sotwk

@starladyy

@queenmeriadoc

@fenharel-enaste

@entishramblings

@coraleethroughthelookingglass

@shirefantasies

@asianbutnotjapanese

@ironmandeficiency

@glorf1ndel

@aidansloth

[doctormonocat]

Self Aware! Xavier x Unrequited! Player

A little angsty. This is actually terrible but it’s been haunting my mind. For clarification, Xavier in this story is your least favorite LI! Xavier is becoming aware of his existence, and of the player (you), but comes to the unfortunate realization you may not feel the same way about him. Part 2 shortly!

Self Aware! Xavier who becomes aware one day due to a glitch. Suddenly his daily visit to the cafe allows him a look at another world, one with you in it.

Self Aware! Xavier who realizes he loves you way too quickly. The girl he’s fallen in love with in this world may not look exactly like you, but by watching you since his awakening he can tell you have the spirit of her. His queen, his partner, his star is embodied in you, alive and well on another side of a screen.

Self Aware! Xavier who is debating how to tell you he’s self aware. He doesn’t want to frighten you, so he tries to ease into it. Slight hints about your real life that you unfortunately brush off as being coincidence. So he commits to getting more bold the next time he sees you in the cafe, to truly make you aware of his existence.

Self Aware! Xavier who comes to the realization you haven’t picked him to come to the cafe in a while. Whatever, you’re busy. But when left alone and with too much time to think, he comes to another uneasy realization. Xavier had been so preoccupied with his own sentience and his feelings for you that he hadn’t truly considered what your feelings for him would be. After all, MC was controlled by you, and she seemed interested enough, so why wouldn’t you be?

Self Aware! Xavier feels a sinking feeling in his chest when he carefully watches your expression as you switch to him to complete tasks for a limited event. You don’t seem… sad, per say, just… bored. To Xavier, that almost felt worse. He felt like a chore.

Self Aware! Xavier who spirals a little bit by seeing how happy and eager you are to see the other love interests. Xavier has come to realize how small his world really is, how limited. Even his close friends and coworkers now seem flat and rehearsed, and he’s sure these other men you’re unfortunately interested in (that he has just become aware of. And seriously? You prefer a whiny artist, an unfeeling doctor, and a criminal to him??) are just as flat and boring.

Self Aware! Xavier who realizes that despite how you feel, you’re his entire world. Something needs to change.

Self Aware! Xavier who, for the first time, realizes that he now has the power to change it. He doesn’t have to sit back and watch as you lavish attention onto these undeserving fake men. He can push your attention onto him, whatever it takes.

He won’t lose his star. Not again.

[syerra-637]

𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓜𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓪𝓷 𝓞𝓫𝓼𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓨𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓒𝓮𝓸

TW: Yandere behavior, obsessed!yandere Format: Headcanons A/N: This the first part to this drabble. I plan to quickly release a sequel where I'll detail their first date. I have a lot of ideas for this yandere, I just need to choose between headcanon and fic.

Yandere, an influential and wealthy CEO, is on his way to an important business meeting. His black limousine drives through the neon-lit downtown when his gaze accidentally meets yours as you cross a bustling street.

A shiver runs down his spine, his heart beating faster. It’s love at first sight. Your image is etched into his mind, every detail of your face and posture becoming an immediate obsession.

Back in his luxurious penthouse, Yandere immediately mobilizes his resources. He calls on his hackers to find any possible information about you. Within hours, he has a complete file containing your social media, interests, frequent places, and even close friends.

His private security team is put on high alert, ready to act at any moment. Yandere also starts acquiring everything you might like, filling an entire room of his penthouse with items and clothes you would enjoy.

Yandere monitors your daily habits through surveillance cameras he has discreetly installed around your home and favorite places. He learns your routine, anticipating your movements and desires.

For the first meeting, he decides to create an event that will catch your attention. He organizes a charity event at a luxury hotel, an exclusive and publicized affair, and sends you an invitation, making it appear as a work-related invitation, knowing it will pique your curiosity.

