#both in tone and speech patterns

[cosmicwhoreo]

Why goldie doesn't get like getting mad-

Yyyyeah... While Gold Choco gets passive aggressive and catty when annoyed, he doesn't really ever let himself get full-blown angry. Mostly because he sees that as the other side winning, that they actually managed to strike a nerve with him. But it's also for the reason that he overheats his inner workings when he snaps. Causing a few wires to spark and systems to restart. Having him cosplay the world's angriest storm cloud of smoke and static.

[guujikaroko]

From my personal selection of Characters Who Would Hate Each Other At First Word Exchange, I bring you:

No, really, the girls would be fighting FIERCELY here, I guarantee you.

[moonstandardtime]

i wonder how streamers would voice me if i was a visual novel character

[astrologydray]

Mercury Through the degrees🧠🗣️

Mercury rules the mind, communication, thoughts, speech, learning, and processing. It governs how you think, speak, write, observe, and make sense of the world. It’s the inner narrator, the mental vibe, and your style of expression — from texting to teaching to talking sh*t😭. Key themes: Intelligence, humor, curiosity, analysis, communication style, how you learn and connect ideas🤌🏾.

Mercury Through the Degrees:

0° – Raw intellect. Learning through instinct. Speaks first, processes later.

1° – Curious to the point of obsession. Constantly asking “why?”

2° – Grounded thinker. Speaks with purpose, rarely wastes words.

3° – Fast-talking, fast-thinking. Scans a room like a radar.

4° – Emotionally intelligent. Communicates with care and subtlety.

5° – Witty and theatrical. Natural performer with words.

6° – Sharp, precise, detail-obsessed. Grammar police energy.

7° – Charming AF. Talks their way into (and out of) anything.

8° – Deep thinker. Obsessed with the truth beneath the surface.

9° – Bold speaker. Unfiltered, philosophical, and blunt.

10° – Strategic communicator. Knows what to say and when to say it.

11° – Quirky, original voice. Thinks ahead of the curve.

12° – Gentle tone but potent messages. Low-key psychic communicator.

13° – Unapologetic thoughts. Mischievous, clever, and cutting.

14° – Smooth talker. Can sell an idea like it’s gospel.

15° – Balanced thinker. Knows both logic and vibe.

16° – Obsessed with patterns. Memorizes what most overlook.

17° – Highly persuasive. Voice carries weight and conviction.

18° – Thinks like a poet. Expresses the soul, not just the facts.

19° – Speaks in codes. Hidden meanings, inside jokes, layers.

20° – Calm and collected. Rarely speaks without purpose.

21° – Inventive mind. Constantly creating new ways to say old things.

22° – Mastermind energy. Dangerous if underestimated.

23° – A little chaotic, very iconic. Communicates with flair.

24° – Soft-spoken rebel. Says radical things in a chill tone.

25° – Talks in timelines and long-term strategy.

26° – Wise beyond their years. Spiritual insight mixed with logic.

27° – Manifestor with words. What they say often becomes real.

28° – Stubborn mind. Doesn’t adapt easily, but once set — unshakeable.

29° – The communicator who’s lived lifetimes. Final boss of the mind. Speaks with power and presence.

[thecreaturecodex]

Wheel of Monsters

Image © @bowelfly

[April Fools! Like previous April Fools' monsters I've done, this is intended to be fully usable at table, just... weird. Most of my previous April Fools monsters have been pop culture references, and this one is, just a little slantwise. The expression "wheel of monsters" has been rattling around my head for years, inspired by game shows and game show parodies like Wheel of the Worst. The monsters its summons pulls from by default are mostly ones on the Codex, but I've included guidelines on how to customize it if you don't want to look up a whole bunch of bespoke stat blocks (assuming, of course, anyone actually uses this abomination at table).]

Wheel of Monsters CR 15 CE Aberration This thing is a quadruped with a long tail and clawed limbs, but its semblance to sane life ends there. Instead of a head, it has a vertically oriented dial with twelve facets, each with a different combination of eyes, teeth and strange glyphs. A single eye sits in the center of the wheel atop the axle. Spikes protrude forward from the edge of the wheel, plucked by a stinger at the end of a long tail. Said tail also has a strange flap on it that has the appearance of a sign, or possibly scoreboard.

The wheel of monsters is a strange tool in the service of the Dominion of the Black. They were invented by the daelkyr Harsanash, whose interests lie in the role that chance events play in increasing entropy and the downfall of complex systems. The wheels of monsters exploit chance by generating random spells and summoning random monsters, drawn from distant worlds under Dominion control or the depths of the Dimension of Dream. These far-flung summons have already had disastrous effects, as now both the quori and beholders know about Golarion and its corner of space, and gaze upon it with envious eyes.

Despite their grotesque appearances, wheels of monsters are quite intelligent—geniuses by the standards of humanoids. They tend to have something of a split personality; obsequious and loyal to higher ranking Dominion creatures, even less powerful ones, but snide and condescending to most other lifeforms. Most wheels of monsters have a fondness for cracking jokes and giving color commentary during combat. All of its many mouths are capable of speech, and it can alter the pattern and coloration on its tail flap with incredible precision in order to spell out words in any language it knows. A common behavior is to speak primarily through one mouth, with an unctuous tone, while making sounds like crowd noises and cheers with its other maws.

A wheel of monsters is usually on the move in combat, stalking from place to place in order to better make use of their spells. They are excellent climbers and have at least the possibility of flight through their random spellcasting, and so prefer to have a birds-eye view of the action in order to better place monsters or effects. A wheel of monsters keeps its tactics flexible, but almost always summons a monstrous minion as soon as it can to engage foes. In melee, they can sting with their plectrum tails, inducing confusion in foes, and grab with their claws. They prefer to split those attacks up, stinging enemies to disrupt their tactics and then focusing the bulk of their violence on a single target. If a wheel of monsters has a foe grabbed, it lowers its spiked face on top of their victim and spin it, tearing with all of its spikes and teeth simultaneously. When fighting on their own terms, wheels of monsters will gladly flee a losing fight, but gladly sacrifice their lives in order to promote the objectives of their superiors.

Appropriately enough for a creature of weaponized chance, different wheels of monsters may be able to call forth different spells or summons by spinning their wheels. In order to adjust the wheel of monsters’ spellcasting spin, replace some or all of the spells with spells of the appropriate level. A wheel of monsters can call upon two spells of each level from 1st to 6th. In order to adjust the wheel of monsters’ summoning spin, replace some or all of the monsters with monsters of the appropriate challenge rating. A wheel of monsters can summon two monsters of each CR between 8 and 13.

Wheel of Monsters CR 15 XP 51,200 CE Large aberration Init +8; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +27

Defense AC 29, touch 17, flat-footed 24 (-1 size, +4 Dex, +1 dodge, +3 luck, +13 natural) hp 225 (18d8+144) Fort +17, Ref +16, Will +16 Immune curses, disease, poison Defensive Abilities fortune’s favor

Offense Speed 40 ft., climb 30 ft. Melee 2 claws +19 (1d8+7 plus grab), sting +19 (2d6+7 plus confusion) Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with sting) Special Attacks rake (bite, 4d8+7), spellcasting spin, summoning spin

Statistics Str 24, Dex 19, Con 27, Int 20, Wis 14, Cha 21 Base Atk +13; CMB +21 (+25 grapple); CMD 36 (40 vs. trip) Feats Combat Expertise, Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Improved Initiative, Lightning Reflexes, Mobility, Nimble Moves, Spring Attack, Whirlwind Attack Skills Acrobatics +25 (+29 jumping), Bluff +17, Climb +30, Fly +11, Intimidate +20, Knowledge (arcana, planes) +23, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +26, Perception +27, Spellcraft +20, Stealth +18; Racial Modifiers +4 Perception Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Common, Protean, Undercommon, telepathy 100 ft. SQ no breath

Ecology Environment any land or underground Organization solitary Treasure standard

Special Abilities Confusion (Su) A creature stung by a wheel of monsters must succeed a DC 24 Will save or be confused, as per the spell, for 1 minute. If the confused creature gets the “act normally” result two turns in a row, the effect ends early. This is a mind-influencing compulsion effect, and the save DC is Charisma based. Fortune’s Favor (Su) A wheel of monsters has a +3 luck bonus to its AC and to its saving throws. Spellcasting Spin (Su) At will as a standard action, a wheel of monsters can spin its wheel to cast a random spell. These function as the spell cast at CL 15th, except that it does not provoke attacks of opportunity and the save DC for all of these abilities, if applicable, is DC 24. The save DC is Charisma based. The wheel of monsters can choose the target or area of the spell as normal for any legal target after determining the spell cast. Roll a d12 to determine the spell cast each time the wheel of monsters uses this ability 1. magic missile 2. mage armor 3. blur 4. scorching ray 5. fly 6. lightning bolt (Reflex half) 7. enervation 8. fire shield 9. cone of cold (Reflex half) 10. spell resistance 11. disintegrate (Fortitude partial) 12. globe of invulnerability Summoning Spin (Su) As a standard action, a wheel of monsters may spin its wheel to summon a random monster from the following table. Monsters summoned in this fashion appear within 60 feet of the wheel of monsters and remain for 15 minutes or until dismissed. A wheel of monsters can use this ability as many times per day as 3 + its Charisma modifier (8/day for an average specimen), but can have no more than one monster summoned at a time through this method. Roll a d12 to determine the monster summoned each time the wheel of monsters uses this ability: 1. animate dream 2. neh-thalggu 3. aros 4. quori, hashalaq 5. rukanyr 6. yad-pollom 7. p’nahki 8. quori, du’ulora 9. garsonite 10. gogiteth 11. beholder 12. ectodactyl

[hanihaato]

a/n: yandere aventurine x female reader, suggestive, non-consensual touching and forced kisses

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t say a word, darling,” a glowed finger pressed to your lips makes words die on your tongue almost as effectively as the Aventurine’s vivid, piercing eyes. Except for the shallow breaths, you stay in silence, and he glides his hand from your lips to cup your cheekbone. “I must say, you are really bold, testing my connections like that to find you. Being sceptical is a great quality…”

He pushes you onto the bed and lays on top of you, interlocking your fingers together so you don’t ever try to push him off yourself. He stares at you, his smile growing smug with your every try to wiggle out yourself of the embrace.

Aventurine’s head falls on your shoulder. You shiver as he chuckles and his warm breath sends a chill through your spine he muchly adores tracing his fingers on.

“…But not when it comes to me.”

You turn your head away from him. Ugh, you wish you could have at least a full day without him, but you could pride yourself in having a plan good enough to escape the room he locked you up two weeks ago when you first arrived on this planet.

Though, it hurts your ego a bit that Aventurine doesn’t seem to be bothered at all.

