#a hell of a lot of words about a hell of a lot of words

[jaysbaefie]

bullshit | sjy

synopsis: in which months of mocking jake online comes back to bite you, and he makes sure you regret every single word—on your knees.

genre: idol au

pairing: idol!jake x blogger!reader

warnings: dubcon? bratty!reader, petty!jake, mean!jake, big dick!jake, kidnapping (sort of kind of??), oral (m.rec), cum swallowing, reader grinds down on jake’s shoe, mention of daddy kink (but it’s not used), forced submission, manhandling, titty sucking, marking, begging, degrading. self degradation, rough and unprotected p in v, orgasm denial, overstimulation, light spanking slapping and chocking, creampie, spitting, recording for blackmail purposes. i think that’s it….

wc: 15.1k

a/n: this took a lot more time that i initially thought it would … but it’s here now! this draft has been sitting in my archives for years like literal years. back when i used to write on wattpad for bts i had this plot written for tae but scrapped it because i lacked creativity to make it happen. but here we r ! also side note this is not edited to the best of its abilities so if u c a mistake… im sorry :D hope you enjoy, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :)

✎﹏﹏

the dorm door slammed open, the sound of sneakers dragging across the floor echoing behind it. the 7 exhausted boys spilled into the living room, all drained and sweaty from the insane dance practice that had run two hours longer than scheduled. jake collapsed face-first onto the couch, groaning into a throw pillow as he stretches his limbs before he feels a cramp in his leg.

"i think my spine is permanently bent," he mumbled, not moving an inch.

sunghoon flopped onto the floor, using his hoodie as a pillow. "i think i disassociated during 'bite me.'"

"you always disassociate during 'bite me,'" heeseung shot back, tossing a towel at him making sunghoon scowl.

jay, meanwhile, had his phone out, thumb lazily scrolling through twitter as he half-listened to the chaos around him. he was about to put his phone down when a thread caught his eye.

"kpop idols who probably have the smallest dick (a very unserious thread)"

"...oh?" jay blinked, intrigued for all the wrong reasons. a grin formed on his lips as he clicked, the list started off wild.

1. jaehyun nct - idc what y'all say. he screams below average. 2. jeno nct - this is a hater post. cry about it. 3. jake from enhypen - golden retriever energy but gives micro vibes. sorry not sorry.

jay let out a loud, sudden laugh at the description given for jake—catching everyone's attention.

"yo, jake," he wheezed, turning the screen toward him. "look what someone said about you."

jake rolled over lazily, half hazy, "what?"

jay shoved the phone in front of his face. jake read the tweet once, then again. then a third time. his brows furrowed deeper with each pass, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was reading.

"...are you serious right now?"

he sat up, yanking the phone from jay's hand to read it himself. his eyes scanned the username, the post and then the likes. 10k likes for a bullshit post, jake scoffed in disbelief. he scrolled down to read the replies which were full of people either agreeing or arguing like their lives depended on it.

"no because she's right and she should say it louder" one of the comments read, jake furrowed his eyebrows before scowling.

"i love him but... yeah."

"nah he gives big dick energy actually"

"this is so mean LMFAOOO"

jake's mouth opened in shock. "why am i even on this list? what did i do to deserve this? how does someone look at me and go, 'yeah, micro dick.' what the hell?"

jay couldn't stop laughing. "it's so random, too. like. where did they get the data? did they run a poll?"

"this isn't funny!" jake snapped, slapping jay's shoulder with the back of his hand. "i'm being slandered in front of thousands of people. tens of thousands!"

sunoo peeked over jay's shoulder. "ooh. and someone made a follow-up post. wait—found their tumblr. they said he looks like he apologizes after missionary.'" sunoo cackles, "i can totally see that."

jake nearly choked on air, "what?!"

he snatched sunoo's phone this time, heart pounding as he scrolls violently across your twitter page. he followed the breadcrumb trail from twitter to a tumblr blog: @s0ftbrat666.

the header was a blurry photo of a cunty hello kitty, and the bio just said: "unserious about everything but dick size."

"who the hell is this? why do they hate me so bad?"

niki, who had been quietly sipping water from the kitchen, muttered, "maybe they're a fan of yours. like, weirdly obsessed. reverse psychology or something."

"no. this is personal. this feels targeted," jake muttered, already downloading and opening the tumblr app on his phone. "i'm not letting this slide."

he made a new account. he picked the most ironic, absurd username he could think of: @goldenjake420.

because that screams, 'i'm the real jake sim!!'

he messaged you immediately, his hands shaking in rage as he smashes his fingers into the screen.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

"this is so stupid," he muttered, tossing his phone beside him.

jay raised a brow. "you really just dm'd a twitter troll on tumblr?"

"yes. because the truth matters, jay. i do not have a micro dick!" he exclaims, clearly frustrated from his group mates lack of empathy. he looks around the room in hopes of his members reassurance, only to receive looks of disturbance.

"cmon guys, you know i don't have a micro dick.." he trails off when he sees sunoo grimace at his words.

heeseung smirked from the other side of the couch suddenly sitting up right, ignoring his aching body. "you should send a pic to prove it."

jay cackles before agreeing, "yeah, downwards angles always make that shit look like a tower."

"SHUT UP!" jake shouted, face red in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

the room erupted in laughter as jake sat there fuming, arms crossed, waiting for a response. he had no idea the person he messaged was already rolling their eyes and preparing to block him.

and this was only the beginning.

you were no stranger to the occasional deranged and delusional fan losing their mind over a post. it was social media, not a diplomatic summit. if you said someone's fave had bad fashion sense or gave off weak dick energy, it was bound to stir drama—but you thrived in it.

what you didn't expect, though, was to get a dm from an account called @goldenjake420 claiming to be jake himself. not just a fan defending him. not someone crying in your inbox about how you were "too mean."

no. this person had committed to the bit.

@goldenjake420: hey just saw your post about me having a micro dick on twitter. not sure why you said that but i can assure you that it's not true kinda rude ngl maybe take it down?

you blinked at the message, snorted, and sat back in your chair.

"okay..." you muttered under your breath. "we've reached new levels of delusion."

you clicked the profile. no posts. followed no one. default layout. pfp of a blurry golden retriever. and the username?

goldenjake420.

"oh my god," you wheezed. this was peak fandom brainrot.

you stared at the message for a minute, thumbs hovering over your keyboard before you decided, you know what? fine. you wanna play jake sim? let's play.

you typed:

@s0ftbrat666: omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry... i didn't know you had a tumblr account i feel so bad now omg i'll take it down right away thank you for being so mature and respectful about it... ugh i feel terrible lol

you hit send. then burst out laughing, eyes watering as you cackle alone in your room.

and five minutes later, you posted a new post on your blog.

—— post by @s0ftbrat666

just got a dm from someone PRETENDING to be jake sim because they were mad i said he has a micro dick LMAOOO. like babes be serious... jake sim is not on tumblr dot com messaging me with a blurry pic of a golden retriever and the username @/goldenjake420. but since he's here reading my posts, hey jake! if u're mad now wait til u see what i post next

anyway updated my list: "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version" jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes and gifs as evidence. enjoy :] ——

you tagged it: #jake sim #enhypen #pls don't take this seriously #except jake if ur reading this then yeah take it seriously

you sat back and refreshed the notes every few seconds. it was already blowing up. likes, reblogs, someone screaming in the tags: "NOT THE FOOTNOTES."

you were thriving, satisfaction filling you as the comments seemed to hype you up.

unbeknownst to you, somewhere in a dorm across the city, jake was screaming into a pillow.

jake was laying on his stomach, face shoved into a couch cushion, aggressively refreshing your tumblr page like a man on a mission. the first message he sent you hadn't gone exactly how he expected. he thought maybe—maybe—you'd feel a little guilty, take the post down, maybe even apologize. instead, he was met with:

"omg jake??? THE jake sim??? i am so sorry..."

at first, he blinked. then smiled. you were going to apologize and take it down..great!

okay, he thought, that was easier than expected.

but then he saw the post you had published just a few minute later.

—— "kpop idols who give off submissive missionary micro dick energy: extended version." jake is now first on the list. i've added footnotes. and gifs. enjoy :] ——

"NO I AM NOT," he yelled into the pillow, voice muffled but full of sheer disbelief.

he rolled over and shot upright, shoving his phone in jay's face. "do you SEE this? i was already called micro dick jake, but now i'm a submissive pillow princess? where is she even getting this from?"

jay looked over the post with a calm expression and said, "well... you did say 'ngl' in a tumblr dm. that's kinda submissive."

"jay."

"i'm just saying."

jake's blood pressure was actively rising. he was pacing the living room now, phone clenched in his fist. "this isn't a joke anymore. she's making footnotes. gifs, bro. there's like a whole academic paper on my dick energy. and worst of all, PEOPLE ARE AGREEING."

sunoo peeked around the corner. "maybe just let it go? like... it's tumblr. no one's gonna remember next week."

"it's twitter too! no. no, she wanted to make it personal. it's personal now."

he went back to tumblr, typing furiously in your dm's.

@goldenjake420: okay first of all?? i was acc being really nice u said some really rude stuff and i still tried to talk to u calmly but now ur doubling down with footnotes?? idk y ur so convinced i'm a submissive pillow princess but ur wrong like so wrong scientifically inaccurate levels of wrong

he hit send. then stared at the screen.

nothing. no response. refresh. refresh.

"error: message could not be delivered."

"...what?" jake frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he desperately tried sending his messages again.

he clicked your profile.

"you've been blocked by this user."

the silence that followed was deafening.

"she blocked me," he whispered, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him. "she actually blocked me."

jay cackled from across the room. "maybe now you'll stop fighting the tumblr girl who thinks you're a bottom."

"i'm not a bottom!" jake snapped, defensive. "and i'm definitely not a pillow princess!"

jay peers over jake's shoulder, his face pulls into a grimace as he reads jake's messages. "maybe it's a good thing that those didn't deliver... you're proving her point." jake rolls his eyes in response, not wanting to deal with his friend.

he opened twitter, then paused. was he really about to tweet about this?

he closed the app.

instead, he opened his notes app and started typing:

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick."

this wasn't over.

if he had to write a dissertation, he would. he was reclaiming his name. one footnote at a time.

you were in bed, face smushed into your pillow, scrolling aimlessly when the tag notification came in. you were about to ignore it—probably another reblog of your cursed "submissive missionary micro dick energy" thread—but the caption caught your eye:

@s0ftbrat666 you need to see this LMAOOO he made a THREAD. a whole thread.

confused but curious, you tapped the post.

and there it was.

a full thread. by a tumblr user named @truthaboutjake, which already gave deranged energy, but it got better.

"debunking tumblr slander: why i, jake sim, am not submissive nor do i have a micro dick (a thread)."

you nearly dropped your phone, a giggle leaving you as you excitedly click on the thread.

the first slide was formatted like a presentation. bolded title, bullet points, and an unnecessary amount of spacing like someone had spent way too long formatting it.

—— slide 1: addressing the accusations • the tumblr user @s0ftbrat666 has made multiple posts claiming i am submissive • she has also accused me of having a micro dick • both of these are false, offensive, and based on no real evidence ——

no real evidence, he said. like you were in court.

"what in the deranged.." you muttered to yourself, re-reading the text a second time to make sure you were hallucinating.

you snorted, swiping to the next.

—— slide 2: rebuttal • i've been told i give off dominant energy • no one who owns a denim jacket collection that big can be submissive • as for the size... let's just say i've never received complaints ——

you had to pause there, hand over your mouth, wheezing. "denim jackets radiate peg me," you cackle to yourself.

this wasn't a thread written by a deranged fan. no, this was someone personally offended on a soul level. and the way it was written? the tone? the wording?

it was giving him. it was jake.

no one else would be this pressed.

you laughed so hard you had to sit up.

this man had been so insulted by your dumb, unserious thirst post that he created a whole alternate account, wrote a google-doc-tier thread, and was now trying to clear his name in the notes app format. you were obsessed.

you hit reblog.

—— @s0ftbrat666: i have never in my life witnessed a man fight for his dom rights this hard the denim jacket argument almost had me convinced ngl

jake sim if this is actually you: 1. calm down 2. you're literally proving my point 3. post the evidence since you're so confident ——

the comments came flooding in:

"NOT HIM MAKING A PRESENTATION" "'never received complaints' is CRAZY" "he could've just logged off but now he's in too deep" "@truthaboutjake is shaking"

you weren't done though. oh no.

you clicked the original post again and dm'd @truthaboutjake directly.

@s0ftbrat666: wow a thread? you really sat down and made a powerpoint about your dick this is the best thing that's happened to me all week but you still haven't proven anything so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era i'll wait <33

you hit send with a shit-eating grin.

this was your roman empire now. you were going to be thinking about this thread forever.

jake stared at your message like it physically slapped him.

"so until i see hard (and i mean HARD) evidence you're staying in your submissive micro dick era"

his jaw dropped.

"e-evidence?!" he sputtered aloud, standing up in the middle of the dorm living room like he'd just been accused of murder.

jay, sitting across the room with earbuds in, pulled one out and glanced up. "what now?"

"she wants evidence."

jay blinked. "like...?"

jake gestured wildly at his phone. "like evidence evidence!"

jay raised both brows before grinning "...so what i said about the downward angle, i'm telling you jake that shit makes it look h—"

"NO!" jake practically yelled. "i'm not sending a picture of my dick to some random troll on tumblr!"

he fumed. typed. deleted. typed again. then, finally, sent:

@truthaboutjake: okay. listen. i'm not sending you a dick pic. i don't care how much you want "evidence" that's weird. this whole thing is weird. i'm literally just trying to correct a false narrative about myself

you saw the message and immediately rolled your eyes so hard you almost saw your brain. you were curled up on your couch, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, typing with vicious speed.

@s0ftbrat666: omg. are you serious right now?? NO ONE asked for actual dick pics. what the hell is wrong with you. you're literally so deep in this delusion you really think you're jake sim like?? be serious for once you are a grown man on tumblr dot com pretending to be an idol and defending your imaginary dick size this is next level behavior. you need to touch grass and maybe talk to a therapist jake sim would never you are EMBARRASSING yourself rn.

you hit send and sighed, rubbing your temples. it was funny at first but the more you interacted with this person the more brain cells you lost, it shocked you that people would go to such lengths to defend their favs.

this was beyond fandom drama now. this was a case study. and the worst part? you were kind of impressed with how committed he was to the bit. concerned of course, but impressed too.

like... he was spiraling. but passionately.

still. you weren't going to let up. because whoever this man was, he needed to be humbled.

you opened a new post draft and typed:

—— @s0ftbrat666: update: he dm'd me again and accused me of demanding dick pics because i said "evidence"

i rest my case. this is not jake sim. this is some 32-year-old man who unironically uses reddit and thinks being called "submissive" is a slur

log off, drink some water, and go outside before you get a nosebleed from rage

#jake sim #not the real one obviously #this is tumblr not onlyfans relax ——

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to move on.

he really did.

after the dick thread. after being labeled a submissive missionary pillow princess. after the fake fan accusations and being accused of roleplaying as himself—he made the conscious choice to stop checking your blog. he muted your username. closed tumblr for a solid 24 hours. he even turned off his notifs.

he was healing. growing. rebuilding his sanity.

until a member sent him a screenshot.

it was sunghoon.

of course it was sunghoon.

sunghoon: yo y tf she got sm time on her hands icl tho she funny asf

attached was a photo of your newest tumblr post.

jake opened it, eyes squinting. then he saw it.

—— @s0ftbrat666: watched enhypen's most recent stage and i just wanna know WHO chose those pants for jake like bffr. i can see his entire situation

the dick print? front and center. and it's not giving what he thinks it's giving

it's giving: he begged the stylist to let him wear those pants so he could prove me wrong and i'm here to tell you... babe... don't ever do that again.

i'm LAUGHING.

#enhypen #jake sim #pls don't wear tight pants if ur not ready for the scrutiny king #it's not looking good ——

jake froze.

his phone was literally vibrating with how hard he was gripping it.

"she's watching performances now?" he whispered to himself, horrified.

jay looked up from across the room, warily. "...oh god. again?"

"she's analyzing my crotch, jay. she made a post about my dick print."

jay blinked. "that's... new."

"and she said it's 'not giving'!" jake practically screamed, spinning his phone around to show him. "not giving what?! not giving big dick energy?!?!"

jay read it silently, lips twitching. "...it does kind of sound like she thinks you're trying to prove her wrong. which, to be fair, you kinda are." he pauses for a second, "but i thought she deemed you as a deranged fan, does she think that you're actually texting her?"

jake shrugs, "who knows what she's thinking, clearly way to much of this is the shit she posts. also i wasn't even thinking about her when i wore those pants!"

"you literally made a thread defending your dick size last week."

"NOT THE POINT."

jake felt like he was going to combust. it was like every time he clawed his way back to peace, you dropped another post from hell and dragged him back into the pit.

and this time?

this time you targeted his outfit. his styling choices. his crotch visibility. he couldn't even enjoy the stage anymore without wondering if you were out there in a hoodie, behind a screen, zooming in on freeze frames of his pants.

"this is psychological warfare," jake muttered.

sunghoon looked up from his phone, his face annoyed. he was tired of hearing about this, "just block her again."

jake clenched his jaw. "she'll post about it. she'll brag."

he scrolled back up, reading the caption again. and again. his fingers hovered over your username.

he didn't message you. not this time.

instead, he posted on his burner account:

—— @truthaboutjake: some people spend their lives spreading negativity online because they have nothing else going for them. if you spend your free time zooming in on people's bodies just to make fun of them, seek help.

also, the pants looked fire. ——

he hit post. and then, two minutes later he opened the group chat.

jayke: whoever styled me last week. never again. we're going back to loose pants. i'm not doing this with tumblr anymore

✎﹏﹏

jake tried to stay composed. he tried.

but every time he opened tumblr, there you were—lurking in his psyche like a demon with wi-fi.

at first it had been a few jabs, sprinkled here and there between your usual posts about other idols. someone's hair, another's dance move, one guy you kept thirsting over for his "evil smirk" and "long fingers." whatever. jake didn't care.

until suddenly—your entire blog became about him.

not in a cute, stan-like way.

no.

it was relentless.

"jake sim update: still looks like a man who apologizes during sex."

"new era, same micro dick energy."

"his pants looked like they were holding in a lie."

"i know he fumbles the aux every time. just look at him."

your followers ate it up. reblog after reblog. tags like "#he's just so bashable" and "#jake sim slander is self-care" filled the notes.

there were polls. there were graphics.

you made a tier list of idols based on who looked like they cried after sex, and jake was placed right at the top with the caption: "he looks like he'd say 'was that okay?' while tucking his soft dick back in his briefs."

jake was spiraling.

the worst part? you didn't even seem like a hater. you didn't hate him.

you just... targeted him like it was your job. your content was crafted with care. effort. borderline affection.

jay leaned over one afternoon while jake doomscrolled through another one of your polls—this one titled "which idol do you think would last the shortest in bed (no offense)", where jake was winning by 68%.

"you know," jay mused, "i think she actually likes you."

jake looked up, eyes wide with horror as he looks at jay disgusted. "what?"

jay shrugged. "she's obsessed. it's giving weirdly specific attention. enemies-to-lovers coded."

"jay. she made a gifset of my crotch."

"exactly."

jake nearly threw his phone across the room.

it wasn't just slander anymore—it was becoming personal. and the most infuriating part?

you were so sure. so smugly sure.

every post was laced with casual cruelty and the sharp confidence of someone who truly believed they knew him. his vibes. his music taste. his dick size. like you'd studied him and filed a damn report.

and the urge to prove you wrong? it was eating at him.

he'd see one of your posts and get this itch. this slow, simmering burn in his gut. like he had something to prove now. like he wanted to walk up to you and say—

"say that shit again. to my face."

he'd fantasized about it more than once.

cornering you at a fansign, maybe. or catching you backstage if he ever figured out who you were. you with that smug little expression, your arms crossed like you knew everything. and him, leaning in, low and sharp, and making damn sure you knew you were wrong about everything—especially that.

he wasn't even mad anymore. not just mad. he was determined.

this wasn't just tumblr slander. this was a challenge.

and jake sim? he didn't lose.

✎﹏﹏

jake laid in bed, phone hovering above his face, lit only by the blue glow of tumblr's godforsaken app. it was well past 2 a.m., and he'd already scrolled through your entire blog—again.

he told himself it was just to see if you'd posted anything new. which, of course, you had,

but really, he was spiraling.

another post. this one read:

—— @softbrat666: something about jake sim just screams whines when it doesn't slide in all the way like he'd pause mid-thrust to ask if you're okay because he came too fast

he'd definitely say 'but you just feel so good...' as an excuse ——

and the worst part?

jake read every single reply. studied them, even. like they held some kind of twisted insight into how you saw him. how you imagined him. you were building this whole persona of him in your mind and then broadcasting it to thousands of followers like it was gospel. and the most messed up part?

you had just enough accuracy to make it sting.

and yet—you remained anonymous.

faceless. untouchable.

he'd tried to find out who you were. he dug through old posts, clicked your tags, searched your url on twitter and insta.

all he found was:     •    you lived in seoul     •    you were 21     •    you drank too much iced americano     •    and you had audacity in excess

that was it. no selfies. no personal posts. no full name. you were just a sassy username and a collection of jake sim hate posts.

meanwhile, he was a public figure with his whole government face on blast while you dragged him through the mud constantly.

he hated how much he thought about what you looked like.

were you soft and bratty, like your tone suggested? did you smirk when you wrote those captions? were you the type to twirl your hair and say, "what? it's not that deep," while ruining a man's reputation?

he imagined you walking around seoul, laughing with your friends, ordering overpriced coffee with that smug, evil-little-gremlin energy.

he imagined running into you.

he'd play it cool at first—polite, casual, maybe even a little flirty.

watch you ramble. watch you squirm. and when he caught you slipping—maybe when you made some offhand comment about k-pop or tumblr—he'd hit you with it:

"so how's that blog going? still think i'm a submissive pillow princess with a micro dick?"

he rolled onto his side, fuming into his pillow. you lived in his head rent-free and you didn't even know what he looked like at night when he was losing sleep over your bullshit posts.

it was unfair.

you got to stay invisible while he was out here analyzing his own stage outfits to figure out what clip you were gonna slander next.

he scrolled back to that gif set you made of his recent performance. paused on the close-up. the zoom-in.

the goddamn caption: "not jake sim trying to start a dickprint redemption arc. spoiler: it's not working."

his eye twitched.

"this girl is the devil," he muttered.

and yet... he couldn't stop checking. he needed to know what you'd say next.

✎﹏﹏

you wake up to absolute chaos.

your phone is buzzing. not one or two notifications—hundreds. group chats. twitter and tumblr dms. unknown numbers. missed calls. it's like your phone caught fire overnight.

you blink against the morning light, groggy and confused, heart picking up speed. something's wrong. you can feel it. you squint at the screen, drag down your notifications, and the first notification you see makes your stomach drop.

"girl you're trending rn... what did you DO???"

then another.

"is that actually your name???"

your pulse is pounding before you even open twitter. your fingers shake as you type your own @ into the search bar, and the second you hit enter, your breath catches.

it's you.

your name. your photo. your phone number. everything.

someone—no, a group of people—had clearly gone full fbi. they'd taken all your casual, dumb little posts over the years and pieced them together like a fucked-up puzzle.

and now your full name was in a viral thread titled: "this the girl behind the jake sim micro dick blog?"

with a photo of you at a party two months ago, smile beaming.

people were quote-tweeting it with comments like: "she built like someone who'd have beef with jake sim for no reason." "oh she definitely owns a stan twitter burner too." "her blog is my roman empire i need her in therapy immediately."

your blood turned to ice. you were exposed.

fully.

not just as a shitposter but as the jake sim hater. your inbox was flooded—death threats, confessions, apologies, people asking if it was really you. tumblr dms screaming:

"TAKE THE POSTS DOWN BEFORE HE SEES THEM."

too late.

you scrambled to log into tumblr. your hands fumbled across the keys. it took three tries to get your password right.

the second you were in, you did the only thing you could do.

you hit deactivate.

the blog was gone. years of posts. thousands of notes. all of your followers, your drafts, your hate-poll templates.

deleted.

and then the panic really set in.

your hands were trembling. your ears were ringing. and all you could think about was @truthaboutjake, your mind racing. it was him, you realized that it was him.

"he knows. jake sim fucking knows who i am."

and the worst part?

you had no idea what he'd do with it.

✎﹏﹏

jake found out the same way everyone else did—waking up to a string of texts from jay and sunghoon absolutely losing their shit.

jay: bro. check twitter. sunghoon: she got exposed. jay: HER NAME IS OUT LMAOOO jay: bet she's sweating rn sunghoon: she's kinda cute tho

he blinked hard, still groggy, and tapped open the thread that seemed to be trending.

your face stared back at him.

his heart flipped.

you looked... nothing like what he expected. he'd imagined someone smug. cold. maybe with villain bangs and a cigarette habit.

but no—there you were, face flushed in a group photo, laughing mid-sip of iced americano. you looked normal. it almost hurt to admit, but you were pretty.

you looked real.

and now, you were reachable.

he did what anyone would do: searched your name on instagram. he found your linked facebook.

scrolled. scrolled.

paused.

you had your workplace tagged in an old comment.

"juniper bean café - seoul branch."

he stared at it for a long moment. then, very calmly, he stood up, threw on a hoodie, cap, and mask, and left the dorm.

✎﹏﹏

the café was a little tucked away spot with plants hanging from the ceiling and a chalkboard sign outside that said "kiss me, i'm caffeinated."

jake walked in, glancing around. he spotted you immediately, behind the counter, head down as you punched in an order.

he could tell that you had a rough morning, good. your posture was tense. your hair was pulled back messily. your voice was strained. you looked tired, your eyes that seemed so full of life in your leaked photos had disappeared.

he stepped up to the counter. waited. his eyes trailed down your figure, your frame was draped with a loose fitted sweater and some baggy light wash jeans. you wore a black apron, cinching at your waist—allowing his hungry eyes to capture your curves.

you were trying to look invisible. trying not to stand out. but to him—you were glowing with guilt.

he watched you fumble with a stack of napkins, pretending you didn't feel his eyes burning into you. finally you cleared your throat, still not looking up.

"hi, what can i get you?"

he smiled behind his mask, slow and wicked. he pulled it down just enough to speak—voice dripping low, sharp with mocking sweetness.

"you gonna spit in my drink too?" he asked. "or just keep running your mouth somewhere i can't see?"

you froze.

head snapping up. eyes locking with his. and there it was—that flash of horror, recognition, disbelief. it was him.

you had to admit, he was just as if not more handsome in person. your mouth dried up when you watched his lips curl into a smirk and his eye twitch.

your mouth opened. closed. no sound.

"hi," he said, almost sweetly. "miss me?"

you fumbled a reply—something, anything—but he leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter like he had all the time in the world.

"you disappeared fast. what happened? got leaked and lost all your guts or did you burn through all your micro dick material?"

your coworker looked between you both, utterly confused and in awe that jake was standing in front her. you took a breath. straightened your spine. tried to salvage your dignity.

"this is harassment," you muttered.

"this is karma," jake shot back, his smile dark. he twitched in anger, how dare you call this harassment—what about what you had been doing for the last couple of weeks? "i wanted a latte, by the way. no sugar. unless you're finally ready to be sweet to me."

you nearly dropped the milk jug.

he didn't care. he was so amused. you were the girl who wrote entire essays dragging his dickprint and his imagined bedroom habits? you, flushed and stammering behind a café register?

he wanted to laugh. he wanted to lean in closer. he wanted to ruin you back.

and this? this was just the beginning.

your hands were shaking. milk frother sputtering. heart pounding in your chest like it wanted to escape. and he—jake fucking sim—just stood there.

smiling.

smug.

head tilted slightly like he was thrilled by your discomfort. "you gonna make that latte, or you gonna keep fumbling around and glaring at me?" he drawled, voice low and casual.

you gritted your teeth, turned back to the machine, and fumbled through the motions of making the drink. you could feel his eyes on you the entire time—watching, drinking you in like you were the fucking joke.

you finally slid the drink across the counter, trying not to slam it.

"here. now leave."

he didn't move. just sipped slowly, then licked a bit of foam from his lip like it was the most dramatic thing anyone had ever done in a coffee shop.

and then—he leaned forward. elbow on the counter. voice quiet, words slow and deliberate:

"what time do you get off?"

you blinked, "excuse me?"

"your shift. when does it end?"

"why the fuck would i tell you that?"

his smile widened, all teeth now, sharp and smug. "because there's going to be a black car waiting for you outside." he continues, "when you clock out, you're going to get in. and then you're going to follow instructions."

you stared at him, genuinely floored. "are you insane? what the hell are you talking about?"

he tilted his head, mockingly sympathetic. "i get it. you're scared. probably embarrassed." he grins, "but see, that's the thing about defamation—once it's public, i can take legal action. and you've been very public."

your stomach dropped, "you're bluffing."

he shrugged. "wanna bet your savings account on that?"

you opened your mouth. closed it again. because—fuck. he wasn't bluffing. he didn't have to. you'd posted too much. said too much. and now he had your face, your name, your location.

"you can't just—kidnap me," you said, weaker than intended.

he laughed.

"it's not kidnapping if you get in willingly, sweetheart."

then he slid the latte off the counter, turned, and started to walk toward the door. before he left, he glanced back, over his shoulder.

"9 p.m., right?" he called out. "don't be late. i hate being stood up." he grinned, fuck him.

the bell jingled as he left. the door shut behind him.

and you stood there, in your apron and sneakers and sweaty palms, absolutely rattled. what the fuck did you just get yourself into?

✎﹏﹏

9:03 p.m.

you were pacing behind the café. your shift ended three minutes ago, but you hadn't stepped outside yet. you couldn't. your feet felt like bricks. your stomach twisted with anxiety, hands clenched in the pockets of your jeans.

what the fuck am i doing?

you shouldn't go. you know you shouldn't go. this was literally stranger danger 101, except instead of a stranger it was a kpop idol whose dick size you flamed online for weeks.

your brain was screaming at you. your nerves were a warzone. your inner monologue sounded like one long anxiety spiral:

"you're insane." "this is how people get murdered." "he's rich. he could make you disappear and blame it on anxiety meds." "but also... maybe he just wants to talk?" "or maybe he's gonna sue you in person with his scary legal team and laugh while you cry." "or—worse—what if he takes a picture with you and posts it with some shady ass caption like 'finally found her :)' and now you're really cooked?"

your fists clenched tighter.

this was your own fault. you were the one who made that blog. you were the one who said he looked like a pillow princess. you were the one who photoshopped a pacifier into that one fansite photo and captioned it "baby boy can't handle coochie."

and now?

now he knew your name. your face. your shift schedule.

and there it was, waiting on the curb like a horror movie prop—a sleek black car, windows tinted, headlights glowing like eyes.

you stared at it.

and then, finally, took a deep breath and walked towards it.

the back door opened before you could even touch it. you slid inside, hesitating, clutching your bag to your chest like a shield. you looked around the dimly lit interior. leather seats. no jake.

just a stone-faced driver in a black cap.

"um," you said cautiously. "where are we going?"

no response.

you leaned forward slightly. "hello? i just—can you at least tell me if jake is—"

silence.

he kept driving.

great.

you sat back, heart still racing. the lights of the city blurred past the windows. you couldn't even track the direction—you were too jittery to focus. every turn felt like it took you farther from safety.

and god, the silence was suffocating.

you hated it. you hated him.

jake sim and his smug face and his legal threats and the fact that this whole thing was so humiliating.

how the hell did he turn it around on you? curse those people who leaked you.

you were supposed to have the power. the upper hand. you were the one who had thousands of people laughing at his expense. you were the one whose posts got quoted like bible verses on stan twitter.

and now?

now you were alone, in his car, being driven to god knows where because he told you to.

you should've never fucking posted about his dick. you should've stayed anonymous. kept your mouth shut. deleted the pacifier post when it hit 10k notes.

the car slowed. you peeked out the window. it wasn't some mansion, like you feared. wasn't a dungeon either—at least you think so.

it was a private-looking building—modern, sleek, tucked down a quiet alley with a gated entrance. definitely expensive. definitely secluded.

you were dropped off at the curb. the driver didn't say anything—just nodded toward the front door.

you stepped out slowly, phone gripped tight in your hand, ready to fake an emergency call or scream if necessary.

a man, different from the driver, opened the front door. another silent guy in all black gestured for you to follow.

you hesitated, then followed him down a short hallway, up a narrow flight of stairs, until you reached a door with a single number carved into it: 17.

he knocked once, then opened it.

you stepped in—and stopped.

jake was inside.

he was leaning casually against a wall, dressed in all black—hoodie, chain, jeans, hair tousled, like he hadn't even tried and still looked like a good.

he was scrolling on his phone when you entered, then looked up.

and grinned, "hey." he stops, letting his gaze travel down your trembling form, "glad you could make it, hate blogger."

you wanted to punch him. you wanted to turn around and leave. but most of all—you wanted to know what the hell came next.

and by the look on his face?

he was very ready to show you.

room 17 is quiet. too quiet.

you stand near the door, gripping the strap of your bag like it's your last line of defense. jake hasn't moved from his place against the wall, but his eyes haven't left you for a second. he looks too calm. like this is just some casual meetup and not the most batshit confrontation of your entire life.

"you still haven't told me why i'm here," you say finally, voice tight, trying to sound unbothered even though your throat is dry.

he doesn't answer right away. he just studies you, eyes flicking from your clenched fists to your shifting posture to the tiny, almost-invisible tremble in your knees.

then he lets out a soft little chuckle, the kind that feels mean. smug and quiet and condescending.

"you really don't know?" he asks, stepping away from the wall at last. his strides are slow, deliberate, like he knows you won't run—but that you should.

you take a step back automatically, bumping into the door behind you.

"if this is about suing me," you mutter, chin lifting defensively, "you could've just emailed your legal team. this whole drama king act—" "i'm not suing you." he cuts you off, voice calm but sharp. he walks past you and locks the door with a soft click. your stomach flips.

"then what the hell is this?" he turns back to you, expression unreadable, "this is about correction."

you blink, "what?"

"you posted things that were... inaccurate." he steps closer. you press yourself further into the door. "about me. my body. my performance. my preferences." another step. you swear you stop breathing, "so now i'm giving you a chance to see the truth."

you stare up at him, wide-eyed, "you're joking."

"does it look like i'm joking?" he murmurs.

you're momentarily speechless. your brain is whirring, trying to process what's happening. jake sim—international idol, global heartthrob, the man you've memed within an inch of his digital life—has dragged you to a private room to debunk his dick size?

you should laugh, but you can't.

because he's standing too close. because he's looking at you like prey. because his voice is dipped in amusement but his eyes are furious.

"you're out of your mind," you whisper, eyes wide and your jaw slacked.

he shrugs, "maybe."

his hand lifts, knuckles brushing your chin—just enough to make your breath catch.

"but you made this personal. you dragged it out. you turned it into a running gag." he leans down slightly, until your noses are nearly brushing. "and now you're gonna watch what happens when you say shit you can't back up."

your throat works around a swallow. your persona starts to crack.

still—you can't not be a brat.

"so what, you're gonna just pull your dick out like some frat boy in a scandal?" you snort. "you're so mad over a joke, you're—"

"baby," his voice cuts you off again, soft but dangerous.

"a joke is calling me clingy or annoying. a joke is editing me into a pink onesie." he steps even closer, "but accusing me of being a submissive pillow princess with a dick that couldn't break a hymen?" he tilts his head, mocking, "that's slander."

you flush. deeply, "you saw that post?"

"i've seen every post," he says coolly. "and the reblogs. and the tags. and the memes."

you suddenly feel so small. not because he's taller—though he is—but because you'd spent months building this image of jake sim as a joke. a punchline. a target.

and now he's right here. and he's pissed.

"you're really that bothered?" you ask, but your voice is quieter now, unsure. "bothered?" he repeats, almost scoffing. "sweetheart, i was obsessed." his hand lifts again, brushes your hair away from your face, fingers dragging a little too slow behind your ear.

"you don't understand what it's like to be degraded by someone who's too cowardly to even show their face." he pauses, his eyes dropping to your lips, "but i'll show you."

you swallow hard. "so what?" you ask, trying not to waver. "you want me to apologize? to... take it all back? post a formal retraction about your dick?"

he grins. slow and sharp, "nah."

"i want you to see it," he pauses, lets the words sink in. "and then i want to see the look on your face when you realize you were dead fucking wrong."

your mouth opens. no sound comes out. your heart is pounding so fast you think you might throw up. because there's teasing and there's joking and there's flirting with danger—but this? this is crossing the line, and you don't know if you want him to stop.

you laugh, it comes out breathy and nervous and completely unconvincing. "okay," you say, holding your hands up a little, trying to cut the tension with sarcasm, "haha, very funny. you got me. you've officially scared the shit out of me, and if that was your goal, congratulations."

jake just stands there. watching you. expression unreadable, unreadable and dark. you shift on your feet, trying to find a way out of this, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"look," you continue, "i'll take everything down, okay? every post. every meme. every stupid out-of-pocket caption." you swallow. "i'll issue an apology. hell, i'll write a thread. a whole google doc. whatever you want."

you inch away from the door, toward the side of the room, trying to put some space between you.

"i crossed a line. i get that now." you laugh again, weaker this time. "like—clearly."

jake still doesn't speak, he starts walking.

slow. silent. like a cat with its prey cornered.

your back hits the wall.

"i'll stop posting about you," you rush out, your heart beating frantically when you feel jake's breath fan against your cheek. "seriously. no more degrading content. no more jokes. you win, okay?" his palm hits the wall beside your head with a sharp thud.

you freeze.

he leans in.

"i don't want a fucking apology," he murmurs, voice thick and low, the sound of it making your legs weaken. you try to hold his gaze, but it's hard when he's this close. when you can smell his cologne—clean and warm, like cedar and skin. when you can see the heat in his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

"i want you to look at me," he says, "and admit you were wrong."

"i just did—" "no." his other hand comes up, fingers ghosting your chin, tilting it up. "not because you're scared. not because you think i'm gonna sue your ass. i want you to say it because you know."

you suck in a breath as his fingers graze your throat. not squeezing. not threatening. but claiming, staking a presence.

"you think i'm some submissive little pushover," he whispers, "who just lays there and takes it. soft. boring. harmless."

your heart pounds in your chest so loud you swear it echoes. "you think you own the narrative. that you get to decide who i am, what i'm like in bed, how big my fucking dick is."

you flinch at the way he says it, so vulgar and harsh it shoots straight to your core.

"but the second i show up—" his thumb brushes your bottom lip. "you're quiet. nervous. twitchy. like you already know you were talking out of your ass."

you suck in a shaky breath and try to bite back the heat that's crawling up your neck. "you're insane," you whisper, but there's no bite behind it.

his body is so close now, you can feel the heat radiating off him. he hasn't even touched you properly and you already feel like your knees are going to give.

"what do you want from me?" you ask, voice barely holding together. he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

"i want to fuck the lies out of your mouth." his voice is so low, it vibrates down your spine. "i want you to choke on everything you said about me and realize i was never the one being dominated."

you let out a small, shaky sound—and that's when he finally kisses you.

not soft.

not slow.

possessive. like he's claiming what he's owed.

like he's trying to shove every insult back down your throat, one filthy kiss at a time.

your mind blanks the second his mouth claims yours. his tongue pushes past your lips without hesitation, his hand gripping your jaw to keep you right where he wants you, and you feel it deep—too deep. like he's trying to crawl inside your ribcage and brand himself there.

his kiss isn't gentle. it's punishment. all teeth and tongue, your back shoved harder into the wall as he presses against you. his body completely, deliberately dominating yours.

"still think i'm soft?" he growls against your lips when he pulls back, breath ragged, thumb digging into the underside of your chin to keep you looking at him.

you don't answer. you can't.

your mouth is open, panting, lips wet and swollen from how violently he just kissed you. your knees barely hold.

his gaze drops to your mouth. then lower, and lower.

he smirks.

"you look scared," he says, tilting his head slightly. "thought you liked writing filthy shit about me. what happened to all that confidence?"

you swallow hard, still in absolute disbelief, "you're—you're actually insane."

"and you're actually still turned on." his hand drops to your hip, gripping hard, pulling you flush against him—and fuck. he's hard. painfully hard. pressing right against your lower stomach. and he knows you feel it.

your eyes widen. you try to squirm away but there's nowhere to go, your back hits the wall again and his thigh wedges between your legs.

"not so micro now, is it?" he breathes against your neck. you let out a broken sound—half gasp, half groan—and that's when jake loses it.

he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, other hand sliding beneath your shirt, grazing skin and pulling a shocked noise out of you. he doesn't give you room to breathe.

"say it," he growls. "say you were wrong."

you shake your head. still stubborn. still you.

"no?" he scoffs. "fine." his thigh presses harder between your legs, rocking up once. your clit throbbed pathetically at the feeling, it was just enough friction to make your eyes roll back. you try to keep your composure, but he watches your face change—watches your pride falter.

"don't lie to me, baby." his voice drops lower—hungrier. "you're dripping. over the same guy you dragged for months."

you gasp, trying to turn your face away from him, but he leans in again, his nose brushing your cheek.

"you gonna blog about this too?" he whispers. "tell your little followers how jake sim manhandled you and made you eat your words with his cock halfway down your throat?"

you whimper and it disgusts you how fast your body betrays you. how wet you already are. how much you want him to ruin you just to prove you were wrong.

and he can tell.

he sees the shift in your expression. how your resistance is slowly, deliciously, falling apart.

your wrists are still pinned, your breathing uneven, chest rising and falling fast as jake leans in like he owns the air around you.

"i'm done hearing you talk," he mutters, dragging his mouth along your jaw. "i think it's time you showed me just how sorry you really are."

he releases your hands and steps back. you don't move. your legs are trembling, your pride hanging on by a thread.

"on your knees," he says simply.

you scoff, arms folding defensively across your chest, "you can't be serious—"

he tilts his head, "i'm not asking again."

there's no loud threat. no yelling. just the terrifying calm of someone who already knows he's won. you hold your ground—barely. but something about the way he looks down at you, already palming the bulge in his jeans, makes your body respond before your mind does.

you sink, slowly. knees hitting the floor like it's a confession. he watches you with quiet satisfaction, like he's waited for this exact moment.

he had been dreaming about the moment he would get you to himself, on your knees—right where he wanted you.

"look at me," he says, and you do—eyes meeting his as he unzips, the sound ridiculously loud in the silence.

he's already thick in his hand when he pulls it out, and your mouth goes dry. you don't want to admit it, but fuck. it's big. way bigger than you ever gave him credit for. your throat tightens at the sheer weight of it, thick and flushed and veined.

his smirk deepens when he sees the way your eyes drop.

"what was that again?" he mocks, giving himself a slow stroke. "micro?"

you glare up at him, heat crawling up your neck. "i was clearly misinformed."

"say it properly."

you hesitate, his free hand tangles in your hair—firm, but not painful. just enough to tilt your face up toward him.

"say. it."

you grit your teeth, "i was wrong."

"about what?"

you groan. "about your dick. okay? you don't have a micro dick."

he raises an eyebrow, "that all?"

"it's big," you mutter, cheeks burning. "you made your point." he laughs—low and satisfied—and guides your face closer, "not yet."

you gasp when you feel his tip touch your cheek, he grins at your expression—feeling satisfied with your shock. he does a few experimental taps, dragging his length over your lips. you hold in a whine when he smears his pre cum over your bottom lip, almost as if he was applying lipgloss on you.

and then he pushes in.

there's no easing into it—he gives you the thick weight of his cock all at once, making you choke. your hands scrambling to grip his thighs as he holds you there, watching with dark, satisfied eyes.

