#im still figuring out their ages and all that. this is getting out of control is so close to being like and actual AU 😨

[10hourshift]

Guess the one that I put the most effort on (impossible)

There's a bit going on with these guys lol

First, to get it out of the way, the pkmn meanings:

Meg: she's mainly ice type.

alolan vulpix, bc ice fox

Lycanroc, the midnight form bc it's emo like her (and shows how she changed from a sweet little girl to a rebellious rascal)*

Absol: they appear when disasters are about to happen, warn ppl to protect them. Also fits the emo vibe for meg

Fox: he's a fire type trainer

Vulpix: fire fox

Growlithe: fire pokemon, and also a very loyal dog.

Marowak:

Spring: not a particular type

Trubbish: cute critter that is found in the streets, fitting for a guy who lives in the streets.

Herdier: another loyal dog. Also, this one is focused on protecting others smaller than itself

Diggersby: rabbit token. It helps construction workers

Ok storytime now. For context, Meg and Fox aren't related. But they still share the brother-sister relationship. Also, Meg and Fox are originally from Alola, While spring is from Unova.

In here, meg gets orphaned after the tragic fire incident that happened in her house. She too gets hurt from it, but hides the scars with her clothes. And also, she develops a phobia and hatred of fire and fire type pokemon. (Weirdly enough, Fox is obsessed with fire type pokemon, so they clash a lot with this, though they try to not let it get in the way of their relationship)

In the orphanage she meets fox and spring, Fox (a boy close to her age)is a lost baby, so he basically lived like that his whole life. And spring (an older kid) lost his parents to a mysterious trip that he knows little about.

They develop a close family bond, but that doesn't stop them from separating. Spring leaves first, because he wants to go back to his home in Unova. He asks Fox and Meg if they want to join him, but they refuse, because they don't want to leave their home. Some years later, is Fox the one who leaves, since (apparently) a lost relative of him tracked him down and wants him to go to Galar to live with them. Fox is thrilled, since he never expected to find his family ever, and without hesitation he accepts, and asks meg again if she wants to go with him, and she refuses again. But now, she gets mad at him, and threatens to cut contact with him if he leaves. Fox, doesn't budge and leaves anyways. They haven't seen each other for a few years now...

As of now, spring has a construction work in Unova, Fox is a gym trainer for the fire gym in Galar, and Meg is just starting her pokemon adventure (more on that later :p)

[vetyr]

hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

[l0vergirls]

take the reins

you've dug too deep, but there doesn't seem to be a downside to that.

batfam x reader

wc: 1382

a/n: i started watching mr. robot (plz no spoilers im literally on the 3rd episode) and fell in love with it and .. started thinking !!!.. & this is lowkey set up like the start of a series, but i'll see how it goes considering i have nothing plannef at all. .. pls do send asks about this story and this reader since i would love love love to expand on it hehe

It was as if time had stopped for a moment.

You found out a lot of secrets. Secrets that can put people behind bars. What do you do with those? Send in an anonymous tip to the rare non corrupt cop, of course. You like to think of it as being a non-violent vigilante. Instead of running around Gotham in a costume and beating the bad guys within an inch of their life, you sit comfortably behind your computer screen and dig.

You dig for anything and everything you can find on everyone you encounter. Why? Maybe it's the unrelenting feeling of needing control, or the fear of simply not knowing.

By breaking something down to its source code, you're baring it all; the rights, the wrongs, everything that makes or breaks you. You won't get caught off guard if you just know how something— someone works.

Sometimes, you find nothing noteworthy. Your neighbor in 405, for example. The first time you had passed her, she sneered at you. That was good enough reason to hack her.

The woman at 405 is Emma Davis, aged 35, 5'7, date of birth: May 15th. Studied at NYU, worked a desk job at some company in Star City before getting relocated to Gotham. Yeah, I wouldn't be ecstatic either. Brings home a different person every week. Occasionally smokes weed. Also your occasional hook up. Don't make decisions while intoxicated.

Emma Davis is just a run of the mill office worker, with the same vices as most people. Nobody special.

But this? This could get you in serious shit, if you aren't in for it already.

Bruce Wayne, date of birth: February 19th, 6'2, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, adoptive father of multiple children, and... crime fighting vigilante at night.

Bruce Wayne is Batman.

It wasn't hard to connect the dots after uncovering the man behind the cowl; you figured all his children were Robins at one point. Even the dead one. Except the dead one isn't really dead, is he?

Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne— all crime fighting vigilantes. What a family. You wonder who else you can unmask.

Fuck, you need to go home. Doing this at a coffee shop was a mistake, but damn it, their connection was fast. Too many people, too great a chance of a breakdown.

Close all the tabs, all the windows, scrub yourself clean of all evidence of intrusion. Don't leave a trace.

Shut down the laptop. Leave.

The sun is still out, they wouldn't be around yet. Everyone knows they all work at the dead of night.

You drown out the meaningless conversations around you, and you're on autopilot, heading to the apartment that you call home.

<>

The Waynes pride themselves on their secrecy. Hiding their vigilante alter egos behind carefully crafted lies. They built walls as tall as the buildings with Bruce's name plastered across the front.

It was a little too late when Alfred Pennyworth received an alert from the Batcomputer. Alfred sent all the vigilantes a message, and they came running in. After all, a security breach is detrimental to all of them.

The butler found a location, The Last Drop. A café right in the middle of the city.

Bruce looked through all of the files, recordings, reports— everything. The hacker didn't take anything, and didn't make copies. He deduced that whoever it was simply read.

That's no good either. Someone out there is aware of who they are, who the man under the mask is.

"Alfred, pull up CCTV footage at The Last Drop at the time of the hack."

On the screen were the grainy videos of the café, with at least 6 different angles. It was fairly crowded, filled with busybodies coming and going through the door. With 7 people on their laptops, they could narrow down the search for the culprit. But not by much.

Until two figures left the café at the same time, approximately a few minutes after the breach, but neither of them were sitting next to each other.

It was one or the other.

Tyler Hess, banker. Went to school in the city, stayed in the city. Clean records, comes from an upper middle class family. Nothing of note.

[Y/N] [L/N], cybersecurity engineer at LabyrinthTech, and one of the more favored employees. Born and raised in Gotham, graduated college a year early, and by all accounts, highly intelligent. Clean records, but skilled enough to be the one behind the hack.

"Well, I think we found our suspect. What're you gonna do about it?" Jason bristled, apprehensive that this person knew all about him.

"'You'? What, you've got your own plan?" Dick retorted.

"Maybe. Not like I'm gonna hurt the little thing," he spat. It was invasive enough that you'd hacked into their records, he thinks a little scare is warranted.

Bruce interrupted, "No, I'll deal with this. They accessed our data for a reason."

<>

It was inevitable that one of them was gonna pay you a visit tonight.

After locking yourself in the apartment, you figured a quick nap would be a good distraction from it. And it was, for a couple hours. Upon waking, you walked into the living room and lo and behold, vengeance himself was standing in your apartment.

"Can't say I didn't expect this, really," you spoke carefully, avoiding his gaze.

He grunted, "Then you know why I'm here. Why'd you do it? What do you gain from figuring out our identities?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a shadow moving across your window.

"Nothing. I just got curious. All billionaires are shady, and they're all hiding something. You were, by far, the most suspicious," you let out a breath. "Don't worry, that's not what anyone else thinks, at least not anyone that can do what I do,"

You hear another voice joining the conversation.

"Do what? Invade people's privacy? You should really be careful where you stick your nose in, hacker."

If looks could kill, you'd be dead ten times over. God, this guy's intense even through that helmet.

Jason Todd, aka Red Hood, date of birth: August 16th, date of death: April 27th, 6'0, occasional smoker, former Robin. Likes pot roast.

Batman— no, Bruce Wayne interjected, "Suspicious?"

"Might just be me, but I found it hard to believe the richest man in the world would be throwing so much money into this dump of a city without an ulterior motive," you look at one of the ears on his cowl, it was almost cute, "Every other rich guy did. Whatever money they put out, it came back to them ten times bigger. Nobody really felt for this city."

That was your angle? The two men went still at your somber admittance. Sure, Gotham wasn't the best city, but that's why they did what they did, wasn't it? They had the slightest urge to show you that they really did care. And perhaps show off a bit.

Jason shifted, "You did it because of a gut feeling?"

You shrugged, "It was right, wasn't it? Something was up, just not... in the way I expected,"

It wasn't everyday you uncover a vigilante that turned out to be Gotham's beloved billionaire.

"Anyway, congratulations on not being an entirely bad guy. 'm not gonna tell anyone," you murmured, "not like anyone's gonna believe me,"

You see Red Hood look at Batman, a silent conversation was, no doubt, occurring.

The two vigilantes head for your window— do these guys ever use the front door?

Bruce turns to you, "Try not to do it again,"

"No promises," you huffed. "But your defenses could use some work. Comms, body cams, and other recorded footage— they were just there."

Red Hood's helmet glinted as he tilted his head at you. You shivered.

"Right, won't do it again," and that was that.

It was like they were never here.

What a night.

<>

You scrutinized the letter in your hands.

A job offer for a position you've never interviewed for. At Wayne Enterprises.

Batman works quick, that's for sure.

The pay was good, very good. You reckon there wasn't a single complaint about that.

Hm, they're making sure you're under their watch. If you were a threat, you'd be easier to keep an eye on. Easier to control.

You weren't one to give up control, but potentially having access to the city’s… well, everything, was something too tempting to give up.

Looks like LabyrinthTech was losing their best employee.

[onlyquinns]

Hiii!!!

First Your Jack Hughes fics im actually obssessed so I was wondering if you could write a fic about when Jack reinjured his shoulder. Like youre watching in the crowd and you rush down to the rooms to see him in pain and so upset and like him after the surgery. Him being all clingy but also really upset and moody yk.

Anyway just an idea!! But thank youuuu

you’re seated next to two of your friends, giddy in your seat as the three of you look down at the t-mobile arena ice rink. you’re dressed in a cute, little leather jacket that jack had bought you as a gift, his initials and number stitched into the cuff.

it’s been a while since you’d found time to watch one of jack’s games, far too caught up with work, and your friends knew that. the two of them had schemed together, finishing your work on top of theirs at the company the three of you worked at so you could finally find a day to fly out and attend a game. you were so excited, having thanked your friends with a girls night out and a fancy dinner as repayment—which really wasn’t necessary, since the three of you always said that you basically shared a floating twenty, even if the total cost was most definitely over twenty bucks.

as the arena lights dim, the crowd begin to shout and holler, a clear sign that the game is about to introduce the home team. your friend to the left, sarah, grabs your arm and squeals, shaking you with excitement as you excitedly point out jack to your two friends. they giggle with you, fully happy for you, and glare at the middle aged man who glares at the three of you.

maddie, your friend to the right, scoffs in your ear. “don’t let him ruin your night, girl,” she tells you, but you already had forgotten the nasty look he’d gave your little group, eyes drawn to jack’s tiny figure on the ice as you slowly rise for the anthem.

when the opening stuff is finally over, you watch with rapt enthusiasm as jack’s figure skates across the ice. he zips like lightning, moves calculated and controlled. you nibble on your nails, body positioned at the edge of your seat, as your boyfriend bullies his way across the ice and shoots.

as the game continues, score still zero for both teams, your anxiety builds. it’s the third period and you feel antsy, far too invested in the game. your knee bounces, and sarah reaches over to place a steadying palm to your leg, her fingers squeezing against the jeans you’re wearing. you give her a grateful smile and quietly sip your beer, hoping someone will score.

suddenly, the crowd cheers and several people shoot out of their seats. you quietly groan as the knights make a goal—the first one of the night—and listen to the loud horn that fills your ears and the arena.

“it’s okay,” sarah says, “they’ll get the next one.”

you nod in agreement and settle back down, watching as the two teams meet in the center for the puck drop.

it’s near the end of the third and the devils are losing 0-2. your heart feels heavy in your chest, but lightening just a little as jack comes back onto the ice. he skates like his life depends on it, rushing for the puck.

“woah,” maddie says later in the night, a beer in one hand. “jack’s really fast, it’s impressive.”

you nod, smiling a little with pride, because that’s your boyfriend. you’re about to respond, when jack’s body is slammed into the boards during a breakaway.

a gasp leaves your lips, hands flying to cover your agape mouth. he doesn’t move as he lays there, not even when another player jostles him and pulls him into a hasty recovery position.

“oh, my god,” you breathe, watching as he suddenly wakes back up.

without warning, you get out of your seat and run through the seats, quick apologies tumbling from your mouth. your friends call for you as you stumble down the steps, their voices dimming as you leave the stands. you can still hear the announcers as you skirt through the arena, finding the hallway that leads to the players locker rooms.

the security guard takes a look at you and steps aside. “he’s in medical,” he says as you whizz past. “to the left.”

“thank you!” you say as you make your way through, only stopping when you find a room labeled with medical in big, white letters.

when you push the door open, several people turn to usher you out, but you don’t care. you shove past them until you reach jack, his body propped up on an exam table. he’s still in his gear, except for his upper half. his hair is damp with sweat as he listens to the medical staff in front of him, face crestfallen as he takes in their words, a hand pressed to his hurt shoulder.

“are you okay?” you ask, grasping his face in your warm hands. jack’s surprised look quickly melts away as he registers your presence, his face suddenly shifting to something stronger and braver.

he chuckles, but it’s not his usual laugh. “of course i am, baby,” he says, smirking a little.

tears brim your eyes, “bullshit!” you turn to the team in front of you, eyes wild, then turn back to jack. “what—what happened? please, tell me.”

jack looks down at his lap and your hands slip from his face. he holds your hand tightly in his, and sighs. the medical team clears out, leaving the both of you together.

“i… i need to get my shoulder worked on again. hit the boards too hard and knocked out.” he looks up at you and gives you a painful smile, “lucky i still have all my teeth, huh?” he jokes, but you don’t laugh.

you frown, aware of how he might be feeling. “when are you flying out?” you ask, squeezing his hand in yours.

jack gnaws on his lip, “soon. come with me?”

you nod, “i’m always going to be by your side, jack.”

and you do.

you pick him up at the hospital after he’s discharged from his surgery, arm planted in a dark sling. you have a pillow in your car for his arm to rest on, his water bottle tucked in the cup holder for him to sip on, and advil tucked into your glove box. jack praises you as you drive the two of you home, snorting as he exaggerates his gratitude.

“oh, my god—you’re like an angel,” jack says as you pull into the parking spot of his apartment. “i can literally see the halo in your hair, baby!”

you laugh as you help him out of the car, listening to his teasing words as you walk through the lobby, as you ride through the elevator, and as you finally walk into the apartment with him.

“i’m going to change, okay?” you say, pulling your hair off your neck and clipping it up with a giant claw clip. you’re about to walk down the hall to jack’s room when he whines.

you look over at him, amused to see him laying on his back on the couch and his feet thrown over the arm rest. he dramatically kicks his feet, knowing it’ll make you laugh.

“cuddle with me!” he says. “it’s doctors orders!” he says dramatically, smirking a little when you relent and walk over.

“jacky, we won’t fit on the couch,” you say with your hands on your hips. jack admires your figure in your work clothes, hips looking soft and full in your black slacks.

“well… you said that last time but we still made it work,” he responds slyly.

your face heats at the insinuation, “that’s not what i meant!” you say, voice filled with indignation. “i meant that i’ll cuddle you in bed!”

jack grins and jumps up, “okay!” leaving his lips as he rushes down the hall and into his room. you sigh and follow after him, finding him in his boxers and shirt.

you walk over to him and gently maneuver his arm free from the sleeve of his t-shirt, tossing it into the hamper as he gets comfy in bed. you follow suit, stripping down to your underclothes, and laying in bed next to jack. you pull the thick comforter over your bodies, smoothing the fabric so it lays flat against your skin. jack hums as you tuck yourself into his side, tangling your leg into his and slinging an arm across his chest.

“i’m sorry you can’t play the rest of the season,” you murmur against his chest, lips brushing against soft skin.

jack shrugs, “it’s okay,” he says in an attempt at convincing you and himself. “at least… at least i get to spend more time with you,” he whispers, turning his face into you. long curls brush against your hair. “and even if the whole injury thing is the worst case scenario, i’m making the best out of it.”

you smile against his skin, “yeah… i suppose you’re right.”

jack hums in agreement and lays with you in comfortable silence, his arm forgotten and his mind on just you—you tucked into his body, skin to skin, and filled with an immeasurable amount of love for him. just him. just jack hughes, your boyfriend—not jack hughes, the hockey player.

[kroosluvr]

present day

if every day will be like this from now on, i'll look forward to every single one.

ok. Sits down. help meeee i tried using csp's comic tools for once (and also gradient maps + coloring w monochrome) to save time bUT I ENDED UP SPENDING THE USUAL AMT ANYWAY SO. . erm. WELL IT WAS FUN ANYWAYS

hiiiiiiiii i wrote this script 4 months ago nd finally did it (had this on the backburner for 20 million yrs bc i wanted to get out other angst bullshit first)

the parallels of goro's back (x3) on the first 2 pgs are kinda not 1:1 as i'd like but REGARDLESS i still like them. goro, who had utmost control over his life, running it like a machine, regardless of how he feels or if he's tired or if he wants to give up.......he was in control. knowing, of course, that his life is on the line at every waking moment, but since he was always on edge, always alert, he was still in control.

but now, surviving the long winter and coming out to the other side, he's lost that control AND that edge. now what is he left with? what is there left?

very speficially in the 2nd page.... i think its so <3 YAY <3 that goro, now, doesn't feel the need to take such spic-and-span clean-cut care of his appearance.., guy who rolls out of bed and throws on a shirt to go hangout w akira and sumire. he decides to tie up his hair and forgoes his gloves... feels more "comfortable" to change his apperance, to let down his guard a little. <- was the rough symbolism JKDSHKFS

sumire getting the choco croissant but letting goro have the first bite YEAHHHH WHATEVER

4th page symbolism is also rough i didnt think abt it too hard LMAO. 3rdsem goro watching his detective prince self leave. he knows acutely well that chapter of his life is over - whether he survives the long winter or dies in it. all that he knew - even though it was miserable and awful and frustrating and dangerous - is gone.

and now there's just this: the present day. whatever that means.

i think something important to me abt royal trio is just the idea of Learning To Just Exist: no need for a "purpose" or a "calling" or some overarching "goal". they just learn to exist.

and of course none of them really have a benchmark for "wow i like this i want to live like this" so they just roll with the punches, as they always have, but yknow. finally getting to live their honest student life as they always deserved

edit: and most importantly for goro, i think, is learning to cut himself some slack. "despite everything" he says, despite all the shit he's endured AND all the shit he's done, he feels like this is "right." whatever that means, he's ready to take it day by day to figure it out. AND THATS THE WHOLE THING Punches wall really hard

edit: I ALSO FORGOT. i think the sentiment of "being waited for" for goro means a lot. since he had to do everything by himself, fight for himself, decide everything for himself frm such a young age, the idea of akira and sumire waiting for him, inviting him out simply for him to be there -> is really meaningful to him, more than they could know.

edit AGAIN: also goro sleeping in means a lot to me. i imagine that guy has pretty terrible insomnia. ALSO HE HAS A BEDFRAME! i like the thought of his apartment being so /r/malelivingspaces throughout the game. he doesn’t deserve a bedframe. BUT HE HAS ONE NOW!

goros expressions in the last page gve me a hard time. sparkly....

also im SO freaking sorry if his voice isnt too well-written... i had a crisis over the wording while draiwng htis so much DSKHASKDASJK AND THE PANELING AND WHATEVERRR IDEK WHAT IM DOINGGG but it was fun!!!! exploratory..... regardless i will keep workign to do him and royaltrio justice. THUMBSUP EMOJI.

[thequietkid-moonie]

Powerful and chaotic child!reader gets enrolled in Night Raven Collage

[ PLATONIC HEADCANONS ] [ Lilia, Malleus, Sebek & Silver ]

[ Twisted Wonderland ]

× Inspired in Skull kid & The Majora's Mask (from The Legend of Zelda Majora's Mask)

I made a small hint about the titans who are the first friends of Skull kid, hope you no one mind (nothing too explicit sooo you can picture it however you want)

i been wanting to write something like this FOR THE LONGEST TIME!! AND ITS FINALLY HEREEE!! IM ON TEARS!!

Help i can't unseen Lilia and Malleus as Tael and Taya--

The ceremony entrance of this year was going rather smoothly, just having to face the already expected problems of every year's ceremony, however there was something that were catching the attention of those who get to witnessed, this year between the new students there was one that was attracting more attention than others, one that looked a bit too short (perhaps a Dwarf was enrolled in school this year), one who's cloath was a bit too big, covering almost all their short figure, leaving just enough view of their excited smile that sees to not being leaving anytime soon, swinging their small legs on the chair that was just a bit too big

Once it was your turn to face the mirror and be designed to a dorm with the same smile you jumped out of the chair, somehow managing to don't trip over the oversized cloth you were dragging on the ground while also walking with small little jumps, all eyes following your childish way to walk, some even judging you for it, but no one dared to say anything

The silence were only interrupted by the dark mirror, recognizing your childish nature but also the ancient magic that reside inside of you, the great power you hold over something so dangerous, concluding that the best option for you was to be send to the Diasomnia dorm

The shock and doubt barely had time to be build between the students as a high and childish voice was quick to interrupt, with curiosity and getting even close to the Dark Mirror you began to ask more about what this Diasomnia thing was, ignoring the whispers that started to form all across the room or even the stares

The ceremony needed to continue but you simply were not hearing anyone so the moment you were called out for being disrespectful over the ceremony by the Heartslabyul housewarden it was when you finally look back, the cloth finally falling from your face after being a bit too excited while talking to the Dark Mirror, leaving everyone in the room even more shocked than before since you were a human, and a human who barely is half the age of the rest of the students

Concern and demands of an explanation didn't take long to reach Crowley, how was he going to let not only let a child be enrolled in the school but also be send to Diasomnia!? But Crowley just excuses himself with what the Dark Mirror said, you hold a ancient and great power in you, already being able to use part of its great strenght and you needed to be instructed to have that power under control before you would become a threat, and he was so kind to accept take responsability over you since you didn't had no one else

But, at the end, it was the way Crowley explained the situation and the fact that you were still too young that most of them simply underestimated the situation, still thinking that letting the child go to Diasomnia wasn't the best idea, but it isn't like they would contradict the Dark Mirror or go out of their way to willingly take responsability over you, but no matter what Diasomnia recived you with open arms (or at least some of them) and after a while of having you around it become quite obvious why you were in this dorm

It didn't took long before Lilia noticed that you, indeed, had a great power but you have never been learned how to properly used it despite being able to use magic like if it was the most natural thing in the world, you were using it in the most childish way posible, what could be quite dangerous for others, so at the end he was the one who willingly took you under his care (he is not stranger of raising kids after all) and with that everyone else quickly accepted you in this big family (not that they wouldn't, but Sebek was having serious problems when you didn't gave much importance to Malleus' title once he became your friend)

Despite the skepticism of the rest of the school it took no time to notice you around the school always clinging to the side of any of the Diasomnia students, most of the time following Lila around the school, who actually found it quite adorable and even indulge it a bit most of the time, after all you were still too young, and not to mention that you two were now partner in crimes, you just loved pulling pranks in others and Lilia just could say not to that (specially because of the big smile and your so cheerful laugh)

Still, once Lilia learned how sad you were because your old friends (the ones who were taking care of you for a little while) had to left you to be able to fulfill their own responsibilities he took he time to help you understand that they didn't left you under the care of NCR because they didn't cared for you, quite the contrary, and with thay he also took time to make sure you understand that probably you will meet other who would also had to leave at some point, and how it is better to enjoy the time you have with them instead of regretting that they have to go

Sometimes you were also found hanging out with Silver around the campus, it become not so weird to see you two napping under a three (your small frame curled up again him, with one of his arms around you as if it was a blanket), or sometimes you weren't sleeping and instead you were playing around and trying to catch the animals that, somehow, he always attracts

Since you were a first year student Sebek was constantly walking you to class, taking the time to remind you to behaive and don't do anything that could affects Lord Malleus' reputation, even if you two had to go to diferent classes he took the time to scort you to make sure you made it safe and to keep the lecture of how important was for you to behaive as the respectable Diasomnia student you were

Although there were times you choose to run away from him jump around the hallways and run towards the classroom, wanting to get there before him because it was funny! (and you wanteded to avoid his ranting about Malleus), wich always make him feel exasperated, conflicted how bad would be from him about just run in the hallways, but he did anyways, always running after you while screaming (wich most of the time left a bad impression of the situation or just annoyed the poeple around)

In all honeslty, Silver doesn't mind much you presence, he even likes it but he doesn't know if he finds funny or annoying the constant fights you have with Sebek, you are all that aren't expected from a Diasomnia student and Sebek wasn't having any of that, while you just answered by telling him that he was boring and sticking your tongue, making him angrier in the process (it has to be either Malleus or Lilia who stop you two, otherwise you argument won't stop)

Lilia was your unofficial dad main mentor, the one who was actively trying to help you learn how to control your magic and learning about life, still he wasn't the only one who was there for you, now you were part of the big family the have become, you wouldn't be left behind ever again

You didn't feared Malleus, he was just the tall guy with horns in your dorm, and he was genuinely surprised (specially because you still were a really young human) but it wasn't unpleseant, he hesitated a bit because you were just too small but quickly you two became friends, wich leaded you to cling to his side whenever you could, even following him during his night walks or just hearing his rants about Gargoyles (for what you understand they were like important guardians, and that reminded you to your old friends! That was why you were always hearing him rant)

Malleus probably didn't realiced how much he grow to like your precense, he saw a lot of himself in you and because of that he grow quite caring and protective for you, he wanted to be for you what Lilia was for him, he wanted to teach you what he learned and to be there when you had no one else (altought, he was still quite young compared to Lilia, so he was a bit clumsy while trying to be a good example for you)

Everyone quickly grow to love you and care for you in their own way, they were making you happy and helping you a lot with learning how to use your magic (even when you don't like being scolded or interrupted when you just wanted to play) they became like your family and that couldn't make you happier! Despite the concern or how weird your other friends from other dorms thought it was you wouldn't change them for anything

[konigofmyheart]

long way down ᥫ᭡ pt 3

MDNI!!!

part 1 ᥫ᭡ part 2

könig's been a big help in your scheme to get benji (your ex) back, but is that what you even want now?

