#this is a personal rant so i'm just writing it in the tags because i don't want this to be taken as a cry for attention or smthing like that

[runawaydr3amerao3]

20 Fanfic Author Questions ✍️🤔

Friend has given Dreamer a tag! Friend loves Dreamer! 🥹 Thanks, @sixtysevenautomatic. 🥰

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿐

1. How many works on AO3?

24 👏

2. Total AO3 Word Count?

604,954 🥳

3. Top 5 fics by Kudos?

(These are all Supernatural, Wincest, and Explicit, by the way.)

Tell Him That His Lonesome Nights Are Over (426), Part 1 in Sandman 'verse

And then the entire West series, just out of order. Lol.

Part 4: Unless I Can't Resist (315) Part 3: When I'm Bad (260) Part 1: Run It All Over (259) Part 2: The One I Never Tried (229)

4. What fandoms do you write for?

Only SPN and SPN Real Person Fic these days. There was a drabble in LotR RPF way back in the day, and a fic or three in the Fandom-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, but that was over 20 years ago. SPN and J2 have had my heart for most of the time since.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I always, always do my best to reply to comments because I am so grateful for them, but I readily admit I drop the ball sometimes (a lot of the time). My heart skips a beat every time one appears in my inbox, though, and they're devoured with the joy of a teenage girl receiving a love note from her first crush.

Unfortunately, my mental health and other brain things get in the way sometimes, so it can take me a long time to reply, which I feel like absolute trash about. But I do my best to put the shame aside and reply eventually. Those who have responded to my apologies have always been very understanding, which I'm thankful for.

6. Angstiest Ending?

I'm straight-up allergic to unhappy endings, fam, so you're unlikely to come across one in my writing. I mean, there are a couple of parts in the Preset 'verse (Wincest/J2 crossover, Explicit) that have unhappy endings, but I was posting that as a WIP, so there was some angst before it got resolved. It's still not technically finished, but it wasn't left in a bad place.

The only other one could be The More Things Change (J2, Explicit), which definitely has an element of bittersweetness to the ending. It's sweet overall, but it's there.

7. Fic with the Happiest Ending?

I'm not sure I can actually answer this one, since most of my fics have happy endings. 🤔 Shout-out to my latest fic, Drag Out From Your Mouth (unrelated-Wincest but not a full SPN AU, Explicit)? 😂

8. Do you get hate?

The only "hate" I can remember was when I posted the first part of Sandman. The very first comment was from some anti-bottom!Dean dumpster fire complaining that I'd written another bottom!Dean fic when there was already so much of it available. My eyes nearly rolled out of my head at the entitlement.

Oh, and I guess I got a couple of general anti-Wincest comments on a post in my fic rec side blog @imthedr3amer recently? That sort of thing is just very ignorable (once I've had a rant to someone about how dumb it is, anyway).

9. Do you write smut?

I probably write more smut than I do actual plot.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Yesss. Only one kind so far, though, and that's what I mentioned above with the SPN/RPF crossover, the Preset 'verse. There needs to be so much more fic about Sam and/or Dean meeting Jared and/or Jensen. Please. We are so hungry. 🥺

11. Ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of. If anyone ever sees that shit, hit me up.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I'm aware of. Someone did ask once, but I declined because I'm a control freak and I'm not sure how I feel about not being able to do quality assurance on something like that. Language is a delicate and nuanced thing, and I guess I worry something wouldn't cross the language barrier properly? I've heard stories. But also, not being able to field comments and questions from readers doesn't sit right with me either. I don't know. I don't know!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Not exactly, although I did have the pleasure of writing Certain Souls (Wincest, Explicit) which is, with permission, a fic set in a 'verse created by my bestie, @sam-is-my-safe-word! 🥰 They alpha read all of my writing these days and vice versa, so they were very involved anyway, but I sought even more input than usual on what they thought Sam and Dean would do here or there, or if they had a preference for this or that action/dynamic/etc.

I think it's likely that we'll properly co-author something in the future. We have very complimentary interests (and kinks) and we make each other worse riff off each other's ideas really well.

14. All time favourite ship?

WINCEST SUPREMACY

[Answer unchanged from previous tagger. ✊]

15. WIPs you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I would really love to continue the Preset 'verse. I was about 30k into the next part when my computer died like eight years ago or something? It wasn't the hard drive, I don't think, so in theory I could resurrect and continue, but I have other WIPs higher on the priority list these days. Given the pace I write at, it's hard to say if that will ever happen.

16. Writing Strengths?

Uhh, smut, maybe? Lol.

17. Writing Weaknesses?

Oh-ho, now you're talking. The inability to cull unnecessary scenes is a big one for me. I write very self-indulgently. I write fanfiction because there's stuff that we didn't and would never get in canon, so just because it's not necessary for the story doesn't mean I don't want to see it in its full, overly-descriptive glory. And if I want to see it, maybe others do too, even if it doesn't deepen our understanding of the character or move the plot forwards. 🤷‍♀️

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue?