"look at that," he murmurs. "mouth so full of me you can't even talk shit now." you gag again, but his grip stays steady, fingers flexing against the back of your head as he rocks his hips in slow, controlled thrusts. just enough to make you feel how deep he is and prove how wrong you were.

he could feel how warm your mouth was around him, basking in the feeling of not only pleasure but the satisfaction of shutting you up.

"this what you wanted?" he groans. "to see what i've been hiding in those pants you loved to degrade?"

you can't respond. not when he's using your mouth like a cock sleeve, fucking every insult out of you with a punishing rhythm. spit drips from out of your mouth and onto your chin. tears prick at your eyes and yet—somewhere deep in your gut—you like it.

jake's grip on your hair gets stronger, the pain causing your jaw to slack as you continue to take his brutal pace. you could feel the head of his cock  rub against the back of your throat, the force not strong enough to make you gag but enough to cause a stream of tears to run down your face.

your nose touched his pelvis with every thrust, indicating how deep he was going. "fuck. look at you, __. who knew cock being in your mouth is the only way to shut you up."

you whine at his words, looking up at him with pleading eyes—yet you didn't know what exacting you were begging for. you rub your thighs together in hopes for some temporary relief, the scene so lewd that you could feel yourself gush in your panties—holding in the urge to let your hands wander down to touch yourself.

jake looked down at you with hungry eyes, his lip twitching as his grip in your hair grew tighter with each thrust. he let low moans slip from his mouth every time his dick grazed the back of your throat.

"aren't you a dirty little whore.." jake drawls out, his chest heaving with pleasure when he notices how tightly you have your thighs clenched. "getting all worked up for someone you've publicly shat on for having the least sex appeal."

you moaned around him when suddenly he pushed your thighs apart with his foot, wedging his sneaker between your legs—giving you something to ease up the tension in your core.

you mewl when he pushed against your clit, almost urging you to grind down against him while he used your mouth to his hearts content. slowly, but surely—you allowed yourself to ground yourself against him. it sickened you how desperate you had become in just a span of a few minutes.

jake almost cums when he sees you move your hips, desperate for any kind of friction to relieve you from your throbbing clit.

the familiar feeling in his stomach begins to tighten, his grip on you becoming unforgiving as he loses self control and allows himself to push himself into your mouth as much as he could. his tip hits the back of your throat repeatedly now, a mixture of his cum and your spit dribbling out of your mouth.

"f-fuck," he groans. "m'gonna cum.. you're gonna take it? yeah? take it in that bratty mouth, hm?" jake murmurs to what seems himself just before he combusts in your mouth. you swallowed a chocked moan when you feel his warm cum coat your mouth, gagging around him as he twitches.

jake felt as if he was on cloud 9, his head lulling to the side as he keeps your head planted where it is—ensuring that you swallow what he gave you fully.

when he finally pulls back, cock glistening with your spit and his cum, your jaw aches as you swallow the salty yet sweet taste of his release.  your chest heaving like you've just survived something.

"mouth open and tongue out," he demands. you hesitantly open your mouth, your tongue out as you show him that you swallowed everything.

you whine out desperately when he slides his foot away, leaving you aching again. jake tsk's, "desperate slut."

he crouches down to your level, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth.

"still think i'm a pillow princess?" his voice is a little breathless now. dark and smug. "or you finally ready to admit you don't know shit about me?"

your throat still burns. your lips are swollen, coated in spit and shame, and jake's leaning over you like he's just getting started.

"on your feet."

you hesitate, still panting, still dazed from the way he fucked your mouth like it was owed to him. but something in his voice—firm, expectant—makes you move. your knees tremble as you rise.

jake doesn't give you time to adjust. the second you're upright, he steps in close, hands on your waist, guiding you backward until your thighs hit the edge of the bed.

you're pressed back against the mattress, thighs parted under his hands, still catching your breath from how rough he'd just been with your mouth. but instead of backing down, you do what you do best—deflect.

"look—how about this," you say, voice shaking but holding onto some scrap of cocky defiance. "i'll just say the blog was satire. irony. you know, performance art or something. no one has to know i meant any of it."

jake's expression doesn't change.

"or better yet—i'll make a new post trashing someone else. redirect the attention. easy." you flash a grin that's all teeth. "maybe i'll even throw in a little praise for you. balance it out."

he just blinks at you. slowly.

"you think you're negotiating right now?" his voice is calm, but the grip on your thighs tightens.

you blink. "i mean, i'm trying to be reasonable—"

"reasonable?" he laughs, but there's no humor in it. "you publicly dragged me for weeks. humiliated me. and now that you're caught, you want to rewrite the narrative?"

"i'm offering solutions—" "you're offering bullshit," he snaps, and in a second he's climbing over you, his body slotting between your legs like it was made to be there. "and you think you still have leverage? cute."

your breath hitches. your hands push at his chest, but he grabs your wrists and pins them down again, harder this time—your body arching into him involuntarily.

"here's what's really gonna happen," he says, leaning in, nose brushing yours. "you're gonna try to flip this. act like you're still in control. try to turn the tables on me."

your throat tightens.

"but you won't. because the second you try, i'll remind you who made you beg. who had you gagging on the dick you said didn't exist." his voice drops lower, dangerous. "and then i'll ruin you all over again."

you glare up at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and defiance."you know what? fine." your voice is sharp, shaky. "you wanna play games? i'll play. let's see how fast you fold when i turn this around."

he raises an eyebrow. "is that right?" you reach down between your bodies—slow, deliberate—wrapping your hand around him. he's still hard. unfairly so. hot and heavy in your palm.

"maybe i was wrong about the size," you murmur, stroking him slow, his breath hitching. "but maybe you really are just a pillow princess. maybe you like being praised more than you like fucking."

his jaw ticks.

you press a kiss to his neck, voice a taunt against his skin. "what happens if i ride you instead? if i make you cum all over yourself."

he freezes.

"what if i write about that next?" you sit up dragging your tongue along the edge of his jaw. "'jake sim—big dick, zero stamina.' think the internet'll love that?"

you think you've got him.

until suddenly—he flips you.

you yelp, back hitting the mattress again as he rips your hand away from his cock and shoves your thighs up around his waist. the shift is fast, dominant, practiced.

"you really thought that'd work?" he's laughing now—mean, breathless, hungry. "thought you'd rile me up and get the upper hand? you forget who tracked you down and got you here in this room." his voice is pure venom now, thick with want. "who had you gagging and drooling on your knees while you fucked yourself on my shoes not even 5 minutes ago?"

his hands expertly yank off your jeans, his thumb hooked around the waistband of your baby pink cotton panties—teasing you. you writhe beneath him, but he doesn't budge—he presses into you, cock sliding between your clothed folds just to tease, just to show you what you don't get to control.

"you wanna test stamina?" he growls. "i'll fuck you 'til that smug little attitude disappears. 'til you're begging me to stop. 'til you're crying and calling me daddy."

you gasp—rage, arousal, panic blending in your gut—but you can't deny the throb between your legs. the way your body betrays your pride.

he feels it too.

his free hand runs up your sweater, your breath shaking as you feel him run his fingers up your stomach and make themselves comfortable on your tits. letting your hands go momentarily, he's yanking your sweater off and throwing it across the room.

"didn't know bratty girls like you wore baby pink. ruffles, lace trim—bows?" he grins, his hands playing with the frills of your bra as you twitch beneath him.

"fuck you," you spat out, voice coming out weaker than you wanted it to. jake only smirks, his hand reaching up to pull the straps of your bra down—letting your tits fall out. "oh i will," and with that he's taking one of your nipples hostage in his mouth. his grip on your wrists stays planted, not allowing you to move or struggle against him when he nips at the sensitive skin of your breasts.

he switches from left to right for a few minutes, basking in your whimpers and mewls before he kisses down your stomach. pulling away he's back to being face to face with you, a smug look on his face before he plants a kiss to your jaw. the kiss turns into bites, nipping at your neck and chest as he leaves behind purple splotches.

"maybe you can post the marks i left and then bash me," jake grins against your skin. you roll your eyes in response only for jake to shoot you a look that says: behave.

he moves your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to his hungry eyes. he runs his thumb through your slit, gathering your slick.

"so wet," he mutters, dragging the head of his cock against your slit. "guess your body knows who's in charge, even if your mouth doesn't." he slams into you—deep, all at once—and you scream.

no teasing now. no easing in. no prepping.

just punishment. just proof. just him, ruining you from the inside out like it's the only way to shut you up.

"gonna make you forget every insult," he grits, hips snapping into yours over and over. "gonna fuck the hate right outta you."

he could feel your velvet walls convulse, sucking him in like a vacuum as he thrusts into you. you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders, back arching, mind blurring. you hate how good it feels. how right.

"gonna ruin you," he whispers, lips at your neck. "and you're gonna thank me for it." his mouth traveling down to your tit to engulf one of your nipples once again.

your body jolts with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping and moans filling the room as you struggle to adjust to his girth.

you're still trembling when jake lifts your chin. his touch is deceptively gentle, but there's nothing soft in his expression. smug. commanding. dangerously patient.

"you still think you were right?" he asks lowly, voice scraping down your spine like velvet over steel. you blink up at him, lips parted, but your throat is dry. no sass now. not with the way your body's still recovering, knees weak, throat raw from every choked sound he pulled from you.

when you don't respond jake stops his movement, his hips go still as he simply stares down at you with a dark look in his eyes.

you were falling apart.

his cock was deep inside you, filling you so completely you couldn't even think straight— but jake wasn't moving. he just held you there, pinned beneath him, wrists trapped against the mattress, his hips grinding slow and mean against yours.

you whimpered, hips twitching up against him helplessly, desperate for more. he smirked down at you, cruel and smug, loving the way your body shook, the way your face twisted in frustration.

"what's wrong?" he murmured mockingly, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear. "thought you'd be tougher than this."

you rationed with yourself for a moment, were you really going to beg? yes.

you tried to twist your wrists free but his grip only tightened. "please," you gasped out, tears welling in your eyes from how badly you needed to cum. "please, jake, i need it—"

he laughed, low and sharp, and snapped his hips forward once—deep and brutal—making you cry out. but then he stilled again, ignoring your desperate whines.

"you need it?" he repeated, pretending to think. "need my cock? need me to make you cum like the stupid little whore you are?"

your cheeks burned, shame rolling through you, but you nodded frantically.

"say it," he ordered, voice dropping, rough. you squeezed your eyes shut, humiliated, but the words still poured out.

"i need your cock," you sobbed. "please jake, please—i'll do anything, i'll be good, just let me cum—"

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied with himself.

"should've thought about being good before you started running your mouth online," he muttered, dragging his cock slow and deep inside you, making you arch and cry out.

you were shaking now—your whole body burning, every nerve stretched tight and ready to snap.

"you want it that bad?" he asked casually, grinding his hips just enough to make you sob.

"yes," you choked out. "please, jake—please, i need to cum, i can't—"

he grinned wickedly and finally, finally started fucking into you hard—deep, punishing thrusts that made you see stars. your walls clung onto how dick like a suction in attempt to milk him dry.

your moans spilled out loud and wrecked, your whole body bowing off the bed.

"good girl," he murmured darkly, "you're gonna cum when i say. not a second before." you nodded frantically, not trusting yourself to speak without crying. and when he finally, finally leaned down and growled, "cum for me, slut,"

you shattered.

you came so hard you were sobbing, spasming around him, your body giving out completely under his.

jake fucked you through it, laughing under his breath, dragging every last bit of pleasure and humiliation out of you until you were left shaking and gasping for air.

and even then, he wasn't done with you yet. he hadn't cum yet, and at the end of the day that's what you were here for—to be his little cum slut.  you barely had time to breathe—your body still spasming from the orgasm he tore out of you before jake grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto him, grinding even deeper.

you yelped, broken noises spilling out of your mouth, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation.

"no," he snapped, voice sharp and final, one hand locking tight around your waist to keep you from moving. "you don't get to run."

your head lolled back, tears slipping down your cheeks, your body a twitching mess.

"too much," you sobbed, trembling violently.

he laughed—laughed—at your misery.

"too bad," he muttered against your ear. "you're not done." he set a brutal rhythm, fucking into you hard, fast, merciless. your thighs shook, your nails dug into the sheets, your mouth fell open in helpless, gasping cries. you could feel yourself spiraling again—pain and pleasure tangled together until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"you think you're in control?" he grunted, slamming into you harder, making you scream. "you think you can say whatever you want about me and not pay for it?"

your whole body jolted with every thrust, the humiliation making your head spin.

"say it," he growled. "say you were wrong."

you whimpered, stubborn even now, biting down hard on your lip. he slowed down, grinding his cock against your sensitive walls in deep, deliberate circles that made you keen helplessly.

"say it," he repeated, cruel and low, "or i'll edge you until you're fucking crying."

your pride crumbled fast.

"i was wrong," you gasped out, voice cracking. he smirked, hips snapping forward again. "about what?"

you squeezed your eyes shut, shame flooding you. "about—about your dick," you choked out. "i lied, you're big—you're fucking huge—"

he chuckled darkly, like he already knew. "good girl," he breathed, voice dripping with mockery. "what else?"

you shook your head frantically, body jerking with overstimulation. he pulled almost all the way out—your cunt squeezing around nothing— before slamming back in so brutally you cried out.

"what else?" he hissed against your throat.

"i—i'm just a stupid bitch who doesn't know what she's talking about," you sobbed, face burning hot.

he laughed again, so fucking satisfied, so cruel.

"that's right," he murmured. "a stupid little whore who can't stop begging for the cock she said was too small."

you whimpered, broken, humiliated beyond repair. and still—your body clung to him, desperate for more. you realized with a sick twist in your gut that you would do anything—say anything—just to have him fuck you harder.

and jake knew it too.

he leaned down close, mouth brushing yours cruelly.

"beg," he whispered. "beg me to ruin you."

you could barely think. your body was burning, trembling, stretched tight around him— your mind a broken mess of shame and need. and still jake kept fucking you deep, rough, relentless.

his hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, your throat, your jaw—manhandling you like you were nothing more than a toy for him to use.

you whimpered when he grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him.

"beg," he ordered again, voice dark, breathless with lust. "beg me to ruin you, slut."

you shook your head at first, a broken little sob tearing from your throat. he growled low, slammed into you even harder—your back arching, a scream ripping from your lips.

"you don't get to say no," he hissed. "you wanted this." tears streamed down your cheeks, your body trembling violently.

"please," you gasped out, the word slipping before you could even think. "please jake..ruin me, use me. fuck me however you want—"

he laughed, so fucking smug, dragging his cock out slow just to make you whine. "good fucking girl," he murmured. "finally learning your place."

you babbled desperate nonsense, sobbing into the sheets, your pride shattered into dust.and jake fucked you through it all—using you like a fleshlight, pounding into you until your legs gave out, until your voice was wrecked and broken.

"this what you wanted, huh?" he sneered, slapping your ass hard enough to leave a sting. "to get fucked dumb? to get put in your place like the stupid little whore you are?"

you nodded frantically, gasping, sobbing, brain completely mush. "can't even speak anymore," he muttered, mocking. "just a cockdrunk mess." your nails clawed helplessly at the sheets, your cunt squeezing him so tight he groaned.

you felt another orgasm building—sharp, unbearable—but you were too gone to even ask permission. you just sobbed and gasped and let him take everything from you.

"yeah, that's right," he growled, voice thick with pleasure. "cum all over my cock, slut. make a fucking mess."

you shattered, your whole body convulsing around him, screaming his name like a prayer, a curse, a broken confession. and jake fucked you through it, dragging every last bit of your pride and resistance out of you, until there was nothing left but a crying, ruined mess on his cock.

you were shaking. your body was limp, wrecked, trembling under the weight of everything he made you feel.

and jake still wasn't satisfied.

he kept moving, grinding his cock deep inside your overstimulated cunt—mocking every broken sob that fell from your lips.

"what's wrong?" he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "too much?"

you could only whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth. he grabbed your face again, rough, forcing your glassy eyes to meet his.

"you wanted to run your mouth so bad," he sneered. "now you can fucking thank me." your brain barely processed the words, too fogged with shame and pleasure. he slapped your cheek lightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap your attention back.

"say it," he barked. "say thank you."

you whimpered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"th-thank you," you stammered, voice barely a whisper.

he smirked, cruel and satisfied.

"louder," he ordered, snapping his hips forward viciously, making you cry out. "thank you!" you sobbed, your voice hoarse and broken.

he chuckled darkly, his hand sliding down your throat, pressing lightly just enough to make your head spin.

"thank me for ruining you," he muttered, rolling his hips slow and deep, dragging another helpless moan from your lips.

your pride was turned into ash, your mind gone.

"thank you for ruining me," you gasped out, shaking uncontrollably, completely destroyed. he groaned, clearly getting off on how ruined you were—your body slack, twitching, drooling, your cunt spasming weakly around him.

"pathetic," he muttered against your ear. "look at you." you could feel how wet and messy everything was—your thighs sticky, the sheets underneath you soaked.

and still—still—he wasn't finished.

"gonna fill you up," he rasped, voice rough with the effort of holding back. "gonna fuck you so full you'll be leaking for days."

you sobbed, the humiliation sinking deeper into your bones.

"please," you whispered, because you didn't know what else to say anymore. he grunted low in his chest, thrusting faster, chasing his release. he could feel that familiar tinge in his stomach, he was close.

"such a good little cumdump," he growled. "just a hole for me to use." you broke again, another weak orgasm rolling through your abused body.

and jake finally spilled inside you—deep, hot, filling you up exactly like he promised.

he didn't pull out immediately. he stayed pressed deep, making sure you felt every drop. when he finally did pull out, you collapsed completely, a ruined, twitching, crying mess.

and jake just chuckled, so fucking smug. running his fingers down your slit before plugging your fluttering hole, making sure that his cum stays in you for as long as it could.

"maybe next time you'll think twice before running your mouth about me," he said, releasing your wrists before he gets off the bed. he left you there, spread open, dripping, humiliated beyond repair.

and you realized with a sick twist of your gut— you liked it.

you fucking loved every humiliating second of it.

✎﹏﹏

your body aches.

not in the romantic, soft-lit, post-orgasm kind of way.

no. it's raw. it's degrading. it's embarrassing.

your legs are trembling so badly you have to lean on the sink just to stay upright. your thighs sticky, sore. your throat dry and stretched thin from the pathetic, wrecked sounds he pulled out of you.

you yank your clothes back on as fast as your shaking hands allow, muttering curses under your breath. you can't even look at yourself in the mirror. because you know what you'll see: the ruined, wrecked version of yourself jake created.

and you hate him.

you hate how smug he looks when you finally stumble back into the room—hair mussed, shirt untucked, standing like he didn't just break you open with nothing but his cock and his fucking mouth. you hate how he leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a look that says he's already won.

you hate that he was right.

and you really, really hate that you liked it.

you roll your shoulders back, force yourself to stand straight even if your body is begging you to drop.

"that what you wanted?" you rasp out, voice wrecked and scratchy. "you win. congrats. want a trophy or something?"

jake doesn't say a word. he just watches. calm. amused. smug.

and it pisses you off. burns you alive from the inside.

"you got what you wanted. you ruined my pride," you snarl, stepping closer even though your knees are ready to give. "so what now? supposed to kneel and thank you? beg you to keep ruining me?"

he cocks his head slightly, lips twitching.

you hate how unbothered he looks. you hate it so much it makes you reckless.

"you don't actually believe i meant all that, right?" you spit. "you really think i meant it when i said you're big? when i cried about how good you fucked me?"

you scoff, shaking your head with a cold, sharp laugh.

"you're pathetic. you got played because i moaned a little."

and that's when everything shifts.

because jake steps forward—smooth, controlled—grabbing your jaw so hard you gasp, slamming your back against the wall without even looking like he's trying. his face is inches from yours, breath warm, eyes dark and furious.

"still lying?" he murmurs.

your heart pounds wildly. you try to twist away but his grip on your jaw tightens, bruising.

"you begged for my cock," he hisses, thumb dragging across your trembling bottom lip. "you fucking cried for it. and you're gonna stand there and lie to my face?"

you choke on your words, humiliation pouring down your spine in cold waves.

he laughs bitterly, the sound vibrating low in his chest. "guess you really are as dumb as you look."

you flinch.

and jake leans in closer, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanna pretend you're still in control?" he taunts, dragging his fingers down your throat slow, almost tender. "you wanna act like you didn't cum so fucking hard you couldn't even say my name?"

you tremble.

but you don't back down—not yet. pride and fear tangled up, keeping you frozen.

he chuckles darkly.

"fine," he says, voice a low threat. "i'll remind you."

his hand snakes between your thighs, shoving your jeans down again, your underwear dragging with it, baring you completely in seconds. you gasp, struggling—but he's too strong, too fast. he grabs you by the hips, throws you onto the bed like you're weightless.

and then he's on you.

he presses your wrists to the mattress with one hand again, his weight pinning you down, his other hand roughly forcing your legs apart.

you barely have time to gasp before he's inside you again—deep, brutal, fucking the defiance out of you one savage thrust at a time.

you cry out, throat raw. he fucks you like he's furious, every slam of his hips meant to punish. "not so fucking smug now, huh?" he pants against your ear.

you whimper, broken sounds spilling out without permission.

"what happened to all that fake confidence, princess?" he mocks, rolling his hips harder, forcing your body to take every inch. "thought you said you could handle it."

you sob, writhing under him, but he doesn't let up. he leans down, dragging his teeth across your jaw, making you shudder helplessly.

"gonna make you beg again," he growls. "gonna make you say it like you fucking mean it."

you try to shake your head—but you're drowning. he's everywhere. he's everything. and no matter how much you try to cling to your pride, it crumbles between your shaking hands.

you're crying now—humiliated tears streaking down your flushed face—as he pounds into you mercilessly.

"please," you choke out, voice cracking.

he chuckles, cruel and satisfied.

"please what, baby?" he taunts, slowing his thrusts to a deep, punishing grind that makes your whole body twitch and seize.

"please," you sob again, shame burning you alive. "please let me cum."

he leans back slightly to look at you—hair a mess, eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

"you don't deserve to cum," he says, voice mocking. "whores who lie don't get rewards."

you whimper, hips stuttering against his, desperate, broken.

"but," he adds slowly, almost lazily, "if you beg real nice... maybe i'll consider it."

you sob harder, pride shattered into dust. and then—you beg.

you beg like a good little whore.

"please, jake," you cry, voice wrecked and hoarse. "i need it—i need to cum—please, please—"

he grins, dark and cruel, and finally—finally—lets you fall apart again, your body convulsing, cunt clenching around him helplessly as he fucks you through the brutal, soul-crushing orgasm. and you barely have a second to breathe before he's moving again—pulling out, grabbing your face in both hands, forcing your mouth open.

"open wide," he orders.

you're so wrecked you don't even think to disobey. you just open—lips trembling, eyes wide and glassy.

and jake leans over—spits straight into your mouth, thick and wet and humiliating.

you gag slightly, tears burning your eyes.

"swallow," he commands sharply.

you do.

you obey without even thinking.

and he smirks—grabbing his phone, flipping open the recording he just made of your pathetic begging, letting you hear it on loop while you lie there ruined, body trembling, throat raw.

he tucks his phone into his pocket, grabs your chin again, forcing you to look up at him. "remember this next time you wanna talk shit," he says, voice low and smug.

he kisses you—mocking and possessive—and leaves you there: used, wrecked, humiliated, and so thoroughly owned that you can't even pretend anymore.

jake sim ruined you and there's no taking it back.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[kithtaehyung]

seven days (monday) | jjk

title: monday series: seven days: masterlist | prologue pairing: fuckboy!jungkook x reader(f) genre/rating: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; roommates to lovers au summary: after a long ass day at work, all you wanna do is sleep. but jungkook has made dinner reservations, and this whole bet is off to a rocky start. warnings: a whole lot of sass (jk and reader), hand holding??, yes that is a warning, jk wears a tank, tension, embarrassment, snide comments, kookie is too fine and it HURTS!!, leather, dance king jk, reader bby is stressed as hell TT, roommates to idiots, anxiety, overthinking, kissing (????), general cuteness bc this jk is a loser and i love him :(((, reader is a queen, i wanna fight this jungkook but what's new lol notes: 7days is back on the menu, chatttttt!!! if you've been waiting since forever i wanna see hands up in the audience hahaha notes 2: just a little extra warning here but he’s unbelievably confident in this one yet a big softie and it HURTS😩 drop date: april 28th, 2025, 9:13pm est word count: 11k🗯️🗯️ taglist: sign up here (i check every entry so read the rules!)

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Monday is gnawing on your final straw.

Meetings, reports, decisions—everything has warning signs attached and you’re quite close to heeding them and finding the nearest exit. Literally, figuratively, and expeditiously. 

Fuck. 

That means you might have to job hunt soon. For two jobs to compensate for how much you’re making now.

Why, oh why, did you choose the condo you did? And why did you pick a condo in the first place? Apartments would have been just fine for your needs and you could’ve been saving more for a fallout like this.  

Well. You know the answer to that first question. 

And it’s an answer you don’t regret.

Thinking back to that day, you still remember the way the lobby looked. How plants lined glass walls, how people occupied various mid-century chairs like they were paid background extras in a film. 

More specifically, you remember seeing a vaguely familiar boy barrel through the revolving doors, dark locks whizzing about and paper clutched tight in his tatted hand. 

Ignoring you entirely, he cut the line just as you were about to inquire about a tour—everyone including the concierge pinning him with disgust. 

“Back of the line, Mr. Jeon.” 

“She can wait, just—”

Your memory spun with that even more familiar last name, but you still couldn’t quite place where you knew this asshole from. 

“—and I have it here. Also, why are you calling me th—” 

“The rent is already way past due. We’re listing your unit.”

“Anj.” 

“Mr. Jeon.” 

“You know I have the money.” He sounded so rushed. So desperate. “I just forgot cus my roommate left—” 

“You forgot for three weeks—” 

“I was helping them move that whole time!” 

Sighing, you checked your phone and determined you were gonna give it two more minutes until you trekked to another building. 

But you had heard a mountain of good things about the place, and that particular day was the only free one you had to check it out.

So you waited. Because anything would beat staying in a cramped apartment with someone that clipped their toenails on a weeping living room table.

“Look. I have two months’ rent right here, plus extra.” Hair still frazzled, so-called Mr. Jeon hastily slapped his paper down before sliding it forward. “And I can even live by myself if I need to.” 

“Doesn’t matter if you have the money or not,” Anj explained, voice as snipped as her fresh bangs. “The unit’s already listed in the system.” 

“Since when?” 

A merciless click echoed from her keyboard, and you knew exactly what was coming before she hammered home, 

“Now.” 

“Anjali…” 

You tried so hard to hide your face.

If anything, you scored a jackpot in people watching that day. Observing the interaction, you wondered what the hell this man did to the concierge to get this pathetic but hilariously hostile treatment. 

“Sorry, Mr. Jeon. You can apply for it again,” she offered with a flit of her hand, “If none of these nice, patient people in line take it.” 

Just like that, it was the final, abrupt end of the battle. The defeated dropped his head back in loss before reclaiming his paper with a sad flourish. 

And to this day, you don’t know what compelled you to speak up when you did. But you will always remember the reactions to your curiosity, 

“What does it look like?” 

Both him and Anjali whipped their heads so fast you froze. While the concierge appeared shocked, there was something in that boy’s eyes that strangely matched how you felt. 

Did you look familiar to him, too? 

A ping from your computer kicks you back to the present, and your rapid blinks make you realize you’ve been spacing out at your desk for minutes now. 

But you notice that the alert’s for the end of your shift, and you quickly wrap everything up before heading home. 

Straight back to the very condo you secured to save Mr. Jeon Jungkook’s ass. 

Sleep. 

That’s all you need right now. 

Beautiful, wonderful, ever-evasive sleep. 

But the only thing you get when you unlock the door is a flurry of activity, wave of music, and skittering of paws.

“There you are!” Your roommate yells as your legs are knocked by his furry companion. “Hurry and get ready!” 

When you shout back a droning rejection, Jungkook splashes the hallway with the most disrespectful tank and jeans you’ve ever seen him wear. 

Fuck, he’s flipping on a leather jacket over his shoulders, too? Your purse immediately slips from yours. 

Nope. He needs to stay where he is. There’s no reason for him to keep walking closer but he’s doing it anyway goddamn it you don’t have the brain capacity for this! 

“Didn’t you read my texts?” 

“No,” you readily admit, moving to reach your room before Jungkook can block your path. 

Too late. 

Damn, his cologne is fantastic.

It almost distracts you from the way he casually leans on your door. And the way his voice drops a whole octave when he reveals, 

“I’m taking you to dinner, remember?”

The butterfly on your heart is shooed away. “Where?”

“Not telling.”

“Seriousl—”

“But we gotta leave soon.” 

Your bed is so close. And yet so, so far. 

But damn, whatever Jungkook’s wearing proves way too enticing. You almost fold on its grip alone. Is this a new scent? Is he trying something different? 

Nope, focus. You want—need—sleep. 

With a sliver of hope, you reach for an out, “Does it have to be tonight? I just wanna be in bed.” 

“I’m not opposed to that.”

“Jeon.”

Wait. Is that the first time Jungkook’s said something like that to you? Sure, you’ve both been suggestive with each other before, but that? That felt… 

“I’m kidding!” He laughs, though his eyes are revealing truer angles. To your relief, though, the saucy reaction is short lived, giving way to a regular yet pitied tone,

“The next open slot is in two months.” 

What the hell? Where the fuck are you going? “You mean I got five minutes to prep for some fancy place I can’t know the name of?” 

“Uhh, no.” When Jungkook backtracks down the hall, his steps are as fast as his corrections, “You have two. And you don’t have to dress nice!” 

“But you—!”

The speed demon is back in his room before you can hound him. 

Muttering to no one, you agree with his last statement, “Good, cus I will not.” 

Well. You know two things. 

One: there’s no way this man is lasting ten days at this rate, much less seven.

And two: there’s absolutely no way you’re dressing up for whatever this is. Too much chaos went down at work for you to care about a fake dinner date with Jungkook. 

You’re going for the food the food the food. Nutrients, sustenance, anything that satisfies the tiger that you are not paying a pet deposit for. 

This better be worth the exhaustion. 

Pushing your door open, you immediately take big strides towards your awaiting closet, already knowing exactly what you’re gonna wear.  

Reservations two months out? As if.

How nice can this place really be?

Fucking opulent, apparently. 

This is where Jungkook meant when he said there was a place he wanted to try? The most expensive, lavish, influencer-riddled establishment in the city? 

When you recognize the damn near estate you’re pulling up to, you regret not caring about appearances and start sweating in your joggers. 

This whole bet is a prank! 

Because your roommate most definitely saw you for a whole minute before you both rushed out of the condo. How could you not remember? He eyed you as soon as you re-entered the hall to join him, and the back of your neck still has leftover chills from his steady staring. 

That whole time he saw what you were wearing and he didn’t say shit? “Kook, what the fuck?” 

“What?” 

“This is the place you wanted to try?” 

As Jungkook rolls up to the valet line, you get an annoying display of long fingers on his steering wheel. 

So you look out the dark window instead. 

“Nah, I just wanted to take you here. There’s a dessert place I wanna try after,” he explains with a smirk, little pieces of your sanity littering his passenger seat. “Don’t worry, I’m paying.” 

Though you’re thankful he’s footing the bill—because you did not budget for shelling out a whole check tonight—you still sputter while taking in all the beautiful, pressed outfits walking inside. “It’s—I would’ve—Fuck, why didn’t you tell me I’m underdressed?” 

They may not even let you in with what you’re wearing.

“Relax, roomie,” Jungkook pips, which stresses you the hell out. “I’m not dressed up either but they know me. We’re good.” 

Lies. He is a liar and the heat behind your eyes will set his pants ablaze. “They know you.” 

“Uh huh.”

When it’s your car’s turn, crisp uniforms rush around as you brace for utter shame. Not even the new car smell that still lingers in Jungkook’s car can keep you calm. 

Thank everything holy that you fixed yourself above neck. That one split second decision saves you a sliver of embarrassment. 

But you’re still in fucking sweatpants and sneakers. And a humongous hoodie. 

God. 

There’s no way this isn’t a set up.

No matter what, you’re holding yourself in high regard tonight. And that starts with greeting the valet with a bright smile as he opens your door, “Thank you so much.” 

“You’re very welcome, Ms. Jeon.” 

Miss what. 

Your manufactured grin has some defects as you nod, gripping your bag as you exit the vehicle. When you turn, you see your current annoyance chatting it up with the other valet, wind pushing your sweater into your increasingly sweaty back.  

Huh. They do look chummy.

Was Jungkook actually being serious?

“Have a good night, Mr. Jeon!” 

“Thanks, Dio! Take good care of her, yeah?” 

“As always.” 

Between witnessing the valet talking to your roommate as if they were friends, and having said roommate’s last name thrust upon your person, you can only stare. 

This is so weird. 

But you click back into focus as Jungkook moves to join you, channeling all the energy you usually harness for professional outings and executive dinners. 

Because even though you don a calm expression, you waste no time clutching his offered arm extra tight. Contempt buries itself in your low comment, “You’ve got some nerve, Kook.” 

“Thanks!” 

“Not a compliment.” 

“Ouch.” 

As you stroll through the grand entrance, you flare with conflicting feelings when he softly pulls you close. Subtle hints of luxury wisp into your nose, which compete with the warm feeling of his body feeling so solid against yours. 

Heavens above.  

Unbothered, he whispers back, “You’ll thank me after we eat.” 

“I look like shit.” 

“You’re perfect tonight, Ms. Jeon.” 

Nope. No, no, no, you will not acknowledge the fluttering in your stomach. Absolutely not. 

“Don’t call me that,” you seethe, smiling at the waiter before you’re led to your table. 

And despite the stares you’re drawing, there’s something else that’s distracting you even more. Something that has your brain swiftly forgetting everything you’ve been fussing about. 

Jungkook has lowered your arms so that he could lead. 

By holding your hand. 

His fingers feel so large around yours, his palm a strange but soothing mix of smooth and comfortable heat. Immediately, you feel a little more relaxed, which is strange considering you should be the exact opposite right now.

And as he guides you to sit in a chair that’s been pulled out for you, all you can do is follow in silence. 

Because your fingers had fit so… 

“Looks like they let anyone in here these days.”

Both your ears perk up before your fingers curl hard and fast. 

Did you really just hear that? Did they really have to say something when you’re in a shit mood? Because they’re the next table over and therefore within launching distance so now you have to do something about it— 

“Well, yeah,” Jungkook pounces before you do, snagging your look of confusion and signaling for you to follow along. When he rests leather forearms on tablecloth, he pins the couple with a cheeky smile. “That’d be pretty shitty if they didn’t let you two in, right?” 

Okay. Staring at long, tatted fingers flexing before tightening into a fist, you have to admit: anyone defending your pride is hot as fuck. 

And Jungkook being the one to do it? 

All thoughts you’re thinking have no place at the table.

The man laughs as he gets up. “Sure,” he scoffs. “Enjoy the meal, kids. Filet’s the house favorite.” 

“You sure?”

All eyes snap to your roommate. 

Scratching the bottom of his jaw, Jungkook looks into the air, scrunching his brows ever so slightly in mock-thought. “Pretty sure it’s the tomahawk, but. Maybe it changed since last week—Eddie!”

Your eyes follow his stare behind you to see a staff member waving before heading over. 

When he gets closer, you realize your roommate called over not a waiter… But a manager? On a first name basis?

Well, shit.

Your tongue pokes your cheek in high amusement. This couple next to you is lucky they just paid their bill or else they’d have to endure a whole meal of Jungkook sass. The man’s partner already looks like they’re gonna raise hell when they get in the car.

“Hello, Mr. Jeon! Always good to see you.” 

Inwardly—and maybe also outwardly—you’re holding in your grin as they vacate before your super petty date can even get the clarification out,

“Same! House favorite is the filet now?”

“Ah, no. It’s still the tomahawk, but the ribeye’s also very popular.”

Jungkook calls out to the retreating couple instead of the guy in front of him, cupped hand bracing his cheekiness, “Thanks, Eddie! Good to know!”

When he shifts back in his seat, he watches Eddie check behind him before raising a brow. “Did they give you any trouble?”

“Nah.” Jungkook smiles at you before settling into his chair. “We got it.” 

You can only blink, conflicting feelings warring in your stomach and making it spin. If you wanted to smile, it’s certainly coming out strained because that guy’s rude comment did catch you off guard.

To be fair, you are dressed up the most casual out of all the people here. But maybe your confidence is also weakened from the whole day, causing anything else to get a punch in. On top of the fact that you would never come here on your own unless you struck gold. 

But that does beg another question. 

Why does Jungkook look so at home this easily? His outfit is casual, too—leather jacket floating in a sea of suits and ties, for goodness sake. How does he do it? Has he actually been here that often?

Maybe it’s the way he carries an aura you have to fight to conjure on your best days. 

“Will the lady be having the usual tonight, Mr. Jeon?” 

Ah. Scratch that.

It’s because you’re the hundredth woman he’s taken here. And somehow all of you have been provided the same meal. 

Just like that, the haze around your brain vaporizes, leaving you glaring at wide eyes. 

So much for protecting your pride!

“Ah, umm,” Jungkook stutters, ears alight with embarrassment. “Not this time—I mean, no.” 

Mm. At least you’re relishing the way he’s tripping over himself.

“Apologies,” Eddie rescinds, looking just as alarmed. Good. “Here’s our menu for tonight, and we have a few specials that you can view on the first page.”

“Thank you,” you answer for your roommate, and you feel avenged when he visibly knows he fucked up. Feeling cheeky, you fire off, “What is the usual for us Ms. Jeon’s, if I may ask?” 

Both men freeze and seek each other before you get your stiff answer, “Ah, umm. Yes, our wedge salad, plain with house-made dressing on the side.” 

“Great.” 

As soon as you open your menu with finality, you can sense the tension radiating from your audience, inwardly proud of speaking out. 

Because this whole bet, or prank, or whatever it is? It is not gonna go the way Jungkook thinks it will. 

Even though a wedge salad with some accoutrements does sound pretty good. But who are you to back down now. 

When Eddie moves away—or scurries, rather—you shoot lasers of disappointment over your dimly lit menu. 

Which Jungkook very intentionally ignores.

But he’s not getting away that easily. If he’s gonna rope you into this mess, you’re gonna fight back. 

“Charming start,” you mutter.

“Sorry.”

Looking up in earnest, you notice something odd about your fake date.

He looks… Genuinely upset. Borderline disturbed.

Well. It’s his fault in the end. 

But is that really the expression of someone pranking their roommate? If it is, he could even pursue acting if his social media accounts don’t pop off. 

Focus. Actually read the words on the menu instead of staring. What are you hungry for? Everything here looks and sounds amazing so it’s gonna be hard to choose…

Your eyes slide over your hardy pamphlet one more time. 

And as Jungkook keeps watching the candle flick between you, something else stirs in your chest. 

Acting or not, he’s quiet as fuck. Which is making you more uncomfortable than anything else because he just lit up confronting that couple for you. 

A resigned sigh escapes your lips. “It’s okay.” 

He lifts his gaze.

“But at this rate, you’re definitely losing this whole thing.”

His laugh doesn’t have his whole heart inside. “I just… I’m sorry. That wasn’t… Wasn’t cool.”

“We’re good,” you assure, your softer side clutching the reins for a moment. “I can play wifey if you’re paying, yeah?”

At this, Jungkook seems to lighten up a tad, though you catch a hint of what you’ll later realize is shyness. “Yeah,” he confirms with a slow drawl. “Get whatever you want, Ms. Jeon.”

“How considerate.” 

“Anything for my date.” 

Your brows pinch for a moment, and you quickly remind yourself of what just happened with the manager. “Rip. I’m definitely getting more than a salad.” 

“I know,” Jungkook replies, palming his menu with a smirk on his lips. “Between the two of us we’re gonna blow my whole stack.” 

“We’re getting apps?”

“And sides.” 

“Wine?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Hell yeah, bro.” Your mouth betrays you when it stretches sideways. But you can’t help it because this is where you’re comfortable. You’re not in an expensive restaurant on a date, you’re just having dinner with your roommate. 

Your very attractive, super sauve, completely senseless roommate.

Pulling at your hoodie, you let your amusement loose as your shoulders finally relax, “Good thing I wore this then, huh?” 

When Jungkook knowingly smiles with lips pressed, you feel like the only one in the room. 

And maybe like you got the whole prank thing all wrong. 

Damn. 

Everything you’ve eaten so far has you transcended into a higher plane. 

Truthfully, you can’t even recall a better meal than this, and the way Jungkook looks while he digs into his ribeye is how you feel inside. Satiated, content, and upset at how good the food tastes. 

But it’s not just the meal that warms your belly. The small bits of talking and joking you’ve been having with him have helped you forget the multiple vibrations you feel in your purse. And the wine has certainly helped relax some tightly-wound muscles. 

“Om mah guh,” you groan, this swallow as good as the last. “Can I live here instead?” 

Your roommate laughs with a mouthful of food. “Mmhmm.” 

“Good.” You reach for a sip of your drink, noticing that you’re both making good headway on all the plates. Taking a much needed break, you slump back in your increasingly comfortable chair before gazing at chandeliers. “Cus I think I just ate my month’s rent.” 

“You aren’t even paying!”

“Oh, yeah.” You beam at shining bulbs. “Sucks for you.”

Jungkook’s laugh could be recognized miles away, you muse.

But good god.

Haughty establishment be damned. Even if one of these light fixtures crash onto a table, you’re still gonna be rubbing your grateful stomach and sporting a drool line.

Another quick puff of amusement shoots across the table, but you don’t get a response because a lighter voice floats above you instead, 

“Hey, baby.” 

Huh? 

Brows furrowed, you leer down your nose before straightening, wondering who the heck is oh shit this woman is gorgeous. And tall. 

Which makes Jungkook’s offhanded greeting so comical. “Sup!” 

The girl seems unfazed, manicured nails caressing his shoulder. “You were supposed to call me tonight.” 

Ouch. Did he double-book your date on a booty call with a goddess? 

A mere wallflower, you silently pull out your phone as Jungkook reluctantly looks upward—and you know in your heart it’s because the bite on his fork was meticulously made. “Oh. Did I say that?” 

“You said so last week.” 

Yikes. 

“I say a lot of things.” 

Double yikes. 

Your lips smush into a line of pity when you see a pair of eyes roll. Emotions seem to blend together in your ribcage now, but you really should care less. This isn’t a real date. 

Regardless of how you feel, this lady could grace the cover of a magazine if she hasn’t already. Why hasn’t Jungkook abandoned your table to follow her out the door? 

“Whatever, I guess. Have fun with your…” Sudden judgment makes you blink. “Friend.” 

Triple yikes. 

Good riddance! Forget anything you were thinking in her defense. She doesn’t deserve him with that sour attitude, and you’re completely saying this as his roommate. And friend. Duh.

You’re about to unleash some choice words before Jungkook simply smiles. “She’s my date,” he proclaims while looking right at… you? “And I will.”

Well.

That gesture was a little shocking.

But it could be staged. Is this girl just acting? Just another part of this bet? 

Nah. There’s no way he would go through this elaborate of a prank just to mess with you. Right?

Right?

Jungkook finally takes that huge bite of his concoction as the woman hums and struts off, and you can’t help but blink at him. Once. Twice. Two more for good measure. 

When he notices your bewilderment, a word is blocked by chewed protein, “What?” 

“She was hot.” 

“And?” 

Something akin to pure disbelief shoots out of your nose. “You’re gonna pass that one up?”

As expected, you have to wait a second as he finally swallows. But you’re willing to do that because if he talks with a full mouth one more time you’re gonna—

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m with you.” 

