#and she notices and forces him to back up from his agreement!!!!!!!

[lostwcnderlands]

there wasn't a rule that roman ever really felt like following. when he got into the game, he'd been told never to smoke his own product. he did that, anyway. never get involved with the girls you sell the dope too... he did that, too. stay away from the kingpin - and now, he was owned by him. consequences always had their way of finding him, and luck had never had roman's name in it's black book.

until right now, with kyra pressed to his body, her lips a clashing storm to his own, feeling her heart pounding against his chest in the darkness of her car. he felt like a moon in her orbit, she was the sun && he just a small pebble in the universe that was drawn to her with the force of something supernatural. the little bit of air left trapped in his lungs exhaled as their kiss broke, his dark eyes opening slightly to peer affectionately into her own. if he didn't have kyra right now... roman wasn't sure how hard he'd break down, if he'd be able to recover from it all. " i was already yours. " he murmured in response. not even the beautiful, seaside villa in sicily had kept him away.

he hadn't noticed the cold as it settled upon his bones like a curse, hadn't realized he trembled in the old, sweaty, blood-stained clothes from the flight && his hostage situation. exhaustion && anxiety were like weights against his shoulders, and as much as he wished to just curl into her and sleep then && there, the car was only going to keep them warm or comfortable for so long, and it had almost ran out. eyes turned to look back to her place, and he nodded in agreement. " can't believe it's me askin', but... got any weed up there? i could go for a motherfucking smoke. " hand wiped at his face, tender against the bruises, and roman forced down a yawn as he found her hand again as they headed for her door.

Kyra didn’t breathe at first. Couldn’t. Her heart had snagged in her chest the second he said it back—I love you, too, Kyra—like the words wrapped around her ribs and pulled tight, anchoring her to something real for the first time in what felt like forever. And then he kissed her. Rough around the edges but still somehow tender, and she melted, completely and irrevocably, into him.

She didn’t care about the blood on his lip, didn’t flinch at the busted knuckles or the bruises still painting his skin. Her fingers tangled into his shirt, clinging like she could hold him here, like she could protect him just by being close enough. She kissed him back with everything she had—pain, fear, fury, and all this love that had been burning in her chest for longer than she was ready to admit.

When they finally pulled apart, Kyra stayed close, forehead pressed to his, breath shallow. Her hand was still in his, and she didn’t let go. Not this time. “He took so much from both of us,” she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “But he doesn’t get this. He doesn’t get you.”

Her thumb brushed his cheek, her touch was soft, reverent, like she was trying to memorize every line of him. “You’re mine now, Roman,” Kyra said, and there was no fear in it, just promise. “And I’m yours. No matter how fucked up it gets.” Because the world had tried to break them both—had succeeded, more times than either of them could count—but somehow, against all odds, they were still here. Still standing. Still choosing each other.

And Kyra… she would keep choosing him. Every damn time.

Kyra didn’t want to let go—not really. Part of her wanted to stay right there, cradled in that fragile, beautiful moment like it could keep them safe from everything outside the car. But reality had a way of creeping in. The cold was starting to settle in through the cracked windows, and Roman’s body, for all its strength, was trembling beneath her touch. He needed rest. They both did.

She exhaled slowly, forehead still resting against his, and her fingers gave one last squeeze to his hand before she began to let go—slow, reluctant, like peeling herself away from something sacred. “Let’s go inside,” she said softly, voice gentle, threaded with something new. Not urgency. Not panic. Just quiet care.

[randomname3]

Not my aromantic ass seeing aro themes in a rom-com

[monstersholygrail]

While at first your owners were overjoyed about the fact that you, a Mouse Hybrid, and your mate, a Cat Hybrid were getting along so much better than before, their concern quickly grew. They began to wonder if you two were getting along too well, not knowing how far your relationship had already progressed.

They worried that their silly little cat was playing too rough with you. Having seen the way he would tackle you, his hips pinning you in place so he can paw at your body. Or the way his sharp teeth nip along the fold of your neck, leaving dark claiming marks in their place.

They got you for him so he could have a friend but they didn’t want him bothering your cute self too much if you were unable to fight back when the intensity rose.

And as his heat got closer and closer to starting they only began worrying more. They knew he’d become even more rough and raunchy. The last thing they wanted was for their precious plump mouse to get scared or hurt.

So, for your safety, they decided to set up their cat hybrid with their friend’s cat hybrid. With an agreement from both owners she would come stay over at the house so they could mate in peace. Only until his heat had passed and he was able to control himself as usual; if only they knew.

Your big mouse cheeks puff up in anger as the female cat walks into the house. Parading into your territory. Your mate didn’t even notice, too busy loudly purring while licking at his marks on your neck and making sure they stayed dark. Something he was doing more of recently with his heat coming up.

When your bf’s heat fully started, it began to affect all the hybrids in the house. Your bf kept clinging to you, taking every chance he could to get away and take you somewhere he can relieve the heat you cause to burn inside him even hotter.

The other cat hybrid could smell his alluring scent and it grew harder to resist despite being scared off by your scent always mixed so deeply with his.

For you, your bf’s heat only heightened your need to claim him in every way possible.

The tension was growing thicker and thicker the longer things went on without you properly laying claim on your mate. Especially now as the other hybrid eyes your mate from the other side of the living room.

Your bf, too caught up in the consuming lust of his heat to notice anything else, still only ever has his hands on you. Sensing her eyes on you, you finally decide to settle this one and for all.

You straddle your bf and he immediately sighs in relief, already needing to have you all over again. You rub against his hardening cock, letting him know you need him now too.

In the blink of an eye he’s flipping you onto your belly, ass high up in the air. His body molding against your own, his loud purring rumbling in your ear.

“Look at you, such a good mate. Taking care of me when I need you so bad,” he coos.

Your eyes flash as you look at the other hybrid. Your tail intertwines with your bf’s and you reach back, rocking back against his aching cock and sinking your claws into him to keep him close. He growls, pawing at your clothes so he can get to you. Your unusual behavior not going unnoticed by him but it only gets him more hot and bothered.

His eyes follow your line of the sigh to the strange hybrid leaving the room in a frenzy and he growls. The heat within him threatening to explode as he realizes what you’re doing.

With a swipe of his paw he shreds the rest of your clothes off. The sight of your glistening fat cunt has his mind spinning. He yanks you closer and sinks his length deep inside you in a long smooth stroke, stretching you out till your insides are burning just as his are.

“And staking claim on your mate too. Such a good girl f’me. Now let me take care of you,” he growls, wanting to properly reward you for showing another Hybrid what’s yours.

You still have your claws in him, keeping close as he desperately fucks his cock into you. The close proximity forcing his thick tip to slam against that soft spot deep inside of you with every hard snap of his hips. You can feel every inch of him against you and it helps soothe the feelings controlling you.

Loud moans and cries of pleasure echo throughout the house form you both. Ensuring the other hybrid can hear. His ribbed length rubs along your gummy walls. The friction has your toes curling and your back arching into him as you meet every thrust.

Every inch of your form shakes as the pleasure he gives you doubles over. Your body practically seizing as he has you coming hard in his cock. But just when you think he might start slowing down, he quickly pins your wrists over your head and rams his length into you.

“I don’t know if she’s gotten the message, little mouse. Might need to make it a little more clear,” he says, a feral glint in his eye.

He fucks you until you forget another hybrid was ever here to begin with. He makes you forget everything besides his name as he forces you to scream it each time he brings you to release.

When his heat ends not longer after, the other hybrid leaves to go back home to her family. You and your bf watch her from afar, his frame hovering on top of yours as your owners happily chat away.

As soon as goodbyes are shared and the door closes, your bf rolls over to pin you against the couch. That look in his eye making you wonder if some of his heat hasn’t totally gone away just yet.

[aakeysmash]

maybes and sunscreen

college!sukuna masterlist

after almost a year of living together, you and college!sukuna are so accustomed to one another that you naturally slip up in the other’s conversations. maybe it's because you're both homebodies, or maybe it's because you've reached the silent agreement to keep the activities you do with yuuji hidden to preserve his innocent childhood (you learned that rumors run a long way inside your campus), or maybe it's because you started to ask sukuna less private questions, since he now seems to want to answer them even before you formulate them.

either way, the two of you always mention the other in conversations, and you don't even seem to notice, but your friends do.

"how about your house, man?" suguru asks sukuna from across the table, sipping his soda. they're sitting outside with satoru for lunch break, slouching on white plastic chairs, waiting for practice to start in less than ten minutes. days are getting longer the more summer break gets nearer, and the breeze flowing through the newly green leaves of the trees is a nice change from the humid stench of the locker rooms.

"dunno. the woman of the house is gonna bake cookies today," he shrugs, scrolling through his phone. he finds himself on a blurry zoomed in photo of a kitten covered in milk, and he smirks, hitting send after having selected your contact. you're going to love it.

"and?" geto asks, confused.

"and i don't know if she wants me to help her or not," sukuna continues, not bothering to look up from his screen, acting like he's not going to pester you until you let him help. and steal some of your cookie batter, too.

"it's the finale, bro, we've been talking about it since december. are you really not going to watch it for some cookies?" his raven haired friend exclaims, baffled. satoru only lowers his glasses on his nose, crossing his arms on his chest.

"oh, i'm going to watch it. got her hooked up on it too," the pink haired man says, a certain tilt to his voice matching the tilt of his head, as if he's saying are you crazy? i'm not missing it. "i don't know if she'd want you there, though."

geto rolls his eyes and satoru snickers, shaking his head. "we just want to watch the game on your tv. are you afraid she's going to feel uncomfortable with us there, my lord captain?" he mocks, sighing. lazily, sukuna glances his way.

"it's not her i'm worried about," he says, raising one of his eyebrows, maroon eyes squinting on a spot behind his friend's back.

"what does that even mean?" mutters geto, even more confused. it’s not like they’ve never seen you or have never been inside your house when you were there, so what’s different this time?

suddenly, sukuna grins like a madman, uncrossing his legs from on top of the table and standing up with his helmet under his arm.

“where are you goi-“ his dark haired friend starts, but satoru puts one of his hands on the other’s shoulder, effectively stopping him, whispering just wait.

sukuna takes a couple of steps, getting out of the gentle shadows of the trees above the table, still grinning.

“hi, baby. did you miss me so much you had to come to see me at practice?” he asks your nearing figure. you’re wearing a dress, the breeze soothingly flowing through your hair, and he takes a second to admire how graceful you look in the middle of the green garden. are the flowers you picked with yuuji the other day still fresh? maybe he should get more. maybe you’d like that. maybe you’d smile. maybe you'd thank him.

“i’m here because i knew you were never going to bring sunscreen with you, dickhead,” you huff, blowing your hair out of your vision, frowning. his grin only grows before he forces it away. typical.

“i don’t need that shit,” he rolls his eyes, turning on his heels and going towards the stadium. he knows you’re going to follow him. and you do.

“put it on! i’m not joking, sukuna,” you whine, trying to fall in step with him. “it’s going to be so good for your skin, come on.”

“it’s sticky and i don’t like feeling like a pussy,” he growls, going faster toward the benches inside the stadium and plopping down on them.

“you like pussy, though,” you shrug, forcing yourself between his parted legs, rummaging through your bag.

“i like you too, baby, but that doesn’t mean you’ll let me stick it in your pussy, does it,” he asks you smugly. you punch him on the shoulder, bewildered.

“you’re so disgusting,” you scoff, opening the little spf tube you brought in your purse just for him. "and don't tell me you like me when you never listen to me in the first place," you playfully add, caressing his face to smooth it out, and he lets you get his unruly hair off of his forehead. maybe he likes how you don't take the things he says to heart. maybe he just says them because he knows he's getting a snarky comment back.

“you didn’t say no, though,” he chuckles, closing his eyes and letting himself bask in your presence. your touch on his features is relaxing. he honestly thinks he could fall asleep if you were in any other setting.

“i’m letting you talk just because i’m in a male dominated field and even if i don’t agree i don’t want to die,” you deadpan. you smear the white cream on his nose, on top of the horizontal tattoo, and massage it into his skin. then you do the same thing with his other markings, making sure they’re protected enough to shimmer in the blazing hot sun.

“i wouldn’t let you die on me anyway,” he mutters. he gets both of his hands on your exposed thighs, keeping you closer, softly rubbing his thumbs in your muscles. "are you fucking finished? i hate this," he bites, frowning. you hum, lazily smiling down at him, rubbing his frown away with your fingertips.

"you're going to be the prettiest girl on the field," you coo. you can feel his mean glare from beneath his eyelids, and you almost shiver. "you're so going to thank me in a couple of years," you add, resting your palms on his cheeks and turning his head up. he opens his eyes slowly, staring into yours intently. his thumb catches on the fluttering hem of you dress while he draws little circles on your legs. he hears his coach screaming for his team to start running, but in this moment, he doesn't care that much. maybe the heat is getting to his head. maybe the soft smile you're looking at him with is making him a little bit weak in the knees.

"wanna make cookies today? we can watch the match together, perhaps ask the brat if he wants to join too," he says, rough voice kept low, almost as if this was a you and him kind of thing. maybe he already planned to ask you to do something with him when he was talking to his friends just a couple of minutes ago. maybe he lied, telling them you were the one who chose to do something, when it's not true. maybe the way satoru is patting suguru on the back with an "i told you so" look on his face isn't casual. maybe the one he was worried about all along was himself.

"wouldn't you prefer to watch it with your friends?" you ask him, tilting your head, positioning your thumbs on the fake tattoos on his cheekbones. almost as if you could cover their pupils and make him see less.

"wouldn't you prefer to watch it with me?" he genuinely responds, a somber look on his features. you think it's the first time he doesn't have a mocking grin on his lips. you ruffle the pink hair just above his left ear.

"maybe."

[spread4marvel]

”Real” Man

hiii lovelies!!! so this is my first george weasley x reader story (yes i still write for loki), and i’m rlly excited to get into it soooo yeah send me some requests😚😚

Draco has the audacity to tell your boyfriend that he isn’t a “real man” after a gryffindor victory. George makes sure to vocalise how funny he finds this as he is pleasuring you later that same evening.

Warnings: Muggleborn Ravenclaw reader (for the plot), cursing, unprotected sex, praise kink, George in general, nicknames (love, sweet baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, lovebug), a little dry humping🤔??, anddd aftercare ofc!

Another crushing victory for Gryffindor against Slytherin. You noticed that every game you attended, George tried his hardest to impress you so you didn’t wander off back to whichever book you were reading at the time. You find it cute but it seems Malfoy did not. Quickly you fought your way through the crowd to get on the field where the pair were arguing. When you finally managed to get there, you caught the ending segment of the argument.

“I think you’re right Freddie! I think little Malfoy’s upset that he had the ‘hots’ for my girl and she chose me!” George laughed out mockingly, causing the other surrounding players and students to laugh as well. Malfoy clenched his fist by his sides as his jaw tightened when Fred continued. “Well it was a bloody obvious choice George, truly.” Fred joined back, causing the twins to snicker together as Draco finally managed to bark back a reply.

“Oh yeah Weasley? Clearly your father never taught you how to be a real man. I bet you can’t even pleasure that sorry little mudblood of yours!” Malfoy cackled. George didn’t say another word, that deranged look on his face as he walked closer to Draco is what caused most of his teammates to begin to hold him back for everyone’s sake. Even you interjected at this point. “C’mon George let the stupid git talk.” You tried. Placing a hand on his surprisingly muscular forearm that you simply adored as you tried to persuade him.

He noticed how Malfoy tensed when you were around, and he smirked devilishly at the new upperhand.

“You’re so right love, ‘m think I just need a kiss and i’ll be good as new again.” He remarked playfully to you. His teammates finally releasing him as he stood there awaiting his kiss. You giggled and rolled your eyes, getting up on your tippy-toes due to the height difference that George relished in to plant a kiss to his cheek. His dopey grin grew wider but he was still very determined to ‘rub it in’ Malfoys face. “A real kiss, yeah?” He inquired, pulling you in by your waist and bending down slightly so you could give him a ‘real kiss’ directly in front of Draco.

He hummed obnoxiously as he finally pulled away from you, Malfoy beginning to turn on his heels with a loud huff as he and the rest of the Slytherins retreated in a hurry.

George chuckled mischievously as he finally gave you his undivided attention, his adrenaline still obviously coursing through him as the two of you began to walk back to the Gryffindor dorms together. (usually the two of you go back to the ravenclaw dorms but you don’t force him to walk up all those stairs on quidditch nights) George didn’t typically act like that. It was more Fred’s thing to be rude and crack a laugh from everybody around simultaneously. Clearly, your boyfriend’s twin had been rubbing off on him.

—————————————————————

George had you straddled on his lap on the edge of his bed as you cleaned up some of his minor wounds. At first, George despised this because he felt ‘weak’ having you clean him up but eventually he learned to adapt it as a “post game ritual.” On more calmer quidditch nights, you would have him read you a book or his latest assignment while you tended to him, but right now he was rambling on about Malfoy.

“I mean bloody hell! You can’t play like shit the whole game and then be mad when we win!” He complained, in which you hummed in agreement. “Stupid git, should’a seen the look on his face when Harry stole that snitch.” You giggled at his expression that was supposed to be imitating Malfoys face. The sound of your laughter fizzling all of his anger away as you finished tending to all of his little bruises.

You always ended this little ritual by kissing every mark you fixed, and he stared down at you lovingly as you began. “But you were amazing tonight love, I could hear ya’ cheering from all the way on the pitch.” George complimented. You smiled against his skin before placing another peck down his arms. You knew how much he adored hearing you scream for him. on and off the pitch. “‘m tried my best Georgie, y’know I don’t condone violence but you sure did look good yelling at Malfoy.” You mumbled against his skin, your ‘muggle accent’ under-toning your sentence as he smiled and pulled you closer on his lap. You could feel his hard-on begin to press into you as you mimicked your boyfriend’s grin back to him.

“think you missed a spot, sweetheart.” He remarked cockily as he pointed at an imaginary bruise on his lips. You giggled, causing him to laugh as well. “Oh how could I!” You exaggerated playfully in which he shrugged with a smug smirk.

You pulled him in by the back of his head. Your fingers intertwining in his ginger locks as he immediately began to desperately search your mouth. He resembled a starved man as he kept your lips connected to his. You barely had a moment to breathe before he was pulling you back in, loving how your warm mouth invited him so willingly to paradise each time.

Subconsciously, you bucked your hips against his clothed erection. You only realised that you were practically grinding on him when he groaned into your lips. “fuck pretty girl…” He murmured under his breath and your face flushed as you came to realisation on what you were doing. This wasn’t uncommon for you, you and George had been dating for the better half of a year and although you were insanely comfortable with him… you still managed to get flustered in moments like this. Although George didn’t mind it, in fact, he quite enjoyed the little noises you made whenever he whispered lewd little things in your ears at the worst of all times.

“aww, is someone getting shy? C’mon sweetheart, I can smell you.” He rasped, his voice a little breathless and you whimpered at his filthy words. He gently but firmly grabbed your hips and began to grind you against him. Chuckling as you whined and buried your face into his neck. “‘m need more, Georgie.” You whispered against his skin, planting gentle wet kisses to persuade him further. You could practically hear the grin in his voice. “Guess you deserve it, yeah? You were such a good girl f’ me today.” He murmured as he nipped playfully at your earlobe. You simply whimpered and nodded in response, not entirely trusting your voice not to croak.

His fingers began to fiddle with the waistband of your skirt, teasing you mercilessly. You desperately wanted to tell him to get on with it and stop being a tease… but you also wanted to be his good girl, his sweet little thing who takes what he gives her, his precious ravenclaw who lets him run wild. So all you did was whine. His grin only grew at your self control. “oh? Well this is quite new…” He murmured knowingly. You were about to retort something back, but then you felt his fingers dip under your skirt to rub your cunt through your panties. Immediately, he felt the wet patch on your undergarments and grinned up at you knowingly.

“Naughty little Ravenclaw…” He remarked playfully. Before you could process what was happening, he had you on your back with your hair splayed along his pillow in mere seconds. His bed reeked of his scent, and you simply adored it. He didn’t miss the skip of your heartbeat or the way you had a newfound hunger in your eyes as he effortlessly manhandled you, deciding to tuck that information into his back pocket for now.

George had simple plans for you tonight, but then he recalled Malfoys little ‘pleasure’ comment. Instead of teasing, he slithered his body up your own to press wet kisses along your jawline and neck instead. “What do you need, love?” He asked straightforwardly. This was odd, George normally drew this type of thing out of you until you were a whining mess. “Want you inside, George.” You hummed back, your voice wavering a little but remained true. He groaned against your warm skin before his usual grin returned.

“whatever you like, pretty baby.” He granted as he planted a final kiss. That was one of those nicknames George used whenever he was being sweet, but you could tell his mind was a little aloof. You watched in adoration as he began to strip himself. Hastily tugging away his clothes and discarding them carelessly. You began to do the same, but George’s hand quickly caught yours and gave you a devilish smirk.

“Trying to rid me of all the fun are we? Let me take care of you, yeah?” He teased and you rolled your eyes in response. “Well get on with it!” You insisted, your patience from earlier dwindling thin. This granted you a look of defiance and a remarkably slow George peeling off your clothing one-by-one. Eventually, he couldn’t take the slow reveal and ripped the rest of your black skirt off, causing you to huff in annoyance.

“George! That was my favorite black skirt!” You scolded. You were quickly knocked off of your fit of anger when you felt a long finger slip into your sopping wet cunt. You whimpered almost instantly at the connection. “Doesn’t seem like you mind that much.” He confirmed with a grin, causing you to scoff and whine as he retreated his finger. He was eager tonight, always taking time to savor the taste of your juices as he sucked on his previously inserted digit. “Tasting perfect, love.” He complimented. To say George loved your taste, was an understatement. He relished in it, but tonight, tonight he had a primal urge to claim you.

You both groaned as he began to rub his tip up and down your soaking folds. Both of your eyes glued on the display before he fully slipped inside of you. Your head quickly retreated back to his pillow, eyes screwed shut as he gave you a moment to accommodate to his size. You had taken George many times before, and yet he still gave you this little moment to calm yourself. And yet, you still needed it.

You moaned as he began to move, starting with slow deep thrusts that made you head spin deliciously. He groaned as you clenched around him, his hands gripping your hips as he watched his cock disappear and reappear with each thrust. “Fuck love… you’re squeezing the life out of me down here.” He informed, followed by a sharp hiss when your legs wrapped around his waist and provided a new angle. With this new angle, he sped up his pace, his mesmerizing cock now drilling into you.

Your moans and other little noises were beginning to grow much louder. This seemed to motivate George as he abused the spot that elicited the prettiest noises from deep within you. “Doing so good love, so fuckin’ good for me.” He praised, his words slurring as his head rolled back to reveal his adam’s apple to you. The sight reminded you of sweet torture and it was simply maddening. “J-jus’ like that, feels so good Georgie please don’t stop!” You pleaded with him, no amount of money could pay George to stop as his grip on you grew brutal. He was sure to leave bruises whilst he pounded into you, his erect and long cock hitting the perfect spot within you as he overrode your senses.

You could feel that familiar knot beginning to grow unbearable at his intense pace. Your legs squeezing around his waist as you tried to keep yourself bounded to this world. Every time George fucked you like this it always left you in a floaty headspace. It was one of the few times your brilliant brain wasn’t hard at work, because it was much too occupied and overwhelmed with pleasure.

“You’re so close love I can feel it. So pretty like this baby, so fuckin’ beautiful.” He groaned, your hands flying from the clenched bedsheet to his shoulders as your fingernails dug into his muscular blades. This resulted in a new noise of pleasure from him that made you whimper in return. “Come for me sweetheart, c’mon sweet baby I need to feel you.” George rasped. His voice pulling an utterly filthy noise from you as the coil within you snapped and you came all over his large cock. He let out a guttural moan while he fucked you through your high, making sure to fulfill you whole as he felt himself begin to drawl close.

“Mmm, I-I’m getting their love. Where can I-…” His words trailed off as he couldn’t get enough of your pussy. You fit like a fucking glove around his erection and it was glorious to him. “Inside George please. Want it inside s’ bad.” You whimpered out breathlessly. Your pleas is what caused George to snap as he bottomed out inside of you. Groaning as he began to spill his seed. “Fuck…” He cursed, his cock painting your insides just as you had requested.