He shifts on the bed, and you hate how the sheets that smelled of the hotel’s cleanliness are already starting to stink with his perfumes. The smell you once loved now suffocates you with each breath.

He wraps his arm around your waist so he spoons your back for a second before grasping you tighter and throwing you over himself, having you face him. He entangles your legs before you can think of hitting him with a knee.

You whisper into the pillows.

“…At least I know you are a real deal.”

Aventurine chuckles in a tone you would find endearing if you didn’t feel he laughs at you. When he first started to show you the best parts of the world he’s been living in—the casinos that always had a nice pianist playing on a grand piano, the numerous vine tastings, the breakfasts that make your mouth water, clothing that feels like silk in touch—you could hear the tone everywhere, usually just by your ear. He then told you how he loved how your eyes shone and how much more enchanting you look every day.

You wonder which night he started to plan to cut you off from both worlds, yours and his, to only have him as your everything.

“That’s news to me,” he says, theatrically raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t believe me at all? You must know, darling, that everything I told you after we got together is true. That’s a real privilege right there.”

His finger starts to trace circular patterns on your forearm’s skin. Your heart throbs painfully.

“Aventurine…” Your voice is as demanding as can be the voice of a woman squished in the arms of a man who knows how to use words and guns. “I don’t believe you really love me. That’s not how love looks like.”

The man is still in his position. He blinks, and his eyes are fully on you. You have yet to find out if that look is a warning for you or whether he is enticed by what are you saying. Or maybe he just wants to hear your voice—you know Aventurine is not a man above misleading you into believing you aren’t in a hopeless position just to hear your pleas.

“When you love someone, you want the best for them. You want— You see them as equals. You don’t strip them of what they love to do, and… and people they love. You just… join their life and slowly build a new one together…”

When you fall silent, Aventurine pulls you in and with the other hand brushes hair off your face.

He hums. “That’s an inspiring speech. Oh, and I loved how you looked when you talked about it. Such a view. You must’ve thought about it for quite a while, huh?” He pats you on the head, lingering a bit to loosely twirl your hair on his fingers. “But, dearest, everything you’ve said, well, it all checks out.”

“No.”

“I do view as equals. We have a trade: my everlasting love for a bit of your freedom. It looks like a good deal.”

“It doesn’t look like—”

Aventurine shuts you up with a kiss. You hate, hate, hate this feeling, because in these moments you wonder if you could ever truly fall in love with a man you despise that gives you the hugs you long for and kisses you think about for days.

As he pulls away, with your free hand, you wipe off the traces of the kiss on your lips. Of course, you know it’s meaningless—he kissed you many times, you would have to count in hundreds at least—he will revenge you for that later.

“Awh, don’t be like that,” He says, kissing you again and holding your wrists this time. “You know, I pride myself in being a good businessman. If you are going to put your undying love for me, I will give you the freedom back.”

“You may beg all you want, but with begging you can’t get my love.”

It’s a brave thing to say when you are at the mercy of a man who’s famished for your affection.

“Hm, is that so?” Aventurine chuckles, but for the first time in the evening, it lacks the usual flippancy. He begins to pepper your neck with kisses, and you feel his sturdy hands travel down your stomach and a tugging on your shirt. “Well, say what you want, darling. But since you’ve been by my side for such a long time, you must know I only engage in bets I know I will win.”

[amethystarachnid]

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

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

THE ROYAL LOVERS

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open (only by asks)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

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

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think

ᯓ★ Part 2

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

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

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

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

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

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

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

You swallow hard. “And which prince?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you see him.

Prince Loki.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You, however, have no answers for them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dates that follow are no less eventful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,” he calls lazily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for now, that’s enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And something inside you snaps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

’ve found something real between you two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the real surprise comes from the children.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

part 2 with royal kids? ;)

[blaydie]

ᥫ᭡ Hidden Eyes — “Stop trying to deny it. You must understand that rest is essential to every form of life. You are no exception.” Jiaoqiu x GN reader.

Word count: 1.8k

Contains: Jiaoqiu x GN reader, fluff, subtle jealousy, protective Jiaoqiu (in a good, non-toxic way!), light teasing, clingy Jiaoqiu, kisses, long cuddles, Jiaoqiu taking care of reader, + more!

Rousing from your slumber with a pounding headache, you sit up in the unfamiliar environment and groan. No matter what you do to recall your previous whereabouts nothing comes to mind. A knitted blanket covers you, and your head is propped against a plush pillow. After batting your lashes a few times to clear the haze cast over your eyes, you are able to make out that you’re inside a living space of some sort. 

Overhearing the shuffling in the other room, Jiaoqiu turns the heat down on the stove and saunters into your view, an apron snugly tied around his slim figure. He greets you with his usual friendly smile, now approaching your resting body. Crouching down, he presses his hand to your forehead, his tail swaying slowly behind. 

“Didn’t I tell you to stop over-exhausting yourself?” He feigns disappointment, letting his breath breeze down onto your face.

“I haven’t done anything to be exhausted.” 

“Stop trying to deny it. You must understand that rest is essential to every form of life. You are no exception.”

“But—”

“I ordered you to stay in bed and you go out on a date the next day. Don’t be ignorant.” He opens his eyes, glaring at you while his lips remain in that pleasant expression. Though his smile seems sweet, his gaze is a threat.

“A date?” You raise a brow, unaware you had gone out with another person, let alone left your house this morning. 

“Hm?” Jiaoqiu cocks his head to the side, tapping his index finger against your cheek. “You don’t remember?”

“No. Who was I—”

“Never mind.” Jiaoqiu drags out his speech, squishing your face before standing up straight. “Your soup should be done!”

Jiaoqiu had always had an unsettling energy around him. Upon meeting him a few months ago, you had noticed his strange behaviour patterns, though no one else did. It may just be in your head; you have a common issue with judging new people in your life too harshly. Trusting a stranger takes a lot of effort, but since becoming acquainted with Moze, you realise that the image you crafted of Jiaoqiu may be a spout of nonsense. He has nothing bad to say about him, he praises his work ethic and commitment. For someone who always presents himself so content, there must be some facade in place.

It didn’t take long for you to become friends with both men. They were welcoming and extremely kind; even Feixiao had surprised you with her demeanour behind closed doors. Knowing you have a group of people to fall back on when things get rocky is reassuring. Having a person like Jiaoqiu in your life is a bigger benefit than it is a drawback. Your health is his main concern, making it clear that it should always be your priority above all else. It’s a topic he doesn’t deal with lightly. 

With the steaming bowl of soup in hand, Jiaoqiu returns to his living space and kneels beside you. When you went to free your arms from the swaddle you’re in, he held you down, shaking his head. Raising the soup spoon, he brings it towards your lips, waiting for an opening. 

“I’ll do this since you can’t follow simple instructions.” His tone was snappy, his ears flopping down while he rubbed the spoon against your closed lips. The smell of the soup was enticing, prepared to the standard of all of his other meals. 

“I can feed—”

When you opened your mouth wide enough, he inserted the spoon and dumped the liquid in, grinning at you when you swallowed it. Since you are too tired to protest, you accept defeat and comply with his demands, drinking the soup as he feeds it to you.

“Is it tasty?” Jiaoqiu rubs his thumb over the small spill travelling down your jaw, licking the remnants from his fingers.

“It’s nice. You already know that.”

“The chef appreciates your compliments.” Jiaoqiu hums, stroking your face with two fingers.

Whether it be the heat of the soup or the tenderness in his touch, you felt yourself becoming warm. You began squirming under the blanket, the bowl of soup almost empty. After the final few spoonfuls, he places the leftovers on the coffee table and takes you into his arms. You whine, nuzzling your face into his chest.

“I know. You’ll be in bed soon.” He speaks quietly, trekking up the stairs and pushing his bedroom door open with his back.

Lowering you carefully, he lies you on the mattress and covers you over with the duvet. Undoing the bow on his apron, he tosses it into the laundry basket and climbs in beside you. Dragging you over, he wraps an arm around you and holds you in his embrace, his tail brushing up and down your leg in a soothing motion.

“Get some sleep. I’ll watch over you. We’ll see how you are in the morning.” His lips are pressed against your neck when he talks, the movement almost feeling as though he is pampering you with tender kisses. Perhaps he was, but you don’t feel the need to raise attention to it when it feels so good. Within seconds, you fall back into a deep slumber. 

With your droopy head hanging low, he supports you with an arm and wraps himself around you, burying his nose into your flesh. Jiaoqiu loved your scent. It bothers him when you’re away for too long, always lingering on his mind. No matter what he does to replicate it, he can’t craft it to perfection. Burning different candles, sniffing perfumes you use—anything he could think of led to failure. It would explain why he’s been lingering around for longer than he would usually. 

While his recent observations have been unknown to you, it grew increasingly harder for him to leave you alone. He would never want to scare you by admitting all of this—none of his actions carry ill intent. He simply believes you wouldn’t understand his reasoning due to you being human.

It was when you were at the food market that he noticed a shift in your scent. A smell of death. The day prior, you had received a rough blow to the head in battle which had left you tremendously dizzy. It took you two hours to stand, and even then you were still clinging onto his clothes for support. He gave you medicine and advice which seemed to go in one ear and slip out of the other. While with the dark-haired man who was accompanying you, you stumbled backwards and collapsed to the ground before he could catch you. That’s when Jiaoqiu decided to reveal himself from the shadows and usher you back to safety.

That barely present beat of your pulse was something he’ll never forget. He should’ve known you wouldn’t take your medicine; you’re usually one to forget things like that. You were ice cold in his arms, fingernails darkening to an almost navy shade. Seeing corpses was not uncommon, but seeing your corpse was something he knew he wouldn't be able to handle. He just wishes that you’d listen to him. While he’s not angry at you, it still upsets him that you disregard your health so easily like that. The warmth you radiate now brings him comfort; he keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck, waiting there as time ticks throughout the evening.

Unsure of how many hours have gone by, you stretch out your legs and reach to rub your eyes, only to find another hand with its fingers linked between yours. Jiaoqiu’s soft breathing was directly down your ear, his hand squeezing yours as he mumbled something barely audible. You knew Jiaoqiu was touchy, but the position you found yourself in made you flustered. 

“Morning…” He whispers, kissing the side of your face. His voice was raspy and his tail was still brushing against your skin.

“How long was I out?”

“Nearly eight hours. You slept through the entire night.” Even though you’re conversing, he doesn’t release you from the cuddle he trapped you in.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“To you? Yesterday?”

“Yes. Why am I here?”

“Mm, I saw you unconscious at the food market. Your dark-haired friend didn’t know what to do with you, so I told him I’d handle it.”

“Dan Heng?”

“How could I forget?” Jiaoqiu responds, his voice laced with sarcasm while he pulls you close. “I’ve heard a lot of that name from you.”

