#because regardless of his own feelings toward her

[monabee-draws]

Some TimeBomb Analysis I felt was very heartbreakingly necessary in this trying time:

Ekko comes to realise by being in this world that Jinx was always Powder, in the same way that Vi comes to reconcile the two 'versions' of her, Ekko sees all the ways Jinx's savvy-ness and cunning and brains were always Powder. He gave her up for dead - like his dream of a beautiful Zaun - a long time ago, and painted the mural to show it. But being here with Powder makes him realise he can still have this is he's willing to take her as she is now, flaws and all.

So we all know Ekko is really talking about Jinx in the line "I used to dream the undercity could be like this", but I also think the opposite is true for his last line: "Can we pretend like it's the first time?" is about the kiss, but it's also about this version of reality. It's about Benzo being alive and Powder being Powder. It's about stepping back from his real world for a second to pretend that this is his real world. He was always going to go back, but just like his use of the Z-drive means that he could theoretically re-do and undo all of his mistakes ad infinitum, this is an acknowledgement that this 'redo' is how he wished it has been, and that it isn't real for him at the same time. Because it isn't the final time he will pull the plunger and reset. But he wishes that it was.

3. Jinx has a very difficult relationship with abandonment, obviously. But these lines encapsulate her journey towards accepting that no, actually, the people who love her will always refuse to give her up no matter how much she believes doing so would save them (including Silco and Isha and even Vander since the enforcers come after the kids for the stones she steals.) Never giving up on her empowers both Ekko and Vi in the final hours of the show. Their relationships with Jinx and the strength of that connection in the fullness and acceptance of all of its flaws and history means that they can do and achieve anything. Not giving up on her means not giving up even when everything falls apart around them. It's the crux of Ekko's time travel ability - he will always remember what really happened in all of those loops, he still carries those scars and physical damage, but he keeps trying anyways and that is what saves the world.

4. Jinx is the 'someone worth building for.' Yes, this line is about TimeBomb but it's also very strictly about Jinx. It's about Jinx needing to know that her life also have worth for herself. Her inventions have by and large been built for the sake of others - her toy weapons to impress the others/keep up with them, the canon for Silco. She rebuilds Sevika's arm because she wants to feel useful for someone again. But she doesn't value her own input into the world for her own sake. Ekko isn't asking her to fix the world here, or to make good on her mistakes. There is no 'fixing' or 'undoing' or even 'rewriting' the way Vi wants her too, the way the Zaunites do with her legacy. There is only something new. And her life is worthy purely for whatever creations she adds to the world, regardless of whether they can undo the past. There's something so achy about that coming from the Boy Saviour. He isn't really here to save Jinx from herself - he just wants her to know she can do that saving on her own.

5. Jinx always knew what she needed to do to break the cycle. But she grew up with too many people who never wanted to let go of the past. In the end, we see her airship fly not towards Piltover (in some desperate rewrite of her failed story in Zaun) but away from it. She gets out, she pursues something new, the image loops but moves towards a new trajectory with a different (better) ending, just like Ekko shows her is possible with the Z-drive.

Two sides of the same coin. She leaves Zaun to see something new, and he returns to Zaun to see it in all of its fullness. I think they'll be alright.

[carbonfiction]

Could you do some angst Logan x mutant!reader comfort. Like maybe she has a similar origin to Logan where she was tested on for her powers and escaped. She ends up at the mansion and that’s how her and Logan end up together.

I’ve been wanting to write this myself for a while but haven’t had time. I need to see some truama bonding and comfort for that man with someone who really understands what it’s like. I would give anything to be that person. 😭

Hi anon!! Im so sorry this has taken me so long to get to- despite some little changes on the request, and my unsureness on writing angst, i hope you enjoy this drabble!

One step at a time

Summary: sleep can be a fickle thing, a struggle more personal than most.. But it just so happens theres another person in the mansion that understands. Written with X1 logan in mind!

Warnings?: angst, mentions of nightmares and troubled sleep, self doubt, slight depression? Comfort and fluff at the end? Idk how to tag this really.. Words: 1.5k Masterlist

People were scared of things they didn’t understand, of people that didn’t fit in to a societal box. And being a mutant? Well, you became the scariest thing of all. An unknown, a secret unshared in a room full of people.

To some, that fear, that little nagging doubt about what you are, what you could do.. fuelled somthing else entirely. Not fear, not quite, more an evil kind of curiosity. A fixation to poke and prod, bend and snap, push the limits of their fear regardless of yours in the name of science. Regardless that you too, we’re a person, different now yes, but still born of the same matter once.

Careless to the person you were, only the thing you could become. And even then, if you weren’t useful.. you were useless. Another mistake in a pile of scraped idea's, a caged creature begging for a way out.

You never wanted it, never asked to sit in a room and wonder why. Why you, why this. There was never a good enough answer, never a reason, not really. Some People were just cruel, vile and nasty, out for their own gain.. to test the limits of humanity.

But then it begged the question, what was humanity? Because it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the sleepless nights afraid to close your eyes. The sanctity of sleep a luxury. Peace a rationed thing.

Therefore It had become normal to find you in the dead of night, curled up the couch in front of the fireplace; whilst everyone else slumbered. Sometimes a book in hand, other times just your thoughts. Embered flames burning bright and warm, the crackle of wood often the only sound. It was how your relationship with Logan had bloomed.

From wordless nods walking down corridors to conversations and nights shared infront of the fire; he had become pleasant company, a friend you regarded higher- one who understood better- than most. He'd seen the same horrors behind his eyes, the years a tiresome thing.

So it's here you sit, like always, in your spot on the couch peering between pages of a book and the old grandfather clock, waiting for Logan.

It was late and he'd usually show up around now, your meetings held in a trusted pact- an agreement that if sleep held pain, this is where you'd find one another. It was up to choice then, if you'd relocate to one of your room's; if you felt the embrace of the others arms would quiet the horror, just for a while.

Because while it's true that you both may no longer be broken here in the mansion.. you'd always be bruised bone deep.

"Hey" Logan murmers softly, breaking you from your thoughts as you crane your neck toward him. Hes stood tall in the doorway, clad in sweats and a white vest, two steaming mugs in hand as he pads closer, handing you one over the back of the couch. "Figured you'd want a drink, tried to make it how you like"

You nod, taking a tentative sip with a greatful smile. Your eyes fluttering shut a moment as you swallow, relishing the warmth. Logan had indeed made it the exact way he knew you loved, and it swells your heart; the fondness you feel for the action- for him. "'S perfect, thank you.."

"Was nothin.." he shrugs, sighing into his own cup, back hitting the couch besides you. the cushions are a soft embrace for his aching body, the days seeming longer. He'd confessed one night, that the winter had never helped his affliction. That the cold air made his adamantium bones ache in a way that seemed impossible to describe. The sting of his knuckles that bit sharper with each snikt of his claws.

You shift quietly, book page marked and now placed on the coffee table. Logan watches silently as you reach for the soft blanket that lays dormant on the back. Your fingers adjusting the fabric carefully, unfolding and draping it until it rests over his knees too.

Logan smiles, a look reserved for these nights- for you- in his eyes. Its a soft, greatful, little thing; Unreminicent of his usual gruff demeanor. he lifts a large arm bringing it to rest snug behind your shoulders, tugging you closer.

Theres a comfortable silence that follows then, sat side by side. Logan simply watches as you pick the book back up, resuming your page. A warm feeling in his chest that he hasn't felt for a while as your eyes flit across the words.

He still cant understand how anyone could- would- hurt you. Would even dare harm a delicate hair on your head. It boils a possessive type of anger inside of him, that people, the very same that had hurt him, had dared. That they had ruined your trust, made you into something of their design, just like him.

And Its then that Logan cant help how his mouth moves, how it burts the words before he can even think to stop them, make them sound less jumbled. "You uh.. didn't deserve it you know?.. What they did"

The words feel foreign on his tongue but they hold meaning- one that you can feel as you cast your gaze to him.

Theres a look in your eyes he cant quite read as you hum honestly. "Neither did you. you know that right?"

And Logan knows. Hell its deep down but he knows. Yet hearing the words still bring an ache to his chest. Its beyond hard for him to even think about- admit really- even after all this time. He hadn't deserved it and neither had you. But that was certain weather perceived or not.

"Im.. Tired, logan" you trail quietly, casting your book aside as your head falls to rest on his shoulder. "Just.. So tired of being tired."

A shattering feeling stabs at Logan's chest from your admission, a sigh falling against your hair. "I know you are. Hell so am i but.." he pauses, trying to find the correct sentiment.

"We- you- can do this"

You can't help the exhaled sound that slips from you, not a laugh, not not a breath either. "Logan-" you try to protest, try to shift back inside your non vulnerable shell ready to shut down, but he has you locked next to him, fingers coming to rest on your jaw.

"No, look at me, Cmon" he murmurs, cupping and turning your cheek gently until your gaze meet his. "like you told me that once. Its one step at a time alright?"

You recall saying it, remember the context, and yet the idea of saying it to yourself feels foreign- as foreign as the words blurted from logans tongue.

He'd had a nightmare that night, had woken with a hoarse scream and his claws embedded in the plush mattress; pillows ruined with feathers everywhere, soaked in sweat. You'd come barreling in from downstairs having heard his sounds of distress, knowing the situation.

But.. You hadn't laughed, despite him being so surrounded by pillow feathers that he's sure he looked like big bird. You hadn't been cruel or judgemental, pitty in your eyes. You'd just been.. Well, you. Kind and understanding, reassuring him that it was okay, that he was safe. To take a shower and you'd sort the rest. It was from then that the fondness he felt for you had bloomed to something a little more inside of him.

You nod gently, a small, barely there smile on your lips now as you repeat. The light of the fire a soft glow in your eyes, tone a fraction more hopeful. "One step at a time"

"Yeah, thats it sweetheart" he smiles gently, a proud look in his own eye's, before his throat clears. A bashful look taking over his features as he continues, thumb absentmindedly stroking over your cheekbone. A distraction to the honesty he was going to drop "Besides.. you got this knucklehead who'd really like to keep this.. Us.. up"

You swallow, breath stuttering as your cheeks heat."You.. You would?" you sound a little surprised, yet a little hopeful, and It makes Logan smile, hearing your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yeah sweetheart" he breathes, voice a low gravel as he anxiously nods, before rushing to add. "if- if thats something you'd want?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, so excitedly it makes logan chuckle, the deep rumble joining the crackling fire. "I, uh, i mean.. ofcourse i do Logan"

Logans fingers tilt your face higher, his forehead coming to rest on yours as your fingers trace over his scruff coated jaw. "Things are better with you.." you murmer, breath puffing over his lips. "Lighter. You get it, get me.. This.."

He hardly lets you finish before his lips are pressed to yours, breaking the miniscule gap between them. His kiss so uncharacteristically gentle, like he was afraid one taste and you'd break.

"Things are better with you too.." he says quietly, forehead on yours, a smile against your mouth as his nose rubs your cheek.

And so Its that night you both agree, while wrapped up in one another, that things are better together. Better with each others shoulder to lean on. And despite the darkness that would still linger sometimes, that's all that mattered. You and him. Him and you.

[yayll]

heyyy! I just read ur rockstar!Dazai fic and it honestly reminded me of this idea I had!!! (loved the fic btw!) Are you able to write an actor!dazai x fem!actor reader and they r fake dating while secretly being rivals ?? (I’d like 2 be known as 🦎-anon!)

hiiii 🦎 anon hehe

i'm sorry this was quite the wait, i LOVED your idea and i wanted to write it properly and i kind of took some liberties so i hope you enjoy it regardless? thank you for trusting me w your fic idea actor!dazai now haunts me actually dazai in any like, imagine just fucks my shit up that man is a menace in any story i put him in and i'm so glad others agree. i love u baby mwah u get so many ivy kisses

~ a little something about you and actor!Dazai keeping up appearances ~

"You're choking meee!"

"I'm just fixing your tie, Osamu-"

"It's babe, actually."

"It's whatever I want if you want me to keep holding your hand in public, jerk."

He pouts at this. What a cute little meanie you were! Always scolding him and spewing empty threats as if you were hot shit. You were hot shit, and that was only the beginning of his problems... The biggest one right now being backstage with you while attending the hottest awards show of the year.

Just before he can respond, the curtains are drawn and it's a stagehand whisking you two away to present the next award infront of thousands of fans. You're walking side by side, your heels clicking with each step when Dazai leans in to whisper something.

"You should stand on my left, my right side is more attractive."

"We're both facing forward, does it matter?"

He raises a brow and huffs dramatically in typical Dazai fashion. You two had been 'dating' for a year now, everyone was invested in this blooming romance ever since you both started in that drama together, now it's nothing but red hearts for you two.

It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened... It also wasn't completely awful, but it was the goddamn ego on Dazai that really made you want to strangle him sometimes. He knew he was pretty and desired, and what a threat you were with such an iconic streak in all of your latest projects. No wonder you two had to be paired together, on your own you were both dynamite. An unstable formula that needed to be stabilized by combining it together. Thought could that make it worse?

You present the award holding hands the entire time, an act highly encouraged by the need to convince, and yet when it's you two doing it it never feels as forced as you'd like it to be. There is a comfortability in the role of this relationship, you've come to realize yet supress. You'll hold hands for so long you begin to get clammy, and it's certainly not because he dotes on you almost every time he speaks! Which he hates doing... It's just a script, after all. Duh.

You're both making your way out of the venue towards the car that awaits to drive you to the after party when you're ambushed by interviewers and hundreds of flashes that yell out speed questions.

"Does the beautiful couple have time to stop and answer a few things for us tonight!"

Dazai loves that shit. Of course he has the time, he doesn't care if you don't. He has to sell it, obviously, since you don't put in the effort according to him. He flashes the interviewer that sardonic little smirk you hate and speaks innocently.

"Why, us? Sure! Right, honey?"

He turns to you and the crowd loves it. You hold back how badly you want to roll your eyes and simply smile, holding yourself high with grace and a ton of media training.

"We'd love to."

The interviewer is overjoyed as she looks between you and Dazai, taking in that affection that radiates from your false words. She grins as she goes along to ask her question.

"So, I think a lot of the fans are wondering..."

You and Dazai perk up, not even realizing that you're clutching the bottom of your dress so tighty that your knuckles are white. The interviewer looks directly at you.

"The two of you have been the most stunning couple the industry has seen in a while. Any plans for the future?"

You freeze. Ugh, not this again. You shake your head, smirking to yourself at the absurdity of the concept alone.

"Thank you, but honestly we're just taking things day by day. There's no rush between us, we have all we need right here and now."

The journalist smiles again and nods, seemingly impressed by your laid back attitude. Dazai snorts and suddenly interjects, clearly having a cheeky response to give to the crowd of journalists.

"We'll have tons of kids in the future, actually~"

Your panic is so instant that you literally laugh out loud, yet recover quickly by turning your shock into a playful glance at your lover. You manage a more sweet giggle and smack him on the chest a little harder than people would guess.

"Ooh, he's joking, of course."

The journalist rejoices, finding your banter and your overall interaction as a couple cute. The ideal power couple! Dazai grins and turns to you again, leaning in to tease you, his narrowed Hazelnut eyes piercing into you like a promise.

"Not joking. One day we're going to have a massive pack of little kids running around. And it's going to be your fault for being sooo cute~"

And with that, he leans in all the way into a million dollar kiss on your confused and parted lips. You're taken so offguard you almost fall back and of course grab onto him a little tighter... and run your fingers through his disheveled hair you forgot to nag him to cut... As the cameras go off like crazy, you wonder if it's worth ruining your public image for a while just so you can slap him harder than you ever have before.

Everyone's cooing and you're fuming, so you settle for a quick thank you and goodbye as you drag Dazai off the red carpet and into the car. He's giggling the entire time, of course. As soon as the door shuts out the screaming fans watching you drive off, you turn to Dazai and whisper ardently.

"What was that all about?! We didn't discuss this prior to-"

"... You liked it."

"Huh?"

"You liked it when I kissed you."

You scoff, though it sounds like you're choking.

"I did not. I just did what I had-"

"... And you want to have my babies. That's adorable, how devoted of you!"

You smack him on the arm but he's smiling like a cat who's had too much catnip, too far gone into his delusions to care about the repercussions. Love is love, after all...

"I think we should break up, like officially. You're nuts. The press won't let that go, Osamu."

He perks up, snapping out of his stasis and crinkles his nose in disapproval. He shakes his head, his hand on his chin as if in deep thought. Dazai mutters, barely above a whisper.

"... We won't actually break up, though."

"And why not?"

"Because in about 60 seconds we're going to kiss again and you'll be clinging onto me the entire night."

You snort into a laugh, tilting your head in disbelief. The car slowly comes to a halt as you arrive at the after party where a familiar roar of the crowd awaits to greet you once more. You begin your futile argument yet again.

"I don't see why I would do that."

At such a silly reply, Dazai softens his voice, looking at you like he first did when you both met on set a year ago. A lifetime ago. You're so cute when you're playing dumb. He shrugs, carefree.

"Neither do I, which is why I want to know too. I want to know what you're thinking about, if it's me."

You hate the way he sounds so sincere, like a real boyfriend would if he were trying to convince you you're just as into him as he is into you. Mind games is what it is, or at least you hope so. You really hope so.

You sigh, suddenly over the conversation as you open the car door to begin climbing out. Dazai follows suit and the roar of the crowd makes your chest feel tight as overstimulation takes over. You want to be anywhere but here and you wonder if you're having some sort of panic attack, but it just doesn't feel describable.

You turn wildly, disoriented by the camera flashes and instant fuss of the press, only to be faced by your one and only savior: the omnipotent Osamu Dazai. You don't know what it is about him in that moment, you just glide into his arms and complete the prophecy as you hook your arm with his, taking deep breaths as you finally ground yourself. It feels like the right kind of wrong, and you don't care to question it.

You feel a squeeze and a soft velvety voice whisper to you once again, you don't even have to look at him to know he's as smug as ever. But amongst the teasing, there's affection there too...

"So, am I?"

"Are you what, Osamu?"

"On your mind."

"At this point you're practically a permanent resident."

You hear him hum, a smile still present on his lips, the world simply frozen for him to continue his private conversation with you in public.

"Hmm, remind me to have you repeat that to me later."

This causes you to squeeze his arm back and murmur in genuine curiosity, finally daring to face him. He's already looking right at you, so devilish and angelic at the same time that you can't even look away.

"Why?"

"Because your time's up. 60 seconds, remember? Now come and kiss me already, the camera's are waiting~"

The photos of you two that night were the envy of couples everywhere. If only they knew how the ride back to the hotel went, it would be a scandal! Or simply the next step in your future?

[sapphicslaylist]

I am in agreement with the above, but do want to add an additional perspective: people often forget that Smitten is, and always has been, a very accurate and in many ways tragic depiction of codependency.

He is extremely untethered, obsessed with the classic “bleeding out for your love” romantization, and is completely not ready for a relationship. He is actively drawn to characters who hurt him (Proto/Damsel, and Witch/Thorn, both of who does so in self defense, and Razor, MoC, and Burned Grey, where he presumes she hurts him out of love). His understanding of love is a false and fucked-up notion that he has to suffer to be worthy of her, that he needs to be hurt, and he needs to tend to her and ignore himself. This is how lines like “don’t mind my sacrifice” come up; he believes he is helping. He really does. Is it manipulative? ABSOLUTELY! But he is unaware of this in his own crusade.

Does this in any way justify his actions? NO. IT DOES. NOT. Smitten needs to stay the FUCK AWAY from Damsel, and reevaluate himself before being prepared to romance. The only reason that Thorn works is because that is someone so worn down and exhausted that she does need someone to trust and love her despite the past; she, much like him, is also not relationship-ready (note the fact she is still LITERALLY BLEEDING OUT with fresh wounds/needs to psychologically & physically heal first) but gravitates towards that spark regardless due to her own conflict and the belief that she’s in the wrong for it. Thorn herself was stabbed in the back first, fought back, and once again took the dagger in fear it’d be used against her in Witch’s cycle. When this wasn’t the case, she blames herself entirely for not reading LQ’s behavior correctly; something which is common in victims of abuse and domestic violence when they gain the upper hand over their captor. It feels wrong to them because they’ve been trained to be subservient. Thorn has no clue who she is anymore due to breaking out of the rubric, and can only revert to the past if harmed or step forward very muted alongside him. This is part of why I prefer the abandonment & Slay attempt routes for her characterization; she needs time to rediscover herself. They both need time.

