I gave the popular options a fair shot, candy.ai and ourdream.ai included. They're decent. But for actually creating a companion who felt like mine, SweetDream went further and felt more polished doing it.
The deciding factors were quality and depth: richer character creation, chat that stays in character and remembers, gorgeous photos and videos, and calls that sound human. If you're comparing AI girlfriend platforms, build one on sweetdream.ai before you decide.
your local melodic deathcore lover and avid concert-goer who's obsessed with superhero media ✨️
im a norse pagan, disabled, cluster-c self shipper who has been in the community on and off for years.
my f/os are Thor Odinson and Steve Rogers (mcu, marvel rivals, comics, etc.) and Kratos from God of War. Im ok sharing steve but not thor or Kratos! 🫶🏽
disclaimer: I have severe ocd as well as avoidant personality disorder, both diagnosed. Im very sensitive and easily anxious, please be mindful when speaking to me, or saying upsetting things about my f/os. thank you ♡
chibis by @/ncxeye on vgen / header by @/DeliaDollheart on vgen | chibi heads by @/nanaossu on vgen | blinkies @/junabuggy | banner and mjolnir art by @one-loving-creature ♡
Possible trigger warnings?:
-Mentions of emotional isolation
-The usual feelings that come from a Golden child/Scapegoat relationship + Neglectful parents.
Genre:
Romance, Hurt/Comfort?
Context/Synopsis:
Blake and Loki are on Asgard, and while they stroll, Loki implies that they're not worth much and people would only want Loki to use them like a tool. Blake shows Loki that isn't true, expressing his love for Loki - not the prince, not the god - but Loki.
Characters featured:
Loki Odinson; the god of Mischief, outcasts, and stories
Copycat/Blake B. Blackmore; the Cait Sith, Death's son
★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★
"Is it really so hard for you to believe that?" Blake asked, staring at Loki as his cat ears swiveled back. "That someone might just love you because you're… you?"
"My entire life, I've been used." Loki replied with venom in his tone, looking back at Blake with a pained expression. "Even in infancy, I was nothing but a tool." It was the first time Blake had heard Loki say it so blatantly. Usually, Loki would avoid it, or change the subject entirely. "Even Thor doesn't see me as an equal." There was a challenge in his sparkling green eyes, like he was daring Blake to deny it.
As much as Blake wanted to, Loki had a point. Sure, Thor didn't dislike Loki; he cared about Loki, but Thor didn't really see or even love them like a brother should. It was obvious when Thor didn't question the New York attack, Loki's out of character behavior, the sudden blue eyes, or where Loki went for the year he disappeared. Nobody really 'saw' Loki; they saw the version of Loki they wanted to believe he was.
As soon as Loki saw Blake relent, he sighed. "I've always been a pawn. Nothing more."
"Just because people are too stupid to see it, doesn't mean you're not worth something." Blake's words shot out before he could think. Perhaps if Blake had time to consider them, they wouldn't have sounded so insulting.
Loki almost jolted at the sudden vitriol in Blake's tone. He turned to look at Blake with surprise swirling in those emerald eyes that Blake so loved to gaze into.
"…I mean, you're-… I think you're wonderful." Blake said, almost going on a tangent, but deciding to condense it all to avoid stuttering like he always does.
"…Wonderful?" Loki asked. Of all the things Loki was called, 'wonderful' wasn't one of them. Loki leaned back against a nearby tree, hoping to give off an air of nonchalance. "Surely, you jest."
"Does it look like I'm kidding?" Blake asked, deciding to double-down on the tone he used, putting fire behind his words. "I'm telling you that you're wonderful, Loki. Marvellous, even. Why do you think I'm still here!?"
Loki watched as Blake approached while talking, almost tempted to move away or tell him to keep his distance, but a part of them wanted to hear Blake out.
"I could've been a fucking Avenger! Hell, when we first met, I was being shown around the helicarrier! Do you think I just threw all that away for shits and giggles?!" He barely gave the glow of Asgard's moon any mind, despite the dew on the grass looking like stars. "I fucking did it because I knew you were worth it, Loki!"