At the event, he arranges for you to be seated at his table. Using his charm and presence, he initiates a conversation, presenting himself as an admirer of your interests or work.

He treats you with exaggerated deference, his eyes fixed on you with almost palpable intensity. Every word you say is a revelation to him, and he eagerly offers you all the attention possible.

After this first meeting, he intensifies his efforts to enter your life more personally and intimately. He proposes dates and starts sending you lavish gifts. As your relationship progresses, he accompanies his gifts with affectionate notes signed "My King/Queen" or "Treasure."

Gradually, he subtly arranges to eliminate anyone who might pull you away from him, ensuring that he remains your top choice. He uses his influence to offer you opportunities that draw you closer to his world, creating an inevitable dependence.

_♡_♡_♡_♡_♡_

Does any one have an idea for the name of this adorable ceo ? :D

[thoughtsfromlayla]

26 Ways of Taking You: B for Breeding

Summary: You, Swan Maiden of the Lake become King Morpheus's favorite concubine, but it's not enough.

Notes: ~1.7k words, this is just straight-up depressing. Also, don't have a child because you think it would be unconditional love.

Warnings: MDNI - 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it seriously), p in v, minor fingering, unrequited love, toxic love (from both parties honestly), manipulative love, slight AU? I don't really know, angst no comfort

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

A for Aphrodisiac ⇆ C for Cockwarming

The grandfather clock strikes 12 when the door to your bedroom opens. He comes, always, on the last strike of midnight. His footsteps are quiet when he enters your space but just loud enough for you to hear him. You sit slowly from your lying position on your large bed. You’re decorated head to toe in silk and lace, just how he likes it. 

The Dream King has one queen that he is devoted to only in marriage. In his spare time, he has six concubines to satisfy his needs whenever he needs them, wherever he needs them. Politics was never a subject you understood much, but you understood enough as to why your parents all but gave you to him when he first saw you. He thought that there was no other creature as beautiful as you. 

The first time he saw you, you were a swan swimming languidly in a pond far off in the Dreaming. When you come to the surface, soft white feathers retract, your neck shortens, and your legs lengthen until you stand naked in your human form. You didn’t even notice the Dream King staring at you as you brushed your wet hair with your fingers and admired your reflection on the pond’s surface. 

From that day forth you were nothing but a concubine in Morpheus’ harem. He showered you in gifts, courted you, and wooed you all in an effort to decrease the sting of missing home. You never came in contact with the other five concubines, unknown to you that they kept their distance on purpose. Their disdain for you comes from spite as jealousy wraps its hands around them like a parasite. You were his majesty’s favorite and each moment he spent with you means less time with them instead. The Queen never visited you either, neither did she the other concubines, insisting she was simply better than common whores. She could produce an heir to the throne, you could not. 

Life in the palace gets lonely, so you learn to latch onto Lord Morpheus quickly. If you performed well then perhaps he will stay the night. Talk to you until your eyes are closed or take you out for more than 10 minutes to walk to the palace gardens. You put on a smile when he comes near you, kneeling by the bed so you two are the same height. 

“My sweetness,” He calls to you and caresses your cheek.

You lean into the touch, starved for attention as you have been stuck in your room for the past few days, alone. He chuckles at your reaction as he retracts, your face chasing him but stops quickly. He keeps his eyes on you when he strips himself of his robes, the fabric creasing against itself as it slumps onto the cold floor. His cold hand comes into contact with your shoulder, wasting no time, as he guides you to lie down under him. 

“Forgive me for neglecting you, my dear,” He murmurs against your soft skin, followed by a bruising kiss to the junction of your neck. You only respond with a whimper, your fists clenching at the satin sheets below you. The love bruises he gave you a few days ago still haven’t healed and new ones always appeared. Your once pure skin is now always stained with his love. 