So how does this link back to codependency?

Smitten is a caretaker. He believes it is his responsibility to take care of women he does not know very well, because he is under the assumption he needs to “save” those who are hurt. He sees the hurt, but not the reasons why; he presumes in Damsel that rejection is a judgement of his character opposed to lack of connection. He just so happens to judge Thorn correctly because their desires match up. Given the context of the situation, he is also convinced that his inaction will cause the death of The Princess, and that would be blood on his hands SPECIFICALLY. He is a traumatized, unstable, and dangerous man at times driven by a misled desire to help, and often hurts instead.

This is a very common pattern with people within these relationships: believing serving one (or several) people is their job, to white knight, and to rescue. He is the deconstruction of Prince Charming and aptly points out the masculine side of fairytale expectation in ways it’s not often explored. It is gender roles depicted as something which can destroy a good heart and warp them into something which counters their beliefs.

In essence: is Smitten healthy? NO. Man needs some serious therapy.

Is Smitten malicious? Quite the opposite. He desires not to have the Princess harmed and take her pain away, but forgets that pain is part of being alive. By taking her ability to feel pain unto himself, he removes her agency in her own grief.

Now, the big one: is Smitten EVIL?

This isn’t ABOUT good or evil, is my answer. He is flawed, he is absent, and he is the bloody, brutal truth of how codependency trap both people. These relationships are not talked about enough and are often mischaracterized by lacking information. The game does it beautifully, and I wish that more folks would consider this.

Tl;dr Smitten is not defendable. But to characterize him as willfully malicious and harmful goes against the grain of his entire gimmick and frankly needs to stop.

SLAY THE PRINCESS PRISTINE CUT SPOILERS)

Hey so I’m not the only one who played this route absent mindedly and came back to really think about it and get very concerned right?

One of the things I wanted to say is how UNCOMFORTABLE this line from smitten is

I CANNOT defend you anymore 🙏

On a real note, reexamining this. It’s very on-brand for him. Even if it is a VERY concerning thing to say. I love the smitten but gee golly gosh times like these make me remember this guy is not mentally ok.

Like, telling a girl you will “give her everything she doesn’t know she wants” after she said she doesn’t want to live in a cabin with an actual stranger feels very. Interesting. I don’t have any nice words to say about him in this chapter. I feel like more or less it was so jarring to me. It is in character tho wether I like it or not

I also did this, I didn’t know we could do that

[fullscoreshenanigans]

(Chapter 22 Bonus Scene | Mystic Code Book Chapter 1 Q&A)

Thinking about how the photo Ray took of Isabella burned up with plant no.3, so the only pictures the children possibly have of her in the human world are mugshots stored in headquarters' database that might have been updated every year on her birthday.

How surreal it is to see her like that, grappling with memories of the complicated woman they knew—the good and the bad—and the young girl staring back at them who resolutely held her head up high to prove she had what it took to survive in a demon's world, knowing all the unspoken pain behind her eyes.

Yvette's portraits of her quickly become their preferred visual references.

[chuluoyi]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐒 !

- gojo satoru x reader // zen'in naoya x reader

in the wake of your scandalous divorce, you fall into the arms of emperor gojo satoru. for a while, you believe you have found love… until it becomes clear that your new husband is scheming behind your back! love, marriage, divorce… are you doomed to go through this path the second time?

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, marriage of convenience, explicit smut, pregnancy

note: loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress. this is the second part of remarried empress au trilogy! wc. 9.2k ! thank you so much for your love in the first part🩵 but as of now, TAGLIST IS CLOSED so i'd appreciate it if the comment section won't be flooded with asks for tags :')

credit header goes to @/mongsanghwa in twitter!

prev. all hail the empress | last. long live the empire

general masterlist | series masterlist

Heavens, help me... I love her too damn much!

For Gojo Satoru, love was once an abstract concept. At first, he thought it was admiration, or a sense of obsession—

But on the day he watched you become Zen’in Naoya’s bride, Satoru realized it was much deeper than that. It felt like the sharpest sword had pierced straight into him and lodged itself there.

And then, years later— as if hearing his prayers, you became his. Since then, his life was perfect, because he wasn't lying when he said that you were everything he wanted in life.

Yet in a twist of fate, that same sinking, horrific feeling washed over him... as he watched the pagoda he built for you engulfed in flames.

You were there. Satoru felt himself staggering as he took in the mortifying sight. You and his unborn child are inside!

He didn't waste a breath as he dashed towards where you were, crushing everything in his path in the process, but just as he was about to enter the scorching temple—

“Satoru, no!” Suguru grabbed him, restraining him with his own body. “Get back!”

“No!” he screamed at him frantically. “She is there! Suguru, let go—!”

And then the worst happened, as the pagoda completely crumbled into a heap of rubble. Satoru's breath was knocked out of him as he faced the reality that he couldn't save you in time. And he felt like losing his consciousness as he wheezed, and thrashed in Suguru's hold.

It was all too much for him to comprehend as he struggled against the devastation before him.

How... did this happen? You were happy. You were about to welcome a child into your lives! The two of you really were...

SEVERAL WEEKS PRIOR

Your husband is trying to use you to wage a war... against your homeland.

You secluded yourself in your study, trying to make sense what you just overheard.

In a broader perspective, Satoru's actions could be constituted as national defense. If he perceived the Eastern Empire as a threat, then countermeasures were indeed necessary. But if not...

Regardless, it was not the very idea that blew you, but how he planned to use you to sway sentiment in your former country, to weaken them.

Is that what he's been aiming all this time? You felt like a hypocrite to question this since you too were using him. But these days, you were certainly not using him—you were falling in love with him.

It was strange, because you were supposed to be furious if that was his intent from the start. Yet what you felt right now was profound sadness, possibly even denial and heartbreak. You kept thinking how there must be another explanation—

“Sweetheart, hello~!”

You were startled when the door to your study was suddenly flung open, and the man from your thoughts strode in with a broad grin, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.

"Satoru." You fixed him with a genial smile, even as nausea churned within you. Straightening your skirts, you looked up at him.

"I've been told you haven't been well, and Shoko said you've seen the physician," Satoru frowned, his long fingers cradling your face as he half-sat on your desk. "How did it go? What did he say?"

"Oh..." you clammed up, feeling at loss. "He said..."

Your dashing husband tilted his head curiously, bright eyes softened, worried lines etched on his face were so clear... and despite your conflict, you didn't have the heart to deny him this news.

"I'm with child." This time, your smile was genuine as you pushed back your intrusive thoughts. "Satoru... I'm carrying our child."

For a full ten seconds, Satoru was stunned, staring at you with a blank expression, his lips slightly parted. "H-huh...? Child? A... baby?"

"Mm-hm. A living baby."

"O-oh..." Satoru blinked his eyes rapidly—looking at your face, then your abdomen—before his expression broke into absolute wonder, broadly grinning. "T-that's... oh— it's—!"

To say he was speechless didn't cut it as he stuttered, messed his hair, pinched his own cheek, becoming restless yet looking so incredibly giddy—

"My queen!" Satoru suddenly lifted you and spun you around midair. "My beautiful wife—!" before gently sitting you on the desk and burying his face in your skirts, hugging your waist tightly. "Good lord, I'm— I'm so—!"

It hadn't truly dawned on you until now that you were going to become a mother. Witnessing Satoru's unabashed reaction as he nestled his face into you… nearly brought tears to your eyes.

Right in this moment, you didn't entertain any other thoughts. You were deeply moved by your husband's overwhelming excitement for your baby. And the realization that, despite Naoya's accusations—

Satoru looked up at you the second you sniffled, and he immediately drew you closer, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Hey, no tears, yeah?" He rested a hand on your jaw, his eyes sparkling with utter adoration as he gazed at you. "This is wonderful. We're going to be parents. This child... a part of you and me—we're going to bring them into the world."

You tugged his collar close and brushed your lips against his. And he responded with equal fervor. You yearned for this closeness with him.

. . .

But still in the back of your head, that lingering, buried fear whispered—

Is the man who adores you this much... capable of hurting you to the same extent?

With your bare bodies pressed closely, and you under him, Satoru could sense the rapid beat of your heart. And in return, you felt the heat of his palms against your skin and the tremors in his breath.

Yet now, in your marital bed, it quickly became clear to him that you, who were usually so composed and collected, were nervous. Satoru couldn't suppress the smile spreading across his face even if he tried.

"This is far from our first time, Empress." His coy smirk taunted you as he littered kisses along your jawline and chest. "What are you so jittery about, hmm?"

"Ah..." you let out a soft sigh as he sucked your breast with his mouth. "N-nothing... you're mistaken."

"Hmm... not confessing? Right..." He then grabbed the generous mound of your other breast and fondled it, making you squirm and moan.

But in the midst of this eroticism, suddenly your mind was thrown back to—

“That’s why I have her here.”

"Satoru," you breathed out, catching his hands. He looked up to you in slight surprise, thinking that you wanted to stop.

But he was in for a plot twist when you first pushed him, then flipped him underneath you, straddling him and capturing his lush lips, yanking his hair in the process.

"Whoa— hey..." Satoru held your hips, visibly startled but clearly enjoying your sudden whim, snickering. "My queen—ohh— you're a sight to behold, on top of me."

He grabbed the flesh of your bottom, sinking his fingers into it and pulling you forward. You let yourself be moved until your thighs were next to his ears.

Suddenly, it was, at once, the most peculiar experience—the greatest confidence boost you had ever received, and the hottest thing he had ever seen.

"You're so damn wet already," your husband nipped your inner thigh playfully as he observed your folds, and you gasped. "Are you ready?"

In response, you slammed yourself onto his face because, right now, you were in a less than forgiving mood.

"You look good under me," you darkly retorted, but then you choked on your own breath when your husband started licking your folds messily with his tongue.

Satoru smirked at the sound of your breathless noises, responding by lapping even more fervently. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tightening their grip on his scalp as you began to grind yourself against his face.

"You a-are really n-nasty!" you moaned, voice breaking at the feeling his sinful tongue parting your opening. "Maybe y-you have lied to me… all th-is time."

Satoru furrowed his brows in slight confusion, and perhaps a bit of annoyance, as he pinched your clit in retaliation, causing you to draw in a sharp breath.

"You're— awful!" but contrary to your claims, your face contorted with pleasure as the tight coil in your belly spasmed. "How m-many women... h-have you beguiled like m-me?"

He almost laughed into your ass. Literally. If being called awful was the price for pleasuring the most beautiful woman in the lands, then Satoru would be happy to be that horrible person every day of his life.

But then, you suddenly shifted on top of him, no longer positioning your hips in his face, and he quickly caught your face, crashing his lips against yours so both of you wouldn’t part for even a second.

"Nobody else," he murmured, wet lips and tongue ravishing yours, so much lust glistening in his eyes. "I'm all yours— forever." Just as he whispered it amidst pants, he groaned when your hand sneakily went to his very hard length.

And firmly grasped it. He got swollen just by tasting you and hearing your noises earlier. He growled, and against his senses, he pushed you down to lodge it inside you, penetrating and splitting you apart in one go.

“Ah—! Satoru— it’s too…!” you babbled breathlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders, feeling his huge cock pulsing inside your tight walls.

“Your fault,” he rebuked, eyes narrowing into darker shades, rigorously moving his hips against yours as he sat up. It was impossible to hold it in any longer, he could feel it already.

He tensed up, adjusting his position, so close to losing it inside you, and when he heard your dirty mewls and felt you shudder—reverberating through his body too—Satoru gripped your waist tighter, groaning, holding you in place to release his load inside you with precision.

Your body gave in as well, releasing at the same moment his cum burst inside you. Your vision blurred as the nastiest of moans escaped you, yet you felt so safe as your husband caught you in his arms.

. . .

"Are you okay?" Satoru asked worriedly after you rolled off him in the aftermath of your bliss. "Do you feel sick?" Your unfocused eyes met his, and he looked panicked, pulling you closer. "Shit, did I go too far? I shouldn't have, especially with the baby still in the early stages..."

"I'm... okay," you croaked, trying to reassure him. "Just tired..."

Heaving a relieved sigh, Satoru pecked you in the lips.

"Am I... a mess?" you leaned on him with a blissful smile, feeling his cum still trickling out between your legs.

"Yeah... My beautiful mess, that is." Satoru chuckled, reveling in the state of your disarray. "Soon enough," his hands traced your skin before settling on your tummy, a fond smile curving his lips. "Our baby will grow here."

"Yes—" you replied, placing your palm over his. "Do you... want a boy or girl?"

A boy would be the much sought-after prince, and you fully expected him to favor it, until to your surprise, Satoru lightly hummed and pressed a kiss on your belly button.

"Does that matter? What's important is you deliver them safely and they're healthy," he chuckled. "A princess will be nice... she'll turn out to be as lovely as you."

"But the heir has to be a prince..."

"Nah. I can always amend the succession norms. I'm the emperor."

And you giggled next. Seeing how free you looked, Satoru thought you were the woman overturning his skies and stars, and you truly are—as now you are the mother of his own flesh and blood, his future empire.

There will be a nation-wide celebration for you. Satoru insisted it was a must, and he would invite dignitaries from neighboring empires and kingdoms as well.

Including the Eastern Empire.

. . .

“Your Majesty. I... bring a gift and an invitation from the Western Empire.”

Naoya clacked his heel on the carpet, casting a sharp, yet uninterested look at his aide.

“There will be a celebration for—” the poor man gulped uneasily, faltering as if he could foresee how his emperor would react. Naoya scowled.

“Spit it out.”

“The former empress’ pregnancy, Your Majesty!”

“What...?” At that moment, he snapped his head towards him. It felt like everything he had ever known came crashing down. “Y/N...?”

That can’t be possible. For many years both of you had failed. That was why he took that maid and divorced you. No, upon reflection, it was never truly his intention to divorce you—he had wanted you to raise that child if you couldn't bear one.

But then you completely ignored him and had an affair with Gojo Satoru. He was furious. He couldn't bear the disgrace of it all, so he went with the divorce, if only to assert some control. However, the joke was on him, as you ultimately fled with Gojo entirely.

But if you aren’t infertile... Then, what did that make him?

Numerous thoughts ran through his mind. Was it possible that it was his child instead of Gojo’s? How many months had it been anyway?

...or could it be that he is the one who is—!

“No...” he muttered, frantic, taking sharp breaths. “Absolute rubbish!”

The aide stared at him in fear, as Naoya appeared unhinged now. But soon, that fear gave away to pity, as the emperor trashed his desk and howled in frustration— but contrary to the expected fury, Naoya looked like he was mourning, evident by the way he flung everything but the very portrait from his coronation day.

Of him and you. Even after that disastrous divorce, he had never taken it down from the wall of his study. Now, Naoya was staring at it, a multitude emotions clouding his eyes.

This man, just as the aide had always thought, has thrown away the only good thing he has in his life.

“Are the invitations sent already?” Satoru asked with a blooming smile, rolling the yarn out of his cat’s reach as the poor kitty grappled to catch it. “And how are the preparations going?”

“Banquets are usually handled by the Empress, but you really go out of your way and do it instead,” Suguru shook his head, unamused by the added workload it brought him, especially considering his disinterest in festivities.

“They’re all sent, some of them responded—before you ask, Naoya hasn’t— and I’ve cascaded the preparation to Shoko, since I have no clue what to do about it.”

“Well, not that I care if he’s going to stay sour and wants his name tarnished in the daily papers as a bitter ex-husband…” Satoru shrugged, petting Sugu-chan as the cat purred contentedly. “He is tactless, he very well might be.”

“You really want to spite him, don’t you…” Suguru sighed. “You even sent him a note. It was unnecessary.”

“He was the one hurling curses at me and my empress first. I’m just returning the favor.”

The note in question was of lines after lines of flowery nonsense about gratitude and whatnot. Satoru imagined Naoya's vein would burst after reading his card.

“I’m happy for you, Satoru.” As exasperated as Suguru was, his smile was genuine when he said it. “A royal baby, huh...”

"Suguru." The emperor's voice suddenly dropped an octave, surprising him. "What about the placement of the totem I told you the other day?"

The abrupt shift in conversation made Suguru visibly uncomfortable, and again, they were back to this topic.

"You're seriously going to do this?" the duke asked, almost in disbelief. "Satoru, you're going to become a father. You have everything already. This will lead to war one way or another, and—what if the Empress finds out? How do you think it'll make her feel?"

However, Satoru's gaze was cold as he dismissed most of Suguru's tirade. There was a chill in his expression that made his longtime friend inwardly questioned who the man before him was.

"I'm asking you. Have you done it or not, Suguru?"

"You're going to put a curse on a whole village, Satoru."

"I told Zen'in Naoya the moment I got Y/N, that it would mark the beginning of his downfall. I'm making good on that promise."

Suguru pressed his eyes shut to calm his fury. Morally, what Satoru did was wrong, but politically, this was the art of war. Suguru purely opposed to this out of consideration for you.

Few understood Satoru's actions as well as Suguru did. He might understand, others like you and Shoko wouldn't.

"Just remember, when the Empress catches wind of this, she's going to resent you," Suguru warned. "No matter what your reasoning might be."

Satoru's upper lip curled upwards, his eyes bereft of light, narrowing with indifference.

"Unless you never tell her, that is of no relevance."

Love... has he ever loved you all this time?

Naoya had never been confronted with that question or pondered it, simply because he never considered love existed within the context of something as grand as monarchy.

You were chosen because you were well-bred and well-versed in the arts of nobility. You were indeed the epitome of an ideal empress, a fact evident throughout your tenure.

But...

"Naoya!" you yelled at him and caught his hand. "You're a fool! Why did you keep doing that!?"

It was a long-buried memory, when you were still in your teens, around the time you were just made the crown princess. His hands, bruised and bloodied, and you tended to them.

"I'm not weak, you know," he sullenly barked. "I have to train to be stronger."

"You definitely have to train, yes... but you have to take breaks!" you retorted angrily.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" he snapped back. "It's not like your hands that are injured."

And that moment, you were suddenly almost in tears. Naoya never understood why.

"Don't cry." But his instincts told him to make you not cry. "Don't cry. I'm fine, see?"

. . .

Zen'in Naoya jerked awake from his slumber, realizing he had forgotten what his dream was, that it was still the late afternoon, and he was still in his study.

All he felt was that nostalgic feeling, and it intensified when he glanced up... only to see his coronation portrait on the wall.

It was almost as if you were still here. You were incredibly stunning, he had to admit that. Why hadn’t he realized until just recently?

The way your crimson dress flowed out, and that thin, serene smile on your face... you were a picture-perfect empress, and that was not an exaggeration. No one could measure up to you—

"Your Majesty~!"

Especially not Hanabi.

"Your Majesty, the princess has started holding her head up!" Hanabi, now no longer dressed in rags but rather in one of your dresses, excitedly remarking, "Soon, she will start to—"

Naoya's gaze fell on her dress. He recognized it instantly. That specific deep, vibrant shade of red with serpent-like waistband. It was one of his gifts to you for your birthday. "Why are you wearing that?"

"Huh?" she seems perplexed. "Oh this... I thought it looks pretty..."

But to her surprise, he suddenly flared with fury. "That isn't yours, you dullard," he spat out.

Her expression sank in heartbreak as he continued with his venomous speech. "Know your place." His words cut like a blade. "And I keep telling you, a princess is of no use to the throne!"

Hanabi fought to hold back the tears, because not only had he insulted her, worse still, he showed no interest in their daughter. "She is still of your blood, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice trembling.

"I told you, I only want a heir." His sneer caused her eyes to widen in shock. "Other than that, I won't care."

"Your Majesty, please—" Hanabi was desperate for him to acknowledge their daughter, when she caught sight of your ethereal face on the wall.