“Well, he—”

“I wasn’t asking to hear more.” Jiaoqiu nips you with his canines, earning a small yelp. “What I want to know is why you didn’t take your medicine. Do you know how dangerous that is?”

“I was going to take it when I got back home from shopping…”

“No. You take it at the time I tell you to. There are reasons behind it.”

“Did I make you mad?”

“I’m not angry; I was worried about you. I’m tired of seeing you push yourself to the side. You’re just as important as anyone else in your life. Other people can wait when you need to put your health first.”

His chest falls as he exhales, hurling you upwards to rest his lips on the top of your head. 

“All I want you to do is listen. I’m not yelling at you.”

“I’ll listen. I promise.” You smile at him, watching as he closes his eyes from the relief of hearing those words. “You’re awfully clingy today.”

“I can’t help it. You made me sick with nerves; my emotions are not behaving as they should be.”

“Besides…” Jiaoqiu trails off, redirecting the topic of conversation. “If you’re going out for food, just come to me instead. I have the superior options.”

“You just want me to be around you so you can make sure I’m okay.”

“Is that such a bad thing? I thought you’d appreciate the fact I care for your well-being. And for your knowledge,” Jiaoqiu leans his face closer to yours, “I would’ve caught you before you hit the ground. Foxian reflexes are like no other.”

He pouts before connecting his lips with yours, sharing a brief peck momentarily until he backs off. His thumb rubs under your lower lip, his eyes widening as he sees your smile grow. Repositioning himself, he pushes down on you and engulfs you in his desire with another kiss.

It was both fiery and packed with raw emotion, his trembling hand stroking your cheek. You have no idea about the amount of dire situations you wind up in, but those near-death moments are something that will forever haunt him. As the kiss breaks, you feel his tail batting against your leg rapidly, his ears twitching from thrill. 

“I have some more medical advice. Are you going to listen to it this time?”

“Tell me.”

“Based on my judgement, I think it would be best if you stayed here and got proper rest for the next few days. Cancel your plans and let me take care of you. You’ll be better before you know it.”

“You cancel for me.” You reach into your pocket and pull out your phone, “Hearing a doctor’s note directly from the source would cut the hassle.”

[deception-united]

Let's talk about writing dual POVs.

Writing a novel with a dual point of view where two different characters share the role of narrator can add depth, tension, and complexity to your story, but it also comes with its own set of problems and challenges. Like, how do you ensure clarity between perspectives? How do you keep both characters engaging? And most importantly, how do you make both narratives feel like parts of the same novel instead of two separate stories? Here are some tips and strategies to consider, before and when writing.

1. Ensure both POVs are necessary.

A dual POV should serve the story, not exist just because it seems interesting. Before committing to this structure, ask yourself:

Could the same story be told just as, or more, effectively from just one perspective?

Do both characters bring viewpoints that are unique and essential to the plot? What does this character’s POV add that we wouldn’t get otherwise?

Does each POV contribute to the novel’s themes, conflicts, or emotional depth?

Does it move the plot forward, or is it just there because I like this character?

If the answer isn’t an easy 'yes,' reconsider whether both POVs are truly needed. For example, in a romance novel, it might be better to only include one POV, since knowing there are feelings from both sides can take away tension and make it boring for the reader.

2. Choose a primary protagonist.

Even though you're going to be featuring two points of view, it’s essential to have one central character who anchors the story. This character serves as the thematic and emotional core of your book. Consider:

Which character’s perspective starts the story?

Which character’s perspective ends it?

Who undergoes the most significant transformation?

While both POVs should be compelling, having one clear primary character ensures your narrative remains cohesive.

3. Make each POV distinct.

Readers should be able to identify whose perspective they’re in without needing a chapter heading to tell them (although this is helpful and I do recommend including an indicator like this). You can differentiate this through:

Voice & tone: Their word choices, speech patterns, and internal thoughts should reflect their unique personalities. (See my post on character voices for more tips on this!)

Observations & focus: What each character notices and how they perceive the world will differ based on their backgrounds and biases. What details do they focus on? How do they process emotions? For example, a noble-born strategist will notice different things than a street thief. Sentence structure & style: Ties back to voice & tone—a poetic, introspective character might have longer, flowing sentences, while a blunt, action-driven character may have short, clipped phrasing.

**If you can open to a random page and easily recognise the character’s voice, you’ve done it right.

4. Interweave the two arcs effectively.

Both characters should have distinct yet interconnected arcs—even if they don't meet or interact until later on, or at all, their stories should be able complement or contrast each other in a way meaningful and comprehensible for the reader. Examples:

Parallel arcs: The characters face similar struggles but react differently (shows contrasts).

Intertwining arcs: Their paths cross at key moments & affect each other’s journeys.

Foil dynamics: One character’s success may mean the other’s failure—builds tension and stakes.

5. Smooth transitions

Switching between perspectives should feel natural, not jarring. Consider:

Consistent switching: Like alternating every chapter or at key turning points, or making one character dominant (the main focus) and the other occasional (slipping into it when necessary).

Strategic cliffhangers: Ending one POV on a suspenseful moment can keep readers engaged through the shift (though be careful not to make it so that the reader is skimming through one POV just to get to another).

Mirrored/contrasting scenes: A reveal in one POV can recontextualise a previous scene from the other.

6. Avoid head-hopping.

This is when you suddenly switch between characters’ thoughts in the same scene without a clear break. This can be jarring and pull readers out of the story.

Bad example: Lena glared at him. She was furious. Why didn’t he understand? Jonah sighed. He wished she would just listen.

You can't tell whose head we're in, and even if it was indicated at the start of the chapter, it makes it confusing and frustrating.

7. Build suspense

A well-timed POV switch can escalate tension rather than just pass the baton. Examples:

Character A is walking into a trap; meanwhile, Character B is on the other side of the city, knowing but unable to warn them (creates dread).

One character’s assumptions might contradict reality. (For example, a spy might believe their cover is intact, but another POV reveals they’ve been exposed.)

Character A misinterprets Character B’s actions as betrayal. Switching to B’s POV clarifies their true, but hidden, motives (creates emotional whiplash).

8. Deeper character exploration

Dual POVs can let readers experience both sides of a relationship, rivalry, or power struggle in ways a single POV can't. Examples:

Character A sees themselves as a hero, but Character B’s POV reveals their arrogance (unreliable narration).

Different emotional reactions—the same event might be tragic for one but a relief for another.

Common Pitfalls

Dual POVs might not always be appropriate for your specific narrative, and could:

1. Remove tension.

I briefly mentioned this, but one risk of dual POVs is reducing suspense, especially in genres like romance or mystery. If readers see both sides of a conflict, they might lose the uncertainty that drives engagement. However, you could try:

Using unreliable narrators

Keeping certain information hidden from one POV

Ensuring there’s still conflict and misunderstanding between the characters

Switching between past and present

Keeping one POV until the climax or for a specific plot twist, which can be revealed through a different POV

2. Break story flow.

If one character’s arc lags behind the other’s, readers may get frustrated when switching perspectives. Ensure each POV maintains momentum and contributes to the overarching plot.

3. Make readers favor one character.

If readers strongly prefer one POV, they may skim or disengage during the other. To avoid this, make sure both are equally compelling, both characters have stakes that feel urgent and meaningful, and each has their own distinct emotional arc that readers will be equally invested in.

4. Make it redundant.

If both characters are just retelling the same events with minor differences, the second POV becomes unnecessary. To avoid this, use POV shifts to enhance the story, not just repeat it. You can use the second POV to:

Show what’s happening when the other character isn’t present

Reveal secrets, misunderstandings, or unreliable narration

Build dramatic irony (let the reader know something one character doesn’t)

Happy writing!

Previous | Next

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[deadchannelradio]

None of the bats look alike EXCEPT for bruce and jason. dick and bruce look almost nothing alike and also behave extremely differently. You can catch similarities in small movements and gestures like rubbing their nose in the same way or starting the run up to a jump on the same foot. But they’re not built the same and they don’t have similar style or coloring or even undertones…. Dick is golden and bruce is cool toned… tim and bruce also don’t look alike other than eyes/hair color. Theyre both pale but different kinds of pale. Bruce Could have a bit more color if he ever went outside when the sun was out but he doesn’t and tim does not get darker he just gets pinker. He burns and then hes just pink forever, he does similar motions as bruce but he actually picked them up from dick (on purpose) who either picked them up from bruce or gave them to bruce. Cass obviously does not look like bruce at all but they do behave similarly. Damian is a talia copy/paste he looks JUST LIKE HIS MAMA but he did take bruce’s eyebrows and his face is a little shorter/wider. Less of a pointy chin but not Not pointy. Jason And Bruce Are Nearly Identical. They act the same they move the same they Sound the same they have the same speech patterns and voices they’re built the same they keep ending up with the same haircuts. They have similar but not identical “doesn’t go outside” pallor. The biggest differences are skin color and eye color. Jason is just a little bigger. You would think they were blood related. Nobody has been brave enough to explain this to jason, who thinks he looks nothing like bruce. They didnt even spend like, that long living in each others pockets is the thing. They’re just very similar people who happened to meet and glom on to each other. Dont climb into the comments about disagreeing with me this is my post and i dont care

[angelsfat3]

ⓘㅤ 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. ⠀⠀( 我在你身上的反映。)

𝓢ummary “ ✉. After leaving the city to study high school and college in another country, after several years you decide to return. A breath of fresh air, and with it, a new job, if only you knew what was waiting for you.

⠀،،⠀Genre. ’ Angst, tension, enemies to lovers.

( 𝒄/𝒘. )───Not reviewed, none. (tell me if I'm wrong!)

You knew it was a bad idea the moment you stepped through those glass doors, but your feet kept moving forward, ignoring the warning in your chest. You weren’t expecting to see him here.

Not so soon. Not like this.

And yet, there he is. Eric. Sitting behind that imposing desk, with the same arrogant posture that both captivated and infuriated you. His hair, slightly shorter than you remembered, catches the sunlight streaming through the massive windows behind him. The fitted shirt, the expensive watch. He’s the same, yet different. More mature. More untouchable.

“[...], What a surprise.”

Your name slips from his lips like a bullet. Short, direct, his voice steady, though there’s something in his eyes… something off. He looks at you as if you’re a ghost he never thought he’d see again. And despite your efforts to remain composed, the sound of his voice hits you hard, an echo of nights when he whispered your name in the dark.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, as if you’re a stranger, as if nine years haven’t passed, as if you weren’t everything to him once.

Your throat dries up. You had a speech prepared, rehearsed, but it crumbles into meaningless fragments under his gaze. Still, you manage to force the words out:

“I’m here for the job opening.”

His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. It’s more like a reminder of everything you lost, of everything you took from him when you decided to disappear.