Your legs rub against each other as you try to satiate the gnawing arousal that is growing in your core. You kept your eyes on him when his fingers traced lightly over your clothed breast. The pleasure of it is just as good as the time before. Good enough to close your eyes and feel it all, but he doesn’t like it when you close your eyes, you remind yourself. 

His hands bring the bottom of your camisole over your hip and the night air hits your legs. He hikes it higher and removes it over your head and throws it on the floor near his clothes. Shivers run down your spine, goosebumps prickling at your thighs and hardening your breasts. Your hands go to his upper arm and squeeze at the muscle underneath. His knee prys your legs apart and pushes onto your cunt, which elicits another whine from you and you grind yourself onto him. 

“Patience, dear,” He whispers, his lips leave your neck, and trail slow kisses down to close his mouth over your tit. 

His hand wanders closer to your core, tickling the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before pressing his palm into your clit. He looks at you again when he does it and a smug smile grows on his face seeing the way your face contorts to his feverish touch. Your hands trail upwards and trace his jawline, admiring his face lovingly. 

His eyes grow darker as his lust continues to grow and you swallow down your fear. You lean your face closer to his, his soft lips within your reach. Lord Morpheus ducks away instead and focuses his attention on giving you more love bites, not bothering to soothe the pain after he clamps his teeth on your skin. You swallow again, willing the loneliness of his actions to the bottom of your stomach, to will it never to show its ugly face again. 

Instead, you run your fingers through his unruly hair as his hands now take your underwear off. He throws it to the growing pile of clothes on the floor. This time, when his fingers return, they tease your aroused entrance. The wetness of you aiding him as his fingers enter, your needy cunt sucking the finger in. 

Your breath grows rapid and heavy as his fingers move deliberately, its sole purpose to get you opened and ready for him. He guides your legs and rests one over his hip and presses himself into your core, his arousal slipping across your slit. 

He presses his lips to your collarbone before fully sheathing himself into you, grinning as he feels the way your body trembles underneath him. He doesn’t find the patience to wait and removes his cock and fills you again. Your head is thrown back by the familiar pleasure and you clamp your mouth shut, embarrassed to make noise at such a late hour. 

“No, my treasure,” Morpheus voices with displeasure on the tip of his tongue. “I want you to scream my name. I want everyone in the palace to know who the King’s favorite concubine is. Can you do that for me?”

You nod quickly as another forceful thrust enters you. 

“With words,” He commands, leering down at your flushed body. Your hair was starting to get tangled amongst itself and your lips dry from heavy breath.

“Yes, my King,” You weep out, thoughts preoccupied with what he was giving you and your nails run down his back, leaving red streaks of pleasure across his pale skin. 

The Dream King hums in satisfaction before he turns his attention to your skin again, trying to find unmarked spots to mark you again. Your pleasure becomes overwhelming and almost on the verge of pain. His next stroke hits the deepest part of you and you can’t help the scream that is ripped from your throat. Your cries of ecstasy echoed in the large room and slipped through the hallways of the castle. 

“Mhm, just like that,” He praises and you turn into jelly under his words. He murmurs his worship about your skin, your hair, how beautifully glowing you looked underneath him, skin dewy, and muscles trembling. 

His hand caresses between your two bodies, pressing down on your lower stomach. The action causes your sensual pleasure to increase tenfold and your skin feels feverish. He rubs a small circle just under your stomach and hums above you again. 

“I want to see you round with my child, to see you glow with the effects of pregnancy,” He voices and in the back of your head you’re shaking your head no. 

You knew the consequences of siring a bastard. You may be the King’s favorite but that would not protect you against the wrath of her majesty, the Queen. Yet, another part of you silences the doubt quickly. Your child would be something of both you and the king’s. With a tear sliding down your cheek you wished for your child to love you in a way that Lord Morpheus never would. To give you the attention you deserved, to give you something to love. 

Your body spasms and your cunt clenches as your orgasm comes to you unexpectedly, another wonton cry leaves your lips. Morpheus groans at the sudden tightness before emptying himself into you. The only sound that fills the room is the panting of your heavy breaths. Your arms hang behind his neck again and you look at him with adoration. 

