#like i have nothing against you people and i wish you all well. BUT. i am worried for you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pineapple-downside-up-cake · 13 hours ago

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I've gone a bit feral over the inexperienced Simon agenda. I'm also a little obsessed with the 'size kink but in the not-feeling oversized' post.

It was supposed to be short and dirty... Before I knew it there were 3k words. I don't even know if it's still smut or if it's just a sex scene, but it's being released into the wild, anyway. Enjoy!

18+, MDNI

CW: use of sex toy; inexperienced Simon Riley, mentions of weight insecurity

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There are no waifs in your family line.

Peasants, farmers, horses... a dwarf or nine? Quite possibly.

It's not that you're fat, per se.

You're just solid. A bulwark of a woman in a world that venerates the narrow-boned, slim sculpted beauty that was never in your cards.

You’ve had lovers in the past, not all of them terrible. A few with enough reciprocity even to prioritize your pleasure, and it’s not entirely their fault if you’ve deliberately put brains over brawns – your friends might point out that your type skews heavily towards ‘spindly legged nerds’.

It’s not so much preference as happenstance. These are the people you are around, the kind of men you can talk to long enough to form a basis for intercourse. And, you remind them as you remind yourself, intelligence and personality are supposed to be desirable qualities, as well. Things that matter more to a relationship than appearances.

But you’ve always been aware of the physical imbalances, always careful to balance your weight, to curb your strength and pleasure to avoid breaking your twiggy lovers. It wasn’t bad. Just…measured.

Restrained.

Restraint you wish you could cast unto the last guy you dated, who went all in that first night on the couch in his apartment, a night that has haunted your psyche since.

You’d lost your balance, landed a little too heavily – and the man had fucking laughed, letting out an uninhibited “crush me, mommy” that sent you running for the hills, feeling the least sexy you've felt since your last high school dance.

It put you off men for months, because how the hell does someone recover from that?

But when Simon - gorgeous, intelligent, you-are-the-brute-squad Simon fucking Riley - asks you out?

Well.

You say yes. Obviously.

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It was supposed to just be a kiss at the door.

A goodbye kiss - a good goodbye kiss, because a man with honey eyes like that deserved a little tongue in his farewell - but then you were eye to eye with him on the top step and his shoulders were just there like the only shelter you'd ever need, and of course you wrapped your arms around his neck, and suddenly your goodbye kiss at the door moved inside the door, then behind the door, and then against the door.

And you don't find yourself regretting it at all.

Kissing Simon is every bit as wonderful as you had imagined. His mouth is warm and wet and you love a man who knows how to use his tongue - not bullying, but teasing, and when he scrapes his teeth across your lip something explodes in your brain.

Kissing Simon is better than you imagined.

Your fingers curl in the back of his hair and you push yourself against his erection, suddenly wishing you were a lace and skirt kind of girl, that you didn't have two layers of denim between you, because you aren't sure you've ever been this turned on, and how good would it feel to have his warmth pressed all the way against you?

There's no way you could possibly get either pair of pants off, not without stopping, and that's not an option you're ready to consider, so instead you grip him tighter with your thighs and let the ache between your legs grow, fluttering around nothing and getting wetter by the second, arousal seeping out.

It's a kiss that last eternity, but not long enough, because soon Simon is pulling away when he should stay glued against you forever, and you reluctantly lower your legs from their new favorite spot wrapped around his waist. He rests a forearm on the wall next to you like he needs grounding or he'll fall apart without it, and you melt just a little, grateful that your legs still seem work. He drops his forehead to your shoulder, both of you quiet and gulping as you reacquaint yourselves with the taste of air.

"Fucking hell, you are..." He lifts his head to search your face like he's not quite sure it's real. That you're real. "You are all woman, aren't you?" His voice is hoarse, and you don't know if it's supposed to be a question because you were the last time you checked - granted it has been a while - but honestly what does that even mean?

His lips are plump and thoroughly kissed, glistening - by you, you did that - and you have to rip your eyes away to form a sentence.

"Do you want to stay the night?"

Simon had held you against the wall like you weighed nothing, like he didn't even have to think twice about your thighs in his hands, about strength and leverage and slotting himself perfectly between your legs, and you are so, so weak - if he decides not to stay the night, you have absolutely no shame in getting yourself off to the memory of this alone later.

You can see it in the way he forcibly pulls himself back, tension warring with responsibility, that he wants to stay. Instead you watch him coil his desire like he has to weigh anchor to get away from you.

"I've got to work in the morning. I - I should go."

And you let him go, because you can be disappointed but respectful at the same time, but you give him a hug - not another kiss, no starting that, neither of you fully yourselves again - and a smile.

"Goodnight, Simon."

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Returning to his graveyard of an apartment is hard. It's far emptier than he remembers it being when left a few hours ago. He hates that he left, but he really does have to get up early for an exercise with the recruits. And if it spared him a little longer, it wasn't such a bad thing.

You had felt right in his arms. Maybe even too right - you'd locked together like a scope to a well oiled rifle, flush and secure and so fucking perfect. He’d nearly come undone right there in your hallway, fully clothed like a teenager, and what an unimpressive end to the night that would have been.

He heads straight for a long, cold, useless shower, and does his damnedest to think about the logistics order. It’s midnight when he finally crawls into bed and sets his alarm for 0600.

Normally, Simon sleeps, if not well, at least on command – a side effect of military life. But he’s still thinking about what could have been fifty-seven minutes later, and he should have known better than to prolong the inevitable.

He's no stranger to an attitude adjusting wank. His palm isn’t particularly special or exciting, but it can usually get the job done well enough. Tonight, as he slides down the elastic of his sweats, he finds his imagination has returned with a vengeance.

He’s hard again and he hasn’t even touched himself.

He’d give anything right now to know what you felt like skin to skin. If your nipples were sensitive – if he could make you come with his mouth alone, or if you preferred top or bottom – is that something he’s supposed to ask about? He wants to find out.

His cock jumps in agreement and he surrenders, gripping himself haphazardly and picturing you.

Not intimidated by him at all. Eyes glazed and full of soft noises. The way your thighs fit into his hands and how you’d felt when he pressed up against you – were you wet? If he had stayed, if he had gotten to touch - would you have wanted him as much as he wanted you?

He thrusts into his hand almost involuntarily at the thought, thinking of you pliant and willing and gasping his name – and suddenly he’s short of air and stifling the mess with the bedsheet.

0100.

Fuck.

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When he comes over on Friday, both of you are a little shy - the afterimage from earlier very much on your minds. Quiet, deliberate, you sit together on the couch in silence, not moving towards each other, making stilted conversation about your day.

Eventually you give in.

"Simon..." It's not going get it out of your system - you can tell sex with Simon isn't a one time affair - but at least it would clear the air. "I have to be honest. The other night? That was basically the hottest thing that's ever happened to me." The confession is quiet, sheepish, and you can see him breathe a sigh of relief, big shoulders slumping back away from his ears - what did he think you were going to say?

"I can't stop thinking about it. I've been dreaming about jumping your bones all week. Do you want to go upstairs?"

Simon has never wanted anything more in his life. Not another magazine, or air support, or Soap to stop speaking in tongues. He chases you up the stairs, heart thumping in his chest like it's his first time.

It's not. He's had sex before - it's been a while (a long while), but he's not a virgin. It wasn't really good - he'd describe it as 'okay' sex, which makes him sound like a snob, but he has one of those inconveniently sized packages that require signature on delivery - too big for comfort for the women who were chasing burly soldiers like him.

Practically, it means your slow makeout session is...not so slow. Simon has your shirt off before you ever hit the bed, painting a path across your neck with his lips, and by the time you're comfortable, your pants have disappeared like you were never wearing any to begin with.

The only time he falters, hesitates at all, is when you finally wrap your hand around the bare length of him, everything exposed at last. He's got this look on his face like he's waiting for you to panic, the corner of his mouth turned up with a ready response.

You like a challenge, and while you won't tell him he exaggerated - he really, really didn't, you let him know you aren't scared off, either.

A cocky smile, and a spark in your eyes, you let him know how much you appreciate it. "I can take it. Or I'll die trying, which wouldn't be so bad, either."

It's amazing, that with all the blood in his engorged cock, that Simon still has enough left over to blush.

It's better, easier, especially this first time, with you on top, where you can control the pace, so you push at his chest (and what a chest it is - a bare hint of blonde fuzz, but mostly pecs you could eat and the cutest little man nipples you've ever seen.)

You have to pay for it with a kiss, but eventually Simon rolls over to his back, laid out for you in his full naked glory.

He’s not some narrow, stick figured man you cling to like a fire pole – wrapping yourself around Simon Riley is like wrestling a refrigerator, every inch of you spread wide to take him in. Your thighs nudge that much further apart and you can’t explain it but it brings a fresh surge of arousal – he’s got you split open and broken in half for him before he’s even in you.

And when he does - when he slots the throbbing head of himself against you, nudges in -

Your eyelashes flutter and you scrabble for purchase, nails biting into his chest as he slowly presses into you, savoring that first glide as he scrambles your brain.

There's no room for anything, any thoughts other than Simon, like he possesses your entire being, filling you with an exquisite stretch that makes you feel like you'll explode.

He’s not even doing anything special – this is sex at its barest, but it’s better than anything you’ve had before – the angle, the depth, knowing he could pick you up and flip you over without breaking a sweat.

"You are so obscenely hot. Do you know how good it feels to sit on you and not worry about breaking you?" You laugh breathlessly, because it's hard to find room for air when you're trying to relax around him.

He slides so easily in your slick, but your muscles fight it as you slowly sink deeper onto him, and you help as you much as you can, clenching and relaxing and adjusting a little at a time until there's nowhere else to go.

He moans, low and deep, clutching at your thighs - to make you stop or to make you keep going, he's not sure - and you can feel him twitch inside you. "Do - do you know how hot it is that you just....you took the whole thing? Taking my dick so well, I can't believe it."

His head drops back against the pillow, eyes shut like he's afraid he's dreaming, that if he opens them it may all end. But you're still there, looking at him like you're enjoying yourself.

You could spend all night here, speared on him, spread wide, filled to completion with his head hot and pulsing inside you, knowing you will be ruined for your stupid spindly men forever.

It takes a second for you even to think about moving, but eventually you inch your way into a slow glide.

Beneath you, Simon finds he can cant his hips just a bit, and your eyes really do roll back into your head which is fascinating so he does it again, and again, and your slow glide gets a little out of control -

You bounce and he thrusts and your rhythms are the perfect level of unaligned to have him slip out of you, catching the thickness of his head between your bodies on a hard downslide and suddenly he's lost, losing himself into the condom with a few jerks of his hips.

Ever a man of few words - a long, drawn out moan is all you get out of him, and you help him finish, as unsatisfying as it might be, with a few more rolls of your hips against where he's trapped, until he stills you with a hand to the thigh, spasming like he's been shocked.

Simon Riley, dethroned king of never p-in-v, has a new complex he'll never recover from. He drags your pillow over his face with both hands, like he would smother himself if he thought it would help.

“'M so sorry,” he mumbles from under the pillow. His chest and neck are flushing the most fascinating shade of red, and it’s so attractive – not to mention flattering – that you can’t imagine how anyone finds it in themselves to be offended.

Reassurance falls on deaf ears. You try, anyway, sliding off his softening cock as he shudders once more. “It doesn't happen all the time for women. I still enjoyed it.”

He hears you, but it’s wrong. It has to be wrong. Simon wants to learn how to make you come every time, possibly all the time, if you can stand it. Wants to see you shivering in ecstasy, mind full of nothing but him and how good he makes you feel.

If he could melt into the mattress and disappear, he would.

"I'll make it up to you," he promises, and you've no doubt about that. He seems like the kind of guy that takes commitment seriously.

Lying next to him, you pull the pillow gently away and nuzzle his neck, sliding a slow hand up his bare chest. He’s spent, limp and boneless. He should be basking in afterglow, and instead he looks miserable. Tormented.

What the hell, you’re a modern woman.

You roll half off the bed to snag something from the night stand and hold it up for his inspection. It’s a garish pink that hurts his eyes, but Simon can't look away. He understands what it is. Never seen one before, though. Definitely never seen it used.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little intimidated.

"Do you think you can hold on to me?" You dangle the vibrator from loose fingertips, and maybe you shouldn't tease him but you also need him to know it really isn't a problem - that A in B isn't the only way to have sex.

He finds it in himself to nod. His throat is tight and he wishes his body would respond to how badly he wants you, but despite his best attempts he remains limp. Dick dead to the world, and to you, and he almost wishes he could take a bullet, instead.

You straddle him again, supported by his knees behind you. It takes a little lift to get the angle right, but when you do the thick end of the vibrator slides in with no resistance. You know what you're missing, now, and it doesn't fill you nearly as well as Simon, but you smile at him because you can tell by the awed look on his face that you’re about to blow his mind.

You would be the first to admit it's not your usual strategy - this is a tactical vibrator, a high efficiency stress reliever that helps you sleep on restless nights. The thing has at least 10 settings and 3 intensity levels. You're only acquainted with two of those, but you know exactly how to make them work for you, and tonight that's what matters.

You guide one of Simon's hands to your hip, and the other to the button on the vibrator, and you hesitate - more bluster than confidence at this point, but he's got a way of making you feel like a sex goddess just by touching you with those hands that span half your ass, and you go straight to your favorite setting.

Convenient, that the slow ramp mimics exactly how you'd like to ride him, if he could last forever. The pulse burns through both of you, rumbling in his chest and sending lighting through your core.

His fingers splay across your hips, digging into the ample flesh, his torso so broad just straddling him takes you to a whole new level of arousal, and he helps you rock on the vibrator where it's pinned to his abs.

He's looking at you like you're the hottest thing he's ever seen, molten heat and promise in those dark brown eyes of his, and you can almost hear all the things he wants to do to you, and so you close your eyes and imagine it instead, imagine it's him you're riding, that you could watch him rut into you as careful, thoughtful Simon fucked you into oblivion.

"So good Simon, so close - " He doesn't understand why it's his name that escapes your lips - he's not doing much, just along for the ride, but somehow it makes him feel wanted and not like a dud.

Like he might still have a shot with you, that he didn't ruin this, and he's speaking before thinking for once in his life - "Give it to me, love, want to see you come."

It's enough. It's more than enough, tension rising in a flood and you need it now. Squeezing his flanks with your thighs, you lose all capacity for words, gasping for air, and you grab his hand and help him push the wand exactly where you need it until the heat rushes up and drowns you, making you shudder violently against him.

You have all of a half second before it becomes too much, and you nudge Simon's hand out of the way as you roll off him and yank out the vibrator in one go, flinging it over the edge of the bed, a problem for tomorrow.

You collapse facedown next to Simon like a ragdoll, gooey satisfaction still spreading through your limbs. It's silent except for the sounds of your breathing, and you sidle over to press up against Simon, to lay with your head on his chest.

He pulls you in tight, wrapping one of those massive biceps around your back, to comfort you or because he's afraid you'll disappear he isn't sure, but then you bite him, sink your teeth into the bare flesh of his pec - not hard, but it gets him out of his head.

"You're wonderful." You mumble, post-coital sleepiness coming in fast.

"You're...incredible," he whispers back. "That was... I don't even have words for that. Hell." He does have words, words like 'you're the best thing that's ever happened to me' and 'I only want to fuck you for the rest of my life', but he knows without being told that it is way too early for that.

Instead, the two of you fall asleep together, your leg tangled with his. When you wake up, he eats you out like he's never had a proper meal in his life, shows you with his mouth what he won't say yet.

You don't really need convincing, but you won't complain.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost smut #cod fanfic

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nemo-writes · 3 days ago

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⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; you uncover a hidden truth that forces you to take responsibility despite lingering resentment. as old wounds remain fresh, some refuse to give up on the hope of redemption.

⚠️ warnings; none

★ previous ; next

☆ story masterlist

The pack was quiet on the drive home, the usual hum of conversation replaced by a heavy, contemplative silence. The truck creaked softly as they pulled into the driveway, the weight of the day still clinging to them like a second skin.

Inside the house, they moved wordlessly, each finding their own corner to settle into. Ghost disappeared into the kitchen, his movements as silent as ever. Price leaned against the back of the sofa, his arms crossed as he stared at nothing in particular. Gaz sat in the armchair, his brow furrowed as though lost in thought.

Johnny paced.

The energy radiating off him was palpable, his restlessness a stark contrast to the subdued demeanor of the others. He’d been like this for weeks—ever since the fallout with you, ever since he had gone after you against your wishes and that bloody day at Konni's.

Finally, he stopped, letting out a sharp breath like a dam breaking. “Right,” he said, his accent thick with exasperation. “I’ve got somethin’, and ye need tae hear me out.”

Gaz looked up first, arching a brow. “This’ll be good,” he muttered dryly.

Johnny shot him a glare, but the effect was diminished by the nervous energy rolling off him. He grabbed his laptop from the nearby shelf, plopping it onto the coffee table before flipping it open. The glow of the screen lit up his face as he sat cross-legged on the floor, motioning for the others to gather round.

The laptop itself was well-used, the edges slightly worn from years of handling. A few sparse stickers adorned the surface—some band logos, a faded insignia, and one that made Ghost’s gaze linger for just a second too long.

A sticker from your apothecary.

The design was simple—your shop’s name in elegant script, accompanied by a small, hand-drawn sigil you had used in its early days. It had been from when you were first promoting the place, when you had excitedly handed them out, tucking them into bags of herbs and tonics for customers, pressing them into the palms of the people you trusted.