He lowered himself on you once he finished. He knew how much you loved his weight on you as the both of you collected your breaths while panting. George was the first to move, planting kisses all over your heated skin while he gently pulled out. “Did so good love, always so good for me.” He complimented. He quickly retrieved a warm washcloth and cleaned the two of you up. He could easily do it with magic, but George loved the intimacy this brought as he peppered kisses all over your body. You were astonished on how he complimented you like that even if you didn’t really do a thing that whole time, but he didn’t mind it. This was a day for you and your pleasure, (as well as his pride)

“I love you so much, love bug. Such a brilliant, bloody perfect, little witch.” He murmured as he finally finished cleaning you up. Joining you in the bed as he cuddled up behind you skin to skin, spooning your bare form. You smiled at the cheesy little nickname, it was corny, but something he always called you when you were overcome by sleep.

“‘m love you too, George. thank you…” you murmured back, sleep already evident in your voice as he chuckled softly and traced comforting patterns along your skin. “Night, pretty girl.” He hummed back, but you had already drifted off as he planted a final kiss to your shoulder and buried his face in your hair. The smell of your- no his vanilla shampoo lulling him to sleep.

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Thank you for reading!!! please drop a Weasley twins request or a Loki request for me😇

Night Lovlies!

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 3✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ Will their sleepy beauty awake from her beauty sleep? ♡

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.4

Chapter 3: Beast Within

☆ WC: 9k+ [Part 3] ☆ Author's Note: May have gone a bit crazy with this chapter. It's so hard to capture each character's different voice and personally... but I think, I did it ⸜(ˊᗜˋ)⸝

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The Peaceful moment, of just sleepy beauty and him; ended as quickly as it came.

The cabin door crashed open with enough force to splinter the frame, sending wooden fragments scattering across the floor like shrapnel. Framed in the doorway, silhouetted against the predawn light, Sinister Mark's massive form filled the space entirely. His black and yellow suit seemed to absorb what little light touched it, creating the unsettling impression of a human-shaped void with only those gleaming, unnatural eyes breaking through the darkness behind those black lenses. The corners of his mouth twitched upward in that familiar, manic way—the smile of a predator who enjoyed playing with his food.

"Time's up, Mohawk," he purred, his voice carrying a honeyed malice that made the air in the cabin feel suddenly thick and oppressive. His fingers flexed at his sides, the black portions of his suit rippling like living shadows eager to taste blood. "My turn with darling."

Mohawk Mark hadn't moved from his position beside Y/N, his large hand still wrapped protectively around hers. The six hours had passed in a blur of memories and promises whispered to her unconscious form, and he'd made his decision long before Sinister arrived. His shoulders tensed visibly, the muscles in his back coiling like springs as he traced his thumb over Y/N's knuckles one last time.

"Fuck off," Mohawk growled, not bothering to look up. The mohawk that gave him his name stood in defiant spikes, catching the dim light filtering through the cabin's broken window. "She stays with me." The possessiveness in his voice was raw, primal—not the usual cockiness he brandished like a weapon, but something deeper, more vulnerable.

Sinister's lips curved into that signature psychotic grin, teeth too sharp to be fully Viltrumite, glinting in the dim light. The temperature in the cabin seemed to drop several degrees as he stepped inside, closing the damaged door behind him with deliberate gentleness that was somehow more threatening than any slam could have been. His eyes never left Y/N's face, drinking in her features with an intensity that bordered on worship.

"Now, now," Sinister chided, his voice dripping with mock disappointment. "We had an agreement, didn't we? Six hours each. That was the deal." He tilted his head, studying Mohawk with predatory intensity, running his tongue over those too-sharp teeth. "Unless you'd like to renegotiate? I'm always up for a little... physical debate."

The black portions of his suit seemed to writhe and shift subtly, like living shadows eager to be unleashed. The yellow highlights pulsed with an internal light that cast sickly patterns across the cabin walls, transforming the rustic space into something from a nightmare. The wooden floor beneath his feet seemed to darken, as if the very materials of the cabin responded to his corrupted presence.

"Try it," Mohawk challenged, finally looking up, his eyes burning with barely contained rage. He positioned himself more fully between Sinister and Y/N's unconscious form, his blue and black suit a stark contrast to Sinister's darkness. "I'll tear your fucking arms off and beat you to death with them." The statement would have seemed like typical Mohawk bravado to anyone who didn't notice the slight tremor in his hands—not fear, but the effort of restraining himself from launching across the room.

Sinister laughed, the sound like broken glass grinding underfoot. "Such vivid imagery! I've always appreciated your creative spirit, Mohawk." He moved closer, each step measured and deliberate, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight as if in protest. "But let's be realistic. We both know I could rip your soul out through your nostrils if I wanted to." His grin widened impossibly, stretching beyond what should have been physically possible. "And I very much want to."

Before either could move, the cabin door opened again—more controlled this time, but no less commanding. Omni Mark stepped inside, his red and gray suit pristine despite the violence they'd all participated in mere hours ago. His presence immediately dominated the room, calm authority radiating from him in palpable waves. Where Sinister was chaos and Mohawk was raw emotion, Omni was cold calculation wrapped in a veneer of reason.

"Enough," he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of someone used to being obeyed without question. His eyes swept over the scene—Mohawk by Y/N's bedside, Sinister poised for violence, the damaged cabin bearing witness to their territorial squabbling. The tension in the room seemed to bend toward him, like metal filings aligning to a magnet.

"This is beneath us," Omni continued, closing the door behind him. Unlike Sinister's theatrical entrance, Omni's movements were economical, purposeful. He clasped his hands behind his back, standing with military precision.

 "We have a mission that requires cooperation, not petty infighting." His gaze lingered for just a moment on Y/N's unconscious form, something flickering in his eyes—concern, possessiveness, calculation—before it was swiftly buried beneath his composed exterior.

"Tell that to Mohawk," Sinister said, his voice taking on a childish whine that was somehow more disturbing coming from someone who could level mountains. He gestured dramatically toward the bed, his movements fluid and unnaturally graceful. "He's not playing by the rules."

"Rules?" Mohawk scoffed, rising to his full height but never releasing Y/N's hand. His mohawk seemed to bristle with his rising anger, his free hand clenching into a fist that could pulverize steel. 

"Since when do you give a shit about rules? Wasn't it in your universe, you turned an entire kindergarten class inside out because you were bored. You turned their fucking little kids bodies inside OUT!" His voice rose with each word until he was practically shouting, the veins in his neck standing out against his skin.

Something dark flickered across Sinister's face—not guilt, but perhaps irritation at having his actions so casually exposed. "They were defective specimens," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, the black material of his suit rippling with the movement. "I was simply... quality testing." His voice dropped to a purr as his gaze returned to Y/N. "I'm much more careful with the things I truly value."

Omni Mark moved between them, his presence creating a buffer zone in the suddenly too-small cabin. Outside, the first hints of dawn were breaking through the trees, casting long shadows through the broken window that stretched across Y/N's still form like spectral fingers.

"The agreement stands," he stated firmly, his gaze settling on Mohawk. "Six hours each. It's Sinister's turn to watch over her." Though his words were reasonable, there was steel beneath them—the voice of a man who had killed his own father to assume his mantle.

"Not happening," Mohawk insisted, his jaw set in stubborn defiance. His grip on Y/N's hand tightened possessively, his thumb absently stroking her skin. "I found her first. She stays with me." There was something almost childlike in his insistence, a stark contrast to his usual abrasive personality.

"Found her?" Omni's eyebrow raised slightly, the subtle movement speaking volumes. "Or recognized her? There's a difference, one you seem intent on blurring." His voice remained level, but there was an edge to it now—the hint of a threat beneath the reasoned exterior.

Mohawk's face hardened, his grip on Y/N's hand tightening imperceptibly. "What's your point?" The question came out as a snarl, the brief flash of vulnerability vanishing beneath his customary aggression.

"My point," Omni said with maddening patience, stepping closer until he towered over Mohawk despite their identical height, "is that you're confusing this Y/N with your dead girlfriend. They may share a face, but they are not the same person." Each word was precisely calibrated to wound, delivered with surgical precision.

The words hit Mohawk like physical blows, each one landing with accuracy on his most vulnerable spots. He flinched, his face momentarily betraying the raw wound that still festered beneath his brash exterior. For a heartbeat, the swagger and bravado fell away, revealing the broken man beneath.

"Fuck you," he spat, but the words lacked their usual venom, hollowed out by the truth in Omni's assessment. His fingers trembled slightly around Y/N's, as if afraid she might dissolve into nothing if he let go.

Sinister's grin returned, wider than ever, feeding on the emotional distress like a shark scenting blood in the water. He slid closer, moving with that unnatural fluidity that made him seem more shadow than solid. "Oh, did we touch a nerve? Poor baby Mohawk, still crying over spilled girlfriend?" His voice was a singsong mockery, designed to cut deep.

Before anyone could react, Mohawk launched himself at Sinister, releasing Y/N's hand for the first time in hours. His fist connected with Sinister's jaw with a thunderclap sound that shook the cabin's foundations, sending both of them crashing through the already damaged wall and into the clearing outside. The impact sent splinters of wood flying in all directions, the cabin itself groaning in protest at the abuse.

Omni didn't move to stop them, simply sighing as if dealing with particularly troublesome children. He glanced down at Y/N, still miraculously unconscious despite the chaos erupting around her. The black lenses of his mask kept his emotions sealed away, but he couldn't help but admire the dawn light caught on her features, highlighting the delicate arch of her cheekbones, the fan of her eyelashes against her skin, the beautiful texturing of her face.

His gaze lingered on the angry red burn around her neck where the collar had chafed, and something tightened in his chest—an unfamiliar sensation he couldn't immediately identify. The urge to reach out, to trace those marks with his fingertips, to soothe the damaged skin, caught him off guard with its intensity. In his universe, weakness was something to be despised, eliminated, she was weak. Yet seeing Y/N injured sparked not contempt but a fierce, protective impulse that both confused and disturbed him.

Outside, the sounds of combat intensified—trees splintering, earth trembling, the distinctive crack of breaking bones followed by inhuman howls of pain and rage. Omni moved to the broken wall, watching dispassionately as Mohawk and Sinister tore into each other with abandon, each blow powerful enough to level city blocks. Mohawk fought with raw fury, his attacks wild but devastating, while Sinister moved like liquid darkness, his laughter echoing through the forest despite the blood streaming from his mouth.

"Predictable," Omni murmured, shaking his head slightly. His attention returned to Y/N, studying her with calculating intensity. In his universe, he had a Y/N– and she was diagnosed with... He had never allowed himself before to have such a weakness, such an obvious pressure point for enemies to exploit. But looking at her now, compared to his. She looked so much healthier than his Y/n, and he could understand the appeal. The vulnerability. The humanity she represented.

A movement at the treeline caught his attention—a flash of white, there and gone so quickly it might have been imagination. But Omni knew better. His enhanced vision had captured the distinctive white uniform of Viltrumite Mark, watching from the shadows of the forest, a predator biding his time.

Interesting, Omni thought. So the old man isn't out destroying cities with the others. He's keeping watch.

The realization shifted his mental calculations. If Viltrumite was this invested already, the dynamics between the eight of them would grow even more complicated than anticipated. Another contender for Y/N's attention. Another threat to manage.

A particularly violent crash from outside drew his attention back to the fight. Sinister had Mohawk pinned against a massive pine, one hand wrapped around his throat while the other formed into something like a blade, poised to plunge into Mohawk's chest. Sinister's face was a mask of ecstasy, as if Mohawk's suffering was the sweetest nectar.

"Enough!" Omni commanded, his voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing, echoing through the trees with supernatural projection.

Both combatants froze, their heads turning in unison toward the cabin. Sinister's face was split in a rictus of joy, dark red leaking from a cut on his cheek, his black and yellow suit torn in places to reveal unnaturally pale skin beneath. Mohawk looked worse for wear, his mohawk completely flattened, one eye swollen shut, blood streaming from his nose and split lip, but still burning with defiance.

"He started it," Sinister whined, not loosening his grip on Mohawk's throat. His blade-hand hovered centimeters from Mohawk's chest, trembling slightly with restrained violence.

"And I'm ending it," Omni replied coldly, stepping through the ragged hole in the cabin wall. "Release him. Now." The command brooked no argument, delivered with the absolute authority of someone accustomed to having his every word obeyed.

For a moment, it seemed Sinister might refuse—might drive that blade-hand into Mohawk's chest just to prove he could, consequences be damned. But something in Omni's stance, in the quiet certainty of his command, made even Sinister hesitate.

With visible reluctance, he lowered Mohawk to the ground and stepped back, his suit rippling with barely contained violence. The blade melted back into a hand, though the fingers remained unnaturally elongated, twitching with bloodlust.

"Spoilsport," he muttered, but the killing edge had faded from his voice, replaced with childish petulance.

Mohawk massaged his throat, spitting a glob of blood onto the forest floor. The crimson splatter stood out stark against the loamy earth, a testament to the violence that always seemed to follow in their wake. "This isn't fucking over," he promised Sinister, already pushing himself upright despite his injuries, his battered pride more wounded than his body.

"I certainly hope not," Sinister replied with a wink that somehow managed to be both flirtatious and threatening. "I was just getting started." He licked his lips, tasting Mohawk's blood that had splattered there, savoring it like fine wine.

Omni stepped fully through the broken wall, moving to stand between them once more. "We need to establish some ground rules," he stated firmly. 

"This childish territorial behavior stops now. We have a mission—first, we already removed Y/N's collar without killing her, now when she walks we can use her to access GDA's central database through the broken remains." His tone was that of a general outlining a battle plan, brooking no argument.

"And after?" Mohawk demanded, his gaze darting between Omni and the cabin where Y/N still lay unconscious. Blood dripped from his chin, spattering his blue and black suit, but he seemed not to notice, all his focus on Y/N's fate.

A slight smile curved Omni's lips. "After, we'll discuss arrangements. But for now—" He turned to face the treeline directly, raising his voice slightly. "Why don't you join us, Viltrumite? Lurking in shadows doesn't suit a man of your... stature."

A tense silence followed, broken only by the sounds of forest wildlife beginning their morning routines, oblivious to the godlike beings in their midst. Then, with deliberate slowness, a figure emerged from between the ancient pines.

Viltrumite Mark moved with the confidence of someone who had never known true defeat. His white uniform gleamed in the early morning light, pristine despite the forest surroundings, the material somehow repelling even the morning dew. Unlike the others, who wore their power like a threat or a shield, Viltrumite carried his like birthright—unquestioned, absolute. His posture was military-straight, chin raised in perpetual superiority, eyes cold and assessing beneath hooded lids.

"Omni," he acknowledged with a slight inclination of his head. His eyes flicked dismissively over Mohawk and Sinister before returning to Omni. "I see your babysitting duties are keeping you occupied." There was just the faintest curl of contempt in his tone, the barest hint of a sneer playing at the corner of his mouth.

Sinister hissed, the sound more reptilian than human, his suit rippling in response to his agitation. Mohawk's fists clenched at his sides, knuckles cracking loudly, fresh blood welling from his split knuckles.

"Merely maintaining order," Omni replied smoothly, unruffled by the implied slight. "Though I'm curious why you're here instead of razing cities on this planet with the others." His tone was conversational, but his stance had shifted subtly—more alert, ready for whatever came next.

Viltrumite's expression remained impassive, but something calculating flickered in his eyes. "Emperor and Prisoner were enthusiastic enough for all of us. I thought my time might be better spent... observing." He glanced toward the cabin, and though his face revealed nothing, his eyes lingered just a fraction too long on the gap in the wall where Y/N's unconscious form was just visible on the bed inside.

"Spying, you mean," Mohawk accused bluntly, wiping blood from his chin with the back of his hand. The morning light caught the scarlet smear, making it gleam wetly against his skin. "You're not fooling anyone with your superior act, old man."

Viltrumite barely spared him a glance, regarding him with the casual disdain one might show an insect. "Call it what you will. I prefer to know what pieces are in play before committing to a strategy." The way he stood—perfectly still, unnaturally composed—made him seem more like a statue than a living being, save for the calculating intelligence that burned behind his eyes.

"Pieces?" Mohawk's voice rose dangerously, his battered face contorting with fresh rage. The blood vessels in his neck stood out like ropes as he took a threatening step forward. "She's not a fucking chess piece, she's—"

"A resource," Viltrumite cut him off coldly, finally deigning to look directly at Mohawk. "One we need alive and cooperative. Your emotional attachment is..." His lip curled slightly, the first real expression to crack his marble façade. "Inefficient."

Before Mohawk could launch himself at yet another Mark, a faint sound from inside the cabin froze them all—a soft moan, barely audible, but to their enhanced hearing, it might as well have been a thunderclap.

As one, they turned toward the cabin, all pretense of disinterest abandoned. Even Viltrumite's carefully maintained indifference cracked, something hungry flashing across his features before he could suppress it—and beneath that hunger, something softer, almost vulnerable, that vanished so quickly it might have been a trick of the morning light.

"She's waking up," Sinister breathed, his voice dropping to an almost reverent whisper. The manic energy that typically animated his every movement stilled suddenly, replaced by an intense focus that was somehow more disturbing than his usual chaos.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, as if released from a starting gate, all four marks surged toward the cabin—Mohawk and Sinister actually colliding in their haste to be first through the broken wall, Omni and Viltrumite close behind, their usual dignity forgotten in their eagerness to witness Y/N's awakening.

Inside, Y/N's eyelids fluttered, her breathing pattern changing as consciousness began to return. Her fingers twitched against the sheets, her head turning slightly on the pillow as awareness slowly filtered back. A grimace of pain crossed her features even before her eyes fluttered open, her body registering the damage before her mind fully awakened.

Mohawk shoved past Sinister, reaching the bedside first by mere inches. He dropped to his knees beside her, his expression a complex mixture of hope, fear, and naked longing that would have shocked anyone who knew only his brash exterior. Blood still dripped from his injuries, but he seemed entirely unaware of his own condition, all his attention focused on Y/N's awakening.

"Y/N?" he whispered, his normally abrasive voice gentled to something almost tender. The transformation was jarring—like watching a hurricane suddenly calm to a gentle breeze. "Can you hear me?"

Sinister crowded in beside him, his grin feral with anticipation. "Wake up, little one," he crooned, the sound somehow both soothing and deeply unsettling, like a lullaby sung by a demon. His hand hovered just above her cheek, not quite touching, as if savoring the moment before contact. "We have so much to discuss."

Omni and Viltrumite maintained a slight distance, both too controlled to show the same naked eagerness as the others, but their intensity was no less palpable. Omni's hands were clasped behind his back so tightly his knuckles had whitened, the only visible sign of his internal struggle. His eyes never left Y/N's face, cataloging every flicker of expression, every micro-movement as consciousness returned.

Viltrumite stood perfectly still, his breathing barely perceptible, yet there was an almost palpable aura of anticipation surrounding him. The usual cold superiority in his eyes had warmed to something more complex—a mixture of calculation, desire, and proprietary interest that transformed his entire demeanor.

The small cabin seemed to shrink around them, the air growing thick with tension and expectation. The morning light spilling through the gaps in the walls caught dust motes dancing in the air, creating an almost surreal atmosphere around the tableau of identical men gathered around the bed.

Y/N's eyes opened fully at last, unfocused at first, blinking rapidly against the light. A soft whimper of pain escaped her as she tried to move, her body clearly registering the full extent of her injuries from the previous day's battle. Bruises blossomed across her visible skin in violent purples and yellows, and dried blood matted a section of her hair where she'd taken a particularly brutal hit.

Her gaze slowly focused on the impossible sight before her—four identical faces with wildly different expressions, all staring down at her with varying degrees of possession and hunger.

Her lips parted, and the four Marks leaned forward slightly, each desperate to hear her first words in this strange new reality they'd thrust her into.

"What..." Her voice emerged hoarse, rusty from disuse and the trauma of the collar. She swallowed painfully, wincing as the motion irritated the raw skin of her neck, her hand instinctively rising to touch the injury before falling back weakly to the bed. "What the fuck is going on?"

Mohawk's face split into a genuine grin, a bark of laughter escaping him that seemed to contain equal parts relief and delight. "That's my girl," he said softly, the possessive pronoun slipping out before he could stop it. His smile faltered slightly as he realized his mistake, but the pride in his eyes remained undimmed.

Y/N's eyes narrowed, focusing specifically on him. She tried to push herself up on her elbows but collapsed back with a hiss of pain, her muscles trembling with the effort. Recognition flickered across her features—not of him personally, but of the situation, memories rushing back in a disorienting flood.

"You," she managed, her voice strengthening slightly despite the raw pain evident in every syllable. "All of you. The bridge. The fighting." Her eyes immediately widened, her hand rose with more strength this time, instinctively to her neck, fingers tracing the burn left by the collar. Every movement was clearly agonizing, her body a map of pain from the confrontation. "You took me."

"Rescued," Viltrumite corrected smoothly, stepping closer. His white uniform caught the light, creating an almost halo-like effect that contrasted sharply with the cold authority in his voice. "The term is rescued, my dear." The endearment sounded strange coming from him—formal, archaic, yet undeniably possessive.

Y/N's gaze shifted to him, taking in the white uniform, the authoritative stance. Her breath caught momentarily, a flash of something like recognition crossing her features, but not the kind any of them hoped for—this was recognition of danger, of power unchecked by conscience. She shrank back against the pillows, her body language screaming distrust despite her weakened state.

"Kidnapped," she countered, voice firm despite her obvious weakness. Every word seemed to cost her, but her eyes blazed with defiance.

"The term is fucking kidnapped." She attempted once more to sit up, her face contorting with pain as her abused muscles protested.

Omni made an aborted movement toward her, his hand extending slightly before he caught himself and resumed his rigid posture. The brief slip in his composure did not go unnoticed by the others—Sinister's grin widened knowingly, and Viltrumite's eyes narrowed with calculation.

Sinister laughed delightedly, clapping his hands together like a child at a particularly entertaining show. "Oh, she has spirit! I like this one even more now." His eyes gleamed with manic enthusiasm, his entire body vibrating with barely contained energy. "So much more fun when they fight back."

Y/N struggled again to sit up, her muscles protesting after hours of unconsciousness and the brutal beating she'd endured. Sweat beaded on her forehead from the effort, her teeth gritted against the pain that clearly radiated through every limb. Mohawk moved to help her, but she flinched away from his touch, eyes wide with distrust.

"Don't," she warned, the single syllable sharp with fear and determination. Her hand raised weakly in a warding gesture, trembling with the effort.

Mohawk froze, his hand suspended in midair, something raw and wounded flashing across his features before he could mask it. The rejection hit him visibly, like a physical blow, cracking through his usual bravado. He withdrew slowly, jaw clenching, shoulders hunching slightly inward in a defensive posture that betrayed his hurt.

"We're not going to hurt you," Omni said, his voice calm and reasonable—the voice of a man used to being believed. Yet beneath that reasonable tone lurked something else—concern, genuine and unexpected. His gaze lingered on her trembling form, on the visible evidence of her suffering, and something in his expression softened fractionally. "We need your help."

"My help?" Y/N repeated incredulously, looking from one Mark to the next. Her laugh was bitter, ending in a wince as the movement jarred her injured ribs. "You killed people. I saw you. On the bridge, in the city." Her voice rose slightly, cracking with emotion. "You're monsters."

Sinister preened at this, as if she'd paid him a compliment, running his hands down his suit in a gesture of mock modesty. "You flatter me, darling." His tongue flicked out, unnaturally long, wetting his lips in a gesture that was deliberately provocative.

Viltrumite's expression remained impassive, not bothering to deny or justify the slaughter. In his world, such casualties were beneath notice, unworthy of acknowledgment.

Omni had the grace to look slightly troubled, a frown creasing his brow momentarily before his face smoothed back to careful neutrality. "Regrettable but necessary casualties," he said, the words practiced, as if recited from a script he'd used many times before.

But it was Mohawk's reaction that caught her attention—a flinch, subtle but unmistakable, as if her words had struck a physical blow. His eyes dropped, unable to meet her accusing gaze. "Not all of us," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. "Some of us just... got caught up in the wrong crowd." The excuse sounded hollow even to his own ears, his usual swagger entirely absent.

Sinister snorted derisively, the sound oddly wet and inhuman. "Please. You tore through groups of civilians like tissue paper, laughing. Don't pretend you're any better than the rest of us." His grin was knife-sharp, delighting in exposing Mohawk's hypocrisy. "I still remember that mother and child—how you separated them with one punch. Such beautiful screams."

"At least I'm not proud of it," Mohawk shot back, eyes still fixed on Y/N's face, drinking in her features with desperate intensity. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, yearning to reach for her yet respecting the boundary she'd established.

Y/N pushed herself further up against the headboard, each movement a study in agony, her face pale and drawn with pain and shock. She tried to put as much distance between herself and the four identical men as the small bed would allow. Her eyes darted between them, calculating, assessing—looking for weaknesses, for differences, for any advantage she might use.

"Why me?" she finally asked, her voice steadier now despite the rasp. One hand cradled her ribs protectively, while the other braced against the headboard for support. "What do you want?"