He still hasn't taken it down. It made her eyes twitch, and her own anger to rise.

"The former empress..." she stared at your picture resentfully. "You still have her here. We never even have our portraits painted..."

Naoya's icy gaze leveled at her without a hint of sympathy, despite the woman standing before him being the mother of his child.

"Why do you look at me like that?" Hanabi asked, tears spilling from her eyes. "You used to care for me when you thought I would bear you a son. Even if it's a daughter, she deserves love too, doesn't she?"

In the last five years, she had come to know that the emperor wasn't always this manic person. He used to be gentler, or at least not as vindictive.

And she never truly wanted you to be cast away like that. She looked up to you, admired you from up close, and meant it when she said she would carry your legacy as best as she could.

"Are you dumb?" Naoya barked. "I told you to know your place!"

...yet why? Why are people in this palace so harsh to her?

“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi. Beware, the emperor is fickle…”

Your unkind eyes, Naoya's disdainful stares even after she gave birth to his child... She didn't even care about becoming the empress anymore. She just wanted a happy life!

"If it was the former empress' child... even if it was a princess..." Hanabi turned to him with determination even amidst her pitiful tears. "You wouldn't cast her aside just like you do now with my daughter, would you, Your Majesty?"

Naoya's gaze, devoid of emotion and filled with blatant disinterest more than anything, shot through her, hurting her more than if it was filled with fury instead.

The lack of warmth in his stare made her feel like being looked through rather than being seen. As if she is that insignificant.

"Leave," he ordered coldly next, turning his back on her.

And there is her answer.

Hanabi had been your maid for five long years. She knew who you were, what you stood for, and your whole demeanor. Yet, despite her best efforts, she could never emulate you in the same way, could she?

. . .

"My lady... don't you know that the former empress is with child?"

Once again, Hanabi felt the sting of ice when her lady-in-waiting delivered the news.

"Empress... Y/N?" she whispered. "How...?"

You were stripped of your titles here, and yet you still remained a queen somewhere else. Hanabi might have won Naoya's favor, but now she was losing it while you had another emperor's affection.

Not much had changed about you. You still occupied the highest seat a woman could possibly attain. Whereas she...

"But she is barren!" she turned to her confidant then, almost in disbelief.

"Evidently not. Emperor Gojo has proven that."

How nice. A part of Hanabi wanted to congratulate you because she knew of your sufferings—how much you longed to hold a baby from your womb in your arms.

How unfair... But another part of her couldn't help but despise you. Because even in your absence, she still had to live in your shadow. Because you, who had lost everything, regained it all so easily.

"And my lady... Emperor Gojo is going to throw a banquet for this occasion next month. You are expected to attend it."

"Sweetheart, you asleep?"

One night, several weeks later, just as you were about to drift off to sleep, you felt the sheets shift as Satoru slipped into bed beside you.

Though you didn't turn to face him, you felt his warm hands wrap around your waist from behind.

"Satoru... you're back," you murmured sleepily.

"Mm-hmm," he whispered, pulling you closer to his chest and burying his face in your hair, taking in your scent. "Shoko told me you've been in your bedchamber since breakfast. Are you okay?"

"I get queasy if I walk too much, so I've been lying down all day... But don't worry, the physician said it's normal in early stages of pregnancy."

His grip on you tightened, as he caressed your belly. "Hmm, naughty baby. I'm sorry I wasn't here..."

"Where were you?"

For days now, he had been away, and you hadn't really questioned him. You had your guesses though—

"I was overseeing the construction of a new pagoda," he said softly, kissing your neck. "For you, actually."

That was so unexpected that it made you open your eyes fully. "What— for me?" Building pagoda was definitely not a small affair. Usually it was for religious purposes.

"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby. It's expected to be completed before your celebration banquet."

The tower would be the testament of his love for you and your unborn child. Despite yourself, your heart swelled with overwhelming warmth.

"You're so silly... why do you spend the tax funds for that?" you brushed off the faint heat in your face, not daring to look at him still.

"Whatever I wouldn't do for you?" he cheekily retorted, chuckling.

You had never felt this cherished before, and this time you were certain—you were more than ready to fall in love with this man.

But he... is planning to use you, isn't he?

"Satoru." You shuffled to turn and face him, causing him to crack his lidded eyes open. You gazed at him, placing both of your hands on his face, caressing his face softly.

You're so kind to me. I appreciate you for that. You wanted to tell him various things, but the darkness in your heart ever since overhearing his exchange with Suguru made it hard for you to do so.

"Mm? What is it?" he drawled with a small smile, leaning into your touch.

“You... love me, don't you?”

His bright eyes found yours then, sharp and steady. An impossibly fond smile graced his lips, as if finding what you said the most natural thing there was.

“Throughout heaven and earth,” he proclaimed, his voice steady to match his eyes. “Yes, my queen.”

...then you would trust him, if only just for this moment. The genuine sincerity in his eyes, the raw authenticity in his words... it all felt too real.

And so, even when you were well-aware of the bitter possibility of truth, you leaned in and kissed him, giving yourself to his touch as his hand slipped inside you.

And soon, came the day of the lavish banquet solely held to celebrate your pregnancy.

You were seated on your throne, dressed in a stunning aquamarine gown. The skirt of the dress was full and flowing, spilling onto the floor in a waterfall of shimmering fabric. Upon your head perched your crown of diamonds, glinting beneath the light, and your ceremonial veil to make you look as queenly as you could possibly be.

Everyone would agree that you were a sight to behold, and that you were worthy of every praise possible.

"Many congratulations to you, Your Majesty."

"This is a splendid news! A royal baby!"

"To think that the emperor has settled down... sniff, how long have we been waiting for this...? We almost gave up."

You almost giggled at the way Archbishop Yaga wiped his tears with a handkerchief as he presented you with his gift.

Despite your initial reservations, you enjoyed the festivities more than you expected. You had opposed the idea at first, finding it quite unnecessary, but Satoru had pouted for three long days until you eventually relented to appease him.

Speaking of him, he was equally dressed to impress, looking every bit as an emperor he was in an exquisite aquamarine military uniform and robes. Despite engaging in conversation with Earl Nanami, he kept a watchful eye on you, stealing glances in your direction to ensure you were well.

You nodded at him, and he threw you a wink. You smiled.

Everything was truly going well... until the herald announced:

"Prince Megumi and Royal Consort Hanabi from Eastern Empire!"

There was suddenly a hush over the crowd as the two made their entrance. You stilled, looking at the figure responsible for your checkered life—

Hanabi was starkly different since the last you saw her at the courthouse during your divorce. Her dress was now a vibrant shade of burgundy red, reminiscent of a gown you once wore. Gone was her air of humility, replaced by a display of extravagance befitting a noblewoman.

She is no longer your maid, but Naoya's consort. There was no trace of the woman who once served you. You were actually impressed, as she could actually shape herself into the image of a royal consort.

"Empress." However, your attention quickly shifted to Naoya's nephew, and once also your ward, Megumi, as he bowed before you respectfully. "Congratulations."

A fond smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you regarded the young prince who had once been a very shy individual. It reminded you of the days spent with him just to get him out of his shell.

"Thank you, Megumi."

"Diamonds suit you far better than golds do. I wish only for the best for you, Your Majesty."

It warmed your heart, really. Using that reference to your gold crown from your time in the Eastern Empire, you could see how much Megumi truly understood your position and bore no resentment towards you.

Could the same be said for Naoya though?

Right after you received his gift—an ornate box that seemed oddly familiar to you—Hanabi suddenly blurted out:

"So, fate has smiled upon you. Congratulations Empress Y/N." She kept that soft, meaningful smile on her face as she offered her felicitations.

Ever since her arrival was announced, something about her demeanor had bothered you. There was a subtle emptiness that seemed to linger in her gaze.

"Thank you," you responded, and that was when you noticed it. There was never any celebration for the birth of her daughter and Naoya, only a passing announcement.

And so, you added. "Congratulations on the birth of the princess too."

You could have sworn her expression fell for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure and bowed her head to you.

For a while, you lost sight of her in the crowd, feeling quite comfortable in your dais. Soon after, Satoru returned to your side, and the herald announced:

"Attention! His Majesty the Emperor's gift for Her Majesty the Empress!"

You looked at Satoru questioningly, and he gave you a dashing smirk before turning to the crowd.

"Thank you, all of you, for joining us to celebrate this joyous occasion." The way he carried himself and the sheer confidence he exuded was mesmerizing, you couldn't deny how it made you swoon. "I've been infamous for many things, and I'm sure the tales have spread far and wide. So please, allow me one more gesture with you as the witnesses."

The crowd giggled at his words, and you finally spotted Hanabi among them, quietly assessing the scene.

Your husband turned to you, a soft smile on his face.

"This is for you my empress— my lovely queen. Words can't describe how elated I am to know that now you bear our child." He took your hand and pressed a kiss on it. "And it's only fitting that I praise you along with the skies and the stars."

A footman arrived and presented a pearly box. Satoru opened it, revealing a necklace inside. The centerpiece was a large, flawless diamond surrounded by smaller, perfectly cut stones of the same kind. No matter how you saw it, it was truly a work of art, meant to captivate and dazzle anyone who laid eyes on it.

You let out a gasp. "This..."

Satoru grinned, picking up the jewelry and preparing to place it on you. "Nothing much. Just a little trinket for you."

"This is not just a 'little trinket'!"

Your banter elicited another round of snickers from the audience as Satoru fastened the necklace around your neck. The moment he did, the crowd erupted into applause.

"Actually, my real gift is the new pagoda in the royal gardens, built in honor of the Empress," Satoru stated effortlessly, grinning unabashedly. "Feel free to stop by later, everyone."

To the ton, for him to gift you with something so sacred was the height of extravagance. Some of them wondered how you had managed to turn the elusive emperor into someone so devoted to you.

And a few... might be harboring ill will against you for it.

. . .

Later that night, you were sorting through the gifts you had received throughout the day.

"I don't understand, why would you give an expecting woman this?" Shoko picked apart a manuscript that was the gift from Archbishop Yaga. "Who would read this?"

"I wouldn't, but I'm sure Duke Geto would," you replied, and soon the two of you were giggling together.

From jewelry to ornaments, you were pleased with all the gifts presented by the guests from day one. While most were given out of formality, it was heartwarming to imagine your baby seeing all these someday.

Your attention soon turned to the box Megumi handed you earlier—Naoya's gift.

You were intrigued, because what could your spiteful ex-husband could possibly give you? And you immediately reached over to open the lid to find...

"What's that?" Shoko asked as your eyes widened in slight surprise.

Inside the box was an intricate gold and ruby necklace. One you knew well. The very one you wore during your coronation as the Empress of the Eastern Empire.

Years ago, Naoya himself had chosen this piece for you, and now he was gifting it to you, again?

“From now on, it’s going to be me and you, Empress.”

Reliving years of your marriage with him wasn't easy. You two were childhood sweethearts, and had been happy in the beginning. You couldn't pinpoint when things began to fall apart, but suddenly Naoya turned into such a person you didn't recognize altogether.

Seeing this relic made you nostalgic, and before you realized it, you touched it, trying to get a better look—

"Ah—!"

Suddenly, a sharp, unexpected pain shot through your abdomen. You instantly dropped the jewelry, letting it crash to the ground, and clutched your lower belly.

"Empress! What happened?!" Shoko rushed to your side in an instant, holding you up, and you whimpered.

"It hurts—!" Your breath hitched, as a seemingly invisible knife gutted you from inside. The intensity of the pain was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. "Shoko, please—"

And before you could even scream or think, the pain blindsided you and your vision titled, before blacking out completely.

First came the warmth, then a reassuring squeeze on your hand. As your consciousness returned, you felt groggy, with your surroundings sharpening into focus.

The first thing that became your main focus the moment your eyes fluttered open was Satoru's face, a mixture of fright and relief etched across his features.

"You're awake..." He breathlessly muttered, sitting on your bedside, interlacing his fingers with yours. "How do you feel?"

"Sa...toru..." your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, and as soon as he heard you speak, he exhaled sharply, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"Heavens, I—" he let out a long sigh, his breath hot against your neck. "I'm so glad... you are..."

"What h-happened to me...?" you were feeling feverish and a dull throb was pounding at the back of your head, before the shock of it all dawned on you. "B-baby...! Our—!"

"Baby is okay too, don't worry," Satoru assured, pulling away from you to gently touch your cheek and squeeze your hand. "Both of you are fine for now..."

The horror that you might lose your baby shook you to the very core. Your vision blurred with the threatening onset of tears.

"Wh-at happened to me, Satoru...?" you asked again as he wiped your first falling tears, your heartbeat sounding so loud in your ears. "I-I was just..."

His expression took on a sudden shift, as if a dark cloud had passed over his face.

"You came into contact with a cursed object," he stated, his eyes hard as he locked onto yours. "You were cursed, Y/N."

"What...?" You were rendered speechless, feeling your body starting to shake. Cursed object? Your past coronation necklace?

Naoya was trying to curse you?

"It's okay, I'm here now, yeah?" Satoru's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, grounding you in the present. "Look at me. Hey, look at me." he repeated, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours with intensity.

“I’m here. I’m here with you. Nothing—absolutely nothing—will touch you so long as I’m here.”

But in that moment, your mind was so overwhelmed with fear for yourself and your unborn baby that you couldn't fully grasp the magnitude of the mess unfolding before you, and you just cried in his arms.

Feeling your feeble fingers fisting his robes and your inconsolable tears staining his collar, Satoru gritted his teeth.

“This won't happen again,” he whispered into your hair, feeling his rage simmering as he felt the tremors of your sobs against his chest. “I swear, I won't let anything like this happen again.”

To Satoru, that was more than enough to justify all his subsequent actions. Putting a curse on his empress essentially amounted to an act of beginning a war.

And it also meant he no longer had to operate behind the scenes.

“Keep them in Clock Tower. No contact. Only food and water at designated times.”

Satoru's icy gaze on the captain of royal guard compelled him to hastily comply with the order, before his eyes landing on the map of the entire continent.

In response to the incident that befell you, he issued orders for open hostility along the eastern and western borders. Soon after, he would formally declare his intention to go to war.

So close. He was so close to achieving his end goal.

. . .

"Satoru!"

Several days later, Suguru burst into his study, visibly outraged. He clenched his fists, looking as if he was about to throttle him altogether.

"You—" he heaved a harsh breath. "You have gone too far!"

"What are you talking about, Suguru?"

"Is cursing the entire winery village not enough for you?" This was the first time Suguru had been this furious with him. "Did you really have to massacre the neighboring district as well?!"

"They have placed a curse on my empress." It was so easy for him to say it. "Anyone who dares to harm her shall die."

"You can direct it at Zen'in Naoya! Not the innocent civilians!"

Satoru remained silent, neither shaken nor enraged, and he had finally had enough.

“Are you even sure it’s because the empress is cursed?" Suguru challenged. In his view, this farce had been going on too long.

“No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”

You were informed, days later.

“His Majesty has placed the prince and royal consort of the Western Empire under strict watch in Clock Tower.”

Clock Tower was essentially the prison where they kept war criminals. Learning that Satoru had confined both Megumi and Hanabi there left you aghast.

After some days of bedrest and getting better, you realized that the entire situation still didn't make sense to you. As hateful as Naoya was, harming you would do him more harm than good. Eastern and Western Empires stood evenly matched in military power, and hence, a conflict between them would bring devastation to both sides.

And moreover, you knew for sure was that Megumi was definitely not the one responsible for this. He was just a boy!

You had to let him out somehow. You had to talk to Satoru about this.

Or at least that was what you thought when you came close to his study.

“Are you even sure it's because the empress is cursed? No, Satoru. You are just using her. For so long, you have wanted to bring bloodshed to Western Empire. You were almost there when Empress Y/N proposed that deal to marry you.”

You stopped on your tracks—stunned into place, to be exact.

“And you’ve struck gold when she did because her influence will provide you with greater advantage.” Suguru scoffed then, lightly shaking his head with a sneer. “Love? How laughable. All these years, you are planning your warpath, how could you claim you love her when you're trying to ravage her homeland without even considering the impact it would have on her?”

It felt like whiplash. Geto Suguru's voice had your feet rooted to the spot, causing all your doubts to resurface and sizzle in an instant. The very question you had tried to avoid, it was suddenly shoved in your face.

What... will Satoru say? Your heart thumped so loud in your ears it made you almost stagger. He couldn't possibly. He simply couldn't. All his actions... they reflected his affection for you and you believed it because you felt it yourself too.

But Satoru's next response was—

“Even when she is derided as the devil, I will bring an end to the Zen’in line in this lifetime.”

And a part of your heart withers then.

The tips of your fingers trembled, finally taking in everything that you had tried to ignore for the past few weeks. It all caught up to you in one overwhelming rush.

Suddenly, it felt as if something inside your chest was torn out and held up for you to see.

"I'm telling you, that day will come sooner than you think, Satoru." Suguru's voice broke through, his frustration palpable. His words snapped you out of your reverie, and you took a step back, retreating to the safety of your study.

The first time you felt utter hollowness wrecking you was when you had suspected that Naoya might have taken Hanabi to his bed. The feelings overwhelming you now were eerily similar to how you felt back then.

Only in this case…

You had used him first, and if he used you in return... you couldn't fault him.

But isn't it still a bitter truth, even when a mutual transaction is very well within his rights, to know that what you believe as love may apparently not really be the case?

Love... of course, he loves you.

Of that, he was certain.

But at the same time… he had his ambitions.

Destroying the Eastern Empire. Was it so wrong that he wanted it? Didn't you want this as well? After all, Naoya had spurned you for a lowly servant and made your life hell, didn’t he?

Satoru strolled through the halls and made his way to your study, where the sight of you, so pretty and regal in your seat, greeted him.

His beautiful, graceful wife and empress of his nation. For so long, he had desired you, and now here you were, perched within his walls. His heart couldn't be more full— his life is complete already.

"Sweetheart, hey... how are you feeling today?" an adoring grin was visible on his face as he approached you. "Does the baby give you trouble today?"

You didn't answer though, and didn't look at him either. It was quite strange, Satoru thought.

"What's wrong? Is there something—" And when you finally turned to him, the look in your eyes was so eerily cold it almost gave him a chill.

"Release Megumi from your dungeon," you told him with a strained tone. "And return him to his home empire."

The smile on Satoru's face vanished that instant.

"I can't do that."

You rose from your seat, facing him. "He is just a child."

Satoru regarded you with a stern look. “That child you speak about is a prince of the Eastern Empire. He has committed a great crime against you.”

“Naoya didn’t do it.” Your steely gaze was unflinching. “He might be senseless, but he isn’t insane enough to deliberately go into a war he might possibly lose.”

Satoru's eyes darkened at your words, as you stood before him with determination. The way you were so adamant somehow took him aback. “How... could you defend him? He has wronged you!”

It was one question you had expected, and you had the answer ready.

“Even if he has, I could never wish doom upon my own homeland, Satoru. I’ve lived most of my life there, I did a great deal of things there— even if you harbor some sort of misguided contempt or just bloodthirsty enough to lay ruin to Eastern Empire, I refuse to be the puppet for your schemes!”

There it was. You had said it. Everything would crumble once again just like your previous marriage.

Satoru was staring at you in slight disbelief, his eyes gleamed with something that you couldn't really pinpoint. Anger? Disappointment?

“Your life was in danger, as was our unborn child’s. Don’t you care about that—!” he actually had to stop to catch his breath. “Don’t you care that our child nearly didn't make it?”

“And? You must have thought it was the perfect grounds for declaring a war?” but you didn’t relent and questioned him with a scoff. “And afterwards, you would try to use me to gain defectors from Eastern Empire, is that it?”

You saw the flash of surprise in your now-husband's eyes right when you recited his words, but you weren't about to hold back any longer now.

“Now you’re using my safety to justify your actions,” you hissed, feeling like suddenly you understood what all of this was. “You’re quite cunning, Satoru. I’ve heard everything—you will do anything to bring an end to the Zen'in lineage! You won’t even consider the repercussions of my reputation being tarnished across the lands!”