“I’ve been… thinkin’,” he admitted, his voice softer now, the words almost awkward in their delivery.

Ghost leaned in from the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest as his gaze moved away from the sticker to his pack mate. “That doesn’t sound good,” he said flatly, tone dry as a desert.

Johnny ignored him, pulling up several tabs and a folder he’d clearly been organizing for a while. “Look,” he said, turning the laptop so they could all see. “I’ve been doin’ a bit o’ research. On her coven. On the town. On… everythin’.”

Gaz frowned, leaning forward. “Why?”

“Because!” He snapped, exasperated but not angry. “I needed tae understand! If we’re ever gonna fix this—if we’ve any chance of fixin’ it—we need tae ken what we’re dealin’ with!”

He clicked through several images and articles, pulling up maps, historical records, and more. “The coven’s at the heart of everythin’,” he explained, his voice quickening with conviction. “The town that surrounds it? It’s no’ just witches. It’s humans, fae, and other folk, all livin’ together in harmony. The only condition is loyalty tae the coven.”

“Loyalty,” Gaz echoed cautiously, his brows furrowing.

Soap nodded, scrolling to a section about the coven’s rules. “Aye. Loyalty. And if they have daughters? The daughters serve the coven. That’s it. Otherwise, everyone’s welcome. They’ve built somethin’ there, somethin’ solid.”

Gaz shifted in his seat, his frown deepening. “Pledging loyalty to a coven’s no small thing, mate. There’s a reason my mum never did. It’s… a big commitment.”

Johnny glanced at him, then at the others, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

Price, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke. “She’s set to become the leader of the coven,” he said, his voice steady and deliberate. “And knowing her, I’d bet she wouldn’t see it as a burden. For us, loyalty to her would feel like a privilege.”

Johnny blinked, clearly taken aback by the certainty in his tone.

Price leaned forward slightly, his arms resting on his knees. “She already has it,” he continued, his blue eyes sharp. “Our hearts, our souls—everythin’. Despite what happened, I’d say we’re more certain about it now than ever before.”

A heavy silence followed his words, the truth settling over the group like a shroud.

Ghost, still standing in the doorway, finally spoke. His voice was low and even, but there was an edge of hesitation in his tone. “.....I’ll think about it.”

The others turned to look at him, but his gaze remained fixed on the room beyond, unreadable as always.

Johnny glanced back at his laptop, his fingers drumming nervously on the edge of the table. He’d expected more pushback, but the quiet agreement—or at least consideration—from the others left him feeling relieved.

For now, the conversation hung in the air, unfinished, as each of them retreated into their own thoughts.

. . .

The frustration simmered beneath your skin, as you paced the length of your studio. Sybil’s steady gaze followed your movements, her head resting on her paws where she lay curled by the hearth. She didn’t move, but the occasional flick of her tail was enough to show she was keeping close watch, sensing your turmoil as her own.

Laswell’s interference had gone far beyond what she’d claimed.

She’d framed Leah’s arrival as her getting closure—an opportunity to heal. But this? This was manipulation. She hadn’t sent Leah to you for closure. No, she’d sent her to you for salvation.

It had been subtle at first—the way Leah had faltered as König escorted her out of the manor. Her steps had grown sluggish, her face pale, and by the time she reached the threshold, she had nearly collapsed. König had caught her effortlessly, his broad frame dwarfing her frail figure.

Your Mom had stepped in immediately. She wasn’t alone—Horangi stood close by, his expression unreadable behind the tint of his glasses, hands folded neatly behind his back as he observed. Barghest loomed nearby, her keen eyes scanning Leah with quiet intensity.

You had stood at the edge of the room, arms crossed tightly over your chest, frustration barely contained as you watched with Sybil by your side.

It was when your Mom’s expression shifted—her brow furrowing, lips pressing into a thin line—that your heart sank.

“She’s not sick,” your Mom said softly, though her tone carried the weight of something far more serious. “Not in the way you think.”

Horangi adjusted his glasses slightly, his sharp gaze flicking to you. “It’s… different,” he murmured, his usual cool detachment laced with something more cautious.

“What is it, then?” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the tension.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking briefly to Leah, who lay unconscious on the bed, before returning to you. Sybil had risen slightly, ears pricking forward, sensing the weight of the moment.

Horangi exhaled heavily, his broad shoulders rolling slightly. “It’s changed her,” he muttered, his deep voice carrying a weight of finality. “Too much time with the parasite inside her—it left a mark.”

“The parasite was in her for too long,” your Mom added. “It left an imprint. She’s… not human anymore.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you stared at her, your mind racing to make sense of it. “What?”

“She’s not a magical creature either,” she continued, her voice tinged with something like regret. “She’s stuck in between. Whatever the parasite did to her, it’s irreversible.”

Barghest let out a low rumble, her gaze fixed on Leah’s prone form.

“Her body isn’t rejecting magic like a human’s should,” Horangi noted, his tone more thoughtful than concerned. “But it’s not adapting to it, either. It’s in stasis.”

“Which means she needs something to anchor her,” your Mom concluded. “Something strong enough to keep her from slipping further.”

Her fingers curled against the armrest of her wheelchair, her gaze steady on you. “If we want her to survive, she’ll need to stay close to a source of magic—something strong enough to anchor her while her body finishes assimilating.”

You hadn’t needed her to elaborate. A witch’s coven, your coven, was the only viable answer.

And that was when the full weight of Laswell’s intentions had hit you. She had known. She had known that Leah needed something more, something she couldn’t provide. And so she had sent her to you, knowing you wouldn’t let her die.

The memory of it made your teeth grind as you stopped pacing, your fingers digging into the edge of the desk. Sybil rose from her spot and padded over to you, pressing her warm, wet nose against your hand. The gesture brought you back to the present, grounding you even as the anger continued to churn beneath the surface.

Laswell had played her cards well, and now Leah was your responsibility—whether you liked it or not.

For now, you had set Leah up in town, close enough to the coven’s magic to keep her stable but far enough from the manor to give yourself some distance. The thought of her being any closer was still too much.

You exhaled sharply, leaning heavily against the desk as your frustration ebbed into something quieter, heavier. Acceptance.

Leah would stay—for now. But the resentment burning in your chest wouldn’t be so easily soothed.

Her visits were a different matter altogether.

No matter how often you told her not to come, how many times you snapped, glared, or outright dismissed her, she always returned. You made no effort to mask your irritation—if anything, you let it out freely, allowing your frustration to cut through your words like a blade.

And she took it. Every annoyed sigh, every sharp retort, every time you turned your back on her, she took it without complaint.

Still, she kept coming back.

At first, it felt like defiance, another way for her to wedge herself into a space where she wasn’t welcome. But as the days stretched into weeks, you realized it wasn’t that. She wasn’t fighting against you—she was enduring you.

As if she believed this was part of her punishment.

The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth, but it didn’t stop you from lashing out. When she brought books, you barely glanced at them before shoving them aside. When she tried to help, you found ways to make her feel in the way. When she lingered too long, you pointedly ignored her until she left.

But she never stopped.

“You need these,” she’d say, matter-of-factly, setting a book on magical contracts or ancient coven traditions on your desk with the quiet confidence of someone who belonged.

Sybil would watch from her usual spot, her dark eyes shifting between the two of you, as though waiting to see who would break first.

One evening, after another round of cold, clipped responses from you, Leah finally exhaled, pressing her palms against the desk as she looked at you properly.

“I deserve this,” she murmured, so softly that, for a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard her right.

Your temper flared again, ready to snap at her, but then you saw the way she held herself—shoulders stiff, chin tilted ever so slightly downward, as if she were bracing for another verbal blow.

The fight drained from you instantly.

You hated that she thought that. That she had convinced herself this was justified.

“No,” you said, quieter than you meant to. “You don’t.”

She blinked, but didn’t argue. She just nodded, accepting the statement as fact, but something in her shoulders eased ever so slightly.

You sighed and gestured at the treaty she had been reviewing, your frustration ebbing into something else—something closer to exhaustion. “What were you saying about the wording?”

She hesitated at the sudden shift but gathered herself quickly, sliding the document back toward her. Sybil stretched lazily near your feet, her tail flicking idly, as Leah pointed to a section of the draft.

“This part. The phrasing is vague—it could be interpreted in a way that gives your mother leverage later.”

You studied it, eyes narrowing. She was right.

“I didn’t expect you to be good at this,” you admitted, catching her off guard.

She laughed softly, the sound almost disbelieving. “I was studying to be a lawyer, remember? Before all of this happened.”

You nodded slowly, your gaze flicking to Sybil, who tilted her head slightly as if in approval. “I guess I forgot.”

Her expression softened, and though the distance between you both remained, it felt less insurmountable than before.

Little by little, the jagged edges of your shared history began to smooth. Slowly but surely.

. . .

The dimly lit bathroom was filled with the quiet hum of the electric razor in Ghost’s hands. He held it awkwardly, his fingers stiff around the handle as if it were a weapon he hadn’t been trained to use. Johnny sat on a stool in front of him, a towel draped around his shoulders, his unruly hair ready for the transformation back into his signature mohawk.

“Careful, big man,” Johnny teased, his thick accent carrying a playful edge. “I’ve got enough scars. Don’t go addin’ tae the collection, aye?”

Ghost let out a quiet grunt, tilting Johnny’s head slightly to one side as he began shaving the sides of his head. “Keep still, or you’ll get what you’re askin’ for.”

The clumsiness in Ghost’s hands was deliberate—Johnny had insisted on his help for this reason alone. It wasn’t about precision; it was about the time spent, the bond shared in this one quiet moment.

For a while, they worked in silence, the razor buzzing and the occasional clump of hair falling to the floor. But Johnny wasn’t one to let silence linger too long.

“So,” he began casually, his tone light but probing. “Gonna tell me what’s got ye tied up in knots?”

Ghost didn’t answer immediately, his focus seemingly fixed on the next section of Soap’s hair.

“C’mon, Simon,” Johnny pressed, his voice softening. “We all know somethin’s eatin’ at ye. Let it out, mate.”

Ghost exhaled slowly, his hand stilling for a moment before resuming its work. “It’s nothin’,” he muttered.

Johnny snorted. “Aye, and I’m a bloody unicorn. Try again.”

There was another long pause, the weight of it growing heavier with each passing second. Finally, Ghost set the razor down on the counter and leaned against the sink, his gloved hands gripping the edge tightly.

“I’m afraid,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Johnny turned in his seat, his gaze searching Ghost’s face, even though the mask hid most of his expression. “Afraid of what?”

Ghost stared at the wall in front of him, his shoulders tense. “Of what I did. Of what I could’ve done. That night…” He trailed off, his hands tightening around the sink. “I don’t remember much, but I know I hurt her. Sybil too.”

His voice cracked slightly, and he shook his head. “She’s our bird, Johnny. Our jewel. My everythin’. And the thought that I… That I could’ve—”

Ghost broke off again, his jaw tightening. “She’s not the same anymore. She’s cold now. Frigid. And I can’t help but think it’s my fault.”

Johnny’s usual light-hearted demeanor softened as he listened. He reached up, clapping a hand on Ghost’s arm. “Simon,” he said gently, “ye messed up. Aye, ye made a mistake—a big one. But we all did, mate. It wasn’t just ye.”

Ghost glanced at him, his eyes shadowed and unsure.

“And maybe this was the wake-up call we needed,” Johnny continued, his tone more serious than usual. “We were treatin’ her like she was somethin’ fragile. A wee thing tae keep safe and warm and away from the world.”

He shook his head, a rare note of wisdom shining through. “But she’s not that, Simon. She’s her own person. Her own beauty. And it’s about bloody time we showed her we see that. That we respect it.”

Ghost stared at him, the weight of his words settling over him like a heavy cloak. “And what if she doesn’t forgive us?” he asked quietly.

Johnny grinned faintly, his usual cheekiness returning for a moment. “Then we keep tryin’, big man. ‘Cause if there’s one thing she’s taught us, it’s that we’ve got tae earn it.”

The razor buzzed back to life as Ghost picked it up again, his hands steadier this time. Johnny straightened, letting him finish the job, a small smile tugging at his lips as the tension in the room began to ease.

For the first time in a long while, Ghost felt something close to hope.

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phantomyre · 9 hours ago

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Before Vincent could prevent Lucrecia from touching Sephiroth, the silver-headed male deflected as though he had been touched by a burning torch. It was painful to behold, yet it wasn’t surprising to the gunslinger. Lucrecia flinched painfully when Sephiroth pulled away from her, simultaneously shocked by Jenova’s invasive thoughts. This caused Lucrecia to cry out and drop to her knees, gripping her head, the tears resuming their stream. Vincent immediately joined her side and held her close to his chest.

It was no use… “Sephiroth…” Lucrecia’s trembling voice was hardly anything more than a whisper as she buried her face against Vincent’s cloak, her tears staining the red velvet garment. Any hope she might have had to rejoin with her son had faded, and Vincent could feel it in her voice. “Lucrecia,” The gunslinger whispered, an equal amount of despondency in his own voice. “I shouldn’t have… perhaps I was wrong to…” The mournful mother trembled, but she managed to lift her head and look up at Vincent. She shook her head and seemed to realize how she had pushed Vincent away the entire time ever since Sephiroth had appeared. He chilled trembling fingers lifted and caressed Vincent’s face, aiding him to look at her. “N-no… no. Don’t be. You’ve done more for me than anyone. This…” She slowly turned to look towards Sephiroth, the painful knot in her throat swelling up, but she swallowed it back with much effort. To hear her own son tell to not touch him, and to treat her like some sort of disease… she understood. “…This was all my doing,” Lucrecia finished, her eyes directed at Sephiroth as she spoke to Vincent. “I’m the one who…” The words of Jenova once again rang in her head. Your every move… only damages him further. Tears poured down silently down both her cheeks. It was all true. There was nothing she could do to change what had happened. She knew he had been bred and raised to own a mighty power. At the time, she had thought Jenova to be an ancient, but as her time at Shinra came to a close, she realized who the alien was and what her son would become. And there stood the product of her choice—a weapon who would be wielded against the planet. Vincent had been kept in the dark. He had tried to stop her, but she had not only closed her ears to his pleas, but also chose to disregard the well-being of her child for the sake of science. This was her reward for her crimes. Bereft of a child she didn’t deserve… and one who would never see her anything but a monster. Lucrecia’s thoughts were once again diverted towards her son; her ears ever keen to his movements and his voice. His request made her fall silent. Though Vincent knew her asking Sephiroth was an invitation for issues, he was surprised to see her face looking as though she were weighing Sephiroth’s wish. The gunslinger searched Lucrecia’s face and gripped her shoulders as if to gently bring her back to reality. But he was once again ignored, and Lucrecia slowly stood up, Vincent following her movement as he too stood up, eyes locked upon the back of her head as she faced Sephiroth. “Sephiroth,” Lucrecia’s voice softened, this time keeping a respectful distance from him, letting him know she wouldn’t attempt to get close again. “…I understand. The people have wronged you. And this world sees you as a monster.” She lowered her head, her hands clasped over her chest as she continued softly. “You want closure… an end for those responsible for your suffering.” A tightness seemed to take hold of Vincent’s chest when he sensed what she was doing. “…I may not be able to fulfill all of your wish, and I know I cannot mend your heart. But…” She stood up straight, slowly holding her hands up towards him as if she were gifting him something in her hand. She then slowly opened her arms wide, the cold breeze flowing through her silk dress and soft tresses. “But if it will give you any sort of peace… I’m here for you.” Vincent’s eyes widened in horror. “Lucrecia?!”

Distraught, Vincent could only watch as Lucrecia fought Jenova in her head. It felt like the same nightmare playing in front of him. The only difference was there really wasn’t anything he could do to spare Lucrecia from Jenova. His words had gone unheeded, and while she fought the alien, Vincent tried to maintain whatever was going on with Sephiroth as well. He could tell Sephiroth’s patience was running thin, but he also detected that hopeful curiosity. It was now or never. But it was all up to Lucrecia, now.

