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jungshookz · 2 months ago

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taehyung’s gotten really beefy and y/n feels like a hormonal teenager

➺ pairing; roommate!taehyung x roommate!y/n

➺ genre; roomie!taehyungiverse!! honk honk humour!! a little sprinkle of smut because it would be illegal to write about beefy taehyung and not talk about his bulging biceps WOOF WOOF y/n is a lucky girl i need himbo gymrat taehyung so bad

➺ wordcount; 2.5k

➺ summary; over the last few weeks, taehyung’s noticed that you’ve been particularly jittery and nervous around him and he can’t figure out why… after one of his usual morning workouts, he decides to finally confront you about it and your answer is more than satisfying to him.

➺ what to expect; “wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?”

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; hey daddy (daddy’s home) — usher

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

you’re not sure when taehyung decided to go on a new health journey, but it feels like you’ve blinked and watched your boyfriend go from just some handsome guy that you’re in love with to this muscular, gym-crazy man who loves protein shakes and asking for extra chicken at chipotle (who you’re still very much in love with, let’s be clear that nothing’s changed about that) and suddenly has the ability to do like 100 pull-ups without getting tired

“ugh, fuck-“ taehyung grunts as he does his last push up (this is his fourth set, so technically he just did 300 pushups with no problem), getting up from the ground and twisting his upper body from side to side before putting his phone in between his lips, peeling his damp wife-beater tank off and tossing it on the ground

lately he’s been working out in the morning before starting his day and it’s honestly been such a great change — he feels super pumped for the day ahead and completely reinvigorated

and getting his workout done in the morning means he doesn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day!

he went for a run around the neighbourhood early this morning, and then came home to finish off with some calisthenics

and now he’s gonna do a little cool-down stretch and hit the shower

he hums to himself as he adjusts his wired earbuds, usher’s hey daddy (daddy’s home) making him bop his head — maybe it’s a little douchey of him to be listening to this song while he’s working out but he can’t help that it’s a good ass song

he slips his phone into the back pocket of his grey sweatpants before reaching for the bottle of water, twisting the cap off and lifting the bottle to chug half of it down

“…good lord.” you mutter to yourself, staring at your boyfriend shamelessly from the kitchen as your jaw goes slack

oh yeah — you’re here, too, by the way

you’ve been here the whole time

you watched him do all 300 pushups and you counted

and now your coffee is cold because you can’t multitask and you couldn’t focus on gawking at your boyfriend and drinking your coffee at the same time

taehyung didn’t notice when you slipped past him earlier to head to the kitchen (and honestly, you didn’t want to bother him mid-workout because you know that you hate it when people interrupt your flow) and you’re pretty sure he still hasn’t noticed you, but you’re fine with that because you’d rather he be unaware of your presence than know that you’ve been creeping on him for the last twenty minutes or so

you don’t mean to stare, you really don’t, but… how can you not stare at him in his shirtless, sweaty glory like that?

your mouth goes dry and you swallow thickly when he turns around, his back muscles flexing slightly

and since when did he have such bulging veins in his biceps?!

your eyes trail down the wide expanse of his glistening back and you immediately get flashbacks from the other night when you had your nails digging into his shoulder blades, your hands sliding down to his lower back as he pushed himself into-

“good morning, sexy-“ you’re snapped out of your thoughts when tae delivers a slap to your bare ass as he passes by and you immediately grip onto your mug harder, letting out a nervous chuckle, “you’re finally up!”

“yeah, i-“ your voice cracks and you clear your throat before shrugging, reaching down to pull your shirt down a little to cover your ass, “it’s whatever, i’m cool.” your brows immediately furrow in confusion at your own words

…what?

what are you even saying?

see, something else you’ve noticed that’s happened since taehyung decided that he wanted to go on a run every morning at 5am and come home completely JACKED is that you’ve started feeling nervous around him and you have no idea why

the both of you have been together for five years (and seven months) and somehow you’ve reverted to some lovestruck teenager who giggles at everything

in fact, you feel like how you felt when you first met taehyung when he came to see you about your open roommate application — very intimidated by how handsome he was and hoping that he thought you were cool enough to hang out with

“did you want some of my smoothie, baby? i can already tell this batch might have a little more than usual…” taehyung hums, his tongue poking out from in between his lips as he measures out his double chocolate protein powder, dumping two full scoops into the blender, “could you get the blueberries from the freezer for me?”