Loki usually found access swearing annoying, but Blake's words made it hard to dwell on that. "…Blake." Loki said quietly, unsure what to say.
Blake's sleek cat tail waved slowly behind him, and his ears swiveled again. "I care about you, Loki." Loki's gaze found Blake's; maskless, looking into their eyes with a conviction that almost broke Loki's heart. "The real you, not the fucking villain, not the prince, not Thor's mischevious brother. I don't love you for what you'll do for me, I love you for you; the real Loki. You could wake up tomorrow as an ordinary human, and I'd still feel the same way! I don't care that you're a prince, that you're a god, that you have magic, and I don't care what anyone else tries to say you are!" Blake's arms emoted as he spoke, waving and gesturing. "You're clever, funny, compassionate; you've thrown yourself at a mini-black hole to save someone you barely knew, for Christ's sake!"
After a moment of consideration, his arms came down as Blake whispered, "I love you, Loki. You deserve to be loved, and you are. …You are loved." Blake almost teared up when he said that, knowing intimately how much those simple words could mean to someone.
It was difficult to explain what went through Loki's head. All the years Loki lived, never hearing those words uttered to them, everything that harmed Loki, everyone, seemed to disappear from their thoughts, as Loki suddenly felt seen, cherished.
Blake reached out tentatively to touch Loki's arm, half-expecting them to pull away. Instead, Loki's hand came up to touch Blake's cheek, caressing it as if they'd done so thousands of times. "…Are you sure?"
"More sure every day, every moment." Blake whispered back, his gaze so adoring, like Loki was a priceless treasure.
Loki wrapped their other arm around Blake, pulling him into an embrace, and leaned down to kiss his forehead; a tender gesture so loving that Blake almost melted into his arms.
"…I love you so much, Loki. As long as you'll have me, I'll love you." Loki could feel their eyes prick with tears as Blake's arms wrapped around them in return, and his words settled in their mind. "No matter how bad things get. I want to be with you, and I wouldn't trade you for anyone else." That last part made Loki shiver with emotion, trying to hold back tears as they held Blake, almost afraid he would leave if they let go.
"…I love you, too, my darling boy." Loki whispered, his heart feeling lighter for once in a very long time.
Summary: HUGHJGHGHH THE SILLYYS... sorry writing this fic rotted my brain in a good way. Wade and Keaton make a trip to the convenience store. :0) CWs for themes of insecurity and food mentions. GLITTER ON THE MATTRESSSS GLITTER ON THE HIGHWAYYYY (lyrics) 🕺🕺
Tag List: @futurewife @canongf
Wade had always been eerily astute when it came to reading his boyfriend’s emotions and body language, especially when it seemed like such a hassle for everyone else. So a deep sigh from across the room was more than enough to catch his attention. The two had been sitting on opposite sides of his living room and looking at their respective devices, an activity Wade had only recently learned the name of: Parallel Play.
“What’s up, baby?” He asked, dropping his custom red and black Nintendo DS on his chest. Keaton looked up, clearly having not expected for Wade to take such obvious notice of the sound he had made.
“Oh, er, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” Keaton waved his hand dismissively, still half-focused on his phone. Wade heaved himself off of his couch and placed his hand between Keaton’s face and the screen.
"Talk to me. Even if it really is nothing, it was enough to make you sigh like your favourite celebrity turned out to be another asshole, so talk to me."
Keaton’s face burned slightly as he set his phone down. "You're not going to let it be until I talk, are you?"
"Do you really have to ask me that question?" Wade grinned and nudged Keaton over slightly, squeezing into what little space was left on the armchair his husband had been occupying.
"Fine. I want to make a trip to the corner store but it's late and I don't want to bother you by asking you to put on pants and you know how I am about spending money--" Before he could finish, Wade had leaned in, his lips ghosting Keaton’s own and his nose bumping against theirs.
"All you had to say was you wanted some snackies and I would've had my pants on before you had even gotten up. Keke, you know I'll never say no to food, no matter the time, and don't beat yourself up about spending, I am flush with cash. Especially cash for snacks." Wade whispered intensely before closing the minute gap between their lips. "Fuck, I love you."