Not even a letter, a last call. You left as fast as a shooting star.

“Work, huh?” he mutters, leaning back in his chair as he looks you up and down. His eyes are cold, calculating, but there’s something else there—something he can’t hide.

And then it hits you. He hates you. But not as much as you hate yourself for realizing that seeing him hurts less than never having seen him at all.

The cubicle they assigned you was small, almost claustrophobic, as if Eric wanted to make sure you remembered your place. A place that wasn’t his, though, when you looked at it from your seat, it was hard not to feel the pressure of his gaze.

His office was up front, like an impenetrable fortress from where he watched you, getting closer and yet more distant at the same time. Each passing day, the space between you two felt thicker, heavier.

Your first day at the company was nothing more than a repetition of the same pattern.

He handed you a never-ending stack of papers, reports you could barely process in one glance.

When you sat down to review them, you noticed he’d left clear instructions: "Nothing less than perfect," and though he didn’t say it with anger, there was a pressure in his words that made you question everything you knew about work and expectations.

Hours flew by, but never fast enough. There was so much to do, you didn’t even realize it was getting dark until the clock hit midnight.

It happened often. You’d review the same reports over and over, searching for the slightest mistake. The workload felt like an impossible mountain to climb, but you knew if you didn’t do it, he’d find any excuse to get rid of you.

His tone wasn’t cruel, but the moment he handed something back with even the smallest correction, you felt like he was rejecting you. He’d look at you mercilessly, expecting you to fix it, to improve, or just leave.

"One more mistake and you’re out," he’d said on the first day, and he repeated it every time he passed your cubicle, his gaze evaluating every move you made, every detail you missed.

Sometimes it felt like the days stretched longer than they should. The hours didn’t turn into nights; the nights stretched until dawn found you staring at a blank screen, wishing you could close it and forget everything. There were times when you stayed late, working non-stop, until it felt like the keys on the keyboard fused with your skin.

It was easier to stay there than face the reality that you were trapped. Eric, with his impatience, his extreme perfectionism, had become a constant in your life.

A couple of nights after staying late at the office, while the rest of the staff had gone home, you heard footsteps. You looked up and saw him. Eric, standing in the doorway of his office, holding a cup of coffee.

He watched you, his cold, calculating eyes scanning you, evaluating something more than just the work in front of you. It was impossible not to notice how he lingered just a second longer than necessary. With a slight tilt of his head, as if nothing were out of the ordinary, he walked away without saying a word, leaving you alone in your cubicle with the untouched coffee cup on the desk.

The next day, the employees arrived as usual, unaware of the chaos you’d immersed yourself in, the sleepless nights, the palpable stress that had consumed you. And yet, Eric remained distant, watching you from his office with the same cold stare that seemed like a sentence.

No one asked why you’d stayed so late, but you knew Eric had noticed. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that made the pressure feel even stronger. Sometimes, his corrections, even the smallest ones, left you with a feeling of emptiness. There was a desire to push yourself beyond your limits to meet something that never seemed good enough for him.

The meetings were even harder. Every time you entered his office, the atmosphere charged with an electricity that made you feel vulnerable, exposed.

The critiques were harsh, public, and always came with almost painful precision. You felt like no matter how hard you tried, nothing was ever done well enough. The glances exchanged by the others in the room, the murmurs, all faded away as he pointed out each mistake.

Time, that constant sense of being trapped, was the only thing that kept you sane.

There was one particularly difficult meeting where you were left speechless. As he spoke, you dropped a pen.

You bent down to pick it up, and when you straightened up, your eyes met his. It was a second. A second that felt like an eternity. In his eyes, there was something you couldn’t identify, something beyond the cold disapproval. There was anger, yes, but also... something more. Perhaps regret. Perhaps pain. But before you could process it, he looked away and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Yet, that look stayed etched in your mind, like an invisible mark that kept burning, day after day.

Sometimes, after those exchanges, you felt like breathing was harder than continuing to work. The days seemed to drain all the energy you had, until you didn’t know if you were working for him or for yourself. The line between the two was becoming increasingly blurry, as if everything outside of that office and outside his orders didn’t matter.

One night, you fell asleep at your desk. The work kept piling up, but the fatigue was unbearable.

You woke up to the sound of footsteps approaching. You opened your eyes slowly, and there he was. Eric, again, standing in front of you, this time with a cup of coffee in his hands. He looked at you steadily, his expression serious, almost thoughtful. For a moment, the room seemed to stop.

“If you keep working like this, you’re going to collapse.” he said, his voice softer than you’d heard in weeks.

You were surprised by the warmth in his words, but you couldn’t say anything. You stayed silent, watching him as he placed the cup on your desk. He lingered there for a moment, without saying another word. Then, he turned and walked back to his office, leaving the coffee untouched.

The air in the room grew even denser. You knew something had changed, though you didn’t understand what. Eric hadn’t said another word, but there was something in his gaze that told you the game between you two wasn’t over. Whatever was happening between you, it was no longer just about work. There was something personal, something much deeper, that neither of you was willing to admit.

Ashes of a bonfire of love, perhaps? Cliche, but true.

The days went by, and with each one, Eric's attitude toward you began to change. At first, it seemed like a coincidence, just a formality.

He included you more in important meetings, his work expectations eased, and he no longer looked at you with the same critical, distant gaze.

He even started offering you more help than you ever expected. He asked for your opinion on matters that previously wouldn’t have concerned him. How kind.

There was a softness in his demeanor, a change you couldn’t ignore, but at the same time, it unsettled you. The relationship between you two was transforming, and while the line remained strictly professional, something else lingered in the air.

Or so you thought, I don't know.

One morning, on one of the hottest days of the season, you found yourself in the elevator with Eric, heading to an important meeting. The confined space between you made the atmosphere feel thick, charged with something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

The only sounds were the elevator ascending and Eric’s faint sigh, breaking the silence. With each floor, the tension grew, as if the world had shrunk to that small metal box.

Suddenly, Eric broke the silence, his voice softer than usual but laced with an intent that sent a chill through you.

“Seriously, you should take a few days off,” he said, his tone firm but carrying a concern you hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t merely a suggestion; it was an order disguised as advice. He glanced at you sideways, noting the pallor on your face, the fatigue etched into your features. “You’re paler than a sheet. I need you looking more… alive for the upcoming conferences.”

The words hung in the air between you, as if he were measuring them, savoring each syllable. It was a kind gesture, yet the way he said it made you feel more vulnerable than ever.

‘Alive.’

The word echoed in your mind, but you couldn’t help but think there was something deeper behind his advice. Something personal, something beyond work. The closeness of his voice, the slight brush of his body against yours in that confined space, made the air feel heavy, almost suffocating.

His words began to make sense, you even thought you were hallucinating when his voice was tender, sometimes he hid smiles while correcting your files or reports. It's as if from the beginning he had enjoyed see you—suffer, or see you near.

Not for nothing was your cubicle strictly placed in front of his office, with a view where only he could see every corner of you, what you were doing there, if you were really working or falling asleep or—.

The elevator stopped at the meeting floor, and both of you stepped out, but the tension remained.

The conference was like any other, boring, with old men coughing and harassing the secretary with their tired and blind eyes, your handsome and well-behaved exb—Eric, your boss Eric.

The rest of the day followed a similar pattern: Eric included you more in decisions at the end of the meeting, asked questions he usually reserved for senior executives.

Sometimes, it felt like he didn’t see you as the same person you’d been before—someone forgotten by him—but as something more. And, for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he, too, felt the same attraction, the same desire as you.

But you knew he’d never admit it. Neither would you, damn stubborn.

The afternoon stretched on, and you found yourself back at your cubicle, focused on a report Eric had assigned. So engrossed in the details, you didn’t hear the footsteps approaching.

When you finally looked up, there he was, standing before your desk, observing you intently, as if evaluating something far beyond your work performance.

Without a word, Eric pulled a chair from a nearby cubicle and sat right behind you. His gaze lingered on the screen, and your body tensed as his hand rested near yours on the desk.

“This should have the full name here, and here…” His voice was calm, but there was something in the air that made you feel as if everything was unraveling, as if the world you knew was shifting around you.

The tension grew, and before you realized it, Eric’s hand grazed your arm—a fleeting touch, but it sent an electric current through your skin. His hand continued, sliding gently until it rested over yours, which lay still on the computer mouse.

The proximity was unbearable; the warmth radiating from his body melded with yours, and the air between you became stifling, as though everything was on the brink of exploding.

You could hear your own heartbeat, a roaring in your ears, as you felt the pulse in his fingers, his slightly quickened breath. The intensity of his presence beside you was overwhelming, the weight of his fingers on yours paralyzing.

The room seemed to shrink, as if nothing else existed beyond that moment. The pressure in your chest mounted, and while you knew you should pull away, that you couldn’t let this continue, your fingers stayed frozen, caught in the spell of his touch.

But then, Eric lifted his head, as if realizing how close you were, as if the reality of the moment hit him. His breath hitched for a second, and his expression turned stern, though his eyes softened briefly, just for an instant.

Clearly uncomfortable, he cleared his throat and stood up quickly. He gave you one last look, as if trying to read your thoughts, then turned and walked back to his office, leaving you alone with the sensation that the world had shifted irrevocably.

The silence he left behind was deafening. The warmth of his presence lingered in the air, on your skin, as you tried to process what had just happened. You knew something had changed—something vital.

But you weren’t sure you wanted to face it. Perhaps you both wanted the same thing, but neither of you was ready to take the first step.

And. There is always an and and a but.

From that moment on, things began to change between you two. Literally.

Slowly, but undeniably. The professional distance Eric had always maintained started to crumble, and though his actions were subtle, they were impossible to ignore.

In meetings, his eyes lingered on you a little longer than necessary, on your body too. When you shared the elevator, the tense, cold silence was replaced by Eric leaning against the metal walls, arms crossed over his chest, throwing casual remarks your way.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” he told you one afternoon, The ask was suddenly, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that left you feeling exposed.

It was an innocent gesture, but there was something in his tone, in the way his gaze held yours, that made you question if his concern was purely work-related.

Sometimes, as you talked, Eric would adjust his watch, his hand brushing against yours for the briefest moment. It could have been accidental, but you knew it wasn’t.

Even his presence in the office shifted. He spent more time near your cubicle, stealing glances at your work or stopping by to ask questions he surely already knew the answers to.

The air between you grew heavy with something unnameable, something that both suffocated and drew you in.

The days continued like this, with Eric looking for excuses to get closer. There were times when you'd find him too close, leaning over your desk to review a report, his arm brushing against yours, his fingers, your shoulders against his chest, his words against your ear.

And particularly everything was when both were alone or there weren't that many people around. It was definitely not by accident or coincidence.

