#tw superhero powers

[one-time-i-dreamt]

There was a show about a group of superheroes who, at the time, seemed like they had compelling powers, but now that I’m awake I realize how lame they were. It included characters such as:

A woman with “deadly claws�� (They were just long fingernails)

A man who couldn’t be seen as long as light wasn’t touching him (Literally just how darkness works???)

A surgeon (His power was being a surgeon)

Some kind of deer lady (No powers outside of being a deer lady, but it’s still something at least)

At some point there was this shocking episode where, on an infiltration mission, most of them died in brutally gory and tragic ways. There must have been backlash somewhere, because the next episode was a goofy comical retelling of the infiltration mission where nobody died. I woke up before learning which version was canon.

[serickswrites]

Make Me Your Villain VI

Master list here (with chapter links, summaries, and character bios)

Warnings: threat of death, power exhaustion, blood, stabbing, character brought to brink of death, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

"Can't you lock onto their position faster?" Liam panted desperately into the communicator he clutched in his hand. He tried to keep the exhaustion he was feeling out of his voice. Henry had enough to worry about right now.

"I am working as quickly as I can, Liam. You know that." Henry's voice was a little tinny as it came through the communicator. “Just sit down and rest a bit. How close are you to burnout?”

“I’m fine,” Liam said quickly even though he felt completely spent. He knew he was close to the point of no return. Close to the point where he would burnout the powers he was abusing at this point. Close to the point where they would claim his life. But he couldn’t stop now.

Liam had been teleporting in and out of different houses throughout the city for the better part of an hour trying to narrow down the location of Jude’s latest quarry. It was exhausting, every bone, every muscle in his body begging for reprieve. But he couldn't stop. Not until he found the person that Jude hunted.

He had to get in, grab them, and get out all before Jude arrived. Liam knew Jude would attack today. And he knew that this person wouldn't live for very long after Jude arrived. Jude had been trying to acquire this power for years. Jude had been trying to find a way to strengthen himself ever since Henry and Liam had infiltrated Sluagh and blew up half a wing, injuring Jude gravely. Liam had been trying to stop Jude once and for all, and had been gravely disappointed when Jude lived. But it had shown Jude he could be hurt. And Liam was a force to be reckoned with.

And so in the years following, Jude had hunted for the rarest of powers: the ability to heal. Fortunately, it was a power so rare that it had taken this long for Jude to find someone. But as word came down that there had been a manifestation of healing, Liam knew he had to act quickly. Liam couldn’t let Jude get there first. The fate of the entire world was riding on Liam getting there first. So even though he was dancing dangerously close to the edge, Liam would throw himself over if it meant that Jude would be stopped.

"Liam, Liam are you listening?" Henry's voice came loudly over the communicator.

Liam shook his head shaking the memories away and wiping the sweat from his brow. "What did you say?"

"I found them. I've sent you the coordinates. Better hurry Jude—“

But Henry's words faded away as Liam teleported to the small home on the outskirts of town. He had to get in, grab the person, and get out before Jude arrived. Liam repeated the mantra as he moved in the in-between. It was the only thing that was keeping him going at this point.

As Liam coalesced into corporeal form, his shadows flared round him, creating a shield should anyone try to strike him. "Oh," a voice said as the shadows pulled back. Liam saw Jude's quarry, a young woman with curling, bright green hair and amber eyes. Her golden skin was brought out by the color of her hair. She was shorter than Liam, but taller than Henry. Her young face turned towards Liam. She didn't look afraid, merely surprised at Liam's appearance.

"I'm sorry," Liam panted. He was so exhausted. He had pushed his body to the brink. He took a shaking step towards the woman, his hands up showing they were empty. He felt something warm trickle down his lips. Liam quickly wiped away the blood dripping from his nose with the back of his hand. He didn't want to scare the woman.

"We don't have much time before--"

"You're Liam Ward." She said, watching Liam with her dark, bright eyes. "Have you come to hurt me, too?” He could see her tense as he stepped towards her. He stopped.

Liam tried to not let the comment sting. For the better part of ten years, Jude had spread the lie that Liam was evil, that Liam was responsible for countless deaths and destruction. Liam should have been used to it by now. But still, each time he went to help someone and the person recoiled from them, screamed in terror, tried to hurt him and flee, Liam couldn't help but hurt. The world believed him a villain. And while he couldn't get the world to hear him as a whole, one by one, he could show the world just how wrong the world was about him. Person by person, Liam could save them all. Could stop Jude once and for all.

"No. I don't have time to explain. But you have to come with me. Please," Liam added, letting the desperation fill his voice. If Jude absorbed this power, there would be no stopping Jude. If Jude killed this young, innocent civilian woman so he could take on the power, Jude would win and though Liam would fight—would die fighting—Jude would emerge triumphant and the world would be subject to his reign of terror forever.

Amber eyes watched Liam carefully. Liam extended his hand. "Please, I don't mean you any harm."

"Don't listen to him,” Jude said as he strode into the room. "Hello, Liam," Jude smiled darkly, "come to witness my ascension?” He looked much the same as he had the last time Liam saw him, though grey flecked his temples and his middle looked softer than it had before.

Liam put himself between the woman and Jude. He would die protecting this civilian. He wouldn't go down without a fight, and maybe, just maybe, he would drag Jude to hell with him. He could hear Henry swearing in the comms and trying to get his attention. But he didn’t want Jude to get wind of Henry’s involvement. He had too much to focus on here, he couldn’t be distracted by Henry. “I won't let you harm her." Liam fanned his shadows out, surrounding the woman with shadow, shielding the civilian instead of himself.

Jude chuckled. "That's cute." He craned his neck to try and see through Liam's shadows. "Don't let Liam lie to you. Only terrible things will come of it."

Liam heard the woman swallow. "Don't worry, I won't let him hurt you," he said softly, looking over his shoulder at the woman. Her eyes were wide with fear, her full lips quivering.

"Didn't I ever teach you to never take your eyes off your opponent?" Jude's voice was dangerously close.

Liam didn't have enough time to react and block the blade of ice from going through his thigh. He screamed as his leg buckled beneath him. The pain was excruciating as the blade exited out the other side of his thigh.

"I think this is the end of the line for you, my wayward apprentice." Jude said as he yanked the ice out. Blood dripped from the wound in a steady stream.

Liam used his shadows to patch the wound. He had let his guard down and Jude had seen right through it. If he didn't have to split his energy between guarding the civilian and fighting, he had a chance at defeating Jude. But as it was, he stood no chance. And Jude knew that.

Liam sent three quick spears of darkness at Jude, pushing Jude back though the blades had shot wide and missed him by a long shot. Before Jude could retaliate, Liam teleported to the woman. "I am sorry about this," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around the woman and teleported out. He could feel what little strength he had leeched from him as he threw everything he had into teleporting to Haven. He coughed, blood coating the back of his throat. This was not good.

"So sorry," he muttered as Haven materialized around the two of them and his legs gave out. "'m s'ry." Darkness edged his vision.

"Liam! Liam!" Henry shouted. "Hold him up," Henry ordered the woman. "He won't hurt you, clearly. Hold him up. I need to see how bad it is. I need to see!” Henry sounded so far away. Farther away than when he was on the comms. “Hold him up damn it! He won’t hurt you!”