Gonna… You’re gonna…

What were you complaining about again? 

Jungkook has to be kidding. He has to. For goodness sake, you’re a bloated mess in sweats and there are tons of tens walking around. 

You’ve picked up on the stares. More than one person has given your roommate glimpses and double-takes. You’ve just ignored them because you were famished, tired, and knowing you won’t be doing this little stunt forever. 

But after seeing how adamant Jungkook has been, you at least admire his commitment. The efforts shown tonight have been quite endearing. 

Maybe you can start treating this like an actual date, too.

Leaning forward, you rest casual elbows on the table, shielding your chin with clasped palms. “If you’re serious… what do you usually talk about on these things.” 

You ask this to show that you’ll try. An olive branch extending above herbs and coagulating butter meant to assure him. 

So why does Jungkook look thrown off to hell? “On dates? Uhh…” 

Great. You concede to paying more attention just to fall for his styled hair. And of course it looks even better when he rakes through his locks! Does he really have to do that? Damn it, damn it, damn it. 

“They usually do most of the talking.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s true!” 

If that’s true, you kinda feel bad. Aren’t dates supposed to be how you get to know one another? Both people should be talking and finding similarities to build connections. Or at least to keep things interesting. 

“Well,” you scoff, “What do you wanna talk about?” 

“Oh. Hmm.” 

Silence remains your only response for a heavy set of seconds. And you relax your hands with each passing tick, your heart kinda sinking alongside their descent. 

Jungkook almost looks… unsure. Lost. 

This wasn’t your goal in the slightest. And now you feel a little bad for asking, even if it was just a genuine question. 

A slight furrow in your brows stems from the tiny pang in your chest. Something inside of you wants to reach over and grab that nervous hand tapping his silverware, but you can’t move. It doesn’t feel like the time. 

You don’t wanna do this to yourself again, either. 

But after some clinks and chatter around your table, your date pulls out a topic,

“There’s a new d—”

Loud buzzing makes both of you jump, eyes slinging to the phone lighting up on your side of the table. 

Shit, you forgot to put it back in your bag.

Swiping it quick, you stare at the screen before wincing, because you finally got somewhere with substance. 

But these calls won’t stop. They’re not gonna stop until you answer them. 

“Hold that thought, okay?” You ask with sorry eyes. “I need to take this.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Jungkook responds quick. But his face gives a lot more away than he intends. “I’ll, uhh. Be here.”

You nod in return, not quite telling him what you want to say. 

But wading through stares with your phone against your ear shifts your mood entirely. 

And maybe one day, you’ll admit to your roommate that you wanted nothing more than to keep talking to him instead. 

That was a mistake. 

You really shouldn’t have taken that call. 

Using a warm towel to fix what you can of your face, you stare at determined eyes before steeling resolve. Get back out there and back to Jungkook. This whole thing took you way too long. 

God, that was a huge mistake. 

Shuffling back into your chair, you notice that a lot of the plates have been bussed and your napkin replaced with a new one. 

“Fuck,” you whisper. “How long was I gone?” 

“Who was that?”

His sudden question makes you pause on the way down, but you sit anyway. He doesn’t need to know. “Oh, it’s…” Waving your hand, you shoo any doubts he has in those starry eyes. “Whatever. I’m back now. What were we taking about?”

“Who called you.”

“No one, Kook.”

“Are you sure cus you—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, looking away before he can pin you down with one confused stare. “I just.. It’s no one, okay?”

Jungkook hesitates, but he answers, “If you say so.”

Your stare is long. 

Because he looks ready to fight. 

Or ready to just leave and find someone else to continue the date with, you don’t know for sure. Do you have a bias on which one it’d rather be? Yeah. But you’re so thrown off by that stupid ass call. 

Sighing, you fiddle with the posh tablecloth before clearing your throat. “So.. What were you gonna tell me?”

More hesitation from across the table. But you expect it, so it hurts less. “There’s a new dance I wanna learn.”

Oh? 

Immediately, your shoulders relax a tad. You didn’t think he’d talk about one of his hobbies. Truthfully, you assumed Jungkook would mention something about his car or gloat about only working when he wants to. 

This is a welcoming twist. And one you can somewhat follow since you know about his steadily growing account and dance skill. “Which one? Show me.” 

“Yeah?” Sparkling, your roommate takes out his phone, swiping away notifications—a lot of notifications—before thumbing through. “Hold on, lemme find one.” 

You look around, seeing that some people here are elders and anticipating their disgust when Jungkook inevitably plays the video out loud. 

“Here.” 

Doing exactly what you thought, he shows a dance to a popular song that you’ve heard before. Is this why you’re hearing it everywhere? Whatever it is, it looks more complicated than the ones he’s posted before. 

But knowing he picks stuff up quick, you figure he’ll have it down by tomorrow. So the only logical step is to tease him and test his memory, “Bet you can’t learn it by the time we finish.” 

“Our date?” 

“Our food.” 

Jungkook gawks. “But we’re almost done!” 

“So? You can do it.” 

“What do I get?” 

“I’ll pay for dessert.” 

“Done. Have fun paying, I’m getting everything.” 

When he watches the video, you press a hand over his phone just as he tries to block the swipe. And you fight hard to not react to his fingers covering yours. “No cheating.” 

“What!” 

Sliding your hand away, your voice gets more stern to hide your heartbeats. “Gotta make it hard somehow.”

His cheeky eyebrow tick snatches your breath before he goads, “I’m listening...” 

He’s listening? What did you… Oh. He’s a problem. Blowing off his innuendo, you roll your eyes. “Whatever, you get what I mean.”

More notifs slide onto his phone, and you hum while Jungkook swipes them away in groups. “Fine. But you’re gonna record me and watch me win.” 

“Done.” 

During the rest of the meal—which prolongs from both of you still ordering—you can tell he’s committed, his body subtly doing the moves as he mouths the lyrics. “You’re trying the dance, huh.” 

“Shh.” 

The night goes on, and the restaurant fills closer and closer to the brim. It’s after the ninety minute mark that you notice just how many people know your roommate. At least, people in a place like this. 

Girls keep coming to visit. But not all of them are hostile or rude—most of them are actually really sweet. Some people invite him to places, others remind him to be somewhere. One very handsome guy even asks if he’s going to some pre-release party tomorrow. 

“That’s tomorrow?” 

“Yeah, dude. Open the group chat once in awhile.”

After Jungkook laughs and jokes along with the guy a little more, he watches him say bye to you before leaving with his own date. 

You’re left amazed, eyeing him signing the bill you know is massive. “Damn.. how many people do you know in this town?” 

“Uhhh…” He scratches his neck. “Don’t be surprised if this keeps happening.”

“Super.” 

And he dons that same uneasy look in his eyes.

You come to the conclusion that you don’t enjoy it. 

When another group of people approach the table, Jungkook subtly changes up the way he converses. Instead of just talking to them, he fully introduces you and even mentions what you do for a living. 

And this little change causes a beat inside your chest. 

As you’re about to answer one of their questions, your phone buzzes again. And it’s yet another thing that you have to pick up. 

Fucking hell, why is all of this happening tonight? 

So caught up in inner turmoil, you don’t realize how everyone’s looking at you as you hastily stand. And when you quickly apologize and excuse yourself, you hate how you catch Jungkook’s eyes right before leaving. 

This time? He looks downright upset. 

Shit, you can’t handle all of this right now. You know you’re definitely gonna be talked about as soon as you’re out of earshot but it’s too late to recover. 

So you rush away yet again.

That call doesn’t take long, but it’s still just as terrible to go through. Now you’re really just ready to cut the night short. 

“Who keeps calling you? You okay?”

“No one you know,” you sigh, a bit shocked that Jungkook even asked that second question. “But don’t worry about it. Let’s go home.”

“Home? Not dessert?”

You eye him again.

Damn it. He looks like a puppy that is determined to be adopted, and you know you can’t shake that image from your mind the rest of the night. 

Because yes. You do want to go home. You want to go home, shower, and dive into bed because no, you are not okay.

But after double checking your maps, you make a decision. For your self-proclaimed date and for yourself. 

“There’s a parking garage nearby,” you surrender as you stand. “Go park at the top.” 

The night sky looks a lot different from this height. Which doesn’t say too much because of all the city lights, but at least you have less obstruction to that vast dark ocean. 

As prominent stars shine above, you lose any previous thoughts, palms curled and resting against the warm top of Jungkook’s car. 

If only you could swim across those mingling blues. Weightless. No stressors or toxins entering your life, only flowing out and dissipating amongst planets and moons. A stellar massage; an out of this world escape. 

“Why are we up here?”

Your sigh is slow on the release. “To see if you earned dessert or not.”

When you look his way, Jungkook’s eyes twinkle brighter than stars, which is all you needed to validate your impromptu decision to come. 

Another olive branch. 

But your roommate slowly rounding his car makes your thoughts slip off the damn track. The rooftop lights contour his features just right, and when he leans right next to your arm, your ability to steer back in your lane vanishes. 

“Didn’t think you were this invested,” he hums.

To which you slowly cut back, “I kinda just wanna see you lose.”

Jungkook’s teeth bite a corner of amused lips in response, and it’s the most tempting he’s looked the entire night. Fuck you need to look away he cannot do that ever again.

“Record me then.”

Why the fuck did his voice get so low!

Turning back, you slide your hands off the car—certainly not because they’re shaking. “Gimme your phone.” 

The proximity has been getting to you. But Jungkook’s sudden hesitation breaks whatever spell he just casted. 

Makes sense. He was very quick to swipe away any notifications that you may have seen. Privacy or whatever he’s afraid of, you’re gonna stay wary of what could be in that thing. 

But to your utter shock, Jungkook has his whole screen in view while he swipes into quick settings to turn on Do Not Disturb. And he hands it over while his words come out small, 

“All yours.”

Static flits in the air as you slowly take it, watching him observe your expression and realizing he’s giving up a lot with this one gesture. 

And you don’t know what possesses you to do this, but you pocket his phone in your hoodie pouch before taking your own device out to silence, as well.

Although worried, you sacrifice this tiny moment of time to give him the same courtesy. It’s only gonna take him two tries maximum, right? You won’t miss anything in those sixty seconds. This is just an equivalent exchange. 

“And yours,” you murmur, handing him your phone to keep, too.  

It shouldn’t mean much. Honestly, it shouldn’t mean anything. 

But the way Jungkook looks at you? I feels like no one else exists anymore. Your universe has shrunken to two, and the way one of you is inching forward it feels like you’re about to be k—

“You shouldn’t have done that,” is all the warning you get before Jungkook speeds off.

Speeds off? What the actual fuck!

“Are you fucking serious!” you call out as you chase him across empty parking spaces, watching his hair bounce with his swooping laughs as he’s… raising your phone above his head? “Jungkook, I swear to god—”

His laughter continues as he keeps running, and you quickly run out of breath but you push forward because what the fuck is he doing with your phone? Is he checking every notification you didn’t swipe away or checking your call history or—

A whoosh of breath flies out as you run right into his laughs, and you’re grabbing at his jacket and yelling until you notice that he’s…

Recording? 

Jungkook was just filming himself running away?

“Ah, you’re faster than I thought,” he grins to your camera. “Thought you’d be a turtle.” 

“Kook!”

“Come here, turtle,” he says before wrapping a quick arm around you. Asking right to the camera, he continues, “Where’d you learn to be so fast?”

You outright frown at the lens. “I am not a turtle.”

Jungkook bursts into laughter again. “Ah, what are you then,” he asks again, watching himself on your screen while you perpetually pout. “A sloth? A snail?”

“Annoyed.”

“That’s not an animal!”

“Give me my phone!” You spring into action, leaping for your device as he stretches away while laughing even harder. Your body fully smushes into his in your pursuit, and while your arms are sailing through the air your heart is leaping into the clouds. 

It’s always been obvious your roommate is rock solid but holy fuck. 

Don’t give up now. You’re grabbing his leather sleeves and he’s chortling all throughout your struggle. But you think you can get it if you just— 

“Wait, wait!” Jungkook stumbles from your full weight jumping forward, and he attempts to stay upright but suddenly you’re rushing towards the ground in a full fall oh shit! “Fuck—!”

You fully expect pain shooting through your hands, or your hips, or your elbow, brain rushing through ideas on how to fall properly—

But all you feel is the plush yet solid force of Jungkook’s front, held together in a leather layer as you both shoot out groans on impact. And all you can get out is a tiny, 

“Ow.” 

“You okay?” 

A lot of things are competing for your realization. Like the way Jungkook is between your body and concrete, and the way he’s the one looking at you in concern. 

Not to mention the hand fully pressing you against his front. 

Oh no no no, you’re getting flushed just thinking about how he feels. Or how he saved you from any injury. You can already imagine how it’s gonna sound in the video playback when you squeak, but you’re so embarrassed that you just want it over with. “Why’d you do that?”

“Me? You’re the one that jumped me!” 

“You could’ve just given me my phone.” 

“That’s too easy.” 

Shit, you need to get up. His eyes are shimmering and he looks way too happy for a guy that just broke your entire fall. When you try to push off, you’re quickly held a little bit tighter. 

And your brain skids to a halt as you look at his cocked brow. 

“Say sorry first.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” he quips. “Say sorry and I let you go.” 

Ah. If only it was always that easy. 

Pursing your lips, you glare. “I’m sorry for giving you my—Kook!”

He laughs at your miserable attempt to escape his tickling, correcting you in sing-song as you squirm. “You gotta mean it, babe.” 

Immediately, you stop. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Why not?” 

You don’t really have an answer. But giving guys a general look of annoyance is usually enough to convince them. So you pull out your last hope. 

“Okay, okay,” he concedes, reluctantly peeling his fingers off your side and letting you stand. “I won’t say it for now.” 

Once you get off of him, you feel a little strange. The same feeling from your handholding earlier comes back in full force, but you do your best to shove it away. 

You don’t need that right now. This is just an experiment, so not even lying on top of your roommate can get to you. 

While dusting yourself, you miss the chance to give Jungkook a hand. So you’re silent as he shows you your phone—the video stopped and your screen black. “That okay?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Sorry,” he apologizes, though you don’t know what for. “We can record now.”

You huff as he unlocks your device with your face, and you debate pouncing again before he reassures, 

“Just pulling up the song. Damn, your screens are organized!”

You don’t acknowledge his compliment but watch him pull up the right app. And you let him play the song on loop in his pocket before relaxing. 

“Okay, you can start. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

“K.”

Through his screen, you watch Jungkook slowly jog into frame until he’s a good distance away. Already knows exactly how far to be, you muse, wondering just how often he really does these videos. 

And he preps because he knows the challenge part is coming, so you steady your hand and watch in amazement as he really does know all the moves. 

But you’re feeling a little cheeky. And a little in the mood for revenge. 

So you wait until he’s fully done with the dance to tell him you weren’t recording, which makes him groan, 

“Really!”

“Looks like you gotta do it all again,” you shrug with mock-pity. 

So he plays the song from your phone again while you wait, and once again, Jungkook is a skilled… dancer… 

A message banner from a name you vaguely recognize slides onto his screen, which throws you off because you literally saw him put it on DND. 

Wait. If Jungkook still gets her messages in this mode, then…

You realize what that could mean, and it kinda throws you off because you feel like you intruded on something you didn’t mean to. 

Damn. 

“How’d that one look!”

Shit! You were so thrown you didn’t even watch him! “Uhh.. Do it again,” you tell him, trying hard to hide the hitch in your voice. “You can do better.”

“Well, damn!” This guy’s smile really isn’t fair, even from far away. “At least you’re honest.”

Yeah. Right. 

When Jungkook does it again, no notifications show up and you watch him diligently this time. 

It’s perfect. Exactly how you thought it’d be. 

“That one was the best one,” he chirps, jogging over to take his phone and have you both watch it again. Looking at you with a lopsided curve, he boasts, “I win.”

“Fine, fine,” you admit with a fake grin. “Maybe I’m the one that wanted dessert this whole time.” 

He laughs. “Do it with me.” 

Do what? The dance? Absolutely not. “Me? Hell no.” 

“Why not!” 

“I would look like a fool! No.” 

A hand juts out to pull you just as you try to scurry away. “Nah, come on! I’ll show you, come here.” 

Ugh. You hate how he’s truly just vibing, taking you along for the ride. 

But in a last show of grace, you allow yourself to give in. Focusing on anything else besides those phone calls—and that notification—could be good anyway. 

So you stand next to your awaiting date, nodding for him to get on with it and teach. 

Grinning, Jungkook shows you simple moves and you somewhat get them. Something with your feet here, another move with your arms there. It’s a bit shaky at first and you have to keep watching him dance, but you have to admit you’re doing better than expected. 

But there’s a move with your hips that you can’t quite get, and you feel stiff as hell. Honestly, you’re not even mad at your dance partner for laughing because you know you look silly. “Give me a break,” you shout with a laugh, to which he chuckles harder. “You know this one is hard.” 

So, in very Jungkook fashion, your roommate comes over to steady his hands on your hips. “Here,” he says in a whisper, “I got you.”  

And you scoff out a laugh. “Oh. I see.” 

In full teacher mode, he asks in shock, “Wait, you got it already?” 

“No, like”—you shake your head—“I see why you did this.” 

Jungkook pauses before chuckling, smug whispers flowing into your ear, “Is it working?” 

Huh. Just like his boldness from before, you’re liking this side of him. The one that’s just going for it, whatever the challenge may be. 

Turning slightly, you catch his features in your peripheral. “What if it wasn’t?” 

Slowly, Jungkook’s grip gets a little tighter as he leans in, one of his hands sliding up just enough for his thumb to slip under your hoodie. When he asks again, his tone lowers an octave, one you haven’t ever heard this close, “This better?” 

The text, the text, the text. 

You breathe hard, swallowing before stepping far out of his embrace and sputtering, “I think I got it! No practice needed.” 

He switches demeanor immediately. “Oh? So we can record now?” 

“What.”

Jungkook half runs to the nearest concrete railing to prop his phone, grappling your wrist before you can scurry out of frame. “Just try it! Play the song on your phone.” 

God. You were only gonna learn the dance, not be recorded! This is way too much embarrassment for the night. 

As the video records, you’re so adamantly against it that you stand in full grump mode, your dance partner only stopping when he sees you not doing it.

You kinda enjoy his pout. “Hey!”

“I can’t!” 

Again with those eyes. No wonder this man gets whatever the fuck he wants whenever someone comes over. “Just once.” 

Your arms cross you like a shield. “If it’s horrible, you’re deleting it.” 

“Fine.”

You give him another look, but he’s not budging. At all. 

So you slump in defeat and prep for the worst. 

The video records again, and you move through the steps, knowing your memory helps you even though your muscles can’t quite do everything accurately. Honestly, you’re a bit proud you can get through the dance wait why are you dancing solo!

Freezing, you turn to Jungkook watching you with a dropped jaw. “What now?” 

Excited eyes crease as he points to your feet. “You did the moves!” 

“Wasn’t I supposed to?” 

“Yeah, but”—his amusement peppers the night with color—“I didn’t expect that.” 

“You told me to!” 

He laughs again before running excitedly to his phone, and you are so confused. But you feel a little accomplished that you surprised him, and he then tells you to record him one more time. “I can’t lose to you.” 

And when you watch him finish the dance, you lock eyes with him over his phone. 

That was the best he’s ever danced for a video and you both know it. 

When he proudly holds his device on the way back to the car, you quietly smile as he decrees, “I’m posting this tomorrow.” 

“Why not now?” 

“Wanna edit first.” 

You give the sky one more look. “Oh. I thought time mattered or something.” 

“Huh? I don’t care about the time. I just post whenever.” 

“Sounds right.” 

At least the time you’ve been spending on the parking garage is nice. Looks like the change in location has been a nice distraction from—

Great. Another fucking call. 

Both of you glance down at your phone, and you quickly bring it up to your ear to hide the caller ID, wincing at his forlorn look before you motion your exit. 

“Do you really have to—”

When the caller starts to talk, you make one stride before your elbow is softly grabbed. 

And when you give Jungkook a desperate shake of your head, he pinches his brows before letting you go. 

God, your roommate looks so lost in his car. 

The breeze stings as you walk back, and your heart tugs a little when Jungkook starts driving over as soon as he sees you’re done. 

Just get through this last part of the night. One more stop and then you can both end this pitiful charade of a date. 

You’re about to reach for your door when Jungkook pops out of his side. “I got it.” 

Oh. That’s nice of him. “You don’t have to—”

“Am I keeping you from something?” 

Stilling, you watch as he stops at your side, car exhaust hitting your nose as his car runs. “No, no, it’s…” 

Jungkook watches you peter off, his face falling hard enough to make you regretful. When he looks at the ground, your chest caves. “We can just go home.” 

“What? No. You won the bet, I don’t need pity.” You know it’s sour but you’re stressed and losing this one good thing will make it a thousand times worse. “Sorry.” 

“We don’t have to go.” 

“Dude, it’s fine.” 

“I don’t want it anymore.” 

Well. Shit. 

Way to be the first person in the universe to ruin a good time with Jeon Jungkook. A good night, no less. What’s the prize? Feeling like absolute garbage. 

This guy took you to the nicest place in town, defended you against stuck-up assholes, and even broke your fall on concrete. What the fuck have you been doing the whole night? Those olive branches don’t mean shit if you’re gonna take them away, too. 

Sighing, you muster the courage to put on a brave front. Offering one last, genuine invitation, you compromise, “Then let’s do the dance one more time.” 

“It’s okay.” 

Fuck, that hurts like hell, but don’t give up. Stop being a total asshole. 

Gathering even more courage, you reach out to lift his beautiful chin. “Look at me.” When he does in silence, you finally apologize, “I’m sorry, okay? I should’ve told you these calls might happen but I didn’t even.. I didn’t even think about it.” 

“They’re making you miserable,” he accurately summarizes. “And you won’t tell me who's doing this to you.” 

Soul breaking, you stare at the ground. “I’ll tell you if I really need to, Kook, but.. Not right now.” 

“Why?” 

Many, many reasons. But you’ll spare him the time and misery when you swipe at nothing on his jacket. “Because I can handle them on my own for now.” 

There’s a beat of silence followed by another. But it’s not as awkward as they had been throughout the night. This one feels much lighter, like your apology lifted the brick of stress pushing down on you until now. 

Is that because Jungkook’s now offering to help you carry it? “I’m here, you know,” he starts, his turn to hold your chin. “Even if we aren’t dating, I got you. Okay?” 

Smiling the tiniest you can manage, you wait until his hand is back at his side. “Are you gonna tell me that’s what roommates are for?” 

When Jungkook starts to grin, you let yours spread a little wider. “Something like that.” 

Okay. You can do this. 

He’s just your roommate and this is just a date. You’ve been letting life beat your ass the whole time you could’ve been leaning into this whole thing, and that sucks. 

But even though you can’t change the past, you can change what happens now. 

So you let yourself laugh when he does, and you give him one more chance to embarrass you. “Are we doing this dance again or going back home so I can finally sleep in peace?”

“In peace?” His dropped jaw makes you giggle. “Nah, we’re definitely recording again.” 

This time, you both stand a little closer so you can fully be in frame. And it takes a few tries—one solely because Jungkook purposely moves to cover you, making you shove his laughing ass out of the way—but eventually you do get a decent take. 

After watching it over in the car a few minutes later, you’re so impressed that you even want him to send you the video. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m sending all of them.” 

“What, why?” 

His eyes shine way too bright as he starts descending through the parking levels. “So that they live in our message thread forever.” 

“You sneaky bi—wait, this is my song!” Your hand is already jutting out to turn up the volume before Jungkook can react, already forgetting what you were yelling about to break into an upbeat rendition of an old classic. 

“Wait, I wanted to—”

“Too bad! This is my shit.” 

When you start to sing, Jungkook can only watch before grinning at his windshield, joining in until you’re both belting everything out, “We’re in heaven…” 

Letting your window down, you scream lyrics out into the empty garage, barely hearing Jungkook cackling at your side. 

For a moment, you feel free. Music up, breeze through the windows, and the prettiest singing voice by your side hitting every note in the book. 

If only you could both do this forever. 

After a much livelier car ride than the first, you’re both walking to your door, sharing a look and knowing exactly what the tiny laughs are about. 

Who goes back to the same home after a first date? 

As he opens the door for you, a thanks slips from your lips before your shoes slide off your feet. And while the door closes with a click, your mind goes over the whole night like a sped-up tape. 

Prank or not, bet or not, it ended up being fun. You hope the same for your roommate, though you’re truly expecting him to confess and say he’s done pretending. So he can get on with his life and seeing other people like that girl. 

Your ribcage jostles. 

“Thanks for dinner,” you murmur as he finishes taking off his boots. “That was the best I’ve ever had.”

When Jungkook straightens, he gives you a lopsided smile. “Good,” he responds before flicking his bangs out the way. “But no taking calls next time.” 

Wait. After all your bullshit today, there’s still a next time? “Uh, I don’t know when I’d be able to—” 

“Trust me. This one you’ll like.” 

Rip the bandaid off. Just do it before things go where they shouldn’t. He’s already starting to say what’s in store for tomorrow but you can’t even entertain it because of what you saw. “I don’t think this will work.” 

Caught mid-sentence, Jungkook snaps his mouth shut before tilting his head. “Huh? You didn’t have a good time?” 

Damn it. Why is he still only asking about your experience? Didn’t he have to sit through all your absences? This is already getting too hard to break off and that’s not a good sign. “No, I did. I meant the whole, umm. Ten days thing.” 

“Because you’re already convinced?” 

“Because we live together, dummy,” you remind him, walking into the hall before he blocks your path. Pulling excuses out of your ass, you continue, “At least I get to have time away from other people I date. Not keep seeing them in their underwear.” 

“You like it.” 

You tsk. 

“It’ll be fine!” 

Arms folded, you pin him with a glare. “You bring girls over like four times a week.” 

“Why would I right now? I’m with you.” 

Something about that makes your heart pulse a little faster. But you can’t. You can’t do this when you know something you shouldn’t. Or maybe something you should, since it’s pretty damn important? “And no one else?”

“No one else,” Jungkook immediately answers. Which is weird considering what you accidentally saw earlier. If he’s flat out lying, you really can’t do anything else with him anytime soon. 

“Are you sure, because…” You sigh before looking down at his pocketed phone. 

Say it. Say exactly what’s on your mind because this isn’t some drama where communication is somehow last on the list of priorities. Real people talk it out, so talk it out. “Look. I kinda, umm. Saw someone text you when I was recording.”

You watch his expression change a tiny, tiny bit. But it’s enough to warrant your decision, “If you’re already seeing someone, I don’t wanna—”

“Who?”

You blink. “Uhhh.. Kyla? Kira?”

Your roommate suddenly starts to grin lopsided. “Kala? She’s my friend from like, second grade. We still game together.”  

“Oh.” Well. That was a lot easier to talk about than you expected. “I just thought… Yeah.”

The way he softens while looking at you makes you feel both dizzy and a little shy. You would pay a significant amount to know what he’s thinking right now, despite the troubles hitting you all through the night. 

“So cute.”

Ah. Never mind. “It’s not cute,” you huff. “Just being reasonable.”

“Yeah. Cute.” 

But he breaks contact to take out his phone and messes with it for a bit. When he clicks it to lock, he holds it up in a slight wiggle. “There.” 

Your head tilts before he explains,

“Yours come through now, too.” 

Breath caught, your whole body seems to buzz. The air around your hoodie starts shifting and heating, and your question leaves in a shocked whisper, “You’re taking this seriously.. aren’t you.”

Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours. “Yeah.”

Why the hell is he trying so hard? For you of all people? 

Last time you checked, the two of you are friends but it’s never been more than that. What’s gotten into him in the last month or so? Did something happen that you missed completely? 

Because if this isn’t some big joke... is this energy around you what you think it is? This chemistry molding into something scary and exciting all at once? It’s terrifying you because, if this is something he wants for real, you may take things further than they’ve ever gone.  

But the spark dissipates when Jungkook looks away. Eyes a little lowered, he asks, 

“It’s just ten days, right?”

Ah. Of course. He’s just competitive, that’s all. 

Smiling tight while you lift your nose, you hum. “Seven.” 

“Too easy.” Jungkook then stops to look at the ground. “It’d be easier if you didn’t keep walking off, though.” 

He got you there. You really don’t have any excuses other than your much lower level of effort. “I… Yeah. Life is really… I’m sorry.” 

You don’t want to tell him just yet. Especially since the night had quite the lovely ending. “But honestly, I really thought you were just doing all this to mess with me.”

“Well, I’m not.” Shucking his jacket off shoulders that haunt you, your roommate steps aside to let you finally pass. 

And reminds you about the motherfucking tank underneath fuck—

“Besides.” 

You blink at the hand on your arm. 

“I can mess with you any day.”

Oh? Bold once again. Attractive once again. But you aren’t gonna let him have just anything he wants. At least, not without seeing how far he’s willing to go. “Not if I don’t let you.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” You lift your chin. “You don’t scare me.”

Stepping in front of you, he gets so close there’s no space between your front and his protruding pecs. “Even like this?”

You try not to show your swallow. “Uh huh.”

When he leans in, you do your best not to react when he rasps out, “And this?”

Another gulp.  “D… Duh.” 

But you’re pretty sure he hears that one because he gravitates to your neck. So close that you can feel his breath on your throat, cologne wrapping you up in wild thoughts and even wilder decisions. “But not this, right?”

Say no, say yes, say no no no. “...No.”

Then. Just when you thought he couldn’t get any cheekier. His lips brush right against your neck as he asks his last question,

“Here then.”

Your flinch and dip out of his way is so quick that you don’t even realize you moved, and his laughs paint the hallway with mirth at your expense.

A hand slaps over the very spot he touched. “Kook!”

“What?”

That felt way too good but came out of nowhere. Feelings are creeping into places they really shouldn’t, and you’re so caught off-guard that your lips flap but don’t do much else. “You… you can’t just…I—”

“Relax,” he giggles. “I wasn’t gonna do anything else.”

Snapping back to reality, you bring yourself to express what’s really on your mind. “Just saying,” you huff, walking off. “You should still ask..”

“Wait, wait!” 

You turn, not anticipating the next thing out of his mouth.  

“You’re right,” he breathes out as he skids. “I’m sorry.” 

Relieved he didn’t take what you asked for as joke, you allow yourself to relax again. 

But of course, with Jeon Jungkook, there’s always more. “Can I do one more thing?” 

“What.” 

“Lemme do what I always do after dates.” 

Deadpanning, you drone, “We’re not having se—” 

“It’s not that.” Pinning him with disbelief, you watch him smile. “Not this time, anyway.” 

Another roll of your eyes. 

“Just trust me.” 

“Fine.” 

He takes your hand and leads you to your bedroom door, and you try your hardest not to bunch your shoulders. 

But something interesting happens that makes you more curious than anything else.

Jungkook stops when you get to your entrance, and he turns to just stare at your face. So calm, and so quiet. 

You don’t quite know what you look like right now, but the way he smirks before going in for a kiss gives you.. an.. idea.. 

He kisses your cheek? 

When he pulls away, his eyes sparkle as you question so bluntly he laughs, “That’s it?” 

“Told you,” he reiterates through a sly grin. “Why?” 

“I mean..”

He chuckles before leaning in slow. “I mean if you insist—” 

Immediately stopping his playful ways, you panic, “Wait, I mean—I just—” 

“Dinner and a kiss is all it takes to win, huh?”

“No, that’s not..” God, he is not funny right now! “One more wouldn’t hurt. I wasn’t ready.” 

By the way Jungkook freezes, you’d think he had turned to stone. But on second glance, he’s just watching for any hesitation or lie in your words, so when he finds none he leans back in.

The second kiss is just as light and innocent as the first. 

But this time, he doesn’t move as you swivel your face to watch, mouths so close and noses softly bumping. 

And the universe shrinks once again. Your belly twists with trembling butterflies and Jungkook’s cologne has clung to him so nicely and your calls have you wound tight and you really just need a distraction so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just—

“Go to sleep, roomie,” he whispers with a deadly smirk, moving away before you can even respond. “You gotta get up early.”

Oh. Why did your heart just scream? “Right… I do.”

“Good night.”

“Good night…”

Before you can snap out of it, Jungkook is already walking away. 

After everything you did tonight, he still stayed. Still had fun. And even did more than he needed to for you despite being left alone at every turn. 

…And quite honestly? “Kook?”

He turns. 

Fuck this fake dating game, fuck the bullshit you’ve been dealt tonight. “Was that really how you wanted to kiss me?”

Jungkook pauses in the hall, jacket dangling from his fist. “Fuck no.”

You swallow as your breath turns shallow. Thinking too hard about all the shit you’re gonna go through soon, you let loose just this once. 

“Then show me.”

Leather abandoned on wooden floorboards, your friend, your roommate, your enormous new problem returns with a purpose, gripping your head in his hands and—

Fuck, he’s a great kisser. Your lips connect and it’s lights out, flashing through your veins and speeding down your limbs. Rushed and impatient, his hands slide all over your arms, running up back to your neck to hold it tight. 

“You taste so fucking nice.” 

Your reply is devoured, his grip strong but not crushing, tongue sliding along your plush like it’s nothing. 

Yes, yes, yes. This is exactly what you needed all along. Nothing occupies your mind other than thoughts so dirty Jungkook would never let you live them down. 

Suddenly, you’re delightfully shoved against your door, groan spewing into his lips as you grapple for his bare arms. If he’s chuckling, you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can think about is how fucking good this feels. 

And how fucking wrong it is. 

Maybe that’s what adds to the thrill. The knowledge that roommates should never jump into this, no matter how electric things can get. 

But fuck it. 

Maddeningly, though, Jungkook keeps his hands just within boundaries, which surprises you and yet irks the monster in you all the same. When he shifts his lips, the kiss deepens, and your eyes shut even tighter as something taut and muscular shoves between your legs. 

Fuck, this feels good. Too good. Borderline forbidden and stepping across way too many lines but you can’t fucking stop. 

“Careful, babe,” you hear him coo. “Keep going and we’re fucking all week.” 

What? What did he just say what are you doing to make him… 

Holy fuck, were you humping his leg? 

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, breaking away and holding him at arm’s length. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even—” Air immediately washes over your heated cheeks and into your desperate lungs, and you have to fight to catch your beating breaths. “Something just happened, I—”

And looking down does you no favors because there is a very, very obvious bulge in your roommate’s pants oh god what did you do? 

Your wrists are held by calm hands as Jungkook peels you off his shoulders. When he leans forward, your body’s caged in by his sheer size alone. 

“Thanks for the dessert, roomie,” he simply whispers to your lips, swiping a finger across your nose before backing up to go to his room. “See you tomorrow.”

And just like that, you’re left alone in the hallway, mind swirling and swirling.

Well. When you invited him to make a move, you expected to be charmed because it’s him. 

But out of all the goddamn outcomes, you didn’t expect anything like that.

A hand slides up to grab the spot above your beating, pulsing, racing heart.

These seven days are gonna age you an eternity.

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tbc. :)

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🦋 ahhh how do we feel !! | wanna be tagged? 🦋

A/N: we're in heaven... OHHHH HO HO we are in it now!!! good god the amount of things in store for these two... honestly it's gonna be a good ass fun ass tiring ass ride hahaha. hope everyone is ready! A/N 2: second part is in the works and uhh, remember what i said before? the spice levels are basically gonna jump from 0 to 100? yeah that's gonna happen again lmfaooo these two are quickly jumping up my favorites list asapppp🦋  ++ feedback box (new!): ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that aren’t okay with reblogging with a review, commenting on this, or sending a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a feedback dropbox :D ⇥ here!   ++ ⇥ masterlist 

[laegolas]

Hi! I work in social science research, and wanted to offer a little bit of nuance into the notes of this post. A lot of people seem to be referring to LLMs like ChatGPT/Claude/Deepseek as purely ‘generative AI’ and used to ‘fix’ problems that don’t actually exist and while that is 99% true (hell in my field we’re extremely critical of the use of generative AI in the general public and how it is used), immediately demonizing LLMs as useless overlooks how great of a research tool it is for fields outside of STEM.

Tl;dr for below the cut: even ‘generative AI’ like ChatGPT can be used as an analytical tool in research. In fact, that’s one of the things it’s actually built for.

In social sciences and humanities we deal with a lot of rich qualitative data. It’s great! We capture some really specific and complex phenomena! But there is a drawback to this: it’s bloody hard to get through large amounts of this data.

Imagine you had just spent 12 months studying a particular group or community in the workplace, and as part of that you interviewed different members to gain better insight into the activities/behaviours/norms etc. By the end of this fieldwork stint you have over 20 hours worth of interviews, which transcribed is a metric fuckton of written data (and that’s not even mentioning the field notes or observational data you may have accrued)

The traditional way of handling this was to spend hours and hours and days and days pouring over the data with human eyes, develop a coding scheme, apply codes to sections by hand using programs like Atlas.ti or Nvivo (think Advanced Digital Highlighters), and then generate a new (or validate an existing) theory about People In The Place. This process of ‘coding’ takes a really long fucking time, and a lot of researchers if they have the money outsource it to poor grad students and research assistants to do it for them.

We developed computational methods to handle this somewhat (using natural language processing libraries like NLTK) but these analyse the data on a word-to-word level, which creates limitations in what kind of coding you can apply, and how it can be applied reliably (if at all). NLP like NLTK could recognize a word as a verb, adjective, or nouns, and even identify how ‘related’ words could be to one another (e.g ‘tree’ is more closely related to ‘park’ than it is to ‘concrete’). They couldn’t keep track of a broader context, however. They’re good for telling you whether something is positive or negative in tone (in what we call sentiment analysis) but bad for bad for telling you a phrase might be important when you relate it back to the place or person or circumstance.

LLMs completely change the game in that regard. They’re literally the next step of these Natural Language Processing programs we’ve been using for years, but are much much better at the context level. You can use it to contextualise not just a word, but a whole sentence or phrase against a specific background. This is really helpful when you’re doing what we call deductive coding - when you have a list of codes that relate to a rule or framework or definition that you’re applying to the data. Advanced LLMs like ChatGPT analysis mode can produce a level of reliability that matches human reliability for deductive coding, especially when given adequate context and examples.

But the even crazier thing? It can do inductive coding. Inductive coding is where the codes emerge from the data itself, not from an existing theory or framework. Now this definitely comes with limitations - it’s still the job of the researcher to pull these codes into a coherent and applicable finding, and of course the codes themselves are limited by the biases within the model (so not great for anything that deals with ‘sensitive issues’ or intersectionality).

Some fields like those in metacognition have stacks of historical data from things like protocol studies (people think aloud while doing a task) that were conducted to test individual theories and frameworks, but have never been revisited because the sheer amount of time it would take to hand code them makes the task economically and physically impossible. But now? Researchers are already doing in minutes which historically took them months or years, and the insights they’re gaining are applicable to broader and broader contexts.

People are still doing the necessary work of synthesizing the info that LLMs provide, but now (written) qual data is much more accessibly handled in large amounts - something that qualitative researchers have been trying to achieve for decades.

Midjourney and other generative image programs can still get fucked though.

[momotonescreaming]

STWG Daily Drabble - Outsider POV

Happy Birthday @penny00dreadful !! 🎉🎁🎈🎂 Steddie | G | 882 words

"He's quieter around you," Wayne comments to Steve, looking through the open archway to see Eddie standing at the kitchen stove. "Not in a bad way, mind you."

Eddie's wearing a stretched Metallica shirt and a pair of Hawkins High gym shorts, socks slouching down his ankles from lack of elastic. Rocking in place as he stirs something on the stove, to the tune of one of Wayne's old records he put on quiet for background noise. He's finishing cooking the last of their dinner, having pushed his uncle away when Wayne said he could finish up so Eddie could spend time with his boyfriend. But he started cooking it, Eddie said, and so he was going to finish it.

Wayne thinks he's just trying to impress Steve — not that Steve needs much impressing. They became closer when Eddie was on the run, after all. But that's all behind them now, all of them packed up and out of Hawkins to the big city of Chicago. It's not so different, Wayne thinks. He still works a hard factory job, with coworkers that aren't quite friends, in a small home with Eddie. They're just in an apartment this time, and not a trailer.

Steve moved up with Robin in their own apartment, working and figuring himself out while she went to College — as Eddie tells him. It's nice that Eddie has people up here. As much as he loves his boy, and is glad he still wants to spend time with his old man, Eddie needs people his own age.

People who understand him. Who understand what happened to him.

Wayne can love him, and hold him, and give in a safe place to land — but he doesn't know and he doesn't want to pry.

Steve just makes an inquisitive noise, turning to Wayne from his spot on the couch next to him, beer in hand. Raises an eyebrow, opens his mouth, but doesn't quite say anything. Wayne watches and takes a sip of his own beer as Eddie's boy processes what he's said. Waiting before he speaks. "How so?"

"Now Eddie ain't exactly one to withhold his opinions," Wayne starts, to Steve's amused snort. They've both heard his angry rants, and his excited chattering about the things he's passionate about. "No matter what situation he's in. But he doesn't need to perform around you, the way he does with others."

Wayne's watched as Eddie puts it on like a cloak, settles the mask over his face — as he switches from his boy Eddie, to the mean and scary dungeon master. He's loud, brash, larger than life, in your face. Takes the words others throw at him, hardens his shell, and throws them right back.

He's different now, in more ways than one. In some ways he's a little more open, a little more understanding; hell, he's watched sports without complaining about jocks and oppression and popular sports being the thing that kills the sense of self. In other ways he's a little more withdrawn, a little more scared, not going out as much — recovering. But he's better now, all things considered, out of Hawkins, out from under the thumb of that oppressive little town. Wayne didn't quite realise how much until they left.

With Steve, he's quieter. Calmer. He doesn't need to put on the mask, the act, perform the person he feels he has to be. Eddie, dialled up to 11. Wayne isn't one for words, not the way Eddie is, but he's more himself with Steve. In a way he only was with Wayne, not that he's trying to toot his own horn. It took years, and a lot of work to undo the damage Wayne's brother did to his nephew, to make him comfortable with him.

With Steve, it feels as easy as anything. He's settled into an easy dynamic with Steve, they don't need to pretend or try to be something different or bigger and better. They can just be Eddie and Steve.

They can be comfortable in gym shorts and sweatpants, making dinner and sharing a beer with Wayne. He doesn't want to intrude, not when they don't have many spaces they can be comfortable, and be together, but they insist they want him there. Eddie wants his uncle to meet his boyfriend, wants to include Wayne; and Steve jokes that he needs another person to tease Eddie with, a person he can talk basketball with.

"I try." Steve simply says, smiling as he looks at Eddie through the archway into the kitchen. Eyes warm and face softening at the sight of him. With his frizzy hair even frizzier with the heat and steam clouding their tiny kitchen. With his weary body gently bobbing to the music. It's nice, Wayne thinks, seeing his boy settle into something. Into contentedness. Be more himself, and not the himself he feels he has to be. "I mean, it's the same with me, y'know?"

"There was a lot of pressure to be a certain type of person, and I think we both had to sorta, have it shocked out of us." Steve continues, turning to look at Wayne. He looks so young, and yet so wise in his years. "But we're here now, and I can be quiet with him too."

[kay-great]

Invincible Variant! X Reader

Invincible X Reader

Invincible Variant! OC X Reader

Okay so I’ve seen a LOT of different versions of reader & variant’s relationships- but what if reader WAS a variant themselves? Like Spider-Gwen, or Captain Britain vibes. So in reader’s dimension, Mark and reader were together, but then Mark died, and so reader took on the mantle of Invincible!!

But then Invincible war breaks out.. and Angstrom is careless in what all the variants want out of his deal.

Gore (nothing worse than the show),female reader, some dub-con groping, fondling, and kissing. Some variants believe in facist ideologies, there is also a mention of cutting an arm on purpose, but it is not related to suicide.