The four Marks exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them—perhaps the first moment of genuine unity since they'd arrived in this universe.

"First we wanted more universes for ourselves, but now. We need her to access data from the broken collar remains," Omni explained, gesturing toward her neck, then to his hand where he was holding the torn piece of metal. "It contains access codes to the GDA's central database. Information we need. I believe you can only access it." His tone was businesslike, but his eyes lingered on the angry burns circling her throat with an expression that might almost have been a concern.

Y/N's hand flew to her neck again, fingertips tracing the raised, angry flesh where the metal had burned her. "This? T-that was a security measure! It doesn't hold anything–! " Disbelief colored her voice as she explored the extent of the damage, wincing as her fingers encountered particularly sensitive areas.

"One they were willing to let kill you rather than have it fall into the wrong hands," Viltrumite added, his voice carrying a note of genuine disgust. "Humans. Always ready to sacrifice their own." Despite his contemptuous words, there was something almost protective in his stance as he watched her—the tension in his shoulders, the slight forward tilt of his body, as if ready to catch her should she fall.

Something flashed in Y/N's eyes at his dismissive tone—a spark of defiance, of anger cutting through the pain and fear. "And what would you know about sacrifice? You're not even from this universe." Each word was delivered with precision despite her weakened state, targeting Viltrumite's obvious superiority complex.

Viltrumite's carefully controlled expression slipped for just a moment, revealing something ancient and pained beneath—a wound so deep and well-guarded that its brief exposure was shocking. "More than you might imagine," he said softly, surprising even himself with the admission. For just an instant, the marble façade cracked, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath the imperial bearing.

The atmosphere in the cabin shifted subtly, charged with unspoken histories. Outside, the forest had fully awakened, birds calling to each other in the morning light that streamed through the broken wall and shattered window, creating a surreal backdrop to the tense scene within.

Y/N looked between them again, her gaze settling on each Mark in turn, noting the differences in their expressions, their postures, the way they carried themselves despite wearing the same face. Her analytical scrutiny was impressive given her condition—strength of mind persisting despite her body's weakness.

"So what happens now?" she asked, her voice carrying a forced calm, but the tremor in her hands betrayed her fear. A light sheen of sweat covered her forehead from the effort of remaining upright, her breathing shallow and carefully controlled to minimize the pain in her ribs. "You removed my collar, going to get your information, and then what? Kill me? Let me go?"

"Kill you?" Mohawk looked genuinely horrified at the suggestion, recoiling physically as if she'd struck him. "No one's fucking killing you." The words burst from him with such raw sincerity that even Sinister's mocking grin faltered momentarily.

"We wouldn't waste such a valuable resource," Viltrumite stated pragmatically, earning a murderous glare from Mohawk. His choice of words was deliberately cold, but there was something in his eyes that contradicted his tone—a possessiveness that went beyond mere utility.

"What my less eloquent companions are trying to say," Omni interjected smoothly, stepping forward slightly, "is that your welfare is of concern to us." His voice was measured, reasonable—the voice of a negotiator, a leader. Yet beneath that calm exterior, something protective lurked, evident in the way his eyes continually assessed her injuries, cataloging each wince, each labored breath.

Sinister's grin widened impossibly. "Some more than others," he purred, eyes glittering with malicious amusement. He circled behind Mohawk, moving with that unnatural fluid grace, like a predator stalking its prey. "Our Mohawk here knew another you in his universe. She died. Very tragic. He's been crying about it for... how long has it been now? Eighteen months, two weeks, and four days?" The precise count was designed to wound, and it found its mark perfectly.

"Shut the fuck up," Mohawk snarled, half-rising from his position beside the bed. His fists clenched so tightly that fresh blood welled between his knuckles, dripping unnoticed to the rough wooden floor.

Y/N's eyes widened, her gaze fixing on Mohawk with new understanding. The pain of her physical injuries momentarily forgotten in the face of this revelation. "Is that true?" Her voice had softened slightly, the first hint of something other than fear or defiance entering her tone.

Mohawk looked away, unable to meet her eyes, the vulnerability in his expression a stark contrast to his aggressive posture. The usually arrogant set of his shoulders slumped, his mohawk seeming to droop along with his spirits. "It's complicated." The words were barely audible, forced through a throat tight with suppressed emotion.

"Oh, it's not complicated at all," Sinister continued, reveling in the discomfort he was causing. He circled behind Mohawk like a predator stalking wounded prey, his movements fluid and unnatural—too smooth to be human because he wasn't, he was a god in his eyes. The black portions of his suit seemed to absorb what little light touched them, creating shifting shadows that danced across his form. "She died in his arms. Blood everywhere. Very messy." His eyes gleamed with malicious delight, pupils dilating slightly at the memory of violence. "He's been a mess ever since. And now he thinks you're his second chance."

He leaned closer to Y/N, the temperature around him dropping several degrees as he moved. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, sweet as honey yet laced with poison. "He's not the only one with a history, though. We've all got our little... attachments."

The air in the cabin seemed to thicken with tension, dust motes frozen in the thin beams of sunlight breaking through the damaged walls. Y/N's labored breathing was painfully audible in the silence that followed.

"Enough," Omni commanded, steel beneath his reasonable tone. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, the only outward sign of the emotion roiling beneath his controlled exterior. His eyes flickered briefly to Y/N's form—noting how she struggled to stay upright, the way her arms trembled with the effort of supporting her weight, the shallow rise and fall of her chest as she tried to breathe through obvious pain. His fingers twitched at his sides, the urge to go to her, to support her battered body, to examine her injuries with his own hands nearly overwhelming his carefully maintained composure.

Y/N's gaze shifted to him, newly curious despite the pain etched into her features. Each movement sent fresh waves of agony through her battered form, yet her eyes remained sharp, analytical. "What does he mean?" Blood had dried in her hairline, and bruises in various stages of development created a map of violence across her visible skin. When she shifted, a barely suppressed whimper escaped her lips.

Omni maintained his stoic expression, but something flickered behind his eyes—a shadow of memory, grief carefully controlled and compartmentalized. His posture remained rigid, hands clasped behind his back so tightly his knuckles whitened. "It's irrelevant to our current situation." The words were clipped, precise, but lacked his usual authoritative conviction.

"Oh, I don't think it's irrelevant at all," Sinister crooned, moving like liquid shadow to circle behind Omni. His grin stretched wider than should have been physically possible, teeth gleaming unnaturally sharp in the dim light. "Tell her about your Y/N, Omni. The one who wasted away while you watched, helpless." His voice took on a sing-song quality, the cadence wrong, inhuman. "All your power, all your control, and you couldn't save her from something as simple as cancer. How your father watched you break, decided you were too weak, too emotional." His tongue flicked out, tasting the pain his words caused. "How you proved him wrong by ripping him apart."

Omni's jaw tightened further, a muscle jumping at his temple—the only visible sign of the rage building inside him. His red and gray suit seemed to darken with his mood, the shadows in the cabin deepening around him. "I said enough." The temperature in the cabin dropped several degrees with those three words.

But Y/N was looking at him differently now, seeing past the calm authority to something vulnerable beneath. Each breath clearly caused her pain, yet she leaned forward slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at her injured ribs. "You lost someone too," she said softly, not a question but a realization. Blood had crusted at the corner of her mouth, her lips cracked and dry.

"We all did," Viltrumite said unexpectedly, drawing everyone's attention. He stood perfectly still, his white uniform catching the morning light, making him appear almost luminous against the rustic backdrop of the cabin. His imperial bearing seemed at odds with the weathered walls around him, like a marble statue placed in a garden shed. "In different ways." His voice carried the weight of centuries, of losses cataloged and filed away but never truly forgotten.

Sinister's grin was practically predatory now, delighting in pulling back the curtain on each of their carefully guarded pasts. He bounced on the balls of his feet, the manic energy within him impossible to contain. "Oh yes, tell her your story, old man. About how daddy dearest killed your precious human pet when you tried to bring her into the empire." His voice dripped with false sympathy, each word carefully chosen to cause maximum damage.

Viltrumite's face remained impassive, but his eyes—those were different now, burning with a cold fury that made the temperature in the cabin seem to drop further. The frost in his gaze could have frozen oceans. "She wasn't a pet," he said, each word precise, controlled, yet containing the force of avalanches. "She was mine. And my father took her from me because she was human. Weak. Unworthy of the empire." His gaze fixed on Y/N with uncomfortable intensity, drinking in her features with possessive hunger. "But you're different. You have Viltrumite blood, however diluted. You're stronger. You could survive."

Y/N stared at him, a chill running down her spine at the implication in his words. She tried to push herself further upright but collapsed back with a pained gasp, her body simply too damaged to obey her commands. Sweat beaded on her forehead from the effort, her skin ashen beneath the bruises and dirt. "Survive what?" The question emerged as little more than a whisper, her throat raw from the collar's damage.

"The empire, of course," Viltrumite answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His posture shifted almost imperceptibly, leaning toward her like a planet drawn to a sun. "Where you belong. At my side." The possessiveness in his tone was absolute, brooking no argument or alternative.

"That's not happening," Mohawk growled, shoving himself between Y/N and Viltrumite. His mohawk seemed to bristle with his rising anger, like the hackles of a threatened animal. He bared his teeth in a feral snarl, blood still dripping from his split lip, giving him a savage appearance. "She's not going anywhere with you." Despite his aggressive stance, when he glanced back at Y/N, his expression softened momentarily, eyes lingering on her injuries with poorly disguised concern.

"She's not going anywhere with any of you," a new voice interrupted, and all heads turned toward the broken wall.

Phantom Mark stood there, his translucent suit catching the light in eerie, otherworldly patterns that seemed to bend reality around him. Unlike the others, his expression was solemn, almost sad, as he surveyed the scene before him. His eyes lingered on Y/N's battered form, something like regret flickering across his features before it was swiftly buried.

"The others are coming back," he announced, his voice echoing slightly as though coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Emperor and No-Mask have finished their fun in the city." His lip curled slightly at the word 'fun,' a brief flash of disapproval breaking through his ghostly demeanor. "Prisoner is on his way too."

Sinister clapped his hands together with childish glee, the sound unnaturally sharp in the tense atmosphere. His entire body vibrated with excitement, the black portions of his suit rippling in response. "Oh, the gang's all here! This should be interesting." He rubbed his hands together, the motion too quick, too eager—a child anticipating a particularly enjoyable game.

Y/N's face had gone pale, her eyes fixed on Phantom, the little color that remained draining from her cheeks. Her breathing quickened, pulling painfully at her damaged ribs, each inhalation a struggle. "How many cities did you destroy?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the cabin like a blade.

Phantom had the grace to look away, unable to meet her accusatory gaze. The translucent portions of his suit seemed to dim, absorbing rather than reflecting the morning light that tried to touch it. "Enough." The single word carried a weight of unspoken justifications and buried guilt.

"Enough?" she repeated, her voice rising with incredulity despite the pain it clearly caused her. Her hands clenched in the rough blanket beneath her, knuckles whitening with the force of her grip. "People are dead because of you—all of you—and that's all you can say? 'Enough'?" Each word seemed to cost her, pain flashing across her features, yet her eyes blazed with righteous fury.

"Collateral damage," Viltrumite dismissed with a small wave of his hand, the gesture imperious, accustomed to wiping away concerns beneath his notice. His white uniform seemed to glow brighter in the shaft of sunlight that fell across him, creating an almost holy aura that contrasted sharply with the callousness of his words. "Inconsequential in the larger scheme."

"Inconsequential?" Y/N's voice cracked, rage and grief warring in her expression. She pushed herself upright despite the obvious agony it caused her, one arm wrapped protectively around her ribs, the other braced against the headboard for support. Blood had begun to seep through her shirt where wounds had reopened with her movement. "They were people! With families, with lives, with—"

"With an expiration date," Sinister cut in, his voice suddenly cold, all playfulness gone. His eyes darkened, pupils expanding until they nearly swallowed the irises. "All humans die, darling. Today, tomorrow, sixty years from now—what difference does it make? We just... accelerated the inevitable." He licked his lips slowly, savoring her reaction like a fine wine.

The casual cruelty of his statement hung in the air like poison, and something shifted in Y/N's expression—fear giving way to a different emotion entirely. Determination. Resolve. She straightened as much as her battered body would allow, a fresh trickle of blood making its way down her temple from a reopened wound.

"You're all monsters," she said again, but this time there was no fear in her voice, only certainty. The morning light caught in her eyes, igniting them with inner fire despite her physical weakness. "Every single one of you."

Mohawk winced, the words hitting him harder than any physical blow could. His shoulders hunched inward, his usual aggressive posture crumpling like paper. "Y/N, it's not—we're not all—" His voice cracked, unusual vulnerability breaking through his abrasive exterior. For a moment, the dangerous predator vanished, replaced by someone broken, desperate for understanding.

"Save it," she cut him off coldly, though her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than the others. "I don't care what version of you lost what version of me. I am not her. I will never be her. And I will never, ever help any of you after what you've done." Each declaration was punctuated by a labored breath, her body trembling with the effort of remaining upright, yet her resolve never wavered.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the distant sounds of forest life continuing on, oblivious to the drama unfolding within the cabin's walls. Y/N's ragged breathing seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness, each painful inhalation a reminder of her mortality among these godlike beings.

Then Sinister started to laugh—a low, dangerous sound that built steadily, filling the small space with malevolent mirth. The sound was wrong, inhuman, echoing in impossible ways. "Oh, you think you have a choice," he said when his laughter finally subsided, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. "That's adorable." The word dripped with condescension and dark promise.

He moved toward her with preternatural speed, faster than the others could react. The black portions of his suit seemed to extend and flow as he moved, like living shadows eager for the kill. His hand shot out, grabbing her chin in a grip that was just shy of crushing, forcing her to look directly into his face. The contrast of his black glove against her skin made her appear even more fragile, more human.

"Let me tell you about my Y/N," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried to every corner of the room. His face was inches from hers, his breath caressing her skin like a poisonous fog. "She was human too. Fragile. Breakable. But she was mine, and I cherished her in my own way. Played with her. Sometimes too rough." His grin widened, showing too many teeth, sharp and gleaming in the dim light. "But she loved it. Or learned to. Until a hero decided to 'rescue' her from me."

His grip tightened slightly, and Y/N couldn't suppress a small sound of pain. Fresh bruises began forming under his fingers, blooming like dark flowers on her skin. "Know what happened then? This 'hero' killed her right in front of me. Said she was 'tainted' by her association with me. Too far gone to save. Put his hand right through her chest." Sinister mimicked the motion with his free hand, making a brutal tearing gesture that displaced the air with an audible whoosh. "That was the day I learned what I really was. What I was capable of." The black parts of his suit seemed to writhe with the memory, responding to his emotions like a living extension of his being.

"Let. Her. Go." Mohawk's voice was deadly quiet, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to release. The blue and black of his suit seemed to darken with his rage, the bruises on his face standing out in stark relief against his pale skin. His hands had formed into fists so tight that fresh blood welled between his knuckles, dripping unnoticed to the rough wooden floor.

Sinister ignored him, his eyes never leaving Y/N's. The pupils had expanded unnaturally beneath his black lenses, almost hypnotic in their intensity. "You think you know what monsters are? You haven't seen anything yet, darling. But you will. And you will help us, whether you want to or not. Because the alternative..." His voice trailed off, the threat clear in his gleaming eyes, his thumb brushing almost tenderly across her cheekbone, leaving a smear of blood in its wake.

"That's enough," Omni said, his voice carrying the weight of command. He took a step forward, red and gray suit catching the light differently now, seeming to absorb it rather than reflect it. The temperature around him dropped perceptibly, frost forming on the wooden floor where he stood. "Release her, Sinister. Now." Each word fell like a hammer blow, precise and devastating.

For a moment, it seemed Sinister might refuse. The black portions of his suit rippled with anticipation, reaching toward Y/N like hungry tentacles. Then, with deliberate slowness, he uncurled his fingers from Y/N's chin, leaving angry red marks that would soon bloom into bruises. His fingertips lingered a moment too long, trailing down her jaw with possessive intimacy.

"As you wish," he said with exaggerated courtesy, stepping back with a theatrical bow. "For now." The promise of later hung in the air between them, dark and inevitable.

Y/N's hand went to her chin, rubbing the sore spots where his fingers had dug in. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of fear and defiance as she looked around at the gathered Marks. Despite her obvious pain—the way her breath caught when she moved too quickly, the subtle tremor in her limbs from exhaustion and trauma—her spine remained straight, her gaze unwavering.

"I will never help you," she repeated, each word deliberate and clear despite her raw throat. Blood had begun to seep through the fabric at her side, her injuries reopening with each movement. "Not willingly."

"Then we'll have to persuade you," came another voice from the doorway, this one hard and imperious, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Emperor Mark stood there, resplendent in his yellow and blue-gray uniform, the very picture of regal authority. Sunlight caught on the golden accents of his suit, creating a corona around his imposing figure. His stance was wide, commanding, a ruler accustomed to immediate obedience. Behind him loomed No-Mask, his unmarked face a stark contrast to his blood-spattered uniform, eyes cold and distant, as if still seeing the destruction he'd left behind.

"Persuasion takes many forms," Emperor continued, stepping into the already crowded cabin with easy confidence. His boots left imprints in the wooden floor, such was the weight of his presence. His eyes settled on Y/N with the calculated interest of a collector assessing a rare acquisition. "Not all of them unpleasant."

"Some of them very pleasant indeed," Sinister added with a lascivious wink that made Y/N's skin crawl visibly. His tongue flicked out, unnaturally long, wetting his lips in a deliberately provocative gesture.

Mohawk growled low in his throat, positioning himself more firmly between Y/N and the newcomers. His mohawk stood in rigid spikes, as if electrified by his anger. Blood still dripped from his various wounds, but he seemed entirely unaware of his injuries, every sense focused on protecting the woman behind him. "Back off, Emperor. She's been through enough." His voice was rough gravel, yet beneath the hostility lay something almost tender when referring to Y/N.

Emperor looked down at him with thinly veiled contempt, one eyebrow arched in aristocratic disdain. The golden highlights of his uniform caught the light as he shifted, casting imperial patterns across the cabin's weathered walls. "Your attachment is clouding your judgment, Mohawk. This isn't about her comfort. It's about what we need." He spoke with the absolute certainty of one who had never been denied, each syllable weighted with unquestioned authority.

"And what we need," Omni interjected smoothly, stepping forward with calculated precision, "is her cooperation. Which we won't get through intimidation or coercion." The reasonable tone couldn't entirely mask the steel beneath his words. His eyes flickered to Y/N again, noting how the color had drained from her face, how each breath seemed to cost her. Something in his rigid posture softened minutely. "We can give you time. To adjust. To understand the situation. But make no mistake—one way or another, we will access the broken collar remains."

Y/N looked around at the seven Marks now crowding the small cabin, each wearing the same face but with wildly different expressions—from Sinister's malevolent glee to Mohawk's desperate protectiveness, from Emperor's cold calculation to Phantom's resigned sadness. The morning light caught different aspects of each of them—glinting off Emperor's golden accents, absorbed by the shadows of Sinister's suit, highlighting the blood still wet on No-Mask's uniform.

For the first time since waking, genuine fear flickered across her features, breaking through her defiant facade. One Mark she might have had a chance against. Two, possibly, if she was clever. But seven, with an eighth somewhere nearby? The odds were impossible. A tremor ran through her battered body, visible to all with their enhanced vision, a painful reminder of her humanity among these godlike beings.

"One day," she finally said, her voice quiet but firm despite the pain evident in every syllable. She swallowed hard, wincing as the motion aggravated her damaged throat, the burns from the collar angry and raw against her skin. "Give me one day to... process this. Then we'll talk about the collar."

The Marks exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them—calculation, consideration, desire—all focused on the battered woman before them.

"One day," Omni agreed, speaking for the group, his voice carrying the weight of a contract signed in blood. "Starting now."

Y/N nodded slowly, her movements careful, measured against the pain that clearly radiated through every fiber of her being. Her mind was visibly racing behind those defiant eyes, looking for angles, for weaknesses, for any possible way out of the impossible situation she found herself in. Despite her condition, there was a sharpness to her gaze that spoke of intelligence, of calculation beneath the pain.

"I'd like some privacy," she said, her voice stronger now, drawing on reserves of will that impressed even Viltrumite, whose eyes narrowed slightly with newfound appreciation. "And food, if you have any." Her hand pressed against her side where blood had begun to seep through her clothing, her face paling further with the movement.

"I'll get it," Mohawk volunteered instantly, eager for any excuse to be useful to her. His usual swagger was gone, replaced by an almost puppyish eagerness that would have been comical under other circumstances. He turned toward what passed for a kitchen area, moving with barely contained energy, casting frequent glances back at Y/N as if afraid she might disappear if he looked away too long.

"And I'll ensure she has privacy," Viltrumite stated in a tone that brooked no argument, positioning himself near the broken wall like a sentinel. His white uniform caught the sunlight streaming through the gaps, creating an almost ethereal glow around his imposing figure. His eyes never left Y/N, drinking in her features with possessive intensity. "No one approaches without my permission."

The others began to file out, each casting lingering glances at Y/N as they went—some calculating, some hungry, some almost sorrowful. Emperor's cape rustled as he turned, the sound of expensive fabric incongruous in the rustic cabin. No-Mask followed silently, his bloodstained hands flexing at his sides, eyes distant as if already contemplating further destruction. Phantom drifted toward the door, his translucent form seeming to merge with the morning light before solidifying again.

Only Sinister paused in the doorway, turning back with that too-wide grin that stretched the boundaries of what a human face should be capable of. The black portions of his suit seemed to reach toward Y/N, living shadows hungry for her touch. "Sweet dreams, darling," he crooned, voice honeyed poison. "I'll be seeing you... very soon." His tongue flicked out one last time before he melted into the shadows outside, his laughter lingering in the air like a bad smell.

When they had all gone except for Viltrumite standing guard at the perimeter and Mohawk rummaging through the cabin's sparse supplies, Y/N finally allowed herself to slump back against the pillows, exhaustion and fear catching up with her in a rush. A soft whimper escaped her lips as the movement jarred her injuries, the sound quickly stifled as she bit down hard on her lower lip. Blood welled from where her teeth had broken the skin, adding to the collection of wounds that mapped the violence visited upon her body.

One day. She had one day to figure out how to escape seven—no, eight—versions of the most powerful being on Earth, each with their own agenda, each seeing her as something to be possessed. Each wearing the face of someone who had once been her ally, her friend...perhaps more. The cruel irony wasn't lost on her even through the haze of pain that clouded her thoughts.

As Mohawk approached with a tin of what looked like soup and a relatively clean spoon, his expression so nakedly hopeful it would have been pitiful under other circumstances, Y/N made herself meet his eyes. She saw past the cocky exterior, the crude jokes and aggressive posturing, to the raw wound beneath—a man who had lost everything and saw in her face a second chance he knew he didn't deserve.

"Thank you," she said quietly, accepting the food, making sure their fingers didn't touch in the exchange. The simple act of holding the tin sent fresh waves of pain through her damaged muscles, but she refused to show weakness, gripping it with white-knuckled determination.

"Y/N," he began, his voice rough with emotion, nothing like his usual brash tones. His mohawk seemed to droop slightly, reflecting his uncertainty. Blood had dried in dark rivulets down his face, but he made no move to wipe it away, all his attention focused on her. "I know you're not her. I know that. But—"

"Don't," she cut him off gently, a softness in her tone that hadn't been there before. Despite everything, there was something in his naked vulnerability that touched her. "Please. Not now." The unspoken 'maybe later' hung between them, a crumb of hope she wasn't sure she meant to offer.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly, nodding jerkily. "Right. Yeah. You need space. I get it." He backed away, his movements awkward, uncertain, so different from the confident swagger he'd shown earlier. The blue and black of his suit seemed dimmer somehow, reflecting his dejected mood. "I'll just... I'll be outside if you need anything." The offer was sincere, his eyes lingering on her injuries with genuine concern before he turned away.

When he was gone, Y/N looked down at the tin of soup in her hands, the thin broth rippling with the tremors she could no longer control. Her gaze traveled around the cabin's interior—the rough-hewn walls, the broken furniture, the splinters and debris from the damaged door and wall—before settling on Viltrumite's back where he stood watch, his white uniform pristine against the forest backdrop, giving her the illusion of privacy while missing nothing.

One day. One chance.

She began to eat, methodically, mechanically, each swallow painful against her damaged throat, but necessary. Building her strength for whatever came next. The food was tasteless in her mouth, but she forced herself to continue, knowing she would need every ounce of energy she could muster.