It's not something I've ever done in my fics (that I recall...), but as a reader, I find it frustrating when there's a language other than English and the other characters in the scene understand it but I'm given no way to know except by maybe skipping to the end notes for a glossary. If the other characters in the scene, or the POV character, don't understand either, it's reasonable that I wouldn't, so a glossary at the end is fine and good. If there's no translation mid-fic or at the end, regardless of anyone's understanding, that's extra frustrating. We are curious creatures, people!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Ah, yes, that would be the Fandom-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named. 🖕 🏳️‍⚧️✊ I was 12/13 and I wrote it in an exercise book that I hid under my mattress, where no one would ever think to look. I still have it. I really need to get rid of it in case I die and my family has to go through my shit.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I'm really proud of the Sandman 'verse. Most of that poured out of me after over 10 years of not having posted anything in the fandom, just reappearance of the muse out of nowhere (although the inspiration that kick-started it certainly wasn't—eternal shout-out rights to @spnyuri. 🥰).

The last fic in the 'verse, Crumbling In Your Hand, Part III: You Conquered Me (Wincest, Explicit) is one I'm very proud of. I really enjoy writing things like text message exchanges and video calls, other digital communication methods, etc., plus, I mean, reunion sex where someone gets bent over the Impala? I can only lead you to the water, my friends. 😂

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･.ೃ࿐

Tagging, as always, with maximum encouragement but minimum pressure: @sam-is-my-safe-word @talltalesandbedtimestories @bigmouthlass @thoughtslikeaminefield @xpurdyglambertx 💖

@chiquititasnewsong @felisblanco @goshen-applecrumbledore @compo67 @zmediaoutlet 💖

[sacchiri]

Hellsing 2002 calendar illustration.

Ein wunderliche und erschröckliche Hystori von einem großen Wüttrich genant Dracole wayda Der do so ganz unkristenliche marrter hat angelegt die mensche, als mit spissen als auch die leut zu Tod geslyffen

A wondrous and frightening story about a great berserk called Dracula the voivode who inflicted such unchristian tortures such as with stakes and also dragged people to death

[thelovers-thedreamers-and-me]

the downside to being a sitcom neighbour sort of person is that when rough things happen and emotionally fuck u up a lil bit, it also sounds completely made up

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[apazwtsn]

i can't explain how MUCH i identify with John, like he literally thinks and acts and makes the same mistakes as me at the point that i UNDERSTAND EVERY. ONE. OF HIS ACTIONS AND DECISIONS. CAUSE I DID AND FELT EXACTLY THE SAME. EVEN ON SEASON 4 I CAN TELL YOU IT'S NOT OUT OF CHARACTER. and how i literally connect to him in an incredibly big way. GOD it's like i can see what he's thinking every moment. you may think that i'm exaggerating or making it up but good lord he is literally me we feel literally the same

[thefrogdalorian]

Having of those moments where I wish to yeet the like button into the sun or maybe make it so there was setting you could turn on so that people can only reblog posts (even better with the minimum requirement of adding at least one tag)!!

It's kind of absurd that one of my fics is getting close to 500 notes while simultaneously being one I've had the least actual human interactions come from. Like...... come on, that's now how it should be AT ALL!

Don't get me wrong, I'm so thrilled people are clearly finding it and I guess enjoying it(??) but just having endless likes without people letting me know what they enjoyed about it or even if they liked it kind of makes me sad. That's not why I want to share my writing here!

I love having those little human connections with others. I don't ever want my writing to feel transactional. I would love to talk to more people about things I've written. It's truly one of the best feelings and I would hate to lose that, the more I write or the more notes my fics get. Please don't be shy!! I get the social anxiety, but there is no reason to be. I am truly just a Din Djarin obsessed loser.

Anyway, whine over. I don't want to focus on the negatives here and I appreciate every single person who has ever left a positive interaction with something I've written. You are truly a light!

[cosmogyros]

Have you ever read such a truly awful, indescribably bad book that you almost unfollowed the author on Tumblr, even though they tend to reblog good shit, but then you save yourself from committing this illogical folly by instead diving headfirst into that classic work of queer literature, Brideshead Revisited, as a palate cleanser, and being instantly healed by how damn good the writing is?

[wutheringmights]

what is wars diagnosed with. I know he has them I just don't know which ones.