Try as she might, Lucrecia couldn’t ignore the voice in her head. “I was wrong… horribly wrong,” The sorrow-filled woman shuddered at Jenova’s words, feeling every jab like a dagger to the heart. “I didn’t know that I would… I never wanted to hurt anyone. I wanted him to be happy, and be a part of the powerful people of Cetra. But I…” Vincent glared, having never heard Lucrecia’s confession in such a manner, but knowing it all to be true. He had witnessed everything and how she had spurned his warning. Nevertheless, he wasn’t guiltless either. There within the cave stood two individuals who could have spared Sephiroth’s life—the only ones who had some humanity, knowing right from wrong—Lucrecia and Vincent. Hojo was beyond deranged, and any bit of humanity in him was reserved for himself and no one else. Sephiroth had every right to not trust either of them. And at this rate, Vincent knew Lucrecia’s cries were falling on deaf ears. As Lucrecia began to explain the past to Sephiroth, Vincent watched Sephiroth’s expression with keen interest, marking anything he said or did. Though Sephiroth gave little visual queues, Vincent knew the silver-head’s mind was reeling. “I tried, Sephiroth… I truly did,” Lucrecia practically begged, not knowing how else to tell Sephiroth the dire situation that had forced her from him. “They wouldn’t let me anywhere near you.” She tensed her fists and looked away, a mixture of frustration and agony written all over her face and in her voice. When Sephiroth made mention of ending his life, her eyes widened and she turned looked up at Sephiroth, her eyes filled with sympathy and sorrow. He desired death… her beautiful son… It tore her heart to pieces. Tears streamed down her face. “Sephiroth…” Her motherly instincts could no longer be contained, and she pulled herself from Vincent’s grip, leaving him dumb-founded and worried for her safety. Her child was suffering. He had been suffering for too long. And even if every logic told her it was far too late, she didn’t care. She stopped just within arms reach of Sephiroth and looked up at her son, seeing no one but him. “…I knew there was no way to spare you, Sephiroth. Not only had they kept you out of my reach, but the Jenova cells—they…” She choked back as she continued to answer Sephiroth. “They wouldn’t allow you to die, and neither would they let me. But how could I kill an innocent child? I thought perhaps I would run away with you, but they took you from me.” She looked away from Sephiroth, trying to calm herself and restrain herself from hugging him. “Sephiroth…” She slowly turned her eyes up to him again, tenderness in her glittering pair of hazel colors. For several moments, she simply looked at him, admiring him with a motherly interest. Slowly, her soft hand reached up and caressed Sephiroth’s face, her touch warm and tender. “…You’ve suffered enough because of me.” Vincent watched intensely, torn between pulling her from Sephiroth and allowing her the moment she had dreamed of. What terrified him the most was the shift in her voice. There was a strange sense of resolve; the fear, the sorrow… it had melted away the moment she had chosen to step forward. “Lucrecia…?” “…What do you wish for the most, Sephiroth?” Lucrecia continued to speak. “Whatever I can do to ease your pain… I’m here for you.” The implications made Vincent’s heart stop. “The hell are you saying?” But he knew what she meant.

#.Cycle of Suffering #aonemanarmy #Phantomyre Roleplay #ff7 roleplay #roleplay #rp #tw: suicide implications #((amplifying the angst to a 10

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slytherinshua · 2 days ago

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➷　CUPID SOCIETY PT.2　( 엔시티 위시 )

summary . . . nct wish maknae line as cupids in training!!

genre fluff , cupid au , headcanons , nct wish maknae line x reader cw ryo is a menace™️ as usual , food mention , cheek kiss in saku's , not proofread wc 946 request no note so apparently my brain got to work faster than i expected hehe so here's the maknae line ones!! hyung line version here net @kstrucknet @chrimatanet

KIM DAEYOUNG ﾐ 김대영

there aren’t many cupids on campus that use their magic through music

although a long-lasting form of love spells were through song, there’s barely a single cupid who knows how to perform the type of magic

daeyoung is one of the few still fascinated by the form

through the rich notes of a song or the gentle tone of notes on a piano

when done just right, one’s magic could flow through the music

and love could blossom forth right from the song

while other students focused on the accuracy of their arrows, brewing new potions, or cooking their magic into new recipes, daeyoung is cooped up in the music room

there’s only one piano left in the school

one that had been around and preserved for generations

whenever the boy plays it, he can feel the lingering magic of many cupids before him

the ability to charm anyone who heard his song

the satisfaction it brings to hear such beautiful melodies produced through the keys and his magic flowing in harmony

it captures daeyoung’s very soul

the music room soon became his

all the teachers know he is the only student who ever plays the piano

the only one who ever spends time in the old room

while the campus is teeming with young rambunctious cupids, there’s one quiet boy who keeps to himself and his music

but one day as he’s on his way to the piano after lunch, his usual routine, he hears the melody of a song from the end of the hallway

curious, daeyoung creeps closer

he’d never met another cupid who played an instrument

but as he peers through the window of the room, he sees you seated at the piano, picking out a simple melody

and there he stays, listening to you play

a smile growing on his face and his heart starting to pound unknowingly

maybe song magic wasn’t as forgotten as daeyoung had thought

and maybe he was starting to feel the effects of such magic on himself

HIROSE RYO ﾐ廣瀬遼

ryo has a reputation at the cupid society

he’s the master trickster, the ultimate jokester, the unrivaled menace on campus

and you? you’re his famed sidekick

best friends, inseparable, and equally as known for getting into trouble

there’s nothing ryo loves more than to see the teachers get headaches from all his shenanigans

and the best part?

you and him always seem to get away with it

with your quick wits and unlimited connections through students, you have your ways of gaining endless entertainment

with all the cupid magic around, it’s a given that the young students around will want to explore their abilities

and after seeing some of the more experienced cupids make people fall in love with them at will, you decide you also want to try

ryo gets in on it as well and it becomes a friendly competition with a bet on the line

who can make someone fall in love with them with their cupid magic first?

although the idea is simple, the process proves difficult for ryo

especially with his beginner cupid magic, still in his second year of training

his spells go wrong, his potions blow up in his face, and his arrows all seem to miss

but he’s not one to give up yet

the entire school has heard about the bet by now

with everyone on their guard it becomes even harder to find someone to make fall in love with him

each student he approaches just dismisses him

and the amount of protective charms against love cast around him is off the charts high

maybe he just needs someone who doesn’t expect it

so ryo decides that he’ll make you fall in love with him

and it seems like his plan was genius

you, totally unsuspecting, fall right into ryo’s love magic

the boy wins the bet and the secrets to love all in one day

FUJINAGA SAKUYA ﾐ藤永咲哉

within the first week of his attendance this boy somehow manages to get multiple love bites snuck into his food

the effects of them upon consumption were immediate

except usually when one eats a love candy, their feelings manifest for a single person

the problem sakuya has is he has no idea who he is in love with

he ate too many at once

the symptoms are there: the racing heart, the flushed cheeks, the stammering, the butterflies

he feels like he’s in love but the feelings aren’t associated with anyone at all

you, being sakuya’s close friend, have no choice but to search for a solution to his problem along with ryo

with a little research from the library, you diagnose sakuya to be lovesick

overdosed on love candies and now the symptoms are overwhelming, refusing to go away

and while it was a funny turn of events at first, it gets tiring fast

especially to saku who would do anything to get his heart to stop racing all the time :(

you and ryo decide to try possible cures

from solitary confinement to trying to get sakuya to actually fall in love, nothing seemed to work

until one day when you had a brilliant idea taken straight from all the classic old fairy tales

a kiss

ryo, of course refusing to kiss his best friend, throws the task to you while sakuya sits there flustered the entire time

you muster yourself to press a kiss to his cheek

you didn’t expect it to work, and neither did ryo or sakuya

but the indicators of his condition seem to slowly fade away

not completely, but at least to a manageable amount

the new problem is, now sakuya can’t stop thinking about the kiss

nct wish taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @lexeees,, @nyukyusnz,, @planetkiimchi,,

@haecien,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @hursheys,, @mjupis,,

@lilly-cherry7,, @kpopandbookschild,, @taroddori,, @lexeees,, @voikiraz,,

@xikskrrrs,, @cupidslovearrows,, @yvshi

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hughesybear · 3 days ago

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Max Sasson just did an interview with Brandon Astle (Abbotsford Canucks commentator)! Highlights include:

Saving the menus from the plane rides

His reaction to the trades and his friendships with the players

Speaking on Quinn's leadership and talking to him after the loss in Edmonton

Full transcript below the cut:

Astle: Well Max, your first game back in Abbotsford after a lengthy run with the big club back in Vancouver, what was it like to be back around the guys and another home game for you here?

Sasson: Yeah, it was super fun seeing everyone this morning. Some of my best friends are on this team, and a lot of them I talked to regularly when I was up, so they were all great. It was unfortunate that we lost on the first night back, but I’m just looking to come back and hone in my game and get better at stuff they told me to work on here, and hopefully get called back up at some point and help the team win.

Astle: We don’t have to talk about the loss about Calgary, it is what it is, I’m more curious about you and your experience in Vancouver. Take us through the whirlwind two and a half months being in the big leagues, that must have been so cool.

Sasson: Oh, yeah, it was a dream come true. The excitement never really ever - every single game, it felt like it was still - the lights were bright, and I had to pinch myself especially playing against some of the best players in the world. Crosby and Ovechkin, I was literally seven years old watching them play. That was the real moment in my second game I think, when Sid was going back for a puck and Letang was yelling “Sid, you got time, you got time,” and I’m like “Wow. This is insane.” These are two guys that I was literally a little kid just admiring them and crying ‘cause the Red Wings lost to them in the Stanley Cup. But it was an awesome experience, so yeah. Hopefully get back.

Astle: Would you say that was your “welcome to the NHL” moment or is there another one that stands out?

Sasson: That one was the one that sticks out for me. I mean, playing against Ovi, when he has this whole - you’re not really watching him during the warmup, but you kind of are, since he kind of holds that much stature, so seeing him just up close and personal, that was pretty cool. But yeah, Crosby, Malkin, Letang, these guys, that was my “welcome to the NHL” moment for sure.

Astle: And getting your first NHL goal a future Hall of Famer is pretty cool too, in Andrei Vasilevsky-

Sasson: No, no, no, it was Boston.

Astle: Oh, was it Boston? Oh, sorry!

Sasson: Yeah, I was like “wait, is Swayman a Hall of Famer?”

Astle: Could be, could be! But the one thing I just wish was that game was a little closer so that you could have that big celebration, what were you guys down, five-one or something?

Sasson: I know! Five-nothing, yeah.

Astle: And you had to have a subdued celebration, but was that tough not to jump out of your skin? Like, you just scored your first goal in the NHL!

Sasson: Yeah, it was tough. Obviously I was super fired up on the inside, and honestly the guys were really fired up. I had some guys come up to me like “hey, you can smile. It’s your first NHL goal, at the end of the day you’re not going to remember the win or loss, it’s the fact that you scored in the NHL.” I’ve never been a guy, though, that’s gonna - I’m always just trying to think about winning. But obviously it was awesome, right? And it was assisted by Millsy, who’s a good friend of mine, and he picked up the puck right away. It was pretty cool.

Astle: I imagine, playing in your hometown - you told me you grew up not too far away from Little Caesar’s Arena [the Red Wings’ arena], you mentioned you were heartbroken when the Penguins beat the Red Wings in Game 7, that must have been a surreal feeling seeing how many people were coming to watch your first game in Detroit.

Sasson: Yeah, it was almost overwhelming. Obviously that was a moment I’ll never forget, playing in Detroit and seeing - there were so many people there in warmups when I was just skating around, and taking it all in. Even just playing against the Red Wings, the team that I grew up idolizing, that was really cool. I think the person that had the most fun was probably my dad [laughs]. He said it was the best day of his life. So yeah, that was awesome.

Astle: What’s the best perk about being in the NHL? You hear about a lot of things, what was something that really lived up to the hype, could be travel, accommodations, per diem, the meals on the road with the guys, or just anything at all, what really stood out?

Sasson: What stood out probably was the plane, the plane rides. Just going right to the plane, hopping right on, we have great flight attendants up there. I saved a bunch of the menus that they have because I couldn’t believe that I was living this life of, you know, eating steak on the plane and stuff. So that was probably the coolest thing for me. And I asked some of the guys, I was like “do you just get used to this?” And they were like, “Yeah.” I was like “I can’t imagine,” cause I would stare [?] every single time I got on that plane. You just had pretty much whatever you wanted to eat or drink, that was really cool.

Astle: And if you don’t mind, Max, just take the fans through what it’s like to get the bad news that you’re coming back to Abbotsford, if you don’t mind sharing, a bit of a loaded question. Where were you, who tells you, what do they tell you to work on, how does that call or text go down?

Sasson: So yeah, I talked to - Patrik called me, the GM, I think when we were about to play Nashville, and he let me know I might be coming back, and then the next day he told me I was flying back. Obviously, it sucks, right? It’s tough to hear, but there was a lot of positives they gave me, and Yogi Svejkovský, the assistant coach up there, had a great PowerPoint with a bunch of video from pretty much almost all of my games. He had probably fifteen positive clips and fifteen negative clips, and probably ten clips of other guys that I could maybe see myself in their role at some point. It sucks, but at the end of the day I’m where my feet are, and I want to get better every day and help this team win, and help myself get back to the next level.

Astle: And another tough part of the business, Max, is the trades. Six players getting shipped out of the Vancouver organization, and I’m sure a couple of them you grew a close bond with, these last two and a half months. What goes through a player’s head when you see stuff like that, and did you find out just like everybody else, through online and on phones and on Twitter, stuff like that?

Sasson: Yeah, I honestly just - before the game, I had some texts saying J.T. got traded and they said there were prospects involved and other players involved, and obviously I got to the rink and I saw Bränny wasn’t playing for us tonight. He’s a great guy, and worked hard, and played really good hockey for Vancouver and played really good hockey for Abbotsford, so it’s tough to see him go. And after the game, I hear that Vincent Desharnais and Danton Heinen, two of honestly my closest buddies on Vancouver - I wish all of them nothing but the best, but that’s the business we’re in. Every team is trying to get better, and it makes sense. Pittsburgh's thinking they got better, and Vancouver's probably thinking they got better. So it’s the business we’re in, and it’s tough. And this is honestly my first real time where I’m like “wow, that sucks, these are good guys.” So, we’re human, but yeah. You gotta move on, and I’m sure the guys coming are gonna be hopefully good people as well.

Astle: What about Quinn Hughes? Talk about a guy that’s honestly probably the best player in the league right now, who you got to see on a day-to-day basis, what’s he like in practice, off the ice, what separates him from the rest?

Sasson: His confidence is unmatched, I think. Just with the puck, you know, not - I wouldn’t say cockiness, but confidence, and knowing “you can’t contain me.” Like “I am gonna do what I want.” And it shows, right? From my first training camp here, I said that he is an X-factor, and just from then he’s been taking off. And off the ice he’s a good leader, helped me - we had a tough loss against Edmonton, [he] came over on the plane and talked to me and hyped me up, and let me know what he sees and how I can help the team. And then obviously on the ice, yeah, he’s in my opinion the best defenceman in the world, and top probably three or five player in the league right now. He controls the game, and I always joke he wakes up with two points ‘cause it seems like every single game, no matter what happens, he does his thing, which is what Tocc’s always saying, “Huggy does his thing,” because it’s true. So he’s incredible.

Astle: And what do you make of your old Abbotsford roommate, Marc Gatcomb - you got your first NHL goal, and now he got one this week, what went through your mind when you saw that one come across the wire?

Sasson: Oh, yeah, I know! I figured it was only a matter of time. I guess he’s been playing really well, I haven’t been able to watch too much of it, but I’ve seen some clips. I always knew he had NHL ability with his skating, and he does things that not many people can do, where he can fly, he can hit, and coaches love that. So it was great to see, I’ve talked to him many times about - he was asking me for advice when he first got called up, and I couldn’t be happier for him. And now it’s pretty cool, ‘cause now me, [Aiden] McDonough, and Gats, we were roommates, we all have NHL goals, so it’s pretty special.

Astle: And Aiden’s having a pretty good year in the AHL as well, hopefully he can get back to the NHL.

Sasson: Yeah, he works super hard, and he’s an even better guy, so I wouldn’t be surprised.

Astle: Well Max, this has been great catching up, great to see your success in the NHL. Hopefully you can come down here, do your best, and you’re back up with the big club in no time! Thanks for your time, buddy.

Sasson: Thanks for your time, yeah.

#endearing as always #his voice when he said 'wow that sucks' :(#max sasson #vancouver canucks #nhl #auriel:media #canucks roundup

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loverslantern · 3 days ago

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The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: John realises where the demon will strike next so they head there to stop the next killing.

Warnings: Cannon violence

Word Count: 4.6k

Salvation

(Masterlist, Previous chapter, Outfit Board)

The room is filled with John’s research. The walls are covered with post-its, pictures, newspaper articles, weather charts, and hieroglyphics all about the yellow-eyed demon. There are papers strewn across the desk with the Colt and shelves of hefty books lining the walls. “You know to anyone else this would look like a psychotic break,” I think aloud, examining the wall of information. “Well—”

“Whatever stupid comment you’re going to make, don’t,” John cuts me off. I make a face he cannot see, mocking him.

“This is it,” he continues. “This is everything I know. Look, our whole lives we’ve been searching for this demon right? Not a trace, just…nothing. Until about a year ago. For the first time, I picked up a trail.”

“And that’s when you took off,” Dean concludes. He hasn’t stopped pacing since we got here.

“Yeah, that’s right. The demon must have come out of hiding, or hibernation.”

“Alright so what’s this trail you found?” he asks.

“It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California. Houses burned down to the ground,” he explains. “It's going after families, just like it went after us.” “Families with infants?” Sam asks, leaning against a counter. “Yeah. The night of the kid's six-month birthday.” “I was six months old that night?” “Exactly six months,” John echoes. “So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for me? So Mom's death...Jessica. It's all because of me?” “We don't know that Sam,” Dean defends. “Oh really? Cause I'd say we're pretty damn sure Dean,” he bites back. “For the last time, what happened to them was not your fault,” Dean says, his voice lined with frustration. “Right. It's not my fault but it's my problem,” he shouts. “No, it's not your problem it's our problem!”

“Okay. That's enough,” John commands, standing abruptly. Immediately they stop, backing down as they take breaths.

Sam breaks the momentary silence. “So why's he doing it? What does he want?” It’s an almost impossible question especially when one will never be good enough, it doesn’t bring people back nor make you understand. The most it can give is a direction on how to stop it if that. “The answer can range from chaos junky to wanting an army,” I answer.

“I wish I had more answers, I do,” John adds. “I’ve always been one step behind it. Look, I’ve never gotten there in time to save…” He looks down with a frown on his face. “Alright, so how do we find it..before it hits again?” Dean asks. “There are signs. It took me a while to see the pattern but it's there in the days before these fires; signs crop up in an area. Cattle deaths, temperature fluctuations, electrical storms. And then I went back and checked...and…” “These things happened in Lawrence,” Dean finished.