Liam distantly felt arms around him, supporting his back. Henry's face suddenly appeared. “H-H-H-He’rrrrrrryyyyyy,” Liam breathed as Henry's features swam in and out of view.

"Dammit, Liam, I told you not to push your powers to the limit," Henry said as he wiped the blood from the corner of Liam's mouth and nose. “You should have stopped.” Henry searched Liam’s face. “I don't know if I can fix this."

For the first time in the eight years he had known Henry, Liam heard fear in Henry's voice. Fear for him. "'s kkkkk." He tried to look at the woman holding him up. "H-H-Helpppp ‘errrrrrr." He blinked, though it was a struggle to open his eyes once more. He blinked again.

"None of that, Liam," Henry tapped Liam's cheek firmly. "Keep your eyes open," Henry ordered.

Liam could feel the shadows he used to patch his leg begin to fade. Could feel the warmth of his blood flowing down his leg. Could feel himself fading into the darkness as well. He was so cold. And so tired. He just needed to slip into the dark to sleep. But he couldn’t sleep. Not yet. He had to be sure the woman was safe. That Henry could protect her. He fisted Henry's shirt, pulling Henry closer to him. "P-Protecccttt h-h-her, H-H-H-Hennnnnnryyyyyy.” Liam tried to swallow around the blood filling his mouth. He choked on the blood, coughing to clear his throat. He had used too much power. And now it was leaving him. His chest heaved as his breath rattled loudly.

Henry nodded, his dark features tight, eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Keep your eyes open, Liam. Just stay. I can figure this out. I can fix this. Please, Liam. Stay.”

"No, I can fix this," the woman said as she shifted Liam in her arms. "Thank you for protecting me, Liam. I was…I was afraid of you. But now I see you would do anything to keep me, or anyone, safe."

Liam stared up into the dark, amber eyes that no longer held fear, but concern. Dark eyes that mirrored the darkness that was trying to claim him. She was beautiful, a striking, fierce kind of beauty. As Liam's vision began to fail him, he felt the woman's warm breath on his ear. "My name is Nova Ambrose, and I won't let you die, Liam."

And Nova began to glow. Her glowing power emanating out and enveloping Liam. He was warm, so warm the cold that filled him suddenly retreating. Suddenly Liam could breathe easier. He could feel the skin on his leg re-knit itself. His pain dissipated. The warmth of Nova's glowing power filled him and Liam knew he would be ok.

Just as the light appeared, it faded, leaving Liam clutched tightly in Nova's arms. Nova gave Liam a weak smile. "That….that," she swallowed, "was more than I've ever had to heal before." She blinked heavily as she stared down at Liam.

"Thank you for saving me," Liam said softly.

Nova nodded, sagging a little as Liam sat up. Liam let Nova lean on him. "Henry, get a room prepared for Nova." Henry nodded and left. "I'll give you a proper tour once you've recovered a bit. But for now, let's get you tucked into bed." And he scooped Nova into his arms.

"Thank you," Nova murmured softly as she settled into Liam's arms. She gave a great yawn. "Thank you, Liam.”

Liam carried Nova to the third bedroom in the east wing. “S-S-So big,” Nova said as she failed to stifle a yawn.

He lay her on the bed gently. “I’ll give you the full tour in the morning.”

Nova tried to rise on shaking arms. “I can go now.”

Liam shook his head. “Rest. I owe you my life. Rest. The Haven will be here for touring when you’re ready.”

“Mmmmph,” Nova muttered as she shoved her face into the pillow.

“Sleep well,” Liam murmured as he shut the door gently behind him. He headed back to the kitchen where he knew Henry would be waiting for him.

“That was too fucking close, Liam.” Henry said as soon as Liam appeared in the doorway.

Liam closed the door. “I know,” he muttered softly. He collapsed into the nearest chair. Even though Nova had healed him, he was still exhausted. He felt as though he could sleep for a week.

“Do you? Do you?” Henry’s voice was getting louder with each word.

“I know, I’m—“

Henry punched Liam in the jaw once again. Liam stared up at Henry, his hand on his aching jaw. “I’m talking. You’re listening. Since you wouldn’t listen before. Do you know what it’s like to watch your best friend’s life drain away and you’re powerless to stop it? Do you know what it’s like to watch the only person who even has a hope of taking Jude on on the brink of death? Do you know what it’s like to not know what to do and sit helplessly while someone dies? DO YOU?”

Liam ducked his head, hair falling over his face. “I’m sorry, Henry.”

“I ALMOST LOST YOU! AND YOU’RE JUST ‘SORRY’?” Henry’s dark eyes flashed. “LIAM DAMMIT I ALMOST LOST YOU! YOU WERE DYING!” Henry began to sob. “You were dying and I couldn’t do anything.”

Liam stood up and crossed the room to Henry. He pulled Henry into a a tight hug. He held Henry tightly as Henry sobbed. “I really am sorry, Henry.”

Henry pulled back and wiped his eyes. “You can’t do that. Ever again.” He stared at Liam with red-rimmed eyes. “I can’t go through that again.”

“I wasn’t trying to die, Henry.” Liam raked his fingers through his tangled hair. “I wasn’t….I wasn’t thinking. I just had to get her away from Jude.”

“I don’t care. Next time don’t lie to me. There will always be others. There’s only one you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand while rubbing his freshly buzzed hair with the other. “There’s only one you, Liam. Remember that.”

Liam opened his mouth to protest, but Henry glared at him. “I cannot watch your life drain away again. Ever.”

Liam nodded. “I won’t let it happen again, Henry.” He winced and rubbed his jaw. “Are we good or are you going to punch me again?”

Henry smirked. “You said you weren’t going to get on my bad side again. Clearly you forgot.”

Liam smiled, knowing that all was right between the two of them once more. “Won’t happen again.”

“What are we going to do with her?” Henry said as he grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge and a bag of frozen peas. He tossed the bag of peas to Liam before opening the two bottles.

“I hadn’t gotten that far yet.” Liam held the peas to his jaw. “I guess if she wants to go back we’ll have to set up a way to guard her.”

“Or we could just convince her to stay here.” Henry took a sip of his beer. “That would be a lot easier.”

Liam nodded. “I guess we’re going to do whatever she wants to do.”

Henry smiled. “I hope she stays. She looks like she’ll be a better roommate than you.”

“Hey!” Liam said as he tossed the bag of peas at Henry’s head.

Henry caught it and tossed it back, but Liam teleported away. “No fair, that’s cheating!” Only Liam’s laugh from down the hall let Henry know he heard. “Prick.”

Tags: @dutifullykrispyland@jesssmolfur@parad0xical2@st0rmm@keeper-of-all-the-random-things@pigeonwhumps@gala1981@allylovessweets

[kodapear]

TW BLOOD & SLIGHT BODY HORROR? I THINK

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Aaaaand we back to gore! Anyway, don't you just love when yur powers get a bit to outa control? It's great 👍

[powerpills]

Oh. Yeah. That's a normal face.

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[communistcephalopod]

*new yorker voice* faggot about it!

[happy74827]

A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

[rawlyx]

Rawlyx making yet another OC? More likely than you think :]

[on-leatheredwings]

Remedial Lesson (18+)

Yandere ! Dick Grayson x (AFAB) Reader

> romantic, 18+ > request: non-con for dick grayson? maybe him abusing his power as the titans leader to be a little flirty/touchy with reader before tricking them into letting him inside of their bedroom under false pretenses? > tw/cw: explicit non-con, baby trapping, yandere behaviors, abusive power dynamic > a/n: i just love writing a manipulative dick! And i love writing a manipulative Dick! (ba dum tss) emphasis on non-con in tw's, its not dubcon! > word count: 2545

Stupid, stupid. 