(reader x invincible), (reader x invincible variants), I guess also (reader x invincible variant oc)? It’s the one from your dimension- who you fall in love with first.

This was supposed to be an Imagine. :,D !! Somehow it turned into this!! Took me actual DAYS and NIGHTS to finish. Like OVER A WEEK cuz I’m SLOW and PICKY.

But it’s here now. I broke my back writing this so please enjoy!! (And please leave a comment? Please I love them so much okay thankssss)

—————————————————————————————————————

-When you first met Mark Grayson, he had knocked on your door and asked if you liked Seance Dog. You were 10 and he was 9, but he was more fun than the other neighborhood kids, so you allowed yourself to become friends with a 9-year-old (which, when you were 10, you thought was a BIG deal- it wasn’t)

You couldn’t hang out at school very much, because you were in different grades. But you would sit together at lunch, and during recess you would play ‘superhero’ and William would play ‘Damsel in Distress’ lmao

Despite neither of you having powers, you were both convinced that someday you would be the “bestest, most strongest super hero pair ever in the history of the world” -as recounted by Debbie

Around 14, you noticed that sometimes your hands would brush together, and you’d stop breathing for a moment. Or he’d laugh at a joke you made, and you’d think about the way his eyes crinkled for days on end. And you’d realized you had a tiny, itty bitty little crush on your best friend

You wondered for a while if it was one-sided, but one day while you were hanging out with both Mark and William, the pair kept acting suspiciously

“Sooooo y/n, have you ever had a boyfriend before? Are you into younger guys? Cuz I know a great pick on the Market”

William received a small jab to the ribs by Mark, nevertheless persisted-

“See what I did there? Mark-et?”

“Will!!” Mark gritted out sideways, desperately trying to hide the conversation from you (and failing). It was adorable really, he was such the dork.

“Ugh, You know I hate being called Will”

“It’s true Mark, I’ve heard him say that before” you chimed in, having caught on to William’s game.

“Well maybe I’ll call him what he deserves, especially if he doesn’t shut the hell up about private conversations, ya know?” The last few words were gritted through sandpaper and then stabbed at William.

-But it didn’t matter, you were 90% sure that this meant Mark had told William about feelings! For you! You finished your vague taunting of Mark with the biggest grin on your face- by the time he had successfully moved the conversation on, your cheeks were sore

-but before you could act on your newfound discovery, you started Highschool. And freshman year was really rough. Especially without Mark.

-at lunchtime it really hit you how alone you were. How had you invested so much of your friendship towards the neighborhood dork and his sassy friend? Damn! Sitting alone every fucking day sucks ass.

-afterschool is better. Sometimes, it’s hard to connect with Mark. Your lives feel so different now, since he’s still not in Highschool yet, but you both make the effort, and it feels like the only relationship in your life (other than your parents) where you feel genuine care and attention

-actually, you start doing homework together. This dimension’s Mark isn’t just a dork, he’s also a HUGE nerd, and so doing Highschool homework is light work for him. Specifically science!

-one afternoon while munching on sliced apples-which Mark’s mom prepared for you guys- you confide in him how lonely you feel during the school day, and how most of your friends in your classes don’t really care about you.

“I wish things could be like how they were when we were kids” Cruch. Juicy apple dribbles down your chin a little. “I mean, when we thought we were gonna be superheros? And we wore towels like capes- and we ran from driveway to driveway?”

-your fond smile entrances him. Damn, he has such a huge crush on you. Yeah, of course he remembers those days. It kills him that the year had been so hard for you. That he can’t be there for you during the day. Because he should be. He’s your best friend!! And maybe he wants to be more than that, but even if you never reciprocate those feelings, he will always be there for you!! If only there was something he could do… he asks,

“Didn’t we have superhero names? Wasn’t I like,, indestructible or something like that?”

Invincible. It was Invincible, it is invincible, it will be Invincible. But he’s gotta sound ~nonchalant~. He can’t be caught caring too much about kid stuff in front of his year-older hot best frien-

“You were [titlecard], dummy.”

Oh you were so perfect. You remembered! Of course you did! You’re such a dork! But in a cool way, the coolest dork, you continued-

“and I was ‘Unstoppable’. And our catch phrase was ‘an unstoppable force meets-“

“-an immovable object’.” He joined in. God, weren’t you both just perfect together? Such dorks!! He thought you were perfect, even if you didn’t invite him to the Sadie-Hawkins dance. Which you didn’t, by the way. He noticed. You probably thought he wouldn’t notice but he did.

-he understands; I mean, not only was he a year younger than you, he was also quite literally a grade-A nerd. But that’s okay- he’ll find a way to make sure you achieve your dreams of being the greatest superheros in the world! And then you’ll be partners for real, and he can make sure you never feel so alone..

-the science behind the idea was easy really. it was the equipment that was difficult to figure out. He couldn’t get his hands on a syringe, so he has to skip it, and slowly bleed out his arm manually- with a knife. Why? Because he was gonna make you into a superhero

-see; he knew his dad was Omni-man, and therefore one day he was gonna inherit his dad’s super incredible powers. From there, becoming a superhero would surely be a piece of cake! The difficulty was how to get YOU to be a superhero with him

-you didn’t have any powers, and he had met your dad many times- nice guy, definitely not harboring any secret super-human abilities. That meant you needed to “have greatness thrust upon you” (he would certainly like to thrust anything upon you)

-he figures that he can somehow take his own DNA, and create a mimicry that will attach to your system. Then, you’ll get his powers at the same time as him!

-it’s bloody, it’s messy, it hurts, there’s many failed attempts, but it’s all worth it for you!!

-he works on the perfect solution for years, and by then you’re a junior in Highschool and you’ve sort of moved on from the whole superhero dream. After all, now that William and Mark are in Highschool with you, your loneliness epidemic has seriously subsided. You don’t have as much need for fantasies anymore. Your reality is enough for you now. But it’s not enough for Mark. He doesn’t forget. And he slowly starts slipping you the concoction.

“Hey Mark! I saved you a seat. Did your mom make that punch again?” You scootch over on the long blue cafeteria table, making room for your friend to sit down.

“Yes yes, here’s your bottle. You know sometimes I wonder if the only reason you sit with me at lunch is for the punch,” He teases as he tosses the small red water bottle as you.

“You’re on to me,” you glint as you catch it with ease, latching down onto the well-chewed nib and sucking in- it was almost lewd if Mark allowed himself to think it. “I mean what does she put in this stuff? It’s too fucking good.”

His blood, He muses. Or at least a tiny amount of it, rearranged into a compound that is meant to seal his viltrimite genetics on top of your human ones. Very specific to you. Took him years to figure it out. Literal blood, metaphorical sweat, and literal tears. Oh and also Gatorade, Minute Maid lemonade, and mango juice- to mask the copper taste. Although apparently you liked it. And that thought rang through Mark’s brain late at night. That you liked the taste of him.

-And you liked it so much, you asked for it everyday. It hurt his soul a little to have to give the credit to his mom, even though he was the one making it. but you would know something was up if he told the truth. and besides, you’ll know the truth someday- and then he’ll finally get his praise. You’ll be soo grateful he did all that work for you. He was sure that you’d make the best superhero duo- and hopefully, finally maybe more.

“Oh god, you better not be talking about juice again. ” William butted in and sat down at the table, earning some chortles from the two of you. “Let’s talk about how I’m going to survive this geometry class instead.”

The world was perfect with just the three of you. It made sense. But it wouldn’t soon.

—-

-when Mark got his powers after his seventeenth birthday, you got yours at the same time. And then everything changed. You were going to go to college, but now you have powers? Like- pretty insanely fucking powerful powers?? Where the hell did this come from?? What the fuck triggered this? You hadn’t recently fallen into a nuclear vat of acid that you were aware of. What do you do? Who do you tell?

-you dont get the chance to answer your own questions, Mark is knocking at your WINDOW later that afternoon.

“Holy Shit! Mark! You’re fucking flying!!”

“Yes! Isn’t it great? Can you fly too? Fuck, did it work? Please tell me it worked”

“Did what work? And get in the room for the love of-! The whole neighborhood is going to see you!”

He has to come clean, and he does, he tells you everything.

“Eww, that punch had BLOOD in it? That’s disgusting Mark why wouldn’t you tell me that? I drank that shit for MONTHS”

“I know, I know. But I wasn’t sure it was gonna work and I didn’t want to get your hopes up.” Not completely a lie. “…and also… I didn’t want you to say no.” Ah, poor Mark Grayson, you were such a weakness for him.

“Shit Mark. That’s… that’s kinda fucked up.”

“I know, but- this way you get what you always wanted! Come on, don’t blame me for that”

“..Mark.. I mean, I guess I get it? Like yes, I mean- I know we used to dream about this stuff when we were kids.. and I can’t lie. I am pretty stoked about getting to fucking fly, and I never have to worry about a paper cut again but.. “ you chortle out your disbelief, and it only grows-

“but shit Mark!. why wouldn’t you just tell me? I would have drank the blood juice if I knew what it was!! You let me plan for college and everything for months! And now I don’t even know if I want to… I mean, you let me take the SAT AND the ACT!! Knowing damn well I was gonna be a superhero!! I made plans, good plans! Plans I was excited about! This changes everything Mark.. ..why the FUCK wouldn’t you let me decide if I wanted to do this??”

“I know I know, I’m sorry. I really am. And you can still do all that stuff if you want! College and everything, I mean. I just.. I just really wanted to give you this. I REALLY wanted our childhood dreams to come true because.. I know it’s selfish but, MY dream couldn’t be complete without you by my side. You’re the other half of my future, y/n. You always have been.”

-And at that you’re quiet for a little bit, except for the pounding of your heartbeat in your head. Then-

“What are you saying, Mark?”

-He breathes deep, then-

“I’m saying I’ve had a crush on you since we were thirteen. I mean I was thirteen and you were fourteen. But since then. And if you don’t feel the same that’s fine and we can just be friends but I wanted to let you know because I’ve been waiting to tell you for years and I never-“

-But his ramblings are smothered by desperate lips. And after just a brief, stiff moment, he melts into your touch. It’s his first kiss, you know? He’s awkward but adoring. And you realize you’ve been a fool for not begging for this earlier. It was cliché, but you liked that. And if the stiffness in his pants were any indication, Mark did too.

“Wait..” you pull away, “how did you know you would get powers? What’s so special about your DNA?”

“Oh, uh- my dad is OmniMan”

“Mark, wHA-“!!!

—

-so you start the superhero gig. Neither of you were great at first, but after a little experience with some low-level-criminals, and with coaching from fucking OmniMan- you start to get the hang of things.

-at first Mark’s dad seemed very hesitant about you. Sometimes you got the feeling he didn’t want you there at all, but eventually he got used to your presence, and accepted that you were a permanent fixture on the side of his son. This didn’t mean he was thrilled to have you, but a quiet- and almost remorseful- acceptance draped itself over his countenance.

-especially when you start getting better than Mark

-remember how this dimension’s Mark is a huge nerd? With the intelligence to mutate genetic code with nothing but a kitchen knife and a Highschool lab set at the ripe age of 13? Well all that awesomeness has to balance out somehow, and unfortunately it means that when it comes to the physical strength of his powers, Mark is simply not as capable as other versions of himself.

-he’s still an incredibly powerful superhero, but he doesn’t stand a chance against most high-ranking villains. And he especially doesn’t stand a chance against his dad.

-now you know why his dad didn’t want you around. The destruction wrought through the earth is cataclysmic, but your focus is only on your poor bloody and bruised Mark Grayson.

-He’s weaker than he’s meant to be. Still one of the most durable people on the planet, but not enough for the rage of his father. He’s hurting, badly. And you don’t think he will survive much longer. You can’t sit idly by and watch, when Cecil told you what was happening, you flew as fast as you could to lunge at the ex-hero!

-you’re stronger than Mark but you’re still untrained. Omniman catches you and does not hesitate to break your leg.

-you cry out, but the monster simply throws your body to the concrete ground of the skyscraper rooftop. You try to get up, but the pain is so much.

“Y/N! Get out of here!!” Mark cries out to you in bloody rasps.

“See how weak humans are? Even with some viltrimite DNA, she’s still not even half of what we are. What we are supposed to be. You think you care about her? You think you can save her? She’ll be dead in a matter of years. We are going to live millennia without her, son. You think you need her? Think you can’t live without her? You’re going to have to.”

-And with that Mark’s father puts his boot on your head- intent on crushing your skull.

-You cry out in throbbing pain, if it weren’t for Mark’s DNA bolstering your cranium, your brains would already be jelly.

But seeing you in pain pushed Mark to a breaking point. Weakness be damned, he won’t see you hurt.

“I won’t live without her, dad.”

So, bloody, broken, dying, and fucking pissed, Mark throws himself at his father, sending them flying off at a thousand miles per hour.

-your vision is hazy, you fall unconscious for a few minutes, but force yourself back. But it’s already too late. Omniman has killed his son some million miles away. Your best friend. Your partner. Maybe the love of your life.

-you search for hours, and eventually find his body laid out at the top of Mt. Everest. The snow catches the red leaking out of him. He’s been fucking flattened on the white rocky cliff side. Some bits of him jut out- bones, intestines, and bits of torn clothing. You can’t even hold him in your arms. You can’t even cradle him in your fucking arms- that’s how brutally OmniMan mauled him.

-at first your only response is rage. To find OmniMan and make him hurt. To lash out all your dumb fucking superpowers on someone. Someone to blame. But the coward was gone. Apparently killing his son convinced him to leave Earth. Good fucking riddance. But that meant that now you were left with no one to share these unfathomable powers with. You attend Mark’s funeral. It’s closed casket.

-he was too weak. He cared so much. Maybe about you. Maybe you made him weak. Could you blame yourself for this ? You could try. And with no Mark around to stop you, you quickly fell into an unfeeling abyss.

—

-For a while you take up the mantle. Not of OmniMan- fuck that guy. No. You take up the mantle of Invincible. You don his suit, and with his powers you quickly become the world’s number one superhero, and the leader of the guardians.

-much to Cecil’s joy (if he has any left), you are completely dedicated to the job. You stop living with your family, you haven’t seen them in ages. They didn’t know about the powers, or Mark, or anything, and why should they? Just to see their perfect little girl become a killing machine? To see her dreams of college slip away? You left without saying goodbye. That part of you is gone. You’re Invincible now, and that’s all.

-it’s slowly killing you. You don’t engage with the other guardians outside of trainings and missions. You hardly ever take off the suit. You’re not mean, but you’re cold. You get stronger everyday. You don’t really care.

-people start seeing you as a role model, though. They don’t know how fucked up you are. Kids wear your suit on Halloween, and your insignia is on balloons, and somehow you become the poster child of being a good person

-and it pisses you the fuck off

-because you weren’t a good person. You let Mark die. You should have saved him. He gave you literal fucking powers and you still couldn’t save him. He was the good person, he was supposed to be the face behind this mask. You were only supposed to be reminding people of him by wearing this suit. But now.. people had forgotten all about him. He didn’t even exist anymore. And you had.. you had taken his place. You had taken what was rightfully his.

-and something snapped. Since the world forgot about him. Since you couldn’t do anything right by him.

-you decided to remind people who you were Not

-sulfur, smoke, sirens, and chicken. That’s what it smelled like, you thought. Everywhere you went. Sulfur, smoke, sirens, and chicken. And it was red. Everywhere. Red. Until it was gray, and then black.

-you still wore the suit. Even though you hated how it now maimed the legacy of your best friend. What “invincible” had become. You couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. It was what he left you- the suit- the powers. And you had decided to take it all. To its fullest advantage. It was like- keeping him close, you know?

-And finally, when the world gets boring, Angstrom Levy steps into frame.

“I understand you have an attachment to a late Mark Grayson?”

“Don’t say his name”

“Ah- of course. Can’t say I really understand your fondness for the boy, but I can respect it. I’m willing to offer you-“

-His throat pulses rhythmically in your hand. You’ve caught him by surprise in less than a heartbeat. Whoever this fucker is, you decide you don’t care to hear the rest of his story

-You hoist him into the air, but suddenly the ground beneath you gives way. You fall through the dirt, and land.. in the air? What the hell? Ah shit.. portals? Seriously? You gotta fight a portal guy? Whatever, you haven’t had anything better to do for months now.

“As I was saying, I have a proposition for you-“

“Not interested” and you lunge at him again, but this time the portal appears right in front of him, and shoots you back out some 16 feet away. Fucking hell.

“I ADMIRE YOUR STRENGTH AND SKILLS!! IN RETURN FOR DESTROYING A PLANET, I WOULD GRANT YOU-“ he’s yelling so you can hear him from the 16 feet. Doesn’t he know you have super hearing? This guy is a real idiot. Once you get your bearings, you fly towards him again.

A portal appears, but this time you know to feint left. You come from behind and pin his hands behind his back, hoping to subdue his portal-making abilities. You wrap your free arm around his neck in a chokehold.

“I said I wasn’t interested” you languish in his ear. Your voice is sweet sweet poison.

“Yes, you’ll do nicely. Very strong.” But you’re bored again now. And as you crush his windpipe-

“Mark Grayson!!” He rasps out- “you’ll have Mark Grayson again!!”

-You let go, you ask questions, you demand proof, he complies, and eventually a bargain is struck.

-You’ll destroy another Earth, alongside other variants (you learn you are one of many variants), and then for your troubles you will get to take home one of the many, many, alive Mark Graysons. Any of your choosing.

“Do we ever get to be partners? Superhero partners? In any universe?”

“Well I’m not sure about heroes..”

“Do we get to be partners? In.. whatever the hell we do? Does he really survive his dad in so many universes?”

“He does.” Unfortunately- Langstrum thinks.

“Then if he’s alive in that alternate dimension, isn’t he happy there? Don’t we get to be happy together?”

“Oh y/n.. you really don’t understand, do you?”

“What”

“In all those other dimensions.. you’re the one who dies.”

..oh.

-You guess that makes sense.

How unfortunate you had to live in this one.

“So.. he will be happy to see me?”

“I’m absolutely certain.”

————

Today is the day. The day you go through all the horrors again, and then you’ll get to see your boy. It’s like, going back in time, you think. In order to get back to those good beginnings, you’ll have to rewind through the last few years of horrific devastation. A price to pay.

A portal appears before you, and with only a moment of hesitation, you step through.

The sun is bright, brighter than it’s been in a long time. The air is warm, and the breeze carries the sounds of life. You.. missed this, you guess. It was nice. Life could be like this again. It was going to be.

Phasing through their own portals, your heart hitches just a little as the other variants appear. In a circle above Mark’s old house, you study their faces. And in turn, notice them noticing you.

“Woahhh who brought the girl?” A variant with no mask laughs.

“Woah, im a chick in another universe? Shit, why couldn’t I have been born a chick in my own universe? Then I could touch my tits whenever I wanted.” A mohawked version roared. Well you knew who were weren’t taking home.

“Focus on the mission. We’ve all been given locations to destroy, there’s no need to delay with introductions” a white-clad figure spoke with certainty. You recognized the clothes as Viltrimite uniform. Disgusting, you thought. But not as disgusting as-

“I concur. Those who survive will have earned their introductions. We are wasting time” a variant in a suit very reminiscent of Omniman’s speaks.

“I can’t imagine a universe in which I would ever wear that emblem” you couldn’t help yourself, but how could a Mark Grayson allow himself to wear that Omni shit? How different had their lives been?

OmniMark seems taken aback, but only for a moment.

“You have no idea what brought me to this moment here today.” You felt his power burning into you, but you didn’t care, you could match it- hell, you’d been waiting to match it for years.

“You know what brought me here today? The need to put something in its place. You want that to be you?” You rise to meet him, you can feel the atoms vibrating around you with power- damn you wanna punch this fucker.

“Well well, kitty’s got claws~” Mohawk pipes up.

“Hey sweetheart! you could put me in my place~” No-Goggles rises to Mohawk’s game. Fucking imbeciles.

“Enough. The mission is clear, we’ve all agreed to its terms. You don’t want to look at each other? Fine. Go destroy opposite corners of the world, but first go.” The true viltrimite reprimands you both like children. But you’re too busy maintaining the fire between your eyes and the Omni-variant.

You can feel the gazes of all the variants. Your teammates in destroying the world. A part of you hates each and every one. Knowing that they’re all technically Mark, but all capable of so much more cruelty than yours ever was.

but a part of you also languishes in it. You’ve been missing Mark so much for so long, and now all of a sudden here you were- surrounded by him! So many different versions. You almost want to fling yourself into their arms, and promise your love. Forever and ever. To each one. Well, except one.

“I have no interest in delaying our mission any further by entertaining this petty display of anger. Either you uphold your end of the bargain or you don’t. Your decision will not influence me.” The arrogant, self-proud Omni-prick belittles you.

-‘your decision will not influence me’ my ass

-But just as you wind up to punch this fucker’s teeth out, your arm is stopped by a Mark with a mask like fabric covering his face-

“Not yet.”

A fully masked invincible put his hand on the shoulder of the Omni-variant, “we all have a reason for being here. We can’t lose this opportunity.”

he’s right. You shouldn’t waste your breath on this lesser Mark. You need to focus on why you’re really here.

The black and yellow variant adds, “we can kill each other later” with a smile that was too pleasant to be joking.

The final variant to engage wears two viltrimite emblems on either side of his shoulders. He breaks the tension with an air of refinement, unquestioned power, and a tad bit of condescension- “time to go, then. Meet back here when you’ve done as told.”

So they start off, ready to bleed all corners of the world. But you are reluctant to break eye contact with the Omni-scum. There is too much fire, and the rage of the past years fuels your contempt. Refuses to let you back down. But just as the fully masked variant pulls at the shoulder of Omni-dick and turns him away from you, the Mark with a mask of fabric pulls at your arm and- and it feels like Mark.

It really feels like Mark.

And you let him turn you from the rage. From the fire that had been burning inside you since he died.

The wind catches the fabric on his face. It toys with your imagination- billowing in ways which catch the variant’s features before obscuring them again. The dancing obfuscation allows you to pretend that this really is your Mark. His face is the one you’ve memorized.

You can’t see behind his goggles, but you can imagine his eyes recognizing you. The way the variant doesn’t move- you can tell he really is studying you. Letting you stare. Staring back. It’s not even longing, it’s.. understanding. That you had both lost your counterparts. That you were Invincible, simultaneously. And your heart swells at the recognition- finally not being so goddamn alone.

But then he flies off.

And you are realize you are alone in the sky.

You’re meant to be destroying Melbourne, Australia. But there’s enough Invincibles to get the job done. You’ve assigned yourself a different mission: pick a Mark Grayson to keep.

In order to do that, you need to study your options. This decision will last forever, you know? Don’t want to be too hasty.

Who should you follow?

You didn’t pay attention who went which direction, though you remember Angstrom announcing all the locations. Whoops, maybe you’re a little rusty. No matter. You decide to start by taking a little devastation down memory lane.

——

-The prison.

-What was the name of this prison again? It had been so long since it had been operational. You could still recall which cells belonged to which prisoners- and the way you won each of their battles- and- oh dammit not him.

-Mohawk was making quick work of the prison. You considered simply skipping him for the next destination, but alas, he had spotted you-

“Hey hey hey!! Guess you couldn’t stay away from the sexiest variant, could ya?”

“You’re about to be flattened” you reply coolly.

-and he was. A giant rhinoceros guy with a bigger-than-a-rhinoceros-hammer was charging at him. And he was too distracted to notice, just standing on the ground like a fucking idiot. Your Mark was always smarter about strategy than this. Why lose high-ground advantage when you can literally fly?

But just as the hammer fell down upon the imbecile, Mohawk shot out a hand to stop the thing- and it did. Stop, I mean. He stopped it with one fucking hand, while posing at you. The way a frat guy poses against a door. With the arm up? And the smarmy smile? Shit.. this guy was an asshole, but he was also a lot stronger than your Mark. Mental Note: don’t underestimate this guy.

“Enjoying the show?” His grin was so big it could reach Texas. He didn’t stop-

“I don’t get stage fright, go ahead and watch.” He teased, bulging out some muscles playfully. You couldn’t tell if he was honestly flirting or if he was making fun of you.

-The rhino raised his hammer again, preparing to squash the Mohawk properly this time. But this did not deter the asshole-

“Although if you helped out, we could ditch this place and get to know each other a little better~”

-you were unconsciously drifting closer and closer to the variant. He couldn’t see the rising blush under your mask, but you suspected that somehow he knew. Or, he was such a confident little prick that it didn’t matter. Which you didn’t doubt. You couldn’t help it, this Mark was arrogant, but he could certainly put his money where his mouth is.

“Actually, I am here to know you better” You reply. And for just a second you see his eyes light up with some almost psychotic excitement, before the hammer falls again.

-this time, he wasn’t prepared to stop it with his hand, but he maintains it with his shoulder swiftly. You study the dirt beneath his feet- the blow does not move him.

“Really? You know I’ve always had a kink for fucking a clone. Wanted to feel how good at sex I was from the other perspective!”

“I’m not a clon-“

-but he’s too busy punching the hammer 20 feet in the air, flying up to grab it by its handle, and slamming it down on the head of its previous owner. Blood, bones, and brain matter squelch out. A giant golden horn falls dejectedly beside it.

“Come on, don’t let me have all the fun. Let’s fuck up some more prisoners, and then we’ll fuck each other.”

-there is something you like about this invincible. He is.. so different from your Mark. But he’s the kind of bad-boy that appeals to your fucked-up side. He’s fun, and fucking powerful. Maybe this is what you need. Maybe you can’t replace the kind-hearted nerd you lost years ago, but you can gain a sexy arrogant rebel prick that resembles him.

Or maybe, you could find something better.

“I can’t stay, I’ve got a mission to finish.”

“Aww what? Can’t play hooky for a little longer?”

“Survive. maybe I’ll see you again.”

And you were off to the next location.

——

The Colorado Camp Grounds.

When you were kids, you would go to camp with Mark in Colorado every summer. It was a huge trek to get there, but your mom was adamant that you had to go to this camp because it was tradition because this was the camp she went to when she was a kid. And she always let you bring Mark because you didn’t have any siblings, and she thought it would help you ‘be normal.’

It did not.

William always threw a fit cuz we wasn’t invited. You had to explain to him every year that it was your mom’s fault cuz she only let you bring one friend.

How simple things had been.

When you got there, you realized it was empty- of course- it wasn’t summer. But as you wandered around, you could still see the crowds of children. The smell of sunscreen. The sound of the forest and tennis shoes on dirt. Also, the wind suddenly whizzing behind you-

“I came here too, when I was a kid.”

You turn around to find the bumblebee-variant. Although with the power and violence radiating off him, he seemed more like a hornet now. Something about his presence rattled you. A Sinister gleam threatening his eyes. You rise to him, a few feet off the ground,

“What are you doing here?”

“Came to destroy the place.” He tilts his head, wondering how you’ll respond. It’s a challenge to defy him- to admit you’re too weak to let go of these memories.

“Sure. But we came to destroy everywhere. Why here?”

He smiles at you, one of those smiles that makes it clear he thinks you’re stupid.

“Why not here? It’s our mission to destroy everything, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but-“

“Honestly I was really hoping for some campers so I could-“

“Answer the question”

“Are you gonna stand in my way?”

At this you bristle. You’re not trying to battle anybody, you’re trying to get to know them- but you can’t afford to be caught off guard. You have to be ready for a fight. As you saw with Mohawk, these guys are a lot tougher than you expected.

“No.”

“That’s too bad, I almost thought you had some conviction.”

Okay, fuck this guy.

“I’ve already destroyed this place once.” You say flatly. It’s true. You did. And you did it technically for the man in front of you.

And he looks at you, and reaches toward your face. You don’t know why, but you let him. He caresses your cheek so delicately, until suddenly-

your neck is craned forward as he painfully cups your jaw- squishing your cheeks carelessly cruel with his fingers. He brings your face right up to his, centimeters away- and whispers,

“So did I.”

Kinda hot, kinda scary. But Fuck this, you were powerful too.

So you mirrored him. To remind him you were invincible too. You had earned that fucking title. And you were just as fucked up as him.

As you palmed his jaw with your hand, and pinched his cheeks with your thumb and fingers so tight you almost broke skin- you realized you couldn’t crane his neck forward without slamming his face into yours.

But you were never a quitter.

So, locked in a painful face-embrace, you yanked him into a kiss. Because fuck this guy, that’s why. And because you had travelled through dimensions to kiss Mark Grayson again, so you were gonna fucking do that.

Even if it was a fucked up version.

And just as his free hand comes to cradle the back of your head, and the moment almost turns sweet- he bites your fucking lip. copper flavor. Motherfucker.

So you catch his lip in your teeth, and then push him away. Hard. Really hard. Shoved him careening into a big-ass tree a few feet away. The one with the tire swing. Fucking Ripped the skin from his lip.

Because you could be cruel, too. And for some reason you really wanted to prove that to this Mark. So for good measure-

“I got my first kiss here, you know” You breathe it out, seductively. “When I was in 4th grade. We all played Spin the Bottle. Cliché huh?”

Mark had taken a moment to recover from the slam, probably because of the kiss. But now that he was looking at you again- your blood mingling with his as it dribbled down his chin- you were starting to lose confidence. His eyes trained on you-

“You taste like her.”

Um, ew. Did this guy eat people? From his unnerving presence you wouldn’t put it past him. But you had something to prove,

“When the bottle landed on me, I saw it was Toby Fichte who had spun it.”

“I remember this.”

“Lucky me, Toby was the cutest boy at camp.”

“You’re not-“

“He was a much better kisser than you.”

“You’re not me.”

“I’m better than you.”

A dangerous smile grew on his bloody teeth “Careful.”

You should be careful. You were playing with fire. You realized you shouldn’t be giving hints that you weren’t Mark Grayson. You need a distraction,

“You destroyed this place in your dimension?”

He looks at you, an emotion you can’t place hiding in the recesses of his face. “I did.”

“What did you start with?”

“Cabin 4.”

You smiled. “Why?”

He smiled back, eyes knowing- and never leaving yours- “Because that’s where she kissed him.”

You paused, as his eyes bore into yours. Breath heaving- and you knew it wasn’t from the shove. He was crazed, for something. For you? He’s gotten up now and slowly floats toward you. The way a big cat stalks up to its prey. You need to act fast,

“Save it for last, this time.”

One last threatening glint in his eye, and he zipped off to destroy the campgrounds, as hastily as he could, so he could take his time with Cabin 4. The sounds of wood crunching and splintering resounded all around you. Cabins, trees, hammocks. Good. You couldn’t stand the memories.

You zipped off too, to continue your mission.

——

Guardians HQ

You never were invited into Guardians HQ before Omni-man decimated the world. Still in training, you didn’t rank high enough to be on the team.

But after he destroyed the planet- as well as the guardians- you practically lived there.

Once you became Cecil’s favorite hero, you couldn’t stop imaging how Mark would’ve looked in that hall- living his dream, surrounded by his teammates- his birthright.

So looking at it now, it was almost a vision come true.

Invincible was standing proudly in the middle of the hall, surrounded by the guardians. Although of course it was- bloodier than you envisioned it.

No-goggles stood proudly covered in blood, while the guardians around him lay dead- torn around the room.

“Aww, I really shouldn’t have killed you all so fast. I was looking forward to torturing you.”

But your focus was on Dark Wing- always sneaking around the edges, that one.

“You haven’t killed all of us yet” Dark Wing seethes, and you realize his plan as he lunges for the unsuspecting variant.

His cape pulls taut as you grab the back of it, and as it digs into his neck from the tension, you throw him backwards into the wall he just jumped from- killing him instantly.

“Heyyyy” No-Goggles whines, “He was mine to finish off.”

“He would have been the death of you. You’re welcome.” Your tone is flat but accusing. You try to keep it even but realize your emotion at almost seeing another Mark Grayson killed.

“You don’t think I could have ended that guy? I was just toying with him.”

“I know that. But so did he.”

No-goggles gives you a questioning look, pursing his lips and raising an eyebrow- just like your Mark used to do when thinking. You loved seeing his eyes. So expressive. Although there was also a glimmer of cruelty, of darkness which-

“You’re saying he would have trapped me in his- ah, dark dimension, or whatever.”

What an idiot.

A handsome idiot.

“Yes.”

“Yeah, I would have found a way out of there.” He crosses his arms with a smug look on his face. Were all the variants this arrogant? You guess anyone who agrees to destroy the earth twice probably has some issues you’ll have to look past.

“Were you planning on killing Dark Wing?” You ask.

“Obvvvvvviosuly.” He says, drawling for effect. He was having fun with this.

“Then you would have stranded yourself as soon as you killed him.”

He breathed in for some retort, but he was left speechless. You continued-

“You should be more careful about these kinds of inter-dimensional powers. You might be strong, but that’s useless if left without anything to punch.”

You advise him. The way you used to when you were still in-training with your Mark.

“Hmm.. noted.” And something shifted- although you weren’t sure what. But he didn’t seem to notice-

He smiled. “Got anymore tips? You can use me as a practice dummy.”

Um what.

“How fitting- you being a dummy.” You retorted, trying to revert the conversation less.. masochistic.

“Aww come on. These guys didn’t put up nearly enough of a fight. I didn’t come all the way to another dimension for a few scratches. I’ll let you get in 5 hits for free.”

“Are you.. challenging me to fight?” You honestly weren’t sure.

“We can fight if you want.”

What the hell was up with this guy?

“Uh- no. That’s not what I’m proposing-“

“Aww you’re so adorable. But you’re kind of a wimp.”

Rage, again. Bubbling up inside of you- “You better fucking-“

“Haha woah! You’re really easy to rile up!”

“You- ugh, you’re just looking for a fight, huh?”

“I’d take one, sure. Especially against someone so strategic, makes it more like a game, ya know?”

“Because you- you get some perverted pleasure from pain.”

“You’d like it too” a wicked grin finds its way on his otherwise cavalier expression, “I’m sure you would- no version of me wouldn’t.”

Hah! What a laugh. You can’t help but think of your Mark asking for some kinky pain-shit. HAH! This idiot- a giggle escapes you as you tease,

“Listen, pervert!” A big grin clapped on your face, “MY Mark was way too sweet to have ever asked me for-“

“Your Mark?”

Ah shit. You’re saying too much again.

“Oh, you’re not-“

“Im Invincible. End of story.”

“Hmm~” something darker lights up his eyes as he rakes them up and down your body. But the smile never leaves his face, “prettiest Invincible I ever saw- and you should know I think pretty highly of myself.”

What a little shit.

“You know who you kind of remind me of?” He sing-songs with putrid delight. “My old girlfriend named y/-“

He hurls through the air as you deck him square in the nose. When he CRACKS with the wall on the opposite side, red starts to dribble from his nose.

But he pops back up like a fuckin daisy-

“Again! Again! Shit y/n, you were never like this before!”

“Shut up!” You seethe, and fly at him to crack your knuckles on his cheek- right where the jaw meets the ear. CRACK!

You don’t know why him knowing who you are affects you the way it does. Maybe it’s because that version of you is dead. Or maybe you’re just not really ready to come to terms with the reality of your life. Your name- it makes it all too real. You’re not ready. Not yet.

From a few feet away, crawling out of a the newly-formed crevice on the wall to your left-

“Haheh- what a- what a woman.” He’s stumbling towards you, ready for more. “What’s that, 2? I promised 10 free hits? Shit baby.. keep em coming.”

“5. You promised 5 free hits.”

“I’ll give you 5 more” so much blood in his teeth.

“I’d kill you before we made it to 10.”

“Promise you’ll finish ‘em all even after I’m dead? All 10? Pretty please?” Lovesick and deranged, he’s still wobbling towards you.

“You- you want me to kill you?” Incredulous and a bit alarmed; you can’t help but take a step back. His eyes flick to your retreated foot-

Wrong move.

“Don’t fucking pretend you don’t want this. I’m sure- I’m sure this is what you came for? Right y/n darling? You came to this shitty planet looking for me. Well I’m here. And im ready to take whatever you can give. All you can give. And I promise to cherish it. Like I should have cherished it before you.. before you left.”

Died. Before you died. Shit, you were not prepared for this. You need time. You need to get out of here- but this invincible- this Mark won’t let you leave easily.

You weren’t prepared for Mark to want you more than you wanted him. Although you guess it made sense. Your Mark had been pretty.. doting with you as well. You hadn’t considered what he might have become if you had been the one to die instead.

But No-Goggles leaves you no time to think- he lunges at you! Wrapping you in a bear hug which pins your arms to your sides. He lets the momentum throw you both into the wall behind you, and your legs part to accompany his body.

His lips find yours as you struggle against the compromising position. But as you struggle, you notice the friction turning him on. As you kick, jab, and bite him- well, the same result.

Through breaths, he sings in your ear- a cruel taunt-

“I know who you are~”

Your blood runs cold. You shouldn’t have told him. You should have been more careful. He choruses-

“And I’m never letting you escape again~”

And you almost wanted him to make good on his promise. To be his again. Forever.

But you had to get out. You needed time to think and he was refusing you that. So, you decided to give him what he wanted.

You grind on him a little to distract him (and because it was delicious). As he moaned, you wriggled your arm out of his grip, winded up your elbow, and smacked him off your face. Hard.

He went down unconscious. You couldn’t help but gingerly check for a pulse- He was alive. And would be awake again soon. That means you only have a few hours before he would be after you again. You wanted time, but it didn’t seem you were going to get any.

You need to move on to the next target.

——

You needed to get away from these memories for a while. It was making you irrational. You had to remind yourself that none of these guys were your Mark.

But you couldn’t help it. You missed him so much. And they all were Mark. Even if not quite the right one.

But who cares? Maybe you weren’t the same person that loved that dorky nerd. Maybe you had grown into something darker.. shit, what if that dorky Mark wouldn’t even recognize you now? Would he hate you? He was so good and you’d done such awful things..

Shit. Now was not the time to have a mental break. You’d kept strong for all these years- you could NOT have a crisis in the middle of this. Not here. This was your chance at being happy again.

You needed space.

So you started flying up.

Like a rocket. Not stopping when you hit the stratosphere. Burning up a little but not caring.

Until you’re in the stars. And it’s quiet. And it’s calm.

And it’s beautiful.

Sometimes you thought about leaving Earth. If Angstrom hadn’t arrived, you might have. You might have gotten bored with the planet. Left the few survivors to rebuild or die. Maybe allowed yourself to be happy again on some distant planet. The way Omni-man did when he came to your planet. Just, reinvented himself- fucking lied to everyone- and had a good time. Until he didn’t.

Man fuck that guy.

There are grunting noises around you. In space. Is there no peace anywhere?

Turning around, you gotta scan every angle before you spot some figures in the distance.

If you were miles above Washington, then they were miles above Oregon. What a wonder super-vision and a clear horizon will do, huh?

You really couldn’t make out who it was. But considering the circumstances, it was probably a variant, and you should probably go talk to them. For the mission. Your mission.

Remember what you’re doing here.

You try to perk yourself up. Maybe this Mark will be the one. The perfect fit. Your forever fix.

But as you speed towards them, you start to make out the red and white blur. You’ve got to be fucking shitting me right now.

He’s fighting some- space crab thing. His suit is torn, and his breath is panting, so apparently it’s pretty strong. Or maybe he’s just a fucking coward like his dear old dad.

You could leave him for dead, but you decide there is a more enjoyable option.

You shoot yourself at Space Crab, flinging yourself through frictionless space as you gain more and more momentum. Pushing your knuckles out in front of you like fucking Superman, you collide with the chest of the crab-in-space at a supersonic pace.

Your body slices through the incredibly-thick shell of the crab, but at the expense of your knuckles. Fuck you were NOT expecting the fucking space crab to be so fucking durable.

Your knuckles were bleeding. And at least 4 fingers had been disjointed by the collision. It hurt like hell, but you’d heal within a few minutes. What you were really concerned about was the variant behind you seeing your injury.

You did not want to be seen as weak. Not to anyone, but especially not to him. So you continue flying. You had slowed considerably after going through the crab, but you didn’t completely stop! So you just pick the pace back up and zip the fuck out of there, at the speed of light.

Problem solved.

Now you’re somewhere over the Antarctic. Fine, no one should be here. You can take a fucking breather alone and no one can-

“You’re ignoring your mission.” Came a voice from behind you.

Fuckkkkkkk. Whipping your head around, it’s none other than Omni-Mark.

“You followed me?” You accuse him.

“You couldn’t tell? You should be more aware than that.”

This fucking-

“Must have been the vacuum of space” You retort.

You stop flying and turn towards him, hoping to catch him off guard, but he’s relentless-

“You’re ignoring your mission.”

“I have my own mission.”

At this he raises a brow, “with Angstrom?”

You remember to hide your knuckles behind your back. You sneer back- “No. not with Angstrom.”

At this he crosses his arms. If he could get more stiff; you’re sure he would. But alas, he can’t. He’s already. Too. Stiff. Poor guy. Must be the stick up his ass.

“I cannot allow you to disregard your mission.” He dictates, looking down at you.

“Didn’t I just help you? Can’t you just say ‘thanks for saving my ass against a giant space crab’ and let me go? It’s the least you could do.”

“The least I could do?” He challenges.

“Yes.” Fuck. youuu.

“My OmniMan emblem- that’s the source of this insolence?” He chides like a father to a child- and that ticks you off sooo much. But before you can act on it-

“Fine. If you must know, I killed my father because I knew I could do the job better than him. I realized he was being insincere in his position as a guardian, and so I trained to take up his mantle. When he instructed me to help him prepare Earth for the empire, I refused. And instead I killed him. But that didn’t stop the empire from coming.

“There was 20 of them, not all of them as strong as me, but strong enough to overpower me. I fought against them for a long time, but eventually they found my weaknesses. I submitted to their rule to save what I could of Earth. I knew Earth would be better off if I was its designated Viltrimite ruler. I could be as merciful as they’d let me.

“They promised to leave me as ruler, so long as I completed their test. They brought my mother and my wife- my weaknesses. They told me to kill one, but I refused to pick. They tossed a coin. I was instructed to kill her. To kill my wife. To prove my allegiance. To prove my strength. She begged me to do it, for the good of humanity. She smiled at me as I crushed her windpipe.”

you couldn’t help but feel that his wife- his weakness- was you. Your hand flew to your mouth to cover a gasp.

“Your knuckle has been injured.”

“Yes.” Was all you could say, but your eyes searched his for more- for understanding.

“I’m only telling you this because I have struck a deal with Angstrom. When we complete our mission, he will give me my wife back. If you do not fulfill your end of the bargain, my contract could be null. So you understand-“

He got right in your face. Backing up would show cowardice so you remain where you are- centimeters from him. He hooks his finger under your chin, forcing your eyes to his. He commands-

“You will complete your mission, now.”

Chills ran up your body. But you couldn’t show your reaction to him. Wouldn’t.

“He’s lying, you know.” You challenge. And you know this to be true- since his wife is you. And you certainly didn’t agree to go with this guy. He was probably your least-likely pick. Or at least he was. Maybe he was growing on you. Or maybe you were never this guy’s wife to begin with.

“Maybe.” He replies. “But I’ve taken on the risk.”

“Your wife- what was her name?”

He hesitates- the first crack in his cold demeanor. He really wasn’t lying about his devotion.

“Y/n.” He breathes. And you can tell it’s difficult for him. But it’s difficult for you too. It’s been so long since you’ve heard the name from his lips with such- sincerity. Tenderness.

Maybe you had judged too harshly at first. Maybe this could be your Mark.

“my hands still hurt form when I punched that crab for you.”

“I know.”

“Aren’t you going to thank me for my help?”

He backs away, leaving you open to the cold of space again. It’s nothing you can’t handle, but you had been enjoying the warmth.

“I had the situation under control. I knew the Crab’s hard exterior was the fool’s route to victory. You wasted your energy and weakened your best weapons in the process.”