John nods, “A week before your mother died. And in Palo Alto...before Jessica. And these signs, they're starting again.” “Where?” Sam asks “Salvation, Iowa.”

********

The roads seem endless as we head to Iowa; land stretching for miles. John's black truck leads the way through countless hours and misty roads until he suddenly pulls off onto the shoulder. Call it a learned habit or whatever else; either way we exit the Impala with haste, meeting a distressed John outside his vehicle. “God damn it!” he curses, kicking the dirt by his tires.

“What is it?” Dean asks.

“Son of a bitch!” he curses again instead of answering.

“What is it?!” he tries again.

“I just got a call from Caleb,” he explains.

“Is he okay?” Dean asks, worry on his face.

“He’s fine. Jim Murphy’s dead.”

“Who’s Jim?” I ask. I know the Winchesters have many connections, yet it still surprises me how many they do have, especially when my father had little to none. I think he only had John by the time he married Mom, and that was really only an ‘I owe you.’ Turns out no one wants to keep in touch or be friends with the guy who married a Witch. “He’s a Pastor that would look after us sometimes,” Dean explains. It comes back to me a little: Sam mentioned calling Pastor Jim for information on their father months ago, and Dean telling me memories long ago in the faint autumn sun.

“How?” Sam asks.

“His throat was slashed. He bled out,” John answers. “Caleb said they found traces of sulfur at Jim's place.”

“A demon,” Dean concludes. His father nods. “The Demon?”

“I don't know. ‘Could be he just got careless, he slipped up. Maybe the demon knows we're getting close.”

“That doesn’t sound like something he would do though,” I chime in. “Why suddenly change the pattern even if he does think you’re getting close?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do we do?” Dean asks. “Now we act like every second counts. There are two hospitals and a health center in this county. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week,” John orders. “Dad that could be dozens of kids. How do we know which one's the right one?” Sam points out. “We check ‘em all that's how. ‘You got any better ideas?” “No sir.” John nods, satisfied with that response. He turns to his truck and stops, his head hanging low. The last few days might be the most I’ve seen him upset. “Dad?” Dean says softly. “Yeah. It's Jim. You know, I can't....” His face hardens, ridding his voice and face of sadness. “This ends now. I'm ending it. I don't care what it takes.”

I tug on the bottom of my blouse, adjusting how it sits on my chest before walking through the door Dean holds open. He’d been quiet the entire way to the hospital, even when we dropped off Sam at the medical center, I worry it might be about Pastor Jim’s death or the weight of the whole yellow-eyed situation but I’m not sure.

We walk over to the receptionist's desk, a pretty brunette sitting behind it. He doesn’t make a face or remark about her looks which is even more concerning. “Hi. Is there anything I can do for you?” she asks, shining a perfect smile.

“Hello,” I smile back, feeling a burning gaze on me. “I’m Agent Spears and this is my partner, Agent Taylor,” I pull out my ID from my pocket, showing proof of my lie. I look at Dean, his eyes shooting up to my face from wherever they were, his eyebrows raised and eyes a little wide. My eyebrows furrow and my nose scrunches a little with my confusion. He looks at my ID and then at the woman in front of us. “Right,” he mumbles, fumbling with the pocket of his suit jacket for his ID. He pulls it out, flipping it open quickly with a boyish smile. “We…” I look back at the woman. “We were hoping to look at some files…”

********

Our file reading had been cut short when we received a worrying call from Sam informing us of his vision. It hadn’t taken us long to get to the motel room to regroup and talk; Sam sitting with his head in his hands at the table while his father sat on the end of one of the queen beds. Dean sits on the edge of the other bed, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled up to his elbows; we didn’t have time to change into normal clothes when we essentially rushed over here. And I stand a little awkwardly by Dean, arms crossed against my chest after hearing everything Sam has to say.

“A vision,” John repeats flatly.

“Yes. I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling,” Sam explains through gritted teeth, messaging his temples.

“And you think this is going to happen to this woman you met because…”

“Because these things happen exactly the way I see them,” Sam finishes.

“It’s almost like he already explained that,” I remark, earning a sharp glare from John. But, it’s not my fault he’s not getting with the program.

“It started out as nightmares. Then it started happening while he was awake,” Dean elaborates, rising from the bed and crossing to the counter behind his brother to get more coffee. Sam winces. “Yeah. It's like the closer I get to anything to do with the demon the stronger the visions get.”

“Alright. When were you going to tell me about this?” John asks, his words directed at his eldest son. Both boys pause, looking at their father.

“We didn’t know what it meant,” Dean answers. “Alright, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me,” John replies firmly.

The coffee pot and mug slam back onto the counter, discarded as Dean strides towards his father. “Call you? Are you kidding me? Dad, I called you from Lawrence alright? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery.” “You're right. Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry.”

“I’m sure you can watch your own tone Johnny Boy,” I interject, an unamused smile on my face. I’ll give it to him, I never thought I’d hear him say he was wrong ever let alone multiple times in the last couple of days. But, I’m also not fond of his accusatory tone as if this was the boy's fault. “Look guys, visions or no visions, ‘fact is, we know the demon is coming tonight,” Sam cuts in. “And this family's gonna go through the same hell we went through.” “No, they're not. No one is, ever again,” John reaffirms. Then, the ringing of a phone cuts through the atmosphere. “Hello?” Sam answers.

“Who is this?”

…

“Meg,” he states. The name is like a knife being plunged into my gut. It is a reminder of the cruelty I put her through, how it was my fault she died as she did. The boys tried to convince me that it wasn’t my fault but they were wrong. Her death may not have been on purpose but it was certainly my fault. And now she’s back. That night is a reminder of what I am and all that I’m capable of. No matter how much I try to hold back and no matter how good I am I can never get rid of what is in my blood.

“Last time I saw you you fell out of a window,” Sam answers. Again there is no blame put on anyone, it’s framed as an accident or something that happened and yet it does not feel that way to me. “...Just your feelings? That was a seven-story drop.” She should be dead and yet she isn’t. Maybe this should feel like a second chance or rid me of some guilt, but it doesn’t. Sam looks over to his Dad before he answers whatever question he was asked. “My Dad. I don't know where my Dad is.”

He hesitates and then the phone is put into his father's hands. “This is John…I'm here” There’s a long pause before he speaks again. “Caleb? You listen to me. He's got nothing to do with anything. You let him go.”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s torturing this man.

“…I don't know what you're talking about,” He answers steadily. “…Caleb. Caleb!... I'm gonna kill you, you know that?” The boys step closer to him. “Okay…I said okay, I'll bring you the colt.”

My eyes widen. “It's gonna take me about a day's drive to get there…That's impossible. I can't get there in time and I can't just carry a gun on the plane.” There’s a silence and a grim look on his face before John hands back Sam’s phone. He runs a hand down his face as he paces, explaining that Meg demanded he bring the Colt to a warehouse in Lincoln alone otherwise everyone they’ve ever known, every hunter friend, every loved one will die. “So you think Meg is a demon?” Sam questions. “Either that, or she's possessed by one. It doesn't really matter,” John replies.

“‘How else could she have…um… survived,” I mumble. “What do we do?” Dean asks. “I’m going to Lincoln,” John declares.

“What?” Dean exclaims. “It doesn't look like we have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people die, our friends die.” “Dad, the demon is coming tonight. For Monica and her family. That gun is all we got, you can't just hand it over,” Sam points out. “Who said anything about handing it over? Look, besides us and a coupla of vampires no ones really seen the gun, no one knows what it looks like.” “So what, you're just going to pick up a ringer at a pawn shop?” Dean asks. “Antique store,” John clarifies. “Cause that’s so different,” I remark. I mean, it is but in this instance, there might as well not be a difference.

“You're going to hand Meg a fake gun and hope she doesn't notice?” Dean interjects. “Look, as long as it's close, she shouldn't be able to tell the difference,” he reasons. “Yeah but for how long? What happens when she figures it out?” Dean points out, his voice firm.

“I just...I just need to buy a few hours, that's all.”

“I know you’re supposed to go alone but I can go with you and offer assistance from afar,” I offer.

“No,” he says firmly. “You need to be with the boys.” I never thought I’d hear him say those words but with the way he directs them at me so sharply I know what he means. I can offer a level of protection against the yellow-eyed demon that wouldn’t be there otherwise.

“You want us to stay here, and kill this demon by ourselves?” Sam asks, figuring out what his father meant as well. “No Sam. I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean to have a home. I want...I want Mary alive. It's just...I just want this to be over.”

********

I can’t stop my leg from bouncing as we sit in the Impala, watching the house where the demon will strike next. The boys are better at hiding their nervousness, which may only be good in this instance, but I’m unsure.

John was long gone by now. His truck was packed with a fake gun and an arsenal of weapons. The real gun sitting between Sam and Dean in the front seat with only four bullets. Promises of “don’t die” and “finish this fight” were shared before he left.

Maybe I shouldn’t be nervous or maybe that’s a stupid remark. There’s a whole powerful and methodical demon to take down and a handful of people to protect in the process. I can’t mess up and I certainly can’t falter. I won’t. This is also why, for once, I chose simple clothing, opting for an all-black outfit that would be easy to move in. This had to go right.

And no offense to the boys but I’ve been tuning out most of their conversations. I don’t need “what ifs” I just need focus, my ears tuned to the radio playing music quietly and my eyes trained on the house, waiting for the telltale signs.

“You doin’ okay back there, sweetheart? You’re awfully quiet.”

My eyes immediately follow the voice; so much for tuning them out. “I’m always quiet,” I defend.

He smirks, somehow able to even at a time like this, “That’s not true.”

“Hey,” I frown.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he adds. “‘You nervous?” It’s a question, yet the way he looks at me through the rearview mirror makes me feel like he already knows the answer and is just asking out of courtesy.

“‘Course I am,” I answer. “And I know you guys are too…Which is fine! Nervous is good…probably.”

“Well, don’t worry that pretty head of yours, we’ll be just fine. I’ll protect you,” he declares, winking. He’s all smug in the way he says it and the way he smiles. Yet, I’m sure he’s just trying to get me to smile. And it works. I smile, scuffing and shaking my head even though I know for a fact that he wasn’t joking about protecting me. “There she is,” he drawls, eyes dipping down. My nervousness does ease, which should be stupid when all he did was talk to me. Maybe that’s pathetic and maybe I don’t care if it is.

“Dean...ah...I wanna thank you,” Sam says, joining in on whatever this is. “For what?” He responds, eyes breaking from the rearview mirror to look at his brother. “For everything. You've always had my back you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone I could always count on you. And uh...I don't know I just wanted to let you know, just in case.” “Whoa whoa whoa, are you kidding me?” “What?” “Don't say just in case something happens to you. I don't wanna hear that fucking speech man. Nobody's dying tonight. Not us, not that family, nobody. Except for that demon. That evil son of a bitch ain't getting any older than tonight, you understand me?” Any softness Dean had moments ago seemed gone now. The light not-joking-joke was serious and ever so evident. This is a serious situation and I almost feel guilty for feeling a moment of ease, especially when the real fear of death lingers over all of us. Things can go wrong here really quickly; the Demon might not die tonight. The only thing I can promise and ensure, above all else, is that my boys aren’t dying.

********

“Dad’s not answering,” Dean announces, his phone held to his ear.

“Maybe Meg was late,” Sam suggests. “Maybe cell reception’s bad.”

Of course, he may be right, there's always the possibility; yet it feels like nothing more than an attempt to be positive, to see things optimistically.

“Yeah, well—”

“Wait. Listen,” Sam cuts Dean off. He rolls the dial on the radio, the breaking static getting louder.

“The lights are flickering,” I add, eyes trained on the house. My heart hammers in my chest at the knowledge of what lurks ahead.

“It’s coming,” Sam concludes.

Nothing more needs to be said and no more evidence needs to be presented for us to haul it out of the car. I beeline it to the front door, my hand on the handle and the lock undone before my body is fully near it. The boys take the lead, taking careful steps down the hallway. Then, a man lunges forward swinging a bat into a lamp. It shatters to the floor with a resounding clash.

“Get out of my house!” He yells, positioning himself to swing again. He has poor aim, a goatee, and a green sweater over a button-down, which doesn’t make for the most intimidating combination.

Dean surges forward, grappling with the man and the bat while Sam pleads for him to calm down. He fights against Dean who easily takes control, swinging him against the wall with a thud, the bat pressed across his throat. “Be quiet and listen to me,” Dean orders sharply. “Be quiet and listen. We are trying to help you.”

God, that was kind of hot—Wait. Priorities, I remind myself. “Come on, Sam,” I nod, moving to the stairs. Dean can take care of himself and we had other things to worry about.

“Charlie? Is everything okay?” A woman's voice cuts in just as I put one foot on the bottom step.

“Monica get the baby!” Charlie yells frantically.

“Don’t go in the nursery!” The Winchesters yell at the same time.

I rush up the stairs, taking two at a time, throwing back another, “Sam!” In an attempt to urge him along. I hear a faint threat from Charlie and some light commotion as I move down the long corridor, seeing a flash of white rush into a room at the far end. I push my legs forward, breaking into a run. I skid into the bedroom, catching only the syllables of a sentence before I throw myself in front of the dark-haired woman clad in a white nightgown. Immediately, I launch a burst of energy toward the dark figure sending it back into the wall. I don’t have the gun, all I can do is keep it busy.

“Get out of here!” I yell, looking back only briefly. But, suddenly I’m flung sideways, my shoulder hitting the wall hard before I fall to the floor, picture frames rattling above me. “Go!” I order, pain erupting in my shoulder and down my arm as I pick myself up.

“But my–”

Yellow eyes shine as it raises its hand.

“I’ll get your baby, just go!”

I intercept it again, throwing another blast that doesn’t seem to do anything more than halt and irritate it. Monica leaves the room. The baby erupts into tears, the commotion certainly startling it. The Demon tries to move me again with a flick of a wrist but I brace myself, using my powers to hold me in place as I lift my own hands and attempt to move it away from the crib. But, it barely shifts. And yet it feels like I’m fighting against gravity, a heavy invisible force trying to force me back as if weights were tied to my limbs. Even so, I push more of my powers forward, harsher and faster yet it still doesn’t budge even if it feels like a house was being thrown on top of me.

Then, Sam bursts through the doorway, freezing as he takes in the Demon. It seems to react to him, turning to him slightly. The Colt is raised and the shot rings in the air. The baby’s wailing becomes just as piercing as the gun. The Demon disappears into smoke, the bullet landing in the wall behind it, marking the wall.

I nearly collapse as the invisible weight is lifted off of me, my bones feel like jello–almost as if they too were giving up on me. I slump forward slightly, pulling myself toward the crib.

“Where the hell did it go!” Sam yells.

I ignore him, focusing on getting the kid out first. Before my hands even touch the wooden sides I can feel what is to come, the fire licking at my hands before there's one at all. I don’t know whether it's some sort of intuition or what Missouri had shown me all those months ago, either way, I quickly and carefully scoop up the crying baby, the crib exploding into flames as I step back and shield the child from it. The windows explode, flames crawling outwards—feeding on the oxygen.

The moment I step into the hallway strong arms encircle me. He’s behind me, urging me forward with a hand on my middle back as we race out of the house, smoke filling the place rapidly. Sam and Monica aren’t that far in front of us, I guess she only left the room before and not the house itself.

My lungs greedily take in clean air as we make it outside. The baby is taken from my arms and into the rightful one of her mothers. Charlie puts his arm around his wife’s, eyes scanning both his girls. “Thank you,” Monica says with tear-filled eyes.

I’m glad everyone was safe and yet I feel almost defeated, like there was more that could’ve been done. And I’m sure that same thought is going through the boy's heads too. All that we can do is watch as the house is consumed in flames, harsh oranges and reds licking at what is meant to be a place of safety. But, there in the burning nursery, through shattered windows, is a mocking dark silhouette that can only be one being.

“It’s still in there!” Sam yells, starting for the front door.

Dean grabs him quickly, holding him back, “Sam. Sam, no.”

“Dean let me go, it’s still in there,” he argues, struggling against his hold.

“No. It’s burning to the ground, it’s suicide.”

“I don’t care,” Sam yells.

“I do!’

And just like that, something changes. I can’t explain what it is exactly, but it’s heavy and it’s real. Once more, all we can do is watch as the flames rise again, the Demon disappearing.

********

Dean paces the motel room, his phone to his ear as it rings for the umpteenth time. “Come on Dad, answer your phone damn it,” he grumbles. Given the last year his disappearance doesn’t seem out of character but because he was on this whole mission his lack of contact is worrisome. He hangs up with a huff, “Somethings wrong.”

“Okay,” I sigh from my chair, “We’ll find him…again.” Whatever is wrong we can fix, or at the very least handle it better than the yellow-eyed demon (hopefully.)

Dean nods silently, stress and frustration clear in his features. Then, his attention goes to Sam who instead of answering stares at the wall with his classic bitchface. Dean tilts his head down, trying to get his brother's attention. “‘You hear me? Somethings wrong.”

“If you had just let me go in there, I coulda ended all this.”

“Sam, the only thing you would have ended was your life,” Dean counters.

“You don’t know that,” Sam answers firmly.

“The building was going down you wouldn’t be able to see let alone breathe long enough to even get to it or do anything,” I add.