I would prefer if we didn't pathologize Warriors

[hyewka]

I 🥲 feel 🥲 so 🥲 lackluster 🥲 lately 🥲

[meelonkurb]

:D

[spooky-something]

To the people saying "I do it because they're/it's hot, but I'm also trans!", "I do it because they just have traits (they're 'feminine') that make me think that, but I'm also trans!", etc., you do realize you can still fetishize and push prejudice/negative stereotypes within the community? Do you know how many people have headcanoned men as trans because they're just a wee bit feminine and they too were trans men? I'm going to be honest, in my experience, it's been a vast majority. And that bothers me. It's become so normalized, people don't even care, even in their own community. Men can be feminine, trans or not. It's gross to pin the label of trans on a man solely because they don't fit the convention, as all you're doing is fueling the fire of this problem. I know we want more representation in media, but instead of half assing it, or really just creating sick caricatures of us based on what the cis-gender people have decided are the norm, maybe we should actually put effort into our headcanons, or even... Make our own representation instead of seeing someone like, I don't know, Armin from Attack on Titan, and because he has longer hair, a softer voice, a smaller frame, and isn't the stereotypical male, claiming "Oh, he's trans!". There are times it works; me personally, I headcanon Dipper Pines as transgender, not because he's feminine, but because I can understand his struggles with masculinity and what makes him who he is; of not fitting the agenda while still being a man; of being dysphoric and insecure, but also learning to accept who you are. Not to mention just reality, identical twins have to be born the same gender, and while it's possible they might not be identical, the creator of the series himself has actively supported the headcanon. That's an exception. That's different. To explore the character via a headcanon, that is one thing. To just stick it on them is another. If you want representation, either make your own characters for it, find/support media that have it, or actually attempt to reflect the transmasc experiences in a headcanon as accurately as possible (tied to making your own, accurate representation). Stop just placing labels on a male with long hair and a more androgenous voice and going: "Aw, he's trans! 🥺" Without anything more.

hey. hey you.

look at that character you’re headcanoning as a trans man.

are you headcanoning him that way because you think it’s interesting, or because he’s a twink and acts kind of feminine?

if you write about him, do you treat him the same way you do your other characters, or is he distinctly separated?

can he handle himself, or is he always the damsel in distress? do you have someone bigger and stronger than him always save him?

do you make him act more childish or confused? is he super innocent and needs someone wiser to guide him?

are you willing to explore what his transness means, or do you just think it makes him hotter?

did you make him trans because you wanted to write him as the bottom? is he trans because you wanted him pregnant without "technically" writing mpreg?

are you willing to headcanon big strong men as trans men? old men? not stereotypically attractive men? men of color? fat men? disabled men?

is his transness a part of him or do you just treat it is a prop?

on the other hand, is he more than just his transness, or is that all there is to him?

do you include other queer and trans people in your work? how do you treat them in your writing?

how do you treat actual trans men? trans men who dont pass? trans men who do? who dont feel comfortable being perceived as feminine? who present in a more feminine way? who identify as more than just a man? who arent just white twinkish silly feminine men? who are kids, meaning you can’t just sexualize them? who are more than just props to be used within a story to push the plot along?

are you willing to listen to trans men who speak out on their issues, or does that seperate them too far from the fantasy you’ve concocted about them?

how do you treat trans men?

[someonesomewheredown]

If you think I'm noisy and annoying just wait until you see my thoughts! (they are also equally noisy and annoying)

[pyrriax]

mayhaps coming up with a fic idea :3

[lizzyiii]

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

I'm sooooo sorry this took so long

Love and Devotion

pairing | homelander x supe!reader

word count | 5.8k words

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

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

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

likes, comments, reblogs are always appreciated ✨

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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

"Her?"

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

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

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

"Mhm," Sage hummed in affirmation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

It made him furious.

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

It made him sick.

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

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

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

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes snapped open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s up?” you asked simply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You belonged with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reader's Aesthetic

(only her supe name is Pink Dahlia)

Hope you enjoyed!

[teamatsumu]

gentle. (aone takanobu x reader)

summary: he’s not the same with you as he is with everyone else

word count: 1,399

warnings: swearing, but pretty fluffy otherwise, fem!reader, high school setting

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

this is written for @honeybleed’s Underrated Character event! I had so much fun writing this because it’s the perfect opportunity to give love to our blorbo aone (he deserves the world).

After Date Tech's loss to Seijoh at the Inter High preliminaries, you didn't know what exactly to do with yourself.

You had been managing the team since your first year. The previous manager hadn't really stayed to show you the ropes, and you had to learn everything from scratch. You had often felt lost and disoriented, and it felt like you were drowning as the novice team built themselves slowly but surely.

You truly felt that this time around, Date Tech's Iron Wall would be strong enough to get you all to Nationals. Now, not only did you have to stomach that loss, you had to deal with the fact that your precious third years were leaving.

You felt like you were drowning all over again, like you had back in your very first week with the team. Like you had no clue what to do. As you sat on the steps outside the volleyball gym on campus, you contemplated your next move. How the team would operate with Futakuchi as the new Captain. How you all had to somehow hone the talent in your inexperienced new setter, Koganegawa. It all seemed like too much work. How were you supposed to manage it all?

You nearly jumped out of your skin when something moved in your peripheral vision and you realized it was Aone, sitting on the steps next to you. When had he gotten here?

"You scared me!" You breathed, laughing a bit. It was almost comical how someone as huge and imposing as Aone could somehow make himself so invisible. But considering how quiet he was, it wasn't surprising to you.

Aone didn't react to your words, but his stare was intense on your face, eyeing you closely before he reached a finger out to poke at the skin under your eyes. Oh.