Keaton blinked, somewhat surprised. "Damn, didn't know such a proposition would get you so hot and bothered or I would've asked earlier."
Wade giggled excitedly and crawled off of him to throw on some pants- for once, without argument. Keaton popped up and threw a Bad Batdz Maru sweatshirt on over his tank top, a gift from Wade when he had taken a contract in Japan.
“God, you’re so cute, I just want to crush you down into a tiny ball and hurl you across the room,” Wade growled happily through gritted teeth as he squeezed Keaton’s cheeks before picking up his keys. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”
As soon as they entered the hallway, Wade quickened his pace just enough to goad Keaton into chasing him down the stairs and out onto the street before launching himself onto Wade’s back and transforming into a sloth, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and his legs around his ribs.
“Gotcha!” Keaton announced triumphantly.
“Ohh noo, I’m going to succumb to sloth fever, blehhh,” Wade stuck out his tongue in a mocking performance of dying from a made-up illness, making Keaton chuckle. “Shall I carry you all the way, like a mighty steed?”
Keaton considered this, then slid off of his husband’s back and transformed back into his human self. “Eh, might get some especially weird looks if the humanoid equivalent of an overboiled hotdog is seen carrying a giant sloth on his back, don’t you think?”
“Sounds like your average Canadian New Yorker to me. Also,” Wade then gasped dramatically, “rude!”
The two walked hand-in-hand down the dark street, laughing and talking loud despite it being nearly midnight. They couldn’t care less about the few shouts they heard to shut up, it was those people’s choice to live in the city that “never sleeps!” When they reached the corner store, Wade held open the door for his husband.
“After you, fine sir.”
“Oh, how chivalrous. Don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya on the way in.” Keaton snickered, winking as he wandered into the linoleum-lined oasis, breathing in the smell of floor wax and the heat from the slushie machine. He went straight for the beverage aisle, debating on what he wanted, while Wade scoped out the chips. Love Shack by The B-52s played on the overhead speakers.
“Sign says, ‘Stay away, fools! ‘Cause love rules, at the Lo-o-ve Shack…’” Keaton mumbled to himself under his breath with a smile as he selected a bottle of Pepsi, moving onto the freezer section and calling over his shoulder, “Wadey, you want any ice cream?”
“Ah-huh?” Wade’s muffled voice came over the shelves, prompting Keaton to look around the corner, where he spied Wade with his entire head under the blue raspberry slushie nozzle, mouth steadily filling with unnaturally blue slush. Keaton snorted, immediately slapping his hand over his mouth.
“Wade! We’re gonna get kicked out!” He hissed through silent laughter. Wade swallowed thickly, flicking off the nozzle and angling his head out from under it, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
“They can ban the mercenary from the convenience store, but they can’t ban the convenience store from the mercenary,” he stated matter-of-factly, his teeth practically glowing blue. “And yes, of course I want ice cream.”
“That makes… no sense, but moving on, their selection’s kind of shit if I’m going to be honest. You want Chunky Monkey or Moose Tracks?”
“Mmnm… Chunky Monkey, please.”
“You got it, hunky monkey. Also you’ve got some slush on your chin.”
“Come lick it off, then!” Wade called eagerly as Keaton turned his back to him.
“Veronica Sawyer prefers cherry!”
Wade groaned in light annoyance while Keaton smiled to himself and picked up the ice cream; a pint of Chunky Monkey for Wade, and a chocolate drumstick without nuts for himself. Lastly, he slipped into the candy aisle and picked up a classic Herhsey’s bar. He then met Wade at the counter, who placed down a large bag of Takis and two large slushies, one blue and one red. Keaton watched him adoringly as he paid for it all, taking the two plastic bags and handing Keaton the slushies to carry.
“You really are the best partner, Wade,” Keaton praised as they made their way home. Wade blushed and smiled crookedly, his mind flooded with insecurity at the word “best.”
“I don’t know, I wouldn’t say that…”
“Hey, just because I love you doesn’t mean I’m dismissing that you’re still a real asshole sometimes… but I love you. Don’t forget that, okay?”