Okay damn. Maybe not.

“Go to Melbourne. Or there will be consequences.”

And he was gone. And you were left in the emptiness of space.

—-

But you didn’t go to Melbourne.

Instead, you went to finish another job you had delayed: destroying the Guardians in their entirety.

The Teen Team HQ

Oh, you remembered Teen Teem. For those short months while you and Mark trained, you would show up at battles you saw on the news- and accidentally screw over those teenage heroes.

Mark was certain that by demonstrating your guys’ skills in front of the team, that they would certainly ask you to join. This didn’t happen though. You both were too inexperienced to do anything other than make things more difficult for the budding heroes.

But this didn’t stop Mark! He was certain getting on the team was the first stepping stone to achieving your dreams of becoming the world’s Number 1 Crime Fighting Duo.

You were never invited to the facility, but you snuck in once. Mark convinced you to follow Dupli-Kate after a battle at Hillview Park. She led you right to the top-secret base.

“Bet you I’ll make it in first!” He had whispered.

“You’re on, Grayson.” You challenged.

“Invincible!” He chided, “Call me [titlecard]!”

Of course, neither of you got in. As soon as you two tried to surpass the threshold, alarms blared, and Cecil appeared to give you a very stern talking to.

You giggle at the memory. You can’t help but feel a little giddy that those happy times were possible again- soon.

And, of course; you’re excited to see the inside of the facility this time.

But, it seemed Mark really had beat you to it.

“You’re all weaker than I expected. I was hoping for a challenge.” A variant with prominent Goggles hovered in the middle of the room.

“You- little asshole.” Hey! You recognized Rex-Splode! He was the explosions guy. Aww, he used to be one of your role models. Until you killed him, of course.

“You think you can sacrifice yourself to save your friends? You realize after I kill you, I’m just going to find them too.” Goggles taunts him.

You realize the decimated room was rather lacking in teens. So he had sent the rest of his team away, huh? How noble.

“Well maybe I just wanted it to be you and me, asshole.” Rex struggles to continue standing.

“Aww how nice. Too bad she’s here then-“ and Goggle points right at you, where you were watching from outside the broken doorway. Your stomach drops- not having expected the attention. But you recover and step through the threshold, standing at full potential.

“Ah damnit. I’ve got to fight two of you assholes?”

He uses that word a lot, you muse.

“No.” You state, “I’m only here to watch.”

“Shouldn’t you be completing your own mission?” Goggles was rather curt with you. If he had any connection with y/n, he certainly didn’t recognize her as you. Good.

“I’m here to watch.” You state again, more biting this time.

“Ah shit, is this some kind of fucked-up clone relationship thing? Whaddaya call that? Self -love?” Rex heaves out his joke, and winces at the pain it causes in his lungs.

“I don’t need a babysitter. Finish your fucking mission or we’re gonna have a problem.” Goggles seethes at you. This prick.

“Hmm, maybe more like self-hate.” Rex adds.

“No.” You repeat. You don’t know why you’re being so stubborn. But dammit today has not been easy and you are not the kind of person to be bossed around. At all. “I’m here to watch.”

“I’m not going to say it again. Fuck off to Australia!” The variant roars at you.

“Make me.”

And as soon as you say it, you’re in the air, being bulldozed backwards through walls and then pushed through night sky. The not-so-secret facility grows smaller in the distance. The variant has pinned your arms to your sides, and is pushing you backwards towards- what you can only assume is - Australia.

“What the hell are you doing?” You yell. You have to- you’re going so fast that the wind whizzing in your ears blocks out sound even for the super-of-hearing.

“I’m making sure you fulfill your end of the bargain.” He roars back.

“Why do you give so much of a fuck if I’m following the mission?”

He just glares at you in response. Your inner ear hurts from the disorientation. Shit, this guy was fast.

But you were strong. So somewhere over the Pacific, you wind up your knees to your chest, and kick him hard. As you break free from his hold, you hover in front of him.

He goes to lunge at you again, but you put your hands up in defense-

“Alright! I’ll go to Australia. Just tell me one thing-“

“You swear?”

“I swear” You try to to placate him.

He crosses his arms, and pouts a little. “What?”

“What was your deal? With Angstrom?”

He narrows his eyes at you, suspicious. “Why do you want to know?”

“That’s why you want me to go to Australia so bad, right? Because if I don’t, I could nullify the deal, or whatever.” You watch him closely, looking for any confirmation, And you won’t get what you want?”

A clenching of his fingertips confirmed that you were right- you recognized it as one of Mark’s tells.

He deflects, “Why are you asking this?”

“What’s in it for you? What do you get in the bargain?” You demanded. A sneaking suspicion writhed itself in your gut, which you were afraid to confirm. But you had to.

He sighs-

“did you have a y/n in your universe?”

Shit.

He continues, “well I did in mine. And I want her back. Happy?”

Happy? Maybe? Overjoyed? Terrified? And royally pissed at Angstrom?

“I’ll be happy when this is over.” Is all you manage to say. Then, quieter, “I’ll complete my mission now.”

He pauses, looking at you strangely, like he’s working out a puzzle.

But you don’t give him time to solve it. “I’m going now.” And as you start to fly away- “oh! And Mark?”

You look back at him, and his breath hitches. You smile a little- that signature little smile of yours~

“Thanks for telling me.”

And with that you zoom off.

—

Melbourne is in ruins.

Fires rage, rubble is all that remains of any form of civilization, and even the screams have already begun dying out.

Someone has completed your mission for you.

“Where have you been?”

You turn in the air to see the monochrome figure of the Viltrimite variant hovering a few feet away from you- you really needed to stop letting these guys sneak up on you. Especially these Viltrimite types.

“You didn’t need to do this.” You keep your tone even- “I had it under control, and even if I hadn’t I would not have accepted your help” You spat.

You didn’t like Viltrimites. You hadn’t had much experience with them; the only real Viltrimites you had ever interacted with were OmniMan and Anissa. After the coward OmniMan killed the love of your life, you never saw him again. When Anissa came, she was too late to conquer the planet; you had already destroyed it.

So to see this variant of your beloved Mark sporting the insignia which was responsible for his death? Absolutely Abhorrent.

The entire mindset of the Viltrimites is fucked up. It’s pretty cultish if you think about it. I mean what kind of a dumbass motherfucker do you have to be to buy into-

“I know who you are.”

Shit!

How the fuck does he know? Is he talking about what you think he’s talking about? You hadn’t even talked to the guy how could he have- what do you do? Why’s he staring at you like that?

“What?” Is all you manage to choke out.

“I know who you are. You’re my y/n.”

My y/n?

Shit, how many of these variants did Angstrom promise you to?? It couldn’t be.. all of them; could it?

“I did this for you.” He speaks.

And he gestures around himself, slowly, gracefully. His eyes never leaving yours.

You look around. The devastation. The mission.

“Why?” You ask.

“I was waiting for you. You should have been here sooner, but were obviously delayed. I decided the completion of your mission would be the optimal use of my time. Consider it a.. gesture of my unwavering affection.”

You swallow. Hard. Something about the hungry look in his eye unnerves you. Like his composure is all a facade he is barely restraining. But there is also something.. pleading in his gaze.

“Your.. affection?” You question, dumbly- you know the answer. You fear it nonetheless.

“For you.”

Fuck. You did not want the Viltrimite version of your dead boyfriend to be your forever beaux. But the utter longing in his eyes assure you he won’t be easy to get rid of- not by a long shot.

Still, you try-

“I’m not interested. I have no fondness for Viltrimites” you sneer at him. You try to.

“You enjoy the splendors of our powers but lack the conviction of our culture…” he pauses for a moment, in thought. Then, “You’re a hypocrite. But it’s a malady I’m prepared to attend to.” He is all caressing authority and cold devotion.

“Attend to it somewhere else- I’m not fucking interested” you sneer at him.

“You will be happy with me.” He is inching closer to you, arms extended.

“I won’t.” You defy, slowly backing up.

“You will! I know you will.”

“I won’t!” You cry out, but he has been smart. Hovering slightly above you has been backing you up closer and closer to the ground. Damn, if your Mark could see you now- he’d certainly critique you for losing your high-ground advantage.

“But you will. I know you will.” You’re getting very close to the ground now.

“You can’t know that!” You throw back at him.

“I do. Because she was happy too!”

Shit. His version of you. Was she happy with him? It didn’t matter. You couldn’t be.

“I’m not her!” Your voice is more pleading than you intended- you shouldn’t be allowing him to dominate the space between you, but you couldn’t help it. The day had been so taxing on your emotions.

“You are her. Your voice is hers, your breath is hers, your eyes are hers, your face-” And he’s reaching for your mask.

you try to back away out of his range- but you hit ground where you wish there was escape. His fingers slip under the fabric, and before you know it, you are bare-faced for the world.

The wind is cool on your fresh skin; the fires are warm.

“Your face is hers” he confirms, breathlessly. Lovingly. Relieved.

You look up at him. You can see his eyes, his lips, his nose, his cheeks. You can see Mark Grayson.

“I haven’t taken my mask off in years” you confess.

He smiles, still gripping your mask in one hand.

“You won’t have to put it on ever again” he coos.

“That sounds.. nice” tears form in your eyes, “but also- awful.”

“Aww, darling~” and he comes to sit next to you in the sand; he cradles your head with two strong arms, and babies you the way someone might console a lost kitten, “you’re not going to be anyone else now except for y/n. My y/n.”

“No- no you don’t understand,” but your protestations are weak, “I’m not her anymore. I’m- I’m Invincible now. It’s what I have to do for- for you. I mean, not you, but for Mark. My Mark-“

He coos at you as you say those words- ‘My Mark.’

Oh, your Mark. The ultimate betrayal. Here you were in the arms of a Viltrimite version of him, taking off the suit which linked you to him, and abusing the powers you have thanks to him.

And it makes you want to cry.

You do a little. Allow yourself this small concession after being strong for so long. And Mark is there to hold you together. Oh God, he’s here.

Except he’s not very comforting.

He’s certainly trying, but he’s not very good at it.

He’s stiff. He’s eager- too eager. His embrace is too forged. It’s cage-like and cold. It presses in too hard, and in the wrong places.

You rub your eyes. You need to get a hold of yourself- you try to take back control of the conversation-

“How did you know it was me?”

“It was obvious as soon as I saw you” he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, but it falls again anyway. He continues, “Viltrimites are able to identify one another from distant ranges by memorizing the heartbeat pattern of the individual. Yours is.. the same- exactly the same as it was before.”

Shit. This guy was hardcore.

“How did she die?”

He hesitates. Doesn’t move at all. He stares at you, though. Never blinking. Finally,

“Old age.”

Old age? How the hell could she have died of old age? Unless-

“How- how could she have- how old are you?” You breathe out as the realization hits you.

He stands. He looks down on you, his body casting a shadow on your form- sheilding you from the firelight of a dying city.

“132.”

Oh hell no.

There was no way you were spending the rest of your life with this old ass man. 132?? He had plenty of time to enjoy you- other you. You did not need this shit-

“She was very happy on Viltrum” he reasons with you as your legs find strength to stand up. He continues-

“She lived a long and prosperous life. She provided me with several legacies-“

Legacies??

“Listen,” you interrupt his rambling. “I think I need to go now.”

“You don’t understand what it’s like!” His desperation blazes to anger, “to have a longer lifespan than your mate. To have to watch her wither away!

“I loved her- formed an attachment where I was not juristicted to do so. I forged a life for her on Viltrum. Despite her inferior birth! And then I had to watch the consequences of my attachment! She died in my arms! Weak and suffering! And I am meant to- what? Continue living? For how long?”

He weakens, grabs ahold of your arms- tender finally, “Y/n, I cannot endure these years ahead without you.”

You melted a little. Because you understood. The heartbreak endured by the loss of half of this duo. The lengths you both would go to in order to retrieve the missing piece.

But, you couldn’t choose him. At least- at least not right now.

So you started shaking him off you- for the fifth time today you needed space. Time. A moment to think.

But he wouldn’t let you have that.

“No.” His hold tightens as you squirm against him, “no, I won’t let you leave me again.”

“You don’t have a choice” you shove your arms open- breaking his hold on you.

“My mission is done! Your mission is done! We’re leaving. Now.” His patience is growing thin, you can tell.

“I’m not going with you!”

“You leave me no choice.”

The wind shifts, and you struggle to breathe! A muscled arm presses down on your windpipe. You feel the expanse of a warm, strong body behind you- pressing into you. Somehow, with a swiftness your earth had never seen, he had gotten behind you. His arm help your throat in a chokehold, and another arm tied around your waist, pinning your arms, and promising to never let go.

“Let it happen, dear” he coos in your ear. “When you wake up, we will be home again” your vision was starting to black out, “and we will live to see stars burn out” your struggling was growing weaker, “and we will be together until we die.”

No no no no this can’t happen! You’re supposed to find your Mark! You made a deal. You had a mission. But the world was getting dizzy~ and you could feel yourself weakening~

A thunder crack and you could breathe again. Inhaling a gasp, you see your Viltrimite abducter on the ground.. pinned down by..

The variant with the full mask.

As oxygen rushed back into your brain, you made sense of what happened: the hooded Invincible had thrown himself into his Viltrimite counterpart- to save you.

Still atop the monochrome menace, he turned his face to you-

You were clutching the ground, still heaving in air. You wanted to thank him, but the Viltrimite recovered too quickly. Taking advantage of Masked Mark’s attention on you, the Viltrimite landed a hard punch on the fabric-covered face.

But Mark was always quick to recover. A punch there, a kick there. Pinning each other mercilessly to the ground. Until finally your masked crusader had the advantage again- for how long though, you weren’t sure. The two were so evenly matched.

But while pushing Viltrimite-face into the dirt, Invinsible looked back at you, again. His gaze was so powerful, despite his eyes being veiled.

You wondered how he would look underneath it all. Would he be the same?

But his gaze was pointed now- he’s telling you to go, you realize.

Oh Mark, you always jumped at the chance to save me.

You want to help, but the white-clad figure is up again, breaking Mark’s attention on you. You know it’s best to move on.

So with one mission completed, and the other entirely fucked- you speed away yet again. Leaving two versions of your love to make each other bleed.

How poetic.

——

You need somewhere quiet. Somewhere you feel comfortable enough to slow down and process all that has happened. Somewhere you feel safe.

Mark’s house.

You’re back where it started. A few doors down, you recognize your house- barely. The lawn was all wrong. And the paint colors were too orange. Your house was a beautiful blue and brown. The big maple tree in your front yard was just an old stump.

Had your family redecorated when you died in this world? How did you die? Or had they moved away, and this was the tasteless assortment of an entirely new family? What about your family in your own world? Were they somehow still alive? You hadn’t killed them directly, but with all the violence, you wouldn’t be surprised. Were they waiting for you? Did they miss you? Or had they redecorated too?

Ugh! These existential questions made your brain hurt. You needto resolve the tension in your head.

The living room was exactly how you remembered. The kitchen was exactly how you remembered. The stairs were exactly how you remembered.

Would Mark’s room be the same? You bite your lip as you stand outside the door.

You try to imagine the lives of each of the Marks you had encountered. How different they had all been. What did each of their rooms look like? White Viltrimite coldness? Bloodied wallpaper? A mansion’s plush king bed? Posters of Omni Man on the walls? Pictures of you?

But when you open the door, you gasp. It was so.. unexpected:

It was exactly the same as you remembered.

The seance dog poster, the collections of comic books, the blue sweaters hanging in the closet.

This.

This!! This was your Mark! Of course it was! Your Mark was a hero! He wasn’t one of those sadists destroying the world! How could you have forgotten??

And then you heard the front door open-

“Mom?” A ragged breath called out downstairs- “mom I’m hurt! Where are you?”

It was him! It had to be him, back from saving the world.

You couldn’t help it. Finally things seemed clear to you! Finally you knew what you were fighting for/ What you really wanted.

You rush down the stairs, ready to hold him in your arms. To make him love you if you have to-

A Mohawk.

Mark doesn’t have a Mohawk.

To be fair, he looks just as surprised to see you. Until he starts to look annoyed, and you realize he is not hurt as he starts to whine-

“Aw what the hell, you’re not mom-“ he stops, so suddenly. And stares. At you. All bravado gone, mouth gaping open like a dead fish. Just, staring. Then,

“..y/n?”

Ah dammit, your mask! You lost your mask when dealing with the Viltrimite!

“Is it..” he whispers, “is it really you?”

You don’t even recognize the man in front of you now- all his cockish arrogance dissipated and baked into something gooey and sweet.

“Look, I know what you’re going to say- but I’m not going with you- anywhere.” You start backing up the stairs again- “You can’t have me forever or whatever the fuck- so don’t try to-“

“That’s okay!” He hastily steps toward your retreating form, “all I asked for was a few minutes!”

“What?”

“My deal with Angstrom- I get to say goodbye.”

Oh God. Your heartstrings couldn’t help but play a sympathetic tune. This little annoying fucking prick asshole only asked for- a goodbye?

“What do you mean?” You try to keep your voice level. Steady girl.

“I-“ he sighs. “I lost my y/n. Dad killed her- in front of me. Said she was weak. Said she made me weak.” He looks down in anger, recalling the memory through blazing eyes. But then he looks up again, softer, at you- “I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to tell her how much she- that I loved her. Y/N, I love you.”

Your heart clenches, how long had it been since you’d heard those words from Mark Grayson?

Your feet barely make a sound on the stairs as you descend towards the boy who had professed his heart.

“I-“ maybe this was okay to say. Maybe, because he only wanted this moment, you could allow yourself to indulge. Maybe you deserved to have this just as much as he did, “I love you too.”

And his lips find yours. Needy.

You think maybe you should pull away.

But his hands find your neck. Delicate.

And your arms find his shoulder blades. Desperate.

He’s a gentlemen; sweet and chaste. Until he’s not. Very quickly you’re reminded the nature of this variant.

His tongue is insatiable. It explores your mouth with hostility, and you’re pleasantly surprised to feel the cold smooth of a piercing purring itself across your hard palate.

His hands are naughty little explorers as well. They grope and squeeze anywhere they can find purchase, although they linger on your waist, the small of your back, your hair, and definitely your tits. He flicks your nip with his thumb, then returns to it with gentle fingers- feeling the nib grow slowly hard. He repeats the process, growling at the slow increase in sharpness.

You even allow him to grab handfuls of ass. For all his exploring, he discovers that pinching your ass causes you to yelp a little bit- which he loves.

But soon you can’t ignore the growing bulge in the crotch of his suit. And as he reaches for the tiny hidden zipper under your left arm (which of course he knows where the zipper is) you know you have to pull away. You only manage a few inches.

“Ah please baby- I’ve been waiting for this for years” he rasps out, refusing to fully let you go.

“This isn’t a good idea, I- I can’t.” You say, voice light but stiff.

“I forgot how good you kissed. Fuck, I need more babe.”

“That’s all you get.” You wipe your mouth- you gotta get ahold of yourself!

“But- Angstrom. I did my shit. I get more time with you!” His voice has that vulnerable waver in it again now, but it’s edged with something sharper.

“Time’s up.” You step back. This was nice, but you had to get your priorities straight! Only a few moments ago you had chosen your Mark Grayson- and it wasn’t the horny and pleading man in front of you now.

“No, I- c’mon. You- you said you loved me?” He was trying to rebuild his asshole facade, but it was collapsing in on him.

“I meant it.” You did.

“Then, you don’t have to go.” He smiled. An idea latching on in his brain. Uh oh. “Yes! Yeah, cmon. You and I- we could just, we could stay together. Do whatever we wanted. We were fire baby, let’s do it again.”

“No, Mark.”

Hearing his name caught him off guard, and for a moment you thought it might be enough to revert him back to that pleading puppy he was when he confessed his loved for you. Maybe it was enough for convince him to let you go.

It wasn’t.

His fiery eyes reignited tenfold, “Ohhhh baby” he whines- “say it again.”

“Stop it Mark.”

He shivers. “Yeah just like that.”

“You got your moment” you chide. “It’s over now. Get a grip or I‘ll smack you.”

He guffaws. You stand straighter, “I won’t warn you again.”

He’s right in your face in an instant- “you like being smacked a little. I remember. Dirty girl~”

CRACK!

and he was on the ground. Once again, you check for a pulse. He’ll reawaken soon. But for now, you need to begin the second part of your mission:

Secure a spot at the side of your chosen Mark.

And you know just where to look.

—

The pentagon.

Under several layers of ground of concrete, on the B6 floor, there is a top secret hospital wing. In room A2 of this wing, in the recovery unit, two of the strongest individuals on Earth are holding hands.

Eve Wilkins, who had fought valiantly, lays catatonic on the hospital bed. Her leg is crushed, but her heart now beeps rhythmically.

Mark Grayson, who could not protect her, sits beside her. Holding her hand gently at his forehead. He ignores the pleas of an old man.

“Mark, she is in the best hands. I can assure you that as soon as she wakes up, I will alert you. But right now, Earth needs you. You need to get out there, Mark.”

“No. No I’m not leaving her again.”

“Dammit Mark, lock the fuck in. I’m losing heroes left and right. They’re dropping like flies out there. Your brother is out there, Mark. Oliver.”

But the hero remains silent.

“Mark-“

“Sorry, sir. But we’ve got intel on one of the hostiles-“ a strawberry blonde man pokes his head in the room.

“Wha- fine. What is it, Donald?”

“The docile party- the one who doesn’t attack and who might have saved Rex Splode?”

“The girl?”

“Ah- yes, sir. We’ve acquired some new footage of her without her mask. It seems she is not a version of Mark at all.”

Great, cuz Mark’s been pissing me off.

“Who the hell is she?”

“We’ve run her face through our databases, and it seems she is- well, most likely a version of-“ the strawberry blonde man glances at the stoic hero still grave over the hospital bed, but continues- “y/n.”

—

The pentagon would be difficult to overpower. But you weren’t really looking to overpower it anyways. You just needed to make yourself seen.

Honestly, it was a miracle you hadn’t seen the Mark of this world already. Wasn’t he supposed to be protecting the earth? Where the hell was he?

Of course, you hadn’t been doing all that much fighting. You suppose you hadn’t made yourself a priority to a defender of earth.

You need to change that.

As you weave between skyscrapers, you make a mental note: don’t kill civilians. Your new Mark probably wouldn’t appreciate that. Could you still convince him to be with you despite all the damage you’d caused? He would still love you in this world.. right?

SHIT! Your eyes are dizzy as you are flipped belly-up, and rocketed upwards- WHAT THE HELL-

Getting your bearings a little, you realize you are being carried bridal style, and shooting up above the skyline.

“AHHH!! HEYYY!!” you scream blindly. You thrash about a bit, but you’re too disoriented to break the grip of your kidnapper.

Maybe it’s my new Mark? Finally come to pay me some attention?

“Hush now, I’ve got you, y/n.” A variant with Viltrimite logos on his shoulders, and a crisp voice soothes you. Or attempts to.

Damn. No such luck.

You’re tired of this. You jolt your legs up and flip over and out of his grasp. You’re not dizzy this time. No, you’re prepared now.

“Let me guess!” You huff, “you’re in love with me. Angstrom promised you could have me. You saw me flying by, and recognized me. You think you can forcefully claim me. Maybe that worked with your old y/n. But it won’t work with me.”

His eyes are wide with surprise.

“Ah, so Angstrom filled you in already? Good. That will make-“

“NO!” You huff. “Angstrom did NOT fill me in! I figured that out by MYSELF. Because apparently I am the ONLY Invincible who uses their brain. If you would use YOUR brain, you would turn around and leave me the hell alone!”

A moment.

He stared at you.

You huffed a bit.

You shoved a strand of hair of of your face.

And then he laughed.

A large, crystal clear laugh. It rung and sang out.

“I am-“ he stifles a giggle, “I am not used to you being so obstinate.”

“No,” you say flatly, “I’m sure you’re used to getting everything you want.”

“Ahh” he touches his finger to his nose, and winks at you- “that I am.”

You decide you’re going to kick this guy’s teeth in. But how many teeth? It depends. He is sporting two Viltrimite logos. But if past incidents are anything to go by, that’s neither here nor there.

You decide you need to gauge how much you hate this guy.

“So you’re another one of those Viltrum sycophants?”

“Ha! More than that. I am Viltrum’s emperor.”

Alright. So screw this guy!

Your leg is at his jaw in a fraction of a second, ready to kick sense into this guy by kicking some wisdoms out.

But he has caught your ankle in a- delicate- embrace.

Oh fuck.

This guy was insanely fast.

“I’ve enjoyed watching you toddle about with your stolen powers, but- word of advice?” Blinding pain. Agonizing pain in your ankle. He’s broken it, there’s bone protruding. “-don’t fuck with the guy that challenged the most powerful being in the universe and won.”

Your heart is in your stomach. Your hairs stand on end. Your nervous system feels like it’s trying to simultaneously jolt itself awake and into oblivion.

You’re fucking scared.

“AAH!” You cry out again as he releases your ankle. It drops deftly below you.

“Sorry about that, truly.” The predator states with sympathetic eyes- “it’s all tactical, really.”

Blood is gushing out of your ankle, you wonder how long the droplets will take drop on the city below?

“Lambs- you see. When lambs start to wander off from the herd, a Shepard will break its legs. The lamb has to rely on him. So the Shepard will carry the lamb around his shoulders, feeding it and keeping it warm. Until it learns a dependency. So, even when the lamb can walk again- it will never walk far from its loving Shepard.”

His teeth glint as he offers a tiny grin.

You feel yourself become lightheaded. You need to get out of here.

But he’s on you too fast. He offers an arm to you, but you do not take it. You try to back away, but he is insistent. He grabs your hands and wraps them into the crook of his arm.

Pretending to be a gentleman.

He’s not a gentleman. He’s not a Shepard. He’s a wolf.

He’s worse than a wolf. He’s the fucking emperor of Viltrum. You start to really take in what that means. How someone would go about becoming the leader of a warrior species. What they would have to do. What this man had obviously done. Had he killed the emperor before him? That’s.. beyond what you had thought possible. This couldn’t fathomably be Mark Grayson. Your sweet Mark Grayson. And yet it was.

It was at this moment you finally had to contend with yourself;

your Mark was always deranged.

Your Mark had fed you blood. His blood. For months. Without telling you.

Whether he could punch through the core of the Earth or not, Mark Grayson would always be.. fucked.

But strangely, the thought was comforting. It reassured you- that maybe you were not so alone and awful as you had thought.

Taking into consideration everything you had witnessed today- you were finally able to console yourself on one horrible fear which had followed you since Mark had died-

No matter what, Mark Grayson would always love you.

You almost smiled.

“We’ll be happy together, sweet lamb.”

Almost.

—

Fuck. It couldn’t really be you, could it? You had been gone so long, ever since..

No it probably wasn’t you. Don’t get your hopes up, Grayson.

Even if Donald had said the blurry photo of your face was a 90% match.

FUCK! Even just seeing your face- however blurry- was painful and perfect and horrible and wonderful and-

DAMMIT!! What the hell is a guy supposed to do in this scenario? SHIT what was he gonna tell Eve?

Eve is gonna be pissed.

I mean, as soon as Donald mentioned your name, he was up off that hospital bed. He was demanding where you were, how certain they were it was you, what you had been doing, how this was even possible…

And SHITTTT you were wearing HIS SUIT?? FUCK, you had to come back swinging, didn’t you?

But that was JUST LIKE YOU! Of course you would make some grand entrance back into his life. Of course you would be this perfect mess of contradictions.

Making him second guess himself!!

You bear his insignia, but you show up with versions of him intent on destroying the Earth. But you aren’t destroying the earth. But you aren’t exactly helping, either. You look like his first love, but you don’t love him back? Are you on his side? Do you care about him?

FUCK!

He feels like he’s in grade school again. He feels like he’s watching you kiss Toby Fichte at camp again. He feels like he’s playing superheroes with towels for capes in the backyard again. He feels like you’re sitting together, eating sliced apples again. He feels like he’s holding your cold body, and crying out your name again.

And he’s chasing after you again, too.

He can’t help it.

He loves you. No matter what.

He’s speeding towards the Seattle skyline, searching for you, when he catches the faintest smell. It’s sliced apples. It’s campgrounds. It’s comic book pages. It’s clean towels. For a moment, he’s home.

But then he catches something else-

Copper.

—————————————————————————

Wow! Okay so that was WAY LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE!!

I hope you enjoyed!! I took a good amount of creative liberties (I only watch the show, and although I did some research- I didn’t want to spend more nights working on this than I already had). I tried to get all my favorite variants a good chunk of screen time!!

I’d love to hear your thoughts, and if you’d like a part 2! Also which variant do you think you would choose?

Anyways; much love, and thank you for reading my VERY LONG post. Be well!! :)

[gtgbabie0]

hi beautiful! could you do pre-crash!lottie head cannons similar to your wildness!lottie one? thank you! :)💐

⋆⁺ ✮⋆⁺ Pre-Crash!Lottie Matthews x Reader

synopsis: {relationship headcannons after getting rescued from the wilderness} warnings: 18+ at the end.

AN// so sorry this took months, I hit a bit of a mental block. hope you enjoy <3 we will all ignore that I mixed up post and pre here— I can’t anymore.

♡︎ The pair of you were inseparable out in the wilderness, attached to the hip, then you got rescued, and things took a complete one-eighty for both the better and the worse.

♡︎ You had tired to desperately to stay with her, to stop them from taking her away but you were only met with a bunch of legal jargon that made little to no sense to your already fragile mind— instead you made a promise for both your sakes to get better so hopefully you’ll see her once again.

“It’ll be okay Lot— we’ll be okay.” You murmur the same words as she did to you, hands clasped tightly around her own as if to tether yourself to her. Lottie wouldn’t blink so much, let alone talk, not even a peep. “I’ll write to you every day,” and before she was whisked away, her fingers tightened the tiniest bit around your palm— a feeling that lingered for months.

♡︎ Lottie would read and reread those letters almost every single day and in return you’d get a few replies throughout the months telling you all about her week and such— a back and forth of longing, all those scribbled, “I miss yous” “I love yous” the paragraphs where she’d describe how desperately she wanted to see you, hug you and all the things she wanted to do when she was released. It gave you the strength to keep up with your own therapy and umpteen doctor appointments.

♡︎ Seeing you for the first time in months nearly took the poor girl out— hell, it almost brought you to your knees. Watching her rush over to you, dropping her bag and throwing her arms around your shoulder as if she was finally coming home after a long trip.

“You’re here, you really came,” and despite everything, it was still her. The same girl who’d paint your nails and do your makeup, who’d hold your pinky beneath tables and admire you from across the classroom. “Course I am, I promised.” You only dare to pull back an inch, hands cupping her face as she stares up at you with deep, brown, glossy eyes.

♡︎ Lottie found it really hard to settle in at first, she would have bad days like anyone— but sometimes these days would be really bad, often turning to weeks depending on the circumstances.

♡︎ There were times when she wouldn’t talk, words wedged in the back of her throat, her face just a blank expression, like she was light years away— swept up in her own mind. You always kept close to her, gently brushing your fingertips along the back of her hand to let her know you were still there, softly whispering reassuring words to her. Then, eventually, you’d get a small smile or she’d wordlessly reach out for you, slowly coming back to reality.

“Oh, there she is.” you tease her at the sight of her smile widening at your tender touch, although there was relief in your eyes that was unmissable, and she’d respond with a soft, “I never left.”

♡︎ You would learn her triggers quickly— straying away from loud noises and any sudden movements or anything else that might cause her to retreat back into herself.

♡︎ Lottie’s medication kept her afloat for the most part, although it didn’t prevent nightmares that felt a little too familiar. Warped memories that have been engraved into her mind, coming back to haunt her until she’s jostling from her sleep with a ragged, almost pained gasp— a noise just shy of a scream that would wake you immediately.

“Hey, Lottie— hey, hey.” your tone slightly rough from sleep as you slowly push yourself up, hands gently reaching out to cup her teary face, grounding her. “You’re okay, you’re safe, Lot.” you would try to soothe her, wiping away her tears and guiding her breaths as she clings to you with a sob. “You’re home, baby, you’re home.”

♡︎ Those nights were spent watching late-night television, holding her close to you and playing with her hair until she either fell back asleep or the sun rose.

♡︎ She would feel awful about keeping you up at ungodly hours of the night because her mind decided to take an unwanted trip down memory lane.

“You can go back to sleep, I’ll be fine,” she murmurs, face tucked beneath your chin, words muffled against your collarbones as her arms tighten around you. “Not until you’re okay,” and Lottie knew it was a losing argument; you were stubborn when it came to her.

♡︎ Pampering was a must— whether it be morning or night or the whole day. Sometimes the pair of you just needed the rejuvenating and what better way to do so then to spend hours looking after each other.

“You’re so pretty,” Lottie's voice was just shy of a whisper as her fingertips ever so gently caressing the apple of your cheeks. “Yeah, even with this ridiculous face mask on?” You smirk, and she replies with an eager nod, leaning forwards to steal a kiss from your lips. “Mhm, especially with the face mask on, honey.”

♡︎ Lottie loves to keep busy with you in any and all ways possible— all that time out in the wilderness made you forget the fun parts of life like baking together, arts and craft nights, fruit picking during the summer and going to the local pumpkin patch during the autumn. She had a list of all the things she wanted to do written in her journal.

“I’m never taking it off.” Lottie beams, her deep brown eyes watching you gently clasp the bracelet you had made around her wrist— a perfect fit. “Thank you, baby.” She’s all giddy, and it makes you giddy as she leans over to press a kiss to your cheek.

♡18+ from this point♡

♡︎ It would take a while for Lottie to be comfortable getting intimate again after everything she had been through— not to mention her medication affects her sex drive.

♡ ︎Lottie enjoys it slow and loving— open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and neck and tender hands tracing over her curves, really gets her going— after all she loves to be adored.

“I’ve got you, just relax f’me.” your words muffled into the crook of her neck as you brush a lingering kiss against the underside of her jaw— her hands grasping at your shirt, unable to stop herself from moaning. “Mm, please— I want you closer.” her back arches up into your touch as your mouth descends her body.

♡ You often took the lead to begin with, but it was she who was in full control— you were at her every command and she trusted you completely, trust was a really big thing for Lottie.

♡ On those nights where one of you would wake up from a terrible nightmare and needed to be close— to feel the thrum of the others' steady heartbeat and the heat of skin against skin, you would bathe together— that’s how you’d both come to find a deep appreciation for it. You would buy bath soaks and oils, all that jazz, just for those special occasions.

“Pretty girl.” Lottie's voice was as soft as silk, her arms wrapped around your waist as she sits behind you in the bathtub— her face pressed into the crook of your neck, kissing along the dewy skin of your shoulder. “How’re you feeling now?” her question is met with a small whimpering noise from the back of your throat as you lie back against her chest, her hand slipping between your thighs. “I’m here, baby, just relax.”

♡ Once she was more comfortable, she wouldn’t mind initiating things, wanting to make you feel just as good as you made her feel— it wasn’t a hard job considering she remembered your body like the back of her hand, where to kiss and push and bite.

♡ Experimenting with Lottie was fun— a shock at first when she suddenly came to you one night all shy and red in the cheeks, stuttering, but once she explained, you were all in, and eventually this left you with quite a nice collection of vibrators and strap-ons.

♡ Lottie's strap game is crazy— like in the mind-numbing type of way that leaves you feeling her inside you for days after. And she’s so vocal too, whether she’s giving or receiving. It always leaves you aching for more of her.

“There you go pretty girl, take it all f’me.” or "Such a greedy girl, taking me so deep, huh?" as she’s fucking you into the mattress, hands grasping your hips, moaning like she can feel you cum around her strap. I need her.

[screaminglygay]

No way back

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

summary: you and natasha joined S.H.I.E.L.D. at the same time, but you're the only one who feels truly at home. while you find your footing, natasha struggles with the unfamiliarity of it all - new people, new rules, and the overwhelming sense that she doesn’t quite belong, but you try your best to make her feel like she´s at home

warnings: slow burn, teasing, kissing, fighting, swearing, light angst, overthinking, Natasha feeling out of place, mentions of a brother's passing, emotional vulnerability

word count: 9.6k

an: thank you for the request!! i had fun writing it, once again sorry it took me forever, the next two parts will be even more angsty!!

part one I part two I part three

The air in the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility was thick with unspoken words. Conversations lowered to hushed tones whenever she walked past. The few who didn’t bother whispering let their disapproval show in glances, in the way their shoulders stiffened when she entered a room.

Natasha Romanoff was used to isolation. But this? This was different. It wasn’t just suspicion, it was hatred.

The KGB had collapsed, and the Red Room along with it. She was one of the lucky few who got a second chance, but the agents here didn’t see it that way. To them, she wasn’t just a recruit, she was an enemy, a traitor, a remnant of something they wanted erased. They didn’t see a woman trying to rebuild herself, only the ghost of something they despised.

And yet, there was you.

Bright-eyed and eager, just another fresh recruit with no bloodstained history weighing you down. You weren’t a Widow. You weren’t special. But you were kind. And unlike everyone else, you didn’t look at her like she was something vile.

Natasha noticed it from the start, the way your gaze didn’t linger with wariness, the way your voice didn’t lower when she was near. And when she entered the training room that afternoon, she noticed you again.

The training mats were filled with recruits testing their combat skills. You were off to the side, holding pads for another agent, excitement lighting up your features as you explained something with your hands moving animatedly.

Natasha didn’t care for small talk, but something about the way you smiled… so open, so easy, made her pause.

Moments later, she was called up for testing. Evaluating abilities, strengths, weaknesses. Seeing where she fit. She knew how they expected her to perform, like a ruthless machine. So she did. She made quick work of her opponents, every strike precise, efficient. No wasted movement. No hesitation. When she finally stepped off the mat, there was silence. Not admiration, not respect, just discomfort. A reminder that she wasn’t one of them.

And then you spoke.

"That was insane." Your voice cut through the tension, bright and impressed, not a hint of unease. "How the hell did you move like that?"

Natasha blinked. People didn’t usually direct questions at her unless they had to.

You took her silence as an invitation to continue, unfazed. "I mean, I know it’s years of training and all, but-" you gestured vaguely, still catching your breath from your own sparring match. "That was like some ninja stuff ."

She just stared, unsure what to do with the unexpected enthusiasm directed her way. You were still looking at her, waiting, expecting an answer. No hostility, no apprehension.

She exhaled sharply. "Practice."

You grinned. "Yeah? Guess I should be practicing a hell of a lot more, then." You chuckle. You are not a bad at this, no. You are fast and quick, but these moves, that Natasha made… they were something else.

Natasha almost smirked, but before she could respond, your instructor called for a break. The recruits scattered, finding their usual groups.

She didn’t have one. She was used to sitting alone. It didn’t bother her.

But then-

"Hey, uh, you good?" Your voice again. You were standing in front of her now, holding two water bottles, offering one out. "You kinda just wrecked everyone, figured you might need this."

She eyed the bottle warily before taking it. "Thanks."

You sat down beside her without invitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Natasha waited for the hesitation, the awkward excuse to leave, but it didn’t come.

After many days of training, it became more harsher and more exhausting, you knew it was S.H.I.E.L.D. testing you, trying to sort just the best one, but it was a lot, but not for her, at least it didn´t look like it.

Natasha sat in the corner of the training room, carefully adjusting the bandages wrapped around her hand. It wasn’t a bad injury, just a scrape from earlier drills, but the fabric had stuck to the wound. She barely reacted to the discomfort, her expression cold as ever.

You noticed, though. "Hey, looks like that’s stuck. You need help?" you asked, crouching beside her.

Natasha didn’t even look up. "No."

You grinned, undeterred. "I wasn’t really asking." Before she could pull away, you were already untying the bandages with quick, precise fingers. The fabric peeled away from her skin, and Natasha finally looked at you, her sharp green eyes studying you, not with anger, but with something closer to surprise. She didn’t say anything. Just watched.

"There," you said, satisfied. "That’s better, right?"

Natasha flexed her fingers slightly, testing. "I suppose."

You took that as a win.

From that moment, you made it your mission to include Natasha, whether she wanted it or not. It wasn’t hard, everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. liked you. You were warm, helpful, and easy to talk to. Even the most hardened agents softened in your presence. But when it came to Natasha, people kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones when she passed by, leaving her to sit alone during briefings.

You weren’t having it.

Every conversation, every briefing, every group training, if you were there, you made sure Natasha was a part of it. When you laughed at a joke, you turned to see if she was listening. When you partnered up for drills, you dragged her into the mix. If she tried to stay in the background, you pulled her forward. At first, people didn’t know what to do with it. Some just stared. Some whispered. But you? You smiled at Natasha like she was just another teammate, not the ex-KGB assassin everyone was afraid of. And eventually, even if she didn’t say it, you could tell, she appraciated it.

She appraciate you.

You weren’t exactly sure when things started to shift. Maybe it was during that one mission, the first time you and Natasha had to rely on each other for real. A simple recon op that went sideways, forcing you and her to fight back-to-back. It was the first time she saw you as more than just the kind recruit who wouldn’t leave her alone. The first time she saw that you could handle yourself.

By the time you both got back to base, bruised but victorious, something had changed. It wasn’t big, not yet. Just small moments.

The way Natasha sat closer during briefings, the way her gaze lingered when you spoke. Like she was watching, waiting, trying to figure you out.

So you decided to push things a little further, trying to make her feel more… comfortable and safe. Make her feel more like she belongs here.

"Come with me," you said one evening, right after dinner.

Natasha raised a brow. "Where?"

"The shooting range." You said simply.

She studied you for a long moment. "At this hour? There won’t be anyone else."

"Nope," you grinned. "Just us. I wanted to see the real things you can do with a gun. And I want you to teach me."

Natasha folded her arms, the corner of her lips twitching. "You don’t think it’s- "

"Scary?" you interrupted. "No. Badass? Yup."

She blinked, surprised, before shaking her head with something dangerously close to amusement. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re avoiding the question." You smiled at her, knowing she will say yes, but won´t go down without looking like a scary person.

Which is funny, because not even after bunch of stories you heard, not a single time did you think she was scary. Interesting and strong, definetly, but never scary.

Natasha sighed, but there was no real resistance. She stood up, rolling her shoulders. "Fine. But don’t embarrass yourself."

You grinned. "No promises."

The range was quiet at night, the fluorescent lights casting a cool glow over the empty stalls. You handed Natasha a pistol, watching as she inspected it with the kind of precision that could only come from years of training.

"So, what do you wanna learn?" she asked, slipping into that calm, focused state that made her so lethal in the field.

You thought about it for a second. "Everything."

Natasha let out a short laugh, a real one. "That’s ambitious."

"You´re good with guns, so…"

Her expression faltered, just for a second. She wasn’t used to compliments. Not the genuine kind. But she recovered quickly, loading the gun and placing it in your hands.

"Alright then," she murmured, stepping behind you. "Let’s start with your grip."

Her hands covered yours, adjusting your fingers, pressing against your back to fix your stance. Her touch was careful but firm, her voice smooth as she explained each movement. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth of her body so close or the sheer focus in her tone, but your pulse quickened.

And when you fired the first shot, dead center on the target, you swore you heard a quiet hum of approval.

"Not bad," Natasha admitted.

You smirked. "Told you I wouldn’t embarrass myself. But why is the grip so important? It´s just the shot, no?"

She rolled her eyes, but this time, she didn’t pull away so fast. "Is your gun loaded?"

"No. I had only one bullet in-" before you could finish that sentence, Natasha not so harshly bumped into your wrist and the gun you were holding fell easily down. "Oh… I see now." You turned your head so you can look at her, you smiled a bit, even though you can feel your heart in your throat.

After that bonding the smiles started. They weren’t much at first - hesitant, uncertain - but they were there. Agents who once ignored her were now nodding in acknowledgment. Some even started greeting her by name. It wasn’t lost on Natasha that this shift had everything to do with you.