At that thought, the logical, respectable half of your brain admonishes you.

You aren’t stupid. You just were unlucky, you correct softly. You’re plenty capable, and an asset to the team. It could’ve happened to anybody. 

Recently, you’ve been trying to stop your self-deprecation, in an attempt to bolster your self-esteem, solidify your confidence, and quell negative self-talk. 

… Therapist’s orders. 

Being the ever-so-capable superhero you are, today you got blasted by some hypnotizing ray. And then promptly went on a murderous rampage on your teammates. 

You don’t recall anything that happened, only waking up from what felt like a deep sleep to the outstretched hand of Nightwing. Koriand’r told you on the way back to the Tower that you almost killed him – making you stiffen in horror. You almost killed him, and apparently the only thing he had been worried about was you. At the thought, you feel heat swarm in your cheeks.

Despite not having any powers, Nightwing is plenty formidable. You were in complete awe of him today; the way he moves is so effortless, and he’s not even a metahuman. 

You clench your fist with determination. You aren’t a metahuman either, but you pale in comparison to him. You want to be just as formidable as he is. Be just as deserving of the title “Titan.”

On the subject of Nightwing, your mind wanders… He had been quite… hands-on with you today. Shaking you by the shoulders, hand on your cheeks lightly slapping you awake. Encouraging you back to your feet, hand brushing your waist. When the battle was over, you nearly collapsed to your knees, spent. But he caught you, appearing from out of nowhere. 

“Easy,” he had said into your ear, which made you shiver. 

You sigh. 

Okay. So maybe you had a crush. It wasn’t like you were going to do anything about it. He’s your boss – the Titans’ illustrious captain. He was simply helping you along, watching out for a teammate. Mentoring a new hero. After all, you are the Titans’ newest recruit, a post that months later still feels unreal. 

You walk amongst them through the doors of the Tower, conversation and chatter flowing around you. You don’t join in, still ashamed from today’s blunder. How many of them had you tried to hurt? The team has just finished a mission, and it seems a pizza party is in order for tonight. You smile gingerly as Garfield announces vibrantly that you’re invited. (A no-brainer to anyone else since you literally live here, but to you, it means a lot.)

Your secret identity known to the team, you dismiss yourself to change out of your suit and into your civvies. “Hurry back soon,” they say, and the sentiment warms you. You indeed jog to your bedroom, eager to return to the festivities. You’re one of them. You’re really one of them.

You slip into your room, tossing the door back without a second glance. Your fingers pull on the bottom of your shirt. You’re about to peel off your suit, when you hear a shallow thud. That was not the sound your door makes once it's been closed. 

You whip around, and see–

“Nightwing?”

Your leader stands in the doorway, foot acting as an impromptu door stopper. You take him in. His hair cascades in gentle dark waves, curling by the ears. If you didn’t know better, you’d think his suit was painted on. Despite being lightly armored and fortified, it stretches across his body like plastic wrap. You could trace every muscle under his skin– okay, relax. Christ. 

Hey, you think back, mentally wagging a finger. No thought policing.

At the sound of your name being called, you realize you’ve been gawking like an idiot while he stands in your doorframe. You straighten.

“Oh! Y-yes!?”

“Can I come in?” he asks. You nod so fervently that your head is a blur of color.

Nightwing does so, the slightest amicable smile on his lips. Around friends and allies, it seems to be a default expression of his. Still, you’ve spent enough time around him to note that he looks quite… serious. Concerned.

“... Is there anything I can do for you?” you ask, eager to rectify whatever was upsetting him. You so want to impress him. Badly. 

He holds up his hands, as if saying, At ease. “All you can do for me is let me know that you’re alright.”  

You offer a pitiable smile, warmth swirling in your chest. “I am. Thanks for asking– and I’m so, so sorry about today–” 

Nightwing waves you off, approaching you. He places a hand on your shoulder in consolation. “Hey, it could’ve–”

“--Happened to anyone,” you finish, nodding. You look down.

“... Although I admit…” 

Your head snaps to attention. “Yes?”

Nightwing then sighs. His gaze falls to the floor. He tuts and shakes his head as if troubled. You swallow drily. So focused on him, you don’t even notice the circles his thumb kneads into your shoulder.

“Your performance today.” Your throat clenches. Nightwing’s gaze returns to you, hard and critical behind his mask. “Well, frankly, it left much to be desired.”

Your heart plummets, hitting the pit of your stomach. You’re mortified. You haven’t been meeting his standards? Did everyone else think that? Were their hopes misplaced? You feel the thrum of anxiety jitter underneath your skin as you bow your head. Your gaze now captures the two feet keeping you upright.

There’s a stroke to your cheek, to which you flinch. 

“Hey.” Your head whips up. You look up at him, into white lenses that have the ghost of his eyes behind them. “It’s okay. I’m here to help.” 

His face is gentle and consoling. You exhale. He’s just being honest, you think. He’s just being honest. Nothing wrong with some constructive criticism. You let him sit you down on the edge of your bed.

“H-how can I improve?” you ask, voice croaking. “I know I fucked up today. I should’ve seen it coming. I’m so, so sorry if I hurt you or anybody else–”

“Hey,” he says again, soft and delicately. “Listen, it’s alright. I’m going to teach you some things. How to resist better.” 

You nod, slowly, anticipating some verbal advice. 

You watch him with anticipation, giving him your full attention– and then, he kneels before you. You instinctively feel alarm at the increased proximity, before you swat it down. His head is level with your lower abdomen, uncomfortably close to your lap. You don’t have to make it weird, you scoff at yourself.

“... Y-yes?” you say. 

“I’m going to take off your pants.”

You stare. 

Did you hear him right? Was he… joking? 

Clearly not. His hands land on your thighs, effectively drawing a sharp inhale from you. You both lock eyes. His face still holds the same vaguely amicable grin, but it’s now a leer. Your heart quickens. You don’t feel right. 

“... Nightwing?” you ask, feeling suddenly quite small. You don’t know what’s happening. What’s going on?

“You need to be able to withstand a lot more than you currently can,” he continues, talking as casually as if you’re speaking about the weather. You are shell shocked, frozen into submission at the touch of his hands pulling your pants off. His nails scrape along your skin when he has to use more force to jerk it free from under your ass, to which you still don’t react. 

What’s going on? your mind cycles on loop.

It’s when he pulls down your underwear you finally jolt, clumsily kicking at him. Which he catches of course. What a poor move, because your kick only enables him to spread your legs at his leisure. Heat rages to your cheeks. Though not entirely off, your panties do a pitiful job of concealing the tangle of hair nestled between your thighs. The mortification racing through your bloodstream makes you croak. It makes you keep throwing kicks and swats and punches until Nightwing is forced to sandwich your body against your bed. He pins your hands down to the bed, and you know by now it’s a lost cause.

“Help–” you begin, but Nightwing adeptly slips your wrists into one hand, and uses the other to silence you. He smiles bashfully, as if he hadn’t just stripped you without consent or fanfare.