Through the broken window, she could see slivers of the forest beyond, the sunlight dappling through ancient trees, birds flying free overhead, the promise of freedom so close and yet impossibly far away. The contrast between the peaceful wilderness and her desperate situation created a surreal dissonance that made her head swim.

Somewhere out there, seven Marks were waiting, planning, wanting. Patient predators circling their wounded prey. And she was trapped in the center of their web, a prize none of them were willing to relinquish.

One day to find a way out.

The sound of the forest continued undisturbed—birds calling, leaves rustling, life proceeding as it always had—indifferent to the cosmic drama unfolding within the cabin's broken walls. Y/N closed her eyes briefly, gathering her resolve like armor around her battered spirit.

The clock was ticking.

––––––––––––––––

☆ Next chapter is going to be instance, perhaps a first kiss ♡ ♡ ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)

☆ It's crazy, how writer's block hasn't hit me yet (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

♡ Pt.4 ♡

Pt.1 Pt.2 ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-ꕤ.ﾟ Pt.5

[cameronsbabydoll]

SUGAR-COATED CHAINS — CHAPTER FIVE

WARNINGS — a lot of angst!!!! rafe is a jerk and doesn’t defend the reader.

You’d been so excited.

Rafe had invited you to dinner at the country club—his world—and for once, it felt like he wasn’t keeping you hidden away. Like maybe you were important enough to be seen by the people who mattered to him.

So you spent hours getting ready, slipping into a delicate dress that made you feel elegant, dabbing perfume onto your wrists, even picking out a pair of heels that made your feet ache just standing in them. You wanted to fit in. You wanted to be good enough.

But from the moment you stepped inside, you realized how wrong you’d been.

The same group of men from before were already seated, laughing over drinks, their conversations dipping into easy arrogance. And when their eyes landed on you, their smirks turned sharp.

"Didn’t think we’d be seeing this one again," one of them mused, swirling his whiskey. "Guess she made the cut."

"For now," another chuckled, his gaze trailing over you in a way that made your stomach turn. "Can’t imagine she’s much for conversation, though. How’s she holding up, Rafe?"

Rafe barely reacted, just pulled out your chair like he hadn’t just heard them pick you apart.

"She’s fine," he said smoothly, placing a firm hand on your back as you sat down.

You forced a small smile, trying not to shrink under their scrutiny. But it only got worse.

"So, what’s she drinking tonight?" one of the men asked, flipping the menu lazily. "Let me guess—something pink and fruity?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but Rafe didn’t even give you the chance.

"She’ll have a glass of chardonnay," he said, not even glancing at you.

You hesitated. Chardonnay? You didn’t like chardonnay. But when you looked at Rafe, he just rested his hand on your thigh under the table, squeezing lightly.

A silent play along.

So you did.

"And for dinner?" the waiter asked.

You scanned the menu, searching for something safe—something you knew you’d like—but before you could say anything, Rafe spoke up again.

"She’ll have the filet, medium-rare," he said, sipping his drink.

You blinked.

You didn’t mind steak, but—medium-rare? You always ordered it well-done.

The waiter nodded, scribbling it down.

And Rafe?

Rafe didn’t even notice the way your fingers curled in your lap, the way you swallowed down your unease.

Because this was what he did, wasn’t it? This was the kind of control that used to make you feel safe. Like he knew what was best for you. Like he took care of you.

But tonight?

Tonight, it just felt wrong.

And then the teasing started.

"You know," one of them mused, "I was telling my wife about your girl the other day. Said she reminded me of my niece—collects those little dolls, what are they called?"

"Sonny Angels?" someone else supplied, smirking.

Your stomach twisted.

"That’s it," the first man laughed, shaking his head. "And those—what are they? Little animal things?"

"Calico Critters," another chuckled. "Real cute. Bet she’s got a pink princess bedroom too, huh?"

Rafe laughed.

Not a full laugh, not outright agreement—but a chuckle. A small, quiet one, like he thought it was funny too.

Your face burned.

"I mean, Jesus, Rafe," another one teased, nudging his glass toward you. "Where’d you even find this one? Babysitting gig?"

Rafe smirked. "Something like that."

Your stomach dropped.

He was joking. Just playing along. That’s what you told yourself, but—God, did it sting.

And then, as if you weren’t even there, they kept going.

"You got her drinking real cocktails yet, or is she still on the Shirley Temples?"

"Give her some credit," Rafe drawled, lifting his bourbon to his lips. "She’s learning."

Your throat felt tight.

Rafe had always teased you about your little collections, your girlish habits—but it had never felt like this. Never in front of them.

You barely tasted your drink. Barely touched your food.

And when you excused yourself to the bathroom, your hands were shaking.

You just needed a minute. A moment to breathe, to compose yourself. But as you reached the powder room, your steps halted.

The voices inside were sharp.

"God, did you see her?" one of the women scoffed. "She looks very young."

"It’s embarrassing," another said, her tone clipped. "Rafe used to have taste. Now he’s parading around some little girl with doll collections and—what did my husband say? Calico Critters?"

Laughter. Cruel, dismissive.

"I give it a month. She’ll be gone by summer."

Your vision blurred.

Heat rushed up your throat, hot and suffocating, but you forced yourself to breathe.

They didn’t matter. They didn’t know you.

But Rafe—Rafe had let this happen.

He had laughed.

The night was ruined.

And when Rafe drove you home, his hand resting lazily on the gear shift, he didn’t even notice how quiet you were.

Didn’t notice how stiffly you sat, how you avoided his touch, how your lip was caught between your teeth to keep from trembling.

"Something wrong?" he asked at one point, but it was offhanded, distracted. Like he already assumed the answer was no.

And you?

You just shook your head.

Because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop yourself from crying.

—

It wasn’t until later, curled up in bed, your phone pressed to your ear, that the dam finally broke.

"He just let them say those things about me," you whispered, voice raw, hands clutching your blanket. "They were making fun of me, and he just—" Your breath hitched. "He laughed."

Your best friend didn’t even hesitate. "Are you fucking kidding?"

"And then—then I went to the bathroom, and these women—these wives of his friends—they were talking about me like I was some stupid little girl who wasn’t going to last, and—"

"Babe," your friend cut in, voice sharp with anger.

"He’s a dick. An absolute dick. He’s never deserved you, but this? No. He doesn’t get to treat you like this."

And so, without even meaning to, you started pulling away.

And Rafe?

Rafe noticed.

[helloeverybodyhere]

the gratest gift

summary: something happens during the last day of love on tour

Warnings: cryptic pregnancy

The energy of the final night of Harry's tour filled the air in Emilia Romagna Campovolo, Italy. Fans from all over the world had gathered for this special moment, knowing it would be the last time they would see Harry Styles perform live for a while. Y/N stood with a small group of Harry’s closest family and friends, watching him on stage, her heart swelling with pride as he danced and sang with his usual magnetism. The crowd’s love for him was palpable, their collective voices rising up to meet him, but there was something she couldn’t shake.

The persistent, dull pain in her stomach had started earlier in the day, just after she’d woken up. She’d chalked it up to stress, the excitement of the tour winding down, or maybe even a slight stomach bug. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt a bit under the weather on tour—jet lag and late nights had taken their toll. But as the night wore on, the cramps had only intensified, creeping from an annoying ache to a sharp throb that made her wince. Still, she forced a smile, trying to enjoy the moment.

Standing beside her were Gemma, Harry’s sister, and their mom, Anne, who were both chatting animatedly with Jeff and his wife, Glenne. James Corden was also there, cracking jokes, and the group was trying to maintain a sense of normalcy amidst the overwhelming excitement of the final show.

“Y/N, you alright?” Gemma asked, her eyes narrowing with concern as she noticed Y/N clutching her stomach slightly.

"Yeah, just a little... uncomfortable," Y/N replied, offering a faint smile, but her voice trembled slightly. It was more than discomfort now, though, and the pain was growing more difficult to ignore.

Anne turned, her motherly instinct kicking in. “You don’t look alright, love. Maybe we should get you checked out?”

Y/N hesitated. She didn’t want to be a bother, especially on such a special night. "No, no, I'm fine. Really. I don’t want to ruin anything."

James, ever the comedian, leaned in with a wink. “If you’re fine, then I’m the Queen of England. No offense, but I think Gemma and Anne are right. You’re looking a bit pale there.”

Y/N tried to laugh it off, but the pain in her stomach was no longer something she could brush aside. It was becoming unbearable. As Harry continued to perform on stage, Y/N’s breaths began to grow shallow, her face flushed with discomfort.

"Y/N," Anne said firmly, the concern in her voice now more pronounced, "Let’s just get you checked out, okay? We’re not messing around. This is Harry’s last show; he’ll understand, but you need to be taken care of."

Gemma nodded in agreement. "We’ll go together. It’s not a big deal; we’ll just make sure everything’s okay."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, but the pain flared again, and she finally nodded. "Alright, okay. But I don’t want to ruin anything for him."

Anne smiled gently and took Y/N's arm. "Trust me, love. He’ll want you to be okay more than anything else."

The drive to the hospital was a blur of worry and discomfort. Y/N was trying to breathe through the pain, her hand clutched tightly in Anne's as Gemma kept glancing back at her, checking to see if she was alright. The minutes felt like hours, and by the time they reached the hospital, Y/N was struggling to even stand. She felt like her world was spinning, but she kept thinking about Harry, wishing she could be there with him as the show came to a close.

Anne, ever the rock, led her inside, and soon they were seated in a sterile examination room. A doctor quickly came in, speaking in Italian, but Gemma was quick to translate and explain the situation. The doctor checked Y/N over and then took a step back, her face tight with concern.

“Signora, I’m afraid you’re in labor," the doctor said gently. "You are pregnant."

Y/N blinked in confusion, her mind spinning. "What? I... I’m pregnant? I don’t understand. I’ve never felt pregnant."

The doctor nodded solemnly. “It’s called a cryptic pregnancy. Some women don't realize they're pregnant until very late into the term, sometimes until they go into labor.”

Gemma’s jaw dropped in shock, and Anne's face paled. Y/N’s heart raced as she tried to process the words. Pregnant? But that didn’t make sense. She hadn’t noticed any symptoms—no cravings, no morning sickness, no physical changes that would have pointed to something like this. She was just... Y/N. Just herself.

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked, her voice trembling. “How could I not know?”

The doctor gave a sympathetic smile. “It’s very rare, but it happens. Your body may not have shown typical signs. Some women don’t realize until much later in the pregnancy, sometimes not until the moment they give birth.”

Gemma held Y/N’s hand tightly. “What does this mean? Is everything okay?”

The doctor nodded. “You are full-term, and it’s likely that the pain you’re feeling is because your body is preparing for delivery. We’ll need to monitor you, but everything seems to be in order.”

Anne was quietly taking deep breaths beside Y/N, clearly trying to keep her composure for her daughter. “Well... well, then, let’s get this sorted, eh? Y/N, sweetheart, we’re here with you.”

Y/N nodded, but her mind was still reeling. Pregnant... Full-term... How was that even possible? She could barely process the words, let alone the reality of them. But then she thought about Harry—his smile, his kindness, the way he had held her so close when they were together.

And then, as if on cue, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a message from Harry.

"Where are you? I miss you. Are you okay?"

Y/N’s heart ached. She could almost hear his voice through the screen, and she knew he would be devastated if he knew what was happening. She couldn’t tell him, not yet. She needed to be strong for both of them.

Before she could respond, the pain came again—stronger this time, and the doctor moved quickly, motioning for them to prepare for delivery. “It’s time.”

The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity, but Y/N never felt alone. Anne and Gemma stayed by her side, offering comfort and support as the medical team helped her through the labor. The pain was unlike anything she had ever felt, but she held on to the idea that once this was over, she’d have something incredible to show for it. Something she never expected but would love with all her heart.

And then, at the very end, when everything was still and calm, the soft cry of a newborn filled the room.

A baby.

Y/N couldn’t believe it—her baby. Her daughter.

As they placed the tiny, perfect baby girl in her arms, she felt a rush of love like nothing she had ever known. Her heart swelled in a way she never thought possible. This little person, who had been growing inside her all this time, was now here.

And then, as if by magic, her phone buzzed again. It was Harry, texting once more:

"I’m done with the show. I’ll see you soon. I love you."

Anne or Gemma must have told him she was in the hospital. Tears welled in her eyes as she smiled at her baby. This was their future. His future. Their future together.

The door opened, and Gemma peeked her head in. "Y/N, are you...?"

Y/N looked up, her voice shaky but filled with joy. “I’m okay. I’m... I’m a mom.”

Anne stepped in as well, her face softening with tears as she looked at her new granddaughter. "Oh, darling. Harry’s going to be over the moon."

Y/N nodded, her hand gently cradling the baby, the tiny life she had no idea she was carrying. In that moment, it didn’t matter how it had happened. What mattered was the love she felt, and the fact that Harry—her partner, her best friend—was about to become a father.

As she held her baby close, she sent a quick message back to Harry:

"I’m waiting for you. And I love you more than words can say."

And in that moment, as the world outside continued to turn, Y/N knew that no matter what came next, she was ready for this new chapter of her life. With Harry by her side, everything would be The hours after Y/N had given birth were a blur of emotion, exhaustion, and overwhelming love. Her little girl—her beautiful, perfect daughter—was nestled in her arms, fast asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling with each delicate breath. Y/N couldn’t stop staring at the baby, her heart full of a love she had never known was possible.

Anne and Gemma had left to give Y/N some space, giving her time to soak in the new reality. Their faces were tear-streaked and full of joy when they left the room, but they both knew how important this moment was—just Y/N and her daughter, before the world came rushing back.

Y/N sat in the hospital bed, cradling the baby close to her chest, when her phone buzzed again.

"I'm on my way, love. I’m outside the hospital now. I’ll be there in five."

The message was from Harry. His words were so simple, yet they carried so much weight. He had no idea. He was about to walk into the most life-changing moment of his life.

Y/N felt her chest tighten. She had to get ready. How do I tell him? she thought. She wasn’t even sure what she was going to say. She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that she had given birth—no warning, no signs, just a beautiful little baby that was hers.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft tap on the door.

"Y/N?" It was Gemma’s voice. "Harry’s here."

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart racing. Okay. Here we go.

Anne and Gemma entered, both with huge smiles on their faces. Harry wasn’t with them yet, and Gemma stepped forward, her eyes soft with understanding. "He’s just outside," she said quietly. "Are you ready?"

Y/N nodded, the weight of the moment still heavy on her shoulders. "I think so. But I don’t even know how to tell him."

Anne came over, squeezing her shoulder. "You don’t need to tell him anything. He’ll figure it out when he sees her. You don’t have to say anything right away. Just... be honest with him, Y/N. He’ll be thrilled. He’s going to love her so much."

Y/N smiled at her mom, the warmth of her support helping to steady her nerves. She looked down at the little girl in her arms, who stirred slightly, letting out a soft yawn.

Just then, Harry appeared in the doorway, looking slightly out of breath and still in his performance clothes. His face lit up when he saw his family and friends, but as his eyes landed on Y/N, sitting in the bed with the little bundle in her arms, his smile faltered. He took a few hesitant steps toward her, confusion crossing his face.

"Y/N?" His voice was soft, a mixture of worry and tenderness. "What’s going on? Are you okay?"

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat as she held up the baby, her hands shaking. "Harry," she whispered, her voice cracking, "I’m... I’m okay. And this... this is our daughter."

Harry froze, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find the right words. His eyes flicked between Y/N’s face and the tiny baby in her arms. His expression was one of disbelief, confusion, and then, slowly, a dawning realization.

"You... What?" Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. "But... but I didn’t—"

"I didn’t know either," Y/N cut him off, her voice gentle but steady. "It’s a cryptic pregnancy. I didn’t know I was pregnant until today. The pain I had, the cramps���it... it was labor."

For a long moment, Harry didn’t move. His entire body seemed frozen, his mind struggling to process the flood of information. But then, something shifted. His eyes softened, his face breaking into a mix of wonder and love.

"She’s... ours?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion, stepping closer.

Y/N nodded, tears welling in her eyes as she reached out to him, the baby still cradled gently in her arms. "Yes. She’s ours, Harry."

Without another word, Harry took a step forward, kneeling beside the bed. His hands were trembling as he looked down at the tiny girl in Y/N’s arms, his eyes wide and full of awe. The reality of the moment hit him all at once, and he reached out slowly, gently, as though afraid he might break the fragile perfection of the moment.

"Hi," Harry whispered to the baby, his voice a soft caress. "I’m your daddy. I’m so sorry I didn’t know... but I promise I’m going to love you more than anything in this world."

The baby stirred in Y/N’s arms, and Harry’s eyes welled with tears as he carefully stroked her tiny hand. "She’s beautiful," he murmured, his voice breaking as he looked up at Y/N. "How... how did this happen? How did we not know?"

Y/N smiled through her tears, feeling her heart swell with love for him, for their daughter, for the family they were about to become. "I don’t know," she said softly. "But here she is. She’s perfect, Harry."

Harry looked up at her, his face filled with an overwhelming mix of emotions—shock, joy, disbelief, and pure, unfiltered love. "You’re perfect, Y/N," he whispered. "And this... she’s perfect. I love you both so much."

Tears began to slip down Y/N’s cheeks as she leaned in closer to him, her heart full. "I love you too," she whispered, feeling the weight of their new life, the life they would now build together. "You’re going to be an amazing dad, Harry."

He smiled at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I already love her more than anything. I promise you, Y/N, I’m going to do everything I can to make this family everything it can be."

As Harry gently cupped their daughter’s tiny hand in his, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I can’t believe this. She’s ours."

Y/N nodded, her smile wide and radiant as she looked at Harry. "She’s ours. And we’re going to be okay."

With that, Harry stood up slowly, never taking his eyes off the baby, and turned to Anne and Gemma, who were standing at the foot of the bed. His voice was thick with emotion as he spoke.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Thank you for being here. For helping her. For being... for being everything she needs."

Anne smiled warmly, her heart full of pride for her son. "We’re family, Harry. And family takes care of each other."

Gemma stepped forward, smiling through her own tears. "I can’t believe I’m an aunt!" she laughed softly. "She’s going to be the most spoiled little girl in the world."

Harry smiled at them, his heart so full he thought it might burst. And as he looked down at his daughter once more, he couldn’t help but think that maybe the world had a way of surprising you when you least expected it.

This was their new beginning—the beginning of a new chapter. One filled with endless love, laughter, and, most of all, their little girl.

"Hi, baby," Harry whispered, his voice filled with awe and wonder as he bent down to kiss the top of her head. "You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. And I’m so glad you’re here."

And in that moment, with his family gathered around and his daughter in his arms, Harry knew one thing for sure—life had just given him the greatest gift.

[kunareads]

if i believe you | chapter six

i did not come to bring peace

clan head!satoru x reader

prev / next series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 7.5k (sorry)

a/n: my own open wound is splattered all over this chapter. i promise i will stop torturing them soon i'm very sorry. if you see a typo please tell me i did proofread but the chapter is long!

content: angst again :D panic attack, religious trauma, internalized shame, hurt/comfort but not really.

INTERACT HERE FOR TAGLIST!

18+ please <3

satoru is in a good mood today. he woke up before the sun with the kind of lazy satisfaction that stretches into everything, making even a morning in the main estate feel manageable.

business is business, but it’s easier to handle with the warmth of last night’s kiss still thrumming under his skin. and, admittedly, with the thought of seeing you later.

he’s restless with it. this need to see you, to be near to you, to find some excuse to talk to you like he’s not supposed to be doing anything else. maybe he’ll bring you something from the market. fresh fruit, your favorite snacks. maybe flowers, if he feels like showing off. just to see that smile you’ve been trying so hard to hide from him.

he likes giving you things.

but the thought comes with a flicker of something quieter. even now, you hesitate. your fingers hover a little too long before you accept anything he offers. like you’re still deciding if you’re allowed to take what he so freely gives.

but it’s getting better. he sees it in the way your hands shake less and your voice sounds more like you.

he wonders if you’ve been thinking about last night the way he is. if you’re turning it over in your mind, wondering what it means. wondering if it’s okay to want more.

his lips twitch. he’ll show you soon enough.

but then the knock comes.

“come in.”

the servant’s face is pale, mouth pressed into a line that can’t quite hide their unease. “the lady’s parents have arrived, sir. they’re waiting in the main hall.”

his mood shatters. it’s an effort not to crumple the paper in his hand, the edges already curling under his fingertips.

no warning. no notice. they’re just here.

he’s grateful for his blindfold, because whatever’s written across his face right now would probably turn the poor boy in front of him to stone.

they didn’t send word because they wanted to catch him off guard. more importantly, they wanted to catch you off guard. see things for themselves. see you without the safety net of preparation.

the irritation that simmers in his chest is almost comforting, familiar in a way he doesn’t want to admit. but it’s laced with something else.

fear.

because you’ve only just started to feel safe here, with him.

he’s out of his seat before he realizes, striding through the halls with a purpose that feels instinctual—the sudden need to confront them where they are rather than have them brought to him like guests.

because they’re not guests. they’re intruders.

the main hall feels colder than usual when he reaches it. they stand like they own the fucking place—your mother poised, her back too straight, hands clasped in front of her in a show of her own composure. your father, stiff beside her, eyes sweeping the room with the kind of scrutiny that sets satoru’s teeth on edge.

they’re looking for faults, for signs of neglect, for anything they can hold against you.

he schools his expression into something controlled, forces his voice into something polite but not welcoming. “i wasn’t expecting you.”

“clearly,” your mother replies, not even trying to disguise her disapproval. “i would have expected our daughter to be the one greeting us.”

“she’s busy.”

his voice is flat, sharp around the edges. he knows it’s a mistake the second it’s out, but he won’t take it back.

your mother’s gaze narrows, a subtle shift, but he catches it all the same. “i see,” she says, and it’s the kind of thing that sounds like an agreement but isn’t.

his patience is wearing thin. he can feel frustration boiling under his skin, hot and restless. the same anger he’s felt since a child for people who think they know better. who measure worth in posture and tone and obedience. who think they’ll just show up here and find their daughter exactly as they left her.

“i’ll have you brought to her shortly,” he says. “in the meantime, you can wait here.”

your mother’s mouth twitches like she’s biting back something unpleasant. your father barely looks at him, his gaze shifting toward the door as if he’s done assessing the room and found it lacking.

satoru doesn’t wait for a reply. he turns on his heel and leaves, storm already building inside him as he makes his way to your home.

he’s moving too quickly, steps too sharp as he stalks down the pathway and into the house. the staff who pass him keep their heads down—some out of respect, others out of caution. a few glance up with careful eyes, but he doesn’t acknowledge them like he normally would. he can’t. not when his mind is already running circles around what’s about to happen.

what he’s about to ruin.

he tries to pull himself out of it, tries to focus on anything but the exasperation winding around his chest. but it’s impossible not to notice you scattered around the house.

a neatly folded shawl draped over the arm of the couch. a half-finished cup of tea on the windowsill, abandoned this morning. a book open on the table—one he gave you—its spine gently cracked, a frayed ribbon marking where you left off.

you’ve been making this place your own.

he sees it now, all the quiet proof that you’ve been settling in, letting yourself be here in a way you hadn’t before. and they’re here to unravel it. to remind you of the version of yourself you’ve only just begun to shed.

his hands curl into fists, nails biting into his palms.

he shouldn’t be this angry. shouldn’t be this desperate to keep you from shrinking into that quiet, docile silence you wore like armor. but he is, because he’s seen what you look like when you smile without thinking, when your hands move freely, when you look him in the eye.

and he wants that for you. more than he knows how to say.

he’s almost at the door when he hears it—quiet humming drifting through an open window.

he stops.

his irritation stills, displaced by something softer rising in its place.

you’re in the garden.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the sun is climbing high, the air thick with warmth and the scent of soil. your back is sore, there’s dirt under your nails, and your clothes are wrinkled beyond saving—but you feel good, peaceful. the kind of peace you’ve been slowly learning how to hold.

no one’s watching, no one’s standing over your shoulder, pointing out your mistakes. it’s just you and the plants you’ve been coaxing into something alive.

you’ve been thinking about last night. about satoru—how much you learned about him, how gently he listened to you. the feel of his lips, the way his fingers threaded so carefully through your hair. the way he looked at you, bright and quiet and almost reverent.

the memory comes with a small thrill, your cheeks going warm and your chest tightening.

you want to kiss him again.

you want to kiss him without feeling clumsy or uncertain. and you want him to kiss you, too.

it’s a quiet realization, but it’s not shameful. it feels nice.

you didn’t know this feeling existed.

maybe that’s why you’ve been out here so long. because the idea of seeing him makes you a little dizzy.

you sink your hands back into the soil, your fingers finding the stems of new growth. you let yourself feel happy.