Wade swallowed, his lip trembling slightly before bumping affectionately against Keaton as they walked.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it… pookiebear.”
The two smiled at each other in the yellow lamplight.
Thank you for sticking with me, and here's Chapter 2! I hope you like it. Feel free to leave a comment to join my tag list! So so grateful for all the kind words and the support you've all given me. Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated 💓
Words: ~2.5k
Warnings: None!
Intro: Reader is Wong's assistant librarian with a long-standing crush on the doctor. Stephen is currently Sorcerer Supreme. Stephen has a theory to prove. (Read Chapter 1 here!)
"You've tried that already." You retort, trying hard not to feel your chest flutter. This is a lot of attention from the Sorcerer Supreme. You swear you feel your head growing bigger by the minute.
"New York is much too busy, much too loud, and much too angry."
Your attention is drawn to his fingers around your wrist. They gripped you rather loosely, and if you wanted to, you could easily snatch your hand away, but you allow him to touch you, just a little bit longer.
It's amazing how close he is. You take all of him in—the way he's breathing, the heat of his fingertips, and the way his lips curl slightly downwards in a frown.
Now his scars, looking at them pained you. They were long, dark, straight cuts from his nail beds that traveled down to the backs of his hands like an intricate web. He must have sustained pretty terrible injuries, and you wince at the thought of how much pain he had to go through.
Strange traces your gaze to his fingers, and he withdraws them from your wrist promptly. God, he must think you’re disgusted by him. “I-I’m sorry for staring.”
The tension in the air is palpable, and you notice Strange shuffle, feeling displaced in your little room. There isn’t much here other than a bed with a chest of your belongings at the foot of it and a chair that you use to hang your robes on.
He towers over you by a good foot, and your height difference is more apparent now that there’s barely any space for either of you to move around.
“No, I…”, you stammer, searching for the right words. It’s too late now, though. You both knew you were staring at his hands, but you had completely different thoughts than he assumed.
“I’m the one who should be sorry.” He says, breaking the silence. He holds up his trembling hands against the light and gives you a shy smile. “They’re not much to look at now, but they’ve served me well, both as a surgeon and as a Master of the Mystic Arts.”
You’re overcome by the need to stop his self-deprecating. This time, you reach up to grab his hands and hold them in yours, surprising both him and you.
“These hands have saved our reality. And they will again because that is your duty as Sorcerer Supreme.” You state matter-of-factly.
His lower jaw is slack at your boldness, but his eyes soften at your kind words.
“Um, thanks.” He responds, a little dazed. You let his hands go, and you almost miss it, but you notice him look at his palms before he closes them into fists and drops them to his side.
“I’d like for us to have a proper discussion before you completely swear off my offer.” He subtly gestures to your room. “I’d rather we do it in my office, though. It’s inappropriate for me to even be in your quarters, don’t you think?”
If only he knew how many nights you wished he would knock on your door and ask to be let in. You would have unlocked it in a heartbeat. You would have pulled him in and given him anything he wanted.
“Sure.” You respond. You tell yourself you’re curious about what he has to offer, but you know deep down that you just want to prolong this interaction with him. You clock yourself mentally.
You had done amazing work trying to avoid him and keeping him out of your active thoughts, and you’re about to undo all of your efforts just to speak to him a little longer?
He manifests a portal, and through it, you see the New York Sanctum Sanctorum’s study, which Strange had taken over and claimed as his own.
“Before you go, will you tell me your name? I want to remember it.”
Your heart really does skip a beat this time. It’s the way he says it, with such intention and gravitas that you find your blood running hot. He wants to know your name. Your silly little name.
“It’s Fara.” You respond, almost in a whisper.
“Fara…” Strange repeats. You watch his mouth form your name, the way his tongue curls around your ‘R’ sends shivers up your spine.
“Well, ladies first.” Strange holds out a hand towards the portal.
Against your better judgment, you step through and feel a slight change in temperature. It’s colder here, and you’re not dressed for it. The hairs on your arms stand up, and goosebumps decorate the surface of your skin.