He shakes his head, “‘Doesn’t matter.”

Dean walks towards where Sam sits on the end of one of the beds. “So what, you’re just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?”

He stands up abruptly, towering over his brother. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re damn right I am.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen, not as long as I’m around.”

“What the hell are you talking about Dean? We’ve been searching for this demon our whole lives. It’s the only thing we’ve ever cared about.”

“Sam, I wanna waste it. I do. Okay? But it’s not worth dying over.”

“What?”

“I mean it. If hunting this demon means getting yourself killed then I hope we never find the damn thing,” he doubles down. “That thing killed Jess. That thing killed Mom,” Sam argues. “You said it yourself once, that no matter what we do, they're gone, and they're never coming back.”

Sam snaps. He grabs Dean by the collar of his shirt and shoves him hard against the wall. I stand quickly, ready to intervene but Dean throws me a quick look that tells me to not.

“Don't you say that, not you!” Sam yells, his voice breaking a little. “Not after all this don’t you say that.” Despite the anger thrown at him Dean answers with soft, quiet words, “Sam look. The three of us...that's all we have...and it's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together man...and without you…or Y/N, or Dad…”

“Dad,” Sam slumps, letting go and turning away. He runs a hand down his face as he walks across the room. “He should have called by now. Try him again.” Dean presses a couple of buttons, then raises his phone to his ear again. It’s quiet for two beats before his face contorts in anger. “Where is he?” He spits.

......TO BE CONTINUED......

(Next Chapter)

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#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #the hunter and the witch #dean winchester x witch reader #sam winchester #slow burn #john winchester #deanxreader #dean winchester x f!reader #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x reader series #supernatural fic #supernatural season one

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sunnynwanda · 2 days ago

Note

for a moment i forgot how to ask and was going to send a message by accident..

ok so i forgot if i sent that idea or not but this is how it goes CPR but with hero x villain (m\m) where Superhero(they're a character by themselves right?) tries to get rid of Hero by drowning them in a river because Hero found out that the agency is corrupt from the inside and are collecting powered people to take control of their minds to control the whole city but few powered ppl are immune to that (how? idk i havent thought of why) and Hero is one of them (ppl who cant get mind controlled) and wants to find the ppl like him so they can fight off the agency even if that labels them s villainns to the public so they (the agency) will kill them (Hero and other powerd ppl ) off\get rid of them and villain will save him (please?) by doing (ik there's another word for doing but i forgor..) CPR

i just like cpr (and hero x villain)I had fun memories learning it as a medic and i just think it would be nice to read about it?

Breathe

Warnings: drowning, suffocation, attempted murder, mentions of bleeding. Please do not interact if any of those might be triggering for you.

Hero’s back hit the ice with a loud thud, cracks spreading like lightning bolts around them. Despite the wind being knocked out of their lungs, they manage to catch a thought that floats through their mind – this is bad. Hero tries to keep their movements slow as they crawl away to stable ice, still sprawled out on their back, but one heavy breath proves enough to shatter the ice beneath them. Their body is submerged in the freezing lake instantly.

They try to hold their breath, but the cold water is such a shock against their burning skin that it rips their lips apart, filling their lungs with water. Hero tries swimming up, but their head feels dizzy from the rough contact with the surface of the ice seconds ago. Their eyes sting as they try to orient in the darkness of the water, losing precious time.

Gods, this is such a wasteful way to go.

Their one consolation was that they managed to send a message to Villain – their long-time nemesis – concerning the information they acquired about Superhero’s master plan. At least the city would have a chance after they’re gone. If there was one thing Hero was sure about, it was Villain’s relationship with dictatorships – they knew for a fact Villain would put hellfire out in order to stop Superhero.

Hero gurgles on water, trying to orient - and finally determining where up and down are. They swim up but hit the thick ice, having drifted away from the hole that their body punctured in the surface. They try breaking it, then attempt to locate the hole, but upon failing that as well, simply punch the ice in a final futile attempt – just for the sake of not giving up.

This is the end, isn’t it?

Hero’s fist collides with the ice again, strength beginning to abandon them. They had a fun ride. They hit again, their knuckles beginning to bleed and their limbs giving out.

No regrets. Well, except maybe one.

They feel the darkness enveloping them, drawing their consciousness away from their body. They wish they ended that message with ‘Love, Hero’. It would do nothing to express how truthful that single word was, but it would still be better than nothing. Their body goes numb and light, like they are floating in the water, something warm washing over their spine.

Hero doesn’t register the arms that wrap around their torso, dragging them out of the water and onto the shore. They are unconscious when their body hits the ground, someone’s trembling hands pinching their nose to make their mouth fall open and tilting their head back to check their airways. Villain’s movements are precise despite the suppressed panic that will overwhelm them once everything is over. Right now, they need to focus on Hero. They place their crossed hands against Hero’s chest, pressing with all their strength, trying to get the water out of their lungs while muttering a song to keep the rhythm correct. On the right count, Villain turns to Hero’s face, pinching their nose before pressing their lips to Hero’s.

“Come on,” they demand, returning to chest compressions, pressing hard enough to break a rib or two and trying not to lose count when their eyes start to prickle. “Hero, come on! You can’t do this to me, you infuriating proud stupid little thing!”

They attach their mouth to Hero’s again, blowing as much air into their lungs as they can before reverting back. “Please, H- baby, please…” Villain’s voice breaks into a plea, their eyes glazing over, their tears drip over Hero’s face when they go back to rescue breaths.

“Please, stay with me. Breathe... Breathe, you insufferable idiot!” They growl, beginning to lose it but maintaining the compressions to Hero’s chest nonetheless. Villain hears Superhero whimpering nearby - either from hanging from the tree head down or the many cuts on their body. Villain pays them no mind. No one could survive their wrath, not even the mightiest of heroes. Superhero had made many mistakes, but tonight was the gravest of them all. The moment Villain saw Hero’s body sink into the water, they became ruthless.

“Come on, baby, do it for me…” They mutter, leaning over for another breath when Hero coughs, water spilling out of their mouth.

Villain pulls them up by the arms, hitting their back with an open palm to help them cough the water out. The moment Hero wheezes, inhaling a lungful of air, Villain slams them against their chest, holding Hero close as the reality starts settling in.

Christ, they almost lost them.

Villain cups Hero’s jaw, tilting their face up. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” Hero nods, unable to talk yet. “Let’s get you out of here, alright?”

They nod again, staring up at Villain with such wide eyes that Villain’s heart clenches painfully in their chest. Hero’s breathing is still laboured, and they’re still very much soaked and shivering from the cold. Villain scoops Hero up, holding them to their chest as they start rushing towards their car. Superhero’s whimpering cuts through the air again, alerting Hero. They look up at Villain with a question in their gaze.

��Don’t worry about that bastard,” Villain answers without the question being voiced, their tone gravelly.

“Did you get my message?” Hero asks and, when Villain hums in confirmation, adds. “Thanks for coming for me.”

“Always, love,” they mutter, pressing a kiss to Hero’s temple before setting them in their car. They pull a blanket from the backseat, draping it over Hero’s tremoring body.

Villain’s past as a medical resident – albeit cut short – was enough to understand there was no imminent danger to Hero’s life. But they also knew Hero was in need of proper medical attention, and they were in need of making sure Superhero had fully bled out. For the sake of Hero and everyone they cared significantly less about.

A/N: Hello, darling!

This request has been sitting for some time, but it just struck me today. Thank you for this amazing idea. I'm not sure how much this corresponds to your idea but I hope you (and everyone) enjoy reading it. Let me know if I messed up the medical point of view xD

P.S. Messages are fine too :)

Love you 💛

xo Sunny

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windsson · 2 days ago

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He doesn’t appreciate what Bruno saying that does to him. It shouldn’t! They aren’t even like that- Bruno was talking about touching his face, idiot. What made it more frustrating is Makani has no idea if blushing is visible on him; he knew from people saying it that blushing made you pink, but not only did he have no clue what pink even looked like any more, but he had no idea if blushing made him pink.

He knew he had to be blushing though, he could feel it in his face, remnants of a lightning bolt that went straight from his head down to his toes in an instant. He just prays it dissipates quickly- he was being weird, and he didn’t even mean to do that, anyway. He didn’t want his new friend getting the wrong idea- he was the only friend he had, after all, if he lost Bruno he’d be…alone again.

To try to brush it off, Makani laughs down at the ground, shrugging a shoulder.

“Well, you really can’t get as much information from doing that as you’d think- I mean, I have no idea what I look like, and I can touch my own face whenever I want. But yeah, actually, maybe just for a second, it couldn’t hurt.” He’s trying to play it off casually. Just two bros touching faces alone together, nothing weird about this.

He continues to talk through it as well as another way of making it feel less awkward, or at least that’s how it starts, but Makani’s sincerity don’t let him feel awkward for too long. He did genuinely want to do this, the last time he had was…gosh, maybe 13 years old? He didn’t get to connect with people like this. Makani was always distant from people, in his own world, the only touch he ever received usually being harsh grabs on the wrist from his father (the ring of bruises on his right arm being proof enough of that.) Makani wanted connection, he wanted physical contact, he wanted any kind of belonging that didn’t make him feel utterly left out. He had been in too many rooms crowded with people and felt utterly alone.

“I really am happy, by the way- I’m sorry if you were nervous to do all this,” he says, very tenderly and apprehensively putting his hands on the sides of Bruno’s face to start.

“I know this won’t happen in a day, but man, this is the first time in my life I haven’t been scared for the future. I know what’s coming and it’s- woah, you need to shave, dude,” he stops and laughs.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding! I wish I could grow facial hair- it never comes in right so I just gave up.” Bruno’s cheeks are more sallow than Makani envisioned- he was entirely smaller to hold than he imagined. His nose felt similar to his own, which Makani thought meant Bruno must have a big nose- his father had told Makani he had a big nose, anyway. He wouldn’t say anything since it sounded like a bad thing, not that it ever mattered to himself.

The yammering to break the tension, if there was any, gets slower and more sparse the longer he goes, concentrating harder and getting a little lost in the sensation, and trying to fit together a mental image of his friend. He stops completely, however, when the back of his hand brushes against Bruno’s hair.

“I’m sure we’ve got a lot to uh, to…talk about, though- with this. I don’t know what your…your family will say, this is weird news to get, and I- woah!…Gosh, your hair is soft! How do you DO this?” He excitedly gets two gentle handfuls of each, his excited-rambling voice coming back for just a second before he realizes how odd he’s being.

Makani let’s go and puts his hands in his lap, clearing his throat and smiling politely.

“I’m sorry- I just said a second and I uh…thank you, in any case-but no, um,” he tucks his hair behind one of his ear, definitely not as soft, continuing,

“This is…wild. I-I mean how is this even going to happen? D-Does anyone even want me here? Where would I be, how does…” he laughs a little, incredulously, “This is so incredible but I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling right now. Wh-What do we do now?”

“Dude. That was the greatest thing I’ve ever got to be a part of.”

In comparison to his nervous friend’s upright posture, Makani was catching his breath leaning back onto his elbows, and by the state of his hair, he had been through a tornado. It was wrapped around his face like a fishnet, Makani needing a moment to get some strands out of his mouth.

“I get to stay…I get to- Bruno, are you even hearing yourself? I get to stay!” He crawls over to where Bruno had shuffled off to, intending to reach out to (happily) shake some sense into Bruno, but his thoughts get interrupted when his hand collides with something.

“No matter what, this is good news, I just wish I knew h- ah- oh, what’s this…thing?”

He runs his hands over the glass, feeling the etches on its surface and tracing vague shapes with his fingertips.

“Where did you get this…metal? No, wait…” he taps his knuckle against it, “Glass. It’s like…an upside-down house, and an upside-down pers- wait!”

He grabs the glass plate off of Bruno’s lap and flips it right-side-up for himself, putting it down on his own lap and tracing his fingers as if he were reading in Braille.

“You said it was me, in front of your house, walking down a…yeah! Okay! This is the road, yeah? So this little thing in the middle is me!”

He was so small in the frame, his fingers couldn’t make out a ton of detail in the face, but Makani still eagerly swiped over the picture to try to intuit any kind of information about the drawing.

“Wow, my hair feels long. Do I just keep growing it out?” He laughs a little, chin still raised in concentration to try to turn the abstract feelings in his fingers into something more tangible.

“I know like, vaguely what I look like? The last time I saw myself I was 8 years old, so I’m always guessing- it’s not as important to me as it used to be, but I do still wonder, sometimes,” he chuckles. He does allow himself a few seconds to trace the mysterious hand, fading into a blob of just smooth, unmarked glass. Of course he was curious about that, and he’d ask questions and wonder in due time, but his excitement over this revelation meant the little questions could wait.

I get to stay. I’m safe.

He was going to sorry about the details later; including that it was kind of weird to learn he was about to start living with these people he’s known for a month, whose hand was he holding and why (and trying not to be disappointed with the reality that someone was probably guiding him somewhere, Occam meet razor,) no, right now he was going to allow himself to just be happy and excited for a moment.

He didn’t understand why Bruno was so nervous before, this couldn’t have gone any better.

“I know you probably have some important stuff to tell me about this, but give me just a second to do something stupid before any bad news,” he says with a smile, trying to subtly get across to Bruno that he wasn’t mad, he liked the fortune, no one was in trouble. “Do you wanna hear something stupid about me? Then it’s serious time, I promise.”

Makani puts his fingertips back on the rendering of his face, no way of really being certain if Bruno’s magic-fortune-telling-glass-wind-sand-thingy had actually rendered him accurately. He snickers down by his chest, clearly embarrassed about whatever he was going to say, but wanting to tell nonetheless.

“What I’ve been doing with this thing, trying to like, feel what I look like, I definitely did this to your door before you answered it,” he laughs at himself, “I didn’t know it was carved! And when I realized it was you, I was trying to gather all the I formation I could in…5 seconds. I was just trying to figure out what you looked like…from a door, so probably not super close, yeah?”

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medicinemane · 7 months ago

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I don't know... horrible things happen all around the world and it's not a competition

Atrocities are committed against multiple groups in multiple parts of the world at the exact same moment, and none of them erase each other. They all matter, all the people in this world who are being brutalized matter. There shouldn't be any line you draw where one group doesn't actually matter as much as another

You're welcome to prioritize your energy towards helping one group or another, but what's not ok is invalidating or dismissing people who are actively being harmed

Same goes for trying to figure out which social group has things worst (and lets be honest, always using a US lens)

Like... maybe the important thing is to prop each other up and help everyone get on their own feet rather than trying to... pick fights about if physical disabilities or mental illness are less respected (I'm trying to pick a more absurd example but sadly I've seen exactly that argument happen before). Maybe it doesn't really matter and what matters is helping who we can when we can

I'm tired of it, I'm just fucking tired of it. Support people, champion them when the world is just brutalizing them, but you don't need to throw a single other person under the bus to do that

Which seems to be an absolutely impossible lesson for people to learn

#I won't say anything else on this; but I will say that to me one of the groups that it feels like is most forgotten is Syrians #including by me if I'm honest #I don't know what's currently happening in Syria... but... my understanding is it still hasn't really gotten better #assad is still brutalizing people last I had heard #so rather than saying anything else I'd prefer to simply focus on some people it feels like were forgotten back during Obama #and... and have remained forgotten #and I'm sorry I can't do more to help with the suffering in the world #but... you notice what I'm not having to do here?#I'm not having to throw a single other person under the bus #I'm able to just focus on how much I wish for Syrians to be ok (which is a hollow gesture on my part in many ways I think)#and I can keep all the focus on Syrians rather than throwing anyone else under the bus or doing any whataboutism #and that's literally all I'm asking of you fucking people #don't downplay human misery to try and make your thing seem more important #they're both fucking important... they're all important #there's so much suffering I can't even keep up with it #there's so much of it that I can only name without knowing the details; Congo; I believe Sudan is still suffering; Haiti #I don't know how things are in Ethiopia right now... I can't keep track #and none of these situations and the horrible things they're dealing with; things I haven't even been able to follow #none of it detracts from and of the issues I am following more closely #I don't need to compare them and say 'well it's not as bad'; because... bad is bad and any is too much #and nothing I say here will do a damn thing; no one'll hear and even if they did they'd ignore it or get pissed #that's what my evidence shows me about how people behave #but suffering isn't a competition; the correct amount is zero #and... perhaps I'd have more tolerance if I hadn't watched how you behave with stuff #...the worst part is the person I adore who... man... I wish I could just get them to really think through their words #they mean well; they're coming from a place of love; but I just haven't been able to paint the picture for them of the harm #and I'm flawed; I don't have all the answers; I could be wrong here #but... can you at least see why I feel that maybe we shouldn't pit misery against each other #that the people suffering have more in common with each other than opposed and... maybe westerners aren't fucking helping #eh... too fucking drained thinking about this; end of tags

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james-effing-potter · 1 year ago

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To be completely honest, I think Sirius Black is aromantic, but nobody else seems to be ready for that conversation.

#hp #marauders #sirius black #aromantic sirius black #aromantic #people say if you're upset that you can't find content you want then you should make it #well here i am making it #nothing against all you shippers out there #fandom is about having fun and i'm glad you're enjoying yourself #but this is a headcanon that i really like and wish more people shared lol

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cainite-bite · 11 months ago

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it really saddens me how little care people have for those with disabilities and trying to get things/make new inventions to help them out, and how quick they are to disregard people for having any kind of disability.

I hate to break it to people but you're only temporarily able bodied. Eventually age catches up. Accidents happen. Disease and sickness can sometimes fuck you over in ways you didn't realize.