“This is all for you–” At the furrow of your brow, he says, indignantly, “I’m serious! How easy was it for that guy to hypnotize you today?” The question throws a knife into your heart. “Or when last week you were apprehended? Or the week before that?” Each instance makes the burning building in your eyes more and more unbearable. He isn't wrong. Your tears build. He’s not wrong.

Nightwing slowly removes his hand off your mouth, anticipating another yell. You squirm, but don’t make a sound aside from shuddering breaths. 

His grin loses all its flirty qualities. It widens, self-satisfied and predatory. With his teeth he peels off his free hand’s glove, slides it down your torso to the apex between your thighs.

“No,” you whimper, to which he hushes you, lips by the shell of your ear for the second time today. His fingers explore without warning, tracing your labia and brushing against your clit. You gasp, but you don’t scream.

Nightwing tuts, shaking his head. “You’re already wet, I see.”

You tremble, filled with humiliation. “No, I’m not.” One digit delves deeper, experimentally. You grit your teeth.

“You want this,” he says, and you fill with dread at the condescension of his tone. Like this was expected. Like you had so much to learn.

“No, I don’t.”

“But you do. You’re telling me you do.” His fingers – the pair that when gloved, there would’ve been two cobalt blue stripes – scissor inside you, and your breath hitches. “Your body’s telling me you do.”

“I-it’s a biological response.” At the feeling of his fingers swimming inside you, you whimper. This is insane. It can’t be happening. Yet you jerk and twitch with each of his motions. “P-please, I would… Please stop, now…” He doesn’t, pumping his sinful fingers into you. Teases you by dragging them out. 

You throw your head back, biting your lip. He’s panting into your ear – you’d think you were doing something to him, the way he sounds. Your overhead light beams into your gaze, dizzying. It burns, so you close your eyes, hoping this is some humiliating dream. This can’t be real. This can’t be real.

“So you say– Hey.” He nips at your ear and you stir. “Look at me. Look at me.” You do so, and find him staring up at you. His mask is not enough of a barrier. Even if you can’t see them, you know his eyes are scraping over you, peeling your skin back, seeing you whole. Your embarrassment, your weakness, your shame.

“Please stop,” you whisper, eyes stinging. Your thighs tremble, to which he places his free hand on them to steady them. This is wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this. You’re teammates. He’s your captain. 

Nightwing sighs, looking disappointed. Oh no, your mind spirals. He’s disappointed in you. Despite you being desperately uncomfortable– violated– he’s at fault– he’s the one doing something wrong– 

Despite your logical brain asserting itself, you are flooded with a tidal wave of anxiety.

“That’s not good, you know,” he says, and he looks mournful. “Whining is just what they want to hear.” His fingers disappear from your body, and their absence leaves you in shock. Wanting.

Wanting? Do I want this? you think.

Nightwing is reaching behind his neck, tugging and pulling. Before you know it, he’s bare-chested. You don’t marvel at his body, like you would have just an hour before.

“Bad guys aren’t going to listen to you just because you beg.” A tear slips down your face. You swipe at it, but not quick enough for him to miss it. “And they won’t care if you cry… Maybe you don’t need to learn how to resist. You’re not cut out for it, I think,” he tsks. “Maybe, you need to learn how to endure.”

You feel something blunt and wet prod at your entrance, and that’s when the last remains of your primal fight-or-flight instincts kick in. You start to squirm, back arching off the bed. “Please, please, please– no– stop– I don’t want this–” His hand clamps down on your mouth once more, and hard. You push him with all your might, but it’s not enough. You aren’t strong enough.

“Just the tip,” he whispers in the shell of your ear. Just the tip. You can handle at least that. Just the tip.

He repeats it for himself, not you. This you realize as he enters anyway, despite your teary complaints. It is not just the tip; he bottoms out. “You can handle this. I know you can.” 

You’re so confused. You’re so, so confused. You merely clench your eyes shut, nodding at his encouragement. You don’t know what else to do. 

“I know, I know,” he comforts. “Don’t worry, you’re taking it really well. You take it perfect.” You cling onto his words of reassurance, no matter how twisted it feels. It’s the only anchor you’ve got. Each thrust makes you see stars behind your eyelids, bed rocking. The ding of your bed frame hitting the wall is enough to make you finally quiet. The last thing you want is for the others to hear. To walk in and see you utterly helpless. Powerless. Incapable. 

You swallow your sobs, but let the tears stream freely.

“It’d be better if I just got you pregnant right now.”

You feel a cold knife of fear pierce your chest. He can’t. He can’t. You wouldn’t be able to be a hero anymore. 

“You’d be better suited for it,” he hums. You can tell he’s near, his hips snapping more frenetically, his words cut off with his own moans. You’re ashamed to admit moans of your own may have slipped out. You don’t even bother resisting at this point, hoping that if not your strength, then your body can satisfy him. Hoping at least that your body will meet his standards.

“Fuck,” you hear, and not a moment later you feel him shoot ropes of cum into your cunt. You can feel both his cock that throbs with each spray and the warmth spreading into you. You don’t know why you’re shocked at the sensation – it wasn’t as if he seemed keen on using a condom. Nightwing’s hands release you, having gripped you so hard you’re sure you’ve bruised.

He dots sweet kisses along your neck, your collarbone, your cheek. It should be all very sweet, but you can't ignore the poison of the circumstance. “You did so good, you did perfect,” are amongst the accolades he whispers into your clammy skin. You nod weakly, letting him kiss your tears away.

Nightwing dives in for a kiss, desperate to take even more than you’ve already given him. You return it, heart palpitating. You bat away the negative thoughts that threaten to swarm your mind whole. No more negative self-talk, after all. No self-deprecation. It’s okay. You took it well. You endured, like he said.

You did perfect.

[vampiredaisiesss]

vice | homelander x reader

noun

a weakness of character or behaviour; a bad habit.

tw: gaslighting, homelander giving oral, p in v sex, homelander is a manipulative bitch, dubious consent.

"I let my anger get best of me, okay?" he says softly, still supporting that puppy dog look in his eyes. "I shouldn't have lasered that poor guy."

But you've known him for so long, You can see past his bullshit anytime. That's why you cross your arms over your chest and keep yourself mum. You were not going to give in to him today.

He takes a calculated step forward. Gloved hands reach for the hem of your dress, playing with it like a child played with the edge of its mother's dress. But there's nothing pure about it.

Every touch of his drips with sin. A venom that must have infiltrated your heart for you continue to love him despite all he is.

Suddenly, he's on his knees in front of you. The caped crusader makes sure your eyes stay locked to his ocean ones throughout. His hands continue bunching up the edge of your dress. You let out a exasperated sigh, your own reaching out to get his off.

"John, stop," It's too late. His lips press to the inside of your thigh, right above your knee where he knows you are sensitive. "What are y-"

He sinks his teeth in the supple flesh, letting a moan drag out of your throat. Then lays his tongue flat against the bite mark, enclosing it using his lips. He starts to suction around it, only leaving your skin to continue his ministrations upwards.

He's so close to where you always need him the most. So close it makes something inside your belly liquify into a warm, wet puddle.

"John, please..." you sound uncertain. are you begging him to continue or begging him to stop? even though you intended for the latter, your voice comes out as a manifestation of the former. "Please, stop."