“Is that even important now?” Satoru gritted his teeth to suppress his irritation. “You have been cursed. Do you honestly think I would let them get away with cursing my empress? How could I, who seek to protect you, be more vicious than whoever in Eastern Empire who cursed you with that necklace?”

“You’re doing this for your personal gratification!” you exclaimed. “It is never about me. You’re just a warmonger!”

The moment those words left your lips, Satoru stilled. His gaze on you faltered, and you could’ve sworn hurt flashed in his face.

“Just how low… is your opinion of me?” he asked, his tone dropping, eyes devoid of emotion. “You jump into conclusions only after overhearing something in a passing and yet you know for sure Naoya wouldn’t harm you—” he clenched his jaw.

“You… really loved him, didn’t you?” he asked with a sardonic smile. “I know it already. You won’t ever be able to do the same for me. You can’t even trust me.”

You were rendered speechless. Despite your doubts of him, hearing this still felt like a slap in your face.

Won’t be able to do the same for him? No. That’s not true. You are—

Satoru let out a defeated laugh and ran his hand through his hair, leaving you uncertain whether he was amused or heartbroken by your lack of response.

“It’s funny, how I have loved you for so long... but apparently the woman I believed to have even a semblance of affection for me doesn’t even exist.”

It felt like that one part of you that was capable of feeling love had been stabbed once again.

To say this out loud hurt you deeply, unbeknownst to him. You didn’t mean this at all, still it was what came out of you, out of spite—

“In the end, we’re just using each other. That’s all we amount to.”

Satoru bitterly snorted, finding your accusation so unfair to him.

“How cruel is it that I’m the only one who has to prove this love to you? What about you? You’re terribly, horribly selfish!”

You stayed silent, looking away, caught between the scorching knives that seemed to twist your heart and conflicting emotions in it, uncertain of what to believe anymore. And you didn't really know what heartbreak was like before—

“It has been really exhausting, and I don’t want to bother anymore.”

When his gaze next met yours, dark and piercing, you realized he was no longer the same man who once promised you love and devotion.

“You're free to believe whatever truth you wish. But remember, even if you are my wife and the empress of this nation, should you commit any transgressions… I won’t hesitate to accuse you of treason, Empress.”

You have committed treason.

Satoru had conducted investigation of the sorts just to prove his point. And yet days later, no direct evidence pointing towards Megumi or Hanabi were found in that cursed necklace.

Punishment for treason is imminent death. You were well-aware of that more than anyone, but your consciousness wouldn't allow it if Megumi had to be hanged due to Satoru's antagonism.

"Your Majesty, your kindness knows no bounds," Megumi said, dropping to one knee before you and lowering his head in the throne room. Satoru had chosen not to grace any of you with his presence, leaving you alone to bid farewell to both Megumi and Hanabi.

Since then, you hadn't spoken with him, nor had he visited your chambers. It was as if he considered you nonexistent at all.

And it is really only a matter of time before he finds out.

But at the very least, you were right. It was never Megumi. That boy was fond of you, he could never. So, you shifted your gaze on the woman next to him.

"Royal Consort Hanabi. A word."

It was the cue for everyone else to exit the throne room. Now, you were faced with this woman once again, and yet one thing remained the same— you were still towering over her.

"Why did you do it?" Your calm gaze betrayed a quiet anger that was unmistakably clear. All because of this woman. It was beyond you, how despite having left your past life behind, she had somehow managed to taint your new one as well.

Hanabi looked away, a hint of shame coloring her features. "Your Majesty knows, so why do you spare me?" she asked quietly.

"How preposterous of you to think that I have spared you," you scoffed. "All this time, have you learned nothing at all from standing by Naoya's side?"

She flinched, visibly making herself smaller at your unforgiving tone, still, she dared herself to meet your eyes.

"Can I ask... why you never consider it as Emperor Naoya's doing?" she seemed more confused more than anything, even as her lips wobbled. "The two of you... you don't really hate each other, so why...?"

You didn't want to dwell on why Naoya had chosen that specific piece of jewelry to return to you. If anything, you'd consider it his final parting gift and be done with it.

But the naivety of this woman was astounding. Someone like her wouldn't last long in your seat. You let out a sigh, torn between feeling sorry for her or not.

"You have much to learn about court affairs, Hanabi. And do not think this is an act of mercy. Sending you back to Naoya is a punishment in itself—you know that by now."

Hanabi trembled where she stood, her breaths were shallow, and her hands shook slightly as she struggled to maintain composure in your presence.

Realizing it was futile to continue the conversation, you decided to conclude it.

"Know that I will never forgive you for what you have done to me." Your sharp eyes squared on her, the cold ire in your tone making her shudder.

In all the years Hanabi had known you, you had never appeared more fearsome than you did now, adorned in silks of deep blue hues, with that crown of diamonds gleaming in your head.

Then, as if sealing her fate, you delivered these parting words:

"You've always coveted what I have, and sooner or later, that will be your downfall."

The palace felt suffocating for you. After sending Hanabi away, you took a walk in the gardens, followed closely by your ladies-in-waiting.

Good heavens, what have you done? You definitely didn't regret saving Megumi, but no matter how, you had committed a great crime against your own empire. A sentence would loom over your head!

And what about your baby? Would Satoru execute you while you still had his child inside you?

The very thought made your vision tilt, and you had to lean on the wall for support. Your ladies-in-waiting were immediately clamoring against each other.

"Leave," you commanded, trying to catch your breath while doing so. "I'll… take some time to rest here."

It took you a moment to realize you had reached the pagoda that Satoru had commissioned for you. This was your first time visiting it. The structure was magnificent, towering in height and adorned with exquisite decorations, leaving you in awe.

"It's a gift to the heavens for blessing me with you and our baby."

You wanted to cry. His voice, soft and smooth, conveyed those words so easily to you. He really loved you, didn't he? What made you so unsure about that undeniable fact?

And now you had broken his heart.

Your hand reached for your belly. Though hidden by your dress, you could distinctly feel that it had become firmer these days, holding the product of your love with Satoru.

"I'm sorry, baby..." you whispered, heartbroken. "I didn't mean to drag you into this too..."

You felt nauseous, your breaths come in short pants, and you felt a headache coming. It didn't really register to you that you had crashed into the candle table, before you collected yourself and ventured deeper inside.

You just wanted a sense of peace and quiet. You would think more later, and right now, the darkness inside felt like a comforting lull for you to rest.

. . .

Or at least that was what you had intended, until you looked back and saw the swirling inferno creeping through the halls.

It didn't take long for Satoru to figure out you had really orchestrated Megumi's release.

More than his wounded pride, it was the searing pain of realizing that you truly believed he was only using you for his own benefit. It felt like an insult to everything he had done for you.

Why couldn't you see that? Just how hard is it for you to understand?

And now that it had come to this... what did you expect from him? Should he really make good on his word and punish you? It tore his heart to even consider it.

However, what was worse was… did you think he was really capable of that too?

Amidst his heartache, suddenly he heard loud commotion from outside his study, yells and cries of help— and it roused him from his thoughts that he came out of his study, only to come right into a familiar face.

"Anyone! Anyone at all!" one of your maids was running, sobbing and hysterical. "Her Majesty! Please help Her Majesty!"

"What is all of this ruckus?" Satoru demanded, catching the maid by the hand, as she stuttered in tears.

And then, everything came crashing down with the next words.

"The Empress— is trapped inside the burning tower!"

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[gay-dorito-dust]

hii i just read your kissing the batboys out of the blue and i loved it!! i was thinking that maybe you could one of how they react when they realize they’re in love with the reader? tysm!!

Jason had a feeling that he knew he was in love with you, he had read enough romantic novels to know that what he was feeling was romantic.

He thought of you day and night.

Everything reminded him of you.

He couldn’t wait to be near you, craves it even as his mind raced with all the things that you could do together in his apartment as though you were an already pre-established couple.

He practically ticked off every box imaginable and he knew it but he wasn’t quite sold on this alone until he woke up to you cuddled up into his side, looking as though you belonged there, even tightening your grip on his shirt when he dared to move even in the slightest.

‘Five more minutes.’ You muttered into his neck, causing him to freeze but he was quick to relax and throw his arms over your waist to keep you close.

It was the domesticity of the moment that made Jason realise that he was in love with you, deep unadulterated love. He wanted to spend the rest of his life waking up to you and falling asleep with you in his arms because you fitted together like two missing pieces.

You were what he was missing and he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon, not when he was brought to realises that he couldn’t live without you, not anymore. Jason swore to himself that he’d protect you no matter what while he finds a way to tell you of his feelings, but until then Jason was more then willing to keep it to himself as to remind himself that he now had someone to fight for.

Dick didn’t know he was in love with you until someone brought it up to him about how often he seemed to bring you up in conversation regardless of its relevancy.

You’ve had a flirty relationship with one another that Dick had lead himself to believe was strictly platonic all the while wanting more at the same time. He wasn’t fond of commitment, it was an issue of his but you made it all the more worth it if it meant he could get the chance to call you his.

‘You sure do talk about them a lot.’ Garth said.

‘Who?’ Dick asked, confused.

‘Them.’ Raven gestures towards you and immeditly sees the way Dick’s eyes practically glowed when they looked at you, she looked over at Gar who saw the exact same thing as she did and was looking at her for confirmation that he wasn’t seeing things. Their wild theory has been proven to not be so wild after all.

‘It’s not my fault they’re an awesome teammate.’ Dick replied as he looked back at Raven and Garth as they looked back at him knowingly.

‘You often talk about them as though you’re in love with them.’ Raven countered.

‘I don’t talk about them like I’m in love,’ Dick laughed before looking over at Garth, ‘do I?’ He asks and Garth hummed. ‘You do. If you like them so much why don’t you ask them out on a date or something?’

Garth’s question stayed with Dick for the rest of the day as he recalled the times where he talked about you nonstop and wanted to smack himself for not seeing it before, he was so hellbent on never committing to something that he didn’t see that he was practically confessing his feelings for you in other ways.

Dick was scared, genuinely scared. So he decided to keep this revelation to himself and hope that one day it would fade away but he knew all too well that he was in too deep for that to be the case. Now he just keeps a tight lip on what he says to certain people in hopes that they don’t go back to you and spill everything.

Dick wanted to tell you himself but he fears that he might bring himself to do it in time.

Tim would be spending time with you when he realised he loved you.

Being with you just felt natural for him as he let you press up against his side as you did your own thing and he did his own on his laptop.

You could both exist in peaceful silence together without it getting awkward and that’s what Tim liked the most about you, he didn’t have to force anything to keep you engaged in anything he liked.

He even liked how you could match his sarcasm at times while also being caring about his well-being and mental health.

‘When was the last time you actually had decent sleep?’ You asked.

‘When did this become an interrogation, and a lacklustre one at that.’ He replied as you raised your brows to look at him. ‘Since you keep thinking it’s fine to neglect your basic human needs, wise ass.’ You told him. ‘keep this up and I’m wouldn’t be surprised to find you passed out on the floor somewhere.’ You add before putting down a glass of water and a plate full of food before leaving the room.

Tim glances over at the water and food and feels a warmth spread throughout him when he saw that you remembered his favourite meal.

Tim could show you anything technical and while you may not understand everything that was being said, it was the fact that you even bothered to continue to listen to him that made him realises that he might be in love with you. Your eyes held intrigue as he went over how his weapons worked, even giving you live demonstrations, but he couldn’t help but feel a little exposed under your gaze, you looked at him as though he was the most interesting person alive and he could feel his cheeks burn.

Tim knew he was in love with you for a long while but it just took that one moment for it to click within him.

[lizzyiii]

Can I make a request? Homelander falling for a reader who is completely unaware of it. Not because he's good at hiding it but because, they genuinely can't fathom the thought of someone being that intense with their feelings about THEM of all people👀 but their the only person who's genuinely kind to him.

I'm sooooo sorry this took so long

Love and Devotion

pairing | homelander x supe!reader

word count | 5.8k words

summary | homelander becomes increasingly obsessed with the new kind and unsuspecting supe, and fixates on her as his perfect match, believing she belongs to him. his possessiveness reaches new heights after discovering intimate details about her powers, pushing him to claim her as his own, regardless of her obliviousness to his feelings.

tags | canon homelander??? obsession, possessiveness, season 4 timeline, major fluff, tell me if you think it ooc homelander, lactating kink

a/n | first homelander fic, this was sooooo fun to write and yes I did rewatch season 4 for this

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You were perfect from the moment he laid eyes on you.

"Her?"

Homelander’s voice dripped with disdain as he watched Firecracker spewing her rant about family values and patriotism, all while waving her hands around. She reminded him of a third-rate talk show host. He grimaced, turning to Sage.

"Yeah," Sage responded, standing at his side.

"Really?" he sneered, barely able to mask his disgust.

"Mhm," Sage hummed in affirmation.

"Seems like she fell off her Jet Ski one too many times," Homelander muttered, his lip curling.

Sage, unbothered by his sarcasm, simply shook her head. "No, now that Starlight’s back leading the Starlighters, we need someone like her."

Homelander raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Mm. And that’s gonna shut them up?" He knew exactly what "them" meant: the endless critics, social media commentators, all the noise that clawed at his mind.

"No," Sage replied, her voice low and cryptic. "She’s going to make them louder."

He shot her a look. "You gonna trust me or not?" she added before he could question it further.

Rolling his eyes, he turned his gaze elsewhere. He was growing tired of these briefings, the endless parade of new supes Vought was parading through. But then, his eyes landed on you.

You were surrounded by a group of eager reporters, microphones pushed into your face. Unlike Firecracker, who couldn't stop her loud, brash performance, you were different. You weren't reciting hollow slogans or pandering to anyone. You stood there with an almost serene composure, answering each question softly, with a gentle smile. There was something…sincere in the way you spoke, like you actually cared about the answers, not just the headlines they’d create.

"And what about her?" Homelander murmured, his gaze locked on you as if he were seeing something unexpected for the first time.

"The Pink Dahlia," Sage said, repeating your supe name as though it was obvious. "She’s going to be the new Starlight."

Homelander frowned, feeling a flicker of confusion. The new Starlight? That seemed impossible. No one could ever replace that bitch's popularity, her…adoring fanbase. But Sage seemed to sense his thoughts, elaborating with an almost bored tone.

"The only reason Starlight is liked is because of her sincerity. Her kindness," Sage explained, nodding towards you. "Pink Dahlia is going to be America’s next sweetheart supe."

Homelander hummed, though his mind was elsewhere, distracted by the sight of you. Sage was talking, but he was no longer listening. Instead, he watched as the cameras captured your every move. For a moment, you glanced in his direction. Not out of fear or awe, but with that same quiet softness you gave to everyone. It unnerved him how unaffected you seemed by his presence, by who he was.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

Sage dragged him into yet another pointless debate, but his attention was only half there. He knew she’d eventually let it go once she realized his disinterest, and sure enough, she did. He was quick to pass her along to the vultures—photographers desperate to get the next "supe girl" in their lenses.

As Homelander turned, his gaze landed on Ryan, sulking in one of the chairs at the back of the room. Frustration boiled inside him. He couldn’t stand seeing his son like that, so withdrawn, when the whole world was theirs.

But then, his brow furrowed. You had walked over, leaving the cameras behind. Quietly, you sat beside Ryan, the two of you almost invisible in the flurry of the room. He watched as you offered your hand to Ryan, a gentle smile on your face. His son, who had been lost in his own thoughts, blinked in surprise before hesitantly shaking your hand.

For the first time in hours, Homelander saw the tension leave Ryan’s shoulders. His usual sulk was replaced with something lighter. He listened to whatever you were saying, nodding slowly. Homelanders listened carefully to your sweet words, and watched how they were clearly having an effect on Ryan.

Interesting.

Homelander had too many fucking things going on for his mind to keep circling back to you. It irritated him, gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

First, the rage that boiled up every time he saw those goddamn Starlighter protests. He could hardly walk outside without hearing people chant for Starlight’s bullshit message, waving their signs, spewing their anti-Homelander garbage. It infuriated him. Then there was the constant frustration in dealing with Neuman. She was slippery, always too clever, too calm, and it made every negotiation with her feel like wading through quicksand.

But every time his temper cooled, his thoughts went back to you. You. That sweet, unassuming smile that you flashed so casually, like it wasn’t the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. And then there was your body—tight and perfect in that small pink and green suit, looking like you belonged on a magazine cover instead of here, in this hellhole with people like him.

It made him furious.

How could he let himself be distracted by you, when everything else around him was crumbling? He was supposed to be in control, but instead, he was falling apart. First he let that fucking loser Hughie get away. Then, Ryan—his own son—had the nerve to run off to see Butcher after everything Homelander had given him. After all the time and care he’d put into Ryan, after showing him the world, how was he still not good enough?

It made him sick.

And then... and then there was the other thing. His reflection. The part of him that never shut up, that always knew where to strike. His other self had looked at him and sneered. Told him he was weak, that he was a joke. That no matter how much power he had, no matter how feared he was, he was still nothing.

And maybe it was right. Maybe he was losing it.

So he decided to visit home. The lab. Where they had made him. Where he had been molded into the strongest supe to ever walk the earth. He’d slaughtered every single one of the scientists who had "raised" him. He stood in the sterile halls, the faint hum of the machines still active around him. The silence made him feel grounded, like this was the only place in the world where he could truly be himself.

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Not when the image of you—your smile, your soft gaze, your kindness—kept seeping into his mind. You were a weakness he couldn’t afford. And that filled him with even more rage.

And yet the moment he saw your face, all that rage he had been holding onto evaporated like steam. The blood, the anger, the frustration—it all seemed distant as he took in the worried expression on your face.

He had strolled back into Vought Tower like nothing was wrong, though his suit was still soaked in the blood and viscera of the scientists he’d butchered in the lab. It didn’t matter—he was Homelander, after all. No one would dare question him. But fate must have been laughing at him because, of all people, he ran straight into you.

You froze when you saw him, your eyes widening in pure shock at the sight of him covered in carnage. Anyone else would have been horrified, would have run or screamed, but not you. Instead, your lips parted and, with that same quiet softness he had come to expect, you said, “Would you like some help?”

Homelander just stared, his mind slowing to a crawl as the words sank in. He was a god, covered in the blood of men, and here you were, offering help. Something inside him shifted in that moment. He nodded, feeling strangely empty and vulnerable, like a child waiting for instructions. In the back of his mind, he realized this was the first time you had actually spoken to him directly.

His chest tightened as you stepped closer, your eyes flicking up to his with cautious concern. You reached out and gently placed your pink-gloved hand into his red, blood-stained one. Homelander nearly closed his eyes, focusing intently on the warmth of your touch. That warmth—it spread through him, melting away the sharp edges of his anger. No one touched him like that, without fear or calculation.

You led him silently into the elevator, your hand still in his, guiding him like he was something fragile. He couldn't help but glance down at your hand in his, his mind spinning as he tried to commit the sensation to memory. The touch wasn’t just physical—it felt like a lifeline, something pulling him out of the darkness he had been sinking into.

As the elevator doors slid shut, the quiet hum of the building surrounded them, and Homelander found himself focusing solely on you. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t recoil. You just held his hand, gently, as if leading him somewhere safe. He didn’t feel like a monster in that moment, not in your presence.

The elevator dinged softly, and you led him down the hall to your floor. The sight was unlike anything in Vought Tower—lush greenery, vibrant pinks and soft petals blooming everywhere. It felt alive, warm. This was your power after all, to bend nature to your will. And it was a reflection of you, full of life, soft but powerful. He was surprised it was even still Vought Tower.

He hadn’t expected you to bring him here. You could’ve taken him to his own floor, left him in one of the pristine, sterile bathrooms of his suite. But no—you’d brought him to your space, a sanctuary. It was so unlike the cold, artificial world of Vought. And so much like you.

Slowly, you guided him to the bathroom. The plants trailed along the walls, the air fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers. You looked up at him, blinking those wide, soft eyes of yours. A single word entered his mind: Fawn. You looked like a fawn, delicate and innocent, standing before something dangerous without any idea of what it could do to you.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, unable to find the words to speak. Still entranced by you, he wondered how you could be so kind, so gentle, to someone like him. Anyone else would have left him to clean himself up in cold silence, but you…you stayed.