“hey.”

the greeting startles you. your head snaps up, eyes landing on satoru at the entrance of the garden. his hair glows white under the sun, his expression unreadable under his blindfold, but familiar all the same.

a smile rises before you can help it, instinctive and unguarded. “satoru.”

he takes steps carefully down the stone pathway toward you, and for a split second, you think he’s going to smile back. he reaches out instead, his thumb tracing a line just below your eye. the touch is light, like he’s trying not to startle you. like he’s capturing something before it slips away.

“you’ve got dirt on your face,” he murmurs, brushing it away. and he doesn’t smile.

“is something wrong?” you ask. it’s concern, not yet panic.

“we have visitors,” he says carefully.

your stomach lurches. “visitors?”

“your parents,” he says, his voice steady, cautious—the same way it was the night you tried to offer yourself to him like some kind of penance. “they came unannounced. i came to tell you before they—”

the rest dissolves into white noise.

your parents. here.

the warmth you’ve been holding onto drains out of you as last night rises in your throat again, bitter now. you wonder if they’ll know. if your mother will look at you and see failure written across your skin.

you’re itchy all of a sudden. your clothes cling too tight. you’re covered in dirt and sweat, sleeves rolled, skirt stained from kneeling in the soil. far removed from the woman you’re supposed to be. the one they raised you to be.

“they weren’t supposed to come yet. i thought—i haven’t prepared anything.”

you’ve missed your parents in a complicated way. but missing them doesn’t mean you forgot. it was only a few weeks ago that you were under their roof, measured by their expectations, falling short even when everything was perfect.

and you know—even if your home is perfect and satoru is perfect and the staff are perfect—it won’t be enough.

even knowing they’d come eventually didn’t prepare you for the way your breath shrinks in your lungs.

your eyes flit around the tangled greenery, the leaves and petals and creeping vines. wild, uneven, full of life.

“she can’t see this.” your voice almost breaks. “it would embarrass her.”

satoru’s expression doesn’t change. “i can tell them to leave.”

you blink. “what?”

“you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” his voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it. “i can just make them leave.”

“they came all this way.”

“does that mean you owe them something?”

the words come out sharper than he means, frustration slipping through before he can stop it. he catches himself almost immediately. “you don’t have to see them just because they showed up,” he says, gentler now. “they can wait, or they can go. up to you.”

you shake your head. “they’re my parents.”

you don’t know what else to say. you can’t find the words to explain to him that it’s not that simple. that it’s not just about what they want—it’s what you owe. to them. to god. to the name you carry—carried? that you have to fit neatly into their expectations, even when you don’t know how. and that you don’t know how to unlearn that.

and you know—you know—that he would send them away if you asked him to. he’d do it without hesitation.

and for one aching, impossible moment, you want to let him. want to let him take you inside, shut the door, and pretend they were never here.

but they are.

and breathing feels like running underwater, the air thick and wrong and unwelcome.

“i’ll go,” you say, and it doesn’t even sound like your voice. your shoulders slump, the weight of obligation settling over you like it was never gone. it’s easier, in some terrible way, to fall back into the role they gave you than it is to fight it.

satoru’s eyes are still on you, searching, hoping. but whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t find it.

he leaves you to clean yourself up, though stepping away from you makes his own discomfort twist tighter. the guilt starts immediately. he sends for your parents to be brought to the house, and the moment the words leave his mouth, he regrets it.

it feels like surrender. it feels like giving them permission to step back into your life and rip up everything you’ve only just started building.

the house feels too small once he’s back inside. every corner is loud with silence. his movements are sharp, mechanical, driven by restless dread.

he goes around collecting the scattered remnants of your morning. he picks up the shawl from the couch, puts it away even though he hopes it’ll be back where it was tomorrow. takes your cup from the windowsill, the tea cold now, and places it gently in the sink. finds your book and slides it back onto the shelf.

he’s making himself sick with it, this impulse to make everything perfect before they arrive. to beat their judgement.

he knows that’s what you’re doing, too. scrubbing the dirt from your skin and smoothing your hair and changing into something stiff and clean. erasing the version of you they haven’t approved.

the version he’s come to like best.

it shouldn’t fucking matter. it shouldn’t matter what they think.

but it does, and it makes him want to throw something.

he wants to find you, to tell you again that you don’t have to do this. that he’ll take care of everything. that he’ll take care of you.

but it’s not what you want.

so instead, he drags his hand over his face and forces himself to keep moving. straightening. waiting. every motion a quiet act of helplessness.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

you can feel satoru’s presence even when you can’t see him. the sound of his footsteps as he moves through the house. the low murmur of his voice when he instructs the staff to bring your parents over from the main estate. the quiet when he settles just outside your door, waiting but not knocking.

everything feels too loud. too sudden. you smooth your hands down your front, try to fix your hair, to twist a stray strand into place. your fingers won’t stop shaking. and no matter what you do, you’re never going to be what they expect.

by the time you open the door, your pulse is in your throat. satoru catches the tremble in your hands. of course he does.

“ready?” he asks, quiet.

you nod. it’s a lie.

he watches you a moment longer, like he’s weighing the cost of pushing. like he wants to say there’s still time to say no. but when you start walking, he falls into step beside you.

the hallway feels endless.

your heartbeat thrums in your ears, louder than your footsteps. the air feels thinner with every breath. you imagine this is what it’s like to stand at the edge of a cliff.

you step into the room first. satoru stays just behind you, but your mother’s eyes are already on you—sweeping over your appearance with detached precision.

“darling,” she says, her voice cool and measured. not unkind, but not warm, either. “you should have been the one to greet us. it’s only proper.”

the words land like barbs, small and sharp. you’d expected hello, how are you. something human.

you force yourself to stand a little straighter. “i was—” your throat tightens. “i didn’t know you were coming.”

she hums, a soft sound that manages to feel like disapproval. your father, silent beside her, gives nothing away.

satoru’s presence is steady at your side, a subtle heat against your shoulder.

“it’s nice to see you both,” you offer, stiff and formal. the words feel borrowed from someone else’s idea of a daughter.

“likewise,” your father replies. his tone is even, but it bites anyway. “we were beginning to wonder if you’d forgotten about us.”

the implication cuts deeper than it should. like getting married was some kind of betrayal. like you leaving home to come here wasn’t something they arranged. like the distance you’ve kept is a failing—not a survival.

you hear satoru draw a breath, his jaw ticking.

“why don’t we sit,” he says. “you’ve traveled a long way. you must be tired.”

your mother nods, but her gaze stays locked on you, heavy and expectant, like she’s waiting for you to justify yourself.

the seating arrangement feels like a trap. your mother perches on the edge of her chair across from you, posture flawless, hands folded in her lap. your father sits beside her, arms crossed, eyes flicking between you and satoru like he’s waiting for something to disappoint him. and satoru settles close beside you, his knee brushing yours—an anchor, even now.

“it’s a lovely house,” your mother says, but the tone is wrong. the kind of false pleasantry that leaves you bracing for the blow that follows. “though i must admit, i was surprised to find you so removed from the main estate. i would have thought your duties would keep you closer to the clan.”

your fingers twist in your lap, the fabric of your skirt crumpling beneath your grip. “it’s easier this way.”

“easier?” she echoes, the words clipped. her eyes narrow just enough to make your skin prickle. “i do hope you’re not neglecting your responsibilities for the sake of convenience.”

the way she says it knots your throat. and then she looks at you—really looks, scanning for fractures like she always does—and the judgement in her eyes makes your stomach drop.

“you look sick,” she says. “are you not eating properly?”

“i’m fine,” you answer, too fast and too small. “i’ve been… i’ve been adjusting.”

“adjusting,” she repeats, drawing the word out like it offends her. “i suppose that’s understandable. but you’ve been here for weeks. surely you’ve settled in by now.”

“maybe we should let her breathe,” satoru cuts in, his voice calm but threaded with something dangerous. “she’s been doing just fine. more than fine, actually.”

your mother’s gaze snaps to him. irritation crosses her features, mostly concealed, but you feel it, the same way you feel the tension crackle through satoru beside you.

“i appreciate your concern, but i’m her mother. it’s only natural to concern myself with her well-being.”

“and i’m her husband.” his smile is sharp. not friendly. not performative. it’s the kind that wouldn’t meet his eyes if you could see them. “i’d think that makes her well-being my concern, too.”

you can feel the heat rising between them, a low, simmering standoff. and you know satoru’s words aren’t meant as a reassurance. they’re a challenge, meant to draw lines rather than bridge them.

your father’s gaze drops to your hands, still clutching your skirt. “it’s good to know you take your responsibilities seriously,” he says to satoru. “but as her parents, it’s our duty to ensure she’s not neglecting hers. especially now that her role has… expanded.”

the implication is clear. and your heart sinks at the realization of what’s next.

“we haven’t heard any news of children,” your mother says smoothly. “surely you’ve been attending to the matter. it is your purpose, after all.”

your throat closes. you can’t speak, can’t even lift your head. because all you can think about is how you failed. how you offered yourself to satoru on your wedding night, like a task to be completed, and he’d turned you away.

how you’ve been letting him indulge you with stupid pleasures like that stupid kiss, and you still have no idea what you’re supposed to be doing, how you’re supposed to—

“maybe some things take time,” satoru says, his deceptively calm tone slicing through your thoughts.

your mother doesn’t miss a beat. “and maybe you’re not trying hard enough.”

her words are a blade, clean and cruel. the accusation is so sharp, so pointed, that you feel your eyes sting with the effort it takes to keep your composure. your hands tremble harder, your fingers grasping the fabric of your skirt so tightly that your knuckles hurt.

satoru’s jaw clenches, the muscle jumping beneath his skin. his hand curls into a fist against his knee. he keeps glancing your way, searching for something. permission, maybe. protest. anything.

and you want to say something. god, you want to speak. to shout, to scream, to tell them they’re wrong.

but the words won’t come.

they’re lodged deep in your chest, pinned under every expectation you’ve ever failed to meet. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. your gaze drops to the floor.

it’s easier not to see their faces.

“it is your duty to bear children,” your father says. the words are quiet. impersonal. “i hope you haven’t been… distracted from that duty.”

his eyes flick toward satoru—just for a second—but it’s enough. an accusation without teeth, because he knows the balance of power here. but it cuts anyway.

satoru goes very still beside you, and his next words are lower, laced with warning. “and i hope you haven’t forgotten that she’s a person,” he says. “one living under my roof, under my care, may i add.”

his voice lingers in the room like smoke. and you can’t quite breathe around it.

because all you can feel is the guilt spreading through you—thick, acidic, impossible to shake. it curls in your chest, taking on a shape that feels familiar.

you’ve carried it your whole life.

your father rises from his seat with a quiet authority, eyes flicking to satoru. “i’d like to have a word with you. privately,” he says, and there’s something final about it—not a request, but a summons.

you glance at satoru, searching for reassurance as he nods. his expression is tight, his shoulders squared. but you catch the silent, aching apology buried under the tension in his jaw.

and then he’s gone. and the room feels colder without him.

you’re left alone with your mother, and in an instant, you’re fourteen again. small and silent across from her, waiting for whatever strategic correction she’s decided you need.

“your husband has a sharp tongue,” she says, her voice cool and condescending. “but i suppose that’s to be expected, given his… upbringing.”

you recognize the tone. it’s the one she’d use when explaining why you weren’t allowed to play with certain children. why some people weren’t raised right. she’s drawing a line again—this time between you and the man you married. the one they gave you to.

the contradiction makes your head ache.

“he’s been good to me,” you say. it’s the truth, but the words come out sound too soft.

she hums. “is this what you want?” the question cuts deep. “to live like this? away from the clan, from what i raised you to be?”

you want to say yes. you want to scream it. yes, i like the quiet. yes, i like the freedom. yes, i like being here with him.

but your voice snags on thorns, raw and helpless.

“i—i’m trying, mom,” you whisper. “i’m doing my best.”

“i certainly hope so,” she says. and somehow, the disappointment hurts more than her disapproval. “because from where i’m sitting, it doesn’t look like you are.”

the words settle into you like ice.

and then, like nothing happened, her tone softens. her gaze shifts. the performance begins.

“your father and i have been praying for you,” she says. “we’ve been asking god to guide you in your duties. to help you fulfill the purpose you were given.”

and just like that, the guilt swallows you.

you want to cry.

“i want you to have this.”

she reaches for something hidden in the folds of her sleeve. a necklace. ornate, heavy-looking, the gold glinting in the light with a soft gleam that feels wrong. the kind of thing intended for a velvet display, not a body.

she holds it out to you. you don’t reach for it.

“i had it made for you,” she continues, her tone tender now. like this is kindness. “a symbol of your devotion. a reminder of who you are and where you belong.”

the weight of it is crushing before you even touch it. the pendant is a cross, carved with precise, elaborate craftsmanship, rubies set into the center like droplets of blood. it must have taken hours—days—to make. each detail is perfect, intentional.

your fingers tremble as you take it from her, the metal chilling your skin. it doesn’t feel like a gift. it feels like a chain. like a collar.

“thank you,” you whisper. not because you mean it, but because there’s the alternative is unthinkable. because refusal was never part of the script. because the nausea crawling up your throat is something she taught you to swallow down.

tears burn at the back of your eyes, but you don’t let her see them. you know better than that.

“pray on it,” she says softly. “and remember your duty. remember who you belong to.”

you nod.

because the words are meant to be kind. you know they are. and somehow, that only makes it worse.

── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢ ・── ⟢

the rest of the visit feels like wading through cold water. conversations continue in that strained, brittle way you’ve come to expect. your father’s voice is curt, his eyes on you like you’re a ledger he’s reconciling. your mother’s comments are softened by false concern, the veneer of kindness stretched so thin you think it’ll crack.

satoru’s silence is worse.

he’s tight as a bowstring beside you, his frustration held on a leash. he speaks when spoken to, his responses short and neutral. you keep waiting for him to break—please, a part of you whispers, just say something—but he never does. for your sake, probably.

the goodbyes are stiff.

your mother presses a kiss to your cheek that feels more like a benediction than affection, her fingers cold and firm against your skin. your father gives you a nod—nothing more—like you’re a stranger he’s being forced to acknowledge.

they’re escorted back to the main estate where the car waits.

you and satoru stand in front of the house as the trees swallow the last of their silhouettes. he hasn’t moved, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest.

when they’re finally out of sight, he exhales. “they’re gone,” he says, voice flat. like it should mean something.

you nod, your eyes fixed on the empty path. the breeze stirs the trees, but everything feels still. your lungs won’t expand.

“are you… okay?”

you flinch at the question. not because it’s unfair, but because it’s valid.

and because the answer is no. you’re not okay. not even close. and him asking only makes the ache feel sharper.

“i need a moment,” you say, the words coming out too tight. “alone, please.”

the flash of hurt on his face is almost enough to make you take it back. almost.

“alright,” he says quietly. his hands flex once, then go still.

you don’t say anything else. you can’t.

instead, you turn and walk away, your steps heavy. and even though you don’t look back, you can feel him watching you all the way to the front door.

you don’t exhale until it closes behind you.

satoru watches you leave, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth hurt.

he lets you go because he doesn’t know what else to do. he wants to follow, wants to tear their words out of your head before they can take hold—but you asked for space, and he’s trying to give it.

it doesn’t make it any easier.

the house feels oppressive when he steps back inside. his frustration presses against his chest, restless and sharp, until he’s pacing—through the sitting room, past the kitchen and back again, around the main garden. his fingers twitch with the need to do something. anything.

but all he can think about is the way you looked when you asked to be alone. like he was just another weight dragging you under. like he was part of the problem.

it’s only when his pacing takes him past your bedroom door that he finally stops. something tells him not to open it. something else—louder, more desperate—won’t let him walk away.

his hand hovers just above the frame before he pushes the door open.

you’re on the floor, curled beside the bed. knees drawn to your chest, shoulders hunched like you’re trying to disappear. the necklace gleams in your palm, catching the dim light, too heavy and cruel for something so finely made.

you don’t look up.

“hey.” his voice is too small for the amount of space between you.

silence.

“i thought you’d be in the garden,” he tries, stepping in carefully. “but i guess not.”

your fingers tighten around the pendant. “didn’t feel like it.”

it’s the way you say it—flat, detached—that freezes something in him.

you’re drifting. pulling away from him even though he’s right here. and he doesn’t know how to bring you back.

he swallows hard, the helplessness thick in his throat. he would do anything to undo what they’ve done. to take every word they left behind and burn it until you never have to think about it again.

but all he can do is stand there. reaching for you without moving. wanting to fix what he doesn’t know how to touch.

and it makes him feel like a stranger in his own home. like a boy in a man’s skin. like the one thing that should come easy—loving you—is slipping through his fingers.

“can i sit?” he asks.

you nod without looking at him.

he lowers himself beside you, movements slow as if he’s trying not to disturb the silence. “you haven’t… said anything,” he tries, his voice too careful. “since they left.”

“there’s nothing to say,” you whisper. your voice is worn out, too thin.

silence stretches again. the longer it goes, the more it scrapes at him. minutes pass like hours, and satoru can feel it—frustration clawing beneath his skin, helplessness piling on top of it. he’s losing you. right here, right in front of him.

“come on, angel,” satoru says, his voice soft now, rough edges smoothed over by something almost pleading. “talk to me, please.” his voice catches on the last word, and he hates how desperate it feels. “you’ve barely looked at me since they got here.”

you flinch. the necklace slips from your hands and lands in your lap.

“i don’t know what you want me to say.”

he hesitates. then lets the frustration bleed out.

“i want you to say they’re wrong.”

the words come out harsh, too blunt. but it’s the truth. and now that it’s out, he’s not sure how to stop himself.

“i want you to realize what they think doesn’t matter. that you’re—”

“stop.” your voice cuts clean through his. trembling, but clear. “just stop. you don’t understand.”

his chest hurts. “make me understand.”

the challenge in his voice feels reckless. too much edge, too much need. still, he can’t back down. not when you’re slipping further away with every second.

“you heard what they said.” your voice frays at the edges. “about… duty. about children. and they’re right. i’m not—” you stop to swallow, but it’s like your throat is closing around the words. “i’m not doing what i’m supposed to do. i’m failing you.”

satoru knows what it feels like to be stabbed clean through the chest, but this feels worse. like the blade is poisoned. he wants to argue, but the look on your face stops him cold. you’re not arguing. you’re breaking.

“why would you even think that?” he asks, his voice smaller now, irritation replaced with something closer to panic.

“because i was supposed to get this right.” you won’t look at him. won’t meet his eyes. “i was supposed to… to handle my responsibility. and i haven’t. i—” your breathing hiccups, your chest shaking under the weight of it. “you’re supposed to have a dependable wife. someone who can give you what you need. and you’re stuck with me.”

he doesn’t think you’re aware of what you’re doing. of how you’re gutting him.

“you’re not—” he starts, but it comes out too rough. he pulls back, breathes through it, tries again. “you’re not some thing to be used or traded.”

his voice breaks on thing. he hates it. hates how clear it is that you believe it’s all you are.

he shifts closer, his voice thick. “you’re a person. my person now.”

the words echo between you, quiet but heavy, and he watches as something crumbles in your expression.

“then why didn’t you just—” you swallow hard. “why didn’t you do what you were supposed to do the night we got married?”

the question feels like a slap to the face. for once, satoru is speechless.

“what?”

“you should’ve done what a husband does,” you say, and it’s not just hurt in your voice anymore—it’s something bitter, something that burns him. “you should’ve taken what was yours. that’s what you were supposed to do. it’s what they wanted, what they expected. what i expected. and if you cared, you wouldn’t keep… holding yourself back.”

his pulse kicks up. his chest tightens.

he thought he understood. thought he was ready for the venom your parents would bring back into your life. but this isn’t theirs.

this is you. your voice, your pain. and it’s laced with something he didn’t expect—misunderstanding.

“i didn’t—” he tries to answer, but the words catch, rough and misshapen. “i didn’t do anything because you didn’t want that. you didn’t even know what you were asking for.”

“you don’t know what i wanted.” the words spill out like poison, like they’ve been festering for weeks. “i offered. i offered myself to you, and you told me to go to sleep. you didn’t want me.”

he realizes, too late, that you never understood why he said no that night. it made perfect sense to him, something that didn’t even need explaining. you were scared. uncertain. so he told you to sleep.

but now he sees what it looked like from the other side. not care, but rejection. not safety, but shame.

and it hurts.

your voice breaks, high and strained as you continue. “you still don’t want me. you’re just… humoring me, trying to be kind when i’m clearly not worth it. and it’s humiliating, satoru.”

your eyes are welling up, your lashes wet with the weight of everything you’ve been holding, everything that’s finally spilling over.

the sight tears something open in him.

“you really think that’s why i turned you down?” he whispers, hoarse. ”because i didn’t want you?”

you don’t answer right away. your lips part, then press together again, like you’re trying to swallow back the worst of it.

“i don’t know,” you admit, your voice trembling. “i just know i’ve been trying to be good. trying not to make anything harder than it has to be. and it’s not enough. not for them, not for you—”

you pause, breath catching.

“—not even for me.”

he reaches for you before he can stop himself. his hand wraps around your wrist, warm and steady, but there’s a tremor in it. something frantic.

“you’re not failing me.” his words come rushed, clumsy, because he’s never been good at this. never been good at making sense when it matters. “you’re—you’re everything.”

a harsh, broken sound tears from your throat, and it hits him like a dagger. his grip loosens on instinct, but he doesn’t let go. he can’t.

“if i was everything,” you choke out, voice cracking like glass under pressure, “you’d actually—you’d actually want me. you wouldn’t be wasting hours in the garden with me and kissing me like it’s all you need and pitying me.”

he can’t even comprehend the words. not at first. he just stares, stunned, mouth parting uselessly—because you’re crying now, really crying, and he’s the one making it worse.

“i need you to stop it, satoru,” you whisper, your voice too small for the weight of the words. “just—just stop.”

he’s fucking this up.

the realization sinks in slow.

no matter what he says, it’s not helping. it’s just making you hurt worse.

your shoulders are curled in like you’re trying to protect yourself from something he can’t see. a curse he can’t fight.

“i’m not—” your words trip and stumble, barely holding together. “i’m not what you need. not what anyone needs. and they’re right. they’re right about me, and you just—” you gasp for air, but it doesn’t seem to help. ”you won’t admit it.”

“that’s not—” he tries, but his voice gives out. the words collapse in his mouth before they can make it to you.

you’re not even looking at him anymore. your eyes are fixed somewhere past him, blank and distant, like you’re bracing for a blow.

“it’s not enough,” you rasp. “i’m not enough. i keep trying and it’s—” you cut yourself off with another gasp, your chest rising too fast. “it’s not working. i don’t know how to be what they want. i don’t even know how to be what you want.”

“angel, you need to—”

“stop calling me that.”

the words are a blade. sharp and cold and final. satoru’s mouth snaps closed.

“stop acting like i’m some perfect precious thing when you don’t even—when you won’t even—”

your voice breaks completely.

he watches your chest rise and fall like it’s too much effort to keep the air in your lungs. and suddenly, he’s not angry anymore. not even frustrated. he’s scared.

you’re slipping.

“hey. hey—” his own voice is cracking now, his panic bubbling up alongside yours.

but you’re shaking your head, lips pressed tightly together, and he can see the tears streaking down your cheeks. your hands are clutching each other, your body curling tighter with each breath that stays just out of reach.

“just breathe for me, okay?” he pleads, moving closer. “please, just—just breathe. you’re alright.”

he’s reaching for something solid in the chaos, fumbling over comfort because it’s a language he never learned. nothing’s working. nothing is working.

and then he sees it—really sees it. the panic in your eyes. the way your nails bite into your palms. the necklace still glinting in your lap like a burden. every piece of you bursting at the seams.

“i’m sorry,” you gasp. “i’m sorry i’m not—that i can’t—”

he moves before he can think.

his arms wrap around you in one motion, pulling you tight into his chest, anchoring you to him like it’s the only thing he has left.

“i got you,” he murmurs, over and over, the panic in his own chest dulling under your weight. “it’s okay, you’re okay.”

your fingers twist in his clothes. your breath comes in uneven gasps against his chest, and satoru can feel each one like it’s scraping against his ribs. still, he doesn’t loosen his grip. doesn’t let up for a second.

he keeps talking because it’s all he can do. his voice is low and steady, a soft rhythm meant to keep you tethered. “everything’s fine,” he murmurs. “it’s just us right now, nothing else matters. just breathe, angel. in and out.”

he feels your breath catch against him, feels your tears soaking into his shirt. you’re falling apart in his arms, and all he can do is hold on. his hand moves in slow circles along your back, a motion that grounds the both of you.

but it’s killing him.

because this isn’t what he wanted. he didn’t want to see you like this. he didn’t want his arms to be the place you broke.

his own eyes sting. there’s pressure behind them, sharp and unbearable, and he has to blink it back before it spills over. but it’s there—thick in his throat, hot under his skin. he can’t let it out while you’re still holding on by threads.

you’re still shaking, but your breathing is evening out, the jagged edge of panic smoothing over into something more manageable. he can feel the fight draining out of you, leaving something fragile and exhausted in its place.

he doesn’t let go. not until the tension in your body melts under his hands, your weight shifting just slightly under him.