You had always been easy to like, weaving yourself effortlessly into the cracks of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s cold walls. You helped agents with their reports, sparred with them without making it a competition, and always - always - made sure Natasha was included.

At first, people didn’t know how to react. They weren’t sure if you were just being polite or if you really meant it. But then, in the middle of a late-night training session, you made sure to give Natasha the credit, she didn´t think was even there.

"Damn, how did you pull that off?" one of the agents asked after you had effortlessly flipped them onto the mat.

You grinned, wiping sweat from your forehead. "Natasha taught me." Silence. A few skeptical glances were exchanged. "…Romanoff?" someone finally muttered.

"Yeah," you said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

For a moment, no one knew what to say. But then, one of the agents turned to Natasha, hesitant but genuinely curious. "Wait… you actualy train others?"

Natasha, who had been leaning against the wall watching the interaction unfold, tilted her head slightly. "When I feel like it."

You rolled your eyes. "Don’t listen to her. She does and she’s actually great at it."

A few agents exchanged glances before someone hesitantly asked, "Can you show us?"

Natasha hesitated. It wasn’t fear. It was just… unfamiliar. People looking at her with interest instead of distrust.

You gave her a little nudge. "C’mon, show off a little." And once again you chuckle, pushing Natasha´s buttons a bit more. Making her open more and show others, that she´s not so cold and scary looking lady.

A beat passed. Then, Natasha sighed and stepped forward. "Fine."

That was the moment everything truly changed. The next few weeks, more agents started joining in. What started as casual observations turned into genuine respect. They saw how skilled she was, how efficient her movements were.

"Oh my god, who taught you that?" someone asked you after another sparring session.

"Natasha did," you answered with a smirk.

And instead of the usual shock or discomfort, the response was different this time. "Damn," one agent muttered. "She’s really good."

"She really is," another admitted.

It was subtle, but Natasha noticed it. The way people started sitting next to her in meetings. The way conversations didn’t immediately die when she entered a room. The way people started listening. For the first time since joining S.H.I.E.L.D., she didn’t feel like an outsider, at least not that much, she felt like this could really be a new beggining for her.

As the days comes by Natasha finally catch you after a training, finally being able to talk to you properly. The gym was empty now, except for the two of you. Sweat clung to your skin, muscles sore from sparring, but neither of you seemed in a hurry to leave today. Natasha had been improving fast, not just physically, but in how she carried herself around the others. She was more comfortable now, less guarded. It was something you had noticed gradually, and honestly, you were proud of her.

That’s why it caught you off guard when she suddenly said, "Thanks."

You blinked. "For what?"

Natasha exhaled, running a hand through her damp hair before leaning against the wall. "For making me look friendly. Helping me fit in."

You shook your head with a small smile. "Zero idea what you’re talking about."

She shot you a dry look. "Oh, shut up."

You chuckled. "That was all you, Nat. They just needed a little push. So did you."

Natasha didn’t argue with that. She let the words settle between you before glancing down at her hands, quiet for a long moment. Then, almost hesitantly, she said, "I don’t blame them, you know."

You frowned at her, letting her speak.

"The others. For being wary of me." She sighed. "I was trained in the Red Room. Worked for the KGB. I know what people like me have done." She hesitated, then her voice dropped slightly. "I know what I’ve done, I know who I am..."

She didn’t say it, but you heard the word she left unsaid.

Monster.

Your chest ached for her.

"We all make mistakes," you said softly. "But you’re here for a reason, aren’t you? You want to change. To do something good. What happened… happened. You can’t change the past, but you can choose who you want to be."

Natasha let out a breath, something shifting in her expression. "You ate a wisdom, hm?" she muttered.

You grinned, "that’s my daily bread."

A small chuckle escaped her lips, quiet but real. It was rare to hear her laugh, but when she did, it was worth it.

After that, things between you and Natasha just… clicked. Wherever she was, you weren’t far behind. And wherever you were, she was right there with you. People started joking about it. "If we need to find Romanoff, just look for (Y/N)."

"I swear, they come as a set," another agent laughed at that.

You started doing things together outside of training. Natasha would drag you to the shooting range at odd hours, testing out different weapons while you tried (and often failed) to match her skill. In return, you convinced her to join you in normal, non-mission-related activities - grabbing coffee, watching movies, playing pool in the rec room.

And then there were the missions. You worked better together than anyone expected. It was seamless, almost instinctive. The way you covered each other’s backs, how one glance was enough to understand what the other was thinking. You weren’t just teammates. You were a duo.

Time goes by, and it was the one-year celebration of you being in S.H.I.E.L.D. The same goes for Natasha. The party was in full swing, the usually serious S.H.I.E.L.D agents actually let loose, drinks in hand, music a little too loud for a facility, and even the higher-ups seem to have abandoned their usual stiff posture. For once, the atmosphere was light, warm. You had a good time, chatting with everyone, laughing at dumb jokes, even letting yourself get a little tipsy.

But even you had limits, your social battery is wearing thin, and the heat of the crowded room got to you. So, without much thought, you slipped out of the main hall and made your way up the stairs, pushing open the door to the training center’s rooftop. The night air was cool against your skin, refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the party. The city lights stretched out in the distance, flickering like a thousand little stars, and you sighed, leaning against the railing.

Peace. At least for a moment.

Because not long after, the door creaked open again. You didn´t have to turn around to know who it was. Natasha stepped forward, her footsteps light, almost silent. She stopped beside you, resting her arms on the railing. You glanced at her, she looked the same as always, calm, composed.

"You’re not drunk," you observed.

She huffed out something like a chuckle. "Of course not."

"Why? Afraid of letting loose?" you teased, nudging her with your elbow.

She didn´t respond immediately, just watched the city below. Then, with a small shrug, she said, "I grew up in Russia. Tolerance to alcohol is kind of in my blood."

You raised an eyebrow. "Then why you’re not even slightly tipsy?"

"Would take a hell of a lot more than what they’re serving in there," she said, nodding towards the party. "It’s a little pathetic, honestly."

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

"Maybe I should teach you... you look like you would need it," she teased.

"Excuse you, I have some tolerance." You glanced at her, "besides I did have my own growing up experience with drinking."

Natasha looked at you, silent, waiting.

"My brother taught me how to drink," you chuckled, "at least tried to." You exhaled, looking down at your hands. “His names is Thomas.” A pause. “Was.”

She didn´t say anything, but she turned fully toward you, giving you her full attention.

"He was in the Navy," you continued. "One of the best. Smart, strong… better than me in everything, really. But he was also the kind of guy who couldn’t sit back if someone needed help." You took a breath. "There was an accident. A mission gone wrong. He saved his teammate… but he didn’t make it."

You swallowed, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. Even after all this time, it didn´t go away. It´s the alcohol that made your shiny personality, to get a little cloudy.

Natasha was still quiet, but she watched you with something soft in her expression. Understanding.

"That’s why I trained," you said finally. "Why I kept pushing myself. My biggest dream was to work for the CIA, actually." You chuckled, shaking your head. "And I almost made it. Passed all the tests, was about to get in, until a guy with one eye came in and basically stole me."

Natasha’s lips quirked. "Fury?"

You nodded, "Fury."

There was a comfortable silence between you after that. Just the sound of the wind, the faint music from the party below, and the distant hum of the city.

Then, quietly, Natasha said, "I’m sorry about your brother."

You glanced at her, giving her a small smile. "Yeah. Me too."

Another beat of silence. Then, in a rare, quiet admission, she added, "He sounds like a nice guy."

You chuckled, tilting your head. "He would’ve liked you."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, "even though I’m Russian?"

You nudged her shoulder. "Even though you’re Russian." It was very easy to talk to you, to joke with you and to let her guards down, she liked this... she liked spending time with you.

You let out a soft chuckle, leaning your elbows on the railing as you gaze out over the cityscape. The cool night air does little to sober you up, but you didn´t mind the warmth in your cheeks. It was a nice buzz, one that made you loosen up, talk more freely.

"He actually was really into women who could take care of themselves," you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence between you and Natasha. "His captain was a woman. I remember how head over heels he was for her… it was crazy. He was thirteen again, having a crush like a little boy."

You laughed at the memory, shaking your head. "I swear, he would talk about her like she walked on water. All serious and professional when she was around, but then the second she left? He’d go on and on about how badass she was."

Natasha chuckled at your rambling, a rare amusement flickering in her expression. You were slightly tipsy, your words a little looser than usual, but she didn´t mind. There was something… nice about it. About you just talking, sharing pieces of your life like they were meant to be told.

She watched as you grin to yourself, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the railing. There was a soft flush to your cheeks, not just from the alcohol, but from the warmth of the memory. It made her hesitate, just for a moment, before she spoke.

"I get it," Natasha finally said, exhaling softly. "Having someone you admire like that."

You glanced at her, intrigued. "Yeah?" And Natasha just hummed.

After few minutes of just silence once again, her gaze fell back on the city. “I had a sister.” A pause. "Have a sister."

Your head tilted slightly, your attention sharpening. "You do?"

Natasha nodded again. "Yelena. She’s younger than me. Stubborn as hell, always had something to prove." A small, almost fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "We grew up together… well, as much as we could. The Red Room didn’t exactly allow for normal childhoods."

You didn´t push, just let her talk, sensing the weight of her words.

"I haven’t seen her in years," Natasha continued, fingers flexing slightly against the railing. "Not since I left." There’s a flicker of something in her expression - guilt, longing. "I don’t even know where she is. If she’s okay. But I still think about her."

You were quiet for a moment, letting her words settle between you. Then, gently, you asked, "What was she like? Back then?"

Natasha exhaled a short laugh. "A menace."

You grined at that. "Sounds about right for a younger sibling."

"She always had this way of getting under my skin," Natasha admited, shaking her head slightly. "Always trying to prove she could be better, faster, stronger. But she was also… kind. Not in the traditional way, but in the way that mattered. She cared… deeply. Even when she tried to hide it."

You watched Natasha’s expression shift, soft in a way you don’t see often. It was different from her usual guarded demeanor, there was something raw in it. Something real.

"I hope she’s okay," Natasha murmured.

You reached out, hesitating for only a second before gently placing your hand on hers. "If she’s anything like you, I’d bet she is."

Natasha looked at you then, her green eyes flickering at your hand on hers, then back at you. But after a moment, she just huffed out a quiet breath, shaking her head. "You’re really bad at this whole tough S.H.I.E.L.D. agent thing, you know?" she said.

You grined, "yeah, well. Someone’s gotta balance you out."

She didn´t argue. Instead, she just let out another soft chuckle, turning her gaze back toward the city. And for a while, the two of you just stayed like that. Side by side, watching the world move below, the weight of past and present settling comfortably between you.

One second, you were just standing there, glancing at Natasha, enjoying her presence - the next, her lips were on yours. Soft. Warm.

A little hesitant at first, like she wasn’t sure she should be doing this, but then firmer, more certain.

Your breath hitched, heart slamming against your ribs as your brain caught up with what was happening. Natasha Romanoff - Natasha - was kissing you.

And then, just as suddenly as it started, she pulled away, eyes wide, looking more startled than you felt. "Oh, shit," she breathed. "I- I didn’t mean to-"

You blinked at her, still processing, still feeling the ghost of her lips on yours. Butteflies flying everywhere.

"I mean, I did, but I- I don’t know why I-" She took a half-step back, running a hand over her face. "That was- I wasn’t thinking, I just-"

She was spiraling. Natasha Romanoff was spiraling. And honestly? It was kind of adorable.

You grinned, heart still racing, but in the best way. "Nat."

"I shouldn’t have-"

"Natasha."

She shut up, blinking at you.

"Don’t apologize," you said softly, still feeling the warmth of her lips lingering on yours. "That was nice."

She blinked again. "Nice?"

"Very nice." You nodded and as Natasha looked at you fully so she could notice the blush on your cheeks. Knowing very well it wasn´t from the alcohol.

Her brows furrowed, like her brain was still struggling to process the fact that you weren’t mad, weren’t pulling away. "But I just- I didn’t even ask, I just-"

"Yeah, I noticed," you teased, a giddy little laugh bubbling up. "Not that I’m complaining."

Natasha groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is not how I wanted to do this."

You tilted your head, biting back a smile. "Oh? So you wanted to kiss me?"

Her lips parted, then closed, then parted again. "I- That’s not- I mean-"

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. A bright, breathless, happy sound.

"I knew it," you teased, poking her arm.

Natasha scowled, but the way her ears were turning pink betrayed her, "you did?"

"Nope, but I wanted you to do it so badly, so… manifestation." You smiled widely at her.

"You’re insufferable," she muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

"And you just kissed me," you pointed out, grinning.

She groaned again, looking up at the sky like it might save her. You just smiled, reaching for her hand and giving it a small squeeze.

"Hey," you said softly. She looked at you, and there was still a little hesitation there, a little uncertainty.

You squeezed her hand again. "This is nice," you repeated, gentler this time. "You are nice. To me. And that’s all that matters."

Natasha stared at you for a long moment, like she was still trying to find a way out of this. But then, finally, finally, she let out a breath. "You’re really something else," she murmured, shaking her head.

You grinned. "Took you long enough to figure that out."

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of your hand.

…

From the moment that kiss happened on the rooftop, something between you and Natasha changed.

Not in a way that was overwhelming or scary - no, it was easy, like flipping a switch that was waiting to be turned on. You still trained together, ate lunch at the same table, sat beside each other in meetings, but now there was an added something to it all. A kind of warmth, a softness.

Like how Natasha would nudge your arm when she passed by, or how she’d steal your drink without asking, giving you a smirk when you huffed at her. Or how she’d lean into your side when you sat next to each other, casually draping her arm over the back of your chair, fingers sometimes brushing your shoulder absentmindedly.

Little things. Easy things.

Dating Natasha Romanoff was surprisingly not some impossible, larger-than-life thing. It was waking up and getting coffee together before morning drills, where she’d always roll her eyes but still make sure you had your favorite one.

It was stealing quick, hidden moments in hallways when no one was looking, Natasha rolling her eyes at how obvious you were, only to pull you in for a kiss when she thought no one was around. It was training together, still pushing each other, but now with teasing smirks and stolen kisses. It was, you had to admit, kind of perfect.

Natasha was perfect. And everyone was noticing.

Once word got out, because of course it got out, that you, arguably the kindest person in S.H.I.E.L.D., chose Natasha, something shifted in how people treated her.

Not in a bad way, though.

Before, people had been friendly enough, mostly because you kept bringing Natasha into group activities and conversations, but there had always been a kind of caution. A distance. They still saw her as Black Widow, the woman who had red in her ledger, who had a history drenched in violence.

But now?

Now, people looked at her differently.

If you, the person who always went out of their way to help others, who saw the best in everyone, liked Natasha, then maybe she wasn’t someone to be feared. Maybe she deserved a second chance. And Natasha? Oh, she noticed.

People started smiling at her more in the hallways.

They started asking for her help with things - small tasks, not only minor training exercises, more little things they never would have approached her for before.

And the flirting?

The flirting was insane.

It was like the moment people saw Natasha through your eyes, they realized she wasn’t just a deadly assassin… she was hot.

You’d never seen her ego this big before. Training days became something else entirely.

"Alright, everyone, partner up." Maria Hill, Fury´s right hand yelled, so everyone can hear her.

Immediately, half the room turned to Natasha. You watched as agents practically scrambled to be the first to get to her, some subtly and not so subtly bumping into each other in their rush. Natasha smirked.

"Oh," she mused, glancing at you from across the room. "Guess I’m popular now."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. "You’re impossible." Not thinking about it as a big deal.

She gave you a smug little smile, tilting her head. "Jealous?" You scoffed, trying not to let her entirely correct assumption show on your face.

She chuckled, then turns to some random rookie, “sorry, but I already have a partner," she said simply, jerking her head toward you.

The rookie looked both disappointed and terrified.

You, however, were fighting back a grin. She is yours and you are hers.

Natasha made her way over, stopping just in front of you. "You don’t mind, do you?"

You huffed, "like you’d let me say no."

She smirked, leaning in just enough for her voice to drop, “exactly."

You swallowed, because god, she knew what she was doing.

"Alright, alright," Maria called, clapping her hands. "Let’s get started."

You were going to kill her.

Or kiss her.

Possibly both.

And Natasha? She knew exactly what she was doing.

After training wrapped up, you and Natasha made your way to the locker room. The adrenaline was still thrumming in your veins, your body buzzing with the remnants of sparring.

Or maybe it was just her. Who knows?

Natasha was grinning, that signature, smug little smirk plastered on her lips as she leaned against the lockers with her arms crossed. "See how much people wanted to spar with me today?" she teased, tilting her head as she looked at you.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please. It was a little desperate if you ask me."

Natasha gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "Desperate? They chose me.”

You huffed, turning away to open your locker. "Yeah, well, I think I’m gonna have to start charging them if they want to breathe the same air as my girlfriend." There was a tiny hint of jealousy and of course she noticed it.

Natasha let out a delighted laugh. "Oh? So I’m yours now?"

You turned to her, lifting a brow. "You were always mine."

That shut her up, momentarily.

Then, she grinned, stepping closer. "Oh, is someone turning green?"

You turned away quickly, but Natasha was faster. Before you could even think of hiding, she had you pinned against the lockers, her hands firm on either side of your head as she leaned in.

"I think you are," she murmured, her lips brushing against yours as she spoke.

"I am not," you mumbled, though your resolve was very quickly dissolving.

Natasha chuckled. "Mhm." And then she kissed you. It was soft at first, just a slow, teasing press of her lips against yours. Then, it grew deeper, her hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. You sighed against her mouth, your hands moving to cup her face, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw.

She was being so affectionate. Touching you like she needed to, kissing you like she wanted to pour everything she felt into you. When she pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes, you found yourself whispering, "We’re together… together."

She smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. "We are…" Another kiss to your cheek, "…together." Another to your jaw, "…which is why you should move in with me."

You blinked, your mind short-circuiting. "Wait. What?"

She pulled back slightly, her hands still on your waist. "Move in with me."

You stared at her.

She tilted her head. "What?"

You blinked again. "You just said- wait. Are you serious?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Of course I’m serious. We basically spend all our time together anyway."

You hesitated, your heart pounding. "But we-"

"You want to." She grinned, leaning in again, her lips brushing over yours. "I know you do."

You huffed, narrowing your eyes at her. "…I hate how well you know me."

She smirked, "so?"

You sighed, dramatically, "fine."

"Fine? Just fine?" She can´t help, but chuckle again.

You chuckled as well, "fine, I’ll move in."

Natasha grinned, "good," and then she kissed you again.

The only thing left to do was tell Fury. So you did the next day, since the word travels fast in this facility. You weren’t nervous, per se, but still… this was Fury. You stood in front of his desk, back straight, hands clasped behind you. Natasha was waiting outside, mostly because she didn’t want to hear Fury’s inevitable sarcasm firsthand.

Fury looked at you over the rim of his coffee cup, unimpressed. "You want to what?"

"Move in with agent Romanoff, sir."

He blinked, setting his cup down, "you’re already living in headquarters."

"Yes, sir."

"And now you want to live together?"

"…Yes, sir."

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "I’m happy for you." He said that with total blank expression, so it was hard to tell if he meant it or not.

You blinked, "wait, really?"

"But," Fury continued, leveling you with a look, "don’t you dare let it affect your work."

You swallowed, “it won’t, sir."

"You and Romanoff are my top agents," he said firmly. "I don’t have time for relationship drama messing with my missions. So don’t you dare."

You straightened, "I understand. Don’t worry, sir."

Fury eyed you for a moment before sighing. "Good. Now get out of my office."

You tried not to smile as you turned on your heel and walked out.

Natasha was waiting in the hallway, arms crossed. "Well?"

You grinned. "He said yes."

"Told you he would" Natasha smirked.

You rolled your eyes, nudging her. "Come on, roomie."

She chuckled, draping an arm over your shoulders as you walked away together. Words can´t describe how happy you felt, in this moment… there is nothing more you wish for, maybe more free time, but you´re not gonna push Fury´s buttons. Not yet at least

Each morning from that moment the first thing you registered was warmth. The second was the scent of Natasha, something sweet and faintly floral, mixed with the crispness of freshly washed sheets. The third was movement. Something was shifting beside you, and before you could even react, a hand brushed over your hair, fingers lightly threading through it.

"Mhm," you grumbled, burying your face deeper into the pillow.

A chuckle, "good morning, sweetheart."

You groaned in response, curling further into the blankets.

"Come on, wake up." Natasha’s voice was far too cheerful for this time of day.

You pried one eye open, glaring at her, or at least, attempting to. It probably looked more like a squint. "It’s six in the morning."

"It is."

"Six, Natasha." Ugh. How you hated mornings, early mornings to be exact.

"I heard you the first time."

You groaned again, flopping onto your back and rubbing your face. "This is cruel. I thought you liked me."

Natasha laughed, stretching her arms above her head, the muscles in her back flexing beneath the soft fabric of her tank top. "I do like you."

You pouted up at her. "Then why are you waking me up at an ungodly hour?"

She grinned, leaning on her elbow beside you. "Because you’re adorable when you’re grumpy."

You narrowed your eyes at her, "I hate you." And you mumble something else.

"No, you don’t," she poked your cheek. "But everyone should see this. Our lovely, happy, kind little sunshine is currently wishing me all the worst just because I woke her up."

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. "That is not true," maybe it was… a little.

"Oh?" Natasha teased, nudging you playfully. "What was it you just mumbled? Something about me rotting in hell?"

You peeked at her through your fingers, "…maybe."

She laughed, and God, it was the best sound in the world. Even though it´s six in the morning, you don´t really mind the reason you´re awake now.

"You’re an agent, baby," she said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Not in the next five minutes," you mumbled, reaching for her hand and intertwining your fingers with hers, "Cuddles?"

Natasha let out a dramatic sigh, "fine, but only for five minutes."

You grinned sleepily, tugging her down into your arms. She didn’t resist, in fact, she melted into you, resting her head against your chest, her fingers idly tracing shapes against your arm.

"This is nice," she murmured.

You hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of her head, "told you."

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. "Alright, I’ll admit it. You might have been right."

"Might have been?" You smirked at her.

She sighed, "alright, fine, you were right."

You grinned triumphantly, hugging her tighter. Natasha chuckled, tilting her head up to look at you. Her green eyes softened, and she reached up to brush her thumb over your cheek.

"I love you," she murmured.

Oh my god.

For a moment, all you could do was stare. Your sleep-addled brain scrambled to catch up, to process that Natasha Romanoff had just said I love you for the first time. The room was still, the only sound the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustling of the sheets as Natasha shifted slightly beside you. Your heart pounded against your ribs, like it knew the weight of those words before your brain could fully register them. She had said it so softly, so easily, like she wasn’t even afraid of it. Like it wasn’t some impossible, unreachable thing.

Natasha looked at you, her green eyes searching yours, and for the second time ever, she looked nervous. Like she thought maybe she had messed up. Like she thought maybe you wouldn’t say it back. Which was insane, because of course you would.

Of course, you did.

"Say it again," you whispered, barely realizing the words had left your mouth.

Natasha blinked. "What?"

"Say it again." Your voice was a little stronger this time, but still breathless, like you’d just been hit with a wave of something so big it knocked the air from your lungs.

Natasha's lips twitched into the faintest smile. And then quieter, but with no less certainty-

"I love you."

Something in your chest burst. You let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh, before grabbing her face and kissing her senseless. Natasha let out a surprised sound but melted into it instantly, her arms winding around your waist as if she had been waiting for this exact moment. When you finally pulled back, just enough to look at her, you were grinning like an absolute fool.

"You-" You shook your head, pressing another quick kiss to her lips, "you love me."

"I do." Natasha’s voice was amused now, a little lighter, a little happier.

"You love me," you repeated, as if testing the words in your mouth.

Natasha chuckled. "Is that really so surprising?"

"Yes! No! I mean-" You laughed again, completely overwhelmed, "I just- God, I love you so much."

Natasha's expression softened, and you swore you saw her eyes shine just a little. "Yeah?" she murmured.

"Yeah," you breathed. "So much."

She smiled, the kind of smile that made your knees weak, even though you were already lying down.

Since Natasha had told you she loved you, everything had been amazing. She had never been an overly affectionate person before, but now? Now she was. She kissed you in the hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.. She pulled you into her lap when you both sat on the couch, arms wrapped around you like she needed to physically anchor herself to you. She always, always held your hand whenever you were walking together.

She made you feel loved. And in return, you loved her hard. You loved her with your touch, with the way you reached for her first thing in the morning, still groggy but always needing her close. You loved her with your words, whispering soft things against her skin late at night, telling her all the reasons she was good, she was worthy. You loved her with your patience, never pushing when she got quiet, never demanding more than she was ready to give.

But still…

Still, something lingered in her.

Although things were better, although she had you and people were being nicer, there was something inside her that just wouldn't settle. A restlessness. Some nights, when you were fast asleep, Natasha would sit at the edge of the bed and just watch you. She would grip the blanket tight in her fists, pressing the fabric to her face just so she could smell you, so she could drown herself in something warm, something real.

She didn’t know why she did it. Or maybe she did.

Maybe it was because she was still trying to believe it.

Trying to believe that this was real. That you were real. That the love you gave her wasn’t something temporary, wasn’t something that would be ripped away the moment she blinked too long. She wanted to believe she belonged here. That this - this bed, this warmth, this person - was home.

But… what was home, really?

The Red Room? Moscow? The cold walls of S.H.I.E.L.D.? The battlefield?

Was she the assassin, the spy, the Black Widow capable of having a home?

Sometimes, she would stare at you, watching the way your lips would part slightly when you slept, the way your brows would furrow if she shifted too much.

And she would wonder… does she love the real me?

The real her. The one with blood-stained hands. The one who had taken lives, who had done horrible things. The one who, despite everything, still questioned whether she was anything more than a killer. Maybe you loved the version of her that you saw. The one who teased you in the mornings, who kissed you breathless in empty hallways, who pulled you into her arms without hesitation.

Maybe you loved that Natasha.

But what about the other one?

What about the Natasha who had once followed orders without question? The Natasha who had ended lives with a steady hand and an empty heart? The Natasha who still, even now, sometimes felt like she was nothing more than a weapon?

Did you love her, too?

Would you still love her if you knew, if you really knew, what she had done?

She didn't know. And she was scared to find out.

So after some time she just thought that faking till you make it sounded like a great idea. It started small. The lingering glances. The playful smirks. The way Natasha would lean in just a little too close when someone was talking to her, her eyes sharp and inviting in a way that made people stumble over their words.

At first, you brushed it off.

You knew Natasha. You knew she wasn’t the type to cheat, not even close. But it was hard to ignore how much she entertained it. The winks she threw back. The way she’d chuckle at comments that were a little too flirtatious. The way she let people’s hands linger on her arm or shoulder when they spoke.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just her way of fitting in, showing people she wasn’t the cold, untouchable Black Widow they once thought she was.

And you got it. You did. For so long, she had felt unwanted, feared, alone.

And now, for the first time, people were seeing her differently. They were choosing her. Not because she was a weapon or a threat, but because they liked her.

And it made her feel… valued.

So you let it go.

Until you couldn’t.

It was one night in your shared room, Natasha sitting at the small desk while cleaning one of her knives, humming softly to herself. You sat on the bed, playing with the hem of your shirt, thoughts swirling too fast in your mind.

"Nat?"

She hummed in response but didn’t look up.

You took a breath. "I love you."

That made her pause. Her hands stilled, and she turned her head to look at you, brows furrowing slightly. "I know," she said softly with a small smile.

But you weren’t really saying it to her. You were saying it to yourself. Like some kind of reassurance. A desperate attempt to convince yourself that everything was okay. That she loved you… that she wanted you.

That this didn’t mean anything. Because it didn’t, right? But still, something gnawed at you. Something bitter and heavy, curling in your stomach, whispering thoughts you didn’t want to listen to.

Am I enough?

Maybe the others were more fun. Maybe they weren’t as serious. Maybe they made her laugh more.Maybe they didn’t come with the weight of whispered confessions in the dark, the burden of knowing all her scars, inside and out. Maybe it was easier with them.

Maybe-

"Hey," Natasha’s voice pulled you back, soft but firm. She was kneeling in front of you now, her hands gently resting on your thighs, brows drawn together in concern, "what’s wrong?”

You swallowed, shaking your head, "nothing."

She didn’t believe you. Of course, she didn’t. She tilted her head slightly, studying you the way she did when analyzing an opponent in a fight, like she was picking apart every little movement, every hesitation, every weakness. "Talk to me," she said quietly.

And you wanted to. You really wanted to.

But how could you?

How could you tell her that while she was struggling with believing she belonged, you were struggling with believing you were enough? You sighed, rubbing your palms over your face. "It’s nothing serious. I’ve just been overthinking a lot."

Natasha didn’t move from her spot in front of you, still kneeling, her hands now tracing slow circles over your thighs. "Overthinking what?"

You hesitated. You weren’t lying, not really. But you weren’t saying everything either. Because if you did, if you voiced all the thoughts racing through your mind it might make them real.

So instead, you forced a small smile, shaking your head. "Just… if what I’m doing now is enough."

Natasha’s brows furrowed. "Enough?"

You exhaled, "like… as an agent, as a person, in-" Your voice wavered. "In us." It slipped out.

Her grip on you tightened slightly. "Of course, you’re enough." And the way she said it, so fiercely, so certainly, made your chest ache. She shifted, lifting herself up to sit beside you on the bed, her hand finding yours. "What’s making you feel this way?"

You shrugged, staring down at your intertwined fingers. "I don’t know. I think it’s just… everything."

Natasha was quiet for a moment, and you could almost see the gears turning in her head, the way her mind dissected every little piece of information you gave her. Finally, she sighed, leaning in and pressing her lips softly to your temple. "I love you," she murmured against your skin.

It sent a warmth through your chest, but it didn’t erase the lingering thoughts completely.

And maybe Natasha knew that.

Maybe that’s why, as she pulled back, she searched your face so intently, as if trying to see past whatever walls you were keeping up.

But then something shifted in her own expression. Something almost unreadable. She glanced away, exhaling slowly.

And that’s when you realized-

She was thinking, too.

Overthinking.

You squeezed her hand. "Nat?"

She didn’t answer right away, staring at a spot on the floor like it had the answers to something she didn’t even know how to ask. "I just…" she started, but then shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh that lacked any humor.

"Now you’re overthinking," you pointed out gently.

Natasha exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah, well… you’re not the only one who does it."

Your brows knit together. "What are you overthinking?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line. And for the first time in a while, Natasha looked uncertain. She was always so sure, so sharp, so steady. But now, there was something hesitant in the way she held herself. Like she wasn’t sure if she was standing on solid ground anymore.

You turned to face her fully, giving her the same patience she had given you. "Talk to me."

She scoffed softly, "that’s my line."

You smiled, nudging her lightly, "it can be mine, too."

Natasha sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I just…” She swallowed, "I´m not sure if I fit in."

Your breath hitched. "What?"

She ran a hand through her hair, her voice quieter now. “I mean, what if people like the fun me, not the weird killer one, but the one that´s…” she gestured vaguely, "normal."

Your chest tightened. "Nat-" You stared at her, heart aching. Because you understood. You understood the weight she carried, the doubt that gnawed at her, the fear of being seen as something she wasn’t sure she could escape. "People like you for who you are, right now. They enjoy your presence, I enjoy your presence. All the time."

To you, there was no version of Natasha to love. There was just her. And maybe… maybe you both needed to figure that out together. So after your talk you just spend cuddling tighter than usual, not talking at all, just enjoying your time together.

Over the days, Natasha had been even more open to others, for some reason, which didn´t help you with the "overthinking" part. It wasn’t just the occasional banter anymore, it was something more. The teasing smirks, the way she leaned in just a little too close when speaking, the way her fingers ghosted over arms, her laugh coming a little softer, a little sweeter.

You wanted to understand this, but the only think you could do was to stend back and watch. She joked with Maria Hill in the training center, standing a little too close, her fingers lingering on Maria’s wrist just a beat longer than necessary as they laughed about something. You weren’t even sure what had been said, but it didn’t really matter. It was the pattern that was beginning to form. It wasn’t just Maria. Natasha was always surrounded by someone now, their attention drawn to her like moths to a flame. And she let them. Agents who barely looked at her months ago now jumped at the chance to train with her, to sit with her in the cafeteria, to find excuses to be near her.

And Natasha? She basked in it.

You didn´t said anything… but days turned to weeks, and it never stopped. If anything it got worse.

It was after training when you finally said something. The adrenaline still thrummed in your veins from sparring, your muscles sore in the best way, but all of it was overshadowed by the tight knot in your chest.

Natasha was drinking from her water bottle, wiping sweat from her forehead when you finally broke the silence.

"The flirting is too much."

She froze mid-motion, brow raising slightly as she looked at you, "wha- baby, you know I would never"

"I know," you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I know you wouldn’t do anything, but… I just don’t like them thinking they have a chance, you know?"

For a second, something flickered in Natasha’s expression, something uncertain, but then it was gone, replaced with that easy, confident smirk that had charmed so many people lately.

"You’re the only girl in my sight," she murmured, stepping closer, her voice dropping into something lower, something smoother. Your lips pressed into a thin line. She was doing it again. The charming words, the flirtation, the teasing little game she played when things got too close, too real. And then her fingers traced down your arm, light, deliberate, the heat of her touch sending shivers up your spine.

"You don’t need to worry," she whispered, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "I only want you."

You wanted to stay firm. You wanted to keep pushing, to tell her that wasn’t the point. But then her hands were on you, guiding, coaxing, pulling you into her orbit like she always did. Natasha had always been a master of control, of knowing exactly what to say, what to do, to pull someone under. And she knew exactly how to make you forget.

Natasha led you through the hallways of the compound, her fingers interlaced with yours, her touch grounding, magnetic. You weren’t fighting it anymore. Maybe you should have. Maybe you should have pressed harder, but right now, in this moment, you just wanted her.

"Our room," she murmured, glancing at you from the corner of her eye, a small smirk playing at her lips, "we can shower together." Her voice was low, inviting, and there was no point in pretending you didn’t want that too.

By the time you reached her room, Natasha was already peeling off her shirt, throwing it onto the chair in the corner without care. She turned back to you, stepping close, her fingers immediately finding your waist, tracing over your skin like she needed to remind herself you were real.

She kissed you - slow, deliberate, her lips moving over yours like she had all the time in the world. And then she whispered against your lips, "You’re mine." Her hands slid up, her palms warm against your skin.

"I’m yours," she murmured, pressing another kiss just beneath your jaw. "You’re amazing." The words kept coming, soft and steady, an anchor against the storm of thoughts that had been brewing in your mind for weeks. "You’re everything," she breathed.

Your fingers curled against her back, holding onto her, feeling the way her muscles tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto these words and let them fill the cracks that had started to form inside you.

Natasha rested her forehead against yours, her hands still tracing slow, soothing patterns against your sides. "No overthinking. Not right now," she whispered. "Just me and you."

She kissed you again, and for a little while, you let yourself believe her.

The steam curled around both of you, thick and warm, as the water cascaded down, soaking into your skin. Natasha’s hands never left you, not for a second. They traced along your arms, your waist, the curve of your back, as if she was mapping you out, committing you to memory, ensuring you were still here, still hers.

The shower wasn’t just a shower… it was something else entirely. A quiet space where the world didn’t exist, where doubts couldn’t reach, where words weren’t needed because her touch spoke louder than anything she could say.

Her forehead pressed against yours, water dripping between you, and she whispered it again, "I love you". Over and over again. It was reverent, almost fragile, like she was convincing herself just as much as she was convincing you.

Your hands found her, fingers threading through damp strands of red as she kissed you, deep and slow, like she was breathing you in. Every touch, every movement, felt like a plea - don’t doubt me, don’t doubt this, don’t leave.

She held you like you were something precious. Like you were something she wasn’t sure she deserved but was too afraid to let go of. Her lips brushed over your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin as she murmured, "you´re everything to me."

The weight of those words settled deep in your chest. She didn’t say it often, definetly not like this. Not stripped down to its rawest form, with no teasing, no distractions. Just her, open and vulnerable, asking for something she didn’t quite know how to name. So you gave it to her.

Your fingers trailed along her spine, tracing invisible lines over old scars, new ones, the history of everything she had endured and survived. "I love you too, so much," you whispered, barely audible over the steady rush of water.

Natasha exhaled, a shaky breath against your skin, and then she held you tighter, as if grounding herself in your warmth. She kissed you again, not rushed, not desperate. Just deep. Meaningful. Like she was pouring everything into it, everything she didn’t know how to say.

taglist: @starrycherie, @esposadejoyhuerta

[mrsknowitallll]

Nobody Else But You

Elias Moore (Stack) x Black Plus Size Reader

Summary - You’re done with Stack, for good this time… or so you thought.

Warnings - Fighting, cursing, i think that’s it?

A/N - Had to write something for Stack’s fine ass too. May or may not do a part two.

You stormed toward the club, fist clenched at your sides.

“Move cornbread.” You huffed staring up at the larger man.

“You know i can’t do that girl, last time you came up in here stirring up a whole bunch of trouble and we can’t have none of that tonight.” He stood his ground, crossing his arms.

“It’s gone be a whole lot more if you don’t get yo big ass out my way, move!” You shoved past him causing him to stumble.

“Where Stack at?” You questioned narrowing your eyes at Slim.

“He in the back with Smoke.” The older man held his hands up in surrender not wanting any issues with you.

You burst through the door causing Smoke to grip his pistol, easing up when he realizes it’s just you.

“Hey baby what you doing he-“ Stack’s words get caught in his throat as you slap him, his head whipping to the side dramatically.

“That bitch can have you!” You snatched off the necklace with his initials on it he had given you, throwing it in his face.

“What the hell you talking bout? What bitch?” He looked puzzled as he chased after you, following you down the road.

“The bitch that you fucked last week in the joint, right on top of the bar after hours? Yeah she told me all about it, how you told her you loved her, how you told her you was gone leave me and run away with her.” Tears began to spill down your fat cheeks, your lip quivering as you spoke.

“I don’t know what lying ass huzzy done got into yo head, made you believe all that bullshit but i ain’t fuck nobody last week in the joint, i ain’t been fucking nobody else but you!” He raised his voice slightly getting frustrated.

“Don’t lie to me Stack, I can put up with a whole lot but cheating THEN lying bout it? Oh yeah i’m done, like I said that BITCH can have you.” You spat marching down the road.

“Y/N! Y/N! GET YA ASS BACK HERE!” He screamed stomping his foot like a child.

You bit your lip, sobs wracking through your body, this was the last time he’d play with your heart.

You got up early the next morning, despite your heartache life goes on and you had shit to do.

You stopped by Bo Chow’s shop grabbing some supplies that you needed to patch up a hole in your roof.

Usually you’d have Stack do that but you no longer needed him, you’d do just fine on your own.

“On the house.” Bo waved a hand dismissively as you attempted to hand him cash.

“Nu uh Bo, take my money, i don’t want no handout.” You shook your head shoving the cash into his hand.

“You family, take that and get on up outta here girl.” He shoved the cash back into your hand closing it into a tight fist.

“Alright just this once, but next time don’t pull that shit again.” You grinned playfully.

His face broke out into a smile and he shooed you away, handling the next customer.

As you walked down the desolate road back towards your home a car pulled up beside you, a familiar voice calling out to you.

“Get in the car girl.” Stack commanded.

“I ain’t getting in a motherfucking thang, take yo ass on somewhere man.” You snarled.

“Y/n stop playing round and get yo ass in this car!” He growled slamming the door, marching over to you.

“Or what nigga?” You challenged.

You knew he’d never hit you, despite all the bullshit he loved you and he wouldn’t dream of laying a hand on you. You just liked to push his buttons, it was easy when he had such a short fuse.

“Or imma put yo ass in there.” His voice softened, tone teasing as he pulled you against him.

“I’ll slice ya ass with my blade before you even get the chance, try me.” You leaned into his face, eyes daring.

“You’d cut me?” He chuckled biting his lip.

“With no hesitation.” You smiled faintly.

“Get yo ass in this car and let me talk to you.” He sent a harsh slap to your ass causing heat to pool in your gut.

You finally obliged placing your things in the back seat.

“You know i ain’t been with nobody else since i’ve been back right?” He questioned as you passed him the hammer.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore Stack, i mean you’ve done it before.” You looked away from him, tears welling up in your eyes.

He paused looking down at you.

Hurt flashed across his face at your expression, he never ever wanted to make you feel that way again.

He stepped down from the ladder grabbing your forearms and pulling you flush against him.

“I was younger then, stupid as hell, wreck-less, foolish. I’m a man now and i realize that while i was finding temporary bliss in the little gemstones around me I was too blind to see that i had a diamond right in front of me.” He held your face gently, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss.

“And i didn’t fuck no bitch in the joint last week. Whoever told you that shit is a damn lie, they just tryna get me caught up, tryna come between us.” He placed his forehead against yours pecking you on the nose.

“I believe you baby, i’m sorry i let other people get in my head.” You sighed softly, eyes fluttering closed.

“It’s all good oh and one more thing.” He reached into his pocket pulling out the necklace that you threw at him the day before.

He placed it around your neck again, securing the clasp.

“I don’t wanna see it off of you no mo’, gotta let these niggas know who you belong to.” He spoke gruffly.

[inseobts]

A Swordsman’s Resolve

zoro x reader

when you awaken a new power that lets you take others' pain as your own, you begin secretly protecting the strawhat crew—until zoro finds out and decide to train you to grow stronger without relying on your gift.

words count: 3.1k

warning: reader is like a voodoo doll so self harm, blood and injuries are mentioned for the fights

tags: injuries, fluff, a bit angst maybe, training with zoro

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You ate a Devil Fruit when you were a kid, and got a strange ability that let you use your own pain as a weapon.

If you stabbed yourself, your enemy would feel the wound instead. A direct exchange. Pain for pain.

It wasn’t perfect. The more damage you took, the weaker you got. Sure, you healed faster than the one you hurt, but it still hurt like hell.

And if you pushed too hard you wouldn’t heal as fast as your usual.

Still, it was useful. You used it to protect the crew, especially during battle. If someone was about to get hit, you’d cut yourself transferring the damage to the enemy instead to stop them.

Painful? Yes. Worth it? Always.

But then, something changed.

It happened a few weeks ago.

The battle had been rough, but the crew had won. You stood on the Sunny’s deck, covered in sweat and blood, catching your breath.

Across from you, Luffy was clutching his side waiting for Chopper to finish patch someone else.

“Oi, you okay?” you asked, stepping closer.

Luffy grinned, but it was weaker than usual “Yeah! Just a little cut.”

A little cut was Luffy speak for ‘I’m actually bleeding a lot, but don’t worry about it.’

You frowned, crouching beside him. His shirt was torn, revealing a deep gash along his ribs. It wasn’t fatal, but it didn’t look good either.

Without thinking, you pressed your fingers over the wound and then a sharp, searing pain shot through your own ribs.

Your breath caught as you felt the wound disappear from Luffy’s body… and appear on yours.

Luffy blinked, confused.

“Huh? It stopped hurting!” He poked his side, then looked at you “…Wait, why do you look like you’re in pain now?”

You gritted your teeth, trying not to hiss “No reason.”

Luffy tilted his head “Did you just—”

“Shut up,” you muttered, standing up quickly “I said it’s nothing.”

Luffy’s eyes narrowed “Did you just steal my injury?”

You froze “…No.”

“Yes, you did!” His expression lit up like a kid discovering a new game “That’s so cool! Can you do it again?”

You groaned “It’s not cool, Luffy.”

But he was already poking at his arm “What if I get a cut here—can you take it?”

“Luffy.”