You felt your face heat a little at his touch, but you gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Aone. Just a little tired."

It seemed like he didn't believe you, the scowl between his eyebrows only deepening. You fidgeted a bit.

From your very first day managing Date Tech's volleyball club, you had had a soft spot for Aone Takanobu. He was, by all means, a scary looking dude. Taller than any boy you knew, and built like a brick wall. Despite his massive size, he was agile too, a very scary combination. Silver hair, a deep scowl that always seemed to twist his face (you later realized that he wasn't scowling, it was just the lack of eyebrows that made it appear so). It was no wonder people tiptoed around him.

But two years on the same team, spending every day together, meant that you knew Aone in ways that his audience did not. His personality was anything but scary. He was as docile as they came, and slowly but surely, you felt yourself drawn to his quiet disposition. In the storm that came with Futakuchi constantly butting heads with your third years, Aone was the silent bubble you found comfort in. He knew you inside out, and he was perceptive. Like right now, pointing out the dark circles under your eyes with an uncharacteristically gentle touch.

No wonder you had an embarrassing crush on him.

He kept an intense stare on you, his way of insisting there was something wrong. You shook your head again, sighing. You knew he wouldn't let this go. So you let yourself vent, letting out every dark and uncertain emotion inside you.

You ranted about everything that was plaguing your mind, body turned towards Aone but curled into yourself. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them to curl into yourself as you spoke, looking up at the boy next to you every now and then.

Aone did not interrupt. He never interrupted. He let you go on and on about how you didn't think Futakuchi was mature enough to lead a team, or how Koganegawa was nowhere near ready to stand on a court. All your doubts were spilled out into the air surrounding you, welcomed by Aone as he sat and listened to everything you had to say. His eyes did not leave you once, but he didn’t react in any other way.

"Sometimes I think you are the only thing holding the Iron Wall together." You gave him a little smile. "And I don't know how you do it."

When you finally finished, silence stretched between the two of you, as if everything around you was absorbing your words. You watched Aone, waiting for him to lean towards you and nod encouragingly, like he did whenever you had one of these ranting sessions.

"I do it because of you."

Your eyes widened, not expecting that he would speak. You knew Aone, and you knew he wasn’t a talker. He loathed having to voice anything because he felt like he didn’t have anything to say which wasn’t already understood. His voice was hoarse and deep, making your breath catch.

"Do what?" You asked, not understanding his words.

"You said I hold the Iron Wall together." He continued, and you basked in the sound of his voice. It was so rare for him to say anything. You wanted to savor it while it lasted.

"I do it because of you. I see how hard you work for this team. And it makes me work hard too. For you."

Your heart was beating a mile a minute, trying to catch up to his words and process them. You felt like your entire face was on fire, your breath stuttering. Aone did not look at you, instead staring at the ground before him. Your eyes caught his porcelain pale skin, eyeing how the back of his neck flushed red. The sight made you giddy.

"Aone…." You breathed, feeling truly speechless. Which wasn't like you at all. Between the two of you, you talked and Aone listened. For the first time, the roles were reversed.

Aone shifted a bit, still not looking at you. "Don't worry too much. You will figure it out like you always do. And I'll be here for you."

His sentences were simple. Yet to you, it felt like he was waxing poetic. You couldn't help your wide smile, shuffling closer to Aone and placing your head on his shoulder. You felt infinitely lighter, like all of what you were worried about didn’t matter at all when Aone was right there with you.

"Thank you." You whispered.

You felt Aone nudge at you gently, his way of saying 'you're welcome'. You let yourself bask in his touch, cheek pressed to his bicep, feeling how your heart pounded in your chest.

Multiple steps sounded on the ground, and then a sharp voice broke through the silence.

"You lovebirds done? Come on, let's get pork buns and then head home. I'm hungry!"

You sighed and rolled your eyes, pulling away from Aone to glare at Futakuchi, who was standing a few feet away while the team lingered behind him. They had all changed out of their sweaty practice clothes, bags slung over their shoulders and ready to leave. You saw Koganegawa peek at you from behind him, his mouth open comically wide.

"Eh? I didn't know our manager and Aone-san were dating!"

Before you could protest, Aone was lumbering onto his feet and grabbing your hand, pulling you up with him. His giant hand enveloped yours completely (you were giddy as you observed this fact), and he didn't let go as he walked past Futakuchi, who had an annoyingly smug grin on his face. You knew you wouldn't hear the end of this.

"Yeah, stay away from her, Kogane!" He called, being obnoxiously loud on purpose. He was definitely trying to goad you two, as was his nature. "You don't wanna know how pissy Aone gets when other guys flirt with her."

Your eyes widened, looking up at the boy in question. Aone pointedly looked away from you, but his grip on your hand tightened, and you could see the same blush creep up his neck and to his ears.

You grinned all the way to the convenience store, and then all the way home too, basking in the new information Futakuchi had spilled, as well as the tight grip Aone had on your hand.

He didn't let go even once.