You grab a handful of his hair as he nears your core, paying your words no heed. He looks up, piercing blue eyes boring into yours, and licks a long strip up your slit.

A groan escapes his mouth, his hold on your thighs prying them further apart. You have to lean back on the wall to keep your upper half upright as he lifts both your legs on either side of his shoulders.

At your refusal towards a response, something in his gaze turns. Desperation becomes laced with arrogance and the fine line between the two starts to shrivel.

His red gloved fingers start painting your skin possessively red.

"You have America's greatest superhero on his knees for you, ravishing your sweet cunt night after night," he growled, lips attaching to your clit in circles. "And you continue being a bitch about some godforsaken piece of shit that probably would've taken advantage of you, if I hadn't intervened."

Your mouth is opened in permanent gasp. No noise comes out of it. He has successfully shut you up, and he knows it by how well your body is reacting you him.

Your hands pull at his hair with every brush of his tongue, thighs clenching around his head in a vice like grip.

"What more do you want, huh, before you stop being an ungrateful little brat?" his voice comes muffled from your thighs.

He has this ability of unhinging his jaw like a snake, devouring you whole. He torments your clit with fast, but light strokes, dragging it down to thrust it inside of you. When his lips aren't attached to your bud, his nose fills the role, and you buck your hips desperately to feel yourself rub deliciously against the length of it.

White hot lava is flooding through your veins. You feel it consuming you alive.

His fingers replace his tongue inside of you. He has a habit of keeping his gloves on when he has a point to prove. And they help him prove it. The rubber makes his already thick fingers thicker. It gifts his already impressive skills friction. Pleasure collides with pain in your belly, pulling you over the edge, into a harsh undercurrent.

And it gives him power over you. The only power he has always had.

America's greatest superhero fucks you like it can save him from drowning. He keeps your whole weight effortlessly pinned to the wall, hips meeting yours at a bruising pace. His hair is a mess, his face covered in you. When he shoves his tongue into your mouth, he wants you to taste yourself on his tongue.

He's the perfect specimen, right down to what's between his legs. He's thick and long with a curved tip that hits all your sweet spots. When he's inside you, it's like a drug. He washes over you with a certainty that dulls everything else.

He moulds you to his will.

"John, I'm sorry," You breathe out in the crook of his neck, hands gripping his shoulder like you'd fall without him. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh. It's okay, sweetheart. You're okay," he coos at you, holding you tighter against his body. His left hand cradles your head while he pounds you harder into the wall.

You can feel the cracks forming on the wall where his hand is placed at your side. His thrusts are becoming more frantic. "You fe..feel so, so good, baby," he whisper against your ear. "Made just for me."

Within seconds, he's finishing inside you with a loud growl. His hips tremor slightly as his head tips back, teeth gritted in pleasure. After he catches himself, he tends to you, letting any regret in your mind dissolve into self-doubt over the course of a long, languid kiss.

[novy2sirius]

ACTING ASTROLOGY

— your fifth house planets

· your 5th house planets can tell about your acting talent and the type of films you’d do best in. if you want to know what type of characters you’d specifically play best and another acting astrology technique, click below

· types of characters you’d play well

· tw: porn (18+ only), trauma, cults, and gore

₊˚⊹☆┊5H SUN

one of the main themes in your life is putting forth your talent by expressing yourself. you naturally have a talent for entertaining others. you attract lots of attention and can be very famous. acting or entertaining others is likely a huge source of happiness in your life. you would do best in film genres such as drama, comedy, romance, action, and children’s films as well

₊˚⊹☆┊5H MOON

your soul has a natural desire to express itself emotionally and creatively through art. you have a face that makes others easily be able to read your emotions which can make you an amazing actor if you are able to feel all the emotions a character feels and fully immerse yourself into that characters energy and aura. this is also a popular fame placement in general. you would do best in film genres such as melodrama, romance, family, and indie as well

₊˚⊹☆┊5H MERCURY

you naturally have the right mannerisms for acting in such a way that when people watch your films it comes off very realistic as if they’re watching a normal video of someone. this placement can indicate starting out on social media or in short films before making it big in the film industry. often people with this placement always wanted to be the main character or take on as many roles as possible in their school plays. you would do best in film genres such as comedy, reality, and short films

₊˚⊹☆┊5H VENUS

you have a talent for all artistic careers, but this is an especially common placement among actors. you would do best in film genres such as romance, romantic comedy, musical, artistic, lgbtq, and dance films as well

₊˚⊹☆┊5H MARS

you have a talent for putting passion and enthusiasm into your expression when acting. you would especially play aggressive roles better. you would do best in film genres such as action, thrillers, horror, gore, slasher, war, medical, lgbtq, and superhero films

₊˚⊹☆┊5H JUPITER

you have an abundance of acting talent. this is a common placement among those who were in theater growing up. this can indicate gaining lots of popularity from acting and gaining success from it more easily than others as well. you would do best in genres such as adventure, thrillers, athletic, comedy, religion and action

₊˚⊹☆┊5H SATURN

this can indicate your job involves acting since saturn represents work. you may not become successful until later in life when acting with this placement though. sometimes it can also just indicate playing more serious characters though instead of a late start in your acting career. you would do best in genres such as history, historical fiction, biographical, documentaries, indie, and also silent films

₊˚⊹☆┊5H URANUS

this can indicate being in films/shows that are more popular on things like netflix or hulu rather than in theaters. people with this placement have the ability to play really unique roles. you would do best in genres such as sci-fi, thrillers, lgbtq, and pornographic films

₊˚⊹☆┊5H NEPTUNE

people with this placement have a natural talent for lying and deceiving others, so they can be really talented actors. you have the ability to put on a good illusion through your self expression. you would do best in genres such as fantasy, fiction, animation, mystery, spiritual, disappearance, and also musical films

₊˚⊹☆┊5H PLUTO

you have the ability to play really powerful characters. you’re good at transforming yourself into someone you’re not and putting on a good show. you would do best in genres such as crime, mystery, horror, action, superhero, vampire, cult, sexual, and thrillers as well

₊˚⊹☆┊5H NORTH NODE

your life purpose could involve acting and entertaining others. you have a natural talent for expressing yourself creatively in artistic ways and through the arts

₊˚⊹☆┊5H CHIRON

you have a talent for putting your inner wounds that have caused you emotional pain into your acting. the more trauma these people have the better the actors they are. you would do best in films that are more so on the sad side

© novy2sirius

[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? ;)

[serickswrites]

Make Me Your Villain XI

Master list here (includes chapter links, summary, and character bios)

Warnings: violence, threat of death, self sacrifice, falling from a great height, broken bones, crush injuries, blood, injury, gore, character death, unconsciousness, power exhaustion, heart break, shock

Nova realized she made a mistake when she lunged for Jude’s latest apprentice. He was a hulking brute whose power was, unsurprisingly, strength. And so when his hand closed around her wrist and he threw her towards the roof’s edge, Nova realized she was definitely going over. She could hear Henry distantly screaming in her comms. But it didn’t matter. Nothing he was going to say was going to stop her from flying over the edge.

“NO!” Liam shouted, shadows shooting out from him and grasping onto her wrist. He was on the opposite end of the roof and the brute was charging towards him. As Nova felt the familiar sensation of being pulled through the in-between, Nova saw Jude’s apprentice tackle Liam and the two of them fall over the edge of the roof.

“NO!” She screamed as the Haven materialized around her.