#being able bodied just simply does not last forever #and kicking people down for having issues never will help anyone or anything #trying to hold things back and saying we shouldnt look into anything now because you happen to be able bodied now is just...#well you have to have your eyes and ears closed up pretty badily #and when you're older and having a hard time and wish there was all sorts of things to help you and there is nothing #just remember when you were apart of the group shouting that we dont need any of that garbage just pull yourself up #remember the shitty things you said when you might not have anything that would make your life a ton easier and how you advocated against i #and if you manage to have something to make life easier you better be thankful to all the people that came before you #because they knew that struggle first and they either made that progress themselves for everyone #or had someone that loved them enough to want to help them and everyone just like them #but until then remember being abled is not forever

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muirneach · 1 year ago

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i would like to express three blanket statements for everyone in the notes:

- yes i obviously know that calling people ‘family’ is a way of referring the other queer people. this is evident in the fact that i used that fucking word in the post jesus christ guys you don’t need to try and inform me of this

- related, but this was a rhetorical post. i do not need advice on how to talk to people. i am involved with real life trans groups and am well versed in how to subtly talk to people. i literally made this post while on break from my bad customer service job after seeing multiple trans customers

- maybe this is a me problem but people having dysphoria from being seen as trans is sad to me. like i sorta get it but also hm maybe work on ur self hatred idk. being trans is a joy

reading comprehension questions:

consider the targeted demographic of this post. then consider, do you dislike this demographic? if so, please try changing your opinion or at least scroll away and stop bothering me about it

did the author make reference to old forms of queer communication? if so, it seems like he is familiar with the concept and perhaps refrain from informing the author about it

why might have the author, at first glance, described dysphoria as self hatred? did he really do this, or does he rather acknowledge that one facet of dysphoria stems from depression and deprecation? consider why someone might not want to be seen as trans. is it for safety reasons, or because they have yet to unlearn the perceived shame of being trans, or any other multitude of reasons? any reason is perfectly valid but one may wish to examine their opinions on the cis view of the trans body

seeing trans ppl in public is literally life giving. wish there was a normal way to express to other trans people in public that we’re family and that i love them

#the second one is perhaps a hot take but idc my activity is annoying as fuck rn #*third one. whatever sorry #other posts have said this much more eloquently but obviously yes dysphoria is real and sucks etc #and you cant just make it go away by thinking positive thoughts or whatever else like yeah sometimes you do need hrt or srs or the like #that said. a lot of dysphoria for me and also a lot of other ppl ive seen CAN be eased when you stop hating yourself #like. surround yourself with trans ppl in many stages of transition. explore other mindsets (ie no medical transition etc)#even if they don’t apply to you because that person’s experience is no less valid etc #take a note from body neutrality/positivity people #stop giving a shit what cis people think #there are so many things that genuinely ease suffering and it wont work for everyone but wallowing is never the way to go sorry #like i have nothing against you people and i wish you all well. BUT. i am worried for you #because.. when you get hrt or any surgery…. it wont magically fix your depression you also have to do the work yourself #YOU have to unlearn the cis normative view about how bodies look #well idk. some people as with any marginalized identity go oh! im trans! therefore i cant be transphobic #without unpacking any of the transphobic bullshit that is ingrained in society and themselves #NOT saying that people with bad dysphoria are transphobic of course not. i dont think most of the people in the notes are at all #it is however a related concept okay. no bad faith interpretations of this reblog allowed #SOMEONE had to sit here and read everyones tags and replies and after 22k notes hes a bit ticked off #sorry 4 being a spiteful transsexual fagdyke idgaf #trans

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chuluoyi · 8 months ago

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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 !

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

you are an empress perfect in every way... until your husband suddenly casts you aside for his expecting mistress. but you won't be dethroned just like that, because the newly coronated western emperor, gojo satoru, sets his sights on you, and thus your revenge against your ex-husband begins...

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—might be ooc, kinda slowburn, angst to eventual fluff, divorce, marriage of convenience, heavy pining (from gojo's part), childhood friends trope, mentions of infidelity, misogyny, infertility, explicit smut

note: loosely inspired by and taking some elements of manhwa remarried empress (but i promise you, it's different). my god, for the past month this is all i can think about *sobs* wc. 10.5k ! this is the longest thing i've ever posted here, and if you'd give it a chance, then i'll be really, really thankful!

credit header goes to @/gojokko in twitter!

next. the crown of diamonds | long live the empire

general masterlist | series masterlist

“I accept the divorce.”

Your perfect life was done for. Everything you had worked hard towards— it was now in shambles and tatters.

You, an ethereal, revered empress... someone untarnished in the face of public and private, had just agreed to the emperor’s blatant request of separation.

“My god... how can this be!?”

“Your Majesty! Please reconsider!”

Emperor Zen’in Naoya of the Eastern Empire, your husband—and companion for more than ten years—smirked as he looked down at you, paying zero attention to the uproar in this courthouse.

But then you heard that kind, velvety voice from the back of your head:

“If you become my empress… that will make me the happiest man alive.”

This place has turned into a whopping circus ever since you and Naoya stepped inside anyway. And so, having nothing worthy left to lose, you declared, “And I demand an immediate approval for my remarriage.”

Your boldness once again stirred a wave of clamor among the crowd, and even Naoya was glaring at you in disbelief now. “A remarriage…? How dare you—!”

“Well... is it the time for my grand entrance?”

Deep from behind the curtains, suddenly he emerged, dressed in the most lavish robes befitting his own throne, outshining everyone in the room as if he was the one owning the place.

“Heh.” His low chuckle stunned even the mass as he took big strides towards where you were.

This would seal your fate. From now onwards, you would no longer be the perfect empress. Your messy divorce and remarriage will relegate that image to history.

“My goodness, that’s…” the woman in the front gasped. “Western Empire’s…”

“Gojo… Satoru?” Naoya's eyes lit with genuine fury as the other man took his place by your side. “You couldn't possibly mean…!”

You interrupted him regally. “Yes, he is the man I wish to remarry.”

This event was going to blow up tomorrow, with scandalous titles no less than The Deposed Empress Remarries! And there was no going back, ever.

How did your pristine life turn into such a shameful debacle? None of these turn of events would be imaginable for you several years prior...

SATORU, THE CROWN PRINCE OF WESTERN EMPIRE

To Satoru, you were more than just the east’s breathtaking empress—you had captured his attention long before you ascended to that role.

Seven years ago, you were the renowned noble lady, the paragon of perfection sought after by many lords and monarchs alike.

You were both cunning and fair, pretty in the face, came from an illustrious family known for birthing famous empresses in either western and eastern empires. You were the quintessential template that mothers advised their sons to seek in a wife.

The fairest in the land—that was how people called you. And Gojo Satoru is always and only interested in the best.

“Suguru... look at her.” His eyes would soften at the sight of you as he nudged at his closest ally and confidant, the duke. “She is so... pretty, isn’t she?”

Unfortunately, you had been promised to the Eastern Empire’s crown prince from a long time ago too. There was little that the outsiders, including himself—even if he was the heir apparent to his own throne—could do to sway your heart.

“There's more to women than their faces, Satoru,” Suguru sighed, thinking that what he had was a mere lust. “Moreover, she’s engaged to the Zen’in... and they have a very good relationship. Nothing you can do about that.”

“Hmph.”

To be honest, he couldn’t fathom what you could possibly like about that murderous Zen’in spawn. He was a pompous human being, no less.

How on earth could you stand someone like that? Satoru had always wondered… especially when it was well-known to the land that you and him were on good terms despite your arranged marriage.

—and once, he thought he knew who you are…

. . .

Satoru swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat as he attended the royal wedding of you and Zen’in Naoya. Despite hating the circumstances, he had to admit it was a fairytale wedding—albeit with the wrong groom.

You were the epitome of picture book princess. In his eyes, and in the eyes of the attendees of your wedding.

Oh, and he made headlines too, that day—

“My princess, may I have this dance?”

Two hours hadn’t even passed by after you swore your vows as Naoya’s bride, and there he was, asking for your first dance, in your own wedding ball, right in front of your newly wedded husband.

Everyone bet on you turning him down and making a fool of himself, but instead, to spare his feelings, you put your delicate hand in his, and with a wide, shy smile, you said, “Yes.”

Satoru thought it was his greatest achievement then. To have made Naoya red-faced, to have made him watch as he put his hands on your waist, twirl you around— and come one breath away from your face.

“Princess, you’re…” his breath caught as he pulled you close, staring straight at your face—and suddenly he felt like life was so unfair to him as the slow melody of waltz was all he could hear.

How could you be this close... and yet so far by being somebody else’s wife?

And yet he forced the words out, with sincerity he had never showed anyone else before, even as his heart bled and shattered. “You’re so incredibly beautiful.”

Your eyes widened, sparkling with wonder, before you thanked him with the loveliest of smiles. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

Satoru was certain... you had ruined him, because no one else would ever be able to turn his world with just a smile like you did, even as you broke his heart too into a million pieces.

. . .

Ever since that day, everyone had branded him as a prince in search of scandal—coveting the princess married to Zen’in clan.

What everyone didn’t know was that it went beyond that. His obsession of you went beyond your beauty and charms and wits. Rather, it goes a long way back.

YOU, THE CROWN PRINCESS OF EASTERN EMPIRE

As inconceivable as it was, once upon a time, you and Naoya were a truly, happy couple.

Handpicked by the late emperor to become his son’s wife, you couldn’t be more proud. With you being the next empress of the Eastern Empire, your clan once again proved itself that it was always worthy of a seat in the monarchy.

But beyond that, you were elated that it was Naoya that you ended up marrying. Your own childhood friend, who often led you around his palace by hand and filled your days with many joy and laughs.

“One day soon, when we are the emperor and the empress—” younger Naoya was always someone who had big dreams about ruling his nation. “We will create a nation in which no one can do anything as they please! We’ll establish order, and anyone who goes against it will be punished! That way, it’ll encourage fairness!”

Not knowing it yourself, you had given your heart wholly to him. You had agreed to all his dreams and visions. You devoted yourself to them all, even more so after your marriage and coronation, as he promised you an ever after.

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

YOU, THE EMPRESS OF EASTERN EMPIRE

“Your role is to give an heir to the throne, Empress.”

Your title had never sounded so heavy to you before now, especially when Naoya was the one saying it.

You sighed, gathering your wits and scattered feelings before levelling your calm gaze on your husband. “I understand that, Your Majesty. But it is not something that I can do on my own.”

This year would mark the fifth year of your marriage to Naoya. You understood that the fact you still weren’t able to be with his child would raise questions from the court, but still, must you be reminded of this fact over and over?

Your husband—no, the emperor—barked a satire laugh.

“Oh, really? As I understand it, being infertile is not something I can help you with.”

That hurt. It was a searing pain, like being branded with a red-hot iron. And it felt as if he had torn through your chest with his fist alone.

“I’m not infertile.” Your eyes gleamed with pure defiance as you lifted your chin, facing him in his audience chamber.

It dawned on you that lately, one of the few ways you could speak to him was by requesting an audience as opposed to your usual midnight talks in your private chambers.

When did it start to change? Or was Naoya this kind of person right from the very beginning and you were just blinded by love back then?

"Oh? And what would you call being childless for five years then?" Naoya sneered at you from his dais, placing one hand on his jaw. "Bad luck? You must be terribly cursed with misfortune then."

You fisted your dress, summoning all your strength to hold back tears. Don't you dare cry. Not in front of him.

It wasn't as if you didn't want to carry his heir. For many women, holding their baby in their arms is a cherished dream, and when they hold a position of power like yours, it becomes not just a desire but a duty.

You tried everything—calling in the best doctors, consuming horrible potions, even consulting with the oracle. And they all said you were perfectly healthy and fine. You were at your wits end too.

The irony. You were celebrated in public for your competence, while privately, you suffered your husband's cold detachment and cruel remarks.

. . .

"Empress, where should we put the welcome gifts?"

You studied the floor plan of the banquet hall for your annual New Year's ball with a thoughtful hum before pointing at the entrance.

"Place it here. We want our guests to know that we are generous, and it's easily accessible since the parlor is the first area they reach after arriving."

You loved planning festivities. It was therapeutic in a way, and it gave you little time to think of anything else.

"Oh, and I want to have a welcome arch and flowers placed at the entrance too. This is the grandest event of the year, second only to the Emperor's birthday... we must display the grandeur that befits such an occasion."

Your head maidservant, Hanabi, placed a hand on her abdomen and nodded with a warm smile. "That's a very clever suggestion, Your Majesty! I'll ensure they arrange everything just as you wish!"

As she scurried away, you watched her with an assessing gaze. Hanabi had been with you throughout the five years of your marriage, always at your side, assisting with day-to-day matters and serving as your confidant. She was a great aide.

And you were observant by nature... so of course you noticed things.

...and if you were correct, then she was most definitely with a child.

The thing is... she is unmarried. You hesitated to jump to conclusions without evidence, yet the timing struck you as more than coincidental—it nagged at you for weeks now, suggesting a connection you hoped did not exist.

Because if they really did... then...

You didn't dare to think, because it would be more than a nightmare. But you weren't able to let this go either, so you did what was necessary.

You planted a note in Hanabi's chamber, and then you waited in the gardens, the chilly midnight air wrapping around you like a shroud.

You had done everything you could. Five years ago, you let go of everything and had decided to spend your life with your first love—Naoya.

Because you truly and devotedly love him. You give your all for him—for your life together.

"Ooh, Your Majesty~! It's so cold out here, why not in our usual—"

Hanabi's voice faltered as soon as she saw your crimson gown, feeling like the world had collapsed on her. And you rigidly turned towards her, feeling more or less the same.

And yet, what you had received from him is the greatest betrayal.

SATORU, THE EMPEROR OF THE WESTERN EMPIRE

He first realized something was clearly wrong with you during the New Year’s ball that you hosted.

Satoru had just been crowned emperor during this time, and though rulers typically sent envoys to such grand celebrations due to concurrent festivities in their own lands, it had been several months since he last saw you. He wants to see you.

A meritless action, but he wanted to, regardless.

But that day, you were a fantastic actress in this stage called banquet hall and nobody was the wiser… but he would know, because you mattered a lot to him.

"Your Majesty, you don't seem well." He approached you with a glass of champagne, affixing a friendly smile. "Is there anything amiss?"

Taken aback, you didn't expect such close proximity that you took a step back. His smile almost faltered, but he kept it up.

"Emperor Satoru—"

"Ah, none of that, no. Address me just as you usually do, hmm?"

A smile finally tugged at your lips. "How is that fair, when you address me so formally?"

Satoru chuckled. "You, my queen, deserve all the finery and grandeur there is. And I will see to it that you do."

That was his nickname for you ever since you ascended the throne. Both of your countries refer you as “empress”, but he loves addressing you as “queen” instead.

There was a shift in your expression, and he thought you looked melancholic. It bothered him, stirring a desire to erase that somber look from you. Because above anything and everything, you had to be happy and smiling.

"You're still a flirt, I see, Satoru," you remarked, throwing him a soft smile. "It won't do you good if you're seen with me most of the time, you know."

No, I’m doing this just for you. He wanted to tell you that, but he sighed instead. "You've got it wrong. When I'm in the company of the most beautiful woman in the lands, what's there to be ashamed of?"

Perhaps hearing that finally melted you a bit as you freely giggled this time, and Satoru was glad that he made you laugh even a little.

"You would think that, huh..." you fondly mumbled. And then your expression crumbled, and he could've sworn something painful flashed in your eyes—

What happened to you? He so desperately wanted to ask, but then he saw that preying gaze on both of you. Zen’in Naoya. Satoru clicked his tongue as he watched him weave through the crowd, his gaze locked ominously on both of you.

“Seems like we don’t have much time, after all,” he began, urgency sharpening his words. “But rest assured, whenever you want to talk to me, just send a little birdie my way and I shall answer.”

“Huh?” you blinked at him questioningly, totally not getting what he meant.

He winked, then took your hand and placed a kiss on it, eliciting murmurs of surprise from the crowd at his bold gesture. “And chin up, my queen. You have nothing to fear, and if it makes you feel better...”

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, “To me, a diamond is most beautiful. And you… are one that sparkles above all.”

“Naoya, unhand me this instant!”

You were tired of this shit, of Naoya always manhandling you—of him always having a total control over you.

After seeing how close you got to Satoru, Naoya practically saw red. Still, in the prying eyes of public, he remained unperturbed, but his vice-like grip on your arm was sure to leave bruise as he unkindly led you out of the ballroom.

"Naoya!" you raised your voice this time, even louder than before, uncaring even when the wandering eyes of the servants curiously followed the two of you.

You were not made an empress just to follow him. And with that conviction, you forcibly pulled your arm away from his grip right after he shut the door to the drawing room close, not even wincing at the stinging feeling.

His eyes shone with anger. “You insolent—!”

“No—” You stood your ground, and suddenly you got very irate and burst out, “How dare you, Zen’in Naoya!”

He looked at you with equal surprise and mortification, clearly unprepared for your righteous tirade.

"You have made a mockery of our marriage! You have insulted me and your own throne by carrying on with— with the help! My maid!" you screamed at his face, pure anger coursing through your veins. "How could you!?"

Naoya took in your outburst with eerie silence, a sneer slowly forming on his lips. "You get riled up over that? Have you forgotten emperors are free to take mistresses, especially when the empress isn't capable to bear any heirs?"