“i’m not mad at you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “i’m not. i just… i just want you to be okay.”

the words feel clumsy, inadequate. but he can’t think of anything better. nothing that will fix this the way he wants to.

your voice is muffled against his chest. “i don’t know how to be okay.”

his heart cracks a little more. because of course you don’t. because they raised you to be perfect, not okay.

he swallows hard against the lump in his throat. “then we’ll figure it out,” he says, and it sounds like a vow this time. “i don’t care how long it takes.”

but even as he says it—means it—something caves in his chest. because today was supposed to be simple. all he had to do was protect you from them. and instead he watched them tear you apart and made it worse trying to put you back together.

he wasn’t fast enough.

he wasn’t enough.

and still, all he can do is hold you and hope it counts for something.

he stays there with you until the tremble in your hands fades and your breathing settles into something soft and slow. until your body settles against him, no longer shaking—just quiet. just tired.

and then, finally, he lets himself pull away.

he doesn’t want to.

everything in him is screaming to hold on, to stay. to keep you close until the hurt dissolves, until you believe him when he says you’re not broken, until he can see something in your eyes besides this brittle, aching weight.

but you’re too fragile now. and he’s already made this worse.

his hands move to cradle your face, wiping stray tears away with his thumbs.

“i think—” his voice feels raw, like he’s been screaming when all he’s done today is choke on his own words. “i think we should talk about this another time. when you’re ready. because…” he exhales, barely holding it together. “i’m not helping, am i?”

you don’t answer. not with words. you bite your lip like you’re trying to hold the silence in place. and it kills him.

“take your time,” he says. he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead—soft, lingering, like a promise. “i’ll be here when you’re ready.” his voice cracks again, and he wonders if you can hear it.

he stands.

and leaves.

because even though it feels like tearing something out of his own chest, it’s the only thing that makes sense.

[strayingawayy]

the great kitten swap...

where minho's little girl's beloved kitty gets lost, and he can't see his baby girl upset now, can he?

the living room was alive with the sound of tiny, gleeful giggles as sora darted around the couch, her three-year-old legs moving as fast as they could. her cheeks were flushed pink, and her tangled hair bounced with each step. in her sights was her constant companion, a mischievous kitten named nari, who dashed out of reach like it was all part of the game.

minho leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping his coffee, his lips quirking into a smile. beside him, you were flipping through a book, though your attention kept drifting to the scene in front of you.

“she’s going to tire herself out chasing that poor kitten,” you murmured with a chuckle, nudging minho.

he hummed in agreement, though his grin widened. “nari seems to enjoy the attention. they’re like two peas in a pod.”

but that peaceful, happy moment was short-lived.

⠀ ‎ ♡^᪲᪲᪲...

it started the next morning. sora wandered into the kitchen, clutching her leebit plushie , her eyes wide and worried.

“papa,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “where’s nari?”

minho stiffened, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. your gaze snapped to him, a silent exchange passing between the two of you. he cleared his throat, crouching down to sora’s level.

“maybe nari’s playing hide-and-seek,” he offered, his tone far too casual.

sora frowned, her lower lip wobbling. “but she always wins.”

you sighed, crouching beside them and rubbing sora’s back soothingly. “don’t worry, sweetheart. we’ll find her. she probably found a really good hiding spot this time.”

but as the day stretched on and there was still no sign of nari, panic began to set in.

⠀ ‎ ♡^᪲᪲᪲...

for a week, minho scoured the neighborhood, asking neighbors and checking every nook and cranny in and around the house. you called shelters, posted online, and even stuck up flyers. but nari was nowhere to be found.

sora, meanwhile, grew quieter by the day, her usual sunny demeanor dulled by the absence of her best friend. it broke your heart.

one evening, as the two of you sat on the couch brainstorming what to do, minho suddenly snapped his fingers. “i have an idea.”

you raised an eyebrow. “should i be worried?”

he smirked. “when are you not?”

⠀ ‎ ♡^᪲᪲᪲...

the next afternoon, minho arrived home with a small carrier in hand. when he opened it, out stepped a kitten—a near-identical twin of nari. you stared at him, equal parts impressed and incredulous.

“minho, is this…?”

“nari 2.0,” he said with a sheepish grin. “sora’s too little to notice the difference, right?”

you sighed, shaking your head. “this is either going to work perfectly or blow up in our faces.”

but to both your surprise and relief, sora squealed with delight the moment she saw “nari” again.

“she’s so shiny now!” she exclaimed, scooping up the kitten and spinning in a circle.

minho shot you a triumphant look. you just rolled your eyes and smiled.

⠀ ‎ ♡^᪲᪲᪲...

two weeks passed, and things were going smoothly. sora was back to her bubbly self, and the imposter kitten seemed perfectly content in its new role. but then, on an otherwise uneventful tuesday afternoon, you heard a familiar meow from the front door.

minho froze mid-step, his eyes snapping toward the sound.

“oh no,” he muttered.

the real nari was back.

she strutted into the house like she owned the place, her tail flicking with the confidence of a queen reclaiming her throne. sora, who was playing in the living room, looked up and gasped, her eyes darting between the two cats.

“papa,” she said slowly, pointing at the original nari. “who’s that?”

you and minho exchanged panicked glances.

“that’s…” minho began, his mind clearly scrambling for an answer. “that’s nari’s…secret cousin. yeah, her cousin.”

“her cousin?” sora asked, her head tilting in confusion.

“yup,” you chimed in, forcing a bright smile. “her name is…miso.”

sora blinked, her gaze shifting between the two cats again. finally, she nodded. “okay. hi, miso!”

both of you exhaled in relief. crisis averted—at least for now.

⠀ ‎ ♡^᪲᪲᪲...

for the next few weeks, the house became a circus of sorts, with the two cats adjusting to their shared life and sora happily doting on both of them. the original nari didn’t seem to mind the imposter, and miso quickly learned to share the attention.

one evening, as you tucked sora into bed, she looked up at you with a sly smile.

“umm...papa?” she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of mischief. “i know miso is nari.”

your heart skipped a beat, and you glanced at minho, who looked just as stunned.

“you do?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

sora nodded, her smile widening. “but it’s okay. i like having two naris.”

minho chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “you’re too smart for us, you know that?”

she giggled, curling under her blanket. “goodnight. i love you.”

as you turned off the light, you exchanged a look with minho, both of you grinning. your family might have been a little unconventional, and chaotic. but it was absolutely perfect.

inspired by this and requested by @wandamaxoff

[xxepherr]

.ೃ࿐ELECTION DAY

summary — in which austin accidentally lets it slip that hasan’s faceless (yet public) girlfriend is the woman they’re currently watching analyse the maps on CNN. 

pairings — hasan piker x politicalcorrespondent!girlfriend!reader

pronouns — she/her

word count — 1893

note — i personally would have “6’4 jacked boyfriend” as his contact name so that whenever weird men try to hit on me they see that but thats just me (and this reader insert ofc) (also this is nothing special just me rambling tbh — what’s to say this political!reader doesn’t become a mini series)

THE DAY WAS HERE. election day. not only was it the day your boyfriend had spent hours upon hours preparing for for weeks, but you, too. you were a political journalist and correspondent currently working the map for CNN during the weeks in the lead up to the election. 

it was a big day for you. four years ago you were streaming your own map coverage to fifteen thousand people on twitch, accessing your sources across multiple states to provide statements on what was going on nationwide. being asked a couple months ago to run the maps in front of millions was certainly a step up, but it gave you control to speak objectively without bias unlike most of the other news anchors and correspondents that were pushing right-wing sentiment over any other coverage. 

you hadn’t seen hasan in a few weeks now unless you counted facetimes and tuning into his streams. you’d get texts while he was streaming and the occasional kaya video ( because apparently she’d been whining with your leave ). it wasn’t the same, but you were both incredibly career-driven people, so being hours apart by plane wasn’t as daunting as it probably should’ve been.

“you’re gonna be late to stream,” you laughed softly, fiddling with the cap of the bottle of water someone had gotten you. endless tabs were open on your laptop in front of you, following aspects of every state because there was still hours to go before the polls closed, so you were only needed in short segments for now to go over 2020 and 2016 county votes in particular states at a time. 

“you’re right,” hasan’s voice was slightly staticky through the phone. “i might have to focus on kornacki or fox news so that i don’t spend too long staring at you.”

“aw,” you let go of your phone, holding it between your ear and shoulder to screw the cap back on the bottle. one of the directors caught your attention across the room, holding up his hand to say that she had five minutes before they were back on air again. “i’m back on in a few . . . i’ll have your stream open on my laptop, though!”

“good luck today,” hasan said softly as he started his stream, leaving it on his opening scene while his mic was muted. people were already flooding in by the thousands. “i’ll talk to you in, what, twelve hours? i love you.”

“twelve hours,” you hummed in agreement, “i love you more,” you sighed softly, noticing that the twitch tab was reloading to take her to his ‘starting soon’ overlay. “good luck.” you ended the phone call first, quickly putting it back on do not disturb and placing it over on the table that was full of analytical notes. the board that now had the map of the united states of america was lit up again, an empty canvas waiting for you to load up the old votes to load up projected blue and red areas.

TOO MANY HOURS TO count and three hundred thousand viewers into the election, hasan was still going strong. despite the pull to watching CNN more than he probably should, he managed to force himself to switch between fox news to laugh at republican propaganda and msnbc. though, he would one hundred percent lying if he said he didn’t have CNN up on his second monitor. 

things were steadily climbing, and josh ( ettingermentum ) was back after mike from PA left the call. josh, who had been raging on ( no seriously, no one had really heard him be that loud all day ) about how the democrats fucked up was finally broken up when austin joined the call, the atmosphere shifting.

christmas sign in full view and a cold slab of a slice of pizza being shoved into his mouth, austin’s discussion on if he was being sent to prison if the republicans dominated was dwindled until josh left the call to analyse the polls for twitter. 

“ugh, can we watch something else?” austin asked, barely swallowing his mouthful of pizza first. “all i’ve done is watch fox today.”

“yeah,” hasan chucked humourlessly, clicking around mindlessly between tabs as he tried to find msnbc’s coverage. because the tabs were so small thanks to the fifty million twitter tabs he had open, he almost groaned in frustration when he accidentally clicked on the CNN tab.

 the tab where you were conveniently fiddling with the data of state of pennsylvania. it was already a dangerous game having you on screen when the chat knew what the silhouettes of you looked like — photos from behind of you walking with hasan, photos of your eyes after he tried to do your makeup, mirror fit checks with your face covered by the phone . . . chat only needed to be railroaded enough to work it out. 

just as he was about to switch tabs again, austin opened his mouth. “oh, man, i miss her,” there was a shift in his tone, more than just him speaking without thinking. familiarity shone through. from the way he casually uttered your nickname to the sigh, it was probably worse than railroading. it was the train forgetting to slam the brakes on worthy. 

hasan wisely kept his mouth shut as he switched to fox news — anything was better than CNN currently — and his eyes slowly zeroed in on the chat. question marks upon question marks until it eventually morphed into ‘holy shit she looks familiar’ and ‘girlfriend reveal????’ to ‘omg face reveal’ and his breathing faltered. 

someone switched the chat to emote only mode in the few moments he was silent for, austin thankfully following suit. glancing at his second monitor, you were still doing your thing, this time discussing the iowa flip from blue to red, completely oblivious. 

“austin,” hasan finally said, tone flat. there was no use making a big fuss out of denying it — that would just make it more obvious. 

austin chuckled nervously, awkwardly. “uh . . . sorry, hasan. i didn’t think about it . . . awkward.”

“clearly,” he grumbled, digging his fingers into his hair for a moment as he thought. the election was put on hold in his mind for a moment as he switched the screen to the full facecam. he wasn’t going to directly deny or confirm anything, so instead he said, “take what you will from what austin said. in saying that, don’t go harass her, clearly she was faceless for a reason. anyway,” hasan cleared his throat, “moving on, back to the election . . .” and he swiftly moved on like nothing ever happened ( while the mods were timing out anyone who asked about it for an entire week ).

“PENNSYLVANIA AND NEVADA ARE expected to be the closest as of currently,” you gestured to the map that demonstrated the slight wave from the blue shift. “we’re looking at about half a percent, but election night is full of surprises so . . . we’ll continue to keep an eye on that for now.” the directors in the back signalled that the camera was no longer live, and you nodded and took a deep breath. the polls weren’t looking as good as everyone had expected it would look for the democrats.

finally off the air for a much needed break, you wandered back over to your little table off to the side. notes were piling up, but upon noticing the spam of notifications flashing across your phone. weird, you thought, your notifications usually not showing up unless it came from verified accounts across all social media platforms . . . until you noticed that it was coming from your private instagram and twitter account. super weird. 

and then the text from hasan. 

6’4 SUPER JACKED BOYFRIEND: uhhh so austin accidentally told 300k people we’re dating 

6’4 SUPER JACKED BOYFRIEND: call me when ur done? so sorry

oh. on one hand the first part was exciting. three hundred thousand? it was a new viewership record for him. on the other? that means a shit ton of people knew the secret you guys had spent almost two years safeguarding. you’d wanted to keep your face out of everything because you had your own career and didn’t want his to intertwine with it. a healthy work-life balance was keeping that shit separate, but it was only really time until people found out anyway. it wasn’t the best kept secret, anyway. 

still, you weren’t mad. you sent off a quick text saying ‘it’s alr’ with a smiley face emoji and shut your phone off completely, shoving it off to the side and turning your laptop back on. you’d be back in california tomorrow, anyway, it could be dealt with then.

THE AIRPORT WASN’T AS secretive anymore. tired after only getting a couple hours of sleep because you got back to your hotel at some god awful hour this morning, it was an instant relief to see hasan waiting for you, dresses comfortably to not draw too much attention to himself — which was difficult because he was fucking huge.

either way, you had no energy to do anything but collapse into his waiting arms, letting him engulf you until you were suffocating. “this is nice,” you mumbled. “sorry i didn’t call, was so tired.”

“you’re fine,” he promised, pulling you back slightly to look at him. “i missed you,” he slipped his hand into yours, and he took your suitcase with his other hand. it was nice to be able to publicly be in his presence without worrying, so much so that you leant into his arm, tiredness dragging your feet.

“missed you more,” you said honestly, but there was more on your mind than just small talk. “where’s austin? motherfucker’s been blowing up my phone.”

hasan chuckled, “if i hear him apologise one more time i’m gonna commit a hate crime.” he then shook his head, “he wanted to stay at the house but i told him to come ‘round tomorrow . . . want you to myself first.”

you knew what that was code for, so you shook your head with a silent laugh. “let me sleep first, god.”

and sleep you did. the house was silent thankfully so you were content tucked up in hasan’s arms, stealing him from clocking in with his twitch chat for ten hours in a fit of selfishness that you were entitled too.

“austin might’ve saved our relationship,” you teased, trailing your fingers up his arm that was tightly wrapped around you, both on the verge of falling into dreamland. “now we can go out on proper dates again.”

“you can tell him yourself,” hasan’s arms tightened around her a little bit more, so full of warmth that the blanket was starting to render useless. “when he knocks our door down tomorrow morning.”

“aw, come on,” you tapped his arm a little harder, fighting the urge to gnaw on his forearm. “you love him.”

“i love you, he’s just my side piece,” he kissed the side of your neck tenderly, “night, baby.”

“g’night,” you mumbled back with a soft smile, the world drifting away for just that little bit longer until tomorrow rolled around. you could deal with your very public relationship then.

[slut4thebroken]

Needs

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary | Tommy’s been so busy with work that he’s been neglecting your needs… So you come up with a plan to finally get some attention.

Warnings | Smut, semi public sex, rough sex, spanking, creampie, degradation, humiliation, praise, brat taming, gunplay, established relationship.

Words | 2.3 k

Notes | I feel like I still don’t really have his characterization down tbh :/ oh well😭

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

Smut prompts 4. "what would they think if they saw you right now?" 36. “You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.” 48. “no panties. you need me that bad?” 50. “i bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. we’ll see how cute you look later when i get you home” 52. “you keep acting like a brat and i’ll take you over my knee right here. i don’t care how many people are watching” 75. "You wanted this. You can take it."

This definitely was not your proudest moment… but you’re pent up and Tommy has been too busy to take care of you for almost two weeks now. You’re desperately craving some rough, hard fucking. And you know exactly how to get it.  

Placing your hand on the man’s bicep, you laughed along with his “joke” and glanced at Tommy from across the room. He still hadn’t noticed you yet and you prayed he would soon because you’ve never met a man more bland and boring than the one in front of you. He’s also either completely stupid, or just doesn’t know that you’re with Tommy since he’s openly flirting with you. 

“You know, you truly are very beautiful.” He said, the joking tone now completely gone. 

“Oh- thank you..” You smiled, trying not to cringe. 

“May I dance with you?” You glanced at Tommy again— still nothing. 

“Sure.” He led you over to the center of the room and grabbed your hand, placing his other hand on your back, far too low. He started up another conversation and all you could do was nod or hum in agreement, too focused on looking at Tommy every chance you had. 

When you finally, finally met his gaze.. you immediately recognized his expression. You forced your eyes back on the man in front of you and smiled, trusting that Tommy would be over here any second now. 

“Hello, darling.” You stopped and tried not to smirk as you turned around. Tommy was looking between you and the man who quickly let go of you and stepped back. 

“Mr. Shelby.” He greeted, giving an awkward smile. He looked between the two of you and seemed to suddenly understand the situation. His smile slowly dropped as he took another step back. “I- I’m going to..” 

“Yeah, you do that.” Tommy sneered, waiting until the man scurried away before turning to you. He didn’t bother asking before grabbing your hand and pulling you into him by your lower back. 

“I bet you think you’re real cute letting him put his hands all over you…” He murmured, making you smile a little. “We’ll see how cute you look later when we’re home.”

“We were just dancing.” You said, in a tone that implied that you weren’t just dancing. 

“Right.” He scoffed. 

“There’s no need to get insecure, Tommy.” You said innocently, watching as his cheeks tensed when he clenched his jaw. His piercing blue eyes practically stared through you and if it were anyone else, they would’ve backed down immediately. 

“You keep acting like a brat and I'll take you over my knee right here. I don’t care how many people are watching.” He spoke in a low, menacing voice, making your stomach flutter. 

“Really? You’re not too busy for that?” You snarked and his expression shifted into one of realization, then amusement.

“Is that what this is about? My girl is a bit needy so she turns into a whore?” As soon as he started teasing, you knew you had to do more for this plan to actually work. 

“Screw you.” You spat, pushing him back by his chest. His eyes darkened and without paying any attention to the people who were now watching this encounter, he grabbed your wrist and started dragging you somewhere. “Let go!” You tried yanking yourself free, but his grip wouldn’t budge. He pulled you through a few hallways until you reached the kitchen, then shoved you into the room and slammed the door shut. 

“Quit it. I won’t tell you again.” He warned. 

“I didn’t even do anything! You’re the one who made a scene and dragged me away from the party.” 

“Oh, I made a scene?” He chuckled and you clenched your jaw, letting out a heavy breath through your nose. “Does no cock for less than two weeks really turn you into a complete brat?” He was still so fucking amused, so you shoved his chest again. He suddenly gripped your neck and pushed you back a few steps until you hit the counter. “I said quit it.” He growled, tightening his grip on your neck. 

“Fucking make me, Thomas.” You spat, purposefully using his full name. 

“You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter right now… Don’t push your luck.” 

“Oh, are you? Do you even have time for that?” You don’t think you’ve ever sounded more bratty before in your life. 

“Fine. You want to be fucked?” He quickly spun you around and pushed your chest down onto the counter, then bunched your dress up, letting it rest on your back. “Really, no panties? You need it that bad?” He snickered, making your cheeks flush in embarrassment. You don’t regret your decision to go without them though. 

The sound of clothes rustling as he opened his pants had you squeezing your thighs together, eager for what was to come. Without any warning he fully sheathed himself inside you, making you cry out and scramble for purchase on the counter. 

“Fuck! Tommy— what the hell?” He didn’t even give you a second to adjust before starting a brutal pace. Grabbing your hips tight enough to bruise, he bucked into you wildly with little care for your own pleasure. But for some pathetic reason that only made all of this hotter. “God- Tommy, slow down.” You whined, trying to squirm away. 

“You wanted this. You can take it." He gruffed, letting out quiet grunts now. Honestly, you’ve been a little horny since the moment you decided not to wear any underwear, but it’s been longer than usual since he’s been inside you and he didn’t do anything else to prep you, so the stretch burned a little. It was quickly turning into overwhelming pleasure though. When you reached a hand down to rub your clit, he twisted your arm behind your back almost painfully. 

“Brats don’t get to touch. You’ll be lucky if I decide to let you come at all.” You cursed under your breath and closed your eyes, only getting more worked up by his words and the way he said them. 

“Fine. When we’re done, we’ll go back out there and I’ll tell everyone about how Tommy Shelby can’t make a girl come.” You snarked. He pulled out with a low growl, making you smirk a little. You watched him walk across the kitchen, opening and closing drawers quickly. When he picked up a wooden spoon and started walking back over, you smirk dropped and you lifted yourself off the counter. “Tommy… Not here.” You warned, stepping away from him when he approached. 

“Get the fuck over the counter or I’ll make you.” When you didn’t move, he unholstered his gun and pointed it at you lazily. “Now.” Your eyes widened and you swallowed thickly, glancing between the weapon, the spoon, and his face. Even though you knew he’d never actually shoot you, the fear was still there. So you tentatively walked back over and leaned on the counter again. He lifted your dress, then immediately resumed fucking you, dragging the spoon over your ass to make you tense up. 

“I have responsibilities other than satisfying your needs.” He started, placing a firm smack on your ass with the spoon, making you curse loudly. “I run a business,” another smack, this one even harder, “I have a family…” The third hit brought tears to your eyes. “You are not my only priority, you understand?” You whimpered at the fourth smack, but even through all of this, he never stopped fucking you. 

“Answer me.” He growled, and this hit forced a choked sob out of you. 

“Yes! I- I understand.” You cried, clinging to the counter to ground yourself a little. 

“Your libido is inconsequential,” He continued, landing another hit on your already burning ass, “and I will not tolerate my woman acting like a whore because of it.” 

“Tommy..” You whimpered pathetically. 

“Do you have anything you want to say for yourself?” He spanked you twice in quick succession and you let your head fall onto the counter as a tear finally escaped your waterline. 

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed out, only crying harder when he hit you again. 

“Try again.” 

“I’m sorry, Tommy.” You whimpered. 

“Last fucking chance.” He spat, spanking you again. 

“I’m sorry for… acting like a whore.” You choked out and he landed one more hit on each cheek before dropping the spoon onto the counter. 

“There you go.” He cooed, rapidly snapping his hips into you, adding more pain to your already burning ass. “What would they think if they saw you right now?" He asked amusedly and you whined as your cheeks heated up. “Bent over some random rich asshole’s kitchen counter, getting spanked and fucked stupid…” 

“Tommy…” You whimpered, voice barely audible. Your hips were digging into the edge of the counter painfully and your legs were trembling from the intensity of the pain and pleasure. With each thrust, his balls were smacking your clit, teasing you with the slightest amount of touch where you really needed it. 

“From now on, when this cunt is needy, you come to me before whoring yourself around, got it?” You nodded desperately, feeling so close to pleasure that was just out of reach. 

“Yes— yes.” You choked out. “Please, Tommy, I can’t take this.” Your voice was a weak whimper and you hoped it’d be enough to get him to cave. 

“Do you need to come, darling?” He cooed mockingly, making you frown a little. 

“Yes! Please make me come,” 

“You can come. But you’re not using your hands.” He said cruelly. 

“Tommy, please..” You whined, needing more. You knew he wouldn’t give it to you though. 

“Better hurry too cause I’m getting close.” He chuckled quietly, obviously enjoying your suffering. 

“I can’t! Please!” You can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve been able to come from penetration alone. 

“Do you need help, my love?” He asked softly, voice contrasting his actions as he fisted your hair and yanked your body up until your back was against his chest. The cold barrel of his gun dragged down your cheek, making you stiffen and close your eyes with a strangled whimper. “Is this better?” You let out a choked sob even though, yes, it was helping you get closer to the edge. “You’re trembling… Like a little lamb.” He murmured against your ear, sounding uncharacteristically endeared. 