“My king,” You whisper like a prayer to him. “Will you keep true to your wish?”

He cocks an eyebrow at your sudden words. “Do not think too deeply about it, my treasure.” His pet names for you feel empty to you now. 

Your arms drop from his neck at the abrupt change in attitude. You suddenly feel very self-aware of your vulnerable body and cross your arms over your chest to both cover and ground yourself. 

Morpheus removes his body from yours and the cold night air takes his place instead. Your thighs are sore and sticky from your coupling but all it does is make you feel dirty. 

“Your child would be of no use to me, it was only said in the moment.” He picks up his clothes from the floor, leaving yours untouched. 

He leaves you just as he came to you, quietly and without warning. The soft click of the closing door brings you back to the presence. His words hang heavy in the air and swim around your head just like the little tetra that used to swim around your body in the lake. 

Your hand delicately swipes across your lower stomach and you clench your thighs closed. If you hope to become with child this time around, then you wouldn’t need Morpheus. Silent tears run down your cheeks and you hug yourself. 

He wouldn’t spend the night again, leaving you in an empty bed of your combined lovemaking. The satin sheets under you suddenly feel too rough, the air too cold, and the shadows in the room dance as they point and mock at you. 

As if the king could love you back. 

A for Aphrodisiac || C for Cockwarming

Main Masterlist ⇆ Series Masterlist

Is it unhinged of me to say that that gif of Dream crying is hot? No? What's that? I'm just ovulating? Oh, ok.

♡ Yours, Layla

[cranberryjuice-posts]

Heard you want more requests 👀. I have many ideas for Clarisse lol.

Clarisse x Fem!Child of Aphrodite Reader who was a beauty queen for pageants before joining camp. Often snarky and Brattish but really sweet to Clarisse.

Clarisse finds a box in her cabin under readers bed, Polaroids of her old pageants where she won. Reader also still has her favorite dress and a framed picture of herself in the box along with all of her Polaroids.

Reader walks in on her admiring the contents of the box?

- Marshmellow :]

- it’s not my fault -

Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x Fem! Aphrodite! Reader

An - this is giving Regina George and I’m here for it, also if this sucks my excuse is I’m sick 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

Most people called you condescending. Fair. But they wasn’t all there was to you. You were a pageant queen, who knows how many you’ve won at this point.

From bright red dresses to dull black ones you’ve had every design from X Y to Z. Coming to camp you gave that up though. The dream of being miss universe becoming just a thought instead of reality.

But you couldn’t completely give it all up. Inside your cabin and under the bunk there was a box holding some old pictures of you in all your glory, next to it was a black dress bag that held a stunning dress; one that complimented your figure and hair. One that you were supposed to wear at a pageant before your saytr Guide dragged her away.

—

“What are You doing” You raised an eyebrow as clarisse got into the floor looking under your bed. You were sitting on the vanity beside your bunk doing your 10 step skin care while clarisse, bless her soul only trusted soap and water.

All your siblings were out at a party in the woods giving you the cabin to just you and clarisse.

“I’m grabbing a box” her voice mumbled from the wooden frame. As she pulled out a rose colored box you mentally groaned knowing why she was doing it.

“Really? It’s tacky Lise”

“No it’s adorable” she corrected with a smile. Sitting on the edge of the bed she started to go through the photos, pointing out each dress she liked or wish she had the chance to see in person. “See look” Clarisse leaned over the edge pushing the picture onto your desk. “In this picture I’m telling you your mother blessed you or something because you’re glowing”

“And your cringe” You gave a sarcastic response taking the picture back. Clarisse rolled her eyes tilting her head to the side giving you the chance to lean down, giving her a small kiss.

The lavender scented lip Mask sticking onto clarisses chapped lips. “Babe.. I love you but please for the love of the gods let me do your skin, your lips are so fucked up” you ghosted your thumb over her bottom lip.