[leviathansmistress]

Oceans & Engines

Avenger!Natasha Romanoff x Female!Reader

Tags/warnings: Angst w/ comfort, break ups, r ghosting Natasha, cheating (?) everything is for you to find out ;)

A/N: Trash writing, I am guilty about rushing this one. Yes, the title is inspired with Niki's song, is the plot inspired with the song too? It's for you to find out ;) hAppy vday *monstrous evil laughs*

You didn't just wrong her, you also neglected her, insulted her, abandoned her and cheated on her. What happens when she tried to tempt you, seduce you and make you regret after everything she thought you had done to her?

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Natasha was on the run from the government but even before that she had already plan to run away in with you. But then, she had a hard time going to the place you and her talked about meeting and living in due to the government's executive order of strict policies going in and out of the country.

She called you, drunk, crying. She was so ready to go, all her stuff was packed already.

"Baby, w-wait for me alright? Wait for me, I'll be there. I'll find a way. Please." She begged, hand on her phone and a bottle of beer on the other. "Please, please, please Y/N. I'll come over, you wait for me there. Please."

She begged, over and over.

"Natasha...just please can you stop?" That was the last time she heard your voice, you telling her to stop—you telling her you met someone else in Belgium.

But she was going to propose to you.

She spiraled when Steve came to pick her up. She almost killed him when he said to let you go, that it won't be good for you if she was with you, a hard real talk he gave his friend that she needed the most.

Now, the blip happened. They're no longer fugitives, no longer on the run. Tony had summoned you to come back for good to the compound, he said he needs some help about something. At first, you didn't agree but you said you'll just help him with whatever he needs helping for but it needs to be done for 8 days, and you'll leave.

"Y/N didn't just wrong me, she neglected me, insulted me, abandoned me and cheated on me." She almost barks at Thor and Rhodey as they listen to her rant.

"I say revenge on her..." Rhodey nodded eagerly.

"I uhh, Banner and I were in a team called the Revenger before." Thor said between bites of his burger.

And that's how her plan started.

You are one of the geneticists together with Dr. Cho. You were called to assist the Avengers with the research and technology in war against HYDRA, and even after HYDRA you continued working for them. That's how you met Natasha.

You were waiting outside the compound when a big bike ran past you, if you weren't able to take a step back on that millisecond you will for sure be dead by now. You frowned and watched as the person behind the helmet revealed itself. There, you saw Natasha again. Her hair was cut short, she's blonde now. The frown turned into a smile. You were happy to see her—happy for her.

"Y/N? Hi."

"Hey..." You greeted back with a warm smile. You didn't see how her jaw clenched and how she gripped her helmet fighting the urge to lash out and throw it away, but she quickly concealed it with a smile which is something she's good at.

"Hey…long time?" There is a bit of sadness and bitterness in her tone but you were too jetlagged to even notice it, besides you were really still in shock to see her after all.

"Long time." You said with a solemn smile.

"If you're going to apologize, it won't matter anymore." Your heart dropped to your stomach with her words, now you wish she just ran you over. "Because I forgave you already." Now, your heart started to float back in place. Natasha let out a few laughs and you let out a nervous chuckle.

You shake your head side by side, biting your lip, "I'm sorry, Natasha. But…but I'm happy for you, seeing you now, wow. You're glowing." You looked at her with a smile and you missed how her jaw slightly tensed. But she masked it with yet another charming smile of hers, she just couldn't wait for what she's planned for you.

"How long have you been waiting here? Let's get inside."

The team welcomed you dearly. You told Tony you don't want a party since he joked about it, but in respect to those who were blipped, you declined. And actually, as much as possible you don't want others to see or even know you're going to visit. After what you did to Natasha you didn't expect others to be welcoming towards you especially Natasha herself. But she seemed to be mature—she has grown so much, well, that's what you thought.

The first night went well, there's a little reunion even though it can't really be called one since not everyone is here. A lot of stories were told here and there and Natasha did nothing but stare at you throughout the night. Your hair is much longer now and you were blooming as ever compared to the version of you when you were still with her and she hated that fact.

"She cheated on you, right?" Steve asked Natasha, who was preparing something in the kitchen. "What are you gonna do? Poison her?"

Natasha let out a dry chuckle at the fossil's accusation, "I won't poison her. I'll just…make her drool, tempt her. Make her remember." After focusing on plating the food, Natasha looked at Steve, "Then, I'll make her regret." She winked at him before walking her way out of the kitchen. "Anyone who's up for a bomb contest?" Natasha shouted to all of you, it is a little segment the team do whenever they all plan to have a night out Thor told you.

But you are sensitive to spicy foods.

"Y/N, you don't have a reason not to join." Natasha smirked despite knowing you don't like any food that has spiciness in it, no matter if it's just 0.01% spicy. You forced a smile nervously but you nodded defeatedly when the whole team cheered for you, eager to please them as well as Natasha.

Now, it's the final battle, it's just you, Thor, and Natasha that lasted long. You didn't even know how you got in here when you didn't even like spicy foods in the first place. Thor gave up winking at the red head, she gave him a knowing smirk before drinking her cup of milk.