(virgin fem!reader, implied age gap: reader is mid 20's, reader's ex is: pushy talking about sex (not graphic though <3), manipulative, toxic, and controlling in a flashback . aside from that, general fluff with könig! smut coming in part 4; sorry to make y'all wait but it got away from me >.<) word count: ~5k...

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

you finally see him in full, his mask having apparently fallen off during the night. you’re not surprised to find the könig you conjured in your head- after piecing together his self-descriptions and stories- matches what’s in front of you. you smile as your gaze traces over his crooked nose, the white scar slashing through the left side of his bottom lip, a thicker one stretching from his temple to the front of his eyebrow, a fresher looking scar dashed across the apple of his right cheek- you could lay here for hours memorizing every detail of his face, the ruggedness of years of this work contrasting endearingly with the peaceful expression on his sleeping face… well, formerly peaceful as he wakes with a start, snorting a little when he practically scrabbles to get out of the bed.

“gott im himmel, i’m so sorry, schatzi!” he rumbles, sleep clinging to every syllable as he tries to figure out how to slip out from under you without touching you. you laugh softly, patting his chest like he’s some startled horse. “no, no, it’s okay, könig, really! i’m the one who woke up using you as a body pillow. i move around a lot in my sleep…” you explain, as he fishes his mask out from the blankets, slipping it back on before tentatively laying his hand on your back again. you can feel his heart pounding through his chest, a steady rhythm against your palm.

“are you sure? it’s just- i thought you would not like being close to me like this…” he says quietly, trailing off like he’s half hoping you won’t even hear him.

“wha- is it because of the whole i’m a virgin thing?” you ask, the blanket pooling around your lap as you sit up to look at him. könig nods sheepishly, a terse movement like he's worried he’s touched a nerve there. he visibly relaxes once you laugh and playfully swat at his chest “oh, könig! you’re so- yes, i’m still a virgin, but it’s not because i’ve vowed to never touch a man or anything that serious! i’m just a little scared, is all… what if it hurts or something?” you say, your voice growing quieter at the end.

now he turns to look at you, such an earnest expression in his baby blue eyes as he too sits up in bed, the frame creaking with his movement. “it should not hurt much if it’s done- properly and carefully, schatzi…”

“tell that to benji”, you say, rolling your eyes and hugging your arms to yourself.

there’s the slightest lick of contempt in your voice as you say his name, and though it initially makes a spark of hope ignite in könig’s chest, the massive wave of concern that follows snuffs it out. “he hurt you?” he asks carefully, his hands subconsciously tightening their grip on the sheets, his entire body tensing like a drawn bow. he’s certainly fully awake now, waiting for your response with bated breath. if stevens did something to you-

“no! well- not physically… he’d been hounding me about it for weeks, sending me some wild videos he’d found on random sites of couples having rough sex, and he’d say he wanted to do the same with me. i’d try to laugh if off, being like ‘but you’d be gentler, right?’ and he’d just laugh too, as if the idea was ridiculous. he said as much when i finally got the nerve to confront him directly. i told him i’d never feel comfortable enough to have sex with him if he didn’t stop with the videos- if he didn’t promise he’d be careful with me- then he practically blew up, launching into a whole rant about how i was basically asking for him to leave, that i was such a shit girlfriend for not being willing to do this one little thing for him… i started crying, because he was being so hurtful and because i somehow actually felt guilty that i couldn’t make him happy. he stormed out after yelling at me for a good while, and that’s how we ended up the way we are now…”

könig is so still and silent when you finally turn to look at him after a couple of seconds, his unblinking eyes- locked on to the far wall- so icy blue you swear you shiver a little.

“i know it’s a bit of a pathetic story, but i didn’t think it’d be that bad” you joke awkwardly, hoping that lifts the mood and snaps him out of it. what happened wasn’t even that big of a deal, you shouldn’t have offloaded it on könig like that; he has bigger things to worry about than some dumb argument-

“i am so sorry you had to experience that, liebe. you didn’t deserve that- no one does.” he finally says, carefully taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently.

something in your chest fractures at the gentleness of his tone, the knit of his eyebrows as he looks at you with such sincerity and what you can only describe as love that it makes hot tears brim in your eyes as everything finally clicks into place: you’d dedicated years of your life to being benji’s. you’d watch every step, consider every word, practically count each breath so you wouldn’t do the wrong thing and upset him. you’d tailored every aspect of your life to best suit him, even before you’d started officially dating. you’d apologize for “always starting shit” when you’d try to speak up for yourself, when you’d say you deserved to have friends and to have hobbies and to make decisions on your own. you were right all those times you said he was too controlling, no matter all the lies he tried to tangle you up in so you wouldn’t notice. you’d always thought relationships were simply like that, that the constant ache in your chest was because of love, that his need to be centered in your life was normal- yet that wasn’t true. even in this fake relationship with könig, you’d always been respected, downright revered. your wishes were always heard and followed, every thought you spoke was thoroughly considered by him, every one of his touches gentle and always welcome by you because he never overstepped… you couldn’t fathom könig doing even a fourth of the things benjamin did. könig would never speak to you so rudely, never be pushy, never treat you like he owned you. benjamin made you live an existence of arguments and tears, feeling such guilt and shame for not tending to his needs- that you let him control everything else out of fear he’d leave, and he did so anyway, blaming you…

“benjamin fucking sucks,” you breathe, blinking away tears that blur your vision as you look up at könig. the two of you come together like a puzzle, könig wrapping you in a hug as you cling to him, holding on to his solid form as you laugh a little incredulously, questioning everything you ever thought was true love. you’re so thankful könig’s here, holding you together, murmuring soft honeyed words into your hair, exactly what you need at this moment. there’s a reason you’d never dared to say that story out loud before. you knew you had to face the ugly truth if you did: benjamin has never once cared about you, only himself.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

könig quietly closed the door to his room, not wanting to wake you as you dozed off again after such an emotional morning. you’d cried it all out, finally voicing aloud every time stevens had been a dick, and könig had listened intently, his heart clenching at the thought of you experiencing that though all the years you’ve known stevens. könig did his best to cheer you up after, providing more out-in-the-field stories when you asked for a distraction, even able to draw a couple laughs from you when he told the story of that time he sat on a cactus, until you’d settled again.

he almost whined when you sent him off to work, shaking his head when you said you’d taken up enough of his time as is. you didn’t buy a single one of his excuses, knowing he was only putting off work today because he was worried about you, but you assured him you felt a lot better having talked about it, that you’d just hang out, nap, maybe visit stiletto. really, you just didn’t want to even hear stevens’ breathing right now; you were so disgusted with him. könig didn’t either. he’d rather prefer if stevens wasn’t breathing at all after your story, but you specifically asked him to not bring it up again, much less tell anyone else.

he’d never betray your privacy like that, not after you trusted him with such a delicate topic, but, god, did he want to punch stevens’ face in- “hey, man!” came horangi’s voice from behind him. könig quickly shushed him, jerking his thumb at the door. “oh, shit, sorry. your girl is still sleeping, aye? you tired her out or what?” horangi whispered, a dumb grin on his face. it wasn’t everyday he got an opportunity to tease könig like this, but was it really worth the heavy-handed slap to the back of the head könig rewarded him with?

“shut up, kim,” könig grumbled as he made his was to his office.

“ease up, i was just kidding- besides, tonight's old kev’s retirement party, remember? i know you’re not much for gatherings, but you can take notes for your own upcoming retirement party, and you can introduce your girl to the best bar in the whole city. it’s a win-win!"

“i’m going to ignore that first part, but yes, it would be nice to take my schatzi… i’ll ask her later, once she’s up” könig mused, internally wondering if you’d even be up for such a thing today. he could just forget the party, stay in with you and watch cheesy movies if the nap didn’t help your mood, but what if you did actually want to go? then it’d be rude of him to not mention it to you, wouldn’t it? yet he didn’t want you to feel pressured into going- his own head was a mess after all you’d told him…. at least he had until the end of the day to figure it out, no?

they’d arrived at his office by now, horangi quickly making himself at home in one of the chairs facing the desk. könig sat in his chair, raising an eyebrow at his friend. “is there anything else or…?”

it’s never a good thing when horangi gets serious, especially when the sunglasses come off, the clink of them against the desk ringing through the room like the toll of a bell. “look- i’ve been hearing… stories, from the recruits. they’re saying your girl had something with stevens before. not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course, but i thought you should know…” horangi rushed out, interlacing his fingers as he leaned back in the chair.

“yes…and?” asked könig, the tension leaving his body upon realizing it wasn’t a new problem.

“...you already knew?” 

könig nudged his mouse, entering his password to check his emails. “of course, she told me about it when we bumped into him here.” he lied smoothly.

“oh, good.,” horangi let out a relieved sigh, making a show of shaking out his hands and legs. “i’d been worried for a bit there, and stiletto was going on and on about how i shouldn’t butt in, but what kind of brother would i be if i didn’t tell you, yeah?”

“do i give the impression that i would have a problem with that? that i’d want her less or something?” könig scoffed, side eyeing horangi as he typed out a response to a query about ammunition stock.

“no, not at all. i was that worried because i see the way you look at her, like you’ve been knocked on the head and she’s the only thing you remember. you’re in deep, man.”

könig smiled under his mask, your face suddenly overlaying his screen as he pictured you. “that i am.”

horangi barked out a laugh, slipping his glasses back on. “i didn’t even know you were capable of being that soft- thought you’d be a lonely old dog forever-”

“get out of my office, kim."

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

you slipped out of könig’s room, making sure to lock the door behind you with the spare key he’d left on the bedside table next to the tv remote, a little “at my office. if you need me just call, schatzi- for anything.  i’ll bring lunch” scrawled on a slip of paper, alongside a wonky looking smiley face. you can’t help but return the doodled smile, your heart lifting at the comfort of even his handwriting.

you were pretty conflicted this morning, untangling your mind from all the lies benjamin fed you over the years, so much so you turned down breakfast, but now you really just wanted to stop thinking about that- about him- all together. he didn’t deserve an ounce of your energy. he never did, you'd thought, making your way to könig’s attached bathroom to wash up and depuff your eyes from all the crying. you had put on yesterday’s clothes when you were done, absentmindedly wondering if you should do a quick trip to your place to get more clothes, but then again…

would you still be staying here?

you and könig did your show last night, proving to benjamin you did stay the night, but did you even care what he thought anymore? since this morning you haven’t thought a single good thing about him, and why would you? it was looking more and more like it was time to call this whole thing off- you certainly didn’t want benjamin back anymore- but you didn’t want to blindside könig like that. you’d speak to him this evening, then it’d be done, you decided as you were stepping out.

you double checked that his door was locked and slipped the keys into your pocket before making your way to stiletto’s room, following the instructions she messaged you, the shorts she lent you rolled up in your hand. you’re so thankful benjamin doesn’t really have a reason to be out here in the private room’s area right now, because the last thing you want is to see him. still, you can’t help but feel a constant shiver along your spine as you make your way to stiletto’s, only her smiling face when she opens her door settling you again.

your “hi!” and her “bella!” overlap as she lets you in, a playful smile on her face.

“look at you all tired from last night! i won’t even ask what you were up to,” she teases, smiling even wider at the blush on your face. you always hated you could flush so easily, but right now it’s convenient because it helps sell the story, at least for this final leg of the show.

“oh, stiletto! enough, i just came to hang out. well that, and to ask where the laundry room is, so i can go wash the shorts you so kindly lent me.”

“ah, don’t worry about it, bella. i got it,” stiletto says, taking the shorts from your hand and tossing them across the room into a half full hamper. “do you need to borrow more clothes- for the party tonight?” she gently takes your hands guiding you to sit on the edge of her bed with her, the mattress dipping.

“party?” you ask, racking your mind in case könig told you and you just forgot, what with everything going on.

“your man didn’t tell you? oh, quello stupido. it’s nothing big, just a retirement thing for a guy who probably grew up with könig” she laughs at her own joke, bracing her hands on the bed as she leans back. “i’m mainly going because i’d never turn down a drink at the black dog-”

the door creaks open and horangi strolls in, his mask tucked under his chin as he snacks on some chips. “hey, stiletto-” 

“stronzo, knock first! how many times do i have to tell you?”

“ugh, as if i’d want to see anything- you’d have locked the door if you were changing anyway- oh, hey!” he grins as he finally turns to see you, instantly offering his bag to you. you thank him and take a handful, laughing when stiletto reaches for some too, only to be met with a slap to her hand. in a flash she’s snatched the whole bag from him, making a big show of shovelling a handful in her mouth as horangi watches in mock horror. “this is why i don’t share with you, you always do this-”

“it”s what you get for not knocking” stiletto quips back, looking so smug as she hugs the bag to herself.

yeah, it’s safe to say your mood has completely improved watching these two bicker like toddlers. you’re really going to miss them once you leave…you can’t help but let out a quiet little sigh at the thought of never seeing them, or könig, again. maybe you could still be friends, somehow? what would they think once they heard it was all fake though…

“so?” asks hornagi, fully focused on you after accepting the loss of his chips. you blink in surprise, looking to stiletto for help.

“he asked if you were going to the party tonight” she supplies around another mouthful.

“oh! um, i actually don’t know… isn’t it like a work thing?”

horangi waves you off, settling to lean against stiletto’s dresser. “ah, old kev won’t mind. he said we could invite anyone; the more the merrier... könig’s down”. 

you hum as you think, wondering if you should just make some excuse up. what would be the point of you going? könig has done enough as is, letting you take up most of his days all for a goal that you don’t even care about anymore. how could you intrude on a work thing too? he probably wants to spend time with his friends, maybe even meet someone new at this place. you can’t help but feel a pang at the thought, but you don’t even know why. there’s no point to keeping up the act, the very thought of benjamin makes you nauseous now, so you really should just leave this place behind as soon as possible. it’s only logical, but why does it hurt so much? 

“come on, bella, the big guy only agreed because of you! he’s only attended these things like twice before. i just know he’d love to show you the black dog! it’s our second home away from home,” stiletto insists, making to take your hand but stopping when she catches the crumbs coating her hand.

“you think? maybe…”

“we’re sure”, says horangi, nodding at you. “at least if you go, he wouldn’t just be glaring from a corner like the rare times he has gone. i’ve never seen him so happy as when you’re around.”

“okay, i’m down, too, then.” you say, smiling at the thought of more time with könig and these two. now, you couldn’t possibly put a damper on kev’s party by calling off the plan, right? it’d be downright rude. what else can you do but wait til tomorrow for all that? your hands are totally tied here, 100%, no doubt about it. looks like the act is still on for at least another day, a thought that has you smiling as stiletto launches into searching for more clothes for you.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

you now realized why könig was so excited when you met up for lunch and you told him you wanted to go to the gathering tonight. sure, the bar’s floors were a little bit sticky with past spilled drinks, and the smell of smoke from many cigarettes hung in the air, but the energy of the place was spectacular. from the dark wood to the dimmed lights hanging from the ceiling, you instantly felt a lot more at ease than you’d felt on the way here.

kev, the man of the night, was so kind when you greeted him, his hand warm and rough when you shook it. he clapped könig on the shoulder, barking out a “maybe this party should be for you and your girl, aye? look how far you’ve come, boy. i still remember when you first showed up, all scrawny like a… like a green bean, so scared of everything. you jumped ‘bout a mile into the air the first time you checked out the haunted snack machine-”

könig rubbed the back of his neck, quickly congratulating kev before steering you away, kev’s cackle followed you through the crowd.

“you said you didn’t believe it was really haunted,” you tease, grinning up at him as he led you between the tables and other attendees, your hand in his. “well, yes, i eventually reached that conclusion after some investigating,” he said carefully, avoiding looking at you. “it had been acting funny for so long, what was i supposed to think, schatzi?” könig whined, making you laugh harder.

“bella!” stiletto shouted, waving at you from the table she and horangi had commandeered. “we were wondering where you were!” she gushed as she stood to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “oh, i guess you’re here, too,” she joked, sparing könig a quick glance.

he rolled his eyes, helping you into your chair before sitting. ever a gentleman you thought, smiling as you greeted horangi across the table.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

for such a small place, it sure got lively! conversations ebbed and flowed, mixing up like a pile of threads, the tables quickly filling and the drinks flowing. the four of you chatted and joked, occasional guests popping in when horangi waved them over. kev must be well loved as soon it felt like the whole base was in the building, although you were thankful to not see many rookies. benjamin would surely think a thing like this too below him. his types of parties usually ended with multiple arrests and lots of property damage, and at least 10 people puking in bushes… you were pulled from your thoughts when könig gently nudged your hand with his, dipping his head so you’d hear him over all the clamor of voices.

“alright, liebe? wanna leave already?” he asked softly, and you just barely caught the way his brows furrowed under his mask. you smiled, feeling your heart warm at how considerate he always was, so in tune and attentive to your moods without you even having to say anything.

“no, i was just thinking… it’s so comfy. i feel like i could stay the whole night” you grin, taking a sip of your drink. 

no one can ever say kev’s farewell party was boring. soon, many were launching into loud songs, others shouting at each other over the ratty pool table in the back, people stumbling as they mingled among tables. just when you’d thought horangi and stiletto ran out of embarrassing könig stories, they’d brew up another, helping each other remember details that the other didn’t.

könig’s defenses would never hold up, any excuse or reasoning for each embarrassing moment only making it worse until he just gave up, laughing along with the rest of you. his dry wheeze of a laugh only made you three break down even worse, horangi saying it sounded like crunchy leaves blowing away in the wind, before kev made his way over to the table.

“what’s going on over here? we telling war stories for the little lady? i want in,” he said, looking around for a chair yet finding them all taken. könig made to stand, about to offer his chair, but horangi held out a hand to stop him.

“easy, old man. you aren’t so young yourself, hm?” he laughed, almost sloshing a bit of his drink over his cup. “how about your girl sits on your lap, then kev gets her chair, and everyone’s happy?” he asked, smiling over at you.

“sure!” you quickly agreed, standing and taking your drink as könig scooted his chair back, making room for you. you nodded at kev’s thanks, assuring him it was perfectly fine, könig saying “komm hier, schatzi”, playing the perfect part of a loving boyfriend. 

you’re thanking all the higher forces that exist for the dim lighting now, feeling your face warm as you settle on könig’s lap, biting the inside of your cheek to ground yourself. the warmth of könig’s hands radiate through your clothes as he casually holds them but a millimeter away from your hip, just enough for it to look like he’s hugging you to him from the others’ point of view, without actually touching you in this impromptu moment.

the others, to their credit, just spare you a quick glance before they’re back to loudly arguing about whether kev did or did not manage that impossible shot he’s always bragging about- trying to work out if it’s worth telling you if it’s false- and you take the opportunity to turn to könig, silently communicating in that way you’ve unlocked over these months. you give him a slightly confused look, your eyes flickering to his hands to indicate what you mean, and he raises his eyebrows in response, as if saying “your choice”.

you turn back to the table, unable to hide your smile as you place your hands over his, guiding one to fully rest on your hip and the other about midway up your thigh. kev laughs when he admits he can’t even verify the legendary story himself, “so many memories become muddled over the years, the old brain’s not what it was, you know how it is” he says, directing that last bit at könig, much to the other two’s amusement.

you playfully soothe him, patting his hands with yours as you tell him not to listen to them. horangi’s laughing like a hyena, but he has to be bailed out by stiletto when he chokes on his spit a little, and that’s enough to redirect him, the fun of teasing könig quickly forgotten when he realizes he’s got the man of the hour at the table. “willing to try your luck tonight, kev?” he asks, pulling out the pack of cards you’ve learned over the months he always has on him.

something about this feels so… right. you have never felt more at ease in your life. maybe it’s the drinks warming your gut, or just the effect of having fun with friends, but you relax, leaning back against könig's chest as the chatter of the other’s settles over you like a blanket. könig hums, the sound reverberating through his chest before he leans down to place a soft kiss on your temple.

you’re vaguely aware horangi’s showing off his shuffling skills, quickly dealing himself, then stiletto, then kev in before turning his attention to you. you shake your head when he asks if you want to play, könig saying you can help him instead, reaching past you to pick up his cards. you can’t help but mourn the loss of his hands on you, the ghost of his warmth on your hip and thigh only making you feel colder as he fans his cards out so you can see his spread too.

you never really knew yourself to be clingy, stevens always shrugging you off and rolling his eyes when you’d just try to hold his hand. guess that wasn’t really an environment for you to learn about your preferences and needs. who’d have known?

you could get used to this, truly being könig’s schatzi, visiting him on base every other day, hanging out with these new friends- learn card tricks from horangi, train with stiletto- finally experience what an actual loving relationship is… you’re almost certain he feels this same way. what else would you call his kindness, his gentleness, the way he always turns to you first… he wouldn’t have agreed to this whole hare brain scheme if he didn’t like you, if he thought you were annoying, right?

you watch the game play out in front of you, basking in this delicate warmth as you lean your head against könig’s shoulder, breathing in that comforting pine scent that always clings to him. he makes a little noise of surprise, and you know it's because you’re acting different, but you shake your head, cutting off his concern before he even asks if anything’s wrong. “just got a little cold,” you say quietly, hearing horangi complain that he’s losing, that stiletto must be cheating, old kev settling their bickering.