After a quick scan of your surroundings, you note how nothing in this study screams Strange, apart from the half-read books on the coffee table and an open Surface tablet on a grand, dark wooden desk. He has such a big personality, so you assumed that his living spaces would also reflect it.
“Welcome to my office.”
Strange had stepped through the portal himself and saunters past you to sit down on an overbearingly large cognac armchair.
“Come sit.” He says in a tone that almost sounds like a command. Your spine tingles, but you ignore it and take a seat across from him.
As soon as you’re settled, a warm teacup instantly appears in your hand. A flame ignites in the limestone-rimmed fireplace with a flick of his wrist.
“Comfy?” He asks.
You nod. Your comfort matters to him?
“Good,” he says with a shit-eating grin and a wink.
As soon as he says this, you hear the door to the study fly open, resulting in a gust of wind strong enough to almost put out the fire.
“What’s so important that you had to text me to come immediately?” A gruff voice booms from behind you. “I’m busy. You can’t just summon me whenever it pleases you, Strange.”
You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You shoot the man across you an incredulous look. It seems that Stephen Strange has tricked you into a sticky situation that was impossible for you to talk your way out of. You grip your cup with such force you end up cracking it.
“I think it’s you who’ll be pleased this time around.” Strange responds, a glint in his eye.
“Fara, would you like to say hi?”
Backed into a corner, you place the cup on the coffee table in front of you and stand up to face Wong. “Hi.”
“Fara, what are you doing here?”
Strange wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer so that your shoulder fits nicely into the crook of his armpit. “I’ve asked her to come help sort out our books.”
“And you agreed to this?” Wong asks. You think it could be your imagination, but he does sound a little hopeful, despite his disbelief. He’s been kind to you, and even though you wanted to distance yourself from Strange, you also couldn’t resist trying to please Wong.
As you open your mouth to respond, Strange answers for you. “She drives a hard bargain, but I promised her one-on-one training while she’s here. With all the bells and whistles she wants.”
He glances at you, searching your shocked face for approval.
One-on-one training? Hold on. That’s the opposite of what you wanted. All you ever hoped for was peace and quiet at Kamar-Taj, the comfort of your books, and Stephen Strange as far away from you as possible.
You had trouble even focusing on training when he was a trainee alongside you, and now he’s to be your instructor? You don’t know how you could have let him seduce you with a conversation. A conversation! How easy was it to manipulate you to fall into the middle of his devious schemes?
Although… it couldn’t hurt to be around him a bit more, right? You pinch the inside of your arm. If your girlfriends at Kamar-Taj knew what you were thinking, they would portal you straight to Alaska and leave you there without your Sling Ring. After all, they were the ones who set you straight when they got sick of you going on and on about the Sorcerer Supreme.
Wong cocks his head to the side in apparent confusion. He knew you had no desire to be the best Sorcerer out there. All you wanted was solace from the complexities of modern society.
“Personal training? What for?”
“Spells and incantations!” Strange responds, too quickly. An obvious lie. You’re sure Wong could tell straight away. “And it’s perfect since I’ve misplaced a few spell tomes. With Fara’s help, seeking them out should be no problem.”
“Just go along with it, and we can discuss the fine print later.” He adds under his breath, only loud enough for you to hear.
Not wanting to get on anyone’s bad side at this point, you smile at Wong and give him an excited nod. “Isn’t that great? I get to see you both more often.”
“What about the Kamar-Taj library?” Wong presses.
“I’ve got that taken care of.” Stephen lets go of you and takes a step towards Wong. “Don’t worry about it! Why don’t you go show her around instead?”
Wong had shown you the library after that terrible conversation. It seems he doesn’t trust Strange at all, and he knew there was some underlying reason for your presence here. You had done your best to reassure him that, no, you were here simply because you wanted to help.
He had taken your hand in his, your heart thumping against your rib cage as he did so, and looked you straight in the eye. “If he does anything remotely fishy or if he makes you uncomfortable, come see me.”
You feel weak from all of the lying, and all you really wanted was to lie down and be done with today. You were given new quarters, much larger than your old one. The guest room has a queen bed with a sinfully soft comforter and three more pillows than you’re used to, an actual closet, and your own modest en suite. Strange had your belongings transferred into your new room, and you busied yourself with putting them away.