“Are you sure it was like that?” he asked you in a serious but somewhat playful tone. The proximity was suffocating, and even though you tried to focus on his words, all you could feel was the heat of his body against yours.

One night, when the rest of the office had turned off its lights and silence ruled the building, Eric left a towering stack of papers on your desk, reminding you of your earliest days at the company.

You had learned not to complain, but the exhaustion was plain on your face. You were poring over the last page when you heard footsteps approaching. You looked up to find him standing in front of you, his impeccable black suit sharp against the dim light, his expression unreadable.

“Come to my office,” he said, his voice low and firm.

You glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. What could he want at this hour? Shouldn't he have left hours ago?

You hesitated for a moment but stood and followed him.

The air was thick, suffocating in its weight, and you couldn’t remember the last time breathing felt natural. Your forehead was slick with cold sweat, each drop a reminder of the tension coiling tighter around your chest.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, willing your heart to stop its relentless pounding as you walked the long stretch to Eric's office. The sound of his measured footsteps behind you did nothing to calm the storm within. His presence loomed—powerful, inescapable.

Am I about to lose this job? Did I mess up? Have they found someone better? The questions spiraled as you neared the door, each one heavier than the last.

When you finally stepped inside, the lighting felt… different. Softer. Warmer, even. It was a strange contrast to the cold, rigid atmosphere you'd grown used to. The sound of the lock clicking into place behind you sent a shiver racing down your spine.

Eric stood there, imposing as ever, his frame commanding the room with an effortless authority. He leaned casually against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, his sharp gaze pinning you in place. That look—it always had a way of unraveling you.

“Sit down,” he said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that left no room for argument.

You sank into the chair in front of his desk, the plush cushions doing little to ease your nerves. Your eyes darted to the massive windows behind him, the city lights twinkling like distant stars. It was a beautiful view, one you might have appreciated if your chest wasn’t tight with anxiety.

“Do you know why you’re here?” His voice broke the silence, smooth yet laced with an edge you couldn’t quite place.

Your throat felt dry, and all you could do was shake your head. Speaking felt like too monumental a task when his piercing gaze was locked on you, searching, dissecting. The weight of his scrutiny made your pulse race, and you fought to keep your composure.

Eric leaned back slightly, his arms falling to his sides as his fingers tapped a slow, deliberate rhythm against the desk. He studied you in silence for a moment, the tension between you both growing unbearable.

“There was an error in your report this afternoon,” he said, finally breaking the silence. His tone was even, almost detached, as he lifted a page from the desk.

Your stomach sank. Of course, it was about the report. You braced yourself for the sharp critique that would undoubtedly follow, but instead, he surprised you.

Setting the page aside, his expression softened, and his voice dipped lower. “But that’s not the real reason I called you in.”

Your breath hitched. The silence that followed was deafening. His fingers tapped the desk once more before he leaned forward, his hands resting on the polished wood.

“You’ve come a long way since your first day here,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “When I hired you, I wasn’t sure you had what it takes.” He paused, his eyes locking onto yours, his gaze unrelenting. “But you’ve proven me wrong. Over and over again.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, the tension shifted into something else. Something warmer, deeper. It made your chest ache in a way you didn’t fully understand.

“I want you to know,” he continued, his voice softening further, “that your hard work hasn’t gone unnoticed. Your dedication… your persistence… it’s invaluable to this team.”

He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips—a rare, almost disarming sight. “Which is why I’ve decided to offer you a promotion.”

Your heart stopped for a beat, then stuttered back to life. The words seemed surreal, too good to be true.

“Starting next week,” he said, his tone shifting into something more businesslike, “you’ll be taking on more responsibilities. High-level projects. You’ll be working directly with me.” His eyes lingered on yours for a beat too long. “I trust that’s not going to be a problem.”

You managed a shaky nod, the corners of your lips twitching into something resembling a smile. But beneath the surface, your thoughts churned. This wasn’t just a promotion. It was an invitation—a shift in whatever fragile balance existed between you both.

And deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.

Your heart stuttered at Eric’s words, a mix of emotions surging through you—confusion, apprehension, and something you didn’t dare name.

His touch on your shoulder felt heavier than it should, sending an unwelcome warmth coursing through you. Was it the power he held, or was it the man himself? You weren’t sure anymore.

Eric’s eyes flicker, catching the brief tension in your face.

He notices everything, doesn’t he?

The way your fingers dig into the armrest, the way your throat tightens as you swallow your nerves. His sharp gaze softens, just for a moment, as if he’s weighing how much more he can push you.

He rises from his chair, the sound of his movements crisp and deliberate. Moving around the desk, he stops just in front of you, so close that his presence fills every inch of your personal space. His hand settles firmly on your shoulder—not harsh, but undeniably possessive. His voice is low, steady, and resolute.

"This promotion comes with certain expectations. I expect nothing less than perfection from you, [...]. You’ll have to work harder than before, push yourself further. I need to know you can handle it.”

What was Eric playing at?

Your pulse quickened, and your chest tightened with something between resentment and longing. This wasn’t just about work—it never was with him. Not really.

His touch lingers as his words seep into your mind. The weight of his hand burns against your skin, as though it’s not just a gesture but a promise—and a warning.

"I know you can do it. You've already proven your resilience, your potential. But I need to know you’re committed." His voice dips, pulling you in despite the rising panic in your chest. "Are you ready to show me that you’re not just... a pretty face?"

The way he says it—so casually, yet so laced with meaning—sends a jolt through your system.

A heat climbs up your neck, betraying you. Was that a compliment? A taunt? Or something entirely more dangerous? You barely manage to nod, your throat dry, your pulse thundering in your ears.

Eric leans in slightly, his intense gaze locking onto yours. "I want to hear you say it."

"I-I’m ready," you stammer, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat. "Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best."

"Your best won’t be enough." His words hit like a whip, but before the sting can settle, a faint smirk curves his lips. "But I’m confident you’ll exceed even that."

The tension between you thickened like smoke, choking and impossible to ignore. Every second stretched painfully, and you realized he wasn’t moving. Eric stayed close, his presence overwhelming, his eyes dark and unreadable as they traced your face.

The room feels smaller now, suffocating under the weight of his presence. You muster a question, hoping to break the tension that coils between you like a taut wire. "Will I still be in the same cubicle, or…?"

Eric arches a brow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. "Cubicle? Seriously?" He lets out a low laugh, more to himself than to you, and takes a step back.

For the first time since this conversation started, you can breathe, though the air is still thick with unspoken tension.

He turns toward the large window, his silhouette framed by the city lights. His hands slip into his pockets as he stares out at the sprawling skyline.

"You’re not just some junior employee anymore, [...]. You’re my right-hand man. My top assistant. You don’t belong in a cubicle."

His voice carries a strange undertone—pride, perhaps? Or something darker. "You’ll be moving into my old office. I’ve already had it cleared out. It’s ready for you."

That pulled you out of your haze. “Your old office?” You couldn’t mask the surprise in your voice. “I… I don’t know what to say.” The words tumble out, but they feel hollow, inadequate for the weight of the moment.

Eric turned to face you again, his hands still tucked in his pockets. The smirk returned, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Say that you’ll handle it. That you won’t disappoint me. It’s as simple as that.”

Your chest tightened, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from saying something stupid. The promotion didn’t feel like a reward. It felt like a test. Or worse, a leash. And yet, a part of you—a traitorous part—didn’t hate that idea.

His steps are slow, deliberate, as he moves closer again. The air between you crackles with an energy you don’t dare name. When he stops just inches away, his proximity steals the breath from your lungs.

And then it happens.

His hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek in a touch so light it feels electric. The warmth of his skin sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes bore into yours, an unspoken challenge simmering within their depths.

"Prove to me," he whispers, his voice like velvet over steel, "that I didn’t make a mistake. Prove that you’re the one—to me and to this company." His hand slides downward, skimming your jaw before retreating entirely.

The absence of his touch feels like a loss, though you’d never dare admit it.

You can't stop thinking about Eric's touch, his words, and the way he looked at you—as if you were the only person in the world in that fleeting moment.

The memory lingers, his presence haunting every corner of your mind. You try to convince yourself it’s nothing more than a figment of your imagination. Maybe you're overthinking it. Maybe you're reading too much into it.

But then again… could you be wrong?

"I'm worth it, Eric."

The words slip out before you can stop them, unbidden and raw. You had to say something in response to keep his attention.

Your heart leaps into your throat, realizing the weight they carry. You meant to limit it to your work—your efforts, your contributions to the company. But the truth is undeniable. You are worth it. In every way.

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and full of implication. You feel the heat rising to your cheeks, your confidence faltering. "I-I mean… my work is worth it. I’ve worked hard for this position, and I believe I’ve shown you that."

You lean forward instinctively, as if to close the growing distance, your eyes locking onto his. “I think you’ve noticed that I haven’t broken any promises I made when you hired me. I’ve stayed true to everything you asked of me, down to the smallest detail.”

Your voice trembles but doesn’t break. The intensity in your gaze speaks volumes, a quiet defiance shining through your vulnerability.

Eric watches you carefully, his eyes darkening with something dangerous and unreadable. His jaw tightens for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. “Oh, believe me,” he murmurs, his voice low, each word carrying weight, “I’ve noticed. I’ve noticed everything about you.”

His gaze flickers downward, lingering at your lips for a split second too long before returning to your eyes. “Your dedication. Your persistence. Your...” His voice dips, as if testing the waters of forbidden territory. “stubbornness.”

A brief pause stretches between you, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “But loyalty can be dangerous, [...]. It can lead people to do things they shouldn’t—things they wouldn’t, under different circumstances.”

His steps are slow but deliberate as he approaches, the distance between your bodies shrinking. The air shifts, crackling with unspoken tension.

“I need to know,” Eric continues, his voice softer now, his words deliberate, “that this.. loyalty isn’t divided. That it’s mine. Mine alone.”

What? Divided? It's just for work, it's just to maintain a good status and have a good place to live. Right?

His hand lifts, his fingers brushing against your jawline. The light touch sends a tremor through your body, the sensation impossibly warm against your skin. His thumb grazes the edge of your cheek, his touch firm yet tender, like a warning wrapped in a promise.

Your breath catches. His proximity is suffocating, overwhelming. Your heart pounds against your ribcage, a desperate rhythm that betrays the steady exterior you’re trying so hard to maintain.

You can’t help but lean into him, drawn by some magnetic force that neither of you seem willing to acknowledge. His scent—sharp, clean, and distinctly him—clouds your thoughts. You can feel his breath ghosting over your skin, teasing, taunting.

His voice is a whisper now, the words barely brushing past your ear. “Tell me, [...], please.. can you give me that? Can you promise me that your loyalty—your focus—is entirely mine?”