“oh, schatzi! you should have said so” könig murmurs, a smile on his voice as he reaches for his jacket draped on the corner of kev’s- formerly your- chair, and lays it over you, tucking it around you like it’s a blanket. it feels like one, with how vast and worn it is.

you can see some irregular stitches at the shoulder seams, and you smile to yourself at the thought of könig tearing his jacket because he forgot how wide his shoulders are, he must have stretched just a bit too far, and then that night he put his sewing skills to work, stitching the pieces back together. he’d look so cute, maybe his tongue would stick out just the slightest bit as he focuses on his work, his brows would furrow in that way they do when he’s turning something over in his mind- well shit.

you let out a shaky puff of breath, feeling your hands tremble just the slightest bit as you wrestle with the undeniable fact: you’ve fallen for könig. you’ve been falling since you first spoke to him, clinging to every detail he mentioned, memorizing the inflections in his voice, finally truly laughing for the first time in a while thanks to his stories over the phone. you’d initially braced yourself for him to ask about you and stevens when he mentioned the letter, but he never pried, only took what you gave him, and you quickly learned he wasn’t the type of guy to press and insist like that.

it’s why you trusted him so much since the beginning, why you’ve never once felt apprehensive or nervous around him- not counting the butterflies you’d ignored over the past months… 

könig peeks down at you, a quiet “are you sure you’re okay, liebe?” drawing you from your thoughts.

“yeah… yeah, i’m good,” you breath out, assuring him with a smile. “i’m just gonna go get some air” you say, sliding off his lap and standing.

könig quickly drops his cards on the table, face up, making to stand after you “i’ll go with you”.

“no, no, you stay and finish your game! i’ll just be right outside.” you insist, placing your hand on his shoulder, and he actually stays seated, but he’s looking up at you with those worried puppy eyes of his.

"schatzi-”

“stay” you say, smiling as you can practically hear him whine in response, but, just like a well-trained dog, he wouldn’t go against you. really, there’s nothing for him to worry about. the street itself is well lit, those in the area are more focused on themselves; they’re respected men and women just having a night to relax.

you shut the door behind you as you take a deep breath of the cool air, tugging könig’s jacket further around you. how different life feels when you’re no longer living for someone else. the stars have never looked as pretty as they do tonight, and you’ve never felt so light of heart since this morning.

you’ll speak to könig tomorrow, tell him the plan is off, but then confess your feelings and hope he believes you. you wouldn’t hold it against him if he’s a little skeptical, just last night you were still trying to get stevens’ attention...

you shiver at the thought of him, hardly able to believe you ever once thought he was a good guy, that he was worth your effort like that. it’s laughable now that you’ve met truly good people, seen what it’s like to be treated like you’re actually someone. you check to make sure the wall behind you is clean before you lean against it, smiling up at each twinkling light in the sky.

it was as if the stars themselves were telling you everything would be okay- or maybe they were telling you to watch out, you think when you hear his voice from your left, a chill going down your spine.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

part 4, the final part, <3

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[awearywritersworld]

she mumbled that i was peculiar

sukuna x reader summary: impressively, sukuna is still trying to find ways to deny his feelings for you. nevertheless, he keeps you safe from harm when a late night trip to the store doesn't go as planned. will seeing his violent nature for yourself change the way you feel about him? he seems to think so. w/c: 4.2k (oops) tags/warnings: angst to fluff. attempted kidnapping. canon typical violence. depictions of blood. reader throws up. reader is in shock for a bit. cursing. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter* a/n: i'm sorry this took so long! im ngl, i struggled quite a bit to write this chapter. i'm still unsure about the pacing, but here it is anyway. thank you for reading and i hope you enjoy! series masterlist // masterlist

it's not often that you go out for the evening, but tonight is one such occasion. you leave around seven, excited to meet nobara and maki for dinner.

when yuuji falls asleep a few hours later, sukuna doesn't take over right away. he spends a while in his domain, engaging in what some people might call sulking.

before long, however, he begins to feel restless and he tells himself it's because he's grown accustomed to his finite hours of freedom. of course, it has nothing to do with your absence.

so he assumes control of his vessel's body and pulls a short novel from your bookshelf. settling on the couch, his fingertips brush over the cover: the stranger by albert camus

it's the first time he's ever been alone in your apartment, a fact he's well aware of, and his eyes wander to the front door. it'd be all too easy to pull it open, to make his way downstairs and out onto the street.

how long would it last before yuuji regained control? are you nearby? would you get caught up in the havoc he'd doubtlessly wreak?

the thought makes him grimace. returning his focus to the book in his hands, time seems to pass by faster as he makes his way through the pages.

even so, he deems the narrative a bit boring. in his (what's the opposite of humble?) opinion, dead mothers and nagging girlfriends don't make for the most captivating story, so his mind begins to wander once he happens upon the quote:

"so why marry me, then?" she said. i explained to her that it didn't really matter and that if she wanted to, we could get married. besides, she was the one who was doing the asking and all i was saying was yes. then she pointed out that marriage was a serious thing. i said, "no." she stopped talking for a minute and looked at me without saying anything. then she spoke. she just wanted to know if i would have accepted the same proposal from another woman, with whom I was involved in the same way. i said, "sure." then she said she wondered if she loved me, and there was no way i could know about that. after another moment's silence, she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

sukuna thinks about you— the woman who forced her way into his solitude.

although, what if it hadn't been you? what if the brat had been involved with another woman? would he have eventually taken an interest in her too?

are you really that special, or is he just going crazy inside the cage that is itadori yuuji? the latter is much more likely, right?

he supposes he prefers the idea of madness over... feelings for some human.

all of a sudden, your apartment door seems much more inviting. would it be so bad if he were to step through it? what did he really have to lose?

yeah, that's right. he'll get up any second now and act on every horrible impulse he's been repressing. any second now... any second...

he can't quite figure out why he's unable to bring his limbs to move, weighed down by some force that's beyond him.

it's at that moment the door clicks open and for a split second, he thinks it must be his sign to go, but then you come waltzing in.

"'kuna!" you greet in an excited manner, disrupting the peaceful quiet.

kicking off your shoes haphazardly, you make your way over to him and promptly drop yourself into his lap. it elicits a bout of unwelcome clarity for the king of curses.

no, he wouldn't have taken an interest in just anyone, that much becomes obvious. it wasn't through a medium as flawed as chance that he came to... tolerate you. you're much too annoying for that to be the case.

"hello???" you wave your hand in front of his face. "i'm home."

"i can see that."

"welcome home, darling," you say in a deep voice, a poor imitation of him. "i missed you so much— that's what you're supposed to say."

yeah, definitely too annoying.

"but i didn't miss you." one of his hands comes to rest on your thigh, a betrayal of his preceding assertion.

"you're sitting alone reading—" you pause to inspect the book lying open beside him. "existential fiction about a nihilistic frenchman. of course you missed me."

he changes the topic rather swiftly. "you're drunk."

"i'm tipsy, at best." you roll your eyes. "can't i just be happy to see you?"

"you'd be the first."

"i don't mind making history."

you place a kiss on his lips, casual and affectionate in way that makes sukuna's body stiffen, and stand up.

"i need to get ready for bed, then we're gonna watch tv together because i missed you— gosh, see how easy that was?"

you run off to the bathroom and his body doesn't fully relax until he hears the shower turn on.

the thought of missing someone is a strange notion to him, because it implies eagerness and desire. for as long as he cares to remember, those emotions have been reserved for proclivities much more sinister.

so he hadn't missed you. he just would have preferred it if you stayed home. that's all.

when you return to the living room around fifteen minutes later, you're wearing one of yuuji's shirts, and as far as sukuna can tell, very little otherwise.

making yourself comfortable on the floor between his legs, you pass a hair tie behind you. "can you braid my hair?"

he's watched you get ready for bed enough times that he's fairly certain he can manage it. taking the tie from you, he still asks "why can't you do it?"

"because i'm sleepy," you frown, reaching for the tv remote.

gathering your hair in his hands and carefully dividing it into sections, he sighs. "you require so much looking after."

"you're not going to die if you can't have cookies tonight." sukuna states dryly, glancing at the clock that reads eleven o'clock.

"please don't trivialize my struggle," you begin, pulling on your jacket. "i want miso butter cookies— my grandma's secret recipe."

most of what you need can be found in the kitchen, but a trip to the store is in order for a few final ingredients.

"my mistake," he huffs, rising to his feet. "how insensitive of me."

"oh, it's alright. just don't let it happen again."

"sure. i'll keep that in mind, princess." sliding the apartment door's chain lock off the track, he does little to hide the vexation in his tone.

just as he reaches for the handle, you stop him and wrap a scarf around his neck, forcing a hoodie into his hands. "put this on. you'll be cold."

he looks at you as if you're crazy. "i don't have to worry about things as insignificant as the weather."

"well, put it on anyway," you insist.

he decides that acquiescing will be easier than arguing for the next five minutes and slips the hoodie over head. when you both step out into the chilly air of night, there are still a decent number of people traveling the streets.

stopping at a crosswalk the next block over, you begin to prattle on about what you need to pick up and the different steps in your recipe. naturally, you completely miss it when the pedestrian sign turns green.

"come on," sukuna commands, his hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you along with him. "i don't have all night."

you scoff. "to be fair, i didn't say you had to come with me."

"yeah well it's late. you shouldn't be out alone." there's a hint of exasperation in his voice, like he truly had no choice in the matter.

despite that, once you reach the other side of the street, his fingers slide down your palm and thread through yours.

you glance over at him and find he's looking off to the side, so you bite your lip to suppress your pleased smile. is he avoiding your gaze intentionally? you decide that bashfulness suits him better than you would have expected.

offering him a light squeeze of the hand, you hope it conveys your appreciation of his small display of affection.

"so, are you going to help me make the cookies?"

his lips press into a thin line. "as thrilling as that seems, i don't particularly have a penchant for baking."

"you think you'd humor me a little! you know, since i'm your only friend and all."

"if anyone else asked me such a ridiculous question, they wouldn't live to see tomorrow." you ponder whether he's joking and quickly decide that he isn't. "this is me humoring you."

"you're so mean to me."

"hardly."

"fine," you pout. "then you can't have any!"

"now, hold on." the threat does make him hesitate. you've come to learn that if there's one thing he loves as much as reading, it's food. "let's not be hasty."

you're approaching the store, the sliding doors just a few strides away.

"it's only fair! besides, you're not going to die if you can't have cookies," you throw his earlier words in his face.

he exhales deeply. "have i ever told you how irritating you are?"

"woah! now you're definitely not getting any, mister!"

"alright, alright," he groans as you step inside. "i'll help you bake your stupid cookies."

"perfect!" you exclaim as if you knew he'd give in eventually (you did). "then you can start by finding the miso paste while i get everything else!"

you scamper off before he can tell you not to order him around like some common servant. he's never even been grocery shopping, how the hell is he supposed to find anything in here?

wandering the aisles, he stews over how domestic this is. for god's sake— the king of curses, shopping for ingredients and making baked goods. what have you reduced him to?

just as he considers giving up, he spots the item he's looking for and grabs it so aggressively that it knocks a few packets of instant miso soup to the floor. wrinkling his nose in distaste for the entire experience, he sets off looking for you, though his efforts are to no avail.

he wonders where the hell you could have gone off to when a flickering light catches his eye, filling him with a strange sort of unease.

it's emanating from a narrow hallway tucked away in the back corner of the store. at the very edge of the hall, a phone with a familiar case is lying on the floor, the screen shattered.

his blood runs cold, a sensation that is fully unknown to him, and the miso paste slips from his fingers. he appears in the hallway the very next second and the sight that greets him ignites a furious hostility in the center of his being— heavy and consuming.

you're struggling against one man as he drags you out of the backdoor and into an alley. another man is holding the door open, urging his partner to hurry up.

the hand over your mouth keeps you from yelling, but you're unsure you would have been able to make a sound regardless.

one second you're cast into darkness, and the next, the light seems blinding. the flashing is unceasing and it makes your head hurt.

two limbs are wrapped around your torso, keeping you firmly in place, and your arms are trapped at your sides. you might be kicking your legs, but they may just be dragging along too. you really can't be sure.

there's a thrum of a heartbeat at your back. it's pace is unforgiving, the intensity mirroring that of your own. you've a vague concern that your heart may very well beat right out of your chest.

then there's an abrupt shift in the air and a sickening crack echoes through out the night. crumpling onto the concrete, you think it must have started raining before you realize that the droplets on your face are warm.

you wipe at your cheek and your fingers stain crimson, the color matching that of an increasingly large puddle seeping across the pavement beside you.

there's a heap lying a few feet away and you recognize that it's wearing clothes. it's a sight you struggle to make sense of.

needing to focus on something else, your eyes find sukuna and the expression he's wearing is fierce and unreserved. "tell me what you wanted with her."

you've never heard him speak in such a way. his tone is low, his cadence nothing short of threatening.

"s-s'kuna?" your own voice sounds foreign to you and it goes unheard by him.

he has your attacker pressed against the brick wall of the alley, both hands wrapped around his throat. he's too livid to realize the pressure on his windpipe is preventing him from answering.

sukuna throws him to the other side of the alleyway out of frustration, the man rolling onto his back and wheezing to appease his lungs.

"tell me!" sukuna commands again, louder this time. less collected.

the man scrambles away from his looming figure. "th-they sent us, told us they needed her for an important matter."

"who?"

"they'll kill me if i tell you—"

sukuna crouches down, laughing dryly. "and what do you suppose i'm going to do?"

his eyes are almost unrecognizable to you. they're frenzied— a few shades deeper than the scarlet you've grown so fond of.

"you'll k-kill me either way, so at least i'll die with honor—"

"tch. useless." sukuna waves his hand, and you can hardly comprehend what happens right in front of you.

neat red lines appear across the man's body, then it ruptures into nothing at all. the only evidence that he was ever there in the first place is his blood.

the stench of which is perhaps the worst part— intense, coppery, and hot. it makes your eyes water, and before you know it, you're hunched over and emptying the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

sukuna is at your side in an instant, pulling your hair away from your face, but while one of your hands is braced against the concrete, the other endeavors to push him away.

his body doesn't budge at the contact, but he takes a step back anyway in an attempt to respect your wishes.

your mind is a mess filled with racing thoughts— what the fuck? this cannot be happening. what the hell even happened in this first place? that man was there and then he wasn't.

inhaling sharply, you wipe at your mouth and shift to pull your knees to your chest.

"what..." you trail off, surveying the unutterable, incomprehensible scene before you. "what did you do?"

he doesn't respond, though his features noticeably soften. somewhere in the back of your mind, you know very well what he did, but you can't help repeating. "what did you do?"

"we need to leave." it's not that sukuna couldn't handle whoever might show up, but seeing as this is your reaction, he has no desire to. "if you let me touch you, i can take us home."

you take a moment to think about it, then nod wordlessly. as soon as his hand falls on your shoulder, you're met with that same sensation you felt the night gojo teleported you and yuuji home after one too many drinks.

though this time, the sick feeling in your stomach isn't caused by liquor. you don't stand up, you don't so much as move a muscle when you feel the surface beneath you shift from concrete to carpet.

sukuna breathes out your name, his uncertainty evidenced by the way he's shoved his hands into his pockets. meeting his eye, you reiterate the same inquiry once more. "what did you do?"

it's almost as if you want him to tell you that he didn't do anything. that the whole experience was some disturbing nightmare.

"those men would have hurt you."

"that doesn't mean they deserved to die." you choke on the final word.

"yes— it does."

with that, silence hangs in the air like a suffocating miasma.

looking to your hands, you're reminded of the blood you've been spattered with. "i need to wash up."

you still don't move from your spot, too fixated on your flesh and the dreadful hue that it's been painted with. sukuna notices now that you're trembling.

he approaches you hesitantly before extending his hand. "let me help you."

you decline his offer, shying away from him. "i think you've done enough already."

god, the look in your eye is utterly despondent. he struggles to swallow the lump that forms in his throat.

his arm falls limply to his side and he looks across the room, your copy of the stranger earning his attention.

he's overcome with chagrin when he realizes that his concern brought about by camus' quote the other night was wholly misguided. he'd been focused on his own feelings, whether they were genuine or simply wrought by his isolation.

how foolish was he to ever question what you truly mean to him? with the anguish that's settled in his chest at the sight of your current state, the fact he ever doubted it makes him feel like a hopeless idiot.

had he any sense at all, the part that resonated with him would have been—

she mumbled that i was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day i might disgust her for the same reason.

disgust. is that what you're feeling now? he's certain it is.

it was just last week that he relayed the story of his past. you're the only person alive to know the truth of how his wickedness came to be, and you met him with unconditional sympathy and understanding.

you pulled him close and embraced him, but now that you've seen him for what he truly is...? you can barely stand to touch him and it's like a knife to his heart.

you're so fucking warm— like the sun against his skin after weeks of endless rain.

and if you're the sun, surely he is the moon— cold and barren on his own, but brilliant when in the presence of your light.

to be without that? to be without you? it's a prospect too terrible for him to bear. it makes his stomach twist miserably.

you're startled (as is he) when his form falls to the floor, his knees meeting the carpet with a dull thud. he calls out your name again, but this time, his voice cracks as he speaks. "please."

he doesn't have a clue what he's even asking for. a chance to explain? forgiveness? a way to turn back time?

you don't say anything, but you do shift your gaze to him. he knows that he needs to fix this, so he wracks his mind for the right words.

"i didn't enjoy killing those men." he's somewhat surprised to find he's telling the truth.

"you didn't?" your voice is so small and timid that he can hardly decipher your words.

"no. my only concern was to keep you safe— to make sure they never put their hands on you ever again. all i felt was rage and... and... guilt. i should have never left you alone and it's my fault—"

"stop," you interrupt him.

there are tears welling in your eyes, making it difficult for sukuna to breathe. he's positive you're going to tell him that his intentions were of little consequence and that you never want to see him ever again.

instead, you push yourself forward and collapse against his body, your own wracked with violent sobs. the reality of the situation is only just now hitting you. it'd been much easier to focus on what sukuna had done, rather than what almost happened to you.

"i was so scared, 'kuna."

and still, despite the way you're clinging to his shirt and burying your face in chest, he's under the impression that it's him you were afraid of.

"i'm sorry," he tells you earnestly. "i never meant to frighten you."

"n-not of you. those men." you're struggling to speak in between desperate gasps. "why did they do that? what did they want with me?"

"i don't know." though, he is going to find out.

sukuna is not a man well versed in comfort, so he's not entirely sure why he begins rocking you back and forth, but he does it anyway.

when you finally start to breathe a little easier, he mumbles into your hair, "come on. let's get you cleaned up."

he doesn't give you a chance to respond before he scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. setting you down on the counter gently, he searches the linen closet for a cloth.

it's quiet, save for your intermittent sniffling, as he runs it under warm water and wrings it out. his free hand moves to rest against the side of your neck and he dabs at the blood on your face, rinsing the washcloth every now and then.

he tries his best not to show it, but sukuna is agonizing over what might be going through your mind.

do you still feel safe with him? have your feelings changed? do you still love him, even when you've been so harshly reminded what he's capable of?

when you speak for the first time your words are hoarse, barely above a whisper. "thank you for saving me, sukuna."

he thinks about telling you not to thank him, not when it shouldn't have happened in the first place. he left your side, an error in judgement he'll never forgive himself for.

he considers your mortality— your weakness— in relation to his feelings for you. he's always seen this exceptionally human quality as despicable.

but now? all it does is terrify him.

"in the past, i was only concerned with my own whims and desires." his hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb running over your cheekbone. "though after tonight... you have to know..."

it's clear that he's struggling. his eyebrows draw together and his mouth twitches as he ponders his next words.

"i care about you, angel." his voice is hushed when he adds, "very much."

your eyes widen briefly and you murmur his name, but your mind is still reeling from the events of the past twenty minutes and you can't think of anything more to say. you're emotionally exhausted in a way you would have never thought possible.

it's plain to him too, so he knows his next question is selfish, but he can't go on without knowing. "does what you saw tonight change things between us?"

the silence preceding your answer seems to stretch on forever.

"i thought it would," you confess eventually. it was as if you'd put up a wall in your mind separating sukuna the king of curses from sukuna the man you spend your evenings with.

and it's difficult to reconcile the fact that the hands you saw used to murder two men are the same hands that are caressing your face so delicately.

at some point, however, you realized that the only time you felt fear tonight was when you were without him. his arrival and ensuing actions inspired shock and apprehension, though in some twisted way, you knew it meant you were safe. "but it doesn't."

the next question tumbles from your lips thoughtlessly. "does that make me a bad person?"

he chuckles and some of the tension in the room dissipates. "i think i'm the last one on earth that can pass moral judgement on you."

he tucks your hair behind your ear and scans your face, relief coursing through his body when he sees you smile. in this moment, there isn't anything else in the world he would have asked for.

"i guess you're right."

and now, the hand over your mouth is your own, an attempt to stifle your tired giggles. the light of the bathroom is warm and steady. sukuna's hands rest atop your hips, his touch firm but comforting. while you can't feel your own heartbeat, you're positive it must be beating in time with his.

when you crawl into bed that night sukuna pulls you close, your back pressed to his bare chest. you're thankful for the softness of his demeanor, because you need it tonight more than ever.

he doesn't recede to his domain until yuuji wakes up the following morning. he's determined to keep an eye on you as you sleep, to watch the slow rise and fall of your chest with newfound gratitude.

he knows he needs to speak with the brat about what happened. someone is after you and while he hates to admit it, he knows he can't ensure your safety alone.

and he will keep you safe, no matter the cost.

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[greenxgloss]

Hello hello!! Im enjoying the way you write so much😭💓

Can I request something where Yoongi is in the mafia and decides to marry his childhood best friend (their families act civil but are enemies) to save her from an arranged marriage.🥹

Against the Oath

Of course my love i got you! When i originally started the rough draft for this it ended up being like 8k words and I felt like a lot of it was filler so I've condensed it down to this BUTTT if you would like to read the 'authors cut' *wink wonk* I could post that as well. ANYWAY I hope this was up to your standards I'm finding a lot of these requests to be really intimidating lol but ig that's how you improve your writing right? thank you for your request :)) Summary: As the heir to your parents' position in the gang you were raised in, you were forced into an arranged marriage. However, when your forbidden best friend uncovered the dark secrets of your intended suitor, he stepped in to take his place. Word Count: 4.2k Themes: MafiaLeader!Yoongi x GangHeiress!Reader, Near arranged marriage, Angst, Fluff, Controlling parents, Best friends to lovers

“Yeah, she’s inviting him over tomorrow.” 

You were leaned back on your pillow, propped up against your head board, sighing and pinching your nose bridge as you caught your best friend up on how your mom has found a ‘suitor’ for you. An arranged marriage. 

“I- will help you figure this out, don’t worry. I'm sure it'll be fine. And if not, we can't run away to a deserted island.” Yoongi smiled, hoping he could ease your anxiety even just a little, and you did giggle momentarily, but the pressure and sense of impending doom was much stronger than your best mate's words of affirmation right now. 

You sighed dramatically. “I can't believe this is happening. Like- now?” you whined, kicking your legs about like a child and slumping down on your pillows. 

“Listen I gotta go, but you'll be okay. Just get through the dinner and call me with updates afterward.” Yoongi rushed his words. “Yeah, I'll call you tomorrow night, so stay up,” you teased, knowing Yoongi was usually tuckered out by 9:30 if he wasn't busy.

When the dinner came round, you found yourself super zoned out at the dinner table, the buzzing sound of muffled kitchen appliances echoing in your mind subconsciously while the sound of your parents talking to Lee Ho drowned out, almost mimicking closely to how the adults sound in Peanuts the movie. You might be Snoopy now.

Your father was on the topic of golf at this point while your mother had stepped out just a moment ago to go check on the food and then go to the restroom.

“I know you'll love to see my collection of putters,” your dad gushed, face red with nerves as he rushed out of the dining room, leaving you and Lee Ho alone.

Lee Ho was tall, charming, smelled good and apparently would be studying to become a surgeon after his military service in the coming year. You picked up on these bullet pointed details in moments that your mind came to focus. 

To you, he sounded boring. Having been raised around gang life, no matter how much your parents tried to keep you away from it in your developmental ages, you still grew comfortable with the instability. You don’t feel you could click or relate to stability, and Lee Ho seemed to be the picture of it.

“You’re not interested at all, are you?” Lee Ho broke the silence, his hands awkwardly folded over his lap like he wasn't sure where to put them. He must really be nervous. Thats when the guilt washed over you.