Henry stared at her open-mouthed. “You’re ok.”

“How do I go back? How do I go back?” Nova was up and trying to reach for the in-between.

Henry shook his head. “You don’t.”

Nova felt frantic as panic clawed its way up her throat. Liam. Liam was falling. “He needs me, I have to go back! He was falling off the roof!”

“He’ll teleport here in just a moment. You see.” Henry tried to not look concerned. “He never lets himself land.”

“Jude’s apprentice was holding him, Henry! Holding him! He can’t teleport out without—“

“Bringing him here, too.” Henry’s face fell. “It’ll take us over an hour to get to him.”

Nova opened her mouth to scream it wasn’t good enough when Liam’s scream of pain had her spinning around. Liam lay in the middle of the floor, a limp, and very bloody apprentice on top of him. His shadows stayed in place on the ground, though she could see them try to rise. “Liam! Liam!” She shouted as she hurried forward.

“PLEASE! PLEASE!” Liam screamed. “OFF! OFF!” His face was contorted with pain as tears streamed down his face.

Henry carefully rolled the apprentice off Liam. Liam shrieked with pain as the apprentice’s leg jostled his hips. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” Henry repeated.

“Liam, Liam, baby, look at me. Look at me, baby,” Nova said as she knelt beside him. She could see several broken bones jutting out through his skin, blood soaking his shirt and pants. She wasn’t sure how much was his and how much was Jude’s apprentice’s. He seemed to be shaking as he lay there.

His pale, pain filled eyes turned to her. His eyes were hazy and Nova could see he was on the verge of passing out. “Baby, I can heal you. I can. Just tell me what’s the worst pain and I’ll start with that.”

Liam blinked slowly. She could see that his tenuous grip on consciousness was fading fast. She tapped his cheek. “Liam, Liam, don’t faint.” But his eyes had already rolled into the back of his head as he fainted.

“The apprentice is dead,” Henry said as he watched Nova begin to glow. “Combo of what looks like some stab wounds and crush injuries.”

Nova’s stomach lurched. “Not crush. Injuries from falling off the roof.” She concentrated on Liam’s spine. She could feel his muscles and sinew reknit, his bones reforming beneath her light.

“They both hit the ground. And Liam waited to teleport out until he knew the apprentice was dead.” Henry knelt next to Liam, stroking his hair gently. “Can you heal him?”

Nova nodded. She had built up more stamina since the last time she had to heal a serious wound. But this was a lot. Both of Liam’s legs were broken in multiple places, his collar bone, hips, and she was fairly certain his arms were also broken. After healing his spine, she realized she had to heal his ribs, or else they could pierce his lungs.

“I’m going to need a lot of coffee. And something to eat. A lot of something.” She had learned that if she kept up her blood sugar, she could keep healing for quite a while. “But, I can heal him.”

And Nova healed Liam. When she was done, she could barely sit up, but he was whole. Liam hadn’t regained consciousness the entire time she healed him—prompting her to try focus her light on his head—but she realized he probably wouldn’t regain consciousness for a while.

She let Henry carry Liam to his bed while she tried to get up and follow behind. She managed to stand, but collapsed as soon as she went to take a step forward. Maybe she had pushed herself a little too far. She was saved from having to crawl across the house by Henry coming back for her.

“Thought you would need some help,” Henry said as he lifted her in his arms.

“Thanks, Hen-Hen-Henry,” she muttered failing to stifle a huge yawn. As Nova’s head hit the pillow, she let the exhaustion that filled her bones suck her under. Though she very much wanted to check on Liam, she knew he would sleep until morning. That he was whole. That he was safe. And that Henry would come get her if anything was wrong.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains by the time Nova woke. She had clawed her way to consciousness, no longer wanting to be trapped in her dream state. Liam’s screams, his broken body, haunted her dreams. He was alive. She had healed him. He was ok.

Nova dragged herself from bed, groaning as she went. She was still exhausted, but couldn’t sleep any longer. She needed food. And she needed to see Liam. She knocked on his door as she headed slowly down the hall. His room was silent as she pressed her ear to the door. She thought that perhaps he was still asleep as she continued to the kitchen. He needed sleep.

Henry wasn’t in the kitchen either. Nova enjoyed a quiet cup of coffee by herself in the kitchen—a rarity at this point. The house was strangely silent, a lonely hush falling over the rooms. Nova wasn’t comfortable with the quiet, hadn’t been since she arrived. This was a house that needed to be filled with laughter and chatter. But it had been silent for so long. She had begun to fill it with sound—an indoor fountain tinkled in the entry way, music played in several rooms, and most of all, she filled it with their laughter. Her laughter. Henry’s laughter. And Liam’s laughter.

But she was too tired now to try and fill the house with sound. Liam’s screams still echoed in her ears. The house needed sound. She needed sound. But she needed sleep. Liam was still asleep. Perhaps Henry was as well. As she trudged back to her bed, Nova flicked on the radio in her room, filling the room with the soft, sweet sounds of a piano and cello. Nova shoved her face in the pillow once more, promising she would fill the house with good sounds when she woke again.

The next time Nova woke, the sun was low in the sky, though the warm light still filled her room. She stretched as she rose, turning to look out the window, gazing out over the vast grounds. Maybe she could pick some flowers to put in Liam’s room. Fill all the rooms with something bright and lovely.

To Nova’s complete and utter surprise, she saw Liam in one of the lawn chairs, wrapped in a large, soft blanket. He was awake! Nova rushed from her room. If he was awake they could talk. She needed to see his was ok. Needed to hold him and be held by him.

Liam’s face was pale, paler than his normal pale, and his features drawn with pain. He was wrapped completely head to toe in the soft blue blanket than Nova knew normally lay on his bed. His hands lay limply in his lap. He shouldn’t be up, Nova thought to herself as she walked across the grass. He’s too ill, he should be in bed. “How did you get out here? You shouldn’t be teleporting yet, baby,” She said as she approached.

Liam’s shadows moved slowly, sluggishly, barely moving towards her. “Henry helped me,” Liam said as he retreated behind his curtain of golden hair.

“That’s good, baby. I’m glad you didn’t teleport out here. I would have helped you, Liam. You could have just—“

“Nova, I can’t ask you to do that.” Liam’s voice was flat and stilted.

“What did you call me?” Nova’s heartbeat quickened.

“Nova. Your name.” Liam still hid behind his hair. Nova couldn’t even remember the last time he had done with with her.

“You haven’t called me Nova in months.”

Liam let out a sigh. “Nova, I….I think you and I both know that this would never work.”

“No. Why are you saying this?” Nova couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t put you at risk like that. If Jude gets wind that I love you, he will do everything he can to kill you.”

Nova couldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let this happen. She wouldn’t let him go without a fight. “He’s already doing that.”

“But this is worse, Nova. He will try and end you to hurt me. I can’t let that happen.” Liam’s words were quiet, but clear.

"What are you saying?” Nova knew he didn’t mean what he was saying. That once he went to say the words he would realize his error.

Liam’s hands twitched in his lap. “I’m saying I think you would be safer if we would be just friends, Nova.”

Nova’s heart pounded. This wasn’t happening. He didn’t mean it, she knew that. She knew that he was being an idiot and just needed to be reminded of how much she loved him. How much he loved her.