His other hand rests against the chair beside you, caging you in, his body mere inches from yours. The tension is unbearable, the heat between you palpable. His lips hover, tantalizingly close to your own, and you know neither of you can resist this pull much longer.

The line between professionalism and desire is blurred beyond recognition.

You’re not sure if you’re breathing or if the pounding in your chest is too loud to tell. Your body aches to close the gap, to feel the press of his skin against yours. But a small voice in the back of your mind reminds you that once the line is crossed, there will be no turning back.

His fingers tilt your chin upward slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Well?” he murmurs, his voice dangerously low, “I need to hear you say it, [...]. Tell me you’re mine.”

Your lips part, words caught somewhere between your throat and your courage. He’s waiting, his lips a breath away from yours, the heat between your bodies enough to ignite flames.

But can you give him what he’s asking? Or are you both about to cross a line that could burn everything to the ground?

The air between you sizzles with unspoken passion, the tension almost unbearable. Eric’s words wrap around your senses like chains, dragging you into his orbit, his confession like gasoline poured onto a fire already blazing within you.

His lips hover over yours, a teasing torment that has your breath hitching. His fingers, firm yet reverent, tilt your chin higher as if daring you to defy him, daring you to resist the pull between you two. But you can’t. You’ve already surrendered in every way that matters.

"Say something," he murmurs, his voice rough, a plea hidden beneath the command. His dark eyes bore into yours, flickering with desperation, desire, and something deeper—something raw.

"Tell me you feel it too, that I’m not insane for wanting you like this."

Your throat dries, and your words stick to your tongue. You should push him away, assert the boundary that’s already been obliterated by the sheer weight of your shared history. But instead, your lips part, and a shaky whisper escapes.

"Eric... I-"

You don’t get the chance to finish.

His lips crush against yours in a searing kiss, all-consuming and desperate. The world melts away as his mouth claims yours, his kiss a perfect storm of hunger and longing.

He tastes like heat and danger, a flavor you’d forgotten and yet had craved every single day since the two of you fell apart.

Your hands, trembling with hesitation, find their way to his chest, your fingers fisting the fabric of his tailored suit as if anchoring yourself to reality. But reality blurs as his tongue slips past your lips, tangling with yours in a dance that’s both demanding and impossibly tender.

"Tell me to stop," he growls against your lips, his breath ragged as he pulls back just enough for his forehead to rest against yours.

His thumb strokes over the hollow of your cheek, a gentle contrast to the vice grip his other hand has on your hip. "Tell me I’m out of line, and I’ll step away. But if you want this—if you want me—then don’t hold back."

Your chest heaves as you stare at him, his expression open and vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before. The fire in his eyes dares you to give in, to leap into the flames with him and risk everything for just one taste of heaven.

And oh, God, how you want to.

Instead of answering with words, you tug him down into another kiss, your mouth moving against his with a fervor that makes his grip on you tighten. His hands roam now, one sliding up to cup the back of your head, angling your face to deepen the kiss, while the other traces the curve of your waist.

He ended up getting you up from that leather chair, his hands traveling over your body as if he were drawing a map.

He walks you backward until the edge of his desk presses into the small of your back, and he lifts you effortlessly onto the smooth wood. The sound of papers scattering barely registers as he steps between your legs, his body fitting against yours as if molded for this very moment.

"Do you have any idea," he whispers against your lips, his voice trembling with restraint, "how many nights I’ve dreamt of this? Of you?"

You shudder, your hands curling around the back of his neck to pull him closer. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your jawline, trailing kisses down your throat, igniting sparks of pleasure wherever his lips touch.

"Eric," you gasp, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. Your resolve crumbles entirely as his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, drawing you impossibly closer to the hard, unyielding heat of his body.

You feel every inch of him, every ounce of his needy cock pressing against yours.

"Say it," he demands, his voice rough and low, his lips finding the pulse point on your neck. His teeth scrape against it, leaving a mark that will scream possession. "Say you’re mine."

Your head tilts back, baring your throat to him as if offering yourself up completely. "I’m yours," you whisper, your voice trembling but certain. "I’ve always been yours."

The words break something inside him. His restraint snaps like a thread pulled too tight, and his kisses grow hungrier, more desperate, as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t consume you entirely.

But the heat between you carries a dangerous undercurrent, a silent warning of just how far you’re both willing to go to reclaim what you lost. And deep down, you know—if you don’t stop now, there will be no turning back.

Not for him. Not for you. And not for the fragile line you’ve already crossed.

But just then...When your dream was finally about to come true.

“[...].” A voice in the back of your head echoed, but it was faint, distant. “[...]. Are you even listening to me?”

What the fuck? You blinked rapidly, the world around you beginning to blur. For a moment, it felt like the ground beneath you was shifting, like you were floating in an endless sea of confusion.

But—suddenly, everything snapped back into place.

The office. The air was cold. Eric was sitting at his desk, his elbows resting on it, staring at you with an unreadable expression.

"Wha… w-what?" you asked incredulously, your voice cracking with disbelief. You could feel the dryness in your mouth, your fingers gripping your thighs, your other hand squeezing your neck lightly.

Had it all just been a dream? No… it couldn’t have been. He was kissing your neck, making you his, returning to where you should never have left...

Eric’s eyes were locked on you, as steady as ever, his calm gaze piercing through you like it always did.

“As I was saying... Do you know why you’re here?” he asked, his voice still smooth, but there was something underneath it now—an edge that made your heart skip a beat.

You shook your head, blinking again, trying to clear the fog from your mind. The room seemed so real now. The scent of his cologne, the hum of the air conditioner, the way his eyes bore into you like they always did.

Was it real?

The intensity of his gaze pulled at you, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything that had happened before—the dream, the fantasies, the moments between you two—was fading, slipping away as if they had never existed. In your mind.

“What’s.. going on?” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, barely able to hold its ground.

Eric didn’t immediately answer. He just kept watching you, leaning back in his chair with that same cool demeanor, as though the entire world had fallen away and there was only the two of you in this moment.

“Do you know why I left you that stack of work today?” he asked, his tone casual, but the question stung like a cold knife.

You stared at him, confusion still clouding your thoughts, but somehow, you felt yourself starting to understand. Slowly, your breathing evened out, the sharp panic fading into a kind of numbness.

“I… I don’t know,” you replied, your voice hoarse, uncertain. The weight of his words was sinking in, but everything felt distant, like it was happening to someone else.

Eric stood, moving toward you with his usual predatory grace. As he walked closer, the reality of the situation began to settle into your bones.

The heat radiating from his body, the way he filled the space with his presence—it was all real, and yet it felt like a dream, a surreal moment where everything shifted and fell back into place.

“I wanted to see how far you could go,” he continued, his voice quieter now, almost like he was letting something deeper slip through. “I wanted to see if you still had that… resilience I’ve always admired.”

His words made your chest tighten, and for a moment, you found it hard to breathe. The room felt small now, the distance between you two shrinking, but there was a weight behind his words that forced you to listen closely.

Eric’s next words cut through the tension like a blade. “But I can’t help but wonder… why are you still here? Why did you take this job knowing I was the one in charge?”

The question hit you like a punch, knocking the wind out of you.

You knew there were reasons, but in this moment, you were lost. What could you say to that? That while he was probably telling you what a great worker you were, you were about to imagine him fucking you against his desk and every corner of his office? No. That would be stupid.

You could feel your mind racing, a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts you couldn’t grasp.

Eric closed the distance between you, stepping closer still, until there was barely an inch between you. His gaze was unwavering, and this time, the heat between you two was undeniable.

“Is it because of me?” he asked, the words soft but carrying a weight that made your heart race.

You could barely think.

The world had narrowed to just him, just this moment. His face was so close you could feel the warmth of his breath, his eyes so intense they seemed to burn into your soul. Everything else faded away, and in that moment, you were completely caught in his gravity.

But then, as quickly as the moment had come, it started to slip away.

Eric raised a hand, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the entire world had stopped. You thought—no, hoped—he would touch you. That he would pull you close and everything would unravel.

But just as suddenly, his hand fell to his side. He stepped back, breaking the spell.

“Go home,” he said, his voice suddenly colder, more distant. His face lowered, looking at your barely shaking hands. “You need to rest well.”

And just like that, the warmth between you vanished. Eric turned his back to you, retreating to his desk like nothing had happened. His back was to you, and the room felt hollow, the air heavy with unspoken things.

But something had changed. Something that neither of you could deny.

“You can go now. You can take the day off tomorrow, you look very... pale.” he said.

You stood there for a long moment, unsure of how to react. How to feel. The world had felt so sharp, so raw for just a moment—and now it was slipping away.

Slowly, reluctantly, you walked out of his office, your heart pounding in your chest.

You knew, without a doubt, that nothing would ever be the same. The dream, the fantasy, had bled into reality.

But was it really over?

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ݁⠀⠀،،⠀⠀메모 ! ㅤ⸻ㅤ I still have one more fic to go and then we'll go for something a little softer.︐⠀📍

⠀𝒊. ⠀─⠀ All credits to @angelsfat3 / @foschiamara⠀𝄒

. . . ₍⠀아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤI'm very short of ideas lately, so feel free to leave me any requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>⠀₎⠀ ִֶָ

˖⠀⠀ ݁⠀©⠀،،⠀If you liked it you can like, follow me or reblog!!

[bornofsteelblood]

𝔄 ℭ𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 ℌ𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯; 𝔈𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔫 ℌ𝔲𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔛 𝔒𝔯𝔩𝔬𝔨

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: Ellen submits to her desires for Lord Orlok while Thomas is away 𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃ℊ: Ellen Hutter/Orlok 𝒲ℴ𝓇𝒹 𝒞ℴ𝓊𝓃𝓉 & 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓈: 926 | NSFW, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Teratophilia, Necrophilia possible, Human/Monster Romance, Monster Fucking, Size Difference, Kissing, Oral Fixation, Cunnilingus, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content A/N: SPOILERS AHEAD!! Explicit content under the cut! AO3 Link This was originally supposed to be more spicy but figuring out Orlok's speech pattern was a challenge. I really wanted them to banter more but I might add a chapter to this later. I hope you guys enjoy and let me know your thoughts!

It always began with a pang of longing and a hushed call to her shadow. Although she had sworn to herself that she was content and steadfast in her marriage to Thomas, her mind and heart wandered.

She was grateful that her night terrors had momentarily ceased. Her mind had fallen at ease with the presence of her new husband. Accustomed to much headier attractions, their passions had begun to feel hollow.

Around when the third work-related journey had sprung up and Thomas had left her with a bright smile, Ellen felt that all-consuming loneliness that had plagued her since childhood seep back into her veins. The premonitions of lust and death returning as well.

 It was the reason the window now remained unlatched by her shaking hands and quickening pulse.