“Uh, no sorry,” spoken like a true heiress. “No I'm sorry. Women are supposed to agree on this- procedure along with the men being arranged.” he sighed, looking down at his lap and smoothing his slacks. You nodded. He seemed unsure of his vocabulary, like this conversation was a topic he’d never touched out loud before. 

“I- we could still get married,” he suggested bashfully, and your eyebrows rose against your will. “What?” you asked in nearly a gasp. He chuckled. “Well, your mom seems relentless about finding you a partner as soon as humanly possible. How do you know the next guy won't be someone who argues with their knuckles?” he pursed his lips, lettingout  a sharp noise similar to a balloon. The tension in how you breathed released itself once you welcomed thoughts that could cause you to panic.

“I dont mind if us being married is purely on paper.” Lee Ho chewed on the inside of his cheek as he searched your face for the slightest hint of what you were thinking. 

Although getting married this young and fast without an ounce of love was crazy to you, and you could never really understand it, your mother would never understand because she needed to put the gang first right now. It was one of those things that if you thought about it too muc,h it would make you react and act out of hurt.

You exhaled sharply and looked up at him. “Okay. it- doesnt sound so bad,” you spoke in a clearly reluctant tone, hopping and praying quietly in your mind that this wasn't an impulsive decision you’d made in a panic that was shutting your logic out. 

Lee Ho smiled softly and nodded slightly. Your parents walked back in just as your conversation ended. “Here are my beauties.” Your dad smiled, with his golf bag falling off his shoulder.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, and just before Lee Ho left you managed to get his number. 

“So? What do you think?” your mother asked, joining you in the common room after sending Lee Ho off. You just nodded, and that was enough for your mother to understand. “Really?!” she exclaimed, grabbing your hands and clasping them to her lips to kiss. “Yeah.” your tone flat. 

Your mother ran off to her study, squealing causing you to have your own giggle fit before getting up to grab snacks from the kitchen. 

Your kitchen staff had gone home for the night so you were free to have your pick of the pantry. As you scanned the wall of snacks, you brought out your phone and gave Yoongi a call, the time only being 9 pm.

“Salt and vinegar or caramel popcorn?” you asked when the ringing stopped, looking the two options over. “Caramel.” Yoongi's smile was audible and it was equally as contagious as the visual.

You picked the bag and walked up to your room while Yoongi asked his own question. “So how’d it go?” he asked, shifting in his bed being heard on his end. Worry bubbled up in your stomach when you realized the outcome of tonight was definitely not what Yoongi thought he’d hear.

Your stomach twisted. “Im- getting married,” you spoke, a new anxiety bubbling in your stomach. “They got to you, huh?” he chuckled. You sighed softly. “Yoongi,” you whined, sitting in your bed and opening the bag of popcorn.

“I guess the only way I can explain it is I was able to talk about what I wanted in the marriage, and not only did he listen, her suggested other freedoms. He suggest the marriage be strictly paper.” you rambled before stuffing your mouth with popcorn, anxiously anticipating his words.

“That sounds safe and healthy to you?” he asked. Yoongi didn't really have to say anything else, you were saying it out loud for yourself for the first time, and you heard exactly why he’d say such a thing. You sighed in defeat as if this was your only option and sure in your family it is the only way but in real life as an adult you have so many choices but you had no idea what would happen if you defied your mother.

“It's all I got.” You bit your lip then licked your fingers clean and placing the bag of popcorn on your nightstand. “I dont like that. You deserve way more than to settle.” he spoke softly almost whining, his emotions audible. “Its quite literally my only option.”

“Wanna sneak over?”

You giggled and stood off your bed.

Sneaking around with your forbidden bestfriend at your grown age was not ideal but you couldnt really complain considering your families were barely on amicable terms and, you know, forbidden.

Yoongi helped you into his window. Avoiding the goons keeping guard around the mansion was always very fun, it helped you exercise your stealth and agility. 

"Have your parents looked into this guy?" Yoongi asked, his voice laced with something unreadable—concern, maybe, or skepticism. He'd been quiet for most of the conversation, listening intently as you spoke about your so-called fiancé. But now, his sharp gaze was fixed on you, his fingers idly tapping against his thigh.

You blinked, considering his question. "Not that I know of," you admitted with a small shrug. "But I doubt that’s something they’d skip over."

Still, as the words left your mouth, a sliver of doubt crept into your mind. Your parents were powerful, calculating. They had connections that could dig up anyone’s past in an instant. But did that mean they actually had? Or were they so blinded by what this marriage could offer them that they hadn’t bothered?

Yoongi hummed, nodding slightly, but his expression remained unreadable.

The two of you were sprawled across his bed, your back against the headboard while he lay stretched out at your feet, leaning back on his elbows. It was comfortable—familiar. You'd spent countless nights like this, talking about anything and everything, but tonight, there was a weight to the conversation that neither of you could ignore.

He shifted slightly, tilting his head as he studied you. "Doesn't that bother you?"

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

He let out a soft sigh, sitting up a little. "That they didn’t tell you anything. That they just expect you to go along with it."

You swallowed, looking away. "It’s not like I have a choice."

Yoongi scoffed at that, running a hand through his dark hair. "There’s always a choice, Love." The nickname rolled off his tongue with something close to bitterness, but there was an edge of playfulness too, like he was trying to keep things light despite the heaviness of the situation.

You sighed, rubbing your hands over your face. "What am I supposed to do, Yoongi? Say no? I’ve already tried that."

He hesitated, as if weighing his words, then spoke again. “It’s strange to me—how easy it was.” His voice was steady, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath at the end.

“I know,” you murmured, pausing as you struggled to find the right words. “I… I can’t explain it. Lee Ho just—he—” You shrugged, frustration lacing your sigh. “I don’t know how to put it into words.”

Yoongi nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. Then, after a beat, he asked, “Did you ever stop to think about what this means for us? What if we won’t be able to see each other anymore?”

His voice was cold—calculated, even—but you knew him too well. Beneath the carefully measured tone, there was something else. Hurt. Fear.

Your stomach twisted. In truth, you hadn’t thought about that at all. You had been so caught up in your own whirlwind of decisions, obligations, and consequences that the idea of losing Yoongi—your closest, and perhaps only, real friend—hadn’t even crossed your mind. And now, the realization hit you like ice in your veins.

“No,” you admitted, your voice hollow.

Yoongi clenched his jaw, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The weight of your oversight sat heavy between you, an unspoken betrayal. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes now, not when you knew exactly what you’d find there.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes fixed on the floor, on the fabric of his socks—anywhere but his face. "you know what, I'm- we arent teenagers anymore. you don't have to consider me everytime you make a life changing decision." he nodded and the hurt became more and more evident, breaking your heart more and more. 

"oh yoongi im sorry, i should have considered you. it was so tense I wasn't thinking at all. You're like- my whole life." you brought your hands to your face and rubber your eyes before sitting up and turning your body to face your best friend. yoongi chuckled in response. "shut up its not that serious." he smiled.

"you're my life too." he rolled his eyes, speaking in a whisper.

After a few months of hectic wedding planning with your mother and spending more time with Lee Ho it was time for the wedding.

The night before the ceremony arrives, and you find yourself sinking into the luxurious soaking tub of your lavish suite, the warm water enveloping you. Just as you begin to relax, the sudden ringing of your phone pierces the quiet, startling you. Your heart leaps in your chest as you gasp, but you quickly rise from the tub, reaching for your phone on the counter.

“Yeah?” you spoke into the phone, trying your hardest not to crack the mask you had spread on your face. “Are you at the hotel right now?” Yoongi asked, the sounds of revving cars, beeping and loud streets coming through the line. “Aw ya coning?” you spoke nearly incoherently in a desperate attempt to keep your mask in one piece. Yoongi chuckled. “Yeah text me your room number and ill be there.”

You scrambled out of the tub to get dressed, your hair still damp and smelling of raspberry. 

“Open up!” yoongi knocked on the door while you stumbled around getting your jeans on. 

“I hired a private investigator.” he blurted once you had the door wide open. You were too stunned to speak but he pushed right through you. “Lee Ho; hes been lying. Hes part of a small gang from a small city. I found out they’ve been trying to recruit.” Yoongi rambled on as you followed him to the bed where he sprawled the photos over your bed accompanying files and screenshots of messages and emails.

Your blood ran cold, you stood frozen just behind Yoongi, scanning the photos.

Suddenly you remembered everytime Lee ho stepped away at awkward times to have secret phone calls or when he’d disappear in the middle of events and lied about where he was. You hadnt given it much thought but it all made sense now. 

“What do I even do with this?” you asked, shaking your head. Your hands were steady, but you could feel the tight knot forming in your stomach. “If I bring this to my mom, she’ll just demand to know how I found out.” And then what? She’d tear through the city to figure out who had leaked this information, and if she found out it was Yoongi…

Your grip on the edge of the mattress tightened.

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, as if he had already thought this through. “We could get married,” he said casually, reaching forward to push the phone out of your line of sight.

You blinked, snapping your gaze up to his face. “What?”

His expression was unreadable—calm, unwavering, serious.

Your cheeks burned hot, yet at the same time, it felt like all the blood drained from your face. “Yoongi, are you joking?”

“No.” His eyes locked onto yours. “Marry me instead.”

"that is genuinely the worst idea youve ever had." you sighed, bringing your hands up to cup your face.

Yoongi leaned in, his voice steady but filled with something dangerously close to excitement. "But think about it," he urged, his dark eyes searching yours. "If you and I get married, your mom can't force you to take her place. She won’t be able to push you into marrying some stranger for the sake of the family business. You’d finally have your freedom. And…” he softened, a small, teasing smile forming as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a warm side-hug. "You’d get to be stuck with your best friend forever. Not the worst deal, right?"

You rolled your eyes but you did give it a once over and still you worried of the consequences. “But what about your parents?” you stood up, running your hands through your hair in an attempt to self sooth. Yoongi looked down at you. “What about my parents?” you asked in a panic just as you began pacing.

Yoongi watched you walk in circles with a dumbfounded look on his face as you rambled on and on about what could possibly happen as a result of you marrying the one person your parents didnt approve of. 

He grabbed your arm and pulled you into a hug, one hand resting on your back while the other pressed your head into his chest. “Trust me, its going to be okay.” he whispered as he began rubbing his hand up and down your back and just like usual you melted, relaxing in his arms. “Okay.” you took a deep breath. “Okay, okay.” you hugged him back.

What started as an absurd, last-minute idea turned into a long, drawn-out conversation—one that stretched into the early hours of the morning. Every doubt, every concern, every possible worst-case scenario was dissected between the two of you. And by the time the first rays of sunlight bled into the sky, the decision had already been made.

So, with the kind of recklessness that could only come from desperation and blind trust, you and Yoongi found yourselves standing in front of a clerk at city hall, signing away your last names and sealing your futures together.

You glanced at Yoongi as he pressed the pen to paper, his signature flowing effortlessly. He caught your eye, lips curling into a smirk.

"Too late to back out now," he teased.

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh, and quickly signed your own name. The witnesses—who very clearly recognized the both of you—exchanged hushed whispers, shooting skeptical glances your way. But none of it mattered.

Because as the final signature dried on the page, Yoongi nudged you with his elbow, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Guess you’re stuck with me now, wife."

For the first time in the sixteen years you had known Yoongi, you felt butterflies in your stomach. A feeling so foreign, so unexpected, that it nearly knocked the breath out of you. Because this wasn’t just Yoongi—your childhood best friend, your partner in mischief, the boy who always had your back.

No.

This was Min Yoongi. Your husband.

The weight of that realization settled over you like a second skin, both terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. He had chosen this—chosen you. And as if he could sense the storm of emotions brewing within you, Yoongi tightened his grip around your hand, grounding you.

You giggled, unable to help yourself. He smiled slightly, the corners of his lips twitching in quiet amusement, but he said nothing. The two of you simply took your copies of the marriage documents and headed toward the grand venue that had once been meant for your wedding to Lee Ho.

The moment you stepped out of the car, a shrill voice cut through the air.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Your mother’s panicked screech rang out as she stormed toward you, the chiffon of her designer gown billowing with each sharp step. “You’re not dressed! You don’t have your things! Do you have any idea what you’re doing right now, Y/N?”

You barely had time to react before she was gripping your wrist, her nails digging slightly into your skin as if to keep you from running.

“Mom. Mom.” You quickly took her hands in yours, squeezing them in an attempt to calm her. "Please. Just listen to me."

Your mother inhaled sharply through her nose, clearly battling the urge to continue her tirade. With great effort, she pressed her lips together, her chest rising and falling in measured breaths.

“What?” she hissed, voice laced with venom. “What is it, Y/N?”

You swallowed hard, but there was no hesitation in your words.

“Min Yoongi and I are married.”

The world seemed to fall silent for a moment.

Then, Yoongi stepped forward, emerging from behind you with the kind of effortless confidence that only he possessed. His posture was relaxed, but the quiet power in his presence was unmistakable. He met your mother’s gaze with an unreadable expression, his dark eyes steady, unwavering.

Dressed in a deep lavender button-up, black slacks, polished dress shoes, and with his hair styled neatly, he was the picture of a responsible young man. Someone respectable. Someone competent.

Someone untouchable.

Your mother’s face instantly flushed a deep, unforgiving shade of red. Her lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, she turned sharply on her heel and disappeared into the venue without another word.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by her lack of reaction.

Finally, you turned to Yoongi, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Well… that wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” you admitted, pressing a hand to your stomach as a light giggle escaped your lips. "But honestly? It’s a hell of a lot better than the one I thought I’d get."

Yoongi smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Guess we got off easy.”

just as the two of you began walking back to the car the entire crowd began walking out of the venue, all the guests. "that was quick as fuck. i do not want them to see you just get into the car." you rushed yoongi and he nodded, climbing into the car.

Yoongi did feel like he had taken something special from you, the wedding you had planned and prepared for so he allowed the two of you to planned one of your own. He wanted you to have your own beautiful day.

And so your fingers idly traced the outlines of floral arrangements and color palettes as you fine-tuned the vision for your wedding venue. You felt the indentation your pencil made on the paper just beneath your fingers. It had been a long day, and the quiet hum of the apartment was soothing. That was until the door clicked open causing your attention to snap up at your husband. God it made your heart grow a size everytime you remembered the two of you were married.

“Hey, love,” Yoongi’s deep voice filled the space, smooth and familiar. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, his movements relaxed but deliberate.

You looked up, offering him a small smile. “I’m working on the visuals for the venue,” you murmured, holding up the pages for him to see.

Yoongi leaned over the back of the couch, resting a hand beside you as he peered over your shoulder. His warmth surrounded you, a presence you had grown so used to over the years but had never been this hyper-aware of until now. “Mmm, that’s beautiful,” he murmured in approval. “The colors are gonna fit perfectly. I can send you the playlist I put together later.”

“You made a playlist?” you teased, glancing at him with a raised brow.

His lips curled into a lazy smirk. “Of course. You know I have good taste.”

You chuckled, shaking your head before returning to your sketches. The comfortable silence settled between you both, but Yoongi didn’t move away. Instead, he shifted, lowering himself onto the couch beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. His gaze lingered on your face, thoughtful.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice was quieter now, softer.

You hummed in response, still focused on your work.

“Are you happy?”

That made you pause. Your fingers froze over the page, and you turned to face him fully. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were searching, almost hesitant.

“I mean, with all of this,” he continued, nodding toward the wedding plans. “With me.”

Your breath hitched. It was an unexpected question, but one you didn’t need time to answer. “Of course, I am,” you admitted, almost confused as to why he’d ask.

Yoongi’s lips parted slightly, like he was weighing his next words. Then, with a quiet exhale, he ran a hand through his dark hair, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before locking onto yours again. “I know we started this for convenience,” he said, his tone careful. “But I don’t think I’ve been pretending.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I think it was ninth grade that i figured out i have feelings for you,” he confessed, avoiding your gaze. “I just... never said anything because I thought it would mess things up. But now that we’re here, now that you’re mine—” he swallowed, fingers flexing against his thigh, “—I don’t want to pretend like it’s just for show. I want this. You. Us.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm embrace, and for a moment, you could only stare. The realization bloomed in your chest, sudden and inevitable, like a match being struck in the dark. He called you his so comfortably and it instantly made you feel like you were floating out of your body.

So you didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached for him, closing the space between you as your lips pressed against his.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, as if he hadn’t expected you to respond this way, but the moment he processed it, he melted into you. His hand cradled your jaw, fingers grazing your skin with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. The kiss was slow, unhurried, filled with all the words neither of you had dared to say before.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s not pretend.”

Yoongi smiled. “Yeah?”

You nodded, and for the first time since all of this started, you felt truly, completely sure. 

“So,” you paused, straddling him. “This is what you meant when you said that I deserve way more than to settle?” You giggled, draping your arms over his shoulders but Yoongi had been so satisfied with the outcome of his sudden confession that all he did was smile while the soft blush consumed his face. His smile alone satisfying you.

so like i said i found this request intimidating because Ive never written mafia au before but I wanted to challenge myself and I ended up having a lot of fun with it lol and actually had more of a hard time deciding in which direction I wanted It to go. let me know if you guys would want the 7k word version of this. not to sound like I'm holding it hostage but i of course need more than 1 or 2 people to want it. OH ALSO new banner what do you think? i thought this fic needed something new since its a whole au lol and yes the full version includes smut (you dirty dawgs ヾ(≧ ▽ ≦)ゝ

➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Taglist Form

[nixwriteschaos]

(BNHA)

hey there! i'd like to request a story about a male/gn vigilante reader (teen), and they eventually get caught by the pro heroes. from there, they are basically forced into UA, class 1-A (reader has been a vigilante for a few years back and has quite the skills to become a hero, and reader does relatively well academically). everything from there will be up to you!

this is actually my first time requesting, so im not exactly sure if this will go through, I've read the guide and everything. no pressure, I hope you have a great year, bye!!

Little Rebel

CLASS 1A x Male!Vigilante!Reader Summary: Y/N, also known as his vigilante name, V/N, was sadly caught by Eraserhead. His punishment, due to him still being a minor, was to attend U.A as a student for his rehabilitation, with Eraserhead as his supervisor.

★☽A/N: I see! It’s your first request! Not to worry, your request is perfect and it aligns with my guide! I really appreciate that you read my guide first! I hope this is a nice first time!

Contents: FLUFF

Quirk: Similar to Inumaki from JJK, the user has the ability to make anything happen according to what he says. But unlike Inumaki, the user is able to control when he uses his Quirk.

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“Y/N L/N, is it?” A massive mutant dog read. He looked away from the papers and down at a young boy, frowning as he sat crossed on his chair from across the room. He scoffed and turned his head. “Considering you’re still a minor, your punishment won’t be severe. According to your records, your Quirk is quite controlled and your academics are actually quite impressive for a drop out…” The mutant read off the papers for the boy, who didn’t care at all.

“Very well, I decided your punishment.” Y/N couldn’t help but scoff and smirked. He dealt with worse when he started at the age of 13. What could possibly be so bad about this “punishment” ?

“You will be joining U.A as a full-time student.”

“Huh?”

“HUH?!”

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From that day forward, he became a student at U.A. He didn’t expect himself to be in the hero course, especially Class 1A. He had only heard rumors about them, about how they were attacked by villains during their trip to the USJ and a few mentions of some 1A students on internships.

To be honest, he was a bit nervous. He dealt with people, but not in a friendly way. He was scared, slightly, at the thought of being in the same class as some hero in training students.

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During his first meeting, he was still pissed by the punishment, especially the fact that Eraserhead, the one who “captured” him, was his supervisor. He stood outside of the class, his waist tied to a part of Eraser’s scarf to prevent him from running away.

After waiting for a while, he heard his name getting called out, but he didn’t respond. There is no way in hell I’m standing in front of a bunch of hero trainees! He thought to himself.

He didn’t have much of a choice, as he was pulled by the waist by the scarf into the classroom, his whole figure on display to 20 students. They all looked at him with curiosity, except a blonde boy.

“Are you saying a damn weak villain is going to study with us?! Fuck no!”

“That’s enough, Bakugou.” Aizawa groaned. Bakugou was ready to say something, an insult, but was stopped by one word.

“Shut up.”

His mouth suddenly closed up. He clawed at his own mouth, trying to get it open, panicking and angry at the situation. Y/N had to cover up his snicker with a cough. “How pathetic,” he commented with a smirk. Another struggle of words came from the blonde who was ready to throw a bunch of insults but couldn’t due to his forced closed mouth.

Y/N’s snickers couldn’t be stopped. His snickers were clearly heard by the blonde. He suddenly stood up and walked over to the H/C with heavy stomps. Before he could get his hands on him, he was stopped by Aizawa’s scarf.

His growls were like an angry dog, a chihuahua. He eventually got back to his chair and sat with a grumpy look on his face.

“As I was saying, Y/N L/N is going to be your classmate for this remaining semester. Please treat him with respect.”

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Now, how does this work out for Y/N?

I’m going to be honest, readers, it did not go well in the beginning!

Y/N, during times he wasn’t supervised thoroughly, would tease Bakugou into attacking him. He thought that if a hero trainee would harm him, he could act his way out of his rehab. Unfortunately, it did not work. Aizawa, being the smart hero he is, figured out his little act, and did not let him off the hook. (Lectured him for hours).

With time, he eventually got to know the students well. They were some he greatly disliked, (A certain purple grape boy..), some who he respected, and those he enjoyed spending time with.

It’s mostly believed that he respected Yaomomo, Tenya Iida, and Todoroki for their smart brains and analytical thinking. He mostly spends time with Jirou, Tokoyami, and Ojirou, who seems to be fine with him and didn’t care that he was only in U.A for rehab.

He would listen to music with Jirou, read poems with Tokoyami, and combat training with Ojirou. He truly enjoys his time with those three.

As for his academics and “hero training,” he has been doing well, almost excellently, with his academics, usually marking A’s and B’s and the occasional C’s, but his grades were much better than some students in Class 1A.

In terms of his “hero training,” he already has some experience of his own which helped him greatly when it comes to situations where he had to fight against other students. He was actually much more advanced than his “peers.” He was smarter, faster, and powerful in terms of Quirk use and combat.

Although he hoped for the principal to realize that he doesn’t need this rehabilitation, he knew the stubborn smiling “mouse” wouldn’t agree to his suggestions. Not to mention, he was a bit afraid of the rat… Something in his eyes just— creeps him out.

A lot of the students respect him greatly! Like Tenya Iida, Yaomomo, and Midoriya, who recognize his great skills and quick thinking! Of course, Katsuki Bakugou was the only one who seemed bothered by the vigilante. You could feel the anger radiating off him! Honestly, it’s hilarious to see his grumpy face whenever Y/N walks by him. After the amount of teasing Y/N did, it was without a doubt that Katsuki Bakugou hated him with all his guts! (But secretly respects Y/N, hehe)

Overall, I can say that Y/N L/N is having a nice time at U.A in Class 1A.