“What about what I want? Huh? What about what I want or need? Liam, goddamnit look at me!” Nova breathed heavily through her nose. How dare he do this to her. How dare he make the decision for her.

Liam looked up at her at last. His pale, soft, blue eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Sometimes we can’t always get what we want. It’s not you, Nova. It’s never you. I’m….I’m in no position to be in a relationship. I think you should just forget about this.”

“I don’t want to, Liam. Please.” Nova felt her own eyes water.

Liam stood up on trembling legs. “And I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. I’m sorry, Nova. I never intended to hurt you. But I also won’t be the reason why Jude doubles his efforts to kill you.” He started to lift his hand to her, but dropped it to his side after a moment.

Before Nova could reply Liam disappeared. “FUCK!” Nova screamed as she dropped to her knees and began to sob in the grass. She couldn’t bear to only be friends. Especially when he still loved her. Liam loved her! And Jude had successfully wounded both of them, driving them further apart instead of bringing them together. “GOD FUCKING DAMNIT!”

Tags: @dutifullykrispyland@jesssmolfur@parad0xical2@st0rmm@keeper-of-all-the-random-things@pigeonwhumps@gala1981@allylovessweets

[kodapear]

After a particularly harsh day in The Ring, Griffin tries to give what little comfort he can.

[powerpills]

YOU'RE FINALLY OUT OF THE WOODS, DAMIEN ToT/)(\

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[chikaras-garden]

most yandere damian x reader stories are always the reader being a civilian who usually has no way of fighting damian but i wonder how damian would deal with a superhero reader who is way stronger than him.

He would prefer that!

tw dubcon, yandere

“Stop fighting me,” Damian growls in your ear. He has you stripped bare—though to be fair, he’s stripped too—and his hand is around your throat. Your back is tightly pressed against his chest, and he doesn’t even allow you an inch to move. If only your hands were free, not tied behind your back, not bound with silk-soft rope that he had designed just for you.

You’re his princess. He’ll never hurt you; he just wants you safe, even from yourself and your powers. It’s only for your own good.

“You have seven weaknesses,” he points out, breathing heavily while his fingers glide into and out of your messy, dripping folds. “Being bound. Staying awake too long. Three fingers inside you. Should I go on?”

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to force your weight back, to knock him off balance, but he swiftly shifts positions to drape a thing on top of yours—pinning you down in a low, reverent kneel.

“Tired baby,” he coos, kissing down your throat. Your eyes flutter with a strange mix of pleasure and exhaustion; he’s kept you awake in his bedchamber for days, always visiting you and doing this whenever you think you’re about to fall asleep. Feeling boneless, your head rolls back to rest against his shoulder, and his chest rumbles with a chuckle.

“See? My princess likes it when she gives in,” he whispers as he slips his fingers out of your cunt. You know what’s next—it’s always the same, always his throbbing, veiny cock—and you softly moan. “No more thoughts. Allow me to care for you.”

[caramel-maveeato]

𝐔𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: a private moment with your (lovable) red-headed bastard can lead to something a lot… harder.  ♡ Pairings/Love interest: Akabane Karma x GN!reader ♡ Genre: suggestive, fluff ♡ TW: sexual theme (but no you’re NOT having sex), a lot of kissing, boner (Karma’s), cursing, Karma is a simp, awkward virgins. ♡ Word count: 2.3k

Note: All characters originated from “Assassination Classroom” except for y/n.  All characters are 18 or older. English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

Akabane Karma likes to control other people. 

He’s cocky. He’s sadistic. He’s a little piece of shit. Not that he’d be a toxic control freak in a romantic relationship, Karma still thrives on that feeling of holding power over someone, aided by a heart full of love for dominance and a twisted idea of justice. Oh god, he’s a fucking menace. 

Yet he finds himself being reduced to uncontrollability the moment you crashed into his life.

It’s uncomfortable and it hurts his gigantic ego. But when you throw that ridiculously pretty smile at him, when you giggle in a heart-achingly adorable sound when he tells a good joke, when you flip him off so badass-ly as his bullshit irritates you, the list goes on—what should’ve been a stab to his pride suddenly turns into tender sparks of light in his stomach. 

Akabane Karma knows he’s severely fucked. 

But hey, he has no mind to be thinking all that now. Even his most favorite superhero or whatever movie is fading into the background, leaving only thoughts and appreciation for the pleasant weight he holds dear to his lap, for every sweet sound of breathlessness as his lips dance with his partner’s. Karma doesn’t care about anything else but you right now, let alone giving a shit about that unimportant throb of shame at how desperate he’s being. 

“Open your mouth a bit more…” Your boyfriend murmurs. His soft, plump lips coaxing yours to part further, creating more space for his greedy invasion. 

You oblige immediately. Karma wastes no time tracing your warm tongue with his own, sucking gently on your bottom lip. His hands move from your hips to the underside of your thighs, tugging you even impossibly closer even though there is already no distance left between you two. 

Kiss after kiss after kiss. Each one drives him mad with a turbulent need for more. Like a limitless void nothing could ever fill up but you. You. 

You’ve destroyed him. 

“Karma…” You breathe out against his lips, your own deliciously kiss-swollen and you could tell the redhead almost rushes to chase after them again just by his impatient look. “I… Break’s over, I still need to finish that essay.”

Karma gives you an unapproved look, his voice low and rough from kissing for what felt like five minutes straight. “Oh c’mon, you just gotta ruin the mood, huh?”

It’s not like you want to abandon the fun either. But you have no choice, this research paper is due at midnight and worth a hundred points. As much as it pains you to separate from your unbelievably charming boyfriend during such a passionate moment, you have to lock in. “You mean I should save the mood and ruin my grade instead?”

Karma argues stubbornly. “Why care so much? I can just help you finish it later. Easy.”

“The offer is appreciated, but this is my education so… No.”

Your determination has Karma roll his eyes in annoyance. Holding eye contact, he slowly closes the distance in to press a kiss on your chin, his stupidly handsome face does a great job at slipping the seductive act through your guard. “Not even five more minutes?” 

You hesitate, heart thumping as loud and clear as a drum. “No.”

“Hmm…” You feel his soft mouth on your jaw this time, following a path down the side of your neck. And before you can even gather all those strength left and tell him off, your head already automatically tilts to give him more access, earning a satisfied chuckle from your darling devil. “I promise will make it worth your precious time.” 

It’s unrealistically hard to refrain from giving in when he’s like this, and Karma knows that fact very well. He’s extra observant when it comes to people he cares about, so imagine the tenfold effort since you’re literally on top of his pyramid. 

The way you’re so obviously fascinated with him is just enhancing his chance to break that paper-thin wall you called “I still have to work.”

His hot breath fans your skin as he inhales deeply and exhales, relishing the sweet scent he’s grown too attached to. Karma draws soft kisses on your pulse point while his calloused fingers travel up your spine, creating lines of goosebumps despite the T-shirt you’re wearing. His low mumble muffles against your neck. “You’ve been on that laptop all day, can’t even spend a few more minutes entertaining your boyfriend?”

Meeting your protesting gaze, Karma only tilts his head innocently, piercing Mercury eyes sparkling with both mischief and victory, and adoration too, just for you. “What? I thought you said you love me.”