“Come to me” she whispered with bated breath into the night.

A pause.

A chilling breeze at her back.

A familiar smell of decay and rot.

A shiver of thrill ran through her body. Ellen turned to find an impossibly tall and imposing figure lurking across the room, half of his heavy brow shrouded in shadow. She feels compelled to step closer to him, knowing the creature will not move until she does.

Orlok’s voice is baritone and measured “As I foretold, your passions remain.” Ellen recalled their previous encounter ending with her swearing off the beast a fortnight before her wedding day. A night that ended with her sporting three different bite marks across her body and a bone deep wariness. 

“It is no fault of Thomas’ ” They both know this to be a falsehood from the hitch in Ellen's voice. At the mention of her husband’s name, a deep inhuman rumble builds in Orlok’s chest. It seems she has struck a nerve but feels no fear. All her senses begin to heighten with arousal.  

“You forsake yourself for a peon.” His sneer made evident from the appearance of his fangs. Ellen now stands near her beast; the fur of his coat brushing faintly across her cheeks.

“I rebuke your nature, not mine own. Carnal desires are a universal affliction.” She says softly into the ancient fabric. His figure hunches down to brush his nose into Ellen’s hair and allow himself a rattling inhale of her cloyingly sweet scent, lilacs. His growl takes on a tone of lustful desire.

“You covet your husbands’ human frailties. His lack of amorous prowess.” He was not in error. “Submit yourself to me. We are of equal station. Equal desires.” The woman felt her reserve soften and fall away.

Ellen stretches her neck up to lay a slow, deliberate kiss to his bristled top lip. “Taste me, satiate my hunger.” an invitation that would never go unanswered by the monster.

A gnarled hand curls itself against her cheek to tilt her head further back. The pelt now bunched in her fist to pull herself closer to the accrued taste, her guilty pleasure.

Devouring, possessive, intoxicating.

Her will was his command as they lay bare in the moonlight. 

A cold and resolutely wet appendage parts her heated core. The unfamiliar sensation causes her to gasp sharply and dig her nails into her covers as she feels the brush of rough whiskers against her opening.

The sheer debauchery, to feel the organ work against her sensitive bundle of nerves hidden underneath onyx curls. Ellen felt it preposterous for a mouth to do anything other than kiss and form words but here she lay, panting and begging for this maw to allow her the sweetest of releases.

Her essence drips endlessly down the skin of his rotting neck. Thomas had never traveled further than her ribcage, let alone between her legs.

Ellen’s moans grew louder as she cants her hips upwards. Large talons grasp her thighs to effortlessly lift her lower half off the bed. This forces her thighs to part open wider for the demon, whose tongue was now exploring her inner channel.

Calling out into the night, she meets her blinding end. The sudden latch of fangs brought about a momentary flash of agony with a rapidly growing wave of ecstasy. It gradually consumed her, the intense haze of it all, and drew out her orgasm for hours before her eyes fluttered open to see the soft rays of sunlight.    

Many times, she had woken up to find her body covered in sweat and her head swimming with ecstasy, but these were only remainders of her dreams. It had been months since there had been any physical evidence of her passions.

Ellen glides her fingers across five long scratches that run down her right thigh, the left bearing similar marks. She smears the thin droplets of blood that bead up with a harsh swipe of her index finger, enjoying the sting it brought with it.

A familiar ache settles in her being as she sits on her bed. However, one thigh felt rawer than its twin. Her hand traveled up to her sopping apex first, relishing the wetness that lay there, and then ran down the usually soft flesh of the inside of her thigh.

There she felt the bumps of two round scabbed-over holes, close in proximity to one another, and softly gasped. “Surely not” she mused to herself.

The small hand mirror showed proof to her theory; that the Count had decidedly drank from a different vein last night outside of his usual affinity for the spot over her heart.

A smile crept across her features as she mused where her beast should mar her skin next.

[deonsx]

If They Need You

Feat: Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Nikolai, Jouno

Content: obscene speech

Dazai Osamu

Dazai He often annoys you at work so after a while you get used to it, he has no shame he constantly exposes you to lewd words in front of his coworkers

He frowns when you're angry with him and whispers manipulated words in your ear with puppy dog ​​eyes that you can never reject

But this workday was different from the others, dazai was constantly making strange noises and wouldn't turn his gaze from you. you realized that and you ignored him finally it was lunch break and everyone went out but you didn't finish the files so you need to stay, with dazai

You thought you would continue to ignore him like it was during the day and you got up and went to get water a hand tightly around your waist pulled you to him "dazai! what the hell are you doing, we are at work" he ignored it and left kisses on your neck

"I need you" you felt a hardness as he hugged you tighter from behind "You realize we're at work and when we get home-" he didn't wait for you to finish andhe quickly picked you up and tossed the papers on the table and put you there

Why did you suddenly think he was acting like a stray animal but he didn't give you time to think, you stopped him "osamu we're at work and break is almost over" he took a long breath "then we'll do it otherwise" you raised an eyebrow as he said that "how so?" you asked. he went and sat in his chair, his eyes still on you

"Get Under The Table And Be A Good Girl For The Day Bella"

Chuuya Nakahara

The only day your boyfriend was available and with you was Sunday, and this time you wanted to spend the night at restaurant

Normally you wouldn't prefer places like this, but you wanted to have fun with him so you went to his favorite place for wine, the food and drinks came as usual, but the waiter asked if we wanted the drinks special this time, chuuya turned his eyes to the drink "Special?" the waiter nodded, "A hot special wine for you?

"Have you tried before?" The waiter asked the question with a warm smile, you answered "no? does it taste good?" the waiter nodded happily, chuuya must have liked this service, he said happily on his face "give us your hot special wine" That's how it all started the drinks were put on the table you both drank

and as soon as 5 minutes passed, you felt a warmth and hesitated but your boyfriend asked for 2 more glasses in a row and then the same thing must have happened to him as his eyes and face turned red "hot.." he whispered "I think now I understand why it's mulled wine" you muttered chuckling and you gave him advice "you shouldn't have drunk so much, honey" he lifted his head from the table and his eyes focused on you like a hungry animal "Go in the back room and wait for me" he told you in a serious tone

he didn't speak any more he obviously gave you orders you hesitated to get up but you got up and walked into the private room in the restaurant and sat on the bed made with red patterns before long chuuya arrived. You heard him lock the door behind him

“Undress My Love"

Ranpo Edogawa

You and your boyfriend were returning from a tired business trip, and he was talking to himself while eating his desserts and complaining that he couldn't touch you even once during his work vacation

He couldn't touch you because whenever he tried it, it was like there was a constant glitch Calls, Doorbells, Tasks, you couldn't do anything because of them, even at midnight you were tired and you were sleeping, the vacation was only 3 days and now you are driving the car and he is too He was expressing his anger

Of course, he was saying all this with a joke. After a short silence, ranpo pointed to a visible gas station with his hand "We have gas, my love" Ranpo smiled when he said this, "I have to buy something from the market" he prepared while saying "I'm waiting in the car"

The roads were so dark, the gas station lights were dim and gray so you couldn't see much around you parked the car and your boyfriend got out of the car fast

While you were waiting for him, you looked outside, you thought it must be a coincidence that there is a completely deserted grass and a gas station in nature

You unlocked your door with a knock and let your boyfriend open the door, you got up from your seat to look at what he was holding. "Condom??" "Just like that my love it's been a long time" he hissed as his eyes narrowed slightly

“How About You Take The Back Seat And Give Me A Nice Feast?”

Fyodor Dostoyevski

The man who is both your boss and your boyfriend at the same time, you do whatever he says, of course, this is valid during business hours

He gave you a mission but there was a glitch in the mission and now someone who works for fyodor just like you was scolding you, your relationship was secret so no one would have guessed it

The man was scolding you "It's really not wise to give such a job to such a woman" he talked again "You're stupid, you're useless, why are you in this job? Fyodor, why did our boss hire a prostitute like you? Or do you have something else?" he grinned and his hand reached out to you everything happened in the blink of an eye blood was everywhere

You saw your boyfriend coming from the shadows as the man's body crashed to the ground "I'm guilty of hiring someone like this next time you see someone like that know you're allowed to kill"

He slowly put his hand on your waist and took his steps towards the exit to get you away from there. "Fedya, the glitch on duty-" “shhh It doesn't matter, I have another request from you, my dear”

You left your office and walked in the dark street "It was a tiring day my love" his white skinned eyes illuminate the night telling you "You're kind of happy with that tone of voice" The man smiled "Of course I am" his grin widened he pulled you into the alley and quickly picked you up

“Open Your Legs For Me Only, My Dear”

Nikolai Gogol

You were also involved in your Boyfriend's Important Mission and your scene has already ended and you've been waiting for him

You were waiting at the hotel he hired for you. While waiting for him, you looked at some of your clothes in the closet. A really nice dress with red above the knee, thin sleeves and a really nice dress. You were getting ready for your job interview tonight. You opened your hair and waved it with tongs

You were waiting for Nikolai, after he finished his job and informed you, you were going to go to your job interview, the hotel door opened with a card and your boyfriend came in dressed in white "wow, whose beauty does this belong"

A splendid smile formed on your face, he approached from behind and ran his hands over his body "really nice dress for one wear" you looked at him in surprise "one wear?"

"I'm going to tear it up at the end of the night after all" She said with a pleasant chuckle "Sorry darling, but tonight I going to the job interview which is unlikely to happen"

Fingers entwined with your dress, fiddling with the zipper of the dress "hmm? you're a naughty boy" you said while holding his chin. He pulled you into a beautiful deep kiss

“I'm Gonna Fuck You Until You Can't Walk To That Job İnterview”

Jouno Saigiku

You were both on a mission given by Fukuchi and you went to a bar place and you were the main player here

Your boyfriend was only responsible for killing the man, you were going to lure him and take him to the hotel room, that's all, but it was harder than it looked because the man was trying to kiss you

He was trying to touch you which is perfectly normal if you don't let him the plan would fail the guy grabbed your waist, you could feel Jouno's eyes on you but you tried not to look

"Why is she such a beautiful woman in such a place" the man approached you with his drunk mouth you were disgusted and frankly tense, you tried to look at your boyfriend's side but you couldn't see him, this gave you an incentive to get scared

"Hey! Learn to look at my face when I'm talking to you, do you know who I am?" he spat filthy on the ground and you ask "What are you trying to say?" "Just tell me the price per night dear"

"How dare you" You talked but suddenly the lights went out and gunfire came back when the lights came back there was a pool of blood everywhere You looked at your boyfriend standing in front of you smiling at you "I'm sure there was a glitch in the plan the boss wouldn't mind"

He pulled you by the arm and led you to the room at the back entrance of the bar "does it turn you on when someone else touches you?" he asked you in an angry tone, you couldn't get over his surprise yet "what!? how do you think about that?"