You nodded quietly, as if you understood, then turned to the bath, filling it with warm water. He watched you bite your lip in thought, and all he could think about was biting your lip himself. His gaze lingered on your mouth, and for a split second, he imagined pulling you close, feeling that softness against his own. But instead, he remained silent, his breath heavy as you carefully and gently began to undress him.

He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him with such care. You didn’t fumble or stare, didn’t sneak a lustful glance as you removed his suit piece by piece. You were entirely respectful, your touch light, focused on the task. And when you led him to sink into the bath, your hands still guiding him, he realized that you weren’t treating him like Homelander. You weren’t treating him like a god. You were treating him like…a person.

The warm water surrounded him, washing away the blood and grime. But what made him feel truly clean was your touch. You knelt by the tub, peeling off your pink gloves, and began washing him with your bare hands. He could feel your skin against his, the warmth of your palms gliding over his body.

He had to fight to keep from shivering. The sensation of your skin on his—bare and vulnerable—sent a wave of euphoria through him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt. This wasn’t lust. This was something deeper, something far more dangerous. He was intoxicated by you, not because of what you were doing, but because of who you were. The softness, the care, the genuine kindness…it was all so foreign to him.

And as you worked in silence, cleaning away the blood, he realized with a start that he never wanted this feeling to end.

Homelander couldn’t take his eyes off you as you washed him. Every gentle stroke of your hands sent a ripple of pleasure through him, and though his eyes begged to close, he refused. He needed to see you. To watch you, to take in every movement, every touch. Your fingers slid through his hair, and for a moment, he almost gave in—almost let his eyes flutter shut and just melt into the sensation. But his gaze stayed locked on you, intense and unyielding.

You could feel his stare, that much was clear, yet you didn’t say a word. You just kept working, silent and serene. And it started to bother him, gnawing at him. How could you be so quiet, so unaffected by his presence? He needed to hear your voice again. He craved it, like a drug, something to soothe the irritation building inside him.

“Talk to me,” he said, the words slipping out in a petulant tone he hadn’t meant to use. But he didn’t care. He wanted your attention, your words, your everything.

Your eyes met his, wide and curious, like you were studying him, trying to figure him out. You tilted your head, and once again, the thought struck him—fawn. That was what you reminded him of. A fawn, delicate and gentle, standing before a predator without realizing the danger.

You pursed your lips, thinking carefully about what to say, and for just a second, Homelander finally closed his eyes. He wanted to focus solely on your voice. Nothing else mattered. Just you.

“I named myself Pink Dahlia because my favorite color is pink,” you began, your sweet voice filling the room like music, “and dahlias symbolize love and devotion.”

His eyes snapped open.

Love and devotion. The words echoed in his mind like a gunshot, shattering every other thought. You kept talking, explaining something about flower meanings and other potential supe names you’d considered, but Homelander didn’t give a fuck about that. None of that mattered. All he could focus on was love and devotion.

It was a sign. It had to be. You were made for him. There was no other explanation. How could it be a coincidence that the one person who treated him with kindness, who looked at him without fear, had chosen a name that embodied exactly what he wanted from you? Exactly what he needed. Love and devotion.

His chest tightened with the realization, his mind spinning with the possibilities. You would love him. You would be devoted to him completely. It was inevitable. Fate had brought you into his life for a reason.

As you continued to speak, your voice soft and calming, he stared at you, consumed by the thought of it—how perfect it would be. You, by his side, loyal and loving, filling the void that no one else could. The world would bow before him, but you…you would worship him in the way he craved, in a way no one ever had.

You were starting to seriously piss him off. The way you acted, pretending like nothing had happened between you, like the connection between you wasn’t so strong it practically vibrated in the air. You carried on as if the two of you didn’t share something deeper, something unspoken but undeniable. It was infuriating.

Then again, if you had acknowledged it—if you’d brought it up and confronted him about it—he probably would’ve blown a fucking gasket. His control was fragile enough as it was.

But trying to talk to you? That was a whole other level of frustration. Every time you looked up at him with those soft, gentle eyes, and gave him that sweet, unassuming smile, all the words in his head vanished. Just gone. Like you had some kind of power over him that even he didn’t understand.

So, he did the only thing he could think of to get you closer—he forced The Deep to move, ordering him to sit somewhere else, so that you could sit right next to him. He wasn’t subtle about it, either. He didn’t care if anyone noticed. As long as you were close, that was all that mattered.

Then came the Vought V52 Expo, and Homelander could feel the agitation building inside him. He needed to talk to you, to make you see what was right in front of you, but the timing was never right. On the bright side, things were going well with Ryan. He was bonding with his son, teaching him to stand up for himself, to say no when he needed to. It felt…good, like he was finally getting through to him.

But by the time they got to the V52 Expo, the agitation had grown into something much sharper. His eyes tracked you across the stage, watching as you announced your new environmental awareness project—the Dahlia Project. Fans were cheering for you, screaming your name, and you looked so damn perfect up there.

You were smiling, waving to the crowd, talking passionately about your cause, and the noise of the crowd was deafening. But all Homelander could think about was how you hadn’t even looked at him once. Not a glance. Not a dedication. Nothing.

He watched you with cold, calculated eyes, trying to keep the growing frustration in check. You were good at this, at drawing people in, making them adore you. But how could you not see that you already had him? That no one else in the crowd mattered compared to him?

And as the fans continued to cheer, his grip tightened around the milkshake he’d bought for you. He needed to speak to you. To make you understand. And the longer you went on, the more he realized—this wasn’t just about getting closer to you anymore. It was about making sure you knew that you belonged to him.

Homelander was standing with Ryan, guiding him through yet another lesson in asserting control. Ryan had been eager to "help" people, to really understand what that meant. So, when Homelander saw an opportunity, he called over Adam—the Vought employee who had been making his assistant visibly uncomfortable with inappropriate advances.

Ryan’s eyes narrowed skeptically, his young face twisting in uncertainty as he looked at the assistant. “Um… is he making you uncomfortable? You can tell me. You won’t get in trouble.”

The assistant bit her lip nervously before nodding, her voice hesitant but honest. “Kind of… yeah.”

Homelander raised an eyebrow, turning his attention to Ryan. “Ryan, what do you think we should do about that?”

Ryan hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He still hadn’t fully grasped the power he held, and Homelander could sense his uncertainty, the hesitation that made his own patience wear thin. With a sigh, he glanced away—only for his eyes to land on you, walking past with that usual air of calm about you.

“Dahlia,” he called, his voice a little sharper than he intended. “Come over here.”

You looked up at him, eyebrows raised in that sweet, expectant way that only made him more agitated, and walked over without hesitation, your eyes scanning the scene as you assessed the situation.

“What’s up?” you asked simply.

Homelander smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and gestured to Adam. “Adam here has been making some inappropriate advances toward his assistant. What do you have to say about that?”

Even Ryan turned to you, waiting for your response. Homelander watched you closely, studying the way you furrowed your brows in genuine concern as you looked at Adam.

“I think,” you said carefully, “that there’s no excuse for making someone else uncomfortable. And it’s even worse when you know you’re doing it.”

Homelander’s smile widened at your answer. It was perfect—clear, direct, and moral, just like he expected from you. There was a subtle pride in the way you spoke, and it fed into his own sense of approval. You were playing right into his hands without even realizing it.

Your words seemed to be the push Ryan needed, as he turned to Adam, his voice gaining confidence. “Apologize,” Ryan commanded, the hint of authority in his tone surprising even himself. When Adam hesitated, Ryan’s jaw tightened. “Now.”

Adam stated an obviously insincere apology, and Ryan, growing bolder by the second, looked at the assistant. “I want you to slap him.”

Homelander’s gaze snapped to you, watching intently for your reaction. You didn’t flinch. Instead, you seemed to consider the situation with a quiet thoughtfulness, your expression showing no sign of discomfort. You didn’t object or look shocked—in fact, there was a hint of agreement in the way you nodded lightly. You understood the need to make a point, to assert control.

Homelander couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Not just in Ryan, but in you. The way you navigated the situation with clarity, how you stood by his side and reinforced his lessons without even realizing it—it only confirmed what he already knew.

You belonged with him.

The moment his resolve truly snapped was at Tek Knight’s party. Everything had already spiraled out of control. A-Train and Firecracker were nowhere to be found, MIA at a critical time. And when it was time for the big speech to the GOP donors, Sage was acting as if she’d had a fucking lobotomy, leaving Homelander to take over.

The minute he started speaking, they questioned him. Him. They criticized him as if he wasn’t the most powerful man in the room, as if he wasn’t Homelander. His hand twitched, and he was one second away from lasering through every single one of those smug, entitled bastards. But then Neuman stepped in, pulling the conversation back on track and rallying the support he was seconds from obliterating.

He stalked away, seething. And that’s when he saw it—him—one of the donor’s sons talking to you. But it wasn’t just talking. He recognized the look in that guy’s eyes, the casual leaning in, the way his hand brushed against your arm like it was nothing.

Homelander’s chest tightened with a slow, burning jealousy, the kind that clawed at him from the inside. His grip on the glass tightened, but for the moment, he held himself in check. Barely. When that loser touched your arm, though, that’s when it snapped. His entire facade shattered.

In his mind, that small touch was a violation. You belonged to him. Whether you knew it yet or not, it was already decided. And this idiot was crossing a line no one should ever have the nerve to approach.

His reaction started subtly—at first. His smile stiffened, his eyes narrowed with an icy focus. He moved toward you with the kind of charm that made people believe he was still in control, but inside, he was already a storm waiting to break.

Homelander slid smoothly between you and the man, a calculated smile plastered on his friendly. “Everything alright here?” His voice was polite, but there was an edge, a tension simmering just beneath the surface.

You blinked up at him, surprised but unsuspecting, nodding lightly. “Yeah, of course. This is Jason Wilson, the District Attorney’s son. We’re just talking.”

Just talking. Homelander’s smile grew tighter. Logically, he knew that. But logic had no place here. The jealousy gnawed at him, irrational, violent, and all-consuming. Without hesitation, he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a way that left no room for doubt. “We wouldn’t want things to get inappropriate, now would we?”

Jason froze, his eyes widening slightly, clearly unnerved by the sudden shift. Homelander’s stare bore into him, a silent warning not to take another step, not to even breathe in your direction. Jason stammered an awkward excuse and quickly retreated, leaving you and Homelander alone.

You frowned up at him, clearly confused by the sudden shift in his mood. “What was that about?”

Homelander didn’t answer right away. Instead, his grip on your waist tightened, enough that you’d feel the strength behind it—enough that you couldn’t pull away easily. He quietly steered you toward a more secluded corner of the room, away from prying eyes. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone, his lips close to your ear. “You shouldn’t let people touch you like that,” he said, barely keeping his rage in check. “Not when you’re with me.”

You blinked, utterly confused, your brows knitting together in that way he both adored and despised. “I don’t understand. I’m not… with you.”

His jaw clenched. The words stung, hitting him harder than any physical blow could. You didn’t understand yet. You didn’t see what he saw, didn’t feel what he felt. But you would. You had to.

Homelander let out a hollow chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You don’t understand. It’s fine, I’ll forgive you for that.” His tone dripped with condescension as if he were talking to a child. He then pointed between the two of you, his expression hardening. “You and me—we belong together. Which makes you mine.”

You stared at him, completely lost, your mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. The confusion in your eyes only seemed to amuse him further. You were so oblivious, so innocent, and it both frustrated and thrilled him. Finally, you managed to speak, your voice soft and uncertain. “I thought you were interested in Firecracker.”

Homelander’s face scrunched up in pure disgust, his lip curling as if you had just said something vile. “What? No. Ew. No.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, looking around as if there were hidden cameras capturing this bizarre moment, half-expecting this to be some kind of elaborate joke. “Oh.”

Then you turned back to him, your wide eyes filled with genuine surprise, lips pouting slightly as you asked, “You… like me?”

The way you said it—so innocent, so utterly unaware—made his chest tighten. Like wasn’t even close to what he felt for you. He needed you. You were everything he’d been waiting for, the one pure thing in a world full of filth and betrayal. But the fact that you couldn’t even comprehend why someone like him would be interested in you… It only made his obsession stronger.

He smiled, soft and almost tender, his previous irritation and jealousy melting away in the face of your cluelessness. “Like doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he murmured, his voice lower now, dripping with an intensity that sent a shiver through the air. He stepped closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an unsettling focus. “You’re perfect. You’re everything.”

He reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture intimate but laced with possessiveness. “You just don’t see it yet. But you will.”

You blinked up at him, still dazed, still confused, your mind struggling to process what was happening. But in his mind, it was already decided. You were his—had been from the moment he laid eyes on you. And soon enough, you’d understand that too.

Homelander cupped your face as though you were the most delicate thing in existence, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone capable of such monstrous strength. His heart raced as he leaned in, finally close enough to taste the softness of your lips—something he’d craved for what felt like an eternity. He could already imagine how perfect you’d feel, how right it would be.

But before his lips could meet yours, your hand quickly covered his mouth. "Wait," you said, eyes wide with sudden embarrassment.

His eyes snapped open, irritation flashing in them, his impatience barely concealed. "What?" he grunted, his voice muffled by your hand.

You hesitated, biting your lip nervously, avoiding his intense gaze as you finally explained, “My lips… they’re poisonous.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, and you removed your hand, looking even more embarrassed. “They contain a toxin,” you said softly, as if confessing a dark secret. “It gives anyone who kisses me a high, raises their heart rate until they get a heart attack… and die.”

A heavy silence followed as you waited for his reaction, expecting rejection or disgust. But Homelander’s eyes gleamed with something entirely different. Instead of pulling away, he just shrugged as if the danger you posed was trivial to him. "Fuck it," he muttered with a smirk, his hands tightening around your cheeks.

Before you could protest again, he pulled you into a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that bordered on madness.

The moment your lips met, Homelander let out a low, primal groan of pleasure. The sensation of your mouth against his was everything he’d imagined—and more. He could feel the toxin you had warned him about seeping into his bloodstream, but instead of fear, it only fueled the euphoria rushing through him. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, deepening the kiss, his desire consuming every rational thought.

The high from your poison made him feel invincible, like every dark, twisted part of him was being set free. The world outside—its chaos, its disappointments, its endless betrayals—faded into nothing. All that mattered was you. He felt light, weightless, as though he could fly to the edge of the universe with you in his arms.

And as the toxin worked its way through his system, the sensation of bliss became all-consuming. He didn’t just want to kiss you—he wanted to devour you, to possess you completely, body and soul. Every kiss, every taste of you, made the thought of losing you unbearable.

He deepened the kiss, his grip on your face tightening, every muscle in his body screaming with pleasure. He didn’t care about the risk, didn’t care that you could kill him. In that moment, he belonged to you, utterly and completely, and he’d die a thousand deaths for this feeling. The darkness inside him surged, but for once, it didn’t feel like a curse. With you, it felt like freedom.

Homelander had never been high in his entire existence, but if this was what it felt like—well, it was fucking spectacular. Every nerve in his body buzzed with euphoria, his muscles relaxed in a way that felt almost foreign to him, and everything around him suddenly seemed amusing, even absurd. He laughed—really laughed—as he flew the two of you back to Vought Tower, the wind whipping through his hair as if the world itself couldn’t touch him.

When he landed on your balcony, a wide grin stretched across his face, a rare glint of pure joy in his eyes. You looked up at him, bemused, as he stumbled slightly, his usually poised demeanor replaced with a boyish charm. He couldn’t stop smiling. “How long does this last?” he asked, his voice light with the toxin’s effects.

You chuckled softly as you led him inside, your touch warm and steady while his hands wandered over you, unable to keep still. “Max? Maybe two hours before the average human dies,” you murmured with a teasing smile.

He let out a breathless laugh, his hand still brushing against your waist, intoxicated not just by the toxin but by you. “How many people have you done this to?” he asked, voice low as he buried his nose in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. It was almost possessive, his need to absorb every part of you.

You leaned back slightly, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “Two… high school boyfriends.”

Homelander’s hands slid over your body, but then something caught his eye—a small jar on the kitchen island. His gaze sharpened instantly, curiosity piqued. “What’s that?” he asked, tone suddenly playful but underlined with a dangerous edge as his fingers drifted toward the jar.

He could feel the tension in your body before he even turned to face you fully, sensing the shift in the air. His smile twisted into something more predatory as he turned to you, eyes glinting with amusement and a hint of menace. “Look here,” he started, his voice low and smooth, “since we’re now officially together—”

“Officially?” you murmured, your eyes slightly hazy from his intoxicating presence, a dreamy smile playing on your lips.

He scrunched his nose in a mock expression of annoyance. “Yeah, officially. And there’s one thing you should know about me—I hate secrets. Can’t fucking stand 'em.”

You flushed, your face heating with embarrassment as you shifted on your feet, clearly reluctant to answer. “It’s… nipple cream,” you mumbled.

Homelander raised an eyebrow, his expression uncharacteristically patient, though the intensity in his eyes never wavered. “I can see that,” he said, his voice slow, almost mocking. He leaned closer, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But why do you need it?”

You hesitated, then looked away shyly before finally answering, “I lactate.”

For the first time in a long time, pure shock crossed Homelander’s face. His smile faded, replaced by an unreadable expression as your words sank in. Lactate? He couldn’t process it at first, the information almost short-circuiting his mind. “What?” he asked, his voice lower now, the question almost a growl.

You swallowed, explaining softly, “Just like how some plants and fruits produce milk… ever since I got my first cycle, I’ve been producing milk too.”

Homelander’s throat went dry, his eyes dropping instinctively to your breasts as his thoughts spun wildly. “Only during your cycle?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

“No,” you admitted, your voice softer still. “Every single day since I got my cycle.”

A long pause hung in the air between you, the weight of your revelation settling in. Homelander’s heart pounded, and for a moment, the effects of the toxin couldn’t compare to the sheer awe and hunger he felt. His gaze drifted back up to meet yours, and something primal flickered in his eyes.

“Oh,” he murmured, a slow smile creeping back onto his face, but this time, it wasn’t just euphoria driving it. No, this—this was something deeper.

Somehow, impossibly, you had just become even more perfect in his eyes.

Reader's Aesthetic

(only her supe name is Pink Dahlia)

Hope you enjoyed!

[glitteredrry]

maneater

summary: Harry feels inspired by the woman who is holding his heart in her hands. Harry’s true feelings come out during a recording session, and his heart is on the line.

warning: angst & fluff

wc: 2.4k

I haven’t written in so long, and I was feeling inspired. Please let me know how you like it. I own no rights to this song (just in case lol). I hope you enjoy!!

Harry looked at his Rolex for the fifth time in an hour. He checked the time, awaiting the arrival of his…well, he was not sure what to call her. His girl? Well, no, that’s not the correct title. His lover? That’s not even close to what he was to her. Harry didn’t know the correct title to give her, but he did know that she wasn’t his, yet he was all hers. Luna Gray was her name, it was her stage name. Her birthname was for him only; regardless, her name was on the tip of everyone’s tongue.

Harry and Luna were signed to Columbia Records, and both were some of the biggest stars in the world. Harry met Luna when she signed to the label in 1981, and the first time they met, Harry was electrified to his core. All she had to do was look at him, and Harry mentally fell to his knees.  To Harry, she was perfection; the only problem was that he wasn’t the only person who thought this. Let’s just say that Luna was loved by many, and for Harry, it started out not being a problem but slowly developed into one a year later. Luna would explain to all the men she got involved with that she is not someone who could be tied down. She had one goal, which was to be a star. No one or nothing could get in the way of that dream. Harry understood this the first time they slept together, yet as their sexual relationship began to grow, it was somewhat difficult for Harry to hear about the endless men she was caught up with. 