To be fair, that class is just a random elective you take that has nothing to do with your major. So since his very first offer to ditch the assignment, you already made up your mind to do just that. But dating this arrogant little brat, you sometimes can’t withstand the urge to play hard to get. “Fine…”

Seeing that familiar shit-eating grin blooming on his face, you quickly add. “Only because you won’t stop complaining.”

“Yeah yeah, as if you aren’t also bored out of your ass reading those 5 feet long documents.”

You roll your eyes, yet feel no annoyance as you warmly bring your hand up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing across the soft skin that had dusted rosy from the previous affection. Suddenly, you want to see even more of that pink tint as something in your chest floats gently on air when he leans into your palm. 

“Kiss me again.”

Karma raises his eyebrows ever so slightly at the sound of your voice, then smirks. “Oh? You want me to do what? Couldn’t quite catch it.”

You want to get mad, although embarrassment and giddiness kind of overcrowd that specific emotion, plus you can’t really deny that Karma’s hypnotizing way of acting smug is one of those traits that wooed you in the first place. “Kiss me again before I change my mind.” 

“How bossy.” He lets out a pleased snicker. But instead of the persistent teasing like the bastard he is, you receive that lovely softness on your lips in no time. 

The taste of your lips always manages to knock the air out of his lungs and Karma was quick to feel his head spin again. Doesn’t matter if this is the nth time you’ve kissed, he just simply can’t take it. Not with that attitude of yours he finds so endearing, not with your thighs on either side of his hips, not with your sweet lips melting against his own in a silent declaration of fondness. 

Fuck. His first thought as you gently bite his lower lip, your fingers fluidly tangling in his hair. Every little action of yours easily becomes his weakness and you never miss a chance to exploit it. But oh fuck. He loves it. 

Karma is a human, he has limits. And here his beloved treats his poor self-control like a jump rope, hopping up and down and back and forth so naively while he fights for his life. One of his hands grips your thigh tightly, the other cups your jaw, tilting your face to his heart’s content as he devours your mouth. Nothing is enough. The need for more and more is escalating like vines crawling up a trellis once he’s gotten a taste of heaven. 

You two pull away after a long, breathless moment, panting for oxygen in spite of the mutual eagerness. Karma stares into your eyes, admiring the exquisite color of your irises between half-opened lids. That’s until he notices a purse of your reddened lips, forming a shy thin line as you slowly look down at his lap. 

Seated on his thighs, you, of course, feel it as clear as day that something is awake and poking at your lower stomach. You avert your gaze right after the discovery, however, since you’re still in the early stages of this relationship, just the sight of his excited tent is already enough to render you both speechless. 

Your boyfriend edges forward, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, shielding his expression. But judging from his pink ear, you suppose the prior smoking-hot make out session isn’t the only reason he’s seeming all bashful now. 

“Ignore it.” He mutters against your skin, his voice slightly strained. “I’ll calm down in a minute.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind.” You answered, carding your fingers through his hair with wordless reassurance. Inexperienced most of his life due to trust issues, while it’s apparent that Karma tends to mask his vulnerability with brashness and confidence, you can still imagine how he feels right now must be similar to mentally being stripped naked for the first time, awkward and confused. 

And aroused. 

When you start rubbing his head, Karma still falls headfirst into your affection like a cat, welcoming in a small breath as his nose is once again stuffed with your scent. “Well, I guess I’m happy that you don’t mind.” 

Despite his relief that you’re not bothered by the unexpected fuss inside his pants, he’s still just a little bashful that you saw him at any moment that is not ‘cool.’ Yes, your kisses usually end up with him being more than a little worked up, but it’s not typically this… reactive. 

Not getting an answer from the redhead, you speak. “I mean it, Kar.” 

Internally giggling at the dumb nickname, you gently plant a peck on his temple, muttering into the soft, silk strands of crimson you wholeheartedly adore. “I don’t mind seeing your… ‘friend’ react to me so strongly. Honestly, isn’t it just trying to say you like me a lot?” 

You hear a tender sigh emit on the crease of your shoulder, either an abashed huff or a sheepish laugh. “You’re not helping, y’know.” 

You grin, patting his head. “Then stop hiding and tell me what’s gonna help.” 

“I’m not hiding.” 

Before you can resume your smugness, he continues, timidness too faint to be located in a pool of accusation. “It’s your fault, ‘s all your fault.”

Karma finally forces his own face out of the comfortable spot he was burying in. His cheeks are cherry red, almost identical to the beautiful shade of his hair. Oh, and it’s definitely tugging at your heartstrings, giddy but lingering like a rain pouring on thirsty earth. “How the hell is it supposed to be my fault?”

He rolls his eyes, smirking in an attempt to regain his composure. “See? You’re acting up and conveniently, I happened to find it hot.”

“You’re so ridiculous.” 

Karma only laughs in response. Not that he thinks you’ll be weirded out just because he has a physical reaction. It’s more of a personal thing for Karma because he hasn’t had much chance to open up to anyone in his life, so intimacy like this is kind of new and foreign and intimidating. He wants to take it slow so he doesn’t lose himself in the feeling. It’s impossible not to, though. 

“Now, since it was entirely your fault…” He drags out while staring at you with intense, calculated confidence. “Hurry up and fix what you’ve started.”

The previous shyness is already thrown far away behind his head so motherfucking fast it’s scary, you soon find yourself feeling small and cornered in his embrace. “...And how should I do that?”

A tiny pause goes by. Karma smiles lazily. “Kiss me.”

You blink, before returning the smile with a more challenging one. “Oho, sure you can handle it? I can see your… ‘brother’ hasn’t calmed down yet.” 

Karma can see you glancing down at his misbehaving problem, which is still standing there gloriously despite the betrayal inflicted on its owner. 

His throat feels thick and dry, forcing him to unconsciously gulp down. Karma reaches out a hand to grip your chin, tilting your head back up towards him. “What if I told you I don’t want to calm down?”

You look at his lips out of instinct, equally tempted even if you wish to conceal it. To conceal how much you’re aching to fulfill his request right away. “If you say so, don’t mind if it stays up that way for a bit longer.”

“Oh, I surely wouldn’t mind that.” The sentence’s finished with you getting engulfed in another kiss. 

This one is hard, bruising in a way, as if he’s trying to tell you something in between the flawlessly melded lips. Whatever that is, you might’ve said yes instantly if he worded it out loud. 

Each caress and whisper of your mingling mouths sends heat straight to his groin. Karma is a normal, healthy guy— a young adult whose hormone level is at the highest peak of his entire life. Especially now when he has his most favorite person on his lap, looking all gorgeous just for him and carrying out so perfectly the ultimate duty of loving him. Your warmth permeates like stars appearing between gathered clouds. Your touch blooms like unfurling flowers. Your everything feels like home. 

Not the empty house that burned loneliness in his skin, reminding him of a boy that was no different from a shadow in a world full of light. No, you feel like his real home. 

You mauled his sanity. You murdered his willpower. 

Karma’s self-control is purely non-existent in your vicinity. The night ended with your lips swelling and your clothes almost off. Almost. Your research essay’s been taken care of excellently under the hands of academic weapon Akabane Karma. Let’s just say it was a win-win.

A/N: So I caved in and actually wrote a Karma fanfic because I miss him so much and seeing those 10th anniversary on Twitter had me bawling I miss my sillies sm (especially shitty lil Karma my husband our kids miss him) Anyway hope you had fun reading. HAPPY KARMA'S DAY 🎄♥️