“What if I break a bone?”

“LUFFY.”

He pouted “What? It’s a fair question!”

You sighed, rubbing your temples “Look. I didn’t even know I could do this until now. It just… happened.”

Luffy blinked, processing.

Then, to your absolute horror, he grinned “That means you can heal everyone! You heal faster so it must be already gone..”

Your stomach dropped “No. It actually hurts. A lot more than my usual power.” You crossed your arms “Seems like it takes longer for me to heal. It’s not some magical fix.”

Luffy hummed “Mh then I'd say you don't use that anymore... but you’d still do it, right? I know you”

You hesitated.

Of course, you would. If it meant protecting the crew.

But before you could answer, Sanji’s voice rang out from the kitchen “Dinner’s ready!”

Luffy immediately forgot everything and ran inside, laughing.

You exhaled. Crisis averted.

For now.

Because if Luffy knew then it was only a matter of time before someone else found out.

You keep your secret safe for weeks! Apparently Luffy forgot...

At first, it’s easy. You start small, taking tiny injuries from the crew when no one’s looking. A scraped knee here, a bruised knuckle there. Nothing big.

No one notices.

But then the fights get tougher.

The New World isn’t kind. Enemies get stronger, battles last longer. The crew starts walking away from fights with barely any wounds. But you start feeling it.

The constant ache in your bones, the sharp sting of deep cuts that aren’t healing fast enough. But you push through it, hide it well.

Or at least, you think you do.

Until Zoro catches you.

It happens after a particularly brutal fight.

The crew had just finished raiding a marine base. Nothing too crazy, but the enemies had been tough.

You stand on the deck of the Sunny, bandaging your arm. Another wound you had taken from Usopp. He had been hit bad, you hadn’t even thought before reaching for him, absorbing the injury.

Now, you regret it. This one hurts.

“You’re doing it again.”

You freeze.

Zoro’s voice is sharp, too sharp. When you turn, he’s standing near the railing, arms crossed, eyes locked onto you.

You force a smile “Doing what?”

His expression darkens “Don’t play dumb.”

Your stomach twists.

“Taking our damn injuries” he says flatly.

Your grip tightens on the bandages “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zoro steps closer “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not—”

Before you can finish, he moves. Too fast.

One second, he’s in front of you. The next, he’s grabbing your wrist forcing your hand away from your bandages.

Your breath catches.

His eyes drop to your arm.

To the wound that wasn’t there before the fight ended.

His jaw tightens “So that’s how we’ve been walking away without a scratch.”

You yank your hand back “It’s not a big deal.”

“The hell it isn’t!” His voice is low, but angry “You’re hurting yourself for us.”

You glare “I’ve always done that.”

“Not like this.”

“It’s the same thing!” You step closer, frustration bubbling up “I take pain to protect the crew, that’s what I’ve always done!”

Zoro’s expression hardens “You’re not protecting us. You’re making yourself weaker.”

You scoff “Oh, so I’m the weak one now?”

“Yes.”

The answer is immediate.

Your breath catches.

Zoro exhales, rubbing a hand down his face. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter.

“You rely on this power too much.” He shakes his head “What happens when you take too much? When your body can’t keep up?”

You look away.

He notices.

His voice drops lower “You don’t know, do you?”

You swallow hard.

Zoro sighs. When he speaks again, there’s no anger. Just frustration.

“You can’t keep fighting like this.” His gaze locks onto yours “Train with me.”

You blink “…What?”

“Train with me,” he repeats “You want to protect the crew? Then get strong yourself. Not through your Devil Fruit. You.”

You hesitate.

This is Zoro. The most stubborn, relentless, brutal fighter on the crew.

But deep down, you know he’s right.

You exhale “…Fine.”

A smirk tugs at his lips “You’re gonna regret that.”

Training with Zoro is hell.

You expect it to be hard, Zoro is one of the strongest swordsmen, after all. But you don’t expect him to be this relentless.

“You call that a punch?” he scoffs, blocking your attack with one arm “I’ve seen Chopper hit harder.”

You grit your teeth “I don’t need to be strong like you. I have my Devil Fruit.”

Zoro’s expression darkens “That’s the problem.”

Before you can react, he moves, sweeping your legs out from under you. You hit the ground hard.

Pain explodes through your body, but you refuse to transfer it away.

Zoro stands over you, arms crossed “If you lost your powers tomorrow, could you still protect the crew?”

You don’t answer because you don’t know, and Zoro sees it.

He sighs, holding out a hand “Get up.”

You glare at him, but take his hand anyway. He pulls you to your feet with zero effort.

“We’re doing that again” he says.

You groan “You just knocked me on my ass.”

“Then stop letting me.”

Over the next few weeks, something shifts.

Training with Zoro is brutal, but you keep up. You stop relying on your Devil Fruit in fights. You block, dodge, counter without using your power as a crutch.

And Zoro watches you closely.

At first, you think it’s just him being a tough mentor. But it’s not just that.

Because sometimes, when you push yourself too far, his frustration turns to something like worry.

You don’t question it. Not until the day everything changes.

The crew is ambushed on an island.

It’s not the worst fight you’ve had, but it’s bad enough. The enemy captain is strong, and before you know it Zoro takes a hit.

A deep slash across his chest. Blood spills onto the ground.

Your body moves before your brain does. You reach for him.

Pain floods your body as the wound transfers to you. Your knees buckle, breath hitching but Zoro catches you immediately.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, eyes blazing.

You grit your teeth “Saving your life, dumbass.”

“I didn’t ask you to!”

“You didn’t have to!”

Zoro scowls. He grips your shoulders, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You can’t just take pain like it’s nothing,” he growls “You think it doesn’t matter?”

You glare back “It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

His voice is low. Firm.

Your chest tightens “You wouldn’t get it.”

His grip tightens “I do get it.”

You freeze.

Because there’s something in his eyes, something familiar... and then, you remember.

You were awake when the Rumble Ball incident happened. The damage Luffy took at Thriller Bark. The moment Zoro stood covered in blood, refusing to say what happened.

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

Your breath catches “You took Luffy’s pain back then.”

Zoro’s jaw clenches.

You stare at him and his gaze softens. Just for a second.

Then he looks away “It doesn’t matter.”

But it does. Because now, you understand you and Zoro are the same.

You both take pain so the crew doesn’t have to.

But Zoro never let it break him.

And maybe that’s why he’s so angry now. Because he sees you going down the same path. And he doesn’t want that for you.

You swallow hard “…Zoro.”

His eyes flicker back to you.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then his voice is quieter “Don’t do that again.”

Your fingers curl into fists “I can’t promise that.”

Zoro exhales sharply “Then I’ll just have to stop you again.”

Your heart pounds.

Because the way he says it, it’s not just a threat. It’s a promise.

You and Zoro don’t talk about what happened.

Not at first.

The crew is too busy celebrating the win. Luffy’s laughing, Usopp’s boasting about some made-up feat, and Sanji’s grilling enough food to feed an army.

But Zoro stays quiet.

And you pretend your body isn’t aching from taking his wound. You pretend Zoro’s eyes aren’t constantly on you.

But you feel the way he watches you. The way his jaw tightens every time you wince.

And then, late that night, when the crew is asleep, he finally snaps.

You’re on the deck, staring at the sea, when you hear heavy footsteps.

Zoro stops beside you, arms crossed.

You sigh “Here to scold me again?”

“Tch.” He leans against the railing “Don’t act like you didn’t deserve it.”

You roll your eyes “I saved your life.”

“I wasn’t dying.”

“You were bleeding everywhere.”

Zoro gives you a pointed look “So were you.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Because he’s right.

You shift uncomfortably “I can handle it.”

Zoro scoffs “That’s what I said back then.”

You glance at him “What?”

His gaze darkens “It almost got myself killed.”

You’re confused but you don’t need the details to understand. Silence stretches between you.

Zoro sighs, rubbing his neck “I know why you do it. But you’re an idiot if you think you can keep this up forever.”

Your fingers tighten on the railing “…So what do I do? Stand there watching everyone getting hurt when I know I can do something about it?”

Zoro exhales sharply “Just let me help you.”

Your breath catches.

Because it’s not a demand. Not a command. It’s an offer.

You swallow hard “I don’t need—”

“Don’t start.”

You blink.

Zoro turns to you fully, expression serious “You need to stop acting like you’re alone in this.”

Your chest tightens.

Zoro doesn’t do speeches. He doesn’t waste words.

So if he’s saying this…

He means it.

“…Okay.” you murmur.

Zoro raises an eyebrow “Okay?”

You roll your eyes “Yeah, okay. I’ll let you help me. Happy?”

He smirks “Ecstatic.”

You laugh, shaking your head “Asshole.”

His smirk widens “You love it.”

Your heart stumbles.

Because he says it too casually. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s true.

You look away “Shut up.”

Zoro just chuckles. And somehow the weight on your shoulders feels lighter.

Training with Zoro doesn’t get easier.

If anything, it gets harder.

Every day, he pushes you past your limits, forcing you to fight without using your Devil Fruit, making you stronger on your own. You hate him for it, but you also hate that it works.

Your body stops aching as much. Your reactions get faster. Your movements sharper.

And Zoro never stops watching you. But you ignore that.

Until the day everything falls apart.

The training session is brutal.

Zoro blocks every attack with zero effort. He moves too fast, dodging your punches like they’re nothing.

You’re tired. Frustrated.

So when he steps in close, you react on instinct.

You try to sweep his legs, but he sidesteps, and suddenly, you’re off balance and before you can stop it, you crash into him.

Zoro grunts as you both hit the ground, hard.

And just then you realize where you landed.

Your body is on top of his. Your hands are on his chest. His very solid, very warm chest.

And Zoro is just staring at you.

His breath is warm against your skin. His hands rest lightly on your waist, like he’s not sure whether to hold you or let go.

Your heart pounds.

Neither of you move.

Neither of you speak.

And then, without thinking, you kiss him.

It’s quick. A fleeting brush of lips. But it’s enough. Because for a split second, Zoro freezes. His grip on your waist tightens as his breath catches. And that’s when it hits you.

What the hell did I just do?!

Panic floods your chest.

You pull away. Scramble to your feet.

Zoro sits up instantly, eyes wide “Wait!”

But you don’t. You turn and run.

Because holy shit, you just kissed Zoro and you don’t know if he wanted you to.

You avoid him after that.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid.

But every time you see him, you hear his sharp inhale. Feel his hands tightening on your waist. See the shock in his eyes.

And you can’t face that.

So you just... don’t.

You dodge his training sessions. You sit as far from him as possible during meals. When he walks into a room, you walk out.

The crew notices.

Luffy is confused. Nami is amused. Usopp keeps giving you looks.

And Zoro is pissed, because he might be shy, but he isn’t dumb. And you’re not subtle.

So after three days of this he corners you. And you realize, too late that you’re screwed.

You’re about to slip away again when you feel that familiar, heavy stare.

You freeze.

And before you can react a strong hand grips your wrist. You spin around.

Zoro stands there, arms crossed, brow furrowed. His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“You,” he says, voice low, “are avoiding me.”

You swallow “No, I’m not.”

Zoro raises an eyebrow.

You try again “I’m just... busy.”

His jaw clenches “Bullshit.”

You flinch because Zoro never calls you out like this.

You pull your wrist free, looking away “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Zoro exhales sharply and then “Is it because of the kiss?”

Your stomach drops.

Your entire body tenses.

You should have known he’d bring it up.

But hearing him say it out loud... you can’t breathe.

“I—” Your voice catches “I didn’t mean to—”

Zoro steps closer “Didn’t mean to what?”

You step back “Forget it.”

“No.” His eyes darken “I won’t.”

You clench your fists “Just drop it, Zoro.”

His hand catches your chin. Gently.

Your breath hitches.

“I’m not dropping shit,” he murmurs “You kissed me. Then you ran. Now you won’t even look at me.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze.

And fuck, he looks serious.

Your heart pounds.

“I thought…” You swallow hard “I thought you didn’t want me to.”

Zoro stares.

Then he curses under his breath, and before you can react his hand cups your face and he kisses you.

Not soft. Not hesitant.

But actually firm and certain. Like he’s making a point.

Like he’s saying “You’re an idiot if you think I didn’t want this.”

Your brain short-circuits.

Your hands fist in his shirt. You kiss him back desperate, dizzy.

His arms lock around you, because now that he has you he’s not letting go.

Zoro’s kiss is rough, unyielding.

Like he’s making up for lost time. Like he’s claiming something he should’ve had all along.

You barely have time to breathe.

His hand tightens at the nape of your neck, tilting your head just right, deepening the kiss until your knees threaten to give out.

You clutch at his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you standing, and maybe it is.

When you finally pull away, gasping, your head feels light, hazy.

Zoro doesn’t let go.

His forehead presses against yours. His breathing is uneven and when he speaks his voice is low, rough “Still think I didn’t want it?”

You shudder.

Your fingers tighten on his chest.

“…No.”

His lips curve “Good.”

The crew finds out immediately. Not because you tell them, but because, apparently, you’re both terrible at hiding it.

The next morning, you walk into the kitchen and the entire crew is staring at you.

You freeze.

“…What?”

Sanji smirks, leaning against the counter “So…you and the mosshead, huh?”

Your stomach drops.

Nami hums, sipping her coffee “Took you long enough.”

Usopp grins “You guys weren’t exactly subtle.”

Your face burns “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Luffy just tilts his head “Zoro was smiling this morning.”

You blink “So?”

Luffy grins “Zoro never smiles like that.”

Your mouth opens and then you hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

You turn and there he is.

Zoro strides in, yawning. He looks relaxed, more than usual, like he actually slept well for once.

Then his gaze lands on you.

And without hesitation he reaches out, grabs your wrist, and pulls you into his side casually, like it’s natural, like he’s done it a million times.

And when he notices the crew watching he just raises an eyebrow “…What?”

Silence.

Then Sanji groans “Oh, great. Now he’s even more unbearable.”

Nami just smirks “About damn time.”

Usopp whispers something about losing a bet.

And Luffy just laughs “Shishishi! You two are weird.”

Zoro just grunts “Tch. Whatever.”

But you see the way his fingers linger against your skin. The way his shoulders relax just slightly when you don’t pull away.

[jayblades]

practice round

dick grayson x fem!reader

summary; when some guy takes an interest in you, your extremely thoughtful best friend dick convinces you that you need a little more… experience. and who better to help you practice, than himself?

warnings; 18+, manipulation, yandere-lite themes… best friends <3 nsfw, reader is inexperienced, but not a virgin, possessiveness, fem!reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill)

author’s note; felt depraved things writing this… if you enjoy then let me know!

You’re sat on your bed, curled up near the edge where Dick is sprawled out on the floor beside you, scrolling through his phone.

He noticed a slight shift in your behaviour about ten minutes ago when you’d received a notification on your phone. He wonders if you’re going to tell him about it — he supposes it doesn’t really matter if you don’t. He’ll just look through it later, but of course he wants you to be the one to share.

You look so nervous, knees drawn up to your chest like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. It’s adorable. It’s pathetic. It makes something sharp twist in Dick’s stomach.

Finally, you blurt it out. “So… this guy asked me out.”

Dick stills, his finger hovering over his phone screen as he freezes in place. “Yeah? Who?”

You say his name like you’re embarrassed and Dick smiles, slow and easy. But inside, he’s seething. It takes a lot to keep his expression carefully neutral. He’s heard you talk about this guy before, offhandedly calling him cute. He has no idea you may have possibly been forming a crush on him.

You hug your pillow against your chest and scrunch up your nose. “He’s so… popular. You know? Good looking. Everyone’s obsessed with him, so I don’t know…”

“Sure,” Dick mumbles, pretending to focus on his Instagram feed again. “He’s been with… what, half the senior class?”

You wince. Dick thanks the universe in this moment that the guy who has taken an interest in you is basically a manwhore. It’s going to make this so much easier.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess. He’s really, uh, experienced.”

Dick turns around to face you properly. He scans your face, assessing the way you bite at your lip and look down, your gaze faraway somewhere. “Wait, you’re nervous.”

He forces himself to sound surprised, but of course he knows you’re nervous. He’s banking on it, in fact.

You nod, sighing as you lean back on your bed. “What if I’m not enough for him in… y’know, that area. He’s probably used to girls who know what they’re doing and I’ve barely even—”

“Hey, hey,” Dick cuts you off, getting up to take a seat next to you on the bed and reaching a hand out to lightly squeeze your knee. “You’re more than enough, sweetheart.”

He means that. You’re way more than that jackass deserves. Dick has heard how he’s talked about women before. Even if this guy wasn’t scum, there’s no way in hell Dick is going to let him have you. The gears in his mind are already turning and there’s a growing excitement in his lower belly that he can hardly contain.

“You just said that he’s been with so many people,” you point out, frowning at him.

Dick sighs, like it pains him to say it. “Yeah, well. Sure, he’s probably used to certain things. Stuff he’s probably expecting without even thinking about it. But that isn’t your fault.”

You stare at him, looking utterly crestfallen. He can practically hear your heart sinking and it only spurs him on as he shifts closer to you, dropping his voice into something more intimate and safe.

“Any guy would be lucky to have you. You know that right?”

“Thanks, Dick,” you mumble, trying to smile. But he’s not done.

“It’s just guys like him,” Dick continues slowly and deliberately, carefully choosing his words. “They get bored really fast. If something feels too new… too awkward…”

He trails off, allowing the implication to hang heavy between you. Dick is well aware that you’re not a virgin, but you may as well be. He’s talking bullshit, obviously. He knows that this guy would kill to have you in his bed and that your lack of experience would only make you more appealing to his sick mind. Dick would know, considering his mind is even sicker when it comes to you. The difference is that you actually mean something to Dick.

“Oh,” you whisper, dropping your gaze. You look disappointed and Dick knows exactly what to say next.

“Look, if you’re that worried,” he starts, sighing like you’ve presented him with a problem. “You could always practice.”

You blink at him, startled. “Practice?”

He smiles at you, all warm and encouraging like he’s offering you a life raft. “Yeah. To get comfortable. Figure out what you like, what feels good. What to do. So that when it matters, you’re not nervous.”

You let out a nervous laugh, hesitating. “I guess. But, with who?”

Dick shrugs, noncommittal. “Me, if you want.”

As expected, you whip your head up to gape at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “What?”

He rolls his eyes, as though what you’re saying is silly. “Don’t make it weird,” he chuckles under his breath, keeping his hand on your knee. “We’re best friends. You trust me, right?”

You open your mouth, like you’re about to argue but then you shut it. Because you do trust him — you always have. “Yeah, I do, but—”

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, softening his voice even more. Every word coming out of his mouth is a lie, but they’re necessary, really. You don’t know what you want yet, which is exactly why he’s here to help. “And wouldn’t you want to practice with someone you’re comfortable with? Someone who only wants to make you feel good and confident. To teach you how to make someone happy.”

Lies, lies, lies. He has no intention of letting that happen.

Dick starts to stroke your wrist, thumb gliding lazy circles over your pulse like he’s trying to calm you down. Judging by the way it quickens, he’s doing the opposite and he has to fight to hide his grin.

Your voice cracks when you finally whisper back. “You really think it’ll help?”

“Yeah, but it’s totally up to you. You don’t have to decide right now,” he says lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and marvelling at how your gaze is tracking his every movement. “If you’re already this nervous…”

Your voice comes out impossibly small. “What would we even do?”

Dick’s mouth twitches as he tries not to smile triumphantly. He’s got you exactly where he wants and he’s elated.

“We can just kiss for now,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb over your lips, immediately making them part. Fuck, he’s going to have a hard time stopping if that’s all you want to do. “Whatever you want.”

After hesitating for a second and testing Dick’s patience, you finally nod. It’s shy, barely a movement of your head, but you’re smiling at him and Dick feels it go straight to his groin.

“Okay, then,” he murmurs, agreeable like you’ve coaxed him into it. “Do you want to set the pace, or should I?”

Your shoulders relax a little at the kindness in his voice and you swallow. “You… you can.”

He almost groans at your words. So submissive, so willing. You’re giving him permission to do what he wants and oh, he’s going to take it.

Dick gently positions you so that you’re facing him a little closer, sneaking his hand around to your back like he’s done a million times. Except this time, he gently lifts up your chin and offers you a reassuring smile and you can’t help returning it, albeit nervously. It’s Dick after all — your best friend in the whole world. And he’s such a good one for helping you out, right?

As if you’re getting impatient, you glance down at his lips and he decides that’s enough playing around.

Dick leans forward and brushes his lips against yours to test the waters. When you don’t move away, he presses his mouth to yours and your eyes flutter shut.

You’re a little stiff at first, hesitant and unsure as you allow Dick to lead. And he’s more than happy to show you.

He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss as his hand slips back to cradle the back of your neck. His fingers tangle in your hair, fully controlling your movements and you let out the tiniest, most helpless whimper he’s ever heard from you.

Dick nearly loses it there and then.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to speak, and his lips brush yours with every word. “You can kiss me back, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice coaxing and patient. He brushes his knuckles against your spine and swallows hard when you instinctively arch up into him. “Just… follow what I do.”

You nod, your expression dazed and faraway and when he leans in again, you press your mouth to his in a soft kiss.

Dick smiles against you, rewarding you by slanting his mouth more firmly against yours. This time he lets the kiss linger, letting you feel his warmth, the careful way he parts his lips to guide you how to breathe through it.

When you mimic him, he hums low in his throat, the noise vibrating against your lips.

“Good girl,” he whispers, barely pulling back, his voice rough with approval. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Your lips turn up, a shy smile gracing your face as you shiver slightly. “Thank you,” you mumble out, like you’re embarrassed.

Dick has manipulated you into kissing him and you’re thanking him. He’s so giddy he could burst.

Instead he settles for kissing you again, even deeper as his hands slide down to your hips where they lightly squeeze. The action makes you gasp softly against the kiss and he uses it, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip.

You stiffen, unsure and he immediately soothes you, hand against the side of your thigh. Your nerves are so cute. Almost as cute as the strawberry lipgloss that he’s tasting, which he knows is your favourite.

“Open up for me, baby,” he murmurs, voice dripping with patience. “Just a little. Let me in.”

You part your lips, all hesitant and sweet and Dick rewards you immediately by slipping his tongue in your mouth. You melt against him some more and he takes it as a sign to go further until he’s licking into your mouth, kissing you like he’s trying to eat you alive.

He’s borderline devouring you, getting hungrier when he feels you start to move with him, gasping into his mouth and making soft, pleased noises.

Dick can feel how overwhelmed you already are when you helplessly reach out to grab the fabric of his t-shirt, clutching him like a lifeline. He needs more.

Pulling back far enough to speak, he tries to control his own breathing. It’s just so hard when he’s this excited. “When a guy really likes a girl…” he says lowly. “He won’t wanna stop at just kissing. You wanna make sure you’re ready for all of that?”

You stiffen for a second and Dick decides to change his tune, gently kissing your forehead like he always does and begins to shift back a little.

“I mean, we don’t have to,” he relents, trying to sound as flippant as he possibly can when his hard on is painfully straining against his jeans. He begins to slide his hands away from your body as though he’s unaffected. As though his jaw isn’t clenched from the restraint of not touching you. “We can stop.”

“No!” Your hands shoot out to hold his own in place where they grip your waist and your eyes don’t leave his mouth for a second. Your’e panting softly, lips swollen and bitten — courtesy of Dick — and your eyes are glassy. “I— we don’t have to stop… I want to keep going. Please.”

Who is he to deny you when you ask so sweetly?

“Whatever you want,” he agrees, voice calm as ever. But his blood is hot and he’s trying so hard not to rip off your clothes and fuck you into the mattress until your bed is broken in half. All in good time, he tells himself as he guides you further back. “Lie down for me?”

You rest your head against your pillows obediently and Dick runs his hands up your sides, slowly and teasingly. “I’m going to take off your shirt now.”

Nodding, you lift up your arms when he begins to peel away your oversized t-shirt, shrugging it over your head to toss it to the ground. Dick’s eyes don’t leave your chest and it’s like he’s a man possessed when he immediately leans down to drop kisses to your neck and down your chest, grazing the swell of your breasts.

“So, so pretty,” he mumbles against your skin, his hands sliding behind your back to fumble with your bra clasp. You don’t stiffen this time and he takes it as permission to unclasp it before sliding your straps down your arms and leaning back to stare at you. “Fuck…”

You shrink under his gaze, trying to place your hands over your chest when he doesn’t move, and the action snaps him out of it.

“Don’t cover up,” he instructs, impatiently brushing your hands away before looking directly into your eyes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

A little laugh leaves you, like you don’t believe him and he decides it’s high time to convince you. Ducking his head down, Dick immediately swipes his tongue across your hardened nipple and you hiss, hand flying up to muffle your gasps as he starts to suck. Everywhere. He’s biting and licking at your chest, purposely leaving marks. If you try and do this with anyone else, they’ll know he was here first with all the blossoming bruises he’s sucking onto your skin.

Your gasps are coming out too quietly for his liking.

“No, don’t cover your mouth,” he says firmly, circling your wrists with his much larger hands to guide them away and pin them to your sides. “Guys like it when you’re noisy.”

Translation: Dick wants to hear you scream.

He returns his mouth to your body, this time venturing lower as he peppers kisses to your stomach. Lower and lower until he’s at the waistband of your shorts. He kisses around your belly button, nipping at your skin to distract you from your nerves as he slides the shorts down your legs.

You’re not even protesting anymore. In fact, you’re eager as you kick the item of clothing off your body. Dick huffs out a laugh against your belly when he sees your pink cherry-print panties. He recognises them from all the times he’s rifled through your underwear draw — it’s his favourite pair.

“Stop laughing,” you say breathlessly as you playfully tug on a strand of Dick’s hair. “It’s laundry day.”

“No, it’s cute,” he says, completely serious as you roll your eyes. The attitude you give him makes him want to fuck it out of you and so he swipes his thumb across the centre of your panties, right where your clit is, pulling a breathless sound from you. “So, so cute.”

You’re already soaked through the pink and red fabric, your wetness forming a damp spot visible through your panties and he grins. Shit, he’s barely touched you.

Dick props up your legs for better access and tugs at your panties, sliding them down to your ankles and then he groans.

He sounds like you’ve just sucker-punched him and before you have the time to process it, Dick sinks a finger into you easily and without any friction.

You’re so wet that it slides right in and the sounds that leave your lips make Dick’s mouth water. You’re gasping on choked breaths as he moves in and out of you, dragging his digit against your walls.

“So responsive,” he exhales, keeping a slow pace as not to overwhelm you. It only lasts a second though, as he can’t help wondering what other noises he can get out of you. His other hand comes up to start circling at your clit and your hand flys up to grab at his inky black locks.

“Oh, sh…shit. Dick, oh my God,” you whimper as the double stimulation makes your body twitch. You’re so consumed by pleasure that you probably don’t realise how hard you’re pulling on his hair — it’s a good thing he likes it. “Oh, please…”

He thinks he could die right now, hearing you beg him. For what, you don’t sound sure, but he obliges you with something. That something being a second finger which slides in almost as easily as the first.

The whine that leaves you is music to his ears and he pumps his fingers in and out, stretching you open in preparation. “Good?”

His question is teasing, since he can tell from the way your eyes are screwed shut that you do think it’s good. You nod nonetheless, whimpering out a “Yeah, so good. S-so good, Dick.”

Dick hums, increasing his pace absentmindedly as his erection brushes against your sheets. He’s practically humping your duvet, it’s pathetic. But he can’t bring himself to feel shameful about it when you’re looking so fucked out before him and he’s barely even done anything.

Fuck, he’s nearly drooling and so he decides the only thing to do is remove his hand from your clit. Your eyes flutter open at the loss of contact, despite his fingers still moving inside of you.

“Wait, what are you— Nngh.”

Dick flattens his tongue against your cunt and drags it up over your clit. You cry out, tangling your fingers further in his hair and keeping his head between your legs. Not that you need to when he’s eating you out like a man starved.

His tongue is moving against you like you’re his last meal while his fingers curl upwards into your pussy, making your eyes prick with tears. The second he starts sucking at your clit, you arch off the bed and helplessly grind against his face, covering his chin in your slick.

Dick moans into your cunt, pulling away a little to ask you in between licks. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

When he doesn’t hear an answer, his fingers pause in their movements and he lifts his head up to look at you.

“I— I don’t know,” you whisper, breathing heavily. “I’ve never… y’know, I haven’t—”

You’ve never had an orgasm

It feels like Dick’s luckiest day alive, he thinks to himself and he can’t help the wicked grin that splits across his face. His slides his fingers out of you, making you whine and his grin widens as he climbs over you, swiping a hand over his mouth before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he says soothingly, starting to pepper kisses over your cheek and jaw. “We still have more practicing. You’re going to cum on my cock for the first time, okay?”

“Okay.” Your response is almost immediate and he huffs out a laugh at how willing you are now. Any hesitation has since left you and Dick doesn’t have to convince you to do anything.

Not when you’re tugging at his shirt to take it off, which he happily obliges, reaching behind his back with one hand to shrug it over his head.

You exhale shakily, reaching out tentatively to trail your fingers over the sculpted lines of his chest, the hard ridges of muscle and the soft scattering of dark hair trailing down to disappear into his jeans.

“You’re beautiful too,” you say under your breath with a shy smile and he lets out a broken laugh, rough and shaky, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss at your pulse point.

He’s going to absolutely ruin you.

When your hand drags down his abdomen and further down to his waistband, Dick shudders — a harsh tremor wracking through his body.

“Fuck,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. “Take off my jeans.”

Your fingers fumble to unbutton them and before he knows it, he’s tugging them off and you’re looking down at his cock straining impossibly hard against his boxers.

Dick doesn’t need to instruct you this time, and you’re hastily undressing him, allowing his achingly hard cock to spring free. You let out a breath at the sight of him, his leaking tip practically sore from neglect.

Your hands come up to hesitantly wrap around him, dragging his precum down his length to better stroke him. You do it painfully slow and he hisses through gritted teeth, jerking his hips into your hand which is so, so tiny compared to him.

“Am I doing this right?”

Your quizzical voice nearly makes him buckle, and he decides he’s had enough of not being inside of you.

“You’re perfect,” he promises, sliding a hand up the expanse of your thigh to squeeze your ass. “You’re more than perfect, but if you keep going, I’m going to cum all over your hand and that’s not what we’re practising today.”

You give him a sheepish smile, removing your warm hand and letting it rest by your side while he hovers over you.

Dick glances over your naked frame and nearly sighs aloud at the sight, leaning down to kiss your temple. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” you say, nodding at him to continue.

Dick brings his length to your cunt and drags it up and down once to cover the tip in your slick, marvelling at the natural lubricant. He’s not going to need anything else to slip right in and when your body twitches at the feeling of his head dragging against your clit, he smirks.

And then he slips the tip right into you, slowly working you through the delicious burn as you gasp. In the back of his mind, he’s a little bit concerned that you haven’t bothered to ask him to wear a condom (not that he was going to — he knows exactly what birth control you’re on, it’s fine), but your compliance is so naive. He’s glad it’s just for him.

“Ohhh, fuck. You’re doing so well, you can take it,” he grunts out, trying to go further in as slow as possible. His hands are clenched around your sheets as he slowly pushes and pushes deeper into you. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Huh? You gonna take all of me?”

“Yes, please, please, please,” you mutter, voice hoarse and nearly inaudible.

“Please what?” Dick stills, not moving another inch as he freezes halfway inside of you. “What do you want me to do, baby? Use your words.”

“Dick,” you rasp out, trying to buck your hips up for more, but Dick grabs your waist and pins you down. You can’t move an inch when he does this. “Please, please, I want more!”

He leans down to chuckle in your ear before he buries himself into you, sinking all the way down to the hilt.

He only gives you a few seconds to adjust before he’s pulling out and slamming back into you. The cry that leaves you is so beautiful and Dick wants to hear it again and again and so, all of a sudden, he’s driving his hips right into you with a desperation.

His cock is stretching you out more than his fingers ever could and you’re so wonderfully tight that Dick can feel every last inch of your velvety walls wrapped around him, sucking him in like something vicious and needy.

You’re practically incoherent now, the whimpers that leave you are basically sobs as Dick fucks into you hard and fast.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he grits out, sweaty curls falling into his eyes as he doesn’t falter in his thrusts. He leans down to press his body against yours as he continues to pound your hot, weeping cunt. “You’re a fucking natural, you know that? You don’t need the practice, you’re perfect. He doesn’t even deserve you. Fuck, he doesn’t deserve to look at you, let alone fuck you.”

Dick’s control and flippant attitude is slipping as he mumbles the words against your skin, but what else can you expect when you’re scraping your nails down his back and pressing your tits against his chest? He doesn’t even care about fucking you under the guise of practice anymore and instead he’s whispering cruelly into your ear.

“You’re so fucking gone for my cock, I bet you can’t even remember his name,” he chuckles against the shell of your ear and you let out another sob, shaking your head frantically. “What is it, baby? What’s his name?”

“I don’t…” you trail off, jaw going slack and eyes rolling back into your head when Dick lifts up your leg to position it over his shoulder, hitting a brand new angle that makes your whole body tense and writhe. He repeats the question and you whine, arching your back even more as you clutch his bicep. “Fuck! I— I don’t know, oh my God, I don’t remember. Oh, Dick, please, it’s so good! You’re so fucking good, I can’t—”

Dick smirks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he pants. “That’s what I fucking thought.”

He leans back and brings your other leg over his other shoulder to drive his length into you impossibly deep and you scream his name so loudly that there’s no way your neighbours could miss it.

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours are so obscene in the otherwise quiet of your bedroom that he wishes he could record it to listen to the audio later. He makes a mental note for next time.

As soon as Dick feels your cunt begin to clench around him, he knows you’re close and fuck if he isn’t too. Sweat is coating his back and he feels out of control — you don’t look any better as there are tears of pleasure running down your cheeks, your tits bouncing with every thrust, the sheen of sweat over them catching in the light.

Fuck, he groans out a guttural noise as he picks up the pace to piston into you like a fucking machine. Reaching over in between your legs, he starts to rub quick circles into your clit with his thumb, leaning down to spit on it.

He watches with awe as his thumb rubs his spit into your cunt and the more he circles your clit, the harder he slams into you. Soon, you’re coming so hard that your body trembles with a high pitched whine and your nails are drawing blood down Dick’s back.

The way your cunt is clutching his cock through your orgasm makes him follow quickly and he’s as much of a wreck as you are, burying his face in your neck and sliding his arms under you to pull you close to him as his hips begin to falter. Before he knows it, Dick is shooting hot ropes of cum all over your walls with a choked groan.

It feels never ending, the way you’re milking him for all he’s worth and he decides he never wants to separate from you, keeping himself buried inside of you as he collapses onto you.

He leans most of his weight on his arms beside you, but he’s close enough to feel your racing heartbeat against his chest as you catch your breath.

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he pants, one of his hands coming over to rest on your belly where he traces his fingers. “So fucking good…”

Your lips curve up into a smile and although it’s tired, he can tell you’re pleased.

He presses soft kisses into your temple, still buried deep inside of you. Your legs stay wrapped around him and your arms encircle his broadness in a bear hug, not eager to let go any time soon.

Dick is such a good best friend, after all.

[midnghtprentiss]

the favorite - jack abbot x f!attending!reader

pairing: jack abbot x f!attending!reader

a/n: this is my first jack story and i'm really excited. as a former healthcare worker (nurse!) the pitt changed a lot of things for me and it's my favorite show so far. hope you all like this idea of mine. sorry for any spelling mistakes. english is not my first language.

summary: all the times you were everyone's favorite person and one time you were jack’s person. 

one. 

you're a ray of sunshine. 

that's your thing.

you’re nice, intelligent, competent, kind and still the best part of the day for some people. and you’re smart as hell. she loves it. 

your calm energy it’s the reason why you work at the emergency department. people need your calmness around to work. which means you’re the favorite doctor beneath the staff, especially the nurses and med students - you’re their golden girl. 

dana loved you for different reasons. your sense of humour, your energy, the way you pay attention to the details. and most because you stay out of trouble. 

she never had a problem with you, actually, she was glad they put someone sane and kind to work in that shithole. every shift you showed up with something for the team. 

maybe homemade cookies, a cake and even a bread if you feel inspired baking for your people to show how grateful you are for them and to keep the spirits up. thank god it worked every time. perla and princess waited for you in the parking lot a few times just to make sure you got something good. 

what they admired the most about you was your strength to defend the nurses from the crazy patients. it doesn’t matter the shift, if someone is fighting with them, you’re the first one to show up and say some things. perla remembered how you got beaten up to defend princess from a perv that was touching her and how you ended up laughing about it with blood all over your nose (jack almost died when he saw you covered in blood - your blood). 

“it’s nothing, dana. he was touching her and i don’t appreciate it when men do that. she asked him to stop and he didn’t.” you shrugged and smiled at her. “don’t worry, alright? i would've done it for any of you.”

“kiddo, one of these days you’re going to kill me.”

“no i won’t.” you bolwed her a kiss and she laughed. a relieved laugh. “it’s not my fault i would take a bullet for you guys.” 

no one ever questioned your loyalty with the team, everybody knows exactly where’s the limit between respect and bullshit with you. from this day on, she put you under her wing and swore to herself anything that could ever happen to you during a shift was her full responsibility. some days the funniest part of her shift was explaining to abbot how you almost went home with a broken arm to defend them.

two. 

robby was his own person and you knew that. he loved the space, the warmth of his own heart and the loneliness. of course you were worried a lot of times. 

but for him you were like a breath of fresh air. the way you cracked jokes when you noticed he was this close to snap, when you distracted him for a few minutes with some picture of your cat, even taking him to the morgue just to swear bad words, or when you brought him coffee and chocolate. even when you covered for him for a few minutes so he could cry in peace. 

and he loved you a lot for that (and a lot of other reasons, but let’s focus on the main ones).

you never said a word about any of the things he never asked you to do and you've done it either way. he could count on you any moment of the shift just for glancing different at your direction. sometimes you have conversations with your eyes, sometimes you just cursed him under your breath and that was it. 

you even scared him a little. 

“i don’t want to see you for at least twenty minutes, robinavich. don’t make me yell at you.” you don’t even gleaned at him from the computer. “i got this. go grab something to eat while you cry, i don’t know. call your boyfriend, go watch some babies at peds i want you gone. the kids are my responsibility now.” 

“i need to be grown up now, i am literally their boss.” he tried to argue but one look from you was enough.

“if you don’t disappear in the next thirty seconds i’ll call jack and things will be worse.” you got up crossing your arms like a mother. 

“jezz, fine. please don’t ground call papa” he rolled his eyes, laughing and walked away from you, disappearing from your sight. 

“that’s how you teach grown men to be normal.” you winked at dana who was watching everything mesmerized cause she begged robby to take a break and he didn’t listen. 

robby was gone for thirty minutes and no one noticed his absence. when he returned to the nursing station he saw you teaching the med students how to do a proper examination on a normal patient, listening and answering all of the questions they had like a pro. 

you got everything covered and he felt good to have someone to help without needing to ask. 

that’s why you were his favorite. 

three. 

the med students loved you. the absolutely worship the ground you walked on. they loved your patience, your mind and especially how you treated them like people. in your mind they were there to learn, which means they'll make some mistakes and that's partially fine as long as they don’t kill anybody. 

“she has a masters and a doctorate, guys!” javadi once exclaimed like she found gold at the ED. 

at some point you became their confident. you knew every little detail about their life. how withaker was living with santos, how javadi was crushing mateo really bad even how santos struggled with the loss of her friend. mel learned how to open up about her sister's situation and mohan was navigating through the loss of her father even after all this time. you even helped mckay with the legal proceedings for her to have her son back. 

you knew everything. 

during your shifts you did your best to rotate between them. each day you choose one to watch from close and teach what you know and everyday they fight to decide who stays with you but after dr santos and whitaker dared to start a fist fight robby and dana choose for them. 

robby and jack were a little jealous of you, especially because you’re a smooth talker and you charmed everyone who listened. 

“it’s unfair how they follow you around like some sort of queen bee.” robby almost cried with his words. 

“i heard they have a groupchat with you, is it true?” jack nearly jumps from his seat. 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you sipped your coffee. 

“oh you know exactly what i’m saying.” he shots back and you laughed hard. 

“are you jealous of them? from what i’ve known you don’t even like interns, abbot.” 

“yeah, but i like to know what they say about my girl.” 

“they call her mama bear, brother.” robby looked at his hands trying to hold a chuckle. 

they’re definitely jealous. 

you use your time to teach them some valuable lessons. you help them navigate in the transition of becoming a doctor. smoothly and nice, just like you learned. 

“you know, santos, i’ll be honest, you need to review your way of talking with people.” you were beside her with crossing arms, watching her stitch a patient. 

your voice was hard and soft at the same time. 

“i’m only rude to the jerks.” you hold your laugh. 

“at one moment you’ll start to see all of them as jerks and this can’t happen.” you warned her softly. “imagined if you’re the one in their position. would you like to be treated like that?” 

she stared at you and nodded gently, sighing at your words. 

“what if i can’t do that?” 

“you will call me and we’ll try a different approach.” you touch her shoulder and squeeze. “i don’t want you to be cold and indifferent. the medicine needs to make you feel something. you’re doing a good thing for someone you like or not.”

they listen to you and they care. if you say something immediately they’ll do it and will make it like their life depends on it. 

at your birthday, for example, they made you a cake from scratch and even decorated it with pink frost and a glitter candle. you burst out laughing just for them to do that for you. no one else got a cake, just you. 

they even wrote you a small letter. 

“thank you for being the best teacher for us. we loved you, mama bear.  lots of love and hugs from your students.”

you were really grateful for those kids and they were grateful you’re their teacher. 

four. 

langdon was a problematic guy. it was no secret. he knew it, you knew it. but he was an exceptional doctor. no discussions about that. it was a fact. 

when he first started struggling with his addiction he came to you. something was happening to him and you got it in your heart that in the right moment he would talk. 

and he did.

he always talked about his problems with you. he came to talk about his marriage and how scared he was to broke things off with abby, how scared he was of being a shitty father. he viewed you more like an older sister, a protector of him. he liked how you never judged his fears, he liked the way you listened and tried to put some sense into his mind to do the right things. 

but this time it was different. it was worse. eating him alive. 

you were working a double shift when he found you in the stairs eating a burger in peace. you offered him some and he denied it. the air around him was thick, heavy and sad. he was a broken man and the sight almost broke your heart. 

“talk to me, frank.” 

“i fucked up.” you nodded, putting your food away to hold his hand.

“heard about it.” he sighed and you could see how embarrassed he was. “you need to get some help. i can’t see you struggling and acting like nothing's wrong. i like you too much to close my eyes and pretend.”

“i’m going to rehab. eleven months.” you smile. “robby is pretty pissed at me.” you both laughed. 