── ࣪˖  ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

[stardustedseas]

uhhhhmmmm everyone please still pretend im normal and that i hate walker very much

18+ nsfw

cw: age gap, daddy kink, nsfw, guilt

gender neutral but afab reader

walker is in his late 30s-early 40s, reader is no younger than 21

just a couple little random hcs that doesnt fully fit in with the rest of my yap but john thought it was adorable that when you took a swig of alcohol and you make a disgusting look, still not used to drinking yet, and he absolutely teased you for it. sometimes, hed chose the strongest thing for shots and make sure to kiss you with tongue after drinking it, just to see the way youd jerk back and scrunch up your nose. you always made a funny sound and slapped his chest, calling him an asshole as he laughed loudly and tried to pull you back in for another kiss, saying he's just trying to help you get used to the flavor.

he kinda hates calling you his girlfriend/boyfriend because it sounds so juvenile, youre both grown adults and it makes him really feel the age gap, so he absolutely prefers you call eachother partners

-

while john didnt feel shame in your relationship, he loves you so much and would gladly tell the whole world, he did feel guilt sometimes. guilt that hes twice your age- pretty much old enough to even be your father. guilt when you would look up at him with those big doe eyes and listen intently as he spoke, taking in his every word because hes so much older and more experienced in life than you. guilt that he enjoys your naivety and showing you pleasure you never knew existed and teaching you how to make him feel the same. guilt that despite being a father, hes addicted to the way youd writhe around under his bruising grip and sob out 'daddy' instead of his name.

walker knows your relationship comes with certain responsibilities that his previous ones didnt, that while you two are on equal ground most the time, he still just has power that you dont, and you have vulnerability he doesnt. he knows that while he has long since learned pretty much all there is to know about himself, you are still coming into your own and figuring yourself out. it scares him that he can have such a huge impact on you without even trying, but hes also honored that you trust him to not take advantage of you, to help you and love you. theres a certain intimacy in it, the way you come to him for comfort and advice while still being your own independent person, in the way he can come to you for the same even if its a little different.

john is a caretaker and protector at heart and he loves the fact that while you are definitely a grown ass person who can take care of themselves, he can still be that for you without it being weird or like hes actually your parent. and yeah sometimes he has the bad habit of being a little overboard, its never in toxic way. he never tries to police what you can and cant do, he never infantalizes you or tries to take control of your life. he just worries. he is absolutely a worrier and can sometimes be a little pushy or think he knows better than everyone else, but its something hes working on with your help.

that being said, sometimes its fun to pretend. fun to pretend that he actually has some control over your life and gets to tell you what to do. its kinda therapeutic for you both ngl. john is a natural born leader who thrives when being in charge but doesnt always get a lot of that with his day to day life, which he hates. you can feel like you have *too much* control and the pessure gets overwhelming when you just dont know what to do at times, which you hate. so, sometimes its nice to play pretend and slip into roles that bring more comfort with eachother. being able to just let go and turn your mind off, not having to think about how your future is in your hands now and no one can really lead the way for you anymore. its relaxing to let someone else take the reigns and decide what to do for a little while. and for john? he finally can feel some peace at knowing hes fully in charge and doesn't have to worry about someone else coming in and ruining his plans or taking control. he can tell you what to do and you do it, no hesitation, no arguing, no questioning his authority.

of course its not like you have no say in anything tho, walker never does anything you two havnt discussed in detail and always makes sure you know that you can say no at any time and hell stop instantly. when you two have your sessions, he may play the dominant role and you the submissive, calling him daddy or sir, but you both know he isnt above you in any way that isnt just physically.

anyways, Johnathan F Walker absolute Thrives on the power you give him. few things get his dick harder than having you bent over his lap with your bare ass and pussy out, moaning and whining the number of times hes slapped them because you were bratty earlier. he loves holding you down with a strong hand on the back of your neck or between your shoulder blades. he thinks you look absolutely ethereal gazing up at him all teary eyed and begging for his forgiveness, swearing youll be good while both of you knowing its a lie. you arent sorry at all and youll be back to giving him sass by the next morning, not that hed have it any other way. but for now, he gets to play the strict daddy role and 'punish' you despite the wet patch on his thigh where your hips are desperately trying to hump into him proves that this is far from actual discipline to you.

being an actual parent has given john the ability to master the dissapointed father look and voice too, which you absolutely love.

anyways, he isnt ashamed of your relationship but you both do try to keep it more under wraps, his public image already isnt great, so him going through a divorce then showing up with someone half his age,,,, doesn't look great and his pr team isnt eager to deal with that. besides, john is more of a private man and likes to keep that part of his personal life personal, and its safer for you that way too. it does get a little annoying when he is having his turn with his son and people assume youre his kid too tho 😭 there have been more times than hed like to admit where you three are out and people think youre walker jrs (idk the kids name-) sibling rather than his other parent and youve had to explain that no, you arent, because otherwise it would get real awkward real fast when john kisses you on the lips.

speaking of his son, walker loves how accepting you are about the situation and how you dont try to alienate his son or hate his ex. you understand that they have a long history together and despite not ending on the best terms, he still loves his son with his whole heart and cares deeply about olivia. maybe you arent besties with her, but you are always kind and welcoming, never giving her any hate nor trying to act like she isnt the mother of walkers son. john was kinda hesitant to introduce you to them at first ngl,worried that despite knowing the situation, youd end up getting weird about it later on. but he feels stupid for it now, you and jr took so fast and you treat him like your own. sometimes when you visit during johns turn, you will just shove your bag into his hands with a breif kiss before swooping up jr like your partner isn't even there lmfao he will whine at you (he will also deny whining) and say you don't love him and are just using him for the baby (which you playfully agree with) but nothing brings him more joy than the fact you already love his son so much. lowk makes him want another

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[tokkiwrites]

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (5)

mom's fiancé! joel miller x f! reader • series masterlist.

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants. Tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, betrayal, talk about divorce, no one owning up to what they really do, main characters get their happy ending... OR DO THEY?! >:) /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ im baaack !! last part baby!!! kind of. you'll see >:) until then enjoy this mumbled mess of 4.63k words bunnies! thank you for the immense support on this series. excuse any grammatical errors <//3

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for air. You watched as she paced the room, trembling with the weight of her anger and heartbreak. “You don’t know what love is!” she snapped, her voice breaking. “Love isn’t sneaking around, tearing apart the people who trust you the most. Love isn’t ruining your family because you can’t control yourself.”

Your chest tightened, the sting of her words cutting deep. “I didn’t plan for this to happen,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It wasn’t like I set out to hurt you—”

“But you did,” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “You hurt me in the worst way possible. You betrayed me with the one person who was supposed to be on my side. How am I supposed to live with this? How am I supposed to look at you and not see… this?”

Her words crushed you, the weight of her disappointment pressing down like an anchor. You took a step toward her, desperate to bridge the chasm growing between you. “Mom, please—”

“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand to stop you. Her tears shimmered in the dim light, her face a portrait of devastation. “I need you to leave. Just… go.”

You froze, your heart shattering at the finality in her tone. “Mom…”

“Go!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned and stumbled toward the door, the walls of the house you’d grown up in suddenly feeling foreign and cold. As you stepped outside, the chill of the night air bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the hollow ache inside your chest.

The slam of the door still echoed in your ears as you trudged through the dark streets, clutching your jacket tight against the biting wind. Your mind was spinning, replaying the scene over and over again—the raised voice, the look of disgust on her face, the words that burned like acid.

"You’re a liar. I don’t even know who you are anymore."

Your mother had always been sharp, but you hadn’t expected her to be cruel. Not like that.

She hadn’t even let you explain. Not really. Once she figured it out—once you admitted you were in love with Joel—it was like she couldn’t even look at you. Not forever, maybe. But you knew that in this moment, there was no going back.

You wiped at your face, but it was no use. Tears streaked your cheeks, hot and endless, cutting through the cold. You barely noticed when you reached Joel’s building. Your feet carried you up the stairs, and your fists pounded on his door before you even thought about what you’d say.

It wasn’t long before the door swung open. Joel stood there, his face tight with worry that immediately shifted into something darker when he saw you. “You told her,” he said, his voice low and heavy. You froze, your breath catching. Of course, he already knew. “I had to,” you whispered, stepping inside uninvited. “She—she guessed. She cornered me, Joel, I couldn’t—” You decided to lie. You tried to protect him from all of this. Maybe it wasn't your job or your role to do so, but this was the way to show him that it's real. that you are real, and so are all the feelings you have for him.

“You could’ve,” Joel snapped, cutting you off. He shut the door with more force than necessary. “You could’ve waited. You could’ve called me. But instead, you decided to do this on your own.” His words hit like a punch, and you stumbled over your response. “I didn’t have time—”

“That’s bullshit,” he growled, his voice rising. He took a step closer, his eyes boring into yours. “You didn’t want to wait for me. You wanted to handle it yourself, like you always do.”

“That’s not fair,” you shot back, anger bubbling up to meet his. “I didn’t plan this, Joel! She came at me, and I panicked! What was I supposed to do? Lie to her?”

“Yes!” Joel shouted, throwing his hands up. “You should’ve lied, or stalled, or done anything other than blow this whole thing wide open without me. You think this is just about you? It’s not. This affects both of us.” Your stomach twisted at his words. “You think I don’t know that?” you said, your voice trembling. “Do you think I don’t feel sick about what this means for you? For us? Joel, she kicked me out!"

He froze, his jaw tightening. “She what?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. “She told me to leave. Said she doesn’t even recognize me anymore. I—” Your voice broke, and you covered your face with your hands. Joel’s anger seemed to deflate all at once, replaced by something softer, though no less pained. He reached for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing your arm.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his tone rough but gentler now. “C’mere.”

You let him pull you into his arms, and the floodgates opened. You sobbed into his chest, your fists clutching at his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely. For a while, he just held you, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I got you, babygirl... 'm right here." But the tension in his body hadn’t gone away, and you could feel the weight of everything left unsaid hanging between you. When your sobs finally quieted, Joel pulled back just enough to look at you. His face was etched with exhaustion and something else—something almost like regret.

“This can’t keep happening,” he said softly. “You can’t just… go off and make decisions like this without me. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice raw. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.” Joel sighed, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “We’ll figure it out,” he said, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “We always do.”

But before you could respond, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You hesitated, then pulled it out, your heart sinking when you saw the name on the screen. Marjorie. Of course. Joel noticed your hesitation. “Who is it?”

“Marjorie,” you said quietly. He frowned, but said nothing as you swiped to open the message. "You should’ve thought this through", it read.

•Your mom’s already told half the town about what you’ve done. If you’d just shared a little, you wouldn’t be in this mess now. At least they'll know what a homewrecking whore you are.

The room seemed to spin, and you had to sit down before your legs gave out. Joel knelt beside you, his hand gripping yours tightly. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low and steady. You showed him the message, your hands shaking. His jaw tightened as he read it, a muscle in his cheek jumping.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “She’s trying to twist the knife.”

“She’s right, though,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I—I did this to myself. To us.”

“Hey,” Joel said firmly, cupping your face in his hands. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You hear me, sweet girl? This isn’t on you. It’s on them. On her.” You wanted to believe him. But the weight of everything—the fallout with your mom, the shame, the fear of what came next—it was too much.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” you whispered, tears welling up again. "Maybe it don't need fixin'.." Joel’s expression softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure it out,” he said again. “One step at a time. But you’ve got to let me in. No more shutting me out.”

The road ahead felt impossibly long, the cracks in your relationship with Joel deep and jagged. But as he held you close, his arms steady and sure, you let yourself hope.

the nigh faded as your lids finally closed, the soft whispers of Joel a blanket over your tensed body. Finally, you fall asleep, escaping this day, hoping that when you wake up It'll all turn out to be a bad dream.

But as the night fell upon, you so did the day.

Joel stood on the doorstep, fists clenched at his sides. The brisk wind carried the faint scent of pine from the trees lining the street. He stared at the door in front of him, steeling himself for what he knew was coming. When your mother opened the door, her face immediately twisted into a scowl. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here,” she spat. Joel held her gaze, his jaw tight. “We need to talk.”

“Oh, we do?” she snapped, stepping onto the porch and crossing her arms. “You’ve said enough, Joel. Or maybe not—seems like you were too busy seducing my daughter to give me the full picture.” Joel winced, but he didn’t look away. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then what do you want?” she shot back, her voice rising. “To explain yourself? To justify this—this shit?”

“I want to make things right,” Joel said, his tone measured. “For her. She doesn’t deserve this.”

“Don’t you dare pretend this is about her,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing. “This is about you. About your selfishness, your inability to think about anyone but yourself.” Joel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to stay calm. “I know you’re angry—”

“Angry?” Her voice grew louder, trembling with indignation. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it! Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Joel? My daughter—your stepdaughter. Do you even hear yourself?” Joel’s shoulders sagged slightly, but his resolve didn’t falter. “It’s not what you think—”

“Oh, really?” she interrupted, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Then explain it to me, Joel. Enlighten me, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve been fucking her this whole time.” His head snapped up, and his voice took on a dangerous edge. “That’s not what happened.”

“Then what?” she demanded, stepping closer. “You ‘accidentally’ fell for her? And so did your dick inside of her? Was this why you got so close to her? Why you were so ‘supportive’ all of a sudden? Because you wanted her?” Joel’s chest rose and fell heavily. “I didn’t plan this,” he said, his voice low but firm. “It just happened. She’s not a child, and this wasn’t some sick—”

“Don’t you dare try to justify this!” she hissed, cutting him off again. “You’re supposed to be her father. You were supposed to protect her—not—” Her voice cracked, and she had to look away, blinking rapidly. "Oh my god."

Joel stepped forward, his voice softening. “I never meant to hurt anyone.” She glared at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You think that makes it better? That it wasn’t ‘on purpose’? My God, Joel—this is why you married me, isn’t it?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely taken aback. “What?” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “It makes sense now. You didn’t want me. You wanted her. You saw an opportunity, and you—” Her voice broke again, and she turned away, her hand pressed to her mouth. “That’s not true,” Joel said firmly, his voice rising just slightly. “I loved you. I cared about this family. I—”

“You used this family,” she snapped, spinning back around to face him. “And don’t you dare pretend otherwise. You’ve destroyed everything, Joel. Do you understand that? Everything. And for what?”

Joel’s expression hardened, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “For love,” he said, his voice rough. “I love her. And you can hate me for it all you want, but that’s the truth.” Her mouth fell open slightly, disbelief etched across her face. For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling through the trees.

“You’re disgusting,” she finally said, her voice quiet but laced with venom. “Do you know what people are saying? What they’re going to say? You’ve ruined her, Joel. You’ve ruined her life, and you don't even understand."

Joel’s throat tightened, and his heart sank with every word that came from her mouth. “I never meant to hurt her,” he said again, his voice thick with emotion. He took a step forward, desperate to make her understand. “I never meant for any of this to happen. I love her, but I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I never wanted to destroy this family.” The words seemed to hit her like a slap. She blinked rapidly, as though trying to keep the tears at bay, but they came anyway—one by one, streaming down her face. “You already have, Joel,” she whispered.

There was a heavy silence between them. The weight of everything that had happened hung in the air like an oppressive cloud. Joel wanted to reach out, to comfort her somehow, but he knew he couldn’t. Not now.

Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was cold, almost venomous. “You’re not going to get away with this. I’ll make sure of it. I’m telling everyone. I’ve already told people, Joel. You don’t get to just pretend this didn’t happen, that it’s all okay. I will make sure everyone knows what you’ve done.”

His blood ran cold. “You can’t—”

“I will,” she spat. Joel stood there. He wanted to scream, to argue, but the truth hung there. He had screwed up. And he knew that.

“I didn’t want this to happen. You have to believe me,” he said hoarsely, voice cracking. “I was trying to be there for her. I—I never wanted to hurt her or you. It just—it just happened. And I don’t know what to do, but I swear, I never meant for it to go this far.” She crossed her arms tightly, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt. “You never meant it, Joel? Then why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you stop? You could’ve stopped. You could’ve walked away.

His throat felt tight, constricted with guilt, but he refused to back down. “Because I couldn’t.” Her lip trembled, but she quickly bit it, hiding the emotion that flickered there. She took a deep breath, then looked him square in the eyes. “I want you to leave. Now.”

The command was sharp, final. Joel hesitated, his gaze lingering on her, and then he nodded—slowly. He wasn’t sure what else to say. There were no more words that could fix this, not right now. He turned, heading for the door, the weight of everything pressing down on him with each step.

He felt sick.

With one final glance at the door he’d just walked away from, he turned and walked down the street, away from the house, away from everything. His mind raced with a thousand thoughts, but none of them made sense.

He had destroyed everything.

And now, there was no going back.

Joel had just come back from a supply run, the door clicking shut behind him. You glanced up from the couch, where you’d been sitting in silence, staring blankly at a book you weren’t really reading. He dropped the grocery bag on the counter, pausing before he looked at you.

“You’ve barely eaten,” he said, his voice rough but laced with concern. You shrugged, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not hungry.” He let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, baby. I know it’s hard, but we’re in this together. You know that, don’t you?”

You looked at him then, searching his face for something—reassurance, maybe, or a sense that he really believed what he was saying. “Together,” you echoed, the word feeling hollow. “We might be together, but everything else is ruined, Joel. My mom hates me. She hates you... And everyone else knows now too."

Running away now sounds about right.

Joel crossed the room, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Your mom’s angry. She’s hurt. But she’ll come around. And whatever others say... Fuck 'em.” You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes. “She won’t, Joel. Not after what she said. Not after what we did.”

“She doesn’t get to judge us,” he said firmly, his voice low. “She can be angry all she wants, but we didn’t do this to hurt her. We didn’t plan for any of this.” You flinched at his words. “That doesn’t make it okay. We still—Joel, we still had an affair. We lied to her. I lied to her... and I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Joel reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re the same person you’ve always been...My sweet 'n smart girl. And you’re not alone in this. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You looked at him, his eyes filled with determination and tears. He meant it—every word. But that didn’t erase the reality of what had happened. It didn’t change the fact that you’d hurt someone you both cared about, even if that love had long since soured.

“Do you regret it?” you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Your voice trembled, barely audible. “Do you regret... us?” Joel froze, his hand tightening around yours. For a moment, you thought he might say yes—that he’d take it all back if he could. But then he shook his head, his voice resolute.

“No,” he said. “I don’t regret loving you. I can’t. But I hate how it happened. I hate what it’s done to you—to us.” Tears slipped down your cheeks, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself cry for everything you’d lost—for the family you’d broken and the love that had brought you here. “I’m scared, Joel,” you whispered. “What if it’s not enough? What if we’re not enough?” His arms tightened around you, his voice soft but unwavering. “We’ll figure it out. One day at a time, baby.”

You wait for the moon to rise and hug you.

Tonight, as the moonlight filtered through the thin curtains in his bedroom, you realized you couldn’t stay here anymore. Not in this town. Not surrounded by the memories of everything you’d lost.

Joel was beside you, his breathing steady but shallow. He’d fallen asleep sitting against the headboard, a book forgotten in his lap. His brow was furrowed, even in rest. You stared at him for a long moment before gently nudging his shoulder. “Joel,” you whispered. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a second, he looked confused, but then his gaze softened when he saw you. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?”

You nodded but didn’t answer right away. Instead, you sat up, crossing your legs and pulling the blanket over them. Joel straightened, too, setting the book aside and giving you his full attention.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” you started. Joel tilted his head slightly. “What’s that?”

You took a deep breath, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself. “Why don’t we leave? Just... pack up and go somewhere else. Start over. There’s nothing keeping me here, Joel. Not anymore. We could move, get away from all this, and just... be us. We could have a life, a family of our own. Isn’t that what we’ve always wanted?”

Joel’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, the way he was trying to process what you’d just said. “You want to leave?” he asked finally, his voice low.

You nodded. “I can’t stay here, Joel. Not after everything. Everyone knows. They’re all talking about us, judging us. I can’t go anywhere without feeling their eyes on me. And my mom... She’s made it clear I’m not welcome. But we don’t have to stay. We could go somewhere no one knows us. Start fresh.”

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know, darlin’. Moving... It’s a big decision. And what about you? Your work, your friends?”

“They’re not my friends anymore,” you said bitterly, the sting of betrayal still fresh. “If they ever were, they’re sure not now. And work... I can find something else. None of that matters, Joel. All that matters is us. If we stay here, this will follow us forever. But if we leave, we can leave all this behind.” His shoulders slumped slightly, and he looked at you; sadness and longing. “You really think running away’s the answer?”

“It’s not running away,” you argued gently. “It’s starting over. Joel, you said we’d figure this out together. This is how we do it! We can’t change what happened, but we can choose what happens next. And I choose you.”

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner. Joel’s gaze locked on yours, and you could see the battle raging inside him. He wanted what you were offering—a chance to leave this mess behind, to build a life with you. But he was also scared of the unknown and the risks that came with it.

Finally, he reached out, his hand covering yours. “If this is what you want,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “then we’ll do it. We’ll leave. Wherever you wanna go, I’ll follow.”

Relief flooded through you, and a tear slipped down your cheek as you threw your arms around him. “Thank you,” you murmured against his shoulder. “Thank you..." He held you tightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You’re all I’ve got, darlin’. I’d go anywhere for you.”

That was enough. It had to be.

The hum of the apartment felt suffocating, but there was a strange comfort in it, too. You’d been in the same place for so long, yet now, every little sound—the refrigerator humming, the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall—felt like a reminder of everything that had fallen apart. The town that had been home for so many years now felt like a prison, a place where the whispers never stopped, and the eyes of judgment followed you wherever you went.

But you weren’t staying here. You couldn’t stay here. You were both looking for a way out. Maybe you more than him.

Joel had been working overtime, pushing through his job, despite the whispers about him at work—the rumors that now tainted his every conversation. His job, the stares, the small-town gossip— it all got to him. to both of you.

As for you, you had quit yours. There wasn’t any point in pretending anymore. Your coworkers had given you that look— the one that said they knew but couldn’t talk about it openly. You didn’t need that anymore. You didn’t need to keep hiding in a job that felt more like a cage than an opportunity.

What you needed was space. You needed to leave. To escape. To start somewhere far away from here.

You stood by the counter, stirring a pot of vegetable soup as the familiar sounds of the apartment surrounded you. You were tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of fighting for something that had no resolve. It should’ve been an easy answer. You knew this would happen, how it would end up. And you could see it in Joel’s eyes, too. But every time you thought about leaving, about getting out of this town where everyone knew too much, there was a brief moment of hope. A spark. What if this was the first step toward something real? Toward a life that was just yours? Was it that horrible you wanted to he happy despite what you had done?

You let out a deep breath, your thoughts interrupted as Joel stepped into the kitchen, his tired eyes locking onto yours.

"Hi, baby." he murmured, his voice a little rough from the long day. You turned to him, a smile tugging at your lips despite the exhaustion that had been weighing on you. “Hi,” you said softly, and before you could say anything more, he closed the space between you. Joel’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, then your temple. “Missed you,” he said, his lips brushing against your skin. “Every damn minute I was at work, all I could think about was gettin' home to you.”

You laughed quietly, resting your hands on his chest. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, but there was no bite in your words—just warmth, just the comfort of knowing he was here. “Only for you,” Joel replied, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed over your cheek, and his expression softened. “You’re my whole world, baby. Don’t you know that by now?”

Your chest tightened, but in the best way. You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I think I do,” you whispered. Joel’s smile grew, and he leaned down to kiss you—slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world falter away. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his hands stayed firm on your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“We’re really doing this..?” you said. “We’re leaving. Packing up and going to a whole new place..."

“Damn right we are,” his voice was steady. “We got that apartment a few towns over...with the balcony and all that sunlight you love so much, could maybe get a puppy too, who knows? It’s ours now. We’re making this happen.”

"Or a kitty." you giggle. "Whatever you want, angel. anything you want." You nodded, a smile breaking across your face. Your future home. Yours and Joel's. For how unreal it sounded, it felt like a lifeline. It was small but perfect, tucked away in a quiet area where no one would know your names. It was far enough from here that the whispers, the judgment, and the past couldn’t follow. It was everything you both needed. “I still can’t believe they approved us,” you said, shaking your head with a quiet laugh. “It feels too good to be true.” Joel chuckled, pulling you tighter against him. “Believe it, baby. It’s happening. And I can’t wait to see you in it. Can’t wait to start a real life with you..." he trails off, palm settling on your lower belly and, oh, butterflies bloom into your stomach. His words made your chest ache. He leaned down to kiss you again, his hands moving up to cradle your face. The kiss was longer this time, deeper, like he was trying to pour everything he felt for you into it. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were shining. “We’ll start packing this weekend,” he said, his tone laced with excitement. “I’ve already started thinking about how to load the truck. Gonna make sure all your stuff’s safe, no scratches or anythin'.” You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re so practical.”

“Hey, someone’s gotta be,” he teased, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “But seriously, I want you to feel at home there. I want it to be everything you’ve ever wanted. Hell, I don’t care if we’re in a shoebox as long as it’s with you.” Your throat tightened at his words, and you buried your face in his chest, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I love you,” you said softly. Joel’s hand came up to tangle in your hair, and he pressed his lips to the top of your head. “I love you, baby. More than anything.” it seemed real enough for you.