"Gosh...sorry guys, I give up too. Natasha's the winner." You almost choked, fanning your sticking out tongue with your hand.

"Oh c'mon, you're better than that Y/N!" Rhodey shouted.

"There is no loser in this house. My bet is on you." Tony whispered behind you.

You can only giggle and wipe the hot tears forming in your eyes due to the spiciness. Despite your whole face burning now, you accepted the challenge. Natasha can only smirk before Steve placed the new set of chili's in front of you. After Tony counted, you and Natasha started devouring a mouthful of green pepper wrapped in an egg crepe. You stopped, chuckling about how the team is making you laugh when you were taking a break from eating, drinking your milk to break down the spice. The white liquid dribbled down your neck to your chest.

"Oh my god, oh my god. It's so spicy!" You moaned, making Natasha gulp as she watched you remove your cardigan, the milk trailed down to your cleavage. She almost drools when you tie your hair back, eyes shut close, chest moving up and down as you breathe through your mouth. Tony has been wiping your forehead and Rhodey has been cheering Natasha who was like a deer in a headlights.

"Natasha, you win, I really give up." You breathe, chuckling when Tony whines. Meanwhile, Natasha was still staring at the sight of you.

"Who's drooling now?" Steve whispered teasingly behind her.

"I won though." She fired back before taking a big gulp of water.

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

"Stark this isn't some court hearing, you gotta do better than that." You laughed, head shot back it almost broke while Tony kneels in front of you. The man made you stop doing the help he asked you to just to practice on you on how she will propose to Pepper, but then the assassin ruined his momentum.

"That's what I told him, Natasha." You giggled, wiping the mirth of tears on your eye.

"Relax, Stark. I know your egotistical ass won't take advice about love. But take your time while you look deep into her eyes. Think of all the memories you've made together." The redhead was now deep in thought, she was not looking at you but you were looking intently at her.

"From all those missions I have been and sent through, you are my rest, my love I always go home to." Your chest tightened at her words, some memories hitting you bullseye. But Natasha still continued, she seemed lost in her own world and words, reciting a piece of vow not sure if it was still an advice to Tony or…

"Not all the things we went through were happy and easy. We hurt each other. But there's a reason why we're here together now. No matter the pain and hardships, I will always choose to love you and be with you."

There was silence, then an air of memories that filled the entire room.

"Will you marry me?" Natasha laughed awkwardly, breaking the thick silence that she can almost touch.

Tony immediately stood, his knees shaking. Natasha's litany almost made him forget that he has been kneeling for almost an hour now. "Romanoff, that's a masterpiece. I didn't know you had it in you. I'll probably copy that vow."

"I swear, Tony. I will file a lawsuit about plagiarism if you did." Natasha smirks playfully, but her face turned serious when she saw you already walking back to Tony's lab hoping that the place wasn't contaminated with the air of memories too.

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Days had passed and you did nothing but catch up with the team. You also continued helping Tony about something, that is kept away from the others.

Natasha was looking at you, laughing on a phone call. The day of your departure is nearing and her mission seems to be not working just yet and she wonders why. Maybe she isn't trying hard? So something came up in her mind.

"Wanna spar?" She asked you, she watched you end the phone call you were having and slipped your phone back to the pocket of your jeans. Meanwhile, Steve, Thor and Bruce shot their heads towards you as they heard Natasha's invitation.

"Oh for the love of Odin…" Thor whispered.

"Doomed, that's what's going to happen. We're gonna be doomed." Banner said before exiting to go to his lab, not wanting to witness whatever might happen.

Natasha then looked up at the two, but they immediately pretended to be doing something. "Guys, who's up for sparring?" but then Natasha focused back on you, waiting for your answer.

Her gaze seemed to indicate she's taking no for an answer. "Well, I…I uhh I'll meet you in the gym in 20." You scrambled out before nodding slowly at the blonde.

"Perfect."

And in 20 minutes she just had you under her, and now it's already 6 times in a row. You held your breath, staring at her straight and tapped her arm in defeat. "Come on." She instigates, her voice coming out a bit raspier.

You breathe hard, standing before throwing another lame punch her way again that she easily dodges. She smirked before she grabbed your waist, turning your body 180° towards her then slammed you hard on the boxing floor. Her body was pressed against you harder this time, so much tension as if she put all her anger on that body slam. Her knee dug deep on your left thigh and her hand pushed ribs just right at your bare skin making you let out a loud cry in pain, her other hand trapped you beside your head.

"Romanoff." Steve forewarned, Natasha looked at him before turning her gaze back on you whose face was creasing.

She can still remember the last time she had you in this same position and God knows how she wanted to have you like this again, but hopefully in a different situation. You tapped her arm weakly in yet another defeat but it took her five seconds before she moved to stand, as if she's taunting you for it. You palmed your chest as you slowly sat up and caught your breath, eyes dragging up to Natasha who was removing her shirt, her muscled back facing you. You blinked and immediately shot your eyes somewhere else and that didn't go unnoticed to the redhead seeing you on her peripheral—because she purposely did it, to undress in front of you.