A burning arrow shot straight to your heart at his response but you willed yourself not to show it. "Regardless, you could've done better and not put our throne to shame by fucking a servant."

"I've told you time and time again. A woman's duty is to bear children, and since you've proven yourself beyond barren, I did you a favor."

"A favor...?"

"As soon as Hanabi births that child, you can raise him as your own," Naoya frankly stated unabashedly, as if proud with his idea. "Saves you the trouble and I get my heir, a win-win solution, no?"

Raise him as my own...? Saves the trouble? You could've sworn that throughout your entire life, you had never been so insulted before now, right in this moment.

"What I do, I always have my throne in mind. And yet you..." his eyes narrowed into unsatisfied slits. "What are you trying to achieve by whoring yourself to that rake, Gojo Satoru? Are you telling people of the ton that you're having an affair?"

His voice made you want to throw up. The realization that everything you thought you had together might have meant nothing to him at all made you feel sick.

And so, hiding your trembling hands and swallowing you unshed tears, you responded to him with a clipped tone—

"You're most despicable, Naoya. And you are a complete fool if you think even for a second that I'd want to raise your bastard!"

He seemed taken aback by your rejection, but you didn't falter. "And oh, since you want to make use of that lowly maid so much, feel free to take her back and track her down yourself, because I've sent that wench away."

With that, you turned your back on him, striding out with your head held high, even as your life crumbled into dust.

Days after your full-blown argument with Naoya, your situation only worsened. By now, even the palace servants knew you had incurred his wrath, while Hanabi had won his favor by carrying his child—possibly the heir to the throne.

The child she was carrying was no threat to your position. After all, you were the empress. A child of your blood would trample over any bastard.

However, you'd be damned if you shared a bed with him again, and Naoya made it clear that his mistress would be elevated to the rank of royal consort. Given the current trajectory—and history's tendency to repeat itself—emperors often divorced or banished their empresses in favor of their mistresses.

Bah. You could only scoff at your laughable predicament. You came from a prestigious clan and were revered, yet now you were no more than a scorned woman.

Dark thoughts consumed your mind for a time—you couldn't deny that you had considered leaving the palace for self-imposed exile or even ending your life. However, reason always prevailed.

You wouldn't give Naoya what he wanted most: your compliance. And around the time when you resolved to do that, a finely decorated envelope arrived at your study, with no signature whatsoever.

Intrigued, you opened it to find an intricate dried rose bookmark and a folded letter nestled inside.

Greetings to you, my queen. Yeah, it's me. Hope you won't be too surprised. But if you do, know that I always mean well.

Satoru. You weren't expecting this. A small smile tugged at your lips. How long had it been since you last smiled so freely?

I've heard you love reading, hence the bookmark. Fun fact: I made it myself, with Shoko's help. She is sooo bad at explaining though so if the flower is wrinkled... please blame her.

This time, you giggled. He was an emperor, for god's sake. Should someone of his station write so informally like this?

Now... I'm no oracle, but even I know that you must be having bad days. And so, let me entertain you with several tales from my kingdom. So, the other day, my good friend Suguru, the duke—you must've heard of him surely (they said he is the most handsome bachelor in the West but they must be missing an eye for saying so because clearly I'm more!)—just fired a pair of his servants because he caught them in a thirst! He is so uptight! Why can't he let two people in love be!?

Before you knew it, you found yourself chuckling at the lines upon lines of anecdotes Satoru had penned in the letter. The way he wrote, it was as if he was right here, saying all of this to you in real-time. For a while, you were completely absorbed in the world of the Western Empire he described, and all your worries and anxieties seemed to fade away.

Okay, that's it for now. This is just a teaser actually, so if you want to subscribe to more tales of my humble little country, you can always be my empress reply to this letter! :D Look out for a white cat near your windowsill during the hour of snake—he is my trained pet, and put your message in his little backpack. Don't worry, he's cute and doesn't bite!

You were so giddy by the end. His message warmed your heart so much that your eyes grew misty. In the aftermath of Naoya's betrayal, you were certain your life would be filled with much sadness to come.

Yet, your friendship with Satoru might just be the thing that would save you.

No matter how much his friends Duke Geto and Countess Shoko urged him to see reason—that you were no longer available and occupied with your duties as the empress of your own empire—Satoru couldn't help but still cast an eye your way.

You were clearly unhappy, and to him, someone as radiant as you should be happy.

And so, that was why he took his quill and started writing that letter to be sent to your place, along with a rose strapped inside.

He knew that, being the kind person you were, you would most likely respond, but still, the moment his cat arrived back with your reply, he was elated beyond measure.

Of course I knew it right away! I omitted your name because who knows who might catch your cat on the way. Anyway, I hope Mr. Cat will arrive back to you safe and sound. Firstly, thank you for your letter. I must say I'm so happy to receive it :) I haven't had best days so reading it made me smile. And secondly, of course I'll subscribe to your stories of Western Empire. I've been wanting to visit it myself but just haven't gotten the chance to... so if you will continue it, I shall be happy to read :D

If anything he wrote brought you joy, then Satoru was content. He had achieved his goal then.

And it was his own little secret that... by corresponding with you, it allowed him to savor the feeling of having you as his own, if only through words.

Mr. Cat's name is Sugu-chan after Suguru but you can call him whatever you wish. And don't worry, he is strong and can fight if necessary! And don't be too formal with me, my queen. We have known each other forever. Anyway do tell me, what is your favorite color now? Let me guess, is it still that specific shade of crimson?

You name your cat after your best friend...? And you're making it hard for me to be less formal when you always address me as queen! Hmm, I suppose so. I love burgundy. I've even had my study designed with that exact color scheme. It just gives me the confidence I need, you know.

So you still love burgundy... I'll keep that in mind ;) Frankly, any shade of crimson suits you—you're always a vision in them. Back then and especially during your coronation. I love blue, so I think we're a match? :D

Back then...? Hmm, surprisingly yes, red and blue would make a good match... Anyway, I believe you promised me unusual tales from your 'humble little country', so please indulge me!

You've forgotten it already? Around the time we first met, back when I was still known as "the cursed prince"? It holds such importance for me but sadly it seems like it was just a passing moment to you :( Oh, yeah, I haven't forgotten about it! So, this time let me tell you about the time when Earl Nanami got wasted . . .

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Amidst the turmoil of your marriage, exchanging letters with Satoru became your sole respite. His stories regarding his own empire amused you, and sometimes it got you to wonder what it was like to live there.

However, running away from your problems would never solve them. Writing to Satoru may have helped you to cope, but still, your real issue with Naoya wouldn't vanish simply just by ignoring him.

. . .

"Your Majesty..."

For a good one minute, you stood still. Your lady-in-waiting had delivered an earth-shattering news—but admittedly, a possibility you thought was in the cards the moment you went against Naoya.

"His majesty has summoned the high priest to his study," the elderly woman added, close to tears. "But it is very likely that he has submitted the petition for—" her voice faltered when she caught sight of the emptiness in your eyes, unable to continue.

A divorce. Naoya had been considering a divorce. And by now, he was set on it.

"I'm so, so sorry..." she choked out, her voice breaking with sorrow to mourn you, but you remained expressionless, lost in your thoughts.

The last time an empress of Eastern Empire was divorced was more or less a century ago, because she had committed a grave treachery against a royal consort by poisoning her. She was sentenced to death by hanging afterwards.

The irony. You were in similar situation, only that you weren't vengeful enough to resort to poisoning Hanabi. Speaking of her, her baby was due in another four months, and now she was living happily in Naoya's quarters.

"Don't be. I'm perfectly fine."

To consolidate his illegitimate child's position, Naoya used the most effective way. Since you wouldn't listen to him, and Hanabi must be a far delightful companion rather than you, he was more than willing to cast you aside in favor of making her his empress instead.

You thought it would hurt more, and yet what you felt the most right in this moment was white-hot anger. This is unacceptable. It was the greatest insult to you both as a woman and as the empress.

Now, all you could think of was how to uphold your dignity and plot your exit from this palace with your head still held high.

If I can't be the empress here...

And after a sleepless night, you came to a daring solution. And your plan—

...I'll be one somewhere else.

It was an invitation, Satoru thought, almost in disbelief. Or it sounded a lot like one, didn't it?

Heart beating a little faster and blushing, he reread the latest letter you had sent him.

It's only the beginning of summer, and the heat is sweltering... I'm considering treating myself to a trip to the winery village on the border between the east and west. I think it'll be nice if I have a companion...

Winery village was right in the middle of the western and eastern empires, and it was a safe zone. Vineyards were vast and thick, but it wasn't exactly a popular vacation spot. So, it intrigued him why you would want to go there.

Just as he was about to reply to you that it was a very good coincidence that he too wanted to pay a visit to the said village, suddenly—

"Gojo! Gojoooo!" Shoko suddenly burst into his study, startling him.

"Shoko! What the heck?!"

Lady Shoko might be a countess, but she, Satoru, and Suguru all attended the same royal academy. Despite their prestigious titles now, Satoru insisted that in private, both Suguru and Shoko address him just as they did before he ascended the throne.

Still, she was ruder than Suguru in many ways. Satoru gave her a stink eye, but his confusion grew as she seemed to be delivering momentous news.

"Gojo, have you heard that Naoya will divorce Y/N?!"

"Wha?" it felt like a ton of bricks suddenly fell down on his head. And then his friend proceeded to tell him everything she knew.

"It wasn't made official yet, but even the townsfolk have been talking about it. They also said that Naoya have taken a mistress, and that she was formerly the empress' maid."

Satoru listened to her in silence, but the moment he heard that the Zen'in spawn planned to divorce you, anger flared within him. And to add insult to injury, he two-timed you with a servant?

The fucking bastard. He never deserved you at all. How crushed must you have been, enduring all this shit?

"Now, I wouldn't normally encourage you this," Shoko took out the cigarette she stashed in the folds of her dress and sighed. "But since you never let go of that weird fixation on her, should the royal divorce happen..." she shrugged as she took a seat in front of him.

"No matter how laughable it is, you might have a chance."

She is so right. These long years of longing for your affections and dreaming of having even a minute more of your time... there was now chance to turn it to reality.

When you arrived at the winery village for your vacation to breathe in some fresh air, honestly, everything was still in shambles.

You couldn't forget the horrified looks from the court when Naoya announced the divorce. Most were shocked and pleaded with him to reconsider. Some from your circle of ladies even sobbed, openly stating that you didn't deserve this fate.

“Empress... His Majesty shouldn't be that harsh...” Hanabi had said to you afterwards, seemingly concerned for you. “Your legacy here… I’ll make sure to carry them on.”

Sometimes you didn’t know whether Hanabi was pretending to be dumb or indeed she was. One thing you knew though...

“I wish you luck on that, Hanabi.” You looked down at her with eyes as cold as ice. “Beware, the Emperor is fickle, be sure to not run out of entertainments.”

You knew you deserved a better fate than being the empress of the Eastern Empire, but seeing those who still cared for you made you solemn. Your loyal maids, those who supported you... and what about organizations you've spent time and energy to?

“My queen, ah, there you are.”

Satoru's voice from behind startled you, interrupting your daydreams. He quickly came beside you and extended his hand, asking for yours.

You offered him your right hand, and he promptly pressed a kiss on it, his bright blue eyes gazing up at you.

It wasn't as if you just noticed how pretty his eyes were, but now that there was no ballroom and scrutinizing eyes around you, you couldn't deny that the way his eyes sparkled as he gazed at you—solely and purely on you—made you breathless.

What... would it be like to have this man... to be your husband instead?

"I missed you. I know we talk daily through letters, but seeing your beauty firsthand is always a sight for sore eyes," he cheekily commented as he let go of your hand. "Now, I get to see you without your pesky husband around, and yeah, you never fail to make my silly heart race."

You chuckled. "You always flatter me..."

He only gave you a toothy smile, and you two strolled the vineyard. For a while, you talked about nothing of importance, like where your ladies-in-waiting were, how things were from his side.

"How do you find being the emperor?"

"It's tiring! It's boring too to look through accounts and oversee those trivial state affairs! And not to mention how many people have been nagging me to take a wife soon!"

"Oh? You haven't been on the lookout already?"

"Nah. No one is good enough, I need someone already familiar with state affairs and such," he said, wrinkling his nose sourly at the thought. But then he cast his eyes on you.

"And frankly, you are my standard," he fixed you a meaningful smile. "No one comes close. If you weren't betrothed to the Zen'in back then, I'd have proposed you in a heartbeat."

Thump. Thump. Thump. Your dead heart suddenly came to life. Gojo Satoru had just confessed his affections for you so candidly, and it got you thinking how much easier your life would be with him. He would love you, take care of you...

And beguile you.

His eyes fondly crinkled at you. "You are everything I desire in a woman to be my wife."

He adores you so easily, so fluidly... and yet, Naoya, who has you fully, is throwing you away.

Satoru observed how your face fell once again, just as it had during the New Year's ball. And now he knew, it was because you were facing your impending divorce.

But he wasn't going to tell you that, instead, he would willingly be your confidant and offer you his very being. He was about to crack a joke to lift your spirits, when you blurted—

"What if I said... I want to be your empress?" you kept your pace, not looking at him at all. "What if I said... I'll leave everything and come to you?"

Huh? What…?

That was loaded. Have you entertained the thought too? Satoru had craved the very idea for so long he didn’t even miss a beat—

“Then I’d marry you.” His voice was straight and true, shooting straight to the most tender part of you that Naoya had torn to shreds. “If you become my empress… that will make me the happiest man alive.”

No hesitation. It almost reduced you to tears. You stopped where you stood, willing yourself not to tremble. There is still one person who sees this much value in you.

“Then I’ll be yours,” you breathed out. “I’ll be your empress, Satoru.”

Satoru could've sworn time had stopped. If one moment ago, you looked like you were about to shatter, now you were a vision of the dignified and perfect queen he had always known you were.

“I’ll be your queen— your everything.” You declared, locking eyes with him, the intensity of your gaze not escaping him.

How many years had he dreamed of this moment? How many long nights had he endured, yearning for you, knowing you were beyond his reach?

Finally, finally... Satoru grinned, swearing to all the divine beings out there that he had never known how liberating it was to finally have what he wanted. “That would be my greatest honor.”

He drew you close—you let him—and after one second of taking in your enchanting eyes, he crashed his lips against yours.

His lips started soft and gentle, then became fiery as his tongue met yours. He pulled you closer, one arm around your waist and the other holding the back of your head. You responded eagerly, pressing against him, fingers tracing his neck and feeling the lines of his undercut.

One is finally having the woman he had wanted for so long, and the other was plotting her escape from her misery.

You were using him. He knew it. Yet, he didn't care. Hidden behind bushes and vines, you shared your very first heated kiss, aware that this moment would leave its mark as both the greatest stain and triumph in your lives.

And when he finally pulled away, lips swollen and wet, with a wolfish grin, he promised you once again—

“Give me everything that is yours... and I swear on my life, I will do everything to turn your life into a living dream.”

“Empress, your husband His Majesty the Emperor, has requested a divorce.”

It was how your once pristine life transformed into the scandal of the century inside the courthouse.

"If you accept this petition, then you will no longer be the Empress of Eastern Empire. You will lose all the rights you have as a senior member of the imperial family..."

You donned your finest attire—the intricate crimson and black dress you had designed and commissioned the dressmaker to create. Today, faced with Naoya's divorce decree, it would be the last time you adorned the colors of his empire.

"The ties that bound you together as husband and wife would be severed—"

Good riddance, you thought.

"If this is not what you want, you have the right to—"

"I accept the divorce."

Your voice cut through the heavy solemness of the witnesses and turned them into a mass of disbelief. You disregarded Naoya's smirk and held the priest's gaze. "And I demand an immediate approval for my remarriage."

The crowd was in for a second wave of uproar when you boldly stood your ground, and they erupted into clamors once again when Satoru made his grand entrance and took his place beside you.

"You—!" Naoya was so furious that he roared. "This is my empire!"

"And?" Satoru challenged with a dauntless smile. "I'm here to propose, and since she accepts your divorce request, I believe she has no relations with you any longer and is free to marry someone else."

You remained motionless, until your cold fingers met warmth when Satoru linked his hand with yours reassuringly.

"This is treachery! I won't fucking permit it!" Naoya hollered as he faced the high priest, who had a grim face while observing this three-way headlock between the three of you.

"Emperor Naoya, that matter falls into the jurisdiction of the church." The high priest let out a sigh and then turned to you, assessing your calm gaze.

Regardless, Naoya paid him no mind. "I refuse to grant you any permission to remarry! You will be banished to the cold palace until the rest of your pitiful days! Not only do you fail miserably by being barren beyond help, you also dare to whore yourself—" he was now rambling curses at you before everyone in the court, and it pierced you deeply—

Until Satoru tugged you behind him, so that you wouldn't have to see his face any longer.

"High priest!" Satoru's voice blared as he clenched his jaw, irate at the string of profanities directed at you. "Do you still truly believe that the deposed empress can't remarry? When she has suffered through this man's downright betrayal?"

Your head was spinning. You wanted this whole ordeal to be over already.

And thankfully, even the high priest saw reason, that you were undeserving of this debacle. In the end, his words held more weight than anyone else's, even Naoya's.

"I accept Empress Y/N petition to marry Emperor Satoru!"

In the chaos of the courthouse after the high priest granted your wish, Naoya shook his head in disbelief, looking at both of you with intense disdain.

"You've always wanted that wench, haven't you, Gojo?" Naoya cackled with a malice you would never have expected from someone who had been your husband for ten years.