“Tommy..” You whispered, unconsciously flinching away from the gun. 

“Are you scared?” He whispered back and you just barely nodded in response. “Good girl. I like you like this.” He placed a gentle kiss on your cheek and you mewled, feeling your orgasm barreling toward you. He never stopped thrusting, but based on his breathing and the quiet sounds he was making, you knew he was close. Which meant that if you wanted to come, you had to do it now. His lips moved down to your neck and began kissing and licking the sensitive skin, occasionally sucking it into his mouth to leave a mark. 

“Come on, love. Drench my fucking cock, I know you can do it.” The gun brushed over your trembling lips teasingly. “This cunt isn't useful to me if it can’t come.” The degrading words forced a strangled moan out of you. When he cocked the gun, your body immediately went completely rigid. “If it’s not useful, then I don’t need it...” He said coyly and you whimpered in response, feeling so incredibly close to release. 

“So be a good toy and let that cunt show me why I should keep you around.” That was all you needed to finally fall over the edge. You sobbed out a moan and your whole body tensed up, then started almost shaking as all of the tension was finally released. This was your first orgasm in almost two weeks and it had you struggling to breathe properly and keep yourself up with the way your legs were beginning to feel like jelly. 

“Good girl.. I got you.” He cooed, holding you in his arms but never faltering in the movements of his hips. “Let it all out, darling.” 

“Tommy.” You whimpered through all of the moaning. 

“I know. I know, love.” He whispered, holding you tightly. “Ready for my come?” His words made another strong wave of pleasure roll through you and you were mumbling out incoherent pleas before you could stop yourself. You probably missed the feeling of him coming inside you the most out of everything. 

Without another word, his hips stuttered, then he bottomed out, pushing you almost painfully into the edge of the counter with a low groan. You whined at the faint feeling of his cock twitching inside you as he painted your walls with his come. He was grunting quietly, his breathing growing ragged and fanning your neck, getting you worked up again. But he was done far too soon. 

Panting quietly, he set his gun down on the counter, then kissed the crook of your neck, filling your stomach with butterflies. You loved his soft moments like this, especially after how rough and mean he was being. 

“Good girl…” He whispered. “So good for me.” Your cheeks heated up at the praise. 

“Don’t let me go, I’ll fall.” You warned quietly and he released of soft chuckle in response. 

“Lean over the counter, darling.” He murmured, giving one last kiss on your neck before letting you lean back down, resting most of your weight on it. He dragged out slowly, making both of you hiss at the sensitivity. “Fuck… I missed seeing this.” He groaned, enjoying the sight of your walls wrapped around his length. 

You whimpered in pain when he grabbed your sore ass and pulled you open to get a better view of your fluttering holes and his come leaking out. At the first sight of it though, he kicked your legs together, making it drip down your thighs instead. 

“Tommy...” You whined and he gave a teasing slap to your ass as he let out a half hearted chuckle, then pulled your dress back down. 

“Try not to leak all over the floor, love. I’m not sure how you’ll be able to explain that.” 

Taglist (join here)

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[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤOPPOSITE * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N and Matt are polar opposites.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Matt was not an extroverted person. Unsurprisingly, he was a quieter, more reserved guy who liked to have his own space and took his own time to say what he wanted if he was asked to do so. His mood would change drastically if he was forced to talk when or with whoever he didn't want to.

Y/N, on the other hand, looked like a little ball of light that wouldn't stay still. She had a habit of talking a lot in a short space of time, uttering words until she was out of breath. In addition to always seeming to be in a good mood, a smile decorating her face like a permanent tattoo. Energetic was the word that defined her.

Therefore, when she and Matt revealed their relationship to the public, many fans didn't understand the origin of their love, as they were very different, literally polar opposites.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"... Stop! Stop protecting your insecurities because you know you have an ass haircut, so you're projecting what could possibly happen to me! At least I'm willing to take that change." Nick screamed next to Y/N, moving his arms comically in exaggerated despair.

Chris laughed loudly at his speech, leaning his back against the car door from the passenger seat so that he could have a better view of the back. Matt smiled as he shook his head, watching them in the rearview mirror.

Y/N quickly nodded her head, her eyes wide as she raised her hands, showing that she wanted to initiate her own opinion on the matter.

"Exactly! You only try to diminish others because you are insecure about yourself. It's impossible to be friends with people like that. They are always trying to diminish someone, saying absurd things that cause so much discomfort." She spoke quickly, gesturing with her hands as her eyes darted between Nick and the rearview mirror, or rather, Matt's blue eyes.

Matt watched her with eyes full of love and affection, nodding his head in agreement to what she was saying.

"They're always talking bad about someone, have you noticed?" Y/N turned to face the blonde next to her, pointing her right index finger towards him, who hummed.

"Yes, exactly!" Nick shouted, slamming his hands against the back of Chris's seat, earning an angry shout from the boy.

"People can only give what they have inside themselves." Y/N finished her train of thought, shrugging as she licked her lips, wetting them.

Matt quickly reached for the bottle of his own tea in the cup holder between the front seats, opening the lid and turning his upper body towards the back, silently offering the drink to his girlfriend. She smiled big, sending a wink as a "thank you" before taking the bottle.

"It's good to have Y/N in a video with us. She speaks for both of them." Chris commented briefly, pointing to Y/N and Matt, letting out a hysterical laugh when he saw Matt rolling his eyes - but still not denying anything.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Matt was fast asleep. His head buried in the white pillow, and his body curled up like a burrito around the fluffy duvet. His mouth was half open, low snores escaping from between his lips. His eyelids trembled slightly, showing that his mind was sailing through dream land.

Y/N slowly opened the door with her elbow, her hands occupied by a wooden tray that held a simple but nutritious breakfast for two. The girl had a big smile decorating her face as she walked with light steps towards the bed.

She placed the tray on the closest bedside table in one quick movement before going to the windows, opening the black-out curtains, allowing the sunlight to illuminate the room completely.

A grumbling sound was heard from the bed, Matt lifting the duvet to the top of his head, still half asleep. Y/N smiled at his reaction, quickly walking to the bed, kneeling on the mattress and pulling the blanket off the boy, laying her chest on her boyfriend's bare one, bringing her face closer to his.

"Good morning, my love." She murmured against his cheek, sealing her lips over his skin repeatedly.

Matt grumbled again, his brow furrowing in false anger but pushing his face against hers lightly, enjoying the feeling of being showered in affection by his girlfriend.

"Come on baby, wake up!" Y/N asked a few seconds later - after seeing his eyes closing again -, her fingers pulling Matt's eyebrows up slightly, watching him forcefully open his blue orbs.

Her laughter echoed through the room as the boy pretended to go bite her, a smile spreading across his face instantly.

"It's such a beautiful day outside. I thought we'd have a picnic. Or we could go to that golf park. Oh oh oh, or we could cook that blackberry pie you wanted. We could also-" Her words came quickly, excitement evident in her voice.

Matt's sleepy brain took a few minutes to process what his girlfriend was saying, his head just nodding in agreement without even knowing what he was agreeing to.

"Can we?" Y/N's question caught his attention. Matt only opened his right eye, looking at her for a few seconds, trying to search in his mind what she was asking him to do without achieving any results.

Matt didn't understand how Y/N woke up with so much energy, while he needed at least 20 minutes to really feel alive.

"Yeah, sure." The brunette mentally shrugged his shoulders. She wouldn't have asked him to do something risky to their lives, so it was okay for him to accept it without knowing what it was. Right?

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N knocked twice on the door of her shared room with Matt, the sound almost imperceptible. She turned the handle and opened it, entering the room slowly.

The sound of loud music escaped the brunette's headphones, which rested against his ears. The boy was sitting in his gaming chair, and his upper body bent slightly forward as his hands worked on the keyboard, probably answering emails sent to the Sturniolo Triplets inbox.

The girl walked with light and quick steps towards her boyfriend, a small smile on her face in excitement. She gently touched his right shoulder, alerting him to her presence.

Matt looked up, his eyes instantly brightening as he noticed Y/N there. His hands pushed the headphone back - leaving it hanging around his neck - while his feet moved on the floor, turning the chair so that he was facing her.

"Babe, it's raining." Y/N quickly said, without even waiting for him to talk.

Matt frowned, his hands moving up to her hips, lightly squeezing the covered area.

"Yeah, I know, honey." He nodded, confused as to why she would be telling him the obvious, the sound of heavy raindrops hitting the windows from outside filled the room.

"Can we dance in the rain? Please, please, please?" Y/N clasped her hands in front of her body in a sign of prayer, pleading with her eyes.

Matt raised his eyebrows, the thought of getting completely wet with the freezing rain made him shiver, his mind already imagining his clothes sticking to his skin.

He sighed, closing his eyes momentarily.

"What I wouldn't do for you?"

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"What do you guys want?" Madi asked as she stood up from her seat at the table on the fast food restaurant, ready to place the triplets' and Y/N's orders besides her own.

Nick quickly said what he wanted without taking his eyes off his phone, choosing the photos that he would put in that Friday's photo dump. Chris mumbled his order, resting his left cheek on his hand - which was supported on the table by his elbow -, his eyes focused on the digital menu on his own phone.

Madi nodded to the two before turning to Matt and Y/N, waiting for them to say what they wanted.

"For me, it's just going to be a cheeseburger and a Diet Coke. And Matt's going to have a double cheeseburger and a root beer." Y/N counted on her fingers as she said each food, watching Madi nod when she finished. "Thank you, Madi." She blew the brunette an air kiss.

Matt pressed his lips to the top of Y/N's head lightly before pulling her to rest the back of her shoulder against his chest.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"No, Chris, I don't want a blueberry donut." Matt rolled his eyes, huffing as he leaned his hips against the table, his arms crossed.

"You're hungry, and it's the only thing we have right now, Matt." Chris rolled his eyes back, exchanging looks with Nate, who smiled, amused by his reaction.

"What happened to you today? Did you wake up with the wrong foot?" Nick asked, his tone full of annoyance, wrinkling his nose.

"Why don't you shut-" Matt's sentence was interrupted by Y/N entering the kitchen, humming a Taylor Swift song under her breath.

"Oh, hi guys! Good morning." Y/N smiled brightly at the four of them, her eyes shining as she met Matt's, approaching him with quick steps - throwing smiles towards Chris, Nick, and Nate as she passed them. "Hi baby." She rose on her tiptoes, sealing his lips in a quick kiss.

A smile automatically grew on Matt's face, his eyes taking on a lovestruck look, all the anger he felt vanishing.

"Did you eat? I didn't see you eating breakfast earlier. You must be hungry." She asked, still facing him, her brow furrowed in concern as her right hand rested lightly on Matt's stomach, stroking the covered skin.

"No, baby. There's nothing interesting here." The boy sighed dramatically, ignoring his brothers' murmurs of disgust.

"We still have blueberry donuts, honey. There are some left over from the video you three made yesterday." Y/N pointed to the counter, where the box of donuts sat next to the stove. "You liked them, right?" She moved slightly away from Matt, reaching out and taking one before handing it to the boy.

Matt instantly smiled, taking the sweet from Y/N's hands with his right one and bringing it to his mouth, biting off a small piece. His left hand rested on Y/N's hip, caressing the area.

"It doesn't even look like he just-" Nick began his sentence, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Thank you, my love." Matt cut Nick off, sending a glare in his direction over Y/N's right shoulder before opening a big smile to her, biting off another piece.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Hi, good afternoon! How are you?" Y/N greeted the McDonald's attendant, a big smile lighting up her face, as her eyes went to the board where the menu was displayed, mentally confirming what she was going to order.

The attendant smiled back quickly, her heart warming at finally being able to have a kind costumer who wasn't in a bad mood.

"Good afternoon! I'm great, thank you." She nodded momentarily, placing her fingers on the computer screen, ready to select the order. "What can I do for you today?" Her eyes went from Y/N to Matt, who was standing behind the girl.

His hands rested in the front pocket of the hoodie that covered his upper body, while an awkward smile spread across his face, nodding briefly.

Y/N started ordering calmly, including Chris and Nick's orders that she had already memorized - even though they both said they didn't want anything, she knew that Nick would end up biting a peace of her burger and Chris would steal Matt's fries -, giving the attendant time to select everything without rushing.

"Is that all for today?"

"Yes, that's all." Y/N confirmed, taking Matt's wallet out of her purse and taking out her card, quickly paying for the order. "Thank you so much. Have a nice day!"

Matt quickly mumbled a "thank you" before intertwining his fingers with Y/N's, allowing her to pull him toward a table.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Yes, they were polar opposites, but Matt and Y/N showed every day that opposites really do attract each other.

© vanteguccir

[lanf1an]

DREAMS lando norris pt.5 When your childhood bestfriend Flo had convinced you to get the fashion design job at her brother's company Quadrant, it finally paid off when Louis Vuitton was announced as the new sponsor for F1.

pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.6 pt.7 wordcount: 2039

The Monaco paddock was a chaotic mess of media, team personnel, and VIPs swarming every corner. You were supposed to be here—dropping off something personally for Lando. It wasn’t just something, it was the Richard Mille x Louis Vuitton Monaco release watch. You were holding almost a million dollars in your hand. You walked through McLaren hospitality, everyone eyeing you eagerly. Lando had texted you he was in his driver’s room.

You walked in, the door clicking shut behind you.

Lando stood by the small counter, shirtless, toweling off his damp hair from the post-qualifying sweat. His race suit was tied low around his hips, the fireproofs clinging to his torso in a way that was frankly unfair.

His eyes flicked up when he noticed you, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. “Special delivery for me, stylist?”

You huffed, trying to keep your gaze above his collarbones. “I have the watch.” You held up the box for emphasis. “I’ll leave now.”

Lando, predictably, didn’t move aside. He leaned back against the counter instead, arms crossing over his chest. “You in a rush?”

Yes.

Very much yes.

Because the way he was looking at you—like he was thinking about Monaco nights and zippers and everything you shouldn’t be doing right now—was making it very hard to breathe.

You tried for casual, gesturing toward the door. “People are around.”

He shrugged. “Door’s locked.”

“Lando.”

He grinned at your warning tone, like he enjoyed hearing his name in your voice a little too much. “Say it like that again, and we’ll have a real problem.”

Your stomach flipped. He was too close now, close enough that if you reached out, you could pull at the fireproofs, drag him forward. You weren’t going to. You were stronger than that.

But then his fingers brushed yours where you still held the box, and your resolve wavered.

His other hand grabbed your waist, pressing your back against the closed door behind you. A sharp inhale was all you managed before his mouth was on yours, urgent and claiming. His hands moved, tracing down your hips, gripping tight as he pressed into you, his body hot and solid against yours. His fireproofs did nothing to hide the way he was pressing into you, hard and wanting, his breath heavy against your skin as his lips trailed down your jaw.

A small sound escaped you when his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs, fingertips pressing possessively. He exhaled sharply against your neck. 

Then—three sharp knocks on the door.

“Lando, hurry up! Media’s waiting.”

Max. Of course.

You startled, stepping away quickly. Lando barely blinked, just exhaled sharply, muttering, “Fucking timing.”

You shot him a look. “Maybe don’t try to feel up your stylist in the middle of the paddock.”

He just smirked, grabbing a fresh shirt from the garment bag. “I wasn’t trying. If I was trying, you wouldn’t have left.”

You opened the door before you could react to that, nearly running into Max, who took one look at your flustered state, then at Lando’s smug expression, and sighed.

“Seriously?”

‘’Thanks for the watch, I’ll find a way to repay you another time’’ he smirked.

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

That’s when the sneaking around officially started. You felt bad about it, to Flo, professionally. But you couldn’t stop. It was so easy. Fitting rooms, toilets, hotel rooms. It was an unspoken agreement. 

-

You were back in London after the Monaco chaos. The texts continued, you dreaded telling Flo, but you knew you had to.

You were supposed to catch up.

But you weren’t listening. Not really.

Flo was mid-sentence about a horse-riding competition, when she suddenly narrowed her eyes at you. “Okay,” she said, setting her cup down with a little too much force. “What’s up with you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She tilted her head. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

“You’re stirring your coffee like it personally offended you.”

You glanced down at the spoon in your hand, realizing you’d been absentmindedly spinning it in circles for the last five minutes. You dropped it with a sigh.

Flo’s gaze sharpened. “Oh, God. It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

Your silence was all the confirmation she needed. She leaned forward, eyes lighting up with interest. “Wait. Who? Do I know him?”

You hesitated, then exhaled sharply, looking away. “Flo… I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to say it so I’m just going to say it. It’s... Lando.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Flo burst out laughing.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” she wheezed, trying and failing to hold it together. “It’s just—you hated him.”

“I did not hate him,” you muttered.

Flo gave you a look. “When you were at Quadrant, you once said, and I quote, ‘If I have to hear him interfere about the designs one more time, I will throw myself into oncoming traffic.’”

You winced. “Okay, fine. But it was different working together at LV, things changed.”

Flo smirked, taking a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, I’ll bet they did.”

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the table. “I really hope you’re not mad. It’s nothing... serious. Just something casual..”

“Uh-huh.”

“I mean it. It’s just—fun. That’s all.”

Flo raised an eyebrow. “Does he know that?”

You hesitated for a second too long, glaring at her. You weren’t worried about a famous F1 driver, but for her, of course it was still her brother. 

Flo’s smirk faded slightly. “Oh, babe.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “No, don’t ‘oh, babe’ me. It’s fine. We’re clearly just messing around. It’s not a thing.”

Flo watched you carefully, like she was picking apart every single word. “Okay.. As long as I don’t have to hear any details about it and I’m still your favorite Norris”

You could finally let out a laugh. ‘’You will always be my favorite Norris’’

‘’Thought F1 wasn’t really your scene’’ she want back to teasing. ‘’Who would’ve thought’’

You buried your face in your arms on the table. ‘’Wouldn’t it have been better to go for Lewis?’’ she continued jokingly when you didn’t reply. 

-

You were working in the London LV office when you got a text. 

Lando: I’m in London. What are you doing?

You frowned at your phone, the message popping up between work emails. He wasn’t at a race weekend, so he was either back in Monaco or in London.

You: Working. Why?

Three dots appeared, then disappeared, then came back.

Lando: Doesn’t your work involve me?

You rolled your eyes.

Before you could tell him off, another text came through.

Lando: I’ll come help you with that.

Your stomach did an involuntary flip, even though you knew you should have expected this by now.

You: You don’t even know where I am.

Lando: I do, actually. Showroom, right?

You didn’t reply.

Lando: See you soon :)

And just like that, you knew you wouldn’t be getting any more work done.

He arrived half an hour later, strolling into the showroom like he belonged there.

You gave him an unimpressed look from your seat behind your laptop. “I knew I should’ve turned off my location sharing after Monaco.”

Lando just grinned. “Too late.” He plopped into the seat across from you, looking far too comfortable. “So, what’s up?”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m working”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

You exhaled sharply. “Why are you here?”

Lando hesitated, then smirked. “I was in London and wanted to see you. Shouldn’t we go to your place? I still haven’t seen your apartment.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

“And that’s kind of weird, don’t you think?” He tilted his head. “I mean, you’ve seen my place. Seems unfair.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s because you live in Monaco, and I don’t.”

“Still. I think it’s my turn.”

You scoffed. “Why do you even care?”

Lando shrugged, like it didn’t matter. But the glint in his eyes said otherwise. “Maybe I just wanna know where you go when you’re not with me.”

That statement alone made you pause for half a second too long.

Lando didn’t push, just watched you carefully as you exhaled and shut your laptop. “Fine. But only because I need to leave soon anyway.”

“Perfect.” He grinned, standing up. “Lead the way.”

-

Lando followed you into your building like he’d done it a hundred times before, hands in his pockets, an easy smirk on his face.

You, on the other hand, were suddenly hyperaware of everything—of the way your apartment probably wasn’t as put-together as the places he was used to, and how you had left it behind. 

You pushed the thought away as you unlocked the door. “It’s small, so don’t be judgy.”

Lando stepped in first, looking around. “You’re acting like I live in a palace.”

“You do.”

“Okay, fair.” He walked further in, turning in a slow circle as he took everything in. “This is really nice, though.”

You shut the door, crossing your arms. “You sound surprised.”

Lando grinned, plopping onto your couch without hesitation. “I just thought maybe you were hiding something.”

You sighed, dropping your bag. “Yeah, my massive collection of Lando Norris merch.”

“I knew it.” He stretched out, getting comfortable. “So where’s my shrine?”

You rolled your eyes, heading into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Sure. What are my options?”

You opened the fridge. “Water, juice, or the wine I was saving for a night that doesn’t involve you.”

Lando grinned. “I’ll take the wine.”

You huffed but grabbed the bottle anyway, bringing it over with two glasses. Lando took one, watching you as you sat down beside him.

There was a moment of quiet as he sipped, eyes still trailing over your space.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… feels kinda nice.”

You frowned. “My apartment?”

Lando hummed. “Yeah. Feels like you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you just took a sip of your wine, letting the warmth settle.

Lando turned to you fully, propping his elbow against the back of the couch. “So, do I get the tour?”

You laughed. “Lando, there’s like two rooms.”

“Yeah, and I wanna see them.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Come on.”

You rolled your eyes but stood up anyway, leading him toward your bedroom. 

Lando grinned as he stepped in, scanning the space. His gaze landed on your nightstand, where a book was sitting, spine cracked. He picked it up, raising a brow. “Didn’t take you for the romance novel type.”

You snatched it back. “It’s not a romance novel.”

“No judgment.” He held up his hands, still smiling. “Just getting to know you better.”

You scoffed, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

Then, as you moved to set the book down, you felt his hands brush your waist, casual and unhurried.

Your breath caught.

Lando leaned in, voice low. “So, how long do I have before you kick me out?”

You swallowed. “That depends.”

He smirked “On?”

“On if you’re actually just here for a tour.”

Lando hummed, fingers grazing your hip. “I think we both know I’m not.”

Your heart pounded as you turned to face him, eyes locking.

Lando leaned in, slow and deliberate. “So?”

You exhaled. Then reached for him first.

The moment your lips met, his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth moved against yours, slow at first, teasing, before his grip firmed, deepening the kiss. You felt the warmth of his palms slide beneath your top, fingertips skimming over your lower back. His hands exploring, slipping under fabric, teasing. His fingers curled at your waist, urging you backward step by step until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Lando’s lips found yours again as he guided you down, his weight settling over you in a way that sent a thrill through your spine. His hands roamed, his touch slow but deliberate, exploring like he had all the time in the world.

“You still gonna kick me out?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement against your lips.

You answered by pulling him closer, fingers tangled in his hair, his quiet laugh dissolving into another heated kiss as he pressed you deeper into the sheets.

WN: hahah the whole story seems just them hooking up now, but dont worry mwahahha, love the black suits and testing livery, this new picture in the fireproofs goes perfect with this chapter, pure coincidence because I had already written this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

tl: @freyathehuntress @linnygirl09 @sarx164 @joannaln4 @widow-cevans @444-leqz @laneyspaulding19 @mayax2o07@n3versatisfied @anayaverse @tvdtw4ever

[makeitmingi]

When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 1]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.1K

(Chapter warning(s): Character death, grieving/ funeral, injury, recollection of previous argument, Hongjoong is in a weird place with his feelings.)

"Thank you for coming." Hongjoong had a stoic look on his face as he deeply bowed to the people that came to pay respects. The people bowed back, reaching out to shake his hand with a comforting smile on their faces.

"She was a good woman. Kind." They patted him on the shoulder. All he could do was stiffly nod in reply.

"Please help yourself to the food and refreshments." He forced a small smile and gestured to the buffet spread where the other people were all seated.

"Should we ask him to take a break?" Yunho leaned over to ask Seonghwa as the older collated the beoseom money together.

"You can try but he's not going to like it. Just let him do what he needs to do." Seonghwa replied.

"Hyung loved his mother. They didn't have the best relationship but I know he always missed seeing her and talking to her." Yunho sighed with a small frown. Seonghwa hummed in agreement.

"But this is for him to figure out. We'll just help him where he wants us." Seonghwa said.

Hongjoong recognised all the people that came. All friends of his late father and now, mother, or his own allies. They were men that worked for him or with him. Although they didn't know his mother at all, he knew that Wooyoung had gathered all their men to come and support him as the leader.

"Oh, coming." Hongjoong noticed some people going to pay their respects and went to his post as the son, keeping his head lowered as they bowed to his mother's casket.

"You have our condolences, Hongjoong sshi. If you need anything, let us know." The leader of a small gang shook his hand.

"Thanks." He nodded. Hongjoong knew their motive, it was to create favours and forge loyalties with Ateez.

"Umm, excuse me." Hongjoong looked up at the sudden entrance of a light, tinkling voice. He eyes fell on the girl that entered, she looked so different, sticking out like a sore thumb.