"You okay, Y/N?" Steve asked worriedly behind you and you nodded before standing, limping as you tried to walk.

"I'll retire early tonight." That's the last thing you say before walking out, not daring to look back at the gym afraid you'll only see the redhead burning holes in you.

When Steve was sure you were gone, he asked Natasha, "What are you doing?"

"Sparing?" She simply said, she knows what Steve was trying to point out but she avoided the elephant in the room.

"You know what you're doing."

Natasha walked towards him, her face inches to Steve. "Oh I do, Steve. So get out of my way." Before nudging her shoulders on him as she walks towards the shower.

"This will not do you any good." He said out loud before turning to look at her.

"It will, Steve. But her? No. And that's what I am doing."

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The shower of your room was not working and you did not bother to tell Tony about it, you're gonna leave two nights from now anyway so you decided to just go to the gym shower. Upon entering you saw Natasha, she just got out of the shower, she was wearing a muscle tee and a sports bra underneath with a matching jogger pants. Same ones she wore when she almost killed you in the boxing ring.

"The shower was broken." You broke the silence when the redhead looked at you shockingly, then, she hesitantly nodded.

There was a long silence that seemed to suffocate Natasha so she spoke, her voice almost cracking. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's fine. We all know who's going to win anyway." You smiled, but she was not able to see it since you were back to back on each other.

"Your flight is on Wednesday, right?" She asked, she turned to look at you. You hummed and didn't notice the pair of eyes watching as you started to remove your oversized shirt out of your body. "Still got some plans?" She asked again. Eyes dragging at the bare skin of your back. Now, you noticed how her tone changed to much softer this time—longing.

"Well, to spend time with you guys?" You let out a nervous chuckle toying with the strap of your sports bra.

You were about to walk inside the shower to drown the tension starting to form in your burning body, but rough hands on your bare waist stopped you. Natasha's breathing was hot against your shoulder, then, she turned your body so you're facing her. Your hands instinctively went on her chest. One of her hands cupped your cheek, her thumb caressing just the skin of your lower lip. She pushed you towards the cold tile of the bathroom and you let her—you leaned into her touch.

Faces inches between each other, noses brushing together. And her agape mouth ghosting onto yours exchanging hot breaths to each other's senses.

The first one to lean, loses.

"I…" you blinked as if you're realizing what situation you are in now and what actions might happen next in this very moment between you and your ex. "I'm getting married." Your lips shake, voice barely above a whisper. You ducked your head to the side to finally avoid her caspering lips, then slowly pushed her pressing body away from you.

She watched as you scramble to get your things and left the bathroom. She did not move there, alone, processing the words you just said.

You're getting married.

Oh.

Who loses now?

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The last night in the compound came and Tony told you to have a simple gathering before you go. He called it a simple gathering instead of a party since you don't want any celebrations if the team is not complete.

Dinner quickly passed and Tony in fact did a wine testing right after, for his wedding with Pepper. Everyone was getting tipsy and drunk now, especially Thor who was slumped against his chair.

"Y/N, you know how good Natasha is at bartending, right?" Tony asked since Natasha has been the one making and experimenting the drinks.

There is an awkward silence after the question. Of course, that's when you officially met Natasha, at that very party conducted by Tony. She was the one making drinks at the bar and from there, your love story started.

"Yeah." You smiled solemnly at the memory. The team could only shift on their seats, mentally killing Tony for unconsciously bringing things about your relationship with Natasha.

"Of course she will." Natasha huffed, head tilting as she looked straight at you. "In fact my next drink is called, Y/N." She started, holding the wine glass up in the air. "It is fucking delicious. But deadly."

Everyone who was already stirring on their chair was on the edge of their seats now, including Thor who physically flinched and immediately sat up straight.

"It will hit you unaware. Because this drink is a fucking traitor."

You bit your lip and did not dare to look straight at Natasha. Noticing it, she let out an emotionless chuckle, "Oh c'mon Y/N don't take it seriously. I was just joking."

Tony stood from his seat and firmly held Natasha's hand. Taking the glass away from her. "What about coffee, Natasha? I think we're all getting drunk now."

"Drunk?" The redhead laughed and pushed Tony away from her, "Tony we're just brainstorming for the drinks on your wedding c'mon. So for the next drink, I propose the name: I met someone in Belgium." Her tongue laced with venom, getting a new drink she made from the table.

You started to tear up, but no tears dared to escape your eyes that it started to sting.

"What, Y/N? No comment? What's your opinion about this drink?" Natasha asked apathetically, Tony was still trying to keep her from nearing you. "Tony, do you know you're not the only one who's gonna get married?" She looked around the confused and pale faces of the entire team, "Everybody knows that?" She mused.

You ignored her and slowly stood, "G-guys, I'll go now. My flight's early tomorrow." You faked a smile to cover the hurt and humiliation you're feeling.