You had tuned out all the noise. This dumpster fire was too much even for you. But then, you felt a strong arm enveloping you, sealing your fate as the match made in this courtroom—

"I have, yeah," Satoru replied with a smug grin. "And now that she is mine... it's just the beginning of your downfall, Zen'in."

Your wedding banquet in Western Empire lasted a week long.

True to his promise, Satoru spared no effort to make you happy. The moment he brought you to his palace, he ordered immediate plans for wedding celebrations. Make it grand, make it unforgettable... he took charge himself.

And on the final, seventh day, as you were about to be formally crowned as the empress of the western lands, you were stunned.

"This is your coronation dress, Empress," your new lady-in-waiting, Shoko, said with pride. "Gojo— I mean, His Majesty, specifically has his late mother's dress altered to suit you."

You promised yourself that you would no longer wear any shades of crimson. As much as you loved the color, it reminded you too much of your homeland and Naoya. No matter how much you despised him now, once upon a time, he was everything you loved and more.

And you thought you couldn't possibly love another color until you saw the extravagant navy dress in your chamber. Made of luxurious satin and adorned with literal diamonds, it shimmered under the light and flowed gracefully with layers of brocade cascading to the floor.

To give you something so valuable... You had expected to enter into a marriage out of necessity, but your new husband had no intention of ceasing his ways to win your heart.

If it's with him, maybe... just maybe...

Today is the day.

Satoru sat on his throne before his court in the grand hall of his audience chamber. His hair was pulled back, and he was dressed in his official attire, robe of silk and a crown made of pure gold.

Next to him, another resplendent crown adorned with jewels and diamonds shimmered in the light—the empress' crown. Your crown.

Today was the day this empire would truly acknowledge his queen. He stole a glance at you on his other side, and his breath was taken away.

With your hair tucked into an elegant updo, you were the very vision of a fairytale queen. You were incredibly stunning, almost otherworldly— shade of blue suited you as much as crimson did, just as he thought.

This day would go down in history. But before that, he would ensure that the news would reach Zen'in Naoya. He would spite him so hard.

"Today marks a momentous occasion. We gather here to celebrate not only my marriage and my new wife's coronation," Satoru glanced at his audience with a smirk, his expression widening as he spotted his best friends Suguru and Shoko. "But also the start of her reign... and as we know it already, her fame and beauty are second to none."

The crowd burst into giggles, clearly aware of his scandal at the Eastern Empire's courthouse. And even you smiled.

Satoru shrugged, playfully rolling his eyes. "Spare me, I'm a newlywed, after all. Anyway..." His gaze shifted to the intricate crown, a relic of his late mother's, and then back to you. "Come."

You knelt before your new husband, bowing your head. The whirlwind journey from the East, your remarriage to Satoru... It had all felt surreal until this moment. Now, the weight of reality settled upon you, almost shaking your very core—

But just as the thought crossed your mind, Satoru placed the crown upon your head. As the jewels settled into place and you rose to face the crowd, his voice cut through the air:

"And here I present to you, your new empress!"

The room erupted in applause, the cheers echoing around you. Everyone congratulated you without fail, and your breath was taken away.

It was a sight beyond belief, as they chanted your name, over and over again—

“ALL HAIL THE EMPRESS!”

"I have something for you!"

You wouldn't expect that you would ditch your last night of wedding celebrations along with your husband, and yet here you were, led by the hand by a very giddy Satoru.

"Where are we going?" you questioned him, your pretty dress sweeping the halls in a rush.

He turned to you to send you a wink. "Trust me, sweetheart. You'll love it."

Somehow the way he called you made your heart thump a little faster inside your ribcage. This man is really, truly, your husband now.

He was such a refreshing person, it almost made you let go of everything that molded you into the perfect empress in the east, and be just... you.

"Here." Both of you stopped in front of a grand door, and he ushered you inside. "Come, come~"

A study, you realized as you stepped inside, but then a gasp left your lips—

"How do you find it, hmm?" Satoru put an arm around your waist, proud of how the burgundy walls and mats enveloped the entire space, creating a tranquil sight that perfectly matched your taste.

It was so much like your private study in the Eastern Empire's palace. You might now hate that place, but your private study was filled with the memories of smiles while writing back to Satoru's letters and waiting for his cat to come. And to have this now in your new home...

"You remembered..." you looked up to him, almost tearing up.

"Of course I do," he pressed a kiss on your temple. "I said that so long as you're with me, I'll turn your dream into reality, didn't I?"

This man really treasures you, or at least that was what his actions had proven so far.

"You're everything I've ever wanted and more," Satoru said, wrapping his arms around you from behind in a warm embrace. "You might not realize it, but I've been in love with you since you first visited western lands."

"What?" you turned to him with genuine confusion. "How?"

"That blind boy who you led by the hand... he had no friends," Satoru sighed against you. "The first and only person who asked him if he was lost... is you."

Suddenly, you were thrown back in time to your first encounter with Satoru many years ago. He was known as "cursed" for being born with peculiar eyes, had been blind for a period of his childhood, before he awakened the true extent of those brilliant blue eyes and brought his clan to power by wielding them.

Back then, you thought it was wrong for him to be left alone, so you took him by the hand and escorted him back to the palace, unaware that he was the infamously cursed crown prince.

"You made me feel less lonely. And I thought then... someday, somehow... through some sort of miracle in which I regained my eyesight and could see you... I'd immediately ask for your hand."

But you were named the crown princess of the Eastern Empire. The thought of how crushed Satoru must have felt upon hearing the news pricked at your heart.

You felt soft, you felt loved, and most of all, you felt an overwhelming certainty that with this man by your side, you would finally experience the genuine love that had been missing from your life for so long.

"You have me now," you whispered in response.

Unlike your first kiss in the winery village, this time, you were the one who faced him and pulled him into a searing kiss.

Be it impulse, overwhelming feelings or something else... you didn't care. You just want him.

And wouldn't you know, your new husband... is also a wonderful, dashing lover.

"You're so... fucking beautiful..." Satoru's lips were on yours, claiming them with a fierce passion that left you breathless. His hands roamed your body, tracing each curves and lines.

You moaned into his mouth, clutching his robes. He captured your wrists with one hand, using the other to tilt your head back so he could leave bruises on your neck in the process, making you moan.

"Keep making that sound, yeah?" Satoru rasped, his hot breath giving you goosebumps. "Keep me going with your voice."

As he gripped your waist, it dawned to him once again that you were here, with him.

Seeing his colors on you ignited desire straight to his cock. His empress was stunning, more so now than ever, more than any woman Satoru had ever seen.

He led you to the bed, his movements urgent yet tender. The air was thick with desire as you lay back, pulling him down with you. You arched your back, pressing yourself closer to him, craving more.

This wasn't your first time, yet you had never been this excited before. From heated kisses until somehow managing to get rid of your underwear and left you in your dress... your body nearly thrashed in response.

"Look at you... An queen of two empires, yet rendered putty in my hands," Satoru wickedly grinned as he slipped a hand under your dress, rubbing his thumb teasingly over your clit. You let out a soft sigh at the prodding. You were getting wetter by each second... and Satoru felt his cock straining against the tight material of his dress pants.

"More..." you pleaded, arching your hips. "More...!"

Any of your wishes would be his command, so he pushed two fingers inside you at once, and you let out an erotic gasp. Satoru was so close to tearing his pants off by seeing how tight you clenched around his digits.

Breathy moans fell from your lips with each harsh brush of his thumb over your clit, his fingers fucking you fast—

"Satoru...!" you shuddered, gripping his shoulders as you became limp and came into his hands in spurts.

"My queen..." he then captured your lips in a brash kiss, and you reciprocated it. He pulled away only to press his forehead against yours in an attempt to calm his raging heart. "No matter what."

His watery, sparkling eyes was mesmerizing to you, and you took one breath before you crashed your lips into his, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

"As pretty as you look in this, I'm going to take it off," Satoru murmured with a meaningful smirk, slowly undoing the laces of your dress. "I want to see you completely naked... just for me."

Soon, you laid bare, and the cold air made your body shiver. Satoru clenched his jaw tightly at the scrumptious sight.

It was almost difficult for him to take in all of you at once—your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, erect nipples, and legs spread wantonly for him. Satoru had been here so many times in his dreams, and to see it becoming reality...

"If back then, you had chosen me instead—" he sounded almost heartbroken, which startled you. "I would have treated you right from the start—"

You looked up to him. "You would..."

"Don't you know how many years... I've been just there— watching you and that bastard? Knowing I can do even more than him?"

"Mhm..."

You rose, tugging him closer, before you unclasped his robe, letting it fall to the floor. "Satoru... right now... I'm yours."

He allowed you to undress him and soon he too was out of his stuffy royal attire. Your eyes wandered on each part of his body you touched. His chiseled body, snow-like skin, and then the hardened bulge that sprung out the moment you undid his pants—

The sight of his cock alone only turned you on even more. You gently gripped the glistening head, running a thumb over the tip before gliding your hand towards the base of his length. With a gentle rhythm, your hand moved from base to tip in a slow, teasing motion... before pecking his head.

"Yeah... you're right." His eyes never left yours, admiring you as if you were the most precious gemstone, before catching you off guard. While you rubbed him, he snaked a hand around your waist, pulling you so that you tumbled on top of him.

You moaned loudly as his cock—big, both in length and width—entered you, his hands gripping your thighs to spread them apart so he can shove himself deeper.

You felt so, so full, as you pulled Satoru to you tightly, groaning into his shoulder. And he started to set the pace, moving against you.

"Ahh," you moaned out shakily, fingers clawing into his back. To him, the sounds you made drew him in like a siren's song, it made him throb inside you. "Ahh—hngh!"

"Feel good?" he asked, voice sultry and deep, as he thrusted into you particularly harder, causing you to stifle a moan. "Let it out—hah—sweetheart... I want to hear you, hmm?"

And you did. You felt hot. Your unabashed, nasty sounds with each thrust drove him to the edge. With every lift of your hips, you squeezed him so tightly it almost made his head spin. His breaths came in short pants too.

"You fit me so damn well," he groaned, holding your hips hard enough to leave imprints of his fingers. "So fine..."

One woman. It took just one woman—you—to unravel him like this.

"Satoru, harder—" You commanded, wrapping your arms around his neck even as you trembled. "N-not enough... harder!"

He actually had to swallow, because you and your pussy felt so damn tantalizing. "As you wish, Your Majesty."

He slammed his hips against yours twice—no, thrice the previous speed, and you incoherently squealed. The squelching sound of your hips slamming against each other, and the immense wetness coming out where you two were joined... it was clear: you were addicted.

"Did Naoya ever make you feel as good as I do you now?" he drawled, sinking into you impossibly deeper, squeezing your left mound and flicking your right nipple at the same time. "Did he... ever make you ride him like this?" And then he instantly regretted his words.

Because the moment he said that, you felt cold, reminded of nights in which Zen'in Naoya grabbed you just to forcefully breed you. You winced, and Satoru caught it.

"I..." you shifted your gaze away from him, and he could've sworn that it was sorrow he saw flashing in your pretty eyes. "I-I... don't want to talk about him..."

Feeling remorseful, Satoru reached for the back of your neck and pulled you to him, kissing your lips softly. "I'm sorry—"

"You don't have to—"

"Tonight, I'll make you scream my name so hard you'll forget him," he promised as he pulled away from you, his eyes darkening. "Tonight, give me everything and I'll show you how a man truly loves his woman."

And he followed through. He worshipped you meticulously, treating your body with the reverence one might bestow upon delicate glass. He peppered kisses on every inch of your skin he could reach, lips and tongue trailing down, his relentless thrusts so well-paced and brutal at the same time.

"I'm— close!" You whimpered, and yet still grinding your hips against him. He was watching your every move, every wave of pleasure that was evident on your face— committing it to memory for those moments when he couldn't hold you close.

You gasped—as a mind-blowing orgasm then ripped out of your very being, your hips faltering as you surrendered to ecstasy with a cry of his name, coming all over him. "Satoru... Satoru! Ahhh!"

And Satoru kept his gaze on your face as he too busted inside of you hard, feeling himself filling your womb with his essence, his hands kept your waist steady, memorizing the way your lips part and the way your body went limp into him with satisfaction.

Dear heavens, I love you. The sight of you was nothing but perfection, and with everything he had, he was very sincere when he said—

"You're flawless, sweetheart."

2 MONTHS LATER

"If you give me a son, I'll throne you as the empress right on that very day."

The Eastern Empire's palace was bustling as the royal consort's screams echoed through the halls. The day Naoya had been eagerly awaiting had arrived—his mistress was delivering his heir.

Yet unbeknownst to him, whispers in the dark suggested the royal baby was arriving suspiciously early. Many, still mourning the previous empress who had been dethroned so abruptly, were not exactly thrilled with this turn of events.

"My lady, just a little bit more!" the maid encouraged. Hanabi strained once again as the pain peaked and her body spasmed, letting out the loudest wail as the baby finally slid out of her.

"W-what... is it?" on the brink of passing out, Hanabi asked anyone who might hear her. She had to know, for she was so close to obtaining her throne—

"It's a girl, my lady!" the midwife announced.

What?

Her world crumbled at that very moment. A girl? A girl can't be the heir!

She wanted to sob, to utterly mourn, and right at this moment she was full of fear, because if Naoya knew—!

Like a curse, he suddenly made his presence known in the birthing chamber. His face scrunched in distaste at the scent of blood filling the air. He took one look at Hanabi, tearful and frazzled after the ordeal, then turned to the midwife, who was trembling at his presence.

"A baby girl, Your Majesty."

In that instant, fury flashed through him. He shot everyone in the room a glare before his eyes settled on his consort, full of spite.

"You useless tramp."

Your life with Satoru in Western Empire was wonderful.

He was everything Naoya was not. Satoru adored you, prioritized your well-being and happiness, often humored you, and made your days an endless delight.

And dare you say... you had begun to return his affections as well.

How could you not? Everything he did, he did with you in mind. He eased you into your position so seamlessly, and soon you found your place comfortably at court.

"He is mixing pleasure with his kingly duties," Suguru grumbled, watching his best friend order the gardeners to plant more blue roses simply because you mentioned finding them beautiful earlier. "Empress, you have to keep a tight grip on his leash."

"Well, at least he's happy." Shoko shrugged and nudged you. "Can't you see by now? How much of a loser he is for you?"

You did see him—a man who showed you everything he had. He had given you everything you unknowingly needed.

And you just wished... you could return the same for him. It still made you bitter, knowing you might never be able to give him heirs due to your condition.

. . .

"Sweetheart... what's on your mind, hmm?"

You looked up to him as he pressed a kiss on your cheek, an arm securely around you, sweaty and panting after your steamy session.

With his hair down and messy after you yanked him earlier, your lips curved into a genuine smile. "You look hot like this, you know?"

He clicked his tongue. "Hmm, I am, of course. But no use in changing topics, I know you well enough now."

Your bare body was pressed against his chest, fingertips tracing gentle lines on his skin.

"There's a possibility that... I can't give you any children." You almost felt ashamed saying this to him, unable to look at him in the eye. "I-I... I've failed for many years—"

"Hush," he silenced you with a finger to your lips, his expression firm. "No thinking that, yeah? I don't care."

"But—"

"Children are gifts," he said then, caressing your face tenderly. "It's not up to us to control how it'll take or not. And I married you not because I want heirs or such—I love you, you know?"

Your glassy eyes met his, and you willed yourself not to shed a tear.

He grinned cheekily. "Besides, you've felt it yourself—my sexual potency is undeniable. And I don't believe for a second, that you're what that bastard claimed you to be. I bet he's the one who is impotent—"

"Satoru! You're so obscene—!" you giggled freely and poked his chest.

At that time, you were just relieved that he didn't mind. Though it was still weighing in your mind on some days, you felt a newfound sense of liberation compared to when you were still in the Eastern Empire.

But you were in for another plot twist. Perhaps Satoru is correct, and your doubts are unfounded...

"Ugh..."

Your stomach churned in discomfort, a sickening nausea that seemed to twist your insides and threaten to force its way up. This had happened for days now.

You wanted to find a physician before Satoru was aware of your state. You didn't dare to hope or speculate, because you were tired of it by this point. You just wanted clarity.

Yet, the physician's words left you speechless.

"Your Majesty... it seems that you are with child," he remarked in wonder as he assessed your vein. "Yes, definitely. You are with child."

It was a revelation you hadn't expected. For years, you had been convinced that you were unable to conceive, but now...

You were carrying a new life. Yours and Satoru's.

You felt like bursting with joy as you made your way to his study. Your heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of happiness. Above anything else, you were eager to share this news with him—

...until everything you had known turned on its axis once again.

Right before you went past the ajar door, you saw a glimpse of your husband and his most trusted confidant, overhearing snippets of their conversation:

"Satoru, however you look at it, this is tantamount to declaring war," Suguru sighed, clearly at odds with his perspective. "It's not wise."

"We can finally put an end to them this way," Satoru's tone was steely as he moved a chess piece across the map, positioning it on the border between east and west. "No better time than now."

"The Empress will face the greatest backlash from this. They'll accuse her of being vengeful enough to provoke an attack on her home country—"

"On the contrary, her presence will encourage those still loyal to her to defect. That's why I have her here. We need defectors—"

You let out a choked gasp, backing away from the door in shock. For one good minute, you refused to comprehend what Satoru was implying.

. . .

Did your new husband... marry you for his own hidden agenda?

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