“good for you, frank.” your hand find his shoulder “you’re gonna get better. i’ll be there to help you whenever you need someone to talk, to eat burgers or talk shit about our job.the world is pretty fucked and i’m pretty sure you need a chance to make things right from your mistakes, you hear me?”

he nodded feeling a little less lost knowing you’ll be there to help. he wasn’t alone anymore and when he understood he had you by his side, the journey was smoother. 

five. 

jack abbot was a man of darkness. he worked so much better at night. it was his comfort zone. 

until you showed up years ago and messed up this whole dark theme he had planned for himself. 

working doubles wasn’t strange to you. you have bills to pay and things to accomplish and no time to waste. you two get along pretty well. more than well, actually. you were unstoppable together and everybody knew that. even walsh recognize you were good. she liked you (a miracle in jack’s view) a lot. 

you knew better than to date another doctor. you did this once and ended up in a pretty bad divorce. and with jack? you didn’t care anymore. 

he also knew better than to date another doctor. to date anyone actually. but no one was you. no one had a contagious laughter like yours. no one had a brain like yours. 

he was pretty sure god, or whatever divine figure, sent you just for him. 

the whole ‘soulmate’ story was a lie to him, until it wasn’t. you definitely was his soulmate. his favorite person.

his person. 

from the quiet drive home after a shift. from the warmth of your body curled around him. even your cold feet touching his feet in the middle of the night. 

falling for you was so easy if you like to observe things from a closer perspective. he noticed how you always have something red when you work the night shift and how you have something green at the day shift. he noticed you liked your coffee sweet for normal shifts and how you drink your coffee black at night.

he observes how you treat everyone, how you greet them with a bright smile and the coziest hugs even on your worst day. he could spend hours watching you talk (he does that everytime you pick an online class to teach) or breathe (he watched your sleep like a crazy psycho). 

you’re his person when you grab him coffee without him asking, when you sneak a sweet in the pocket of his scrubs. when you catch his gaze from across the room. when you start rambling about some gossip you heard through dana. when you talk to yourself trying to remember the article you just published.

to be loved is to be seen and he sees you. 

 you’re his person when he knows you’re his. 

he knows you are his girl when you’re sitting in his bed with his shirt and his socks, messy bun, glasses, computer on your lap, cup of tea in the nightstand and his dog laying at your feet waiting for you to move. the comfortable silence. the white noise of the television playing something he lost track of what it was. it’s when he looks at you like you’re his salvation from the darkness. it’s the words that come through his mind when he writes you a letter or a note. 

“i think i’m going crazy.” you whisper looking at him for a second.

“where is this coming from?” he chuckled. 

‘just checking if you agree or not.” you winked and he laughed hard. 

“pretty funny until you start accusing me of madness.” 

“i could never! it was one time, c’mon.” he took your glasses and held your face. 

“you’re the most gorgeous thing i’ve ever seen.” love. that was love from him. 

he doesn’t feel bad showing you who he really is. you’ve seen him, really seen him. you love him for who he is, good baggage or bad. you love his mean remarks, his type of affection. you love how he is quiet. you love how he balances his life going to therapy, talking to someone. you find it funny how he tries to hide a smile when you compliment him. how he flustered when you kiss him in public. how he loves when you bake cookies for him. 

“i loved your brownies. did you put some coffee this time? best one so far. love you. -j”

to be loved is to be seen and you see him. 

it’s the hope of a future he know it’s worth fighting for because you’re his person. you’re his present.

the kind of love that doesn't need words to be there (but he has a ring in his drawer waiting for the right moment). 

[perreqult]

DEAR GOD ✶ WILL SMITH

summary: it’s pretty hard to forget Will when he’s everywhere you are

word count: 1.4k (maybe a little more i counted before i continued more)

contains: smut (p in v— unprotected don’t do that), screwing your ex (i’m self projecting), missing your ex and being in denial about it, swearing, drinking, think that’s it

notes: i miss my frat boy situationship from freshman year

not proofread, expect mistakes

Working for the sharks didn’t seem too bad when you and Will were dating, but Lord was it aggravating to when you and Will had been broken up for a while.

The worst part were the stolen glances and awkward interactions. Let alone Macklin shamelessly staring at you. No matter where in San Jose you went, Will and his stupid pretty face followed you, haunted you.

Your mind has been flooded with everything about him. His smile, his voice, his body that you remember like it’s yours. Fuck, you miss that part of him— ‘Oh my God stopping thinking about that’, you tell yourself. It sure as hell doesn’t work.

You do try to forget him, it just fails. Every thought you have leads back to him, and it really doesn’t help that you two see eachother on a daily basis.

Forced interactions that couldn’t be described as anything but awkward should be considered torture. Every single uncomfortable “Hey.” that’s uttered out you think you miss him even more.

Does he miss you this way? You’re guessing the answer is no based on the fact he looks like he wants to die when you two have to talk.

Did you really think you’d be at a party one of Will’s teammates threw tonight? No. Are you, though? Yes. And so far it’s sucked.

Corny music is blasting in your ears from possibly the loudest speakers of all time, it’s hot and humid, and worst of all— Will is right next to you. You’d be lying if you said it wasn’t the most awkward experience of your life

You’re really only still in that spot— or at this party at all— because your friend decided that you can get over your emotions towards Will for the night and can get along with her friends. Who may or may not be Will’s friends.

Eklund offers you a round of beer pong and you use that as your escape to get anywhere Smitty isn’t. Even as you’re tossing the pong ball across the table set up you can’t help but think of him.

It would be a lot easier to forget him if you didn’t see him everywhere. You wanted nothing more than to say you forgot about him, you hate him, you don’t think about him every waking second, but if you did those would all be lies.

You’ve even thought about praying to whoever’s out there to let you forget him. Let you not think of him and his stupid dick when you’re lying on your bed.

You snap out of your haze of reminiscing him just in time for— you guessed it— to walk over to the table you and Eklund were at.

“Ah, Smitty. You have to ignore this round. She’s kicking my ass.” He laughs out, pointing at the cups scattered across the flat plastic foldable table. Will responds with a chuckle.

Embarrassment rushes through your body, it should, your ex— who you think about way too much— is standing less than 10 feet away from you, laughing. And fuck he looks perfect.

You’re staring. You know it. All you hope is that he doesn’t notice. Unfortunately your luck gave out tonight and he notices, he definitely does. He nods at you and smiles awkwardly. Is it possible for you to get more flustered? Right now you don’t think so.

“You know what? I tap out. Smitty you sub in for me, alright?” He tells him with a friendly pat on his back drunkenly. Yeah no, it was definitely possible to get more embarrassed.

“Sure.” Your heart practically sinks. One part of your mind says “Can he leave me alone?” and the other says, “Can he never leave me alone again” maybe it’s the alcohol making you indecisive.

You win but you don’t say anything the entire game. He’s acting a lot more relaxed now. This is the first time you can say drunk interactions with people are easier than when they’re sober.

“Y’alight?” He asks, breaking the weird silence between the two of you. All you can do is just nod again. You’re trying to blame it on being drunk but you know that’s not the truth. He flashes you a puzzled look but shakes it off like he knows you’re lying.

It’s because your thoughts about him, your dreams about him, the way you still love him.

“I… I’m gonna go with my friends.” You sputter out, not even looking him in the eyes as you say it, ready to leave, to not have any more memories of him you’ll eventually miss.

“I still love you by the way.” He blurts out. You’re expecting him to have some surprised look on his face, mirroring the one you have plastered all over yours. He doesn’t. He’s serious. You can tell.

“What?” Is what stumbled its way out your lips. You’re frozen in shock, whipping your head back to face him.

“I do.” He adds on, sure you don’t believe him. You don’t. He’s either been acting like you don’t exist or acting like you’re the most disgusting person on earth.

You don’t even respond. You do the first thing that pops into your drunken, hazed, mind. You kiss him. Oh God why did you do that? At the very least, Will doesn’t pull back in disgust and kisses back.

When he pulls back to breathe you already know he’s gonna say something stupid. “You gonna stop acting like you hate me now?” There it is. You hate that he’s right and you hate that you’re there right now. So what now, you fuck your ex? What if he’s just drunk and he’s gonna avoid you as soon as you drift out of his bed.

“Just shut up.” You tell him before grilling his face to pull him back into the kiss, particularly aggressively Will notes.

You probably shouldn’t be in his bedroom right now, should you? But you are. You’re slipping your dress off swiftly, almost giving you flashbacks to your relationship.

He looks at you with a grin that can only described as smug as he catches you staring at him as he yanks down his pants.

“Looks like you’ve missed me.” You tells you, pointing with his eyes at your soaked panties. Fuck. He’s right. Why is he always right about you?

You climb up onto his bed in a way that you remember all too well, pushing your weight onto your elbows as you eye him, pushing his boxers off to free his cock.

It’s not surprising that you remember it— hell, you’ve been thinking about it the past 4 months, why wouldn’t you?

You snap out of your subspace, drowned in thoughts, when he climbs up onto you, staring down at you. Yet again, that fucking smirk. God, he is hot.

He’s lined up to your dripping entrance, tip prodding at your hole. There’s some sort of intimate silence that lies in his bedroom. Maybe it’s the way your mind is filled with the memories you’ve been trying to forget.

“You ready?” He asks. You nod, way too quickly. He almost laughs— God, you were eager. As he dips into your soaking heat, he mumbles “Missed you.”, letting out an almost silent moan, slightly tipping his head back. You, on the other hand, cry out in pleasure. You hate to think this again, but God you missed him. A lot.

He takes the silent cue of you gripping his shoulders, pulling him deeper to start pistoning in and out of your drenched cunt. You try your best to quiet yourself down, for Will’s floor neighbor’s sake. It would be a terrible lie to say it actually worked. You were moaning in bliss as he went back and forth through your walls.

“Fuck.” You yelled as he hit that perfect spot in your hole that makes you go crazy. Will’s groans and low moans grow loader, gripping your hips tight— almost hard enough to leave marks— each time he slams back into your cunt.

“Anybody else fuck you like this?” He asks through a husky voice, starting to pump into you at a fast, rough pace. You can even fight the urge to cry out.

“Oh—Fuck… Haven’t fucked anyone else.” You sputter out through moans, your eyes rolling back into your skull. He groans out, a sly smile slipping across his face.

“Don’t gotta worry about that ‘nymore, huh?” He tells you through—deeper than usual— sultry voice. You wail out in undeniable bliss in a way that had to have boosted Will’s ego. You know it does when his smile goes wider.

Your mind practically goes blank, left in a blissed out subspace by the time you’re reaching your orgasm.

“Mmm, fuck.” You stutter out, feeling your peak grow closer. Will’s thrusts grow more and more sporadic, he’s close to. You know his body.

“Mm, gonna make me come.” He whispers into your ear, speeding up his thrusts, something you didn’t think was possible. That’s what throws you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you as you wail out.

He reaches his soon after, slowing down his thrusts so he’s left still, pulling you tight. “Missed you too.” He mutters. You’re too fucked out to care what he says at this point, you’ll talk in the morning.

“I didn’t miss you at all, Smitty.” You tell him, lying through your teeth. He just rolls his eyes, he knows you’re lying, pulling out of your heat slowly.

He rolls over to appear at your side and pulls you tightly next to him. You would say you forgot how nice it felt to sleep next to him, but you didn’t. You remembered it every night when you had to live without him.

[charmikarma]

this happened to me once. like i was part of the couple. and boy is it a story

so my girlfriend and i were going to see the colors within (aka kimi no iro, it's naoko yamada's most recent movie, really cute etc etc we liked it) and when we booked the tickets we were the only ones in the theater which was great. we grabbed seats in the middle of the very back row. fast forward to the day of the movie - we walk in while the previews are showing and it becomes clear almost immediately that... there's a guy sitting in the very middle of the back row. presumably he booked a ticket Right Next To Us. haha what a joker whatever. the theater is empty so it doesn't really matter. my girlfriend and i sit in the middle a few rows down from him. all is well.

about halfway through the movie, we hear the guy get up. and in my head i'm like, oh, this guy must think the movie is really boring so he's getting up to leave. cool! we get to have the theater to ourselves!

this was not the case. instead of walking down to the front by the door, the guy stops at the end of our row... and then walks toward us, and sits down right next to my girlfriend.

now, i'm not afraid to admit that my gf and i are kind of... insufferable? like we're cute. i think we're cute. but some people might think we're annoying. in other words there was lots of pda happening. this guy had to be pretending we didn't exist (which he wasn't) to not realize we were a couple on a date. we were that all over each other. hell, we were basically hugging when he sat down next to us. i really... have no clue what was going through this guy's head. like was he trying to make friends? i don't know.

but in the moment i wasn't thinking that. the first thing out of my mouth was, "can you not sit right next to us?" and my girlfriend, a little more diplomatic, says, "yknow what, our seats were actually supposed to be up there, so we're gonna go now." and as we're getting up to rush to the back row and away from this guy, he says, "funny story, my seat was originally up there too!" and i said very simply, "don't care, dude."

the rest of the movie was fine... during the credits he stood up and apologized, and claimed he moved because he wanted to see the movie better which... lol. lmao even. we left very quickly because we were kind of freaked out. i'd like to give this guy the benefit of the doubt but i am really not sure what his intentions were still. i hope he's doing ok. and i hope he doesn't interrupt any more couples' dates.

me and this random couple are going to see sinners this friday

[r0-boat]

Welcome home Masters!

7 Kings X Gn!Maid Reader

Hello this is my contribution too @mammonsmaster's WHB Collab!

Synopsis: Maybe working at a maid cafe in hell it was a mistake....

Cw: No sex but still smut because very suggestive, mentions of drugs, gambling, stripping, workplace harassment, workplace sexual harassment, MC is gender-neutral with feminization they are in a maid dress people, Reader is so fucking done, long as hell, mostly crack, silly fun

Enjoy Masters~!

Just a week ago, was the final nail in the coffin to get a job in hell.

The very idea of you working a job was heavily frowned upon by the Seven Kings who doted on you and 65 of their loyal servants who shared their very opinions. Even the money loving Bimet whose words you can still hear now that you type your resume "Don't soil your hands with work of the common when there are so many more ways that you especially could earn money." With the look of jealousy that would make even Leviathan impressed.

As much as you did here where they were coming from. About sudden angel attacks and hell still being dangerous. Becoming $1 million in debt because a devil at an Abyssos casino challenged to a game of poker was something. Instead of losing gold coins, the currency of Hell, and something you never had, the logical course of action was to go for the money in your earthly wallet. It was fucking traumatizing! You swore to yourself that would never happen again. As much as you are grateful for all seven of those kings to work for you to pay off your debt, the eye candy is so graciously enjoyed. You could still feel poor peepaw Solomon rolling in his grave every time you think about the $1 million you've never had that you lost.

The best thing about job hunting in hell Is that as soon as your resume hits the internet businesses from giant conglomerates in Tartaros to small Mom & Pop shops in Gehenna from cozy diners to strip clubs and bars flood your inboxes with messages offering you any amount of money with the greatest hours anyone could offer just for you to work under their roof. Because these devils knew that you were pretty much a celebrity, and wherever you went, potential paying customers would follow. So there you were, sitting on your bed, your golden laptop (gifted by You-Know-Who). You scroll through the plentiful options this job listing website has offered you.

You had no interest in corporations in Hell if they were anything like the ones on Earth, nor did you care enough to find out. Whether it's office work or on-site work, you are not working there, which was about 19% of applications you had to delete. You'd rather work somewhere smaller and less corporate.

You were not working in a place that worked with produced or was known for sex, adult toys, drugs, and alcohol. If you were already saying that just by walking down the street You did not even want to know what it was like working at a club or whatever Hell's equivalent of a Spencer's was!! And that was about 80% of the applications!!! Even some of the big companies fall into this category!

At the end of your mass deleting session, you were left with about 10 options that were currently hiring and had messaged you, at least one from each of the seven kingdoms.

Scrolling at the bottom and refreshing a page, another one pops up. That one caught your eye. It didn't have a lot of hours, but honestly, those were the ones you were looking for since you were trying to hide the fact that you even had a job. But it was also in Abyssos with morning hours, 3 days a week on weekdays. A humble cafe located at the end of a street corner, away from the large casinos and theme parks. As much as you were a little bitter at Abyssos for being the architect of your financial doom, this was the best choice. Out of all of the Seven Kingdoms, demons from Abyssos care about fun and in the moment more than anything else. The chances of you running into Beelzebub were far lower than in other countries; even if he was in this Kingdom, he wouldn't be there for long. Even if he did see you He would probably forget that you worked there after he left.

As much as you loved Gehenna, the chances of you running into Satan were very high; he knew everyone and was really popular with the devils who lived there. Satan, along with Mammon and Leviathan, were against you getting a job the most. So, who knows how mad he would be if he saw you on your shift? And his regular shenanigans are not really ideal if you just want peaceful shifts. Plus you can't imagine what kind of Karens the Kingdom of Wrath hosts.

Tartaros was a firm no. If you wanted to avoid large companies and corporate greed, honestly, you would stay 100% clear of Tartaros when it comes to looking for a job.

Hades sounds fine until you realize you will be working with envious devils. You can't imagine how bad the workplace drama could be. Not only that, the chances of Leviathan finding out are 99.9% which will lead you to a force transfer to his department, and by department, I mean wherever the fuck he feels like.

To work in Paradise Lost, you would need the permission of its king, and Lucifer would only agree for you to work there if it was underneath him directly. As tempting as it was, working in the medical department is terrifying, and you're not sure about working with a boss who you also bang.

Even though the chances of meeting Belphegor during your shift are lower than those of Beelzebub If you worked in Niffleheim, you would never have a break, a vacation, or even the day off; you can practically already hear the micromanaging. Belphegor was so eager at the idea of you working. He immediately offered, to his credit, a high-paying job to work in his castle, the benefits being "I don't fucking know..." And hours being "Forever I guess..." The job description very ominously being "Everything I need ya for Sugar. "

Abbaddon...

You let out a heavy sigh, lift your head out of your hands, and stare back at your screen. Your mouse had been hovering over the Cafe job listing for too long. Finally, you decided to bite the bullet and respond. The owner responded immediately with a casual and friendly tone. You're not sure if the lack of professionalism was refreshing or concerning. Is it a hell thing or an Abyssos thing that job interview didn't exist? But it was too late to contemplate now because the person who you assume was the boss pretty much hired you immediately over text. And informed you but in a couple days Wednesday You would come in at 12:00 And they'll teach you all that you need to know!

The cafe was "themed" after the ones on Earth They even had special events that lasted for a week every now and then. The owners were a middle-aged looking married couple. The husband who had slicked back hair and in undercut shook her hand very enthusiastically. Expressing his excitement to see a human in person. He had this innocent look in his eyes that made your heart melt He was probably hundreds of years older than you but he greeted you with such gusto. As he was yapping and rambling about his life in Hades and his dream to start a business blah blah blah- something from the back caught your extension. What you assume was the wife came practically stumbling out of the back room, You have the look of a cold-blooded killer on her face. She snarled when her blood red eyes landed on yours She didn't even say a word when she walked toward you before extending her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose her whole face scrunching up as if she was in pain. The husband beamed at his wife as if she was the most beautiful thing on earth. "Oh! That's Camilla! My beautiful wife! Sorry for her scary face She's nursing a hangover... Her old mates from Gehenna wanted to drink with her. She may look scary but I promise she's a sweetheart!"

Pink dusted her cheeks as she glared at her husband before muzzling his cheek, She put a hand on your head gently patting it before going to the back room.

You met the other part-time workers: a Young devil studying in a university in Tartaros, who seemed to be attached to you by the hip, her bright blue eyes looking at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world, Just buy her expensive jewelry you could tell where she was from. Her style was very up-to-date with Tartaros fashion with her golden name tag reading Xiulan. She mimicked you and every move you made with wide eyes and a big smile She was shy and didn't talk much but for some reason when it came to you suddenly she was just as talkative as your boss.

And an older man from Niffleheim with a lopsided name tag reading Kenji, who was the cafe's chef, who to this day you are unsure if he liked you or not. Every time he would see you running up to him with a big smile he would audibly grumble "Oh God, not you again..." But at the same time he would baked cook and feed you special dishes he made to ask how it tasted. But honestly did more micromanaging than Camilla and Lucian combined.

And all was well...

Until... The Day of reckoning...

A month into your job, your first event, Lucian your boss and Camilla's husband summoned you and the other part-timer as well a silence as ever Camila. "Okay this is very special! We all heard about The rulers of hell working as butlers at a shop on Earth". You tried to stop yourself from cringing when he mentioned.

"I think we should do the same! Instead of butlers, we can do maids!" Lucian said. Camilla smiled at his enthusiasm, with Camila taking measurements and Lucian with the shopping, You and Xuilan forcing Kenji to wear his goddamn maid outfit.

Besides Xuilan and Kenji getting into another fight during your lunch break when Kenji attempted to hand feed you only for Xuilan to Huff and bite it out of his hand, you yelled at both of them, and now they're sulking for the rest of their shift. You smiled as the bell above the door rang and two new customers entered. You skipped over to the new customer with your sweetest voice. You said, "Welcome home master!"

"oh~Is this some kind of roleplay?..." A familiar voice purred. Your eyes shot open... Oh fuck no.

You look up to see in all your horror. Not just one but two Leviathan and Beelzebub.

Leviathan's expression was unreadable. He looked down at you with wide, unblinking eyes, and his lips parted slightly.

Beelzebub's shocked expression faded instantly, replaced by a smug smile. "Aren't you going to see your masters?" He purred making you clench your fists. Hissing through your teeth, you respond, trying so hard for your customer service switch to flip. "Yes! Of course right this way." As you led them over to their table, you could feel holes being burned into your backside. As soon as you sit them down, that fake smile fades as you lean against the table to the both of them. Whisper screaming "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

Leviathan was oddly silent as Beelzebub spoke up for him, wrapping an arm around Levi. "Taking grumpy shut-in for a walk! Thought something That didn't have a lot of people was good for him. Could be asking you the same thing." You try to ignore Beelzebub leaning heavily to the right trying to get a better look at you.

You wanted them out now! And why the fuck is Levi so quiet... Usually, he's spitting poison or telling you how worthless you are, but he's just sitting there silently. His eyes never leave you, not even for a second, as you walk to grab a pen and notepad. Honestly, it's creepy as fuck the feeling that somebody is watching your every move, and you prefer when he's threatening to kill you.

In classic Beelzebub fashion, He orders one of everything on the menu. One. Of. Everything.

"And for you, master?" You turn to Leviathan, who just covers his face with said menu. You sigh, taking that as a no. As you head to the back, the burning sensation in your back does not leave. Kenji is there waiting for you on the other side of the wall. "Is that his majesty?" He whispers, and you finish this sentence with your palm and your hands as you give him the piece of paper with their order. "Leviathan and Beelzebub... Yea..."

Kenji looks at the paper in his eyes go wide. "Am I reading this right?"

"One of everything?? Yes."

Kenji rubs his eyes and he looks again.

"It's not changing Ken..."

"shit, I don't know whether to be excited or scared?" Despite his beefy appearance, the many scars on his body, and the fact that he looks like a yakuza member, Kenji takes pride in his cooking. Honestly, the only thing helping your anxiety-riddled mess is the fact that a muscular man like Kenji is in a frilly maid dress complete with a fake magic tail and ears that move.

Xiulan had already gone home since she usually opens. You saw Kenji going to the kitchen with Camilla. Kenji and Camilla looked so excited to get started. It seemed that they genuinely loved cooking. And when you tried to talk to Lucian, he just gave you a dismissive, "I don't care much for Hell politics... Whether they are kings, royals, or nobles, we treat all our customers like our Masters!" Lucian is way too committed to the bit.

The first five dishes come to their table, and Beelzebub's mouth waters at the smell. He takes a bite before you can see an idea popping into his head, and his lips curve into that signature shit-eating grin.

Oh no it begins...

"Miss maid, can you feed it to me~" Beel purred with the spoon still in his mouth. Which finally seemed to have awakened His majesty asshole of Envy. "You've already ordered everything on the menu fatass! Must you bother them even more?" Levi snarled.

You turn back to see Lucian, his eyes wide with sparkles, watching this whole thing. 'I thought you said you weren't interested in hell politics... ' You said internally before returning to Beelzebub. Taking a spoon out of his mouth, you scoop up some rice from the curry he ordered with the sweetest smile. "Open wide, Master!" Beelzebub is making sure to stick his tongue out,, too. Before he could take it off the spoon, Leviathan practically shoves him, putting it in his mouth instead of taking the food off that utensil. "Seriously, how annoying can you be? How is anyone supposed to eat if your hand feeding it?!" He glared at you, finally gently slapping your shoulder with the menu he had been holding onto this entire time. "Just get me one of your sodas!"

"Levi, if you wanted some food, you could have just asked..." Beelzebub said with a noticeable amount of annoyance. Whatever it was, it wasn't your problem as you tried so desperately to hide your exhausted side before you retreated back to the other side of the counter.

Around the afternoon, the cafe wasn't supposed to be as busy since The Abyssos nightlife was starting to kick up, and most devils were beginning to go bar hopping, clubbing, or gambling. Other than the two royalty on the side of the room, you were trying desperately to ignore. You served another table of regulars.

You smiled and greeted them with your usual soft tone, not forgetting to add 'Master!' at the end of it.

Leviathan's eyebrow twitched as he watched the whole interaction. Beelzebub had already cleaned his first round of plates while waiting for the other round of food. He was on his phone, texting. Leviathan stared at the hardly touched cup of cream soda. He slid his arm against the cup, slowly knocking it over the edge, some of that liquid splashing on a thigh. Hearing the noise, his head whipped around, immediately abandoning his current task and running to the King's (TM) table.

"Oh my goodness are you okay master?!" You ask You're so glad you keep a clean rag in your pocket. Levi's breath hatched when he felt your hands on his thigh pressing the rag against his pants. Staring down at you his pupils blown wide, How long have you been wearing this? How many more people had their eyes on you all day? 10? 20??

If it were up to him,, you would be serving only him. Dressed like this 24/7, with that sweet smile only for him, as you obediently cater to his every wish.

You press your rag harder on his thighs trying to soak up as much soda as you can. When your eyes dirt back up at him he grabs his teeth hoping you don't see the tent beginning to form in his pants. Once you are satisfied you move the rag to the table and then floor wiping up the rest of the spill. "Would you like me to get you more soda master to replace the one you spelled?"

Your voice snapped him out of his fantasy " what do you think? and be quicker this time You're as slow as you look " Leviathan huffed. You tried so hard not to grab the customer by the collar. As you left to go get a clean rag.

Coming back to the table your voice was sickly sweet as you hiss through forced smile "Oh my master is so clumsy~! Here!"

With enough force, you can slam down a sippy cup to make this table shake with a loud bang. Levi's eyes went wide, the loud noise making him jump back in his chair. His cheeks were dusted pink. He begrudgingly accepted the sippy cup without another word as Beelzebub busted out laughing.

When you finally finished serving your regulars You heard the bell on the door ring again this time It sounded like a whole group of people came in. When you rush to the door you wanted to jump out of your skin.

What the fuck.... Mammon and Satan?! Mammon hummed his eyes trailing up and down your body before giving you a whistle.

"Not sure which I'm more angry about, The fact that you went against what I said or the fact that you didn't tell me about it!" Satan raised his voice hissing through his gridded teeth but Mammon puts a hand in his shoulder. "If you don't like it then you can just go home, Beelzebub invited us to dinner, we should at least enjoy the food while we're here as well as the other services."

"fuck no I'm staying!" Satan growled smacking Mammon's hand off his shoulder.

Beelzebub You bitch! You internally scream as you whip your head around to see the man of your reckoning wave from the table they were seated.

"T-this way master..." You stuttered as you tried hard to regain that cheerful, ready-to-please attitude. "Master? I can get used to that!" Satan smiles wrapping an arm around your waist to feel how the dress compliments your body. Before walking ahead to his table, Mammon follows in tow but not before fully groping your ass on the way making you squeak at that moment, wondering if there is a hotline in hell for workplace harassment.

When they sit down you hear Satan, "Leviathan why do you have a sippy cup?"

"shut the fuck up short shit..." Leviathan mudders putting the cup up to his lips.

You wish your boss and coworkers could do more for you, but the fact is that they are kings, and there isn't a whole lot they could do about it... You didn't even bother bringing out menus as they were probably just going to eat whatever Beelzebub ordered prior.

You go to the back room to see if the second serving of food is ready, You look back to see all four staring at you; despite being clothed, you've never felt so naked as they undress you with their eyes. You knew exactly where Mammon was shamelessly staring. And they weren't exactly quiet either you could hear their shameless conversation.

"the maid outfit is nice... But... It seems a bit long and flowy. Something tighter around the waist... Hmm... Perhaps something to show off a little more assets?"

"lace?"

"ah yes! I didn't know you had such great tastes Beelzebub! "

"I pay attention where it counts!"

"It doesn't matter what they where everything is going to go on the floor anyway... "

"tch... No sense of style... No wonder you dress like that."

"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH YOU'RE DRINKING OUT OF A SIPPY CUP!!!"

You knew these were devils but come on... You're on the clock... Surely they'll cut you some slack on the clock right?? When you walked past the door, Lucian ran up to you, holding your hands in his. "Which one is your boyfriend?" He said with a big smile on his face. "I- What?" You are so cut off guard by his question. "So if you are Solomon's descendant are they all your boyfriends?!" Lucian continues. You didn't like the excitement in his eyes. " Hold on honey Wait here! "

He smiles as he runs to the kitchen with a skip in his step. He comes out with the fake tail and cat ears That was on Kenji before. Looks like he was more than welcome to give those up. Lucian hum does he replace your maid headband with the cat eared one and hooked up the magical tail right to the dress. "There you go dear aren't you the cutest kitten!! Now since today is going to get slower for the rest of the day now go out there and make your boyfriend happy! "

He smiled pushing you back out the door as you were wondering what the hell just happened. Did your boss just sell you out? You can't tell if he was supportive of your love life or a bad boss for subjecting you to more horrors. He sounds less of a boss and more of a nosy grandma. You made the mistake of looking back to see half of lucian's face peeking out from the other side. You say as you walk back to the table. Mammon's eyebrows perked up when he saw the new additions to your outfit. "hm... Better... But my point still stands." He smirks his arms cross.

Beelzebub whistled "Can you give us a little twirl?"

Ignoring their comments you smile "I'm sorry It will be a little longer till your food. If there's anything else you would like please let me know."

Satan gave you a toothy grin patting his lap "Aren't you tired from standing up all day? Why don't you set in my lap?"

"S-sorry You're not allowed to touch the Maids." You stutter again You could feel your face getting flushed, You've gotten attention from customers before but with the kings it was another level, if this was on earth this would be sexual harassment.

"Sorry doll face but I think we already broke that rule. "Satan purrs.

Beelzebub seems to finally notice what you said about the food leaning on his elbow "Don't worry about the food, we're waiting for more. "

"M-more?" Your eyes widened

"Oh yes, more." Mammon grins. "You're not just going to get a job as a cute little maid and expect us not to want to see it."

"You're welcome pretty." Beel chimed in making a kiss motion with his lips.

By the time your next break came around you sat in the break room your head in your hands, You swore this whole day was going to make you lose 5 years of your life. And it was about to get worse.

You could handle Lucifer and and Belphegor.

But... The devil you feared the most...

'The creature.'

There was no way 500 years he would miss the opportunity to see you in a maid outfit.

As much as he was sexy as fuck. That beast is terrifying.

But what you didn't think is how fast they would come in. Your 15 minute break ended. And you wanted to scream when you saw a Asmodeus walking in with a smile on his face coming from a portal carrying Belphegor piggyback. Lucifer following behind His eyebrows slightly raised as he looked around with interest.

By work policy you had to greet them.

Come on... Think about the paycheck, think about the paycheck, think about the paycheck, think about the paycheck, repeating your head like a mantra that would rival the Seraphim.

With a dead look in your eyes Your cat ears and tail which made Belphegore perk up from his nap and a curtsy that made Asmodeus bite his lip. "Welcome May I take you to your table?

'Oh God it's moving...!'

Asmodeus smirked smelling smelling fear.

"Aww No 'welcome home Master'~!"

You grit your teeth biting back the urge to strangle.

"He is correct you know. Aren't you supposed to be in character?" Lucifer unexpectedly chimes in.

'Lucifer you traitor!!' You sob internally

Belphegor resting his head on Asmodeus's shoulder, sneers "Aw ain't ya a shy kitty."

Your face red utterly shaking as you try so hard to summon every last ounce of fucks to give.

"welcome home, Masters~!" You gave them a cute smile.

The devils were too stunt to speak. Lucifer took a white handkerchief before pressing it to his nos. You saw a little bits of red staining the handkerchief when he folded it before threw it away into a nearby trash can when they walked over to their table.

You know in a fucked up way despite the torture and the more torture to come it was kind of nice seeing all the kings hang out like old friends. despite the abysmal difference in what's legal or not and the lack of overall morality they're no different from any other close group of friends

"Yup I'm definitely beating it tonight!" Asmodeus says with confidence Immediately tanking the mood.

"Honestly same." Belphegor mutters as he got off Asmodeus's back to sit in a chair.

There they were all Seven Kings... All eyes on you. A pack of hungry wolves watching a defenseless deer.

Levi grit his teeth at the empty sippy cup in his hand when you walk over to those same regulars who had been sitting there for a while now. Satan was grinding his teeth staring daggers at those poor devils

"um... Descendant of Solomon..." One of them asked his face red as he plays with his fingers a shy smile on his face His puppy love for you made your heart melt as his friend tried to hype him up. Leviathan rose up from his seat like a corpse from the grave, Satan's nails digging into the table looking like he was about to lunge like a feral animal, only to both pause.

"May I get a picture!" Your cute smile makes Satan grip the table his hand shaking trying so hard not to flip it. "Yes you may but you know the rules!" You practically skip over to a shelf grabbing the deck of cards.

"win against me in a game of poker! And you may get your picture!"

Poker might seem like a bad idea... Given that it was the main reason why you were here in the first place.

But you have changed since then... Countless nights mastering the game, all the harsh and painful lessons from your former poker Master Jjyu. Your hand still hurt, remembering that he would slap your hands with a sandal if you were to get sloppy.

Solomon would be proud of how quickly you destroyed those poor devils letting them leave dejected.

As you clean the cards back up You have made the mistake to turn your head around back to the only devils in the cafe now...

You did not like the look in their eyes....

......

You have trained for this moment... As they cleared off the table with empty dishes and freshly cooked food to place on another table nearby. All seven devils plus you. Playing a round of poker...

Each of the seven devils gets one chance, whoever wins. It is he who gets that photo.

[rkiveinmarvel]

pixie dust - joaquin torres des. joaquin is your back seater; partner; friend; maybe lover? yes, lover. air force! reader notes. this is fluffy story about our pretty boy! major ca:bravenewworld spoilers! sam and bucky being older brother vibes, brief mention of injuries, just fluff, teasing, and funny moments falling for our falcon. also inaccurate bnw timeline!!

hi! this is supposed to be a crack fic but i can't help but more background; the roles i used for the characters are from top gun (yes, that's what i referenced) this is essentially you selling joaquin's suit after what happened during the brave new world --- he is so fun! (i <3 u danny ramirez)

w.c: 1.6k

Joaquin Torres, is a man with many words and has a lot of dreams. Being part of the Air Force, being a Falcon, being part of Avengers, and being useful to everyone — especially, you. Torres met you upon being part of the Air Force, he was your backseater and your second eyes. Essentially, he would show you respect, but it doubled when you introduced him to Sam Wilson. The thing is you knew Sam, hell, you knew the Avengers; therefore in Joaquin’s doctrine, you’re also an Avenger. That’s why he needs to be useful to you and to impress you.

He knew you were strict, you commanded the air with such power and control, so, he was more than thankful that you introduced him to Sam because that simply means you trusted him but nothing prepared him upon seeing you outside of air force uniform, how casual you talk and tease Sam and Bucky, nothing prepared him for it.

While a lot of cadets hoped to have a good shot with you, you were teasing Bucky like there’s no tomorrow, you’re textpals with the hawkeye, and Sam is simply not Captain America to you, to you, he’s just Sam. It surprised him—especially, the time where you laughed at his joke while Sam was discussing a mission about the flag smashers or the time where Bucky jumped out of the place to help Sam chase flag smashers causing him to crash.

“I bet your ass, Bucky would’ve been dead if it wasn’t for the serum.” You rolled your eyes in chuckle as you two saw Bucky screaming as he fell down the plane and Red Wing following him. “Loosen up, Torres. I’m not in a position to say something in order. You’re an equal, during this time, and by the way, your shoelace is untied.”

For a man with many words, he lost some that time. 

Honestly, being the Falcon is a lot harder than he expected to be, he asked Sam and he asked the internet how to fill the step the Sam’s falcon left — so, when Sam trained him, he can’t help but burn himself to be the best version; for someone, who commanded respect and build position as front seat, you were there to support your back seater. 

“Torres, take a break. No Falcon can have a flight with shit energy.” As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he likes your company—no, he likes you. His front seater, the pilot, and the Avenger* (he considers that you are one) in no defense or complaint he did take a break, as you gave him your assessment, he just stared at you and nodded absentmindedly.

He wanted to be yours and for someone who dreamt of becoming useful to everyone—his priority was you. He wanted to be seen, acknowledged by you. After two years of training to become the Falcon, he finally did—he hopes the Red Hulk issue would be the break he has and he will ask you out after him and Sam figure it out.

So, here you are now with him in Captain America’s base as you stitch the wound that Sam had gotten after his brief encounter with the sidewinder. As Sam shares his plan, Joaquin is already packing his stuff and ready to back him up. You didn't like that: not because you don’t trust the two capabilities but because you’re not gonna be able to help this time, due to the fact that you’re with Bucky’s campaign. So, when Sam got the stitches he needed, he packed as you talked to Torres.

“Hey, Torres.” He looked up at you. “Yeah?”

“You gonna back him up? You sure? Isaiah barely trained you, you sure you can han—”

“Okay, I know you said I’m barely getting used to the suit but Sam needs me, don’t worry too much, you should worry about your congressman, I saw his pictures, he looks stressed.” He yaps but he stopped when he saw the worry in your eyes. 

Here’s the thing, you know Torres likes you and you hoped that he knows that you feel the same way too, yet neither the two of you do something about it—for another, Torres saw you as his superior that he needs to prove something while you, on the other hand, don’t want to push Torres fast, wait for him to figure it out. But in moments like this, a conversation should be present some other time.

“What? You’re really that worried?” He asked softly.

“If I say yes would you still leave?” 

“...Depends.” You sighed at his response, you can’t blame him—he wants to prove Sam that he is ready, he wants to prove to you he can protect you too. That despite him being a back seater in a jet—he’s all front to you now. But all you replied: “You do know, Sam had faced this shit before and you don’t have the super serum like Walker or Bucky…”

Neither of you don’t confirm or deny the feelings you two have but moments like this, the verbal and nonverbal cues you two have—is something so bright and noticeable.

“I’ll come back. Okay?” There he said it—an assurance that he will come back, he will be okay, he will be fine; in that moment, you just nodded. “You better. It’s gonna suck if Lucas gonna replace you as my backseater.” No, it’s more like please be safe and come back, I want you back and no one else. It’s unnoticed but you both knew it. It’s more than the partners in jet, yes, it’s definitely more than that.

Bucky is taking a break upon shaking hands with people whom he will never remember their names, sooner or later—but nothing prepared him seeing you all panicked as you told him the situation that Sam and Torres faced. He knows something is up with you and Torres so, he knew he had to check on Sam too.

“Hey, we’re gonna check on them.” He simply offered a little comfort as you two entered the car. You just nodded as you recalled the news and information you received about what happened. “You can stay. Don’t worry about the campaign. I’ll call if I need something.”

“Buck, you barely call Sam.”

“....No, trust me. I’ll call if I need something.” He smiled awkwardly.

As you two enter the private room, Sam and Bucky share a hug and include you; after their little talk, you were left behind. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep your boy safe.” You had chuckled at Sam’s words. 

“Well, if you didn’t. He wouldn’t be here, Cap.” Sam smiled and nodded as you two watched Joaquin get operated on. “You’re listening too much to Bucky's PR Team.” He added, as you scoff in laughter. “It’s kinda useful.”

After two weeks of Sam solving the Red Hulk case, you sit on the sofa of Captain America’s headquarters as you scroll the news release about Sam’s success and Bucky’s candidacy, as you were about to get water—the hospital called, that he is awake. You, Isaiah, and Sam drove to the hospital, as Isaiah gave flowers, Sam gave him some pep talk then finally, you.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You both had said at the same time, the moment you entered his room. He had this look on his face where he looks in pain yet sometimes relief while yours is mixed with disappointment and relief. You walked closer to him, as you wanted to tell him a lot of things but all of them got burned as he simply said. “I am okay.”

In that you felt yourself so small, the rank and the stripes you had suddenly slipped away from you. Here, you’re just a person—being vulnerable, he was okay and he was alive. In a brief moment, Joaquin chuckled, as you sat on the chair and held his hand: it was warm.

“Couldn’t let Lucas have my seat behind you.” He said, in that you had chuckled, he’s back—Joaquin is back, he’s okay.

“I thought I lost you.” You had whispered. Joaquin nodded as he held your hand that was on his. “I wouldn’t let that happen, not when I know Lucas is waiting to get a seat behind you, not when I haven’t bought you my favorite empanadas, and not when I haven’t made you my girl and introduce you to my mama.”

The beeping of the machine that supported his recovery remained in silence as he said those words, he shot his chance as you smiled. “Figures.” You shortly replied, as he smiled. “I like you.” You see this happening but in a different setting, like a date, but here you are, he is recovering—admitting he likes you while you can’t help but worry more.

You both chuckle as you bring his hand to your lips as you kiss it. “Well, you better recover fast, take me out on a date to those empanadas you like and maybe introduce me to your mama.” In that Joaquin nodded. “Can we use my suit to carry you to the house? Or the restaurant? I bet we’ll look badass.”

“Yeah, about that.” He glanced at you. “I sold the suit. We need it for the hospital bills.”

“What do you mean?” Of course, you didn’t. You and Sam just agreed he’s not allowed to use it for a while. “Well, you need to recover first, Joaquin.”

“Yeah, but how will we help Sa–”

He was cutted off when you kissed him so, shortly—leaving a stupid smile on his lips and blushing ears. 

“Recover first and maybe if Sam needs some help from you. We can use Pixie Dust instead.” In the stillness of the vicinity of him and you, he had smiled. Finally, something real. 

For almost half a minute he spoke again: “You didn’t actually sell my suit, right?” You laughed. “Of course, I didn’t. Falcon shall rise again.” “You sound like Sam.” “Well, he has an amazing commentary, so, why not.” You two smiled at each other as he smiled—“I’m glad to be back, mi vida.” 

wow new post, i am rushing ⚘ masterlist 1 | 2 | 3 ₊˚⊹♡ taglist: @yesiamthatwierd, @bitchimasnake-sss, @cjand10, @reemoony, @vibraniumqueen

[catboybiologist]

To elaborate a bit, TME/TMA generally seems to encourage more discussion about who is TMA and who is TME than it does about the actual force of transmisogyny itself.

It erases a lot of the nuance and intersectionality that trans women face, and how we navigate life. It reduces a lot of my experiences as well, in which transmisogyny ebbs and flows.

In a more personal annoyance/nitpick way, its also a subtle bit of language that frames transmisogyny as a natural fact of something that happens *to* me, as opposed to something that comes *from* others.

Hell, actually, that's not a nuance. Because suddenly, if I'm unilaterally TMA or TME, I can't talk about the dramatically different ways I've experienced transmisogyny in different contexts, or when I haven't. I'm a permanent victim of one classifier.

Is this some kind of weird shield for people who would be called "TMA" speaking over trans women? God no. But like. We don't need TMA and TME to do that, and they oversimplify what's going on dramatically.

If it sounds like I'm demanding more nuance than is reasonable out of online conversations, just think about how trivializing and weird it would be if these terms were applied to other oppressive forces in society. Oh I'm racism exempt because I'm white. Im xenophobia exempt because I'm a citizen. It's trivializing. It would be so goddamn weird, self flagellating, and dismissive of the individual experiences of others if I described myself that way. I'm not going to talk over PoC or immigrants about their experiences with racism and xenophobia, because I'm a white citizen. That's an important, exact privilege to address if I engage in those conversations. Saying I'm 'racism exempt" would be a whitewashed coat over that.

Just use cis/transfemme/transmasc/slightly more nuanced term. It provides more info for the same number of words.

“What would you rather I use instead of TMA/TME?” I would rather you stop thinking in binaries altogether, how are we still having this conversation