"There, you'll leave again. You're really good at that Y/N. Fine, I'll give you that."

"Romanoff, enough." It's now Steve who called her out.

"Wait, Steve. I still have one last drink. Guys, wait. Please, please let me," She turned to the cart where the drink was originally placed before transferring it to the table. "This one is named Eumie. Is that her name? The one after me…" she posed as if she was in a deep thought before continuing, "or during, Y/N? C'mon, tell me. Tell us."

Tears now started running down your skin, you looked at the team one by one before looking straight at Natasha.

"I never cheated on you. Not with Eumie, not with anyone." You held back a sob. "I lied. I lied to make you stop begging." You croaked, wiping the tears that the dam wasn't able to suppress. "I'll go now guys. I'm sorry."

You rushed to your room not realizing the shouts of Natasha's name just right behind you. When you were about to close the door of your room, a boot made its way between the doorway preventing it from closing. You jumped and before you could even react Natasha was already slamming the door shut behind.

"You fooled me and up until now you're fooling me!" She shouted. You sat on the couch and put your elbows on your knees together. Fingers touching your forehead. You knew this would happen—her confronting you about what you did.

"For four years I believed that there was someone else and now you'll say that it was all a lie? Every night in those four years I carried it with me, thinking why, Y/N. How can you replace me that easily? Like I'm just a fucking trash!" She pointed her finger on you as she spat. "What does she have that I don't? Huh?! Much richer? Beautiful? Does she fuck you better than I do? I doubted myself for four years. I wanted to hurt you, go to Belgium and ruin your life that I can easily fucking do! And now, you want me to believe that all those things were just lies? So what's the truth now?! Because I don't know now why I am hurting." Her voice now broke from all the angry shouting.

You stood, walking past her, wiping the tears you don't want her to see. "I'm so sorry, Natasha. I didn't want you to make you feel that way."

She trailed behind you, "Your apology won't matter now, I need the truth! After all I have done to you, that's it?"

After all I have done to you, that's it? The words triggered an alarm in your head, you breathe hard, grabbing your suitcase and striding to the bathroom to get your dirty clothes. Your jaw hurt from keeping the suppressed sobs, Natasha saw you tear up now.

"Don't fucking cry, tell me the truth. Both of us was in that relationship. I deserve the truth, Y/N!"

"I got tired!" You cry out. Natasha's jaw clench, she is now the one taking a step back away from you. Only three words, but it hit Natasha like a physical blow—the words puncturing her heart.

"When you are drowning I don't want to drown with you. Natasha, believe me I tried. God knows I tried! But I can only do so much." You closed your eyes, and your dam of tears finally shattered. Your cheeks stung as salty droplets cascaded down your skin. "God, I hated loving you so much." You sobbed. "I needed you to grow up. I needed my girlfriend, I needed my partner back. You want us to get married but both of us were miserable. You're always on missions, when you get back home there will be celebrations, then the next day you're gone for missions again, leaving me alone not knowing when you will come back to me. That night you left to go for the accords and you knew our plans, Nat. We're going to run away together and never look back, but you ran away first. I promise to never use this against you, but you left me first Nat, you neglected me, you abandoned me. For all those years we've been together, I gave up my life just to be with you, always choosing you and I got tired, Natasha…" You saw that she was silently crying but was trying to stop herself from doing so.

"If you hated me, I hated myself as well. When you were hurting, I was hurting too. You wanted to punish me, I was punishing myself every single day. Because how did I give up on the person I loved the most? Why did I let go? But someone had to do it, someone had to end it. And I know you won't do it—you couldn't do it because you're right, there are two of us in the relationship and both of us will drown if no one will end it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry Natasha I hurt you."

"I'm sorry..." She rushed out in a sob. "God, I'm sorry, Y/N."

You just let out a weak smile, nodding off her apologies. It's okay now.

"Don't you not love me anymore?" She asked like she has been waiting for this very moment to finally say the words. Your brows creased together while you walked towards her, you cupped her race, thumb wiping the tears racing down her cheek.

"I can never unlove you, Natasha. I just love you in a different way now."

"I don't know how to let you go, Y/N. I don't know how to live without you…" She sobbed. You pressed your bodies together, letting her head fall down to your shoulders while you caressed the back of her neck as she continued to cry.

God knows how much you wanted to take away the anguish, the grief that had settled in her heart.

But you can only do so much.

After a long silence filled with your cries together. Natasha, even though she doesn't want to pull away from you just yet, she stepped back. "If we're going to go back on that night I left for that mission knowing that…this would happen to us, are you going to avoid me?" She asked, sniffling away the tears that had left in her. She finally looked at you, but much different now. More understanding, more care—more love.

And much importantly, acceptance.

You closed the distance between the two of you. You gave her a soft smile causing the redhead to break a smile as well. You reached for her face again, cupping and caressing it with both of your hands before answering her question.

"No. Even though I know that we wouldn't end up together, that we'll hurt each other…I think that's better than not having a Natasha Romanoff coming into my life."