Who are you?

"Here you go." You took out an envelope of money and handed it to Yunho and Seonghwa, who received it with a bow.

"You can head that way." Seonghwa gestured to where Hongjoong was standing. From the looks of it, Seonghwa seemed just as entranced and/or curious about you as Hongjoong was. You nodded and headed to him.

"You must be Hongjoong sshi." You looked at him with familiarity, still cradling the small bouquet of flowers in your arms. All Hongjoong could do was nod.

How did you know him? He, for sure, didn't know you. There wasn't an inkling of recollection seeing your face or hearing your voice.

"If it's okay with you, can I place this bouquet by the casket? It's our favourite flower." You asked politely.

"Go ahead. Thank you." He nodded. 'Our' favourite? His eyes followed you as you placed the bouquet of white tulips by the casket. The bouquet was simple but elegant.

"I'll miss our afternoon chats. Take care of yourself and rest easy." You prayed softly as you bowed to his mother's casket.

"Thank you for coming." Hongjoong said to you when the both of you stood up from your kneeled positions.

"S-Sorry..." Your bottom lip quivered and tears streamed down your face as you struggled to wipe them all away. There was so much grief and upset on your face, you probably felt more grief than Hongjoong did. Hongjoong held his handkerchief out to you but you hesitated, you didn't know him to take it.

"It's okay." He whispered, trying to convince you. With a shaky hand, you took the white cloth and dried your tears. All this time, Hongjoong was trying to study you.

"Thanks." You smiled awkwardly.

"How do you know me? Did you know my mother?" He asked, even if the answer was obviously yes.

"She comes by my shop almost every afternoon to chat with me. She'll even bring tea and snacks with her. I recognise you from the photos she shared with me." You giggled.

"I see... Well-"

"Hongjoong hyung, there are more mourners. Do you want me to take over?" Someone came over.

"No, it's fine, San ah." Hongjoong assured his brother and bowed his head to you before going back to where the casket was. You tucked the handkerchief into your pocket.

"There are snacks and refreshments." You were directed to the area where the other mourners were chatting, eating and drinking. There were barely any other women around, all men dressed in suits. It almost felt like a business convention, not a funeral.

"Who is that?" Wooyoung asked San when he came back to where they were seated.

"No idea." San shook his head. The 7 Ateez members watched you with curiosity. You sat in the corner by yourself, you didn't take any food or drinks.

"Do any of you know her or recognise her?" Mingi blinked.

"I think she genuinely knew my mother." The boys looked up to see Hongjoong standing behind them.

"Really?" Even Seonghwa was shocked too. They all knew that everyone who came didn't know Hongjoong's mother. How did someone like you befriend Hongjoong's mother?

"She's definitely not from underground." Yeosang said. You were still wiping stray tears that escaped your eyes.

"She's... really grieving the lost of my mother... Even more than me." Hongjoong observed.

"Her name is (y/n)." Yunho said, reading from the mourners book of those that came. The others didn't even notice that Hongjoong left them, going over to where you were seated alone. When Hongjoong pulled out the chair next to yours, you blinked, breaking out of your reminiscing moment.

"Apologies." He said.

"Don't apologise, you must be busy having to do this on your own, on top of the fact that you're mourning and grieving too." You shook your head with a soft smile.

"I have a good support system." He nodded over to where the other Ateez members were.

"You must haven known my mother well to know her favourite flower." Hongjoong brought the conversation back.

"She always came to buy them from me, along with other flowers. That's when I learnt that we both have the same favourite flower. I'm a florist actually." You informed.

"Oh... And here, I didn't even know my mother had a favourite flower." He chuckled.

"Hongjoong sshi." You shocked him and frankly, yourself too, when you placed a hand over his own in comfort.

"I'll miss her too but it'll be okay. From the way your mother spoke fondly of you, I could tell that you both had a great relationship. At least you'll still have your good memories of her with you." You smiled softly. Suddenly, Hongjoong retracted his hand.

"Excuse me." He stood up, buttoning his blazer. He watched as your face fell.

"Hongjoong sshi. I-I'm sorry." You stuttered, realising what you just said to him and how your words crossed a boundary. Hongjoong clenched his jaw and walked back to where Ateez was.

"Woah, hyung. You okay?" Jongho asked, noticing the sudden change in Hongjoong's mood and expression.

"I'm fine." Hongjoong replied through gritted teeth.

Despite what happened, you still stayed until the final standoff. Hongjoong was unexpectedly hypervigilant of where you were, standing on your own at the back of the crowd.

"Hang on." Before the Ateez boys could load his mother's casket into the back of the hearse, he stopped them.

"Captain?" They were confused. Leaning down, Hongjoong grabbed a stalk of flower from your bouquet and placed it on top.

"Carry on." He cleared his throat, side eyeing you. You were watching the entire time as you cried softly to yourself. All the mourners that hadn't left bowed to the hearse as it closed. Hongjoong, still holding his mother's picture, walked to the front seats where he would follow along to the burial site.

"We'll follow behind, hyung." Wooyoung said to him. Hongjoong nodded and entered with Mingi closing the door behind him. The 7 entered their respective vans that were prepared.

As the hearse began to pull out of the drive way, Hongjoong spotted you walking along the streets, arms hugging yourself.

"Who are you?" He whispered as you walked further away.

When the news of his mother's passing first came until this moment, Hongjoong hadn't shed a tear. Was he cruel or unfilial for not doing so? Or were tears just a sign of weakness?

"Good memories?" Hongjoong turned to his mother's picture, remembering what you said to him.

You sighed as you made your way into your apartment. After you removed your shoes, you fell back onto the couch.

"I can't believe you're gone." You said, feeling tears well up in your eyes again as you thought about Mrs Kim and her not being around any longer. Maybe because you grew up without a mother, she was the closest thing to a mother that you had.

"Can I help you?" The doorman asked when he saw how confused you were upon entering the building.

"Oh, good morning. Sorry to bother you but I'm looking for Mrs Kim? I hope I have the right address." You scratched your head, bowing to the older male.

"Do you mean the Mrs Kim that stays in the penthouse? I'm sorry but she passed away yesterday." He informed.

"W-Wait, what?" You couldn't believe it. The flower bouquet slipping from your hands.

"Are you okay, agashi? Yes, unfortunately, Mrs Kim passed." He picked up the bouquet, placing a hand on your shoulder. It was so shocking you couldn't even cry.

"Are you family?" He asked. It took you a while to answer as the news was still sinking in.

"N-No... I'm not but I knew her..." You tried your best to form a coherant answer in your head but it was too difficult.

"I'm sorry, agashi." He said sadly. You bowed your head and turned around, leaving the building. When you reached home, you searched funeral homes online and there it was, her name and her picture. It only solidified that what the doorman said was true, the closest person to a mother that you've had was gone.

"I can't believe I said that. (y/n), what did you do?" You facepalmed when you remembered what you said to Hongjoong. Who were you to tell him that?

"He's her real son, you're not." You scolded yourself, holding Hongjoong handkerchief in your lap.

Mrs Kim always spoke about Hongjoong with such a sad smile, indicating that their relationship wasn't amicable.

There was love, of course. But you could hear the regret and guilt in her voice. All you knew was that if you were to run into him again, you'll definitely apologise for overstepping.

Hongjoong seemed cold but you were grateful that he placed one of your flowers on top of her casket before the hearse left. Whether it was done for you or for her, Hongjoong's gesture warmed your heart.

-

"Where's he?" Seonghwa asked as he climbed up the stairs to the second floor. The younger ones nodded over to Hongjoong's back. The captain leaned against the banister of the terrace, a glass of whiskey held by his fingertips.

"He's still there. Been there since we've come back." Yeosang informed.

"(y/n) (y/l/n). She's a florist in Hongjoong hyung's territory, studying botany part time. Practically as normal as it gets." Jongho walked over, closing a folder. Seonghwa took it and read it.

"As long as she isn't a threat." San shrugged.

"Far from. If there was a motive for her to get close to Mrs Kim, it's not in the file." Jongho said, pouring himself a drink.

"But damn, she seemed to be closer to Mrs Kim than Hongjoong hyung was." Mingi stated and Seonghwa slapped the back of his head for being so direct.

"What? It's the truth..." Mingi rubbed his head. Yunho sighed, patting his best friend's back.

"Hyung will be fine, right? He has to be. He's our captain and our leader. Let's just give him some time then he'll bounce back like always." Wooyoung said with a small frown. Seonghwa nodded in agreement. Although Hongjoong suppresses his feelings and emotions, he always puts Ateez first.

"Yes, Hongjoong will be okay. He just needs space now. And don't bring up the girl anymore, okay?" Seonghwa said. The younger 6 nodded their heads obediently.

"Hyung, what happened between Hongjoong hyung and his mother?" San asked.

"No idea. Even if I did, it's not my story to tell." Seonghwa shrugged.

He is Hongjoong's best friend and second in command, but he didn't know what was Hongjoong's relationship with his mother. It was almost a love-hate relationship, for Hongjoong at least.

"Go back to work. Give Hongjoong a few days off, I'll be taking over his duties in the mean time." Seonghwa informed.

"Sure, hyung." All of them split up to go back to work. Seonghwa cast one more worried glance at his best friend's back before leaving.

Hongjoong sighed as he took another sip of whiskey. Even as he shovelled the dirt over his mother's casket, he didn't shed a tear. The heartache was there but he couldn't will himself to cry. He watched as the flower he placed on top got sullied by the dirt.

"She's really gone." He breathed out.

"You're really gone." He repeated as if he was speaking directly to his mother, clenching the glass in his hand.

You, the girl that appeared out of nowhere, seemed to have a much better relationship with his mother than he did. You cried while Hongjoong was emotionless.

"Damn it." Hongjoong must have channeled all his frustration to his hand because before he knew it, the crystal shattered into pieces.

"Hyung!" Yeosang rushed out, having seen the whole thing.

"I'm fine, Yeosang." Hongjoong hissed, cradling his now injured hand. Yeosang gently took it into his own hands, looking at how bad is was. Blood began to drip on the tiles.

"No, it's not fine. There's crystal shards in your hand now. Come." Yeosang frowned and brought Hongjoong in.

"Get someone to clean the terrace." Yeosang said to a passing butler, who nodded with a deep bow. He brought the captain to his office where his medical supplies were. Thankfully, Hongjoong didn't protest and sat down, patiently waiting for Yeosang to get what he needed to treat his hand.

"Don't move." Yeosang said as he took forceps and tried to remove the crystal pieces from the cuts. Luckily it wasn't too deep that he would need stitches.

"Are you not going to ask me anything?" Hongjoong asked as Yeosang took a magnifier to look for any smaller pieces.

"No. What's there to ask?" Yeosang asked back. At that, Hongjoong sighed and just leaned back in the seat.

"This is going to sting. Bear with me." Yeosang took the antiseptic and spray it over Hongjoong's hand, causing the leader to let out an onslaught of curse words and winces.

"I saw the butler cleaning glass on the terrace. What happened?" San came in.

"Just a small accident." Hongjoong sighed again, watching Yeosang use gauze to wrap up his hand.

"We're done. If it starts to bleed through the bandages, you have to get them changed. If not then I'll check on them in a few days." Yeosang said as he used clips and medical tape to secure the bandage. Hongjoong nodded and stood up.

"Thanks, Sangie." He left Yeosang's room. San stared at where their captain disappeared to.

"Everyone deals with grief differently, whether they want to admit it or not." San said and Yeosang let out a hum in agreement, clearing the bloodied gauze and area.

"He'll be okay. Hyung is strong." Yeosang assured.

When Hongjoong went upstairs to go back to his room, he walked past the second floor lounge and saw a file there.

'(y/n) (y/l/n)'

So, the boys went to search up on you and who you were. Reaching down, Hongjoong took the file and tucked it under his arm, retreating to his room.

"Florist... Studies botany... That's it?" He read the file as he walked. If there was anything else, even secrets, he knew Jongho and Yunho would have found it by now. No piece of information escapes those two. They can source information about a person's entire life on their computers, it's why they're the best.

"Oh?" Hongjoong paused, eyebrows raising when he saw the location of your shop. It was in the territory that he took care of, which was also the area where his mother's house was.

Despite that, Hongjoong has never once visited his mother nor has he spoken to her in years.

"How could you do this? How could you do this to me?! To us?!" Hongjoong yelled, seething with so much anger.

"I know... I'm a horrible mother, I'm sorry Hongjoong ah." His mother shook her head, tears in her eyes as she faced her angry son. She didn't even bother to give an excuse.

"Why?! Why would you do this?" He faced her, his own tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I couldn't just standby and watch. I couldn't." The woman wrapped her arms around herself pitifully. This time, Hongjoong didn't hug her.

"After everything, you'll still side with him. After knowing what he did to all of us, including you, you still..." Hongjoong shook his head, unable to finish his sentence. He was just filled with so much rage he couldn't even breathe properly.

"Get out. I never want to see you again." He turned away, hearing her soft footsteps leave his office and disappear.

"Seonghwa." Hongjoong called out, knowing that his second in command was standing nearby and most probably overheard the entire exchange that happened.

"Yeah?" Seonghwa walked in.

"I want her out of here now. Buy her a house or whatever, somewhere I don't have to see her." Hongjoong ordered.

"Sure, Hongjoong." Seonghwa bowed his head and exited the office. Hongjoong let out a yell, angrily swiping everything off his desk. Papers flews and things broke but he didn't care.

Seonghwa ended up buying his mother a penthouse apartment in the territory that Hongjoong managed. Although Hongjoong didn't like that idea, Seonghwa gave an excuse that at least Hongjoong could keep an eye on her.

He didn't know that Seonghwa did that so if he ever wanted to see his mother again or let her make amends for what she did, he'll know where she is.

But it was too late anyway. Hongjoong's mother was gone, there were no more amends to make, no more apologies.

"Great relationship? Good memories?" Hongjoong bitterly scoffed once again when he remembered your words, throwing your file aside and going to take a much needed shower.

He needed to get out of his head.

~

Series masterlist

[princessmaeee]

Bisexual Lights

This is all about S M U T Thanos x Reader x Nam Gyu It's more about Nam Gyu than about the reader. I Imagine him being touch straved. He need you and He need Thanos. He play the big guy but when you're alone, he's the submissive one. You can't say I'm wrong and he's not like that.

Also, it's only my second Smut In english, and since a Long time, so it's probably not perfect, but I still hope you will like it ! I was really inspired! Even if it was hard for characters placement, but hey, I figured it out :) Should I plan a Part 2 ?

TW : Threesome - Sub.Nam Gyu - Switch Reader - Dom Thanos - Smoking - Fingering - Oral ( Both gender receiving ) No Squid Game

You should read it while listening this playlist

Taglist : @arzias @space-girl-16

You were at Thanos' small apartment, smoking him and Nam Gyu. It was a rainy night and none of you wanted to go Out, so you just decided to crash on the couch at Su-Bong place and smoke some weed and try some new stuff your two friends got.  You put a Movie to not let the apartment in complete silence, even if it wasn’t really silent. Thanos was at his desk, working on some new music. You could hear him mumble some rap words or play some notes with his guitar.  Legs against the couch back and head upside down, you gave a Look to Nam Gyu. He was just there, vibing on the sound made by Thanos Guitar, or maybe sound in his head, who knows.  Your eyes go to your purple hair friends, next. 

«-How was your last Hook up ? You asked Thanos, you didn’t mention her after you left Last Friday. -Boring, he answered. She was too loud. »

You frown your brows and sit correctly, ready to hear what your friend has to tell.

«-I taught you guys like when a Girl moans. -Yeah, but sometimes it’s just too much. Just like girls in those Porn movies. That sounds fake. -Anyway Girls are always like that, Nam Gyu said, some weird loudly moaning Mess.»

You didn’t feel attacked by what your friend told you, but somehow you felt like he would be no better and it made you laugh, making your dark-haired friend look at you, confused.

«-Shut Up Nam-Gyu, I’m sure you will be a Loud moaning mess too. You look like that kind of guy. »

Thanos softly laughs, shaking his head in agreement. Nam Gyu cheeks became red as he tried to defend himself.

«-I don’t know what makes you think that, but that’s absolutely not true. Anyway, girls a easier to make moan than boys, so the biggest moaning mess here will probably be You Y/N »

Still smiling, you get up from the couch and take the stick of  weed you friend is still holding in his hand to put it between your lips. Inhaling a deep puff of it.

«-Alright, let’s see that.»

As the smoke comes out of your mouth, you sit on Nam Gyu’s lap, putting your tights on each side of him. Your arms pass around his neck as your free hand gently pulls his hair, giving you a good access to his neck. You start kissing his skin, feeling him shiver. His lips were forced close and you smiled. He was high and probably more sensitive. Nam Gyu is the kind of guy who likes physical touch, he is almost needy for it. Especially with you and Thanos. He’s always there, trying to hold a piece of fabric you wear, touch you or Thanos when you get mad, falling asleep on your shoulders or laps. He never told you but you noticed when you helped him to cut his hair, he loved when people played in it. This guy is just needy and touchstaving. You continue to kiss his neck, going up to his ear, gently biting his lobe before you continue your trail of kisses on his jawline.  You could feel Nam-Gyu’s body trembling under yours and you loved it.  His hands grab your back as he pull you closer to him.

«-Come on, Nam Gyu, Let it go, you whisper as you get closer to his lips.»

You felt the stick of weed leaving your hand and looked up to see Thanos who have left his desk to come closer. He took a puff before grabbing Nam Gyu’s jaw, getting closer to him. You were now pressed between both of them, your head going back to your friend’s neck as Thanos Lips pressed against his. You noticed some smoke escaping from their kiss. You could feel yourself blushing from the view. It was kinda hot and unexpected. Thanos’s tongue slips into Nam gyu’s mouth, still holding his jaw, pressing a little bite more on it. Yours continue their way on your needy friends, bitting here and there until you finally hear a little moan from him. It was a light sound,muffled by the kiss, but Thanos heard it too and that’s the moment he chose to pull away from Nam Gyu’s lips, letting between them a thin line of saliva. Poor Nam Gyu, he was there, gripping your T-shirt, cheeks red, heavy breath. His body was still shaking  as you could feel his boner through his jeans. A devilish smile appears in the corner of your eyes and you give a slight trust, making him moan again. 

«-F-fuck … What are playing at… »

You didn’t answer. Instead you let your hands slip under Nam Gyu's Shirt as your lips make their way back to his face to meet theirs. He was still breathless from Thanos' kiss but he still answered yours.  You removed his Top, pulling away from his lips a brief moment before coming back. Your hips move, giving another trust against him. This started to turn you on too. Nam Gyu’s hand’s find their place on your hips, making you move again against him. You could feel his tongue slip between your lips and a second pair of hands slid themself under your Top, finding their way to your breast, it was Thanos, who decided to continue this little thing. You could feel his lips on your neck, kissing and sucking your skin until you let a moan be heard. Nam Gyu smiled and broke the kiss.

«-That was a pretty sound you did there -Fuck You.»

You felt your hair be grip and pulled back before your lips met Thanos’s ones. You were kinda confused, that wasn’t the plan. You just wanted to make Nam Gyu moan and you ended up between those two guys. You weren't sure for a second but you felt good between them, so you just closed your eyes and answered your friend's hot kiss, letting you go.  Your purple haired friend unties the clip of your bra, letting Nam Gyu pull up your shirt and your F/C bra , releasing your breast. His eyes rooming over it like if it was the first time He saw a pair of boobs in his life. Staring at your erect nipples before he leaned closer, taking one in his mouth. The hot and wet feeling of his tongue twirling around your sensitive tip of skin gives you shivers all over your body, making you moan againt’s Thanos Lips. When he lets go of your lips and hair, you take a moment to breathe as you try to control every sound that could slip out cause of nam gyu’s mouth still around your nips. You just slide your fingers in his hair. With a cocky smile your other hand finds her way through his jeans and unbutton it before putting your hands in his boxer, gripping his dick before you start to pump it. He let go of your breast, pressing his forehead against it.

«-Fuck Y/N…»

Nam Gyu’s whimpers were shaky and adorable. His hips move on their own, silently asking for more.  Thanos hands come around you as he puts his chin on your shoulder, whispering to your ear in a lust tone.

«-I’m gonna start to be jealous. -Give me two minutes and I’m all yours »

You could feel Nam Gyu’s dick twitching in your hand as you continue to move it up and down at a quicker pace, making him grunt and moan more and more as he gets closer to his release. His voice was soft but sounded desperate.

«-Please… Y/N… please. »

You smiled more when you heard him beg. Your pace goes slower as your thumb gently slides on his tip full of pre cum.

«-No, please, more…»

His grip on your Hips got more insistent. You could feel his nail digging in your skin, his lips started to kiss your neck, sucking it to let you red marks just like Thanos did on the other side. His hips moving again on their own at a desperate pace.

«-Please, let me cum, I'm so close.»

You could hear Thanos Laugh in your ear.

«-Poor little thing, give him what he wants. He sounds so desperate. -Yeah, I love it. That’s adorable, you reply.»

You finally answered Nam Gyu's request and continued to pump his dick at a faster pace until you could feel something hot in your hand. Removing it from your friend's pants you lick the liquid in the palm of your hand. Thanos takes it and puts one of your fingers in his mouth, cleaning it from Nam Gyu’s cum, right under his eyes. Even if he just came, he could feel his dick still hard caused by the view their friend gave to him. Turning you around, but still keeping you on Nam gyu’s laps, Thanos unbuckled his jeans and dropped it down, freeing his cock in front of you. You quickly get it and open your mouth to take him between your lips. Thanos Sight and slide his fingers in your hair, pressing on your head for you to take all of him until it touches the deepest part of your throat. He moved his hips, fucking your mouth as he wanted. Tears flowed from your eyes as saliva from your mouth.

«-Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Your mouth feel good as hell. »

As Thanos fucked your throat, you felt Nam Gyu’s hand slide in your pants to find their way to your wet core. His finger slips inside you, making you moan againt’s Thanos dick. He removed it from your mouth when he felt like you needed a break to breathe. Nam Gyu didn’t stop his fingers, moving them a little bit faster inside you as you became the moaning mess.

«-Both of you, pants down,  he ordered. »

You both listened to him and took your place back on Nam Gyu Lap’s feeling his hard dick in your back. Thanos smiled and pushed the tip of his manhood in your mouth as you took him all again. He present two of his fingers to Nam Gyu

«-Suck it. »

At first, Nam Gyu was unsure but obeyed his friend and opened his mouth to take his fingers in, sucking it like it was Thanos dick. His Tongue moved around it, making it as wet as he could. Close of his orgasm, Thanos started to move his hips faster, fucking your throat again until he let go of his cum in your mouth. You pulled away and caught, putting your hand in front of your mouth to keep it all, swallowing as much as you could. As Thanos removes his finger from Nam Gyu’ mouth, this one pulls your hair to bring you closer and kisses you, making you share the taste of Thano’s cum with him. Your tongues danced together, fighting even, trying to dominate each other, but you were the one to lose when you pulled away when you felt Thanos' Tongue between your legs, licking the wetness of your core and his lips around your swollen Clit.

«-Nam Gyu, spread your Legs, said Thanos, it's gonna spread her better. »

With a Smile, Nam Gyu obey and spreads his legs, making yours spread wilder, making you blush. While Thanos was eating you out, one of his wet fingers slipped into Nam Gyu’s ass, making him let out a soft growl of surprise, he wanted to protest, but Thanos added his second finger, making him moan. Between his tongue around your Clit and his finger moving in and out of Nam Gym, touching his soft spot, you were both some desperate moaning mess as you quickly cum undone. 

«-Fuck, you said, exosted, I think I need to take a Shower. -Yeah, good Idea, reply Nam Gyu, I sort of…made a disaster on your back. -Ah, gross, dude… -Said the one who swallowed.»

You felt your cheeks becoming red as you quickly get up from him, still half naked.

«-Get Fuck Nam Gyu ! »

As you quickly lock yourself in the bathroom for a shower, Thanos pulls up his pants before sitting next to Nam Gyu.

«-You were less tight than I thought. Already took it in the ass ? Asked Thanos with a Cocky Smile»

This Time it was Nam Gyu’s turn to blush as he pulled up his pants.

«-Ah Shut Up dude ! »

Pulling his friends by gripping his shirt, Thanos pressed his lips against his to shut him up. Nam Gyu was surprised, but answered his kiss. Both of them make out until you get out of the Bathroom, all clean, wearing Thanos Sweater who just looks like an oversized T-shirt on you.  When You came back in the living room, they stopped their making out session and you noticed another bulge in both of their pants. You sight and just go lay on the Bed, too tired to deal with their level of testosterone. Why do mens alway have so much energy when it comes to sex ?