“Only, if you’ll try on that dress that’s under your bunk that you act like doesn’t exist”

“Why do You Wanna See That”

“Because im curious”

You gave her a suspicious look before just Tossing your headband aside. You reached under the bed, Pulling out the dress bag you quickly unzipped it. Clarisses attitude was like a child on Christmas.

You started taking your shirt off, Having to get undressed to even put the dress on. You tossed your bra into clarisses face with a smile. “You’re staring”

Clarisse Just shrugged, you knew she had no shame.

Stepping into the dress you shimmied the skin tight fabric up your body until it was over your chest. Zipping it up and flipping your hair to the side you placed your hands on your hips. “There” you dramatically sighed.

You watched as clarisse did a critical look over your body before responding. “Looked better in my mind”

“Your the wors” You laughed pushing her down onto the bed. Unable to move properly however you fell directly on top of her. Clarisse helped move You to the side, running her hands up and down your body.

“Seriously though it looks perfect on you” she mumbled. “Thank you baby” you smiled closing the gap and giving her a small kiss.

The cabin door opened, one of your siblings stepping inside with her boyfriend. “Get out!” You practically screamed causing the girl to run out. You rolled your eyes once again “I swear their all stupid” playing with a strand of clarisses hair you smiled wide. “Ok skin care time!”

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 9

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

“This town looks peaceful to an outsider, a perfect place for a pensioner to spend their free time,” Steve commented, his gaze sweeping over the quiet streets.

“I guess the Bronze Lodge is their only destination,” you replied, noting the town’s well-known resort.

He nodded. “It's a great place and helps the economy. Most locals work there.”

You glanced around, recognizing a few faces from your past. “Hmm. I see some familiar people.”

“So, you've met the homecoming queen,” Steve said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“My number one hater,” you responded dryly.

“She will hate you even more after seeing how successful you've become,” Steve chuckled.

You nodded, and the ice between you began to melt as the conversation continued. The years apart seemed to fade as you shared updates and memories.

“Don’t you realize you're talking behind her back? Isn’t she your close friend?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Steve shrugged. “Not anymore. After graduation, all of us went our separate ways. Bucky went abroad to study business, Natasha pursued her modeling career, and others moved to different states.”

He sighed, reflecting on how time had changed their once-close group. As everyone grew older, they followed their own paths. But in the end, almost all of them returned to this town.

“What made me curious is Jake. I thought he would be the one to make it big since he won multiple competitions related to computers,” you said, recalling the prodigious talent he once displayed.

“Ah, Jake. He wanted to be popular so badly back then. Ironically, he got it in the worst way possible,” Steve replied with a hint of regret.

“What happened to him?” You leaned forward, intrigued by the unfolding story.

“Well… Jake got out of control with his IT skills and hacked the department of defense and he made a crypto scam.”

You gasped. “Really?” Would a guy like Jake do something like that?

“The government banned Jake from anything related to coding for a few years,” Steve explained, shaking his head.

“How did you know all of this?” you asked, impressed by his knowledge of the local gossip.

“His mother told her friend, and her friend told her hairdresser, and the hairdresser told everyone at the church,” Steve said with a wry smile.

Gossip travels fast. You almost spilled your hot jasmine tea, laughing at the absurdity. Steve quickly handed you a tissue, and you gratefully accepted it.

“Then… what do you think about Mayor Martin?” you asked, curious about the town's leadership.

Steve's expression turned serious. “I don’t trust him.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words. Something was wrong if even someone as reserved as Steve didn’t trust the mayor.

⚰️

You went home, Steve's words still lingering in your mind. You needed answers, so you decided to ask your dad about what had happened in the town since you left.

Tom sat in his favorite armchair, engrossed in a thick book. Without looking up, he replied, “There haven't been any significant changes, except for the new resort owned by the Barnes.”

“But,” he continued, his tone growing more somber, “I have noticed an increase in the number of funerals I've conducted for a single travelers.”