For a while, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, letting the warmth of the moment settle around you. You weren’t just running from something anymore, or someone. You were running toward something— together. And it was wrong, yes, and maybe karma will eventually make it's way to you, but until then this was your chance to be happy.

taglist ⭐️ ㅡ @eviispunk @joeldjarin @whimsiwitchy @guelyury @untamedheart81 @dollyxzy @mybvalentine @am-3-thyst @cuteanimalmama @corinnedollete @lovely-vamp-princess

[initforthethrill]

im so busy and tired and moody and tired rn (school's been kicking my ass) but i just need to come in here periodically and unleash my cate-centred gayness (also periodically? did i sent thoughts (thots) yesterday? i feel like it's been long but also not yk?) Anwayyy ugh.

supe-remacist cate and human user.

i mean... God.

i have like 3 scenarios with this.

maybe some time after the end of season one (god let cate keep her arm) she had very quickly gained a supe following. and she's like lowkey grown pretty popular online. she's a super controversial (technically political(?)) online figure/influencer. like she is in the news like constantly cause of the stuff she posts and she like says pretty crazy anti-human shit but like freedom of speech yk. and like in comes human user and flips everything upside down. obviously cate Hates her at first and its a whole mess but somehow Cate is also drawn to her. and eventually something develops and cate has to navigate this.. and maybe keep the relationship a secret cause how can cate date a human while also being like a infamous anti human political figure.

the second one is basically the same but it makes user famous too. like maybe an actress or a singer or whatever. the thing is she’s super famous, (brings cate even more attention when the news gets out) super liked and super kind so everyone is confused that she is at all being in anyway associated positively with Cate. like she isn’t out here judging her she’s hanging out with cate like they’re friends (?) maybe more?? where’s TMZ? idk if this counts as like star crossed lover, romeo and juliet, forbidden, definitely drama.

third is different. this is like cate and user have been together for ages. like years, maybe even before god u. maybe they knew each other before cate got locked in her room, and had like a secret relationship while cate was locked in there. obviously user couldn’t go to god u as a human but she remained close by, moved to new york and lived close to campus, knew all cate’s supe friends, hang out on campus daily, was always very present and kind and the only human that has CONSISTENTLY been good to cate. unlike her mother. unlike indira. but now that brings us to the end of season 1.. and they are still together but user has to deal with like cate slowly becoming a supe-remacist and hating humans and cate has to figure out how user fits into that because she loves her girlfriend but she’s struggling to trust humans after what happened at god u (obviously the reaction and transition between what happend at god u and user finding out would be more dramatic, my brain is just fried rn, you get the vibe though)

alsoo did i get my very own anon tag? :o <3

omg hi my fave anon<3 why yes...you did indeed get your own tag because how else am i supposed to show appreciation for the anon who keeps feeding me such delicious ideas? mwah.

sooooooo i did a bot for each of your suggestions because you deserve to play out the other two scenarios since i chose the last one for the blurb hehe. bots at the end as always!

this totally spiraled out of control and i needed to cut it off at some point lmao...but i hope you enjoy it<3

fault lines aka supe-remacist!cate who's...dating a human? tags: hurt/comfort, post season 1, directly segues into season 2, mostly follows canon, cate has her prosthetic arm, established relationship, supe-supremacist!cate, human!reader, cate redemption arc, brief kidnapping, supe vs. humans discourse 8.6K+ words

It used to be easier to lie.

Smile, tilt her chin, tell them what they wanted to hear. The right words always came when she needed them—honeyed and heavy, wrapped in just enough sincerity to sell the illusion. Cate Dunlap, poised and polished. Cate Dunlap, poster girl for Vought’s favorite flavor of grief. Cate Dunlap, the traitor who turned on her friends. Or saved them. Or doomed them. Depends who you ask.

But now, standing in front of the bathroom mirror with her palms braced against the counter, all she can see is the crack.

It runs straight down the middle of her reflection.

There’s a smear of mascara beneath one eye—she doesn’t bother wiping it. The left strap of her tank top keeps slipping down her shoulder. Her prosthetic catches the light in a way that makes her flinch. Even six months later it’s still too new. Too heavy. Too real. And not real at all. Half her arm is gone, and no matter how sleek or shiny the tech is, no matter how many journalists call her brave, Cate knows she lost more than flesh and bone that day.

She lost Marie. Jordan. Andre.

Maybe herself.

Maybe you, too.

Cate doesn’t cry. Not really. She just goes still. Like if she freezes long enough, maybe the ache will pass through her instead of burrowing deep. Maybe the guilt will forget her name. Maybe you won’t notice how cold she’s become.

She turns away from the mirror before it answers her.

The apartment is quiet. Not in the peaceful way. In the way that presses in around her ribs. The kind of silence Cate used to crave when she was younger, when everything was too loud—her mother’s shrill voice, Shetty’s calculating calm, the throb of fear that came every time she looked at the locked bedroom door. But now? Now the silence only reminds her that she’s alone.

Except she’s not.

She finds you exactly where she left you: curled up on the couch with one leg tucked under the other, hoodie sleeves shoved past your elbows, headphones resting loosely around your neck. There’s a half-finished sketch in the open notebook on your lap—Cate sees blue eyes, long fingers, sharp jaw. It's your version of a love letter. Has been since you were thirteen. Still, Cate doesn’t comment. She just watches. Tries to memorize.

You look up.

“You okay?”

Cate lies automatically. “Fine.”

You frown. It’s subtle. Most people wouldn’t catch it. But Cate’s spent years studying you like scripture. She knows the twitch of your brow, the shift in your throat when you swallow down a question you’re not sure you have the right to ask. Cate hates that. Hates what she’s turned you into—a soft thing too afraid to prod the bruises.

Cate moves to sit beside you, not quite touching. She doesn’t trust herself to. Lately, her skin feels like a warning label. She thinks about that too often—how easy it would be to reach for you and twist everything. Not out of cruelty. Just…control. Just so she can breathe again.

But she won’t.

Not with you.

Never with you.

“I ran into Homelander again,” Cate says after a moment. Her voice is smooth. A little tired, a little distant. The way it always sounds now. “He wants me to speak at the next rally.”

You close your sketchbook. “Are you going to?”

Cate shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to?”

That makes Cate pause.

Want. What a foreign thing. She used to know what she wanted—freedom, applause, connection. You. Now everything’s a question mark.

“I think I’m supposed to,” she says instead.

You don't answer right away. Your thumb brushes the edge of the page you just closed, a nervous tick Cate’s always found unbearably tender. She wonders if she’ll ever be able to look at you without mourning something. Wonders if loving you will always feel like standing on a fault line, waiting for the inevitable split.

“Cate,” you say gently. “You don’t owe them anything.”

Cate huffs out a bitter laugh. “Don’t I?”

“No,” you say, more firmly now. “You saved everyone. You stopped Shetty. You—”

“Broke Jordan’s trust. Abandoned Marie. Covered up the truth. Let Sam out.”

You soften again. “You did what you thought was right.”

Cate leans back, stares up at the ceiling. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what’s right anymore.”

The two of you sit in silence for a while. The kind Cate used to love. The kind that felt like home, because you made it feel that way. Cate closes her eyes.

“Sometimes I wish I hated you,” she says softly.

You turn to her. “What?”

Cate doesn’t look. “It would be easier. If I could put you in the same box as everyone else. If I could just…blame you. For being human.”

Your voice is careful now. “You do blame me. Sometimes.”

Cate flinches.

It’s true. Not always. But in the sharp moments. In the moments when she wakes up gasping, or sees her arm lying on the floor beside her bed like a reminder. In the moments when people cheer her name and then spit on the next human they pass. In the moments when Sam calls her a leader, and Marie looks away. In those moments, Cate wants something to burn. And you are always there. Always reachable.

Cate whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Cate finally turns her head, meets your gaze. “Do you ever think about leaving?”

You don't answer.

Cate’s voice shakes. “Be honest.”

A beat.

Then you speak, “No. I think about who you used to be. I think about who you are when you’re not scared. I think about who you are when you’re with me.”

Cate exhales like it hurts.

“I’m not her anymore.”

“Yes, you are.”

Cate shakes her head, slow and exhausted. “You don’t know what it’s like, baby. Every day I wake up and there’s this voice in my head saying, they hate you. They’ll never understand you. You’re better than them. And sometimes? I believe it.”

You shift closer. Not touching. Just near.

“I don’t need you to be perfect,” you say. “I just need you to be honest with me.”

Cate closes her eyes again. The tears don’t fall. They just burn.

“I don’t know if I can fix it.”

You shrug. “Then let it break. I’ll still be here.”

Cate turns her face toward you. Studies you. Every freckle, every scar, every stubborn little line in your jaw. She remembers tracing that jaw when you were kids. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Laying on her bed in the dark with the lights off and her heart thudding like a traitor. She remembers your first kiss. Remembered thinking, if I ever lose her, I won’t survive it.

She’s still not sure she will.

Cate leans in. Not to kiss. Just to rest her forehead against your shoulder.

���You’re the only thing I haven’t ruined,” she whispers.

You press your lips to the top of Cate’s head. A blessing. A promise.

“Then let me stay.”

The morning light doesn’t feel soft.

It’s sharp, white, unrelenting—pouring through the sheer curtains like it’s trying to peel Cate open from the outside in. She lies still in bed, half-wrapped in your hoodie, her face pressed into the pillow you were using before you left for the kitchen. Your scent lingers there: shampoo and old cigarette smoke, that subtle vanilla that always clings to your clothes.

Cate breathes in like it’ll steady her. It doesn’t.

Her arm—what’s left of it—aches in that phantom way again. The metal prosthetic is disconnected, charging on the nightstand. For a moment, Cate stares at it. She imagines it twitching to life on its own. Imagines it reaching out. Gripping her throat. Becoming the monster people already see when they look at her.

The knock on the door is quiet. Considerate.

Of course it is.

Cate doesn’t answer. Just rolls onto her back and waits for the inevitable creak of the hinge. It comes a beat later. You step inside with two mugs—one black, one cream-colored with faded pink lettering that says World’s Okayest Girlfriend.

Cate doesn’t smile. But her throat goes tight.

“I figured you didn’t sleep,” you say, walking over. “So I didn’t make it strong.”

Cate sits up slowly. Her voice comes out rasped and raw. “Thanks.”

You hand over the cream mug.

Cate notices the way your fingers linger. The way you watch her, careful and open all at once, like you’re waiting for Cate to either break or bolt. You probably are.

“I have to go,” Cate says after a sip. She doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I know.”

Cate looks away again. “It’s just a speech.”

You sit on the edge of the bed. “You really believe that?”

Cate doesn’t answer.

Because no—she doesn’t. She knows it’s not just a speech. It’s a spectacle. A signal flare. Homelander doesn’t do subtle. He’s throwing her into the deep end with the cameras already rolling. He wants blood. He wants outrage. He wants her powers, sharpened and obedient.

And Cate—Cate wants to be useful.

Wants to be something more than a girl who failed her friends. Who lost her brother. Who couldn’t stop Shetty until it was already too late.

Homelander looks at her like she’s valuable.

You look at her like she’s human.

Cate doesn’t know which is more dangerous.

“I just need to say something,” she mumbles, fingers tightening around the mug. “They’ll listen if it’s me.”

“Cate—”

“It’s just words, babe.”

You shake your head. “It’s Homelander’s words. You think he’s going to let you say anything real?”

Cate lifts her chin. “I’m not stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were,” you say, soft but serious. “But you’re hurting. And he knows it. He’s not helping you—he’s weaponizing you.”

Cate doesn’t flinch. But her jaw sets. “You don’t know him.”

You exhale through your nose. Stand. Pace a little like you’re trying to choose your next words carefully. “I know you. And I know what he turns people into.”

Cate sets the mug down on the nightstand, right next to her prosthetic. “You think I can’t handle him?”

“I think he’s using you.”

“And you think I’m too fragile to notice.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You don’t trust me.”

You stop pacing. Turn to her, eyes burning. “No, Cate. I don’t trust him. You, I love. Which is exactly why this scares the hell out of me.”

Cate says nothing.

Not because she doesn’t believe you.

But because she does.

Because you love her. Still. Even now. Even after everything. And that love is so pure it makes Cate feel like she’s choking on it.

But it also makes her feel like she’s being watched from the wrong side of glass. Like you still see the old version of her—the girl who used to blush when you kissed her under the covers, who used to whisper about getting out of the house, running away together, finding something better.

That girl is dead.

Cate became someone else to survive.

And this new version? The one with the metal arm and the hollow eyes and the fire building in her chest? That girl wants to be feared.

She stands.

You take a step back, as if giving her space. As if you know this version isn’t yours to hold.

Cate straps her prosthetic on slowly. Deliberately. It whirs to life with a soft mechanical click. Her fingers flex experimentally.

“Don’t come,” she says without turning around.

You’re quiet. Then: “Cate—”

“I mean it.” Cate looks over her shoulder. Her voice is low. Flat. “You won’t like what I say.”

You nod once.

But Cate sees the way your hands curl into fists at your sides. The way your throat bobs when you swallow.

And the worst part?

You don't stop her.

Just let Cate walk past. Out the door. Down the hall. Into the daylight where the cameras wait.

You don't breathe when Cate steps onto the stage.

Not really. Not fully.

Your lungs seize, ribs locked around something ancient and awful. Fear, maybe. Or grief. Or just the terrible anticipation of watching someone you love become unrecognizable in front of a cheering crowd.

The plaza is flooded—bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, phones raised, flags waving. They’re all here for her. For Cate Dunlap. Vought’s miracle girl. The “Guardian of Godolkin.” The girl who lost her arm and gained an army.

And standing just behind her, hands folded loosely behind his back, is Homelander.

You see him first, actually. He lands mid-sentence during the warm-up act, no warning, no introduction, just that sickening boom of displaced air and a flash of red and white cape. The crowd goes electric—feral, practically foaming at the mouth. You stay still. Hood pulled low, sunglasses on, pressed between two overenthusiastic supe teens who haven’t stopped screaming since she got here.

“You think he’ll fly with her again?” one whispers.

“Only if she keeps behaving,” the other smirks.

You swallow bile.

No one here knows who you are.

Or maybe they do. Maybe they just don’t care.

A few people know Cate dates a human. Most of them think it’s performative. A PR play. Maybe a fetish. Maybe just convenience. Something warm to come home to. Nothing serious. Certainly nothing sacred.

You’ve been called worse than “pet.” The worst came from your own kind.

Race traitor.

Sleeps with murderers.

Hope you get what’s coming to you.

You never respond online. What would be the point?

Instead, you defend supes in quiet conversations. One-on-ones. Talk about Jordan like they’re family. About Andre like he’s the dumbass brother you never had (and now never will). About Marie’s compassion. About Cate’s—

Well.

Not anymore.

Because Cate steps up to the mic and the person who speaks? It isn’t yours.

“Brothers. Sisters. Supes.”

She starts with a smile. Confident. Collected. A little too polished. You’ve seen that smile before—during press interviews, staged photoshoots, propaganda clips Cate would later mock under her breath while crawling into your lap.

But this isn’t a mock-up. This is real.

“This is a new era,” Cate continues. “One where we finally stop apologizing for our existence.”

The crowd roars.

You stay silent. You’re not even supposed to be here, after all.

Cate’s in all black, her prosthetic fully visible, hair perfectly straightened and cascading down her back. Sharp lines. Intentional. She looks untouchable. Cold. Beautiful. Her voice doesn’t tremble. She doesn’t stumble. She doesn’t flinch when Homelander steps closer.

He stands just behind her now. Like a shadow. Like a claim.

And Cate lets him.

“They want us to stay quiet. To keep our heads down. They want us to feel guilty for the power that was thrust upon us without our consent.”

More cheers. Phones flash.

“They say we’re dangerous. That we can’t be trusted. But what about them?” Cate’s voice lifts now, righteous and raw. “Who built the labs? Who injected the serum? Who locked up children and called it education?”

Your nails dig into your palms.

“They made us. And now they fear us.”

Cate leans forward, eyes glittering. “Let them.”

The scream from the crowd is deafening.

You watch your girlfriend bask in it. Arms raised. Prosthetic fist clenched. Homelander’s grin wide behind her.

And you think:

You used to be so scared of your powers you cried yourself to sleep.

You made me promise never to look at you differently.

You were my home.

But the woman on stage is not yours.

Not right now.

You don't cry. Not here. Not in front of all of them. Just push your way out of the crowd before the next speaker is called. Before Cate looks back and sees an empty space where you once stood.

You duck into the alley between buildings, hoodie still up. No one follows.

Only then do you let yourself sink to the pavement.

You’re shaking.

Not from fear. From fury. From sorrow. From the deep, aching knowledge that the girl you fell in love with is now a weapon in a war neither of you asked for.

And the worst part?

Cate probably thinks she’s protecting you.

By pretending you’re no one. Disposable. Forgettable.

But you know better.

Cate doesn’t keep her secret out of shame.

She keeps her secret because if the world knew what you meant to her, they’d use it.

Just like Homelander is using Cate now.

Cate doesn’t notice the silence right away.

She’s still buzzing, heart still skipping in that frantic, addictive rhythm—the kind that feels too close to joy to call anything else. The kind that makes you believe the crowd meant it. That they see you. That maybe, just maybe, you’re finally becoming the person you were always meant to be.

The second she steps into the apartment, it dies.

No lights.

No music.

No sketchbook on the coffee table, you’re not curled up in the corner of the couch pretending you’re not watching the livestream on mute. No sarcastic comment waiting at the door. No arms. No kiss. No presence.

The air feels off.

Cate blinks, still in her boots, one glove peeled halfway off her metal hand. “Baby?”

Nothing.

She checks the bedroom. Bathroom. Rooftop. Nowhere.

At first, she thinks—Maybe she left to get food. Maybe she’s walking the block, needed air, needed—

Then she sees the mug in the sink. Lipstick smeared around the rim.

And beside it, crumpled like something thrown too hard into the trash: a rally flyer. Folded once. Then again. Then torn clean down the middle.

Cate stares.

Then turns to the TV. Her phone.

The livestream is still trending. Her face plastered across headlines.

Cate Dunlap: The New Voice of Supe Sovereignty.

Homelander’s Rising Star.

Blood for Blood: Inside the New War on Human Institutions.

And below it, the comments.

“She’s so hot when she’s angry.” “Bro she was faking it with that human chick anyway. She’s one of us.” “Finally someone’s saying it.” “Tell me she’s single now.” “Wait—wasn’t she dating some little human nobody? 😂”

Cate doesn’t finish reading.

Her hand tightens. A snap cracks through the silence—glass shattering in the sink. The mug.

Her mug.

The pink one.

Like some bad omen.

Cate’s stomach lurches.

She doesn’t remember walking to the door. Only the rush of motion, the sound of your name caught in her throat, the twist of guilt coiling tight behind her ribs. She slams the door open and starts down the stairs, not trusting the elevator, not trusting herself.

It takes twenty minutes to find you.

You’re in the alley behind the bodega, hoodie still on, shoulders hunched like the wind cut straight through you. You’re sitting on the curb. Smoking.

The world around you moves on.

Cate stops. She just—stops.

You don't look up.

Which means you know.

Cate steps forward anyway.

“I didn’t know you were there.”

You exhale. “Yeah.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“Wanted to see the show.”

Cate flinches. “That’s not fair.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

Cate takes another step. Close enough to see the way your jaw is clenched. The way your eyes are red. The way you hold the cigarette like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“You mean see you?” you ask quietly.

Cate doesn’t answer.

Because yes.

That’s exactly what she means.

You finally look up. And it’s not hate in your eyes. It’s worse. Heartbreak.

“Is that who you are now?”

Cate doesn’t speak. Can’t.

Because part of her doesn’t know anymore.

You stand. Shrug the hoodie tighter around you. “I thought I could handle it,” you say. “The looks. The threats. The names. All of it. Because I thought…you were worth it.”

Cate opens her mouth. But you keep going.

“I didn’t care what people called me. Race traitor. Pet. Whatever. Because I knew you. I knew who you were with me.”

A breath.

“I don’t think I know you anymore, Cate.”

Cate stumbles forward, desperate. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Cate swallows hard. Her voice is barely a whisper. “I thought keeping you secret would keep you safe.”

You laugh. It’s hollow. “Funny. You hiding me only made everyone think I didn’t matter. Not to them. Not to you.”

“You matter more than anything.”

Your eyes shine now. “Then say it. Say it where they can hear you.”

Cate goes still.

Because she can’t.

Not yet. Not with Homelander watching. Not with every supe in the country ready to make you a target if they knew the truth.

You see that hesitation. See all you need.

You nod slowly, turning to walk away. “Yeah,” you murmur. “That’s what I thought.”

This time it’s Cate who doesn’t stop you.

She just stands there. In the dark. In the cold. In the silence she made.

Cate locks the door behind her.

Not because she’s afraid.

Because part of her wants to scream. Break something. Scream again. And she knows if she doesn’t have barriers between herself and the rest of the world, she’ll be on the evening news for a different reason entirely.

Cate stares at the ruined mug in the sink like it might put itself back together. Like time might rollback and undo the moment your eyes stopped looking at her like she was worth saving.

She sinks to the floor.

Her arm whirs slightly as she folds it into her lap, a mechanical hiss too loud in the empty apartment. Her whole body’s trembling. She doesn’t know if it’s from the rally or the fight or just the aftershock of standing beside Homelander and realizing that, in the eyes of millions, she’s finally everything she once feared becoming.

A symbol.

A puppet.

A monster.

And you saw it all.

Cate curls in on herself. Hands in her hair now. Teeth clenched. Tears burning like they’re trying to shame her into submission. She tries to breathe steadily. It only makes it worse.

There’s no one here to soothe her. No soothing fingers in her hair. No quiet voice calling her baby, whispering that it’s going to be okay. No warmth.

Only the cold where you should be.

Cate gasps like she’s drowning. Her prosthetic hand claws at the edge of the counter as she pulls herself up. She finds her phone. Dials.

Voicemail.

She tries again. And again.

She doesn’t leave a message.

What would she even say?

Come home.

I’m sorry.

I’m not her.

I think I might be.

The bar isn’t particularly nice.

It’s half-empty, smells like bleach and fryer oil, and the bartender didn’t even bother to card you—just gave you a once-over, raised a brow, and poured double the whiskey you asked for. Maybe he recognized you. Maybe he didn’t care that you hardly look twenty-one.

Either way, you’re on her third drink now.

The world’s gotten blurrier. Softer at the edges. You heart still feels like it’s got teeth, though. Every swallow burns. Not from the liquor. From the ache.

You pull out your phone. Cate’s name lights it up. Three missed calls.

You turns it face down.

Outside, the city moves on. Lights flash. Sirens hum. Somewhere, people are still watching the rally on replay, Cate’s voice looped into TikToks and remixed into fan edits. Some of them feature Homelander’s approving smile behind her. Some don’t.

You don't look, just stare at the rim of your glass. Think about how Cate once kissed you after you cut your palm open climbing a fence—took your hand so gently, like you were made of glass. Thinks about the speech. The crowd. The look in Cate’s eyes when she said, let them fear us.

You down the rest of the glass.

“Another?” the bartender asks.

“Something stronger,” you murmur.

He gives you a long look. Nods. Starts pouring.

It’s not until the fourth drink that you say it aloud.

“I think I need V.”

The bartender pauses. “What?”

You don't look up. “Compound V. The supe serum. I think I need it.”

The guy laughs. Like it’s a joke. Like it’s drunk talk. He walks away.

You stare at your hands. They don’t shake.

Your thoughts are quiet. Steady.

She wouldn’t have to protect me anymore. Wouldn’t have to be afraid. I could stand beside her. Really stand there.

You press the glass to your lips. “She wouldn’t have to be ashamed of me.”

The idea blooms in your chest like something poisonous and seductive.

Other people have done it. Others have survived. Others have gotten powers and kept the people they love, right?

You close your eyes.

“I just want to be enough.”

Cate hears the key in the lock before she sees you.