The bathroom situation in Kamar-Taj was not ideal. It housed a few hundred people, and you had to be mindful about how long your showers were. Here, you had your own bath and a separate shower. You almost feel spoiled. You couldn’t remember the last time you soaked in a tub. How you loved having warm water caress your skin while you listened to music.
“Knock knock.” Strange says, his head poking through your door. Your robe is hanging over your shoulders, newly undone. Thankfully your back was to him, and it gave you time to pull the sides of it together.
“So you’re one of those people.”
He looks at you, confused. “Those people?”
You turn to face him. “Yes. The ones that say ‘knock knock’ instead of actually knocking. It’s a violation of privacy.”
Noticing your belt hanging loosely at your sides instead of fastened around your waist, Strange blushes instantly. “Oh god, sorry!”
He slams the door shut.
What was that about? You make your way across the room and yank the heavy wooden door open. Regret instantly fills you as Strange falls backward and hits his head on the floor with a loud thud.
He groans in pain and rights himself with some difficulty. “Why am I starting to get the feeling that you don’t like me?”
That couldn’t be further from the truth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You extend a hand to help him up, but he’s yanked up by the Cloak of Levitation before he could even take your hand. “I got it, I got it! Geez.” He complains.
“Fascinating.” You remark, craning your head to get a better look at the collar of it. A corner of the red fabric reaches up and pats you rather gruffly on the head as if it’s saying, “Back away, lady!”
“Hey now. She’s a friend. We don’t touch friends like that.” Strange chastises it.
“This is Cloak. Cloak, this is Fara.”
The same corner shakes your hand excitedly. It’s… soft. Velvety. Well. You don’t see that every day.
“Whoah, hey. Nice to meet you too.” Its excitement is contagious, and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.
“I was just coming to check up on you,” Strange says, pushing the door shut— a rather intimate gesture that elevates your pulse, “…and maybe we can discuss that fine print I mentioned earlier.”
“Right.” You respond, not sure where this conversation is going.
He takes a seat at the foot of your bed, hands clasped together on top of his legs.
“I’m hoping you’ll stay here for as long as it takes for Wong to be satisfied with the state of this Sanctum Sanctorum.
“You can do the work, but you don’t have to. But I assume the faster you bring things up to his standards, the faster I can be out of your hair, and you can go back to your quiet little situation in Kamar-Taj.”
You nod, taking his words in.
“Of course, you’re free to stay if you grow comfortable here.”
“About that training-“ You begin to ask, but he cuts you off.
“Yes, about that training, I think it would be a great idea if we actually pursued that. It would get Wong off my back and give some legitimacy to our arrangement.”
“I’m not sure if I need it-“
“And I think it would greatly benefit both of us. I can test my theory, and you receive firsthand knowledge from the Sorcerer Supreme himself!” He states proudly, electric blue eyes glistening with mischievous excitement.
“Th-theory?”
He looks at you plainly. “Yes. From our conversation in the library. Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten.”
“Of course, I haven’t. Because you’re so clearly wrong about that whole situation.” You can feel yourself getting worked up.
“I’m never wrong, Fara. The sooner you come to accept that, the easier your time here will be.”
How does one even respond to that? You wonder how he got to the point of being comfortable with being so cocky. You hate how it made him even more attractive to you.
“Would you like to make things interesting?” He asks. You know better than to entertain this question, but it’s too late. He’s tickled your brain. What a tempting offer. The ball’s in your court, and what could it hurt anyway? There’s a fifty percent chance of you being right, and even better, a fifty percent chance of Strange being wrong.
And he needed to be proved wrong. It would do him good to be knocked down a few pegs. Maybe then you’ll lose respect for him, and this excruciating crush will finally go away.
“Tell me more.”
“Well, if I win and I prove Wong is in love with you, you’re to be here every time he’s here. To get him off my back.”
“And if I win?” You ask, throat dry.
“You get a favor from me.” He responds, looking at you intensely. “No questions asked.”