Harry could admit he fell in love with her, yet Luna had no idea about Harry’s feelings towards her. Luna continued with her life as normal, while Harry continued to suffer in silence. He knew how Luna was and that her motto was to cut off men once they fell in love. She told the world she enjoyed her life as a single lady in Hollywood. So, as Harry spent the time drowning in his feelings, he caught inspiration to write a song when a picture in the tabloids was released of her with a star athlete. He couldn’t control his jealousy, which was feasting inside him. He was angry, saddened, and felt like an idiot for being in love with someone who told him she wasn’t going to be tied down. Harry continued to pour his emotions on paper, letting go of everything he felt. What he forgot about, though, is that Luna was coming to listen in on his studio session, and this was the only song he was going to record today. This is Luna and Harry’s thing. They were both artists, so it wasn’t out of the norm for them to listen in on their studio sessions and provide notes. 

Harry genuinely didn’t want to record this infront of her, but he couldn’t waste paid studio time either. Instead of consistently checking the time, he decided to leave the studio for a smoke break. With each inhale, he felt the stress leave his body until he watched her sleek red Mercedes Convertible pull into the parking lot. Her curly hair was all over the place as she pulled in; her eyes were on Harry’s immediately as she parked. She stepped out of the car with a smile, hoping Harry would forgive her for running a little late. Harry watched as the Los Angeles sunset dipping below the valley illuminated her skin. Harry kept his eyes on her, continuing to smoke and soak in the sound of her heels hitting the pavement. She looked beautiful as she approached Harry; without a word, she grabbed the cigarette from his hands, taking a hit of it.

“You mad at me?” Luna said, exhaling the smoke as it brushed across Harry’s face. 

He shook his head ‘no’ because he truly wasn’t mad. Even if he were, she would never know it. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.” He said, eying her up and down. Lust and anxiety coursing through his veins.

“I got caught up in something. Forgive me, sweetheart,” she said with puppy eyes. Her eyes still held this twinkle in them as if she was playing a game with him.

“Something or someone,” Harry said, letting the jealousy slip. He hated when his mouth would speak before his brain could. Luna smiled at his words, throwing the finished cigarette on the ground and crushing it under her heel.

“Are you sure you want to know?” she smirked, moving past him to enter the studio. Harry felt a slight pang in his chest as he followed her inside. As Luna entered, she sat on the couch and said hello to the sound engineer. Harry nervously picked up the paper and headed to the booth. Just before he got in, Luna called out to him.

“I’m excited to hear the song, Harry.” Her eyes were glowing, and Harry could tell that she was being genuine. Harry and Luna shared a deep connection when it came to music. They both had the utmost respect for each other as artists. Harry smiled at her, briefly looking at her before entering the booth. Harry put on his headphones and signaled that he was ready. Once the beat of the song kicked in, Harry watched as Luna bobbed her head to the music and waited for Harry to start singing. Harry felt his throat swell up in trepidation. Instead of focusing on Luna, he closes his eyes and sings from his heart. 

Oh-oh, here she comes

Watch out, boy, she'll chew you up

Oh-oh, here she comes

She's a man-eater

Harry finally opened his eyes when he got to the middle of the song. He looked through the glass as he watched Luna on the couch with an unreadable expression. Her legs were crossed as he watched her hanging leg bounce. As the song faded out, they kept eye contact with each other. The song engineer cleared Harry to remove his headphones, and He watched as Luna stood on her feet, waiting for him to come out. Harry apprehensively stepped out of the booth, feeling the immediate tension filling the room. Harry could see her facial expression had morphed into clear anger, so he decided to have the room for himself for a while. When they were both alone, Harry chose to speak up. 

“How did you like the song,”

“How did I like it?” She asked, irritation coursing through her body. “Let me think of how I feel,” she laughed mockingly. 

“Listen, I know how it sounds, but hear what I have to say first.”

“Why should I listen to you right now? You brought me here to shame me. All because your feelings are a little hurt, suddenly I should come with a warning label. Well, newsflash, Harry, I told you everything upfront from the beginning.” 

“I know that, but trust me when I say none of what you said matters now. Not when I feel like this, not when you know I feel like this about you.”

“Don’t do that. You’ve never told me anything, Harry you-”

“Cut the shit, just because I haven’t verbally mentioned it, I know you know. You know it in the way I kiss you, in the way I touch you, and when I make love to you. That’s on me that I never said anything, and I hate that it had to come out in this way, but don’t act oblivious. I never told you because I know you’ll run away like you have with others.”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“Because if that’s the risk I must take, then so be it. I can’t live with this inside me anymore. If you decide to run off, that’s on you. Yes, I will admit my feelings were upset seeing you with someone else. I wrote a song about it. That’s what I do. When I can’t speak my feelings, I sing them. This is the only song I was going to record today. I promise it wasn’t to hurt you in any way.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t hurt getting called a maneater.” She rolled her eyes and folded her arms around each other as she turned her back to Harry.

Harry watched her and decided to step closer to her, “I apologize if I hurt you; that’s never what I want. You have to believe me on that. I’m saying it now: I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours,” Harry pleaded with her. Luna soaked in his words, hearing the sincerity in his voice. She couldn’t face him. Yes, Luna believed him and knew that Harry wasn’t lying at all when he said she secretly knew. She did. She enjoyed feeling like Harry would always be there. It was this feeling of security she didn’t have with any of the other men she would casually date. This sense of security was something that she was scared to have pulled away. She didn’t want to commit out of fear of relationships, yet she knew she didn’t want Harry to be gone forever. Even though she knew Harry loved her, she thought she had a longer time to decide whether to commit. It felt like she was now faced with an ultimatum. Instead of answering him, she deflected. “Harry, you’ve seen girls to-.” She was once again cut off with Harry’s words.

“No, don’t do that. You know, every single girl is PR. I stopped doing that altogether once I felt more serious about you. Don’t divert this back to me. Do you want me at all? Or is this where this ends.” Harry said with a deep breath, finally asking the question. He would be lying if he didn’t feel like 100 pounds were sitting on his heart, waiting to be lifted off. All it would take for this anxiety to lift is her uttering the word, ‘Yes, Harry, I want you.’ Yet, what he heard come out of her mouth next left him shocked where he stood. Luna turned to face him with a stone-cold expression, “I can’t do this, Harry.” Luna walked past him to exit the studio, brushing his shoulder as she passed. As her hand touched the cold door handle to leave, Harry muttered what he thought would be his last word to her. 

“This is what you do, Luna. You run away, and I don’t know why I thought it would be any different for me.” Harry said, feeling himself getting more emotional that he wanted to be infront of her. Without another word, Luna slammed the door behind her.

As she walked down the long hallway, her heart and mind raced. ‘What did I do?’ She thought to herself. She knows she has a connection with Harry. Without a doubt, she knows that. Yet, she was still scared to commit. Past relationships had driven her to live this bachelorette lifestyle. Luna stopped in her tracks, leaning against a wall. “Fuck,” she muttered to herself. Luna had a real decision to make right now. She could either run off to her car and avoid Harry forever. Or go back into that studio to be with the only man who has ever treated her right. Luna finally knew she could listen to her heart, saying just to trust. She had spent years listening to her brain and severed many lovers because of her mind. Her heart was saying to her don’t let this one go, Luna turned on her heels and headed back in the same direction she left. Harry was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, soaking in everything that had just happened. He heard the door open and, without looking, thought it was the sound engineer returning.

“Hey man, I need a few more minutes.”

“I love you, Harry Styles. I’m sorry it took this long for me to admit it.” Harry’s head shot up in shock, looking at the door. He watched Luna close the door behind her as he rose.

“Say it again,” he said breathlessly as she approached him. As she reached him, her hands went on opposite sides of his face, and she looked him in the eyes. 

“I love you, and I want you. I want this. There are no promises for how fast we will go, though. I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time.”

“I don’t care if we take one inch a day. That’s all I needed you to say.” Harry towered over her, pressing his lips on her. Luna leaned in the kiss, soaking up all of Harry’s love. Her heart felt something it hadn't in a while, true peace. It felt as if all the walls she had spent so hard creating came crumbling down all at once. Harry picked her up, sitting on the couch with her in his arms. Harry deepened the kiss, tangling his hands in her hair. Luna relaxed in his lap as her body felt like it was on fire. Harry broke the kiss as they both panted against each other's lips. Both of their mouths curved up into a smile.

“Sloane, I love you. I think I always have. It’s impossible not to be. I promise I want this.” Luna’s cheeks beamed at her real name slipping from his lips. She couldn’t begin to explain this feeling in her body. 

“I’m excited about this, Harry. And you’re doing a real civil duty keeping me from eating more men.” She said, teasing him about the song.

“Baby, If the song upset you, I’ll scrap it.” Her index finger lightly brushed over his lips to shush him. 

“To say it upset me is an understatement. I would be a complete fool if I watched you let go of that song. It’s a great song and can be our little secret that it’s about me.”

“Deal, baby.” Harry smiled at her, happy that she was okay with him putting the song out.

“Now you have to make it up to me, though,” she said seductively. That’s all it took for Harry to feel that similar yearning. 

“I’m going to spend all night making it up to you, I promise.” Luna kissed Harry again, and she let Harry express his love for her. Both of them decided to use the studio for the night so that Harry’s promise could be kept. Luna and Harry couldn’t be more in love than they already felt. It made the wait that Harry had to endure all worth it. 

[55sturn]

✮ A COLLECTION OF BLURBS ABOUT BEST FRIEND!CHRIS

disclaimers: this wasn’t requested but this is how i think being best friends with chris who also happens to be falling in love with you would go. suggestive and slightly 18+ nsfw content below, read at your own risk.

best friend!chris who is always there for you, day or night, early in the morning before the sun has completely risen and you’re drunk out of your mind sobbing because you’re homesick and he’s the closest thing to home, and during the late hours of night when the moon is at its peak and the stars are shining bright and you’re wide awake because you napped during the day and the two of you are walking through the streets of la reminiscing about a time before you could call la home.

best friend!chris who knows everything about you, from your favourite colour to the foods you despise and how to calm you down when you feel overstimulated and you’re having issues regulating your emotions, who has duplicates of your skincare cluttering his bathroom counter and the other halves to all the stuffed animals duos you find sitting on his bed and the couch in his room.

best friend!chris who finds his other half in you, your love for physical touch matches his, your personality mirrors his in an almost eerie way, he knows that you will match his energy and vibe without hesitation.

best friend!chris who is a big believer in eye contact, especially when it comes to you, he wants you to know you have his full attention, regardless of what you’re talking about, his eyes will always meet yours. and sometimes when the eye contact is so intense, to the point where you can’t hold it any longer because the colour of his eyes is too pretty and the way they’re droopy and tired and heavy lidded, almost giving them that bedroom eyes effect, makes you look away to hide the blush rising on your face, and the fact that if you stare at him any longer, you’ll kiss him, he chuckles lowly, gently turning your face back to his with a hand under your chin.

best friend!chris who isn’t scared to touch you, he will throw an arm around you and tug you closer, whispering whatever comes to mind in your ear, giggling as you roll your eyes at him, his hands are almost always on you, needing to feel you beside because you keep him grounded.

best friend!chris who is quick to size up any guy that dares to check you out or pick a fight with your bold drunken self that can’t seem to keep her comments to herself, and who isn’t scared to insert himself between you and whatever guy makes you uncomfortable.

best friend!chris who handles your attitude well, he doesn’t let it manifest into a bigger fight or deal than it needs to be and will counteract it by questioning why you’re coming at him sideways and will tell you to talk to him when you’re ready to act like an adult, and will not hesitate to grab your jaw, forcing you to pay attention, and understand that there’s not a singular reason for you to talk to him like that.

best friend!chris who very rarely snaps on you, who hates to see your demeanour morph and twist into something almost sinister with anger, and who hates it even more when it’s because of him. he’s always vowed to treat you with respect, meaning never to raise a hand or his voice to you, he views you as his equal, not someone to talk down to and try to control, so when he snaps, it’s not intentional, his mind is a whirlwind of overwhelming responsibilities and the possibility that he has feelings for you, and as someone who shows so many signs of adhd, it’s hard for his brain to quiet down as it is and when he’s overwhelmed, it’s game over, and he hates that his anger misplaced toward you.

best friend!chris who hates the guys and girls you date or hookup with, despite them being good natured people, he just cant see why they get all of you, not just the platonic side, when he’s right there.

best friend!chris who can’t deal with his jealousy in a relatively normal way, and decides to make a spectacle of it, blatantly showboating his jealous by picking arguments with the girls or the guys you date, even going as far as to physically fight one guy that you bring as plus one to a party you both attend, shrugging it off when you corner and ask him what the fuck he’s doing.

best friend!chris who stands quietly between your legs as you sit on the counter in his bathroom as you clean his knuckles and his split lip, shame and regret bubbling to the surface as you sigh, unable to fathom why he picked a fight with another guy that showed genuine interest in you for the fifth time that month, feeling hurt that he keeps preventing your potential happiness.

best friend!chris who tears up as you ask him if he thinks you’re undeserving of finding love and happiness, begging to know why he’s seemingly so against you being with anyone, and hearing you plead for an answer with such raw and deeply cutting sadness rips him apart so viciously that he can’t handle it so in attempt to make you see his feelings in the best way he can think of, he just grabs your face as firmly as possible while simultaneously holding you so delicately, and shoves his lips against yours, effectively silencing your pleas that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

best friend!chris who tries to leave the second you sit there, stunned and silent as you process what happened, but you’re quick to grab his wrist, turning him back toward you as your free hand wraps around the back of his neck, pulling him into angry and searing kiss while his hands wrap around your hips, pawing at the skin beneath your shirt in a futile effort to ground himself, to make himself believe that everything he’s wanted is actually happening.

best friend!chris who drags you to secluded alleyways and darkened corners every time you go out with friends because the urge to kiss you is bigger than his voice reason telling him to wait until you’re alone. he’s not intentionally hiding the new aspect of your relationship, he just wants it to stay innocent and pure, untainted by opinions of those who know.

best friend!chris who has half a brain when he’s not around you, which isn’t very common. but if you’re not nearby, he’s constantly thinking about you, wondering what you’re doing, what song is inevitably stuck in your head, if you’re thinking about him too, if you need him as bad as he always needs you.

best friend!chris who turns into a puddle of mush the first time you kiss him in front of your friends, not giving a fuck who sees because you just wanted to kiss him, and who stares at you with hearts in his eyes as you pull away before attacking your face with a million little kisses because he’s excited that he doesn’t have to kiss you in secret anymore.

best friend!chris who just about spills his guts and tells you he loves you the first time you two have sex, it’s almost pavlovian the way the words nearly tumble from his lips, he’s always associated sex with the person he loves most, and with that person being you, his rutting against yours so deliciously, it hurdles him closer and closer to saying fuck it and telling you but he holds himself back, he doesn’t want the first time he says those three words while actually meaning it to be tarnished by the feeling of chasing both your high and his, making it seem like he’s only saying it because of the sex.

best friend!chris who is devoted to your pleasure, he’s much more committed to making you finish and feel good than he ever has been with a girl before. he reasoning is that you’re miles and miles more important to him than any of his old flings and one night stands.

best friend!chris who doesn’t let your dynamic change drastically after realizing each other’s feelings, he doesn’t want to lose the elements that made your relationship in the first place, he still sees you as his best friend [ in a sense ] but he just gets to kiss you whenever he wants. you come first to him in every sense and aspect, you’re his main girl and that’ll never change, even when your relationship begins to.

taglist: @worldlxvlys @gamermattsgf @vanteguccir @sturnioloshacker @mattscoquette @sugrhigh @bratzforchris @teapartyprincess4two @lustfulslxt @patscorner @guccifrog @muwapsturniolo @soursturniolo @solarsturniolo @sturnioloshacker @raysmayhem-72 @meanttomeet @breeloveschris @ghostofbrock @l9vesick @freshloveee @fawnchives @cindylcuwho @thc-bolter @freshloveforthefit @freshsturns @forevergirlposts @sturniolo-fav-matt @sturnifyed @querenciasturniolo @pinklittleflower @ellie-luvsfics @strniolo @junnniiieee07 @hearts4chriss @evie-sturns @hysteria-things @sturniolossss @iliketotalk @bambi-slxt @nickgetsmewetter @inkyray @jnkvivi @cdbabymp3 @certifiedstarrr @certified-chrisgirl @faeriedst

© 55STURN 2024 ! REBLOGS NOT EXPECTED BUT GREATLY APPRECIATED ! [ you do not have permission to copy or save or share my work to other platforms and devices! ]

[sleepiexx]

more james x reader PLSSS so good.

maybe even james x fem Slytherin reader

<3

Concussions ‘n Confessions

James Potter x fem!Slytherin Reader

Note: no Voldemort au so you’re besties with the skittles :)

Summary: James quickly realizes his feelings for you— shortly after you’re struck directly in the head with a bludger.

Warnings: Barty beats someone up, mild swearing, corny “hurt her and you die,” line lol

Word count: 2914

Were it any other chaser from any other team, James would have been jumping for joy that a bludger he’d dodged had flew straight past him, nailing an offending chaser right in the head and leaving a rival quidditch team down one player. Hell, it was Slytherin who was down one, bloody Slytherin! But James couldn’t bring himself to be happy, not when that ‘offending chaser’ was none other than poor, sweet you.

You and James met at precisely six o’clock in the morning on the first day of your sixth year, you just tried out and made the Slytherin team after finally succumbing to years of your friends begging you to join and put your flying skills to good use. Despite your initial hesitance towards the sport, you were on the team now, and with your overachieving nature, you had no choice but to practice hard and impress at your first game.

James was on the pitch at that time because he always was. No one else came at six in the morning, so he had the entire arena to himself to practice flying and shooting the quaffle. That was, of course, until the day you came along.

He’d groaned internally when he spotted a green robe in the sky, the last thing he wanted was to have to fight with a Slytherin over the use of the quidditch pitch when all he wanted to do was practice. He mounted his broom and flew towards the figure.

“Hey!” He yelled, startling you. You turned around with a shocked face but smiled once you realized it was just another student come to practice. “How long are you planning on using the pitch?” He asked, a little off-put by the smile you still had on your face despite his red and gold garb.

“I’m planning on staying till lunch, but there’s an extra quaffle down there so we can share the pitch if you’re up for it!”

James had to physically stop his jaw from dropping. You were so nice. What about house rivalry? What happened to the sentiment that all Slytherins were evil?

Maybe you just wanted to watch him practice to steal Gryffindor strategies. Yeah, that was it. No other possible way, Slytherin found out that James Potter practices early and sent out pretty little you to gather information. They had to have known a girl with a face as sweet as yours and an attitude to match was his ultimate weakness.

Regardless, he came out here to practice. He flew down to where you had pointed, where there was, in fact, an extra quaffle. Slytherin had prepared well.

He supposed pace would need to be the main focus of his practice today, you couldn’t watch his strategies if he was moving too fast for you to see. So he whizzed around on his broomstick, shooting goal after goal, curiously looking over his shoulder every once in a while. To his surprise, your focus remained on your own goal post. He sat mesmerized, watching you rehearse.

You weren’t bad, having a talent for the sport that James could tell was natural. You were new, that was clear, not just because James hadn’t seen you on the Slytherin team before, but also because of your lack of confidence. You were hesitating, and if you could just get past that barrier, he knew you would do great.

Screw it. What’s the harm in helping your rival team? If they’re not any good then there’s no glory in beating them at all.

Before he knew it, James found himself flying towards you, stopping a short distance behind you.

“What’s your name?” He asked, half expecting you to startle, as you had before.

You turned your broom gracefully this time, “I’m y/n l/n, you?”

“James Potter. You’re new to the team?”

“You could tell?” Your shoulders sunk, a frustrated pout made its way to your lips.

James' heart dropped, he hadn’t meant to call you out, “no, no it’s not like that. It’s just, well I’m Gryffindor’s captain so I know everyone on every team and I haven’t seen you before.”

You half believed him, still feeling a little insecure but nodding regardless, “yeah, I uhm, haven’t played since I was a kid but I like flying so my friends kinda peer pressured me into joining. I’m trying really hard not to let them down.”

James scoffed, “from what I’ve seen, I doubt you could let them down. But I could give you a pointer or two if you’d like.”

“Would you?”

He nodded in response and you smiled wide.

So began James Potter’s mentorship over you. He’d helped you and even practiced alongside you most mornings. The day of your first game, James was in the stands cheering you on. He had never watched a school quidditch game from the stands, but he found himself giddy watching you absolutely destroy Ravenclaw.