It’s slow. Fumbling. The wrong key first, then the right one, then a pause like you’ve forgotten how to turn a knob. Cate’s halfway across the room before the door even opens, heart already in her throat.

You stumble in—hoodie still on, face pale and flushed all at once. Your eyes are red. Your mouth is tight. You smell like whiskey and smoke and the night.

Cate doesn’t speak.

Not yet.

You blink at her. Sway. Then shut the door behind you with a soft click, like you know slamming it would break something too fragile to repair.

“I tried to forget,” you say.

Cate’s voice is a whisper. “Did it work?”

You laugh. It cracks halfway through. “You ever tried to forget someone you love?”

Cate feels the answer throb under her skin.

You shrug off the hoodie. Drop it to the floor. Your hair’s a mess. Your knuckles are red. You look like a storm that never got the chance to finish wrecking the coastline.

Cate steps forward. “You shouldn’t have gone alone.”

“You shouldn’t have let me.”

You both go still.

Then—Cate moves.

Not fast. Not desperate. Just forward. Like her body’s been waiting to close the space between them all day. You don't stop her. Just let it happen—let Cate’s arms wrap around you, let your forehead drop against Cate’s shoulder.

Cate exhales.

The relief is sharp. Drowning. Her whole body trembles with it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

You don't say anything. Just fist your hands in Cate’s shirt. Hold on like you might fall if you lets go.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable.”

“I’m not mad,” you murmur.

Cate pulls back, just enough to see your eyes. “Then what?”

You swallow. “I’m scared.”

Cate nods. “Me too.”

You kiss before either of you can spiral again.

It’s messy. All teeth and salt and the kind of need that lives deep in the gut. You taste like smoke and pain and love. Cate forgets how to breathe. Her hand—her real one—slides up under your jaw, holding you steady. Your mouths move together like you’ve been doing this forever.

Really, you have.

When you break apart, your eyes are wet.

Cate wipes the tears before they fall.

“I can’t lose you,” you say. Your voice is small. Honest. “It’d tear me in half.”

Cate closes her eyes. “Then stay.”

A pause.

Then, barely audible—

“Would it be easier if I was one of you?”

Cate goes still.

You lean your forehead against hers. “If I took V. If I was strong. If I was dangerous. If you didn’t have to hide me.”

“Don’t,” Cate breathes.

“You wouldn’t have to protect me.”

“Don’t say that.”

You press in closer. “You could love me in public.”

“I already love you in public.”

“You don’t say my name.”

Cate breaks.

Not into tears. Into desperation.

She grabs your hands—both of them. Holds them to her chest like maybe she can pour the truth straight into your skin.

“I love you like you’re the last good thing in me,” she says. “I love you so much it makes me want to tear this fucking world apart just so you’ll be safe in it. But if you take V—if you change who you are to fit some fucked up system even I’m barely surviving—then it’s not me loving you anymore. It’s the war loving its newest recruit.”

You blink hard.

Cate softens her grip. “You don’t need powers to be strong. You already are. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“But you’re still walking into battle.”

Cate nods. “So pull me out.”

You stare at her.

Then kiss her again.

This time slower. Softer. Like maybe you’ll survive this. Together.

Cate wakes before the sun.

The apartment is wrapped in shadow, the kind that clings to everything with softness. No flashing headlines. No protest chants. No Homelander. Just the hum of the fridge. The rise and fall of breath against her back. The weight of a hand curled under her shirt, resting just above her ribs.

You.

Cate doesn’t move. Not yet.

Her eyes stay fixed on the wall in front of her. The faintest pink glow is starting to bleed through the curtains, painting lines across the hardwood floor. She follows them with her eyes. Counts her heartbeats.

Last night is a blur.

Not the fight. Not the rally. Not the cigarette smoke curling off your hoodie as you walked back into Cate’s life like a ghost made of everything Cate couldn’t live without.

The blur is the moment after. The softness. The whisper in the sheets. The way you touched her face like you didn’t care how many monsters Cate had let whisper in her ear that week.

You matter more than anything.

Cate clings to that now.

She shifts slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder.

You’re still asleep.

Mouth parted, one hand splayed across Cate’s stomach now, the other tucked beneath your cheek. Your lashes are long. Your brow is furrowed even in sleep. Like you’re still bracing for something to go wrong.

Cate gently threads your fingers together under the blanket.

The gesture is small. Ridiculous, really. What the hell does holding a hand fix when the world is tilting this violently? But it’s all Cate has. That and the quiet promise buried somewhere between her lungs: I won’t let them take you. I won’t let this take us.

You stir slightly. Mumble something that might be Cate’s name.

Cate presses a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “I’m here.”

Another mumble. This one clearer. “Time is it?”

Cate glances at the clock. “Early.��

You groan. “Too early to be a martyr.”

Cate smiles before she can stop herself. “Sleep.”

She feels you melt again behind her, the tension bleeding out inch by inch. Cate closes her eyes.

Maybe this is all you’ll get. These stolen hours before the next speech, the next headline, the next call from Homelander or knock on the door or crowd outside screaming for a savior Cate never asked to become.

Maybe this is it.

But for now, your breath is warm against her neck. Your fingers are intertwined. And Cate lets herself believe—for a moment—that she’s still someone worthy of being held like this.

It’s gotten worse overnight.

Cate can feel it the second she steps onto the quad that morning.

Eyes don’t just follow her anymore—they weigh her down. Stares press into her like needles, testing how far they can go before she bleeds. Some are reverent. Most are not. Supe students nod in cold approval. Faculty keep their heads low. And the humans still allowed on campus?

They watch her like she’s holding a loaded gun.

Cate adjusts her sunglasses. Keeps walking.

Godolkin has changed. Maybe it always was this way and she just hadn’t noticed. But now there are fences where there used to be gardens. Surveillance drones hover like flies. Metal detectors at every entrance. And worst of all—the new badge system.

Color-coded. Subtle in design, brutal in function.

Supes wear gold. Vought-issued, sleek, with chip-embedded access to every building.

Humans wear red.

No access. No clearance. No rights.

Yours is tucked into your jacket pocket. You hate wearing it. Cate knows. You used to make jokes about it—Look, babe. I’m officially radioactive. But now?

Now it’s not funny.

Cate walks past the fountain. Past the newly erected statue of Brink. Past the place where she once pulled you into the bushes to make out between classes.

She hears the yelling before she sees the crowd.

The checkpoint near the west gate is swarmed. Protesters—mostly human—have gathered with signs and megaphones and looks of disgust aimed at every supe who walks past. Some of them wear anti-supe shirts. Some wear bloodied bandages on their arms. All of them look like they’ve been waiting for a fight.

Cate slows. Frowns.

And then she sees you.

Hoodie up, badge out, already walking toward the checkpoint when the first voice cuts through the crowd.

“Hey traitor!”

Cate freezes.

You don't flinch. Just keep walking.

Another voice. Louder. Meaner.

“Tell me—is the supe pussy really that good, or are you just that fucking pathetic?”

Cate’s heart stutters.

You stop.

You turn—slowly, deliberately—and Cate can see it about to happen. The tension in your jaw. The flare in your nostrils. The way your hands curl into fists. The moment you snap.

“Don’t,” Cate whispers to no one.

But it’s too late.

A cup flies through the air. Hits you square in the chest. Coffee or soda—sticky and dark. It splashes across your shirt, down your jeans. The crowd laughs.

And then you lunge.

Cate’s moving before she even thinks.

She doesn’t remember pushing past the checkpoint. Doesn’t remember snapping her badge at the guard or ducking through the gate. All she knows is the way you’re already halfway over the barricade, snarling like you’re ready to break someone’s jaw.

Cate grabs you from behind. Arms around your waist.

“Baby—don’t.”

“Cate, let go.”

“Please,” Cate says, voice cracked and low. “They want this.”

You tremble in her arms. Vibrating with rage. Sticky soda running down your front, breathing like a cornered animal. Cate presses her forehead between your shoulder blades.

“Don’t give it to them.”

It takes a long moment. Too long. But finally, finally, you sag.

Cate doesn’t let go.

You stand like that—pressed together on the edge of a war—until security disperses the protesters and a drone whirs low to scan Cate’s credentials. Cate doesn’t speak. Doesn’t care. All she can think is: I let this happen.

When you finally turn around, there’s no anger in your eyes.

Just hurt.

“I was just trying to come see you,” you whisper.

Cate reaches up. Wipes something—soda, maybe tears—from your cheek. Her hand shakes.

“I know,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

But you both know it’s not enough.

She doesn’t even know where her key is.

It takes Cate three tries to get the door open. She hasn’t been back here in weeks, not really—not since everything started to unravel. Since Homelander started circling like a vulture. Since your apartment became the only place that felt remotely like home.

But you can’t go there now.

Too risky.

Too exposed.

So here you are. Cate’s dorm. Four walls and a bed too narrow and a desk covered in unopened mail and protest flyers she never meant to keep. You say nothing as you step inside. Just shrug off your hoodie, wincing when the fabric peels from the sticky soda soaked into your shirt.

Cate doesn’t speak either.

She moves automatically—sets down her bag, goes to the mini-fridge, grabs the half-empty bottle of water, some paper towels, a clean t-shirt from the drawer. Not hers. One of yours. Probably left here by accident months ago.

She doesn’t say that.

Just holds it out. “Sit.”

You sit on the bed without a word.

Cate kneels in front of you.

It’s methodical, the way she cleans you up. Soaked cloth across your collarbone. Across the front of your ribs. Wiping soda from the inside of your elbow like she’s dabbing at a wound. Cate’s movements are gentle but firm, her prosthetic resting quietly on her own knee while her other hand works. You stay still the whole time. Don’t speak. Don’t look away.

Only flinch once—when Cate presses too hard against a bruise she hadn’t noticed forming.

“Sorry,” Cate breathes.

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

Cate’s hands still.

She lets the silence stretch between them.

Then, quietly: “You shouldn’t have to go through that. Just to be with me.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “You think this is about you?”

Cate looks up. She doesn’t smile. “Isn’t it?”

You exhale. Your eyes are tired. “It’s about all of it, Cate. The checkpoints. The comments. The looks. The fucking badge. They don’t just hate you. They hate that I chose you. That I keep choosing you despite all the shit that comes with it.”

Cate swallows hard. “I don’t want you to have to choose.”

“Well, you don’t get that luxury anymore.”

Cate leans back on her heels. Watches her. Soaks her in. The bruise. The rage. The deep, painful clarity in her voice.

And then—Cate whispers, “What if it’s not enough?”

“What?”

Cate’s voice is barely audible now. “What if love isn’t enough to survive this?”

Your expression softens. “Then we find something else.”

Cate closes her eyes.

She doesn’t want to cry. Not now. Not here.

But it sneaks up anyway.

Not sobs. Just that helpless burn behind her ribs. That stupid catch in her breath.

You reach down. Fingers brushing her cheek. Cate leans into it like she might break without it.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Cate says.

“You won’t.”

Cate opens her eyes again. “But what if staying with me means giving up pieces of yourself?”

You don't hesitate.

“Then I give them up.”

Cate freezes.

“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t say that. You deserve to be whole.”

“So do you.”

Cate looks up at her. Really looks. “Are we willing to tear pieces off ourselves just to fit together?”

You nod. “If that’s what it takes.”

Cate exhales shakily. “And if it still doesn’t work?”

“Then we go down together. Hands clasped.”

Cate crawls up into your lap.

Wraps her arms around your neck. Buries her face against your shoulder.

You sit like that for a long time.

No answers. Just the thrum of hearts trying not to break.

Just two girls on the wrong side of history, holding onto the only thing that still feels real.

At first, she thinks you’re just late.

The checkpoint at the east gate is always a mess—two ID scans, three layers of metal detection, one bored Vought intern assigned to “human entry” like it’s a fucking punishment. Cate waits near the quad, watching her phone. One minute. Two. Ten.

By twenty, the dread starts to bloom.

You always text.

Even when you’re pissed. Even when you fight. Even when you’re drunk and petty and too stubborn to say I miss you, you always text.

Cate tries calling.

Voicemail.

She tries again. Nothing.

The campus feels too loud. Too bright. The shadows crawl longer than they should.

Cate doesn’t walk—she runs to the checkpoint.

It’s empty.

“Where’s the human from this morning?” she snaps at the first supe guard she sees, repeats your name for emphasis. 

The guy shrugs. “Didn’t see her come through.”

“She badged in. I saw the record.”

“Then maybe she tripped a sensor.”

Cate’s stomach knots. “Where is she?”

Another shrug. Too casual. Too clean.

“I want to see the footage.”

“That’s above my clearance.”

Cate doesn’t blink. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah,” the guard says, tone going flat. “That’s the problem.”

She stares him down.

And when it’s clear she’s not getting an answer here—not from guards, not from Godolkin—she does the only thing she knows will get her answers.

She goes directly to Vought.

The tower lobby is glass and shadow. Cate’s boots click across the marble as she strides past reception like she owns the place. She doesn’t need clearance. Not anymore. Not since he started treating her like his favorite daughter.

The elevator doors open like they’ve been waiting for her.

When they close, she punches the emergency override. Ninety-ninth floor. Executive access.

The doors slide open again.

And there he is.

Homelander.

Waiting.

Grinning.

“Oh,” he says, voice syrup-slick. “Just the girl I wanted to see.”

Cate doesn’t slow. “Where is she?”

He tilts his head. “You’ll have to be more specific. She is such a broad category.”

“My girlfriend. Human.”

He laughs. “Oh. Right. That one.”

Cate’s pulse spikes.

Homelander walks toward her, slow and easy, hands clasped behind his back. Like he’s got all the time in the world. Like nothing bad could ever possibly touch him.

“I was starting to think you were hiding her,” he says. “You know, for someone who claims to be part of the cause, you’re awfully…conflicted.”

“Where is she.”

He gestures lazily toward the hallway. “Holding. Lower levels. We just had some…questions. She triggered a flag in the system. Old Red River files. Unregistered V exposure, did you know that? Tsk. Sloppy.”

Cate’s mouth goes dry.

“She’s not a threat.”

“She is a human who’s been whispering in your ear,” he replies, stepping closer. “And you’re very important to me, Cate. I can’t have you compromised.”

Cate squares her shoulders. “You can’t have me disobedient. There’s a difference.”

Homelander grins. “Semantics.”

Then, casually, “Let’s make this simple. There are two people in holding right now. Your human. And a young supe who’s been leaking information to the press. You can have one.”

Cate doesn’t move.

Homelander leans in. “I’ll even let you be the one to do it. You can use your powers. Find out which is lying. Who’s worth saving. Easy.”

Cate’s voice cracks. “You want me to use my powers on her.”

“I want you to prove your loyalty.”

Her fists curl.

“You don’t have to hurt her,” he says. “Just…check her thoughts. Peek behind the curtain. Make sure she’s not a traitor to our cause.”

Cate remembers what it feels like. Touching someone and slipping in without consent. Reading everything. Every thought. Every shame. Every fear. It’s a violation, even when it’s done with care.

With you?

It would be…unforgivable.

She turns to leave.

Homelander calls out after her.

“You walk out without choosing,” he says, eyes gone cold, “and they’ll both be gone come morning. You choose, Cate. That’s the deal.”

Cate’s heart slams against her ribs.

And then—

“I’ll do it.”

You’re in a glass room, like some kind of experiment. Cold metal table. One chair. Arms folded. Eyes puffy, but defiant.

Cate steps in.

The door clicks shut behind her.

You stand. “You okay?” Typical of you to instantly worry about Cate.

Cate doesn’t answer.

She just crosses the room. Stops in front of you. Reaches out.

You flinch.

Cate’s ungloved hand hovers. “It’s me,” she whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You look at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting you out.”

Your eyes narrow. “What did you have to do for him?”

Cate’s hand stills. “Nothing. Yet.”

A beat.

Then, very slowly, Cate wraps her fingers around your wrist.

Skin to skin.

Everything rushes in at once, unbidden—your fear, your anger, your memories of the checkpoint, the sting of the soda, the way your thoughts scream Cate, Cate, Cate over and over like a prayer and a curse and a lifeline all at once.

Cate stumbles back. Gasps for air.

You grab her by the shoulders, grounding her. “Hey—hey, breathe. You okay?”

Cate nods, shaking. She almost looks relieved. “You’re clean. I knew you would be but…”

You frown. “Cate, what did you see?”

Cate meets her eyes. “Just me. Always me.”

And then she pulls her in.

Kisses her like it’s the last moment they’ll ever get.

The elevator door hisses shut behind her.

She’s still breathless.

Your name echoes in her chest like a warning bell—like if she says it out loud, Homelander will hear it and rip the air from her lungs. So she keeps it safely tucked away behind her ribs. She keeps everything tucked away.

Cate walks back into the meeting room like nothing happened.

Like her hands aren’t still trembling. Like her powers didn’t just crack wide open and show her everything you’ve been hiding: the fear, the guilt, the hunger, the love.

Homelander’s waiting.

Looking out the window, hands clasped behind his back like always. The skyline burns behind him in late-afternoon gold.

“Well?” he asks without turning around.

Cate’s voice doesn’t shake.

“She’s clean.”

Homelander turns.

One brow arches.

“No thoughts of betrayal?” he asks, stepping closer. “No little secrets? No anti-supe rhetoric buried in that pretty little head?”

Cate meets his gaze.

“There’s nothing in her mind except me.”

He smiles. Sharp and slow.

“Is that so? How romantic.”

Cate doesn’t blink. “She’s not the threat.”

“Then the other one is.”

Cate hesitates. “I…didn’t read him.”

“You didn’t need to. You chose. That’s what matters.”

She feels the weight of those words like glass in her throat.

Chosen.

That’s what he wanted. Not truth. Not facts. Obedience. A test of loyalty under the guise of mercy.

She passed.

She failed.

She doesn't know which.

Homelander reaches out, pats her on the shoulder. The metal one. His palm lingers just long enough to feel like possession.

“You did good, kid,” he says.

Cate forces a smile. “Thanks.”

He nods. “Dismissed.”

She turns. Makes a beeline to the elevator. Doesn’t let herself shake until the doors close. Doesn’t let herself cry until she’s halfway down.

And when she steps out onto the sidewalk, Vought Tower behind her like a knife in the sky, she does the only thing she can do.

She calls you.

“I’m coming home,” she says.

It’s dark by the time Cate gets home.

Not late—just dark, the way New York gets in the middle of a bad season. Gray skies, heavy air. The kind of night that feels like it’s waiting to fall apart.

The apartment’s quiet. A single lamp on. No music. No TV. Just you, cross-legged on the couch in your sweats, hair pulled back, a bruise blooming low on your jaw.

Cate’s never hated the world more than she does right now.

The door shuts behind her, and for a second—just a second—she forgets how to move.

You look up. Don't smile. Don’t speak.

You just open your arms.

Cate drops her bag. Walks straight into them. Drops to her knees in front of the couch and lets herself be pulled in like she’s being rescued from a war zone.

Which—technically—she is.

Your arms wrap tight around her shoulders. Cate’s head tucks beneath your chin.

Neither of you speak for a long time.

Not until Cate whispers, “I had to lie.”

Your fingers still in her hair. “To him?”

“To myself.”

You pull back just enough to look at her. “What did you tell him?”

“That you were clean. That I read you and there was nothing in your head but me.”

Your brow furrows. “Is that what you saw?”

Cate nods.

Then chokes.

And it all comes spilling out.

“The checkpoint. The coffee. The way you looked at me when I stopped you from swinging. Homelander’s office. The choice. He made me choose. Between you and some traitor of a supe kid. And he said if I didn’t, he’d…kill you both.”

You stare. “And you picked me.”

Cate shakes. “Of course I did.”

You cup her face. “Even if it made you a traitor?”

Cate nods again. “I’d do it again.”

Her voice cracks on the last word.

“I don’t care what side I’m on anymore, baby. I just want to be where you are.”

You kiss her.

It’s not heated. Not desperate. Just steady. Grounding. Cate clutches your shirt like she might float away otherwise.

When you part, Cate exhales hard.

“I’m scared,” she admits.

You brush hair from her eyes. “Of what?”

“That we’re not gonna survive this. That he’s already watching you. That I led him to you.”

Your voice is soft but sure. “Then we stop letting him decide what happens next.”

Cate looks up. “How?”

You shrug. “We leave.”

Cate stares. “Run?”

“Disappear. Start over. Somewhere off the grid. Or…we stay and fight.”

Cate’s breath hitches. “With who?”

“With whoever we can find that still believes in us.”

Cate sinks back into your lap, silent.

She thinks about Marie. Jordan. Emma. 

She thinks about the version of herself she could be if she stopped letting people pull strings through her spine.

“You’d give it all up?” Cate asks.

You meet her gaze. “In a heartbeat.”

Cate nods. Quietly. Slowly. The decision forming between you like a third heartbeat in the room.

“Okay.”

You kiss her temple. “Then we start with this: no more hiding.”

Cate lets out a shaky breath. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” you say. “But this time? We’re scared together.”

Homelander says yes. Without fanfare or resistance.

That’s the part no one really expected.

Cate pitches it like strategy. Like optics. “They’re powerful. They’re visible. You don’t need to punish them—you need to use them. Turn them to our cause.” And he listens. Smirks. Says something about how charming she is when she’s ruthless.

The next morning, Jordan and Emma are cleared to return to Godolkin.

But that’s not the hard part.

The hard part is standing in the quad waiting for them to arrive. Waiting for the transport Vought sends, an armored truck from Elmira, security detail posted like it's a celebrity drop-off, and not two super-abled twenty-somethings who were nearly disappeared by the very institution that claims to protect them.

Cate’s hands shake. You stand beside her, close but silent. You haven't spoken much since you decided to stay. To resist. To try.

Cate’s scared to look at you too long.

Scared she’ll see the same expression she expects from Jordan and Emma: betrayal.

The truck pulls up.

Doors open.

Jordan and Emma are huddled together. Afraid. Well, at least until they see Cate. Then that fear turns into something closer to disgust. Disappointment.

Jordan steps out first—hair longer than before. They look tired. Thinner. Like a flame burned too long. Their eyes flick across the quad, then land on Cate again.

Emma follows, weary, careful to stay hidden behind Jordan, orange uniform hanging loose from her body. Her lip is split. Cate doesn’t know if it’s old or new.

They both stop when they see her.

No hugs. No greetings. Just silence.

Cate steps forward.

“Hey, you guys,” she says softly.

Jordan’s mouth curls. “Brought out the welcoming committee just for us, did you? Fun.”

Cate flinches. “You were cleared this morning. By me.”

Emma tilts her head. “Why?”

Cate’s voice is steadier than she feels. “Because I owe you both more than I’ll ever be able to repay.”

Jordan crosses their arms. “You working for him now?”

Cate doesn’t answer.

Emma scoffs. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’m not working for him,” Cate says. “I’m playing him.”

Jordan laughs, but it’s bitter. “Oh, that’ll end well.”

Cate nods. “Probably not. But if you’re building something—resistance, rebellion, whatever it is—I want in.”

Emma stares at her. “You think we’d trust you after everything?”

“No,” Cate whispers. “But I’m not asking you to trust me.”

Jordan’s voice is low. “Then what are you asking?”

Cate looks at them. Really looks. At the bruises. At the weight. At the grief. At all the cracks she helped cause.

“I’m asking you to let me help fix what I broke.”

A pause.

Then you speak, soft but sharp. “She means it.”

Jordan looks at you.

Something shifts.

Emma doesn’t move. But she doesn’t turn away either.

Finally—Jordan says, “You get one shot.”

Cate nods. “That’s all I need.”

♡ | strange worship ♡ | unlikely friendship ♡ | the only exception

[majorlysapphic]

It's brain splurge time once again...! What am I presenting today you may ask?

A glassheart, modern-day celebrity/performer AU!

TW: self-destructive habits.

(This AU is a continuation of my previous big brain splurge post, so I'll be making small references to it at the start, but I'll try my best to write this post in a way so it can be read as a standalone :)) )

Okay, here we go!