"You look so happy to me" said as he pinned you against the wall "Never was that possible" his brows dropped and he grabbed your legs and tied you around your waist

"Show Your Worth To Me"

Request Are Open!

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Can I request a fic with Kane before he leaves for the Shimmer? Thank you!

I'm sorry this has turned into something a little different <3

All The Same

Shimmer!Kane x afab!Reader and Kane x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals  Masterlist • ao3• want to be tagged1041? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Warnings: P in v sex, loss of a partner, grief, multiple orgasms, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 890

You remember the night before Kane left. The morning he walked out of the door. Minute details like they were etched behind your eyes. 

You can practically play it out down to the second. However, part of you starts to doubt it over time, mistrust your own memory. Had it warped in the countless times you’d replayed it? Had it faded and blurred like an old tape? Had you exaggerated the movements, the tone of his voice, the feel of his skin as a way to coupe? A way to survive without him? 

His smile stared at you from behind glass, trapped in photos in frames and pixelated screens. His scent had long since faded from his side of the bed. Disappeared from his clothes as you clung to them and cried. 

Slowly the shadows of him faded from your home, no matter how hard you tried to hold onto them. Displaced and replaced by you as you moved and lived and breathed. Slipping through your fingers like sand but leaving the smallest grains to embed in your skin and sting at the strangest moments. Leaving you with no reprieve. 

He was gone. Missing in action. Presumed dead.

Presumed.

That word had rattled around your head. Echoed and smashed into the sides of your skull like a caged animal.

Presumed. Presumed. Presumed.

That meant they weren’t sure. That meant there was hope. 

Pandora’s box open and nothing left but that. The last plague to haunt your mind. To sink in its claws, slowly. And let you bleed out over time. 

Until there was nothing left. 

So when you saw him, standing and staring at you with calm eyes in your living room you were sure for one horrifying moment, that you were dead or dying. 

It was the only thing that made sense. 

But he was solid when you touched him, warm skin with the same pattern of scars you were used to. The same scattering of freckles and marks.

His voice was the same, the same pattern of speech, the same rise and fall of his syllables, even if he was quieter now. Taking his time with each word instead of the fluid rush that used to pour out. 

His heartbeat drummed under your fingers when you pressed your hand to his chest. His pupils dilated when you leaned closer to him. 

He smelt the same. Almost. 

Him. And him and him and something else just underneath. Something wet. Like dirt. Like rain. Like rotting leaves. Like blood. 

Ignore it.

Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.

He was back. Even though he couldn’t tell you how.

Ignore it.

He was back. Even though he looked at you differently.

Ignore it.

He was back. Even though he wasn-

Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it.

When he kissed you it was greedy. Demanding. No longer the drawn out teasing of before, the light touches and chuckles at your expression when he pulled back. 

Now it was beseeching. Desperate. Almost painful in his need for you. 

You break the kiss, managing to get a fraction of space between you to speak. “Kane-”

You don’t finish the sentence, the thought. 

The way he looks at you is wrong. 

Like this is the first time he’s heard his own name. 

Ignore it.

You can’t.

Ignore it.

You have to.

You barely make it to the bedroom, both of your clothing littering the path you took up the stairs and along the hall. 

His skin feels the same under your hands. His mouth latches onto the sweet spot just below your ear like he always did. 

He sounds the same, but quieter. His soft moans and sighs. But his grip is harder, needy. As if you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you close. 

He pushes inside slowly. Pausing to watch your face, such a juxtaposition from his frenzied rush. He stretches you the same, sends waves of pleasure rolling along your muscles as he thrusts and kisses, as he pinches and squeezes and soothes. 

Every time you move under him he gasps, his eyes wide as if he expects you to object, to reject. 

Every kiss you press to his skin has him groaning, his hips stuttering. The way your fingers dig into his back makes him sob in bliss, his eyes flutter closed no matter how hard he tries to keep them open. 

Your name falls from his lips with every breath, wretched and wanting. Yearning for every single part of you, every piece of yourself that you’ll share. 

He doesn’t stop when you come once. Or twice. Or thrice. Revelling in each orgasm as if it was his own and pushing you headlong into another until you can’t keep count.

You know he’s not the same. 

You know. 

How could you not? 

He’s not Kane, not the one from before. But he’s still yours all the same. 

Thank you for reading!

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[heizlut]

Breeding kink with Razor

this is so fitting for him, i love it! i’m adjusting his speech pattern slightly just so it flows a little better, hope you don’t mind❤️

Instincts

cw: public sex, breeding, biting/marking, ovulation, mentions of pregnancy

tags: switch fem!reader, switch!razor, he’s literally 18 so scroll away if you have an issue xoxo💋

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎

You and Razor had a bit of an odd relationship. He came across you months ago, spying behind a tree in Wolvendom when you made your first appearance there. He was wary of you, not sure if you were friendly or there to hunt the wolves he called family. Once he saw you were only there for the wolfhook each time you came, he started to gain the courage to get closer.

In truth, you had started going there because you had heard about him through the Knights of Favonius and wanted to see him for yourself. You knew he was watching, but you didn't want to startle him, so each time you came you only gathered some wolfhook and went on your way. Each day was the same routine, until one day he approached you, still a little wary of you, "...Nice?"

Those were his first words to you. Your eyes landed on him and you smiled brightly, "I am." You were captured by the way he looked; toned muscles, scars across his body and face, long thick silver hair, and crimson eyes. He was better than you had imagined, even if his manner of speech was a little strange. After letting Razor smell your neck, he smiled at you telling you that you smelled like a flower.

Every quirk he had was so cute to you. Weeks passed and each day you would visit Razor, getting to know each other and he grew to trust you immensely. You even had been helping him speak in more proper sentences, although that was still a work in progress. You would be a fool to miss the way his gaze lingered on you and the way he would get as close to you as he could without outright being on top of you.

You looked to him, only to see Razor had already been staring at you. He tilted his head a little as you studied each other in silence. You were the first one to break it, "Do you want to be with me?" The look of confusion on his face made you giggle, "Am with you now, no?" How cute and innocent he was... You shook your head still laughing, "I mean romantically."

Razor's eyebrows scrunched as he repeated the word back to you, clearly unsure of what it meant. You didn't think words would help you out with this, so you reached up and turned his face to yours, pressing a kiss to his lips. He knew what you meant now as he melted into the kiss. Ever since then, you two were inseparable. Which bring us to the present.

The sun was setting, low in the sky, when you made your way to your usual spot. Before you could even call out to him, Razor pounced on you, knocking you both to the ground and making you squeal, "Razor wha-" Your words are cut off when you feel something hard press against your core and his nose lightly grazing your skin as he takes in your scent, "You smell...Different. Good..."

Your cheeks immediately heat up. You were ovulating and he could smell it. Did he even know what that meant? Razor's nose trails down your body til it reaches your cunt, his nose pressing against your clothed clit, making you suck in a breath. He nudges it again, then his eyes flick up to yours, "Here. New good smell... I want more." He doesn't wait for your response before he starts tugging down your pants.

"Razor wait! We're outside... What if someone comes?", your voice came out a little breathy, feeling an aching need at your center. Razor tilts his head, "Why care? No one comes." He was right. People usually avoided coming to Wolvendom. Besides, you were more needy and sensitive than usual because of your ovulation. You just wanted to be filled. You end up lifting your hips slightly to help Razor who continued to tug at your pants.

The warm breeze brushing against your exposed pussy made your scent even more potent to him. Razor immediately begins lapping at your cunt, drawing a sweet moan from within you. The way his tongue circled your clit and lapped at your arousal made you tug his hair. He practically growls when you do so, not wanting to separate himself from something so new and delicious, so he latches on to it. Razor’s lips suck your clit into his mouth while his tongue continues it’s lashings. Your head falls back against the soft grass as you come undone on his tongue.

The taste was even more divine than it smelled, making him continue and overstimulate you. Your legs shake hard and you tug his hair hard with a soft cry of his name. Razor glances up at you curiously but annoyed you wanted to pull him from this. His mouth open and tongue still against your clit. “Come here…” your voice is shaky as you try to get him to listen. Thankfully, he finally does, crawling up and caging you in with his body, “Why? Wasn’t finished…” You roll your hips up making your bare cunt grind against his bulge, “I want you inside me.”

Razor lets out a deep groan as you grind up into him, “What in where? Help..” You knew he was legitimately clueless but him asking you to be so specific sparked something inside of you. It turned you on. “I need your cock in my pussy. Fill me up. Breed me.” Those last two words did it. Oh he knew what that meant alright. Razor fumbles with his pants, wanting to free his throbbing length. You almost laugh at how hard he’s trying and you take over. Catching him off guard, you roll the both of you over, you now caging him in. You smirk when he looks up at you with surprise, “Let me do it.”

Razor almost pouts but stops the minute your hand wraps around his cock, his eyes goes wide at the new sensation and at a loss for words. He has so many questions but they’d have to wait because now your were slowly sinking yourself down onto his dick. He grips onto your hips as though you would disappear from him any second and his eyes almost roll back, “Good…. So good…”

Once you were fully seated on top of him, you begin to move slowly. You grind against him and then begin to move yourself, letting his cock drag in and out of your walls at a brutally slow pace. Every time his cock went back in to the hilt, Razor felt he was going insane. So much so that now he flipped the position yet again, leaning down to lick at your neck, and he growls, “Too slow.” Before you can even ask what he means, he begins thrusting inside your tight wet cunt as if this would be the first and last time he ever got to fuck you. You cry out, digging your nails into his scarred back, your legs wrapping around his toned waist to keep him close.

The growls and grunts that fall from Razor’s lips sound so primal, as if he’s just running in instinct at this point. And he really truly is. Every since he smelled that delicious scent, his instincts were telling him he needed to fuck you so full of his cum and make you swell with his children. The sounds coming from both of you and from the way his balls slapped against your ass and the way your pussy squelched with each hard thrust was so incredibly lewd. Razor leans back down to your neck, biting hard enough to break skin as he growls once more, “Mine.” This brings you completely over the edge, your sweet pussy pulsating around his cock as you cum.

It’s not long til Razor follow suit. He latches onto the mark he gave you, letting out a muffled, husky groan as he fills you with his potent load. The way his cock throbs inside of you makes you feel overstimulated for the second time that day. Razor stays still for a moment, not wanting to pull out. Not wanting to be done. He wanted to see your breasts grow bigger and your stomach swell. He wanted to make you his for life. The thought alone makes his cock begin to harden inside of you once more and he looks into your eyes, “Again.”

⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎ .𖥔 ݁ ˖𓃦⚡︎

a/n: this makes me want to write knotting/omegaverse fics😭