For the first time in his life, he cheered for Slytherin at every game— save for his own against you. Even those, he found, were rather enjoyable because the conclusion he’d originally come to was right, having a harder opponent is much more fun. The stakes were higher and James loved a good thrill.

He loved this arrangement, and he was having so much fun playing against you. Right up until the moment he dodged that stupid bloody bludger that Avery sent hurtling towards him, the lack of interruption leaving it right in the course of your head.

The crack of the ball hitting your head followed by the thud of you falling to the ground was deafening. He sprung into action instantly, shooting towards you and assessing your injuries. You were still half conscious, blinking up at him in pain.

“James?” You asked, voice strained.

“I’m here, love, I’m here. Madam Pomfrey will be here any moment to fix you up.” He held your hand, knowing how badly your head must hurt from taking one of Avery’s notoriously hard bludgers and then free falling from high enough in the sky that muggle medicine likely couldn’t fix the damage to. The whole school was lucky they weren’t resigned to muggle medicine, for Madame Pomfrey’s skills surpassed them leaps and bounds. “Squeeze my hand.”

And you did, a weak grasp that felt so strong to you. James panicked as it loosened even more and your eyes fluttered shut. Madame Pomfrey and some other professors came around with a stretcher, taking you away and leaving James pale in the face. That was the last he had seen of you in a while.

James had tried, on numerous occasions, to visit you in the infirmary with flowers, but he soon found out that your bubbly personality had earned you many friends— many overprotective and scary friends, to specify. Each time he was met with a different one of your Slytherin friends guarding the door as though you had an army of enemies on their way to get you. More realistically, they kept the noise in the hallway down. Protecting you not from armies, but from boisterous students whose loud noise would only worsen your ongoing headaches.

Many first years found out first hand how dedicated they were to protecting the peace, being hexed green after multiple warnings to quiet down. James couldn’t blame them, of course, he would likely do the same were you his to claim, alas, he’d yet to confess his recently realized love for you.

This meant that to your friends, he was nothing more than a threat to the silence you needed. So every time he visited, he was immediately shot down and threatened until he would eventually leave.

He thought he would outsmart your friends, sneak to the infirmary well after visiting hours, hidden under his invisibility cloak. Still, your prefect friend Evan Rosier was sat up against the door, asleep but propped up in a way that anyone entering the room would have to wake him before doing so. Dejected, James turned around and marched back to his dorm room.

The next evening as Remus and Lily rested on the common room couch, quietly reading next to one another whilst Peter laid on the floor, James barged into the common room and disrupted their peace.

James’ eyes met Remus’s and he instantly set his course toward the brunette, stepping over their other friend in the process. “Where is Sirius?” He demanded.

Remus scoffed, “what, no hello? How are you?”

“Or an ‘excuse me Wormtail’?” Peter chimed in.

James shook his head, “no, there’s no time, where is Sirius?”

Remus saw no point in arguing, sighing, “I believe he’s upstairs, combing his hair 152 times on either side.”

James had darted away the moment Remus said Sirius was upstairs, missing the joke and making Remus sigh once more.

“I thought the joke was funny.” Peter comforted.

“Thanks Wormy.”

Much akin to his grand entrance in the common room, James slammed the door to their dorm open. “Padfoot!” He exclaimed.

Sirius, who was seated on the floor— in fact brushing his hair— smiled and turned to his curly headed friend, “what is it you need my dear Prongsy?”

James only met his enthusiasm with desperation. He fell to his knees and placed his palms on either of Sirius’s shoulders, “Regulus is guarding the infirmary right now, you have to convince him to let me in.”

Sirius tried to talk but James cut him off, “Please, mate, I really need to see her and this is my one chance seeing as your brother is guarding her rather than the usual blokes who don’t care at all about my rapport with y/n. We could actually convince him! And before you say no, I’m prepared to do all your charms homework for the next two weeks, just do this one thing for me please, I beg.”

Sirius cracked a grin as James shook his shoulders, “I was going to say yes from the moment you asked, but now that I know there’s charms homework involved, I’ll hold you to it.”

James matched his expression, springing to his feet, pulling Sirius with him. “Alright, I have no idea how long he’ll be the one there so we have to hurry.”

Sirius nodded and they scurried down past the common room, through the portrait hole, and down the halls towards the infirmary.

They stopped at the turn to the infirmary, peeking around the corner to scope it out. Regulus was still there, conjuring silent illusions of rabbits hopping down the hall to fight his readily apparent boredom.

Sirius turned to James, “alright, here’s what’s going to happen: I don’t know for sure if I can convince good ol’ Reggie to let you in, but I do know that I can distract him, so while I do that, you’re going to conjure up some flowers, and when the coast looks clear you are going to rush on in there and you are going to charm the socks off this girl with your devilishly good looks and amazing personality and then you will ask her to be your girlfriend like you’ve always wanted. Got that?”

James nodded solemnly, so Sirius turned and walked casually over to his little brother. The last thing James heard was a “hello sweet, sweet brother of mine” before he focused on getting himself ready.

He conjured some flowers as Sirius had suggested; daisies, he remembered to be your favorite. As the sound of Sirius and Regulus faded down the hall, James took it as his chance to make his break towards you.

Even in the dimmed infirmary, dazed and sore, in a concussed state, you still managed to make James Potter stumble. He forgot where he was and what he was doing the moment your beautiful eyes met his.

“James?” You called out, breaking the boy out of his trance.

“Oh, yes. Hi.” He smiled and waved.

You smiled back, glancing at the flowers in his hands. The action reminded him very suddenly of the task at hand. He rushed to your bedside and held them out toward you, “these are for you.”

You took them, leaning down and smelling the sweet scent. “Thank you, daisies are-”

“Your favorite,” James interjected, “I remember, I knew I couldn’t give you any less than the best since you’re in here because of me.”

You scoffed, “you didn’t put me here.”

He shook his head, “had I not dodged that bludger, you would be fine.”

“I’d say that I don’t blame you but I know you’d just think I was being nice so let me explain it like this: if anyone believed that it was your fault I got hurt, Barty would’ve beaten the shit out of you instead of Avery.”

James’ eyes widened, “that’s what happened to him? Bloody hell, I thought a stray badger had wandered into the castle and attacked him the way he looks.”

“That bad?” You asked, “I only saw Barty’s bloody knuckles from the aftermath, now I’m not so sure that was entirely his blood.”

The two of you laughed softly, smiling when you caught each other’s eyes.

“The flowers aren’t the only reason I’m in here, though.” James said, brushing some hair out of your face.

“Oh?” You prompted him to continue.

He’s clear with his words, “I’ve had this thing for you for a while now, I just haven’t known it. I suppose watching you get hurt like that made me come to that realization, and now that I know, I can’t stand the idea that you don’t know so I guess this is me confessing.”

“You’re into me?” You asked.

James nodded.

Your lips quirked up into a large grin, “holy shit, I should get hit in the head more often this is the best news,” you quietly exclaimed.

James’ expression mirrored your own, “so you feel the same?”

You nodded.

“Well, then I’d like to take you out. And to be your boyfriend, if you’d let me.”

You nodded once more, “I would.”

Everything felt right, you’d both finally aired out your feelings, and you were still all alone in the room so what else would you do but begin leaning in. Your lips nearly touched before the door to the infirmary burst open, James’ long haired friend running towards the both of you in desperation.

“Help me, you have to help me!” He called out.

You winced at the noise, turning to look at James to see if he knew what was going on, he was just as clueless. That is until one Mister Barty Crouch Junior came in, wand raised and ready for use.

“I’ll show you to distract our lookout!” He screamed, a murderous look in his eyes.

Your head throbbed.

Regulus sauntered in soon after, seemingly unbothered. You looked at him confusedly but he merely shrugged.

“Barty.” You said, trying and failing to get his attention as he continued to chase Sirius around the room, “Barty!”

He turned to you.

“Please don’t make me raise my voice again, it hurts.” You whined.

Barty’s face dropped, a guilty look overtaking him.

With that out of the way, you spoke again, “I think Sirius was just trying to help Jamie bring me some flowers.”

“Jamie?” Barty murmured, looking to Regulus to find that he was just as confused.

You wince as you hear Barty’s heavy boots stomping towards you. “Oh dear,” you mutter, “he’s, uhm-“ you try to explain, but you were cut off.

“Your boyfriend?” It’s Regulus who asks, voice impossibly quiet.

You would nod, but moving your head feels like a hazard so you psych yourself up just to say “yeah.”

Barty’s eyes burn with an anger you’ve seen before many times, of all of your overprotective friends, Barty is the worst. It couldn’t possibly help that James is a Gryffindor, not when Barty believes in house rivalry like it’s the Bible.

Barty grabs James by the collar, “I do not like this, nor do I condone it, however, y/n makes her own decisions and I cannot make them for her— regardless of whether or not they are stupid decisions. That being said, you hurt her and you will find your face in worse condition than a bloody troll, understand me?”

James nodded and Barty released his collar, straightening it up, and huffing off elsewhere, taking Regulus with him. Sirius follows suit, if only to give the two of you some much needed privacy.

“Salazar, I thought he was going to kill you,” you breathed out, finally exhaling the breath you were holding the entire time.

James chuckles, taking hold of your hand once more, “just to be clear, love, I would treat you right regardless of there being a threat in place.”

“Well that’s good to hear because you have such a handsome face, I couldn’t bear seeing it bloodied up.” You raised your hand to caress his cheek in emphasis.

An impulsive thought led you to ignore the pounding in your head that came with quick movements, taking your chance to touch your lips to his. You were glad that your friends had left, because the kiss was so nice, you didn’t want it to end. You knew their childish groans would ruin it. But with no interruption, you stayed in the moment for what felt like forever, allowing yourself to bask in the simple joy that was the captain of your rival quidditch team’s lips against your own.

[copperhawks]

The funniest thing to me about Kel, and maybe one of the most interesting because of how understated it is, is that Kel becomes a good commander in the end, not by emulating Wyldon who was cold and implacable and insensitive, or by emulating Raoul who mostly only disobeys orders out of principle or because he has an issue with what the order says about his personal relationship with Jon, but by emulating JON.

Kel doesn't even LIKE Jon, she BARELY respects him as a person. He's a good enough ruler that she's willing to fight for him and swear loyalty to him and to at least mostly believe that he wouldn't work with Blayce to make his own killing monsters, but that's as far as it goes for Kel. If he's kind to her, she finds it uncomfortable and almost untrustworthy because she assumes he doesn't care about her and so his kindness and respect towards her must be fake.

But from the outside, as readers, we know just how much Jon fought for Kel. We know how much he does respect her right to be a knight. Jon is the sole reason that Kel DID get the opportunity to prove herself, if he'd capitulated to Wyldon completely, she just wouldn't have ever been allowed to join. Kel doesn't KNOW THAT, obviously, but we do. We know that Jon did everything he could to find a way to convince Wyldon to let Kel become a page. While Wyldon claims later that the reason he chose to let her stay at the end of the probation year was because his better judgment convinced him she'd earned it, I'd be willing to bet that part of that better judgment also included knowing if he couldn't prove to JON that she needed to go, then he'd be in trouble. Kel was training and working in front of plenty of other trainers and teachers who could easily contradict Wyldon's lies if he'd tried it, many of whom are closer to Jon than they are to Wyldon.

Kel's experiences and feelings about that experience are entirely valid, and she doesn't have the knowledge we do about how hard Jon fought for her, so it's not shocking that she's upset with him for a good portion of her series. She never even discovers this truth by the end of her series, even though she does get a lesson from Jon and Thayet (and Raoul to some degree) about how politics and compromises work in order to make changes happen. So her opinion of him by the end is boiled down to the quote from Squire: "good kings weren't always good men." It makes sense for her to think this, but because Kel's knowledge base is so limited (and her worldview so black and white for much of her series), it makes her an EXTREMELY unreliable narrator about this particular issue.

Kel believes that while Jon generally does his duty and keeps the peace, he doesn't actually care all that much about his people as individuals. But in their only meaningful conversation in Squire, Jon is able to point out that he (and Thayet, who is actually equal to Jon in power, something Kel either doesn't know which would be a failure in her education or just tends to ignore so she can focus her ire on Jon) has to make a LOT of compromises in order to get ANYTHING useful done at all. Sometimes, often, it means making deals with people he doesn't like or people he just fundamentally disagrees with, because it's the first step in a multi-step plan to help more people in the long run. He also points out that just throwing his weight and authority around in order to be able to change everything he wants to change immediately regardless of what anyone else thinks about it is a great way to get himself and his family killed. Because even if he had good intentions, that would be tyranny. It does make Kel think a little, but she doesn't tend to like him much still afterwards, her resentment from her page years will always color her opinion of him a little.

However, then she gets to Haven and she's suddenly tossed into a position of leadership over a lot of other people, many of whom disagree with each other or disagree with her or both. And all of the sudden, Kel has to make compromises. She doesn't LIKE the way the sergeants often treat their men, especially the sergeants whose men are convicts, but there's very very little she can do about it without really pissing off those same sergeants and that's not something she can afford to do. There's a moment when Neal starts getting frustrated about the treatment of the convicts and she takes him out to vent to her so he doesn't vent to the sergeants, something that the sergeants would then take out on their men. Kel's reasoning as she does this is that she "preferred to avoid battles with them now so she would have authority with them later if she needed to use it." Later, Kel is talking to Daine and she says "That's all this job is... Trying to please everyone and pleasing no one. And it will only get worse, not better."

Both of these moments showcase Kel choosing to make compromises. She may not like the way the sergeants treat the convicts, but she needs to stay on the sergeants' good sides because she doesn't have enough resources to butt heads with them nor enough authority to just force the issue, and even if she DID, it could cause the sergeants to become troublesome or take out their frustration with her on the men in ways she can't see as well. But staying on the sergeants' good sides might mean letting some of their maltreatment slide if it's not physically harming the convicts. And even setting that aside, she's dealing with nearly 500 refugees eventually, all of which are from different towns in the area and have different needs, not all of which she can accommodate. This requires compromise. Sometimes she can please some of them and not others, but mostly she probably just ends up not pleasing anybody because that's often how compromises WORK.

She never makes the active connection to Jon and his lesson on leadership from Squire while she's in Haven, but that quote up there about how this job (aka being a commander) is all about trying to please everyone and pleasing no one? It sounds a HECK of a lot like "good kings weren't always good men." You can try your best to help others, but often doing the right thing can involve making everyone unhappy. You can't be everybody's friend if you're going to get anything done.

Some of this she might've learned from Raoul's style of command, but Raoul commands a fairly small amount of people (at least in comparison to a King), and so we see him able to be pretty friendly to the people he commands in a way that Jon is perhaps unable to do. And she might believe that she learned some of this from Wyldon, but Wyldon had a tendency to be very unfair and biased due to his raging bigotry and conservative values, as well as the fact that he doesn't actually even LIKE being a training master and that likely impacted the way he treated the pages (he's almost never that kind to the pages, whereas we see him capable of being quite kind with the refugees later, which is where Kel comes to the conclusion that he hadn't enjoyed being a training master).

But Jon makes an entire speech about how he (and Thayet) have been working THEIR ENTIRE REIGN to change laws that help people. He explains how they have to consider the needs of merchants, nobles, farmers, street people, priests/priestesses, and mages. They have to consider not only what these people might need or want, but also what they could do when they feel sufficiently offended and how that could impact not just the royal family or the nobility but the realm as a whole. Jon points out that they HAVE made changes, for the better, and that just because they don't always succeed at everything or because they have to compromise sometimes, doesn't mean they aren't working at making changes or that they don't care about helping people. Not everyone you have power over is going to be your friend, they might not even be someone you like. But if you're going to take on the job of leadership, that's something you have to be willing to accept and work with, which often means making compromises with people whose needs and values are contradictory to your own.

Jon probably knows when he makes the compromise with Wyldon that it will likely impact a lot of people's good opinion of him. Alanna is right there and clearly angry, and we know Thayet doesn't like the decision, either. And it's entirely possible that Jon knows in the moment that Kel herself will put the blame on him because he's the King. But he also knows that if he insists on Kel being allowed to be a page without trying to compromise with Wyldon, Wyldon will quit over it and he'll end up with ten DIFFERENT problems that could cause a lot bigger issues to far more people than just one girl. So he makes the compromise. He sacrifices Alanna and Thayet and even Kel's good opinion of him in order to ensure that Kel gets the opportunity to become a Knight without turning all of his nobles against him which could ultimately lead to a civil war. Is it fair? No, and he knows it. But it's the best option he has in order to get the outcome they all actually want which is just for Kel to have the chance to prove herself.

Kel has to make similar choices once she's finally in a position of leadership of her own. And whether she realizes it or not, without ever even spending more than a few minutes with Jon, she ends up emulating his leadership style more than anybody else's because it WORKS and it works WELL. She'll probably never admit it, she might never even realize it herself, but she's so much more like Jon than any of the other men she sees as role models. And I love that. I love the dramatic irony of that, that the one person Kel only barely respects because of a compromise he made on her behalf that she'll never even know about, is the person Kel ends up most resembling. Jon is the reason she has the opportunity to become the Protector of the Small in the first place, Jon is the person who created that environment that allowed her to nurture those values, and she'll probably never even really be able to acknowledge that, because sometimes that's what being a good leader means.

[shotmrmiller]

y'all know the ghostface mori from dbd?

that's how cbf!simon takes a picture with you during sex on your own phone to send to your ex.

this wasn't supposed to be smut, but it is now. so. oh well.

cbf!simon had met him before, obviously, and didn't even acknowledge his existence the first time— only spoke to you, with his large body shielding you from your then-boyfriend. he was a worthless slip of a boy who walked around unawares with you in his arm, sat with his back toward any entrance and he even let you walk on the edge of the sidewalk.

unacceptable.

the only reason his face hadn't ended up on a milk carton was because when simon questioned your relationship with him, you swore that it had only been dates, and pecks on the cheek.

regardless, when he watched you get ready for a movie date night, simon decided that enough was enough.

he started coming around more, goading your boyfriend while still not addressing him.

"love, you got one of my old shirts around here somewhere?"

"pet, you remember that one lake i took you to and camped overnight? heard it's drying up, that true?"

it's comical if it wasn't just so fucking pathetic how your boyfriend just took it, like some sort of cuck. if it had been simon, he would've ended up on the stretcher in the very first meeting.

and then it clicked.

it should be him, not this meritless imbecile.

so, while he was waiting for you in the living room to take you out for dinner, the very first sentence that your boyfriend hears from simon is, 'ya wanna know why she's not sleepin' with ya? cuz i'm the one fuckin' her every night. sorry, pal.'

simon had been sitting on the couch, legs manspread, and his arms stretched out, lax, on the backrest when he said it.

the very definition of unbothered.

when you come out in your pretty burgundy button up, and tight black pants, simon was very glad that he ran that fool out the door— he doesn't deserve you.

you get a 'this is over' text in minutes, and simon tells you that he wasn't good enough for you anyway. just get comfortable, wear his shirt you love to sleep in, and put on a movie— he'll be back with a couple bottles of wine.

2 and a half bottles of wine later, and you find yourself under him, his tongue entangled with yours as he bullies his fat cock into you for the first time ever.

simon coos into your ear when you hiss at the pain of the stretch, whispering that you can take him because you and him are meant to be.

"it won't hurt the next time we do this, pet."

your mind is warm and fuzzy with the alcohol that courses through your system, and it gives you courage to ask, "promise?"

simon finally bottoms out, and your mind goes blank at the feel of him hitting a spot inside of you that no one's ever reached before.

"i promise. for you, anything. i swear it." he's babbling, but he doesn't care because you're finally his, and if he has any say in the matter, you'll only be his.

your pretty pussy will only ever know him.

he starts to move, long, slow thrusts, and the burning sting starts to melt into a toe-curling pleasure at the edges, and the liquid fire that started in your belly starts to spread through your veins— a scalding ecstasy burning you from the inside out.

you try to wrap your legs around his waist, but he's too wide, built like a tank— so you give up, and plant your feet down, opting to meet his hips with yours. the flared head of his cock rubs so deliciously against this one spot inside of you, and your vision begins to spot as your belly tightens, muscles tensing for what's to come—

when simon pulls out roughly, and a sob escapes your lips. you were so close, god, why is he being so mean to you?

simon lets out a pained grunt as his cock twitches and slaps the side of your thigh with his heavy hand, chuckling.