So I imagine that Red would have LOVED performing from the earliest moments of her life. Music, dance, acting, modelling; it flows through her veins and has always been her calling. And who can even be shocked by that fact? She's the only child of two of Auradon's most iconic stars in the 80s: her mother being 'The Queen of Hearts', a pop princess with a golden public imagine, and her father being the heart-throb bassist of a punk band ('Uliana's Crew'), James Hook.

It's only natural that the daughter of these two would follow in their footsteps, especially knowing her mother runs one of the most successful music labels in Auradon: 'Wonderland Records'. However, every time Red mentions she wants to start performing, she's told no (and on occasion actively discouraged from following her parents career path). Because 'she needs to prioritise growing up away from flashing cameras' and because 'the life of a performer can be demanding, it's best she focuses on school'. Frustrated, Red does end up getting a normal childhood (barring the pretty strict rules she's living under as even though she hasn't made a name for herself, yet, paparazzi still like to have a field day following her life because of who her parents are), and she's (im)patiently waiting for the day she turns 18 to finally start her career as a performer.

But we all know what Red is like, and when she thinks of an opportunity to get what she wants, she's going to take it. So, she starts anonymously posting her music on social media at the age of 14 under the username 'rebel riot', and she goes viral. People love what she's got, and Red is soaring, because this is proof enough that she can make it. So for the next 4 years, she carries on growing her platform, posting videos (whilst hiding her face with an iconic heart mask and talking with a slightly morphed accent/pitch) and interacting with her growing fanbase. Throughout this entire time, she has always had to reject invitations to perform, but on her 18th birthday she can finally take control. So when she's emailed an invite for 'Rebel Riot' to perform at a charity event, she takes it.

And that's how her official, big debut goes. She's the last to perform from all the artists at the charity concert (which include her own parents, who on occasion take a step out of retirement to perform for charitable causes), and after giving her performance her all, she takes a deep breath: flipping down the hood of her outfit and letting her hair fall down, talking in her normal voice (trying not to note down the shocked looks of Bridget and Hook as they realise who she is) as she properly introduces herself as Red Hearts, whilst theatrically throwing off her mask.

The crowd goes wild. And Red is signed up to a music label that same night, choosing to carry on performing under her stage name.

Now... Onto Chloe's path to stardom!

Chloe grew up not wanting to be in the spot light (to the relief of her mother, a popular 80s riot grrrl, 'Cinderella'). Instead, she dabbled in multiple interests, and whilst she did have fun in her music lessons, she ended up figuring out how much she loved academics. So, she grew up happy and safely tucked away in a countryside estate (meaning she is quite sheltered, but that's something Ella and Charming were willing to deal with so long as she got a normal childhood). Chloe eventually figured out she wanted to become a historian, and started her journey towards that goal - but things didn't quite go to plan. Because the world of academics can be tiring and toxic at times, so once graduating with her diploma at 21, she takes a year out before thinking of applying to masters programs. To deal with her burnout she starts making music.

And she loves it. There's a spark there that wasn't present in childhood, and soon enough Chloe's writing songs and strumming on her guitar. But it's only a small passion so far, so she enters her masters program still set on becoming an academic, but to keep her spirits high she starts posting song covers and some original works on social media.

The next thing she knows she's got a loyal following and finding that maybe, music is something she wants to take more seriously. So she starts playing at a few small indie festivals, and she loves it. So in spite of her parents worried protests, Chloe drops out of her masters program and signs up to a music label, and she finds a gradually growing success over the next few years.

Now, a key plot point: Chloe and Red are signed up to the same music label ('Atlantis City Music Group' - ACMG for short).

There's excitement surrounding the artists ACMG keep signing on, and whilst there's success with touring each of the artists separately, the label decides they want to do something big to appreciate all their stars. So, they announce a world tour with all their singers/bands participating: going from place to place over 3 months of summer in order to host music festivals.

This is how Chloe and Red will meet... And the meeting doesn't go well.

They've been assigned to share a stage for most of the up and coming festivals, and as ACMG is funding it all, they're in the same accomodation/transport/rehearsal spaces/dining areas/etc.

They're still in the starting leg of the tour, and so as stages and stands are being set up in the opening festival of the tour, Chloe and Red are at their shared stage. Chloe's heading on stage for her rehearsal time, and Red is going off. And it's an understatement to say Red is in a bad mood that day; she's dealing with a few overeager fans/borderline stalkers (which she refuses to tell anyone about because she doesn't want people fussing over her, especially her mother) and her trusted friend and backup musician (Maddox) has his flight delayed, meaning she'll start her first performance of the tour solo.

So when Chloe tries to greet her, she's brushed off passive-aggressively. And, ouch. That stings, because Chloe is a fan of Red's work - and has been following Rebel Riot since her early stages of being an anonymous singer online. But whilst it stings, they're both 23 years old and shouldn't be immature enough to hold petty grudges. Chloe can handle this (she's going to be thinking about that one interaction at 2am for at least a month), and decides to just keep pushing forward. First impressions can be deceiving after all.

But as time passes, travelling occurs, and performances go on. And Chloe gets a second impression of Red. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth.

She doesn't need to wait to give a sixth chance to know she absolutely despises Red. Because Red is loud, impulsive, ignorant of others time, sarcastic, quick to frustrate, and a flirt.

And Chloe knows for a fact that Red doesn't like her one bit either.

In Red's point of view, Chloe is up tight, has an annoying need to placate others, sugar coats things way too much, and is a plain bore.

Because here Red is, forcing herself to stick to the trademark personality of Rebel Riot for the entire summer, whilst Chloe is getting huffy about when Red decides to extend her performance/rehearsal times by just a little bit so she can be perfect for her fans. She's here to sell a performance (something that will leave viewers reeling. Red's been one of the best in the game for years and she'd soon rather drive into a ditch than have the quality of her work decline) and live life to the wildest, and Red will be damned if she'll let some random girls judgement get in her way.

So, they carry on travelling and performing at festivals. They give off snippy remarks to each other, and try to one up each other in performance quality. Red will roll her eyes when Chloe comments about being tired at the end of the day (they all are, it's what they signed up for.), and Chloe will scoff whenever she hears about another person Red's left lovesick and 'heart broken'.

People stay clear of the bickering between the two. Because they have better things to do with their life. And also because there's a growing tension that everyone can feel building up (though Red and Chloe remain ignorant to it) and they don't want to be caught in the cross-fire.

...Then eventually, the worst happens: Red and Chloe are alone together.

It's a small, private jet with just the two of them as they travel to the European leg of the summer tour. There's stony silence. There's poorly hidden glances. There's teasing once said glances are called out. Then there's arguing.

They're in each others face, and it's like electricity is running through their veins with each spiteful word tumbling out. Red can feel Chloe's breath tickle her cheek with how close they are. Chloe's eyes are darting down to Red's lips (a habit she picked up weeks ago). And next thing you know both are silently praying that the flight deck is sound-proofed as they meet in the middle for a bruising kiss.

Once the flight lands, they're both just about presentable for cameras, murmuring excuses to go their separate ways as soon as possible.

They were a one time thing, a moment of weakness. They'll be able to go the next 2 months being perfectly professional. They don't care about what the other does. They don't think about each other at all.

All of the above doesn't hold true. Not in the slightest.

Soon enough, Chloe and Red find out the best way to maintain peace in their workplace and stop being a headache is to just carry on leaving each other breathless - It's a burning summer fling. Something superficial. Where Chloe has to painstakingly shrug on a denim jacket in the July heat to cover the scratch marks Red left behind on her back. Where Red has to aggressively rub away Chloe's tinted gloss off of her stomach before running onto stage. Where they both pull each other into hidden corners/rooms after getting jealous way too easily.

It's casual fun with a time limit.

But it feels a lot less casual the more things go on. Because when it's just the two of them, Red finally drops her trademark Rebel Riot personality and lets Chloe in to know her properly. And they start getting on (really really well). Red learns of Chloe's love for history and will listen to her rants for hours and hours. Chloe learns of Red's adoration for art, praising her sketchbooks contents.

And of course, when they learn the big things about each other, they're bound to start learning about the little things. Red's mind is a wealth of information about Chloe's little quirks and likes (and vice versa). Without knowing it, they're with each other more often than not on this tour (I'm thinking: late night drives on countryside roads singing along to the radio with the windows rolled down, stealing each others wardrobes, baking together, sneaking around in festivals when they're not on stage, having a constant back and forth dynamic on social media posts).

But the turning point for both of them, the moment when they realised that they were in danger, is when they start writing songs about each other. And, fucking hell. They write a lot of songs. There's piles of papers with lyrics about the other girl, which they keep private. Because in no way would they would ever want to share this.

So they carry on ignoring what is obviously going on. But cracks start showing in their friendship.

The jealousy gets worse (especially on Red's side, knowing Chloe tends to be oblivious of how charming she actually is). The need to be around each other is ever growing, deeming their clandestine meetings as insufficient to satiate their urge to be in each others presence (meaning they start hanging out publicly).

And then, there's a final thing that starts causing problems: Red's destructive habits. Because after all this time as Rebel Riot, Red is doing her damn best to keep up with the massive reputation she's created whilst she carries on improving her performance/impressing anyone. And this quest of hers is destroying her as she's taking it at a pace that is way too fast/idealistic to be healthy, but she can't help herself. She needs to be the best. She needs to prove to everyone that she's not weak. She needs to put on a front to show her parents that they were wrong for worrying about her starting her stardom young.

And at first it's 'small' things that Red is having issues with - she starts with skipping meals and sleep in order to practice/improve. But then that spirals and spirals.

Chloe doesn't realise Red's destructive habits until she's driving to a rehearsal studio, only to find out that Red had passed out when practicing a new dance formation earlier in the day. So obviously Chloe does the only logical thing: driving like a madwoman back to their hotel after she learns Red's been sent back to rest for the day. Chloe enters Red hotel room with her spare key (which somehow Red had acquired and decided to give to her) to find a startled Red.

Chloe goes on a miniature rant about how she'd like to know if something happened and how Red should really take care of herself. Because if she needs to start bringing Red breakfast everyday she goddamn will, and-

Chloe pauses at the sight of Red: sat on the hotel bed, straight out of a shower with a bathrobe on, a perplexed expression as if she wasn't expecting Chloe to be concerned for her well-being. But the thing that's stolen Chloe's attention? The mottled bruises all over Red's entire body. Bruises that Red had been hiding with mountains of expensive concealer.

After evading Red's typical responses to change the topic, it's revealed how badly Red's been pushing herself to perfect her performances. That her collapsing today was something mild in Red's mind.

With enough gentle questioning, Chloe gets enough of an idea of Red's state of mind and is the one to suggest that Red should pull out of the rest of the tour to take some time to heal/get help.

Red reacts very badly to this. Like very badly.

'Because she's perfectly fine and doesn't need fixing. Chloe just worries too much - and why should she care so much anyway? They're not that type of close to each other, its unnecessary and suffocating. Red's fine with committing to the the demands of being Rebel Riot as that's what makes her interesting enough for people to remain fans.'

Chloe is obviously furious Red is trying to push her away. And she's even more annoyed that Red can't see that she doesn't need to stick to the Rebel Riot persona, because Red Hearts is just as, if not more, likeable. There's no logical reason to why Red can't give up something that's causing her harm (and Chloe feels like she's being punched in the gut seeing the other girl like this).

They argue. And it's not like their previous conflicts. It's vicious and they're both saying things that they don't actually mean in the heat of the moment. And the next thing they know, what they have is over.

An hour after she entered, Chloe storms out of Red's hotel room. Both of the girls experiencing heartache. It's messy, and they're both back to how they were when they first met each other.

In fact, they're worse than they were before. Because, you guessed it! When there's anguish, more songs are being written. And this time, there's no lyrics about falling in love, instead there's quotes of what each other has said to the other, there's double meanings in the lyrics, there's rage.

And neither seem to quit it, because soon enough they decide to start playing some of these unreleased songs at the end of their set. And then there's glares being shot at each other from across the stage. There's arguing. And oh god, history repeats itself, because they're once again back together (in secret, of course). They can't seem to stay away from each other.

This time though, they are swearing to themselves that they're going to stay out of each others business. They'll only think about each other when they're with each other.

(They're the worst liars ever, because those self-imposed rules don't last more than 24 hours).

But still, Chloe and Red are in an odd place. More than friends, and less than partners. Red will have a reminder on her phone to remind Chloe to take her iron pills and she'll buy all of Chloe's expensive hair care to keep round hers. And Chloe will make sure to drag Red out to lunch everyday and will always be around to hold her at night (as Red seems to fall asleep a lot easier and earlier when she's in Chloe's arms).

But they don't talk about the elephant in the room. But it's getting harder for Chloe to ignore as she sees the tell-tale signs of Red withering away as the festival tour goes on.

And out of all the people Red keeps contact with, it's Maddox who has to point out the two of them are practically dating and to sort it out before everyone on set has to deal with another awkward week of them blowing up.

So... They talk. They have to.

And they don't get together.

Because Chloe highlights the fact that she won't be a bystander AND a girlfriend if Red keeps destroying herself. And Red doesn't want to say goodbye to her Rebel Riot persona. She doesn't want to admit it's time to let go and/or make a change.

They make it to the final week of the summer festival tour with ACMG, and they're pretty much acting like kicked puppies around each other. The cherry on top? Both their mothers are here to support them for their final show of the summer, and they can tell something has happened.

And have you ever told your mother about your summer fling/sort-of-nearly girlfriend/one that may have gotten away/the bane of your existence and the reason you get up in the morning? No? Well neither have Red and Chloe before, and they both feel like digging a small grave when they both end up doing so.

Both get information on why their mothers were so against them becoming celebrities when they first started off. And for Red, this incudes Bridget tearfully telling her daughter that she is so much more than what she can give to people. That she should live for herself and for the people she loves that love her back. And whilst she can't dictate what Red does, she really hopes that she won't make the same mistake she did decades ago.

A lot is going on in Red's mind when she goes up to be the closing act for the final show.

She goes through with her set, hears the cheers of her fans. And once playing her final song, she starts making her way off stage only to meet Chloe's eyes. Chloe who had been watching from the VIP section by the stage, in hopes to find some kind of closure or at least say goodbye. And Red knows what she needs to do.

She goes back, calling attention for one last song. The song she covers? One of Chloe's unreleased songs she had shared a few festivals ago. A song that was about the good in life and the joy she's found with Red.

Red's heard it only a handful of times, but she committed it to memory. And after performing the song, she's looking at only Chloe when she makes a large announcement.

She'll be abandoning her act as Rebel Riot for good. That she'll be taking a hiatus to have some time for herself and others that she loves before releasing new music under her own name, not a stage name.

There's mixed reactions in the crowd. But for the first time, Red doesn't care if she's disappointed her fans. Because Chloe is quickly making her way onto the stage, and she practically runs to Red. And before Red can whisper any apologies for the past, Chloe is bringing her into a kiss for all the world to see.

In that moment, they're only caring about each other. In that moment, they know they'll be okay and they're going to be able to work through this together.

[lewishamiltonluvr]

Skydiver!Lewis Hamilton x Skydiver!Reader AU headcannons

Warnings: MDNI 18+ Lewis is kind of an entitled asshole especially at first. Some smut including throat-fucking, p in v and dumbification mentioned

Word Count: 561 short but im working on longer stuff!

A/N: First actual post on here omg! Not sure if this is gonna be something you all are into BUT learning that Lewis is a skydiver meant the world to me. I grew up around skydiving and I'm working on getting my license, so that's where I cooked up this idea. I believe I'm gonna make this into a whole thing even if yall aren't super into it because I have a lotttttt of ideas for this one. If I should make a list of skydiving terms, let me know! A dropzone is where you skydive at and a ripcord is what you pull to deploy your parachute!

Skydiver! Lewis, who is known as one of the most impressive, well-renowned skydivers in the world with multiple world records, definitely did not appreciate seeing you, a newer but almost as impressive skydiver, walk into his dropzone.

At first, he just tries to ignore you. Sitting at one of the booths with his laptop, watching film from his group's last couple of jumps, studying their formations, thinking of what they could do next.

Of course you knew who he was, he had just gotten a world record and huge recognition for having more jumps under his belt than anyone else and previously held the world record for the largest flag jumped, now being beaten by you. But it’s Lewis, that won’t last for long.

Smiling from ear to ear once you noticed him, you walked up to him. Figured you could ask for some tips, if you want to be better than the best, you better get friendly with the best.

And goddddd does he look good.

His jumpsuit tied around his waist, a now very sweaty white tank top, altimeter around his wrist, his braids covering his face.

He looks up from his laptop and cocks an eyebrow at you

“Can I give you any tips?” he says sarcastically, almost mocking you “How about you stay away from my dropzone, stay away from my friends, and stay away from my world records.”

A bit shocked, maybe even a little hurt, you still stand your ground “Feisty, aren’t we? I can do the first two but staying away from your dz and your friends won’t stop me from being better than you. Age has to catch up at some point, don’t let yourself get washed up.” 

That’s ok. He may have not taught you anything, but he just gave you the motivation you need to be even better.

Flashforward to about two weeks later. You’re on your knees, Lewis fucking the living shit out of your throat on a broke down airplane in the repair hangar.

How'd you get here? Well let's just say Lewis does not enjoy competition and after jumping with you and watching you, he realized just how much competition he had.

So, he decided to take care of it the best way he knew how, making you so stupid and weak off his cock that you couldn't even pull the parachute ripcord if you tried.

Hand in your hair, shoving himself down your throat “Gonna make sure you remember where you stand compared to me. Gonna make you forget everything except how much control I have over you”

And he does, and lord he cannot shut up. You’re there for the next hour bent in positions you didn’t even think you could be in, he’s bent on this power trip.

Pressing a hand on your lower stomach while he’s ramming into you, admiring how wrecked you are “I wish you could see how pathetic you look. You wanna be the best but you can’t even handle the best” he pouts.

He’s doing everything he can do to make himself feel power over you, because you’re the first thing that’s ever made him question himself. Before you, he was confident no one could compare, he sure as hell didn’t think he’d be attracted to the one person that could be better than him, and he definitely didn’t think he’d start to love that person.

[nmakii]

I CANT HELP IT! IM SORRY but we know Al dies in his late 30s early 40s so we can assume he at least got to watch his kids grow up into young adults? What happens when Al dies and reader is “set free?” Only to figure out her children aren’t all who they seem to be? I can see reader’s son possibly becoming a corrupt detective/cop and perhaps her daughter gets into fashion or becoming a teacher? Im not sure what Emi’s future might be but im very curious on your thoughts!

UH OH, SHE’S LOSING HER CONTROL!

[hold up! read the rest of the story first!!]

— and when it seemed like there was no more hope, the monster of the house was slain.

and so, 12 years passed by like a breeze. despite being trapped in this hellhole called home, it was all worth it. for the children, all of it was worth it. noah, just 22 and he’s already a fine policeman, keeping the people in line. and the family treasure, emilia— aged 15, and yet a smart little girl. starting her own little farm outside, from cotton to potatoes, and keeping the family afloat. such wonderful kids, it’s a miracle alastor’s manipulations didn’t rub off on them.

1933, times were tough— the stock market crashed, the bank had failed, and everyone was living off of rations. thankfully, radios gained more popularity, and alastor had profited off of it, making sure his little family was fed with a roof over their heads— he seemed to not only enjoy the newfound wealth, but also the suffering in the streets... suitable for a monster such as himself. and while he worked, you and emilia had used the cotton from her farm to create and sell dresses, your own little effort to the community.

still, that didn’t change the hell that was outside your little safe haven. it wasn’t rare for young men to knock on your door, begging for work. and while your heart felt for them, it couldn’t change what alastor had in mind for them. he’d bring them in— down into the basement. and that very night, suddenly there was meat on the table.

you knew what he did, you weren’t an idiot. he gave you that man’s flesh. but, you did what you had to do. for the children, so that they’re well-nourished. and against your better judgement, you followed through, serving what seemed to be a steak. your husband seemed to love your ultimate submissiveness, one way or the other, you’d give into his ways. although it made your stomach churn, the very thought of eating the poor man, it was hard to live during these times, it was what had to be done.

and, it was why you let your children on a hunting trip with him. “little emi’s first trip! you excited, lil’ sis?” noah laughed, patting his sister on the head. “don’t do that, you’ll mess up my hair!” emilia frowned back. alastor laughed at the two as he held you by the waist, “oh, those two!” he mused, looking back to face you. “we’ll be home in time for dinner, my love. i love you so very much!” he smiled, kissing you all over. you hated whenever he did that— when he acted like he’d done nothing wrong, yet you didn’t fight back. what point was there to it? 15 years, and he’s managed to keep you in this house, there was no more use in fighting back.

“okay. just keep them safe, alastor.” you said as he pressed his nose against your’s. he smiled against your lips and laid onto you one final kiss. “don’t you worry your pretty little head, my dear. i’ll protect them with my life.”

and, that was the last time you saw him.

when your children came home, they looked frightened. “m..momma…” emilia whimpered. “oh, baby, what’s wrong? where’s dad?” you asked, running towards them to make sure they were safe. “…ma…” noah let out. “dad’s dead…” he said, ashamed to look you in the eye. “he’s… dead..?” you asked, dazed. “momma! i-i didn’t mean to!” your daughter cried, pulling you closer to hug. “you didn’t mean to..? emi, what happened?” you pulled your daughter far away enough to see her teary-eyed face.

“…i shot dad…” she said, hiccuping in-between words. your eyes widened at her words. “d-dad was on his knees in the dirt, so i thought he was a deer ‘n i shot him…” she explained, wiping her tears. “momma, i don’t wanna go to jail.” she cried out. “don’t worry, baby. you won’t go to jail. you didn’t mean to…” you kissed her on the forehead.

standing up properly, you looked your son in the eyes, wet as he tried to hold his tears back. “baby, i need you to show me where dad is, i’ll take care of it.” you said. “y-yeah, ok, momma… i’ll take you there…” he nodded his head. “emi, go prepare dinner while i’m gone. momma will take care of this mess.” you told her as she nodded her head.

when you arrived, alastor’s body was mangled beyond recognition, the only way you knew it was him was by the clothes he wore— it must have been someone’s hunting dogs, that means it’s possible somebody already discovered the body, and is headed to the police station. the only possible reason alastor could have been here and on his knees, as emilia said, must have been to dispose of a body. so, the ground beneath you must have a corpse. only the lord knows how many bodies alastor could’ve hidden here. but then, you had an idea.

but, first, you had to check. you dug the dirt below alastor’s body. and lo and behold, was the corpse of noah’s friend-turned-enemy, kenneth. “d…did dad kill ken..?” noah asked, afraid of the answer. “i suppose he did.” you said, frowning over your own answer. did the years truly turn you as heartless as him..? “now, noah… if you don’t want your sister to be locked away in a correctional facility, you’ll help me. understand?” you asked, speaking for the first time with a strict tone. “y-yes, momma…” he said as he pushed back in about 3 feet of dirt. he helped you lower his father’s mangled corpse into the grave, pushing back the remaining 3 feet of dirt.

“now, dear… i need you to head back to your station and see if any hunters reported a corpse in the forest, okay? and, make sure those police dogs you have sniff this area, so that they can find dad…” you said to him, explaining your plan. “yeah, okay, momma… i don’t want little emi going to jail…” he said. this was wrong, but it was to protect your family. for the children, right? you won’t let alastor ruin the family even in his death. if those cops found out that emilia killed alastor, they’d try to punish her for all of his crimes as well.

and with that, you returned home. and when noah came back, he returned triumphant. “they bought it, momma. don’t you worry, emi. no cops are gonna take you away. if they try, i’ll kill ‘em” he assured her, hugging his little sister as the weight on her shoulders fell.

this is good, right? even though it resulted in alastor’s death, all three of you are free from his manipulations. and, yes, you framed an innocent hunter— but, it was to protect the family. after all, you raised such wonderful kids, they don’t deserve to go to jail. they’re so kind, they’d dirty their hands for each other. and… that’s a good thing, isn’t it? they’re loyal to their family.

but then, the guilt finally started to settle in.

and it weighed on your shoulders when they finally lowered alastor’s casket into the ground.

1891 — 1933

loving husband and father

he will be missed by all who knew him

the monster was finally gone.