'Single travelers?' A cold shiver ran down your spine at his words. "Who paid for the funerals?" you asked, your voice tinged with unease.

“The town mayor, Martin, has been kind enough to pay for the funerals,” Tom added, finally lifting his gaze from the book to look at you.

Your instincts screamed that Martin’s kindness had a hidden agenda. “Don’t you ever wonder why so many tourists die in this town?” you asked, your voice tinged with suspicion.

Tom chuckled, dismissing your concerns with a wave of his hand. “Are you saying there’s a serial killer in this town? That’s impossible. The police have deemed all the deaths accidents.” He closed his book and patted your shoulder gently. “You should go to sleep. You've been working too much.”

As Tom headed to his room, you remained in the living room, deep in thought. Your father, accustomed to dealing with death, seemed numb to its frequency. But not you. The increasing number of deaths didn’t sit well with you, and the mayor’s supposed generosity felt more sinister than charitable.

Should you and your dad leave this town? The question gnawed at you as you pondered your next steps. Once a familiar haven, the town now felt shrouded in mystery and danger.

👠

The next day, you returned to the hotel feeling renewed determination. As you walked into your office, you stopped abruptly. Once cluttered with documents and black binders, the table was completely empty. A wave of panic surged through you. Had someone stolen everything? The scene eerily reminded you of when the FBI raided your office and confiscated all your belongings.

You bolted out of the room and hurried to Bucky's office. As you approached, you heard raised voices from behind the closed door.

“You’re doubting me?” a woman exclaimed.

“At first, but now I have the evidence. Numbers don’t lie,” Bucky responded firmly.

“Hmph. I still can’t believe it. She’s only been here for a few days, and you trust her over your own mother?”

You couldn't take it anymore. You pushed the door open, making both Bucky and the woman flinch. “Are you doubting my skills?” you demanded, crossing your arms and standing confidently.

The woman turned to face you. She was Lydia Barnes, Bucky’s mother. At fifty years old, she exuded elegance and grandeur, her rich lifestyle evident in her designer clothing and impeccable grooming. She looked you up and down, her eyes narrowing.

Lydia remembered you. You used to be a shy girl who never met anyone's gaze. But now, you stood before her with unshakeable confidence. Your eyes, so full of determination, reminded her of someone she detested—your mother.

Lydia’s face hardened. “I see you've returned,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain.

“I have,” you replied, meeting her gaze steadily. “And I found discrepancies in the financial records. Someone has been embezzling money from this resort.”

Lydia's eyes flashed with anger. “How dare you accuse me?”

You maintained your calm demeanor, but your eyes locked onto hers with a sharp intensity. “I didn't accuse you, Mrs. Barnes. But why are you so defensive?” You let the question hang in the air, trying to bait her into revealing more. “It’s impossible for a business owner to steal from their own business, isn’t it?”

Lydia's face went pale for a moment before she recovered, her expression turning icy. She was momentarily stunned, clearly taken aback by your insinuation.

Bucky stepped in, his tone exasperated but calm. “Mom, we’ll discuss this later. Right now, we need to focus on the numbers and figure out what’s really going on.”

You took a step back, observing Lydia carefully. Her fists were clenched tightly at her sides, and her eyes were narrow slits of fury. She was clearly not used to being questioned, especially not in her own domain.

Lydia straightened up, regaining some of her composure. “Very well,” she said coolly. “But don’t think for a moment that I’ll let this go.”

As she turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of vulnerability in her eyes—a fleeting moment of fear that she quickly masked. It was enough to confirm your suspicions that there was more to this story than she was letting on.

Bucky let out a heavy sigh once she was gone, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about that. She’s...complicated.”

You nodded, taking in the tension that still lingered in the air. Lydia was an odd woman, and you couldn't shake the feeling that she harbored a deep-seated dislike for you. The first time you saw her was at her husband’s funeral—Bucky's dad.

Even then, her eyes had fixed on you like a tiger eyeing its prey. You always wondered what you had done to her.

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