"i know you were, love, i swear i'm not trying to be mean, i almost just came in this sweet cunt. i'm not done with you just yet. turn around, on your knees."

your reaction is visceral, and you flip over so fast your stomach churns. you lower your head until the carpet is digging into the soft skin of your cheek, and sensually arch your back.

presenting yourself to him, your glistening, swollen pussy begging to be filled.

"'s tha' wha' ya want, love? hm? f'me to stuff ya full of my cock? beg me, then. beg me like the pretty slut you are— to fuck ya the only way i can. only me and no one else."

the words spill from your lips like water does a faucet, slurred with pleasure. "please fuck me, si, fill me with your cum, i promise i'm a slut jus' f'you, only you can fuck me the way i need, i swear i'm yours, only yours."

something in simon snaps when he hears you profess how you're only his. he sinks to the hilt in one smooth stroke, bends his left leg to deepen his angle and fucks.

you don't even try to stop the sounds that come from your mouth, too far gone, cock drunk. every thrust of his hips punches the air from your lungs, and your arousal is renewed with fervor, this time painfully so. it hurts, how bad you want to come, you just need a little more, a little—

"y'wanna come around me? lemme feel you then." simon's hand curls around your waist and his fingers start to draw cruel, tight, precise circles on your neglected clit, and your climax slams into you so hard, you might just start crying from the relief.

"thaaaa's it, pet. cream all over me with tha' tight cunt o'yours."

simon doesn't stop rubbing your bud, nor does he stop thrusting into you, dragging out your pleasure, almost to the point of oversensitivity.

"'m not pullin' out, y'hear? you're mine now. and i'm gonna cum inside what's mine, clear?"

you dumbly nod, bobbing your head up against the rough carpet, and he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into your hips, jarring your spine.

he finally comes in you with a growl, spurting thick ropes of hot seed onto the entrance of your womb.

your body is limp under his, and while still inside of you, he languidly reaches to the side for your phone. he knows the code for it too, and when he unlocks it, smirks at your background photo.

it's a selfie of you and him— you are posing with two fingers by your face, and simon's arms around your shoulders.

he finds the camera icon and opens it.

it's time that idiot knew you were simon's too.

simon leans forward, his front to your back, and pulls your head up by your tangled, sweaty hair with one hand, and holds the phone with the other directly in front of your face.

"say cheese, pet."

the bright flash of the front camera goes off, and then asks you what that dumbass' name was.

he snarls when you say it, but quickly finds it in your contacts and types a quick message.

'delete this fucking number. if i ever see you around here again, i'll kill you.'

then simon presses send. and then he also sends that picture to his own phone. that fucked stupid look on your face is something he needs as his screensaver.

[b14augrana]

Scrubber

Your actions on the field are a product of your childhood idol

Barça Femení x teen!reader

pt. 2 masterlist

Warnings: reader suffers from the scrubber trait. 🥹

A/N: #yanited (not proofread as always x)

It was the last few minutes of the semi-final against Chelsea. If you kept the clean sheet at Stamford Bridge, you were sure to win it. If you didn’t… well, Fridolina tried explaining to you that you’d still win, but you weren’t willing to see for yourself.

“(Y/N), watch the wing!” yelled Mapi, who pointed to the flank. Lucy had overlapped and when the possession switched, you were left to take on Macario.

You glanced in the direction of the left wing, feeling slightly — no, very scared to go against Macario… on your own.

You could tell just by looking at her for a split second that Mapi was a bit worried for you too, and if she could deal with Macario she would, but unfortunately you were closer.

Nevertheless, you ran towards her side-on, trying to anticipate her next move. You knew what Mapi would say; hold her off until Lucy’s back in position, just delay her.

At the same time, you knew what Nemanja Vidić would do, and that is knock the living daylights out of her with a slide tackle. Guess what path you decided to take?

You sent yourself flying feet first towards the ball. As you slid across the grass, pushing the ball out of play. The last thing you saw before getting to your feet again was the distraught expression of Macario as she tumbled over your body, seemingly going headfirst towards the ground.

You could barely hear the groan she let out, because soon you were stood up and Mapi was at your side, patting you on the back for your tackle. Lucy ran to retrieve a ball and quickly toss it in to resume the play.

You hadn’t even registered your tackle until the side of your thigh started to hurt a little. A short glance beyond your shorts helped you discover that it was a bit red, but the tackle was worth any bruise that was sure to form in its place.

The game only started to pick up again when the red card was shown to Buchanan. Holding down the back line when the through balls and dribbles kept coming felt like a real Vidić-esque thing to do.

If it wasn’t already super obvious, Nemanja Vidić was your idol. You bled blaugrana in every shape and form, but that didn’t stop you from taking inspiration from the former Manchester United defender. If you hadn’t been a lifelong Barcelona fan, you would’ve trialed for the Manchester United academy and played for them just to say you played at your idol’s former club. You always had a pen and paper on hand in case you happened to come across him, and if that ever did happen you’d immediately get it tattooed (legal or not, you’d find a way).

The team found your love for Vidić very endearing. It was obvious that you admired his fearlessness because of how you tried to imitate it on the field by putting your body on the line, and Lucy loved that; she called you a ‘little brick wall’. Irene was a more solid defender than you, though. Your tactic was to just throw yourself at the ball whenever you were in doubt. She actually had tactics.

So, when Lauren James was at the edge of the box, winding her leg up to take a shot, you couldn’t find the time to think before flying in, cutting her out. You were smart enough to face the other way, and the ball deflected off your back instead of your face.

“¡Así es!” Ona yelled from the other side of the pitch, running into the box to defend further until Lucy cleared it down the wing.

The match ended with the scoreline being 2-0 to Barcelona. Everyone said your tackles were the defining factor that kept it that way, but you thought it was all thanks to Aitana, Frido and Cata. Regardless of who did what, you were happy your team were into the finals. You were happy you did something to keep them up on aggregate.

You ditched the celebrations a bit early to go sit down in the locker room and get your daily logins on Hay Day. The adrenaline wore off almost immediately after you sat on the bench, and your attention was brought to the minor grazes and bruises scattered along your legs. You felt one on your abdomen and somehow, you had a scratch on your shoulder.

You were glad. Vidić would never come out of a big match like that unscathed. You did your idol proud on the field, or so you hoped at least.

Most people often asked why you wanted to be a defender and subject yourself to the most physical parts of the game. Truth be told, you just really loved denying people of a goal. Lucy said you ‘played for the badge’ and despite not knowing what that meant, you hoped it was good.

You were also really bad at aiming and every time you cleared the ball or made a pass up field, you hoped and prayed it would at least go straight. You could never be a goal scorer like Caro or Aitana or Mariona.

“(Y/N),” a voice called out. You looked up from your phone to see Lucy. “Why aren’t you out celebrating?”

“I almost missed my Hay Day login. Have to do that before anything,” you replied. Lucy laughed, walking closer and sitting down on the bench beside you.

She put an arm around your shoulder, the way she always did. It felt older sister-y, and you liked that. “You really know how to tidy up back there,” she remarked. You smiled slightly, your cheeks burning up. Lucy was an insane defender so her praise meant the world to you. “Thanks, Luce.”

“They’re looking for you to give you the Player of the Match trophy, but you ran away too fast,” Lucy laughed, and your eyes bulged out of your skull.

“What about Aitana? She was the one that scored.”

“And you’re the one that kept out almost their entire team. You deserve this!” Lucy added, shaking you. You were a bit confused because you didn’t think your tackles were that vital, but you were proved wrong.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go out in a bit, after I put my slides on,” you responded. The woman smiled and gave you a tight side hug.

“Nemanja would be proud, scrubber. Good job today,” Lucy added while she stood up and began to walk away. Your face couldn’t help but form a smile of its own.

“But, don’t start slide tackling in every game. The last thing we need is for you to get hurt trying to wipe someone out with a Brexit,” she said sternly, suddenly turning around with a finger pointed at the plotting expression on your face. You raised your hands in defense.

[luveline]

Hi jade baby my acne has gotten so bad and I feel so insecure could I get a Spencer or regular Steve fic of him comforting her

It’s fine. It doesn’t bother you. It’s fine. 

You repeat the mantra over and over again, but it isn’t true, and it doesn’t stick. You feel like the ugliest person alive. You wash your face twice a day, sometimes three, and yet every spot and lump and scar makes you feel dirty to the core. 

The first tear falls of its own accord. The second when you sniff. You wipe both away with your knuckle, dragging a cotton pad damp with toner over the planes of your face. It stings a little over the worst of your acne, where everything hurts, skin tight and congested. 

“Angel?” Spencer says from the bedroom, peeking his head up. 

You turn your face from him in the en-suite. “Yeah?” 

“You okay?” 

You sniff again. Your voice comes out fraught, throat aching, “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

The bed creaks as Spencer gets up. The floorboards shift under his feet. You turn to him as he nudges the bathroom door wide open, already sick of hiding from him. Desperate for a soft touch, for him to tell you what you need to hear. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

You laugh bitterly, but not cruel with him. “What’s wrong?” you repeat. 

Again, you aren’t being cruel, because you aren’t mad at him, but the tears are moving quickly toward sobbing and you’re trying to bite it back. 

“Spencer, I look disgusting.” 

“No you don’t.” He grabs your elbow first, then your arm. “Of course you don’t.” 

You drive your miserable face into his chest. 

“You’re the prettiest girl in the world,” he murmurs, curling his long arms around you.

“You have to say that.” 

“That logic won’t work, angel. I don’t have to say that, I don’t even have to be in this room, if you think about free will, but I want to be here, and I want to tell you what I think is true. You’re beautiful.” 

“I look so gross,” you say, your shoulders giving a rough shake. 

“You don’t.” He shushes you gently, rubbing your back with warm, careful hands. “You don’t, you never look gross.” 

“It’s getting so bad again even though I haven’t changed anything,” you say, a sort of heave to your breath, spluttering at the injustice of it. 

Spencer cups the nape of your neck. “It’s not your fault. I know you do everything you can, and I know you’re beautiful regardless. You don’t get to see what I see all day, so you wouldn’t get it, but you’re perfect.” 

You hold your breath until it hurts. “I just want it to go away,” you say. 

“I know. I’ll do some more research, okay? And I’ll make you another appointment with the dermatologist, we’ll find a way to manage it, I promise. But,” —he encourages you away slowly— “if it weren’t painful, I’d tell you genuinely that it doesn’t matter. If it didn’t bother you, it wouldn’t bother me, you know? You’re beautiful.” 

You smile weakly. “Sorry.” 

He just shakes his head and pulls you in for another hug. 

[synthetickitsune]

Bunny Troubles ✧ h.js

Pairing: Joshua Hong x reader (gn) Genre: fluff Summary: Who’d have thought a man like Joshua could turn into a puddle of misery on the whim of a little bunny? Word count: 1.9k Warnings: i never owned a bunny in my life so excuse any innacuracies for the sake of the plot A/N: this is once again @hanniedream's fault because ofc it is, because it always is

“Uhm, love?” you say shyly, quietly, trying hard to conceal your nervousness.

“Love? Is something wrong?” Joshua catches on immediately regardless of your efforts or the fact that he can’t even see you through the phone. You can only sigh.

You look at your friend for support from where she’s sitting with a bunny in her arms and she gives you a thumbs up before you step out into the hall and close the door behind you.

“What do you think about a week of bunny sitting? My friend is going on a vacation and her parents canceled on her last minute.”

“Say that again,” you can hear your boyfriend pause whatever he was doing.

“Shua, you heard me,” you groan, “She will give us everything we’ll need and she’ll bring the stuff over and help me bunny proof the place. It’s just the living room, so it doesn’t wake us up if it’s noisy in the night. She even made a little pamphlet with instructions and important information and the vet’s contact if anything happened.”

You can practically hear the way he holds back a sigh. Waiting for his answer, though, you already start to imagine the little fluffy creature hopping around your living room.

“What if it doesn’t like me?” he asks. That wasn’t really the concern you were expecting if you’re honest.

“Come again?” you deadpan.

“The meerkat on set didn’t like me either, what if I’m just cursed to be disliked by tiny animals,” there’s a pout in his voice, which is pretty much a sign of your victory.

“No no, my friend said it’s the cuddliest bunny she ever had and that it likes being handled,” you coo excitedly, “And the few times I came over it was really sweet and friendly. It cuddles with me today too.”

“But I’m meant to be your cuddly bunny,” Joshua grumbles very quietly on the other side of the phone.

“Baby I think I’ll need to start recording these calls,” you tease and chuckle when you hear your boyfriend whine some more. “Anyway, it’s just a week. Please? She really needs the help and nobody else is available.”

“You know I can never say no to you,” he sighs, “But I don’t want to hear a word of getting one for ourselves, yeah?”

“I promise,” you try to hide your excitement, “I love you. We’ll be waiting for you to come home.”

“I’m kicking it out if it doesn’t like me,” he warns you playfully before saying his goodbyes and hanging up.

“I’m home,” Joshua calls upon closing the front door behind him carefully, mindful of the creature whose presence is already noticeable by the little fence standing in the doorway of the living room.

“Welcome home,” you call back, your voice soft and clearly strained with emotions. He chuckles to himself, first making his way to the bedroom to change into something comfortable before joining you.

He secures the temporary precaution once he steps into the room and smiles again seeing you sitting by the cage with your hand at the door and the bunny sniffing your palm curiously.

“Getting friendly?” he teases, sitting down a good distance from you to avoid scaring the animal who’s already eyeing him with what he thinks is caution.

“I just fed her some snacks, so I think she hopes for more,” you coo without really looking at him, “Her name is Lola by the way.”

He scoffs, making you groan too. “I know, okay? I wasn’t the one naming her.”

“I can see the resemblance though,” Joshua shakes his head with a smile. The bunny’s colors do kind of resemble those of the character. “Do you think she’ll hate it if I come closer?”

“Nope, just take one of those and you’ll be fine,” you nod towards a little packet lying on the floor next to the cage, “I promise I’ll clean up tomorrow, I just didn’t feel like it this late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassures you, quickly stealing a kiss while you move to make room for him at the cage’s open door. The bunny stays surprisingly calm, only putting his paws down on the ground instead of looking out of the cage.

“Hey little one,” Joshua coos at the fluffy ball, and you can already see the enamored sparkle in his eyes, “Let’s get along, hm?”

The bunny’s nose twitches before it returns to its original position and after sniffing Joshua’s fingers for a bit, it discovers the treat and eagerly takes it from him. 

“I think she likes you,” you chuckle. Your boyfriend then moves back to give the bunny space and lets you pull him in for a proper kiss this time. 

“How was your day?” you ask, resting your head on his shoulder as you watch the bunny bobbing its head and hesitating by the open door, unsure if it wants to explore the unfamiliar territory.

“Good, nothing too exciting. She’s cuter than I expected though,” he leans his head against yours.

“Not one word of wanting to get one for ourselves,” you tease, earning yourself a gentle nudge. “Let’s watch something on tv? Maybe she’ll feel more comfortable if we’re not this close. Oh, and I could show you the guide we got.”

The rest of the evening is spent on the couch, Shua resting in your embrace as you go through the brochure together - and him googling tips on how to befriend a bunny faster. Although the animal in your care seems tame enough that his research might prove to be completely useless. 

The bunny doesn’t venture too far away from its cage, but simply the fact that it left its safe sanctuary is a win in your books. The television is just a nice background noise while you both focus on the curious creature hopping around. 

Over the next couple days the bunny gets quite comfortable. Soon enough it’s exploring the entire expanse of the living room, trying to escape further and you let it - with your strict supervision. The animal is an angel, cuddly and sweet - both to you and Joshua. You were a little skeptical when your friend told you her bunny is the friendliest she’s ever seen and wouldn’t last a second in the wild but turns out she was right. And it also turns out that she’ll be her own bunny’s second favorite human when she gets back.

You can’t say you’re surprised exactly when the bunny starts to clearly prefer Joshua’s attention, but it’s very entertaining that your boyfriend keeps trying to persuade the animal to like you more. It’s not that it doesn’t like you, it does, and it’s very affectionate with you. It’s just that wherever Shua appears, you’re immediately just a back up human. 

The bunny lets itself be handled and carried by him, and it’s impossible for you both not to swoon when you see how tiny the animal looks sitting in Joshua’s hands or held in his arms. Treats work well to lure it away from your boyfriend, but it quickly returns once it finishes eating it. At least it’s not jealous and is willing to share him with you, and your boyfriend glows like the sun with you cuddled into his side and the bunny sleeping on his chest.

Anyway - Joshua is the bunny’s favorite human. Even your friend confirmed that much when you facetimed her one night and showed her how her pet behaves.

That’s why it is so confusing when your boyfriend calls you in distress.

“Baby? Baby I did something and now she hates me!”

It takes you a second and another whiny babyyy to process what’s going on and drop the dinner preparations for the sake of your boyfriend and his side chick’s drama.

Joshua sits with his back against the couch, already looking at you with a pout and eyes pleading. You try not to laugh seeing him and look for the bunny instead - not too far away and… stomping her little feet? Thumping. 

“What did you do?” you accuse, pretending to scold him as you sit down next to him. 

“Nothing! I don’t know,” he whines, turning his head left and right, throwing pleading looks yours and the bunny’s way. “Why does she hate me?”

“I don’t know, but according to the guide this means she’s annoyed, so what did you do to her?” you try really hard not to chuckle at his distress. Who’d have thought a man like him could turn into a puddle of misery on the whim of a little bunny.

“Nothing,” he mumbles with a sigh, extending a hand towards the animal. It pushes it away with its paws with another thump and you do fail and laugh at that. You’re quick to coo over your boyfriend when he turns to you with disbelief written all over his face though, his pout deepening. 

“We’ll figure this out, Shua,” you chuckle, kissing his cheek, “You’re her favorite, remember?”

He nods, sighing as the bunny thumps again. It’s cute as ever, maybe more so throwing a tantrum like this.

“So what did you do - what were you doing before she got like this?” you ask, rubbing his arm soothingly. He leans into your touch and he looks so miserable that you almost feel bad for laughing.

“Nothing, I told you,” he -thump- sulks, “I was just petting her.”

Thump thump.

“And then?” you prod.

“Nothing.” Thump thump. “I was petting her and then I stretched, so I- oh.”

Oh indeed.

“Why would you stop petting her and then be all surprised that she’s annoyed with you? Do you have any idea how upsetting it is?” you frown at him.

“Why am I being targeted?” he grumbles before smirking a little, “But thank you for your insight.”

You push his shoulder. “Don’t give in,” you tell the bunny.

“No no no, I learned from my mistakes,” Joshua turns towards the bunny and slowly extends his hand to its little head, “I’m so sorry, little one. Forgive me please.”

He pets it slowly, his fingers stroking the soft fur with patience and dedication that really makes it seem like he’s begging for forgiveness. You regret not having your phone on you to take a video. 

And then suddenly the bunny starts moving, no longer thumping its legs but instead slowly walking towards your boyfriend before climbing onto his legs and settling on his lap. Joshua beams at you and resumes petting the bunny, overjoyed at being forgiven.

“Am I the bunny whisperer?” he whispers, cooing at the fluffball in his lap. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, and a drama queen,” you tease, but he ignores you in favor of making up with the bunny. It’s a cute look though, so you don’t mind not bickering with him.

“I know I said I don’t want to hear a word about-”

“No.”

He pouts at you when you shut him down immediately.

“Let’s just offer a free bunny sitting whenever, hm?” you suggest.

“Let’s steal her,” Joshua wiggles his brows at you mischievously. You breathe a long sigh.

Then again maybe looking at Joshua with a cute fluffy bunny cuddled up to him every day wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if all it takes for him to get all pouty is a few annoyed thumps.

Now you can only hope your bunny of a boyfriend won’t take on any of her habits.