“smoothie?” you clear your throat, nodding and setting your mug down, “uh, yeah! blueberries.” you turn around, pulling the freezer drawer open and pulling out the large ziploc of frozen blueberries before shaking your head to yourself to snap out of your funk

smoothie? uh, yeah, blueberries! you mock yourself internally — you are literally incapable of forming full sentences, it feels like you’ve got a bunch of marbles rolling around in your mouth

and he needs to put a shirt on or something because he’s starting to get those toned v-lines that taper down nicely when he wears his sweatpants low on his hips

you didn’t even know those muscles existed

“so did you want some? it’s okay if you don’t, i guess i could drink it all, the extra protein will be good-“

“uh, yeah! i’ll have some.” you nod, setting your mug down and turning to get a cup for yourself

taehyung turns the blender on and the kitchen is immediately filled with the obnoxious, grating sound of ZZzhzhhZHHZHHHHHhHhZHzh but you’re actually glad the space between you is being filled up with that

otherwise you’d have to make conversation with him

and in your current state, you are completely helpless

you watch as he reaches up to slick his damp hair back, leaning back a little to check and make sure all the ingredients are being blended up nice and smooth

it just feels like he’s moving in slow-motion and you… you…

see you just lost your train of thought

THAT’S how bad it’s been

taehyung glances up at you briefly from where he’s standing at the opposite end of the kitchen island, noticing that you’ve seemed to space out again

he has no idea what your deal has been for the last couple of weeks — he doesn’t think anything is necessarily wrong between the two of you, and if there’s a problem he knows you’re more than capable of bringing it up with him and talking it out

but at the same time, something is wrong because you’ve been unusually quiet and every time he tries to make conversation it feels like you don’t know how to speak like a normal human being

like earlier when he said good morning and that you were finally up and you responded with “it’s whatever, i’m cool”

it’s whatever, i’m cool

what the hell was that?!

or the other night when he asked you if you wanted to join him in the shower and you let out the most nervous, high-pitched laugh before practically sprinting away to the kitchen and saying something about needing to wash the dishes

…is it him? are you not physically attracted to him anymore?

that can’t be it, either… you guys had sex the other night and you were very vocal (you guys actually got a noise complaint from a neighbour but he never told you because he knew you’d be embarrassed and never want to have sex ever again, and to be honest, he’s just planning on putting his hand over your mouth the next time you fuck — easy fix!)

“okay, what’s wrong with you?” taehyung asks as soon as he turns the blender off, and you look up from the counter with wide eyes, “you’ve been so jittery with me for the last few weeks and i cannot figure out why, for the life of me. if you’re up to something shady, you might as well tell me now and-“

“what?” your eyelashes flutter in surprise and you let out a snort, his crazy accusation immediately sobering you up, “i promise you i am not up to anything shady, in fact, i’m kind of offended you even had that thought-“

“oh, thank god. you’re speaking like a normal human being, i finally fixed you-“ taehyung sighs, blowing a puff of air out as he pops the blender lid off, dipping his finger into the smoothie before bringing it up to his lips for a taste

“you have got to be kidding me.” you murmur to yourself, watching as some of the smoothie drips from his finger onto his toned abdomen

he swipes it off before sucking it off his finger with a satisfied hum

“you’re a freak!” you blurt out, “oh my god, you are such a freak and it’s like you do these things that i feel like are on purpose but-“

“what are you talking about??”

“i’m talking about- i just-“ you stumble over your words, letting out a groan when you find yourself being unable to form a sentence again

you pause for a second, shaking your head before composing yourself and painting a nice, pleasant smile on your face, “you… you… are you… are you aware of how ripped you’ve become?”

“what?” taehyung laughs in disbelief, his eyes flickering off to the side, “i mean… i know i’ve definitely bulked up a little, i wouldn’t say i’m ripped-“

“you have no idea how hard it is to not throw myself at you every single second of every single day — i mean, i love you and i’m attracted to you no matter what you look like but there’s just something so satisfying about biting into your firm, firm bicep,” you make your way over to taehyung before jabbing a finger into his arm, “like, are you telling me this is all muscle?!”

“i mean-“ taehyung looks down before flexing his arm, making his bicep pop out, “yeah, i guess so. wait, so you’re telling me the only reason why you’ve been acting so strange these last few weeks is because you think i’m… sexy?”

“you have been walking around all shirtless and sweaty with grey goddamn sweatpants so low on your hips that you’re basically naked, this is not on me!” you gawk, eyes widening when taehyung suddenly rounds the corner to get closer to you, “what are you- what are you doing?”

“nothing! we’re having a conversation, aren’t we?” the corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk as he continues walking you back until you’ve found yourself bumped up against the counter, your hands immediately fumbling to grip onto the edges to keep balanced, “oh, what’s wrong, baby? do i make you nervous?” he coos, using his pointer finger to raise your chin and forcing you to look at him before setting both his hands down on the counter and effectively trapping you in

“you-“ your voice cracks and you feel your face getting hotter (again, not sure why because you’ve been dating this man for five years, but maybe it’s a good sign that after all this time you still get super hot and bothered being around him — the spark is still very much alive!), “you don’t make me nervous, that’s ridiculous.”

“oh, don’t i?” taehyung tilts his head, sliding a finger up the side of your bare thigh and smiling to himself when he feels goosebumps starting to prickle at your skin, “you know, it’s funny that you’re scolding me for walking around shirtless in my own home when you’re the one constantly walking around in skimpy little g-strings. how do you think i feel, having to keep myself from bending you over every single surface in this apartment and just pushing your panties to the side?” he asks, voice light as he uses his pinky to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes

“i imagine you probably feel… not… good…” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest and keeping your chin raised in an attempt to appear as calm and collected as possible

“you don’t have to be nervous around me, honey,” taehyung leans down, and you’re as still as can be when he brushes his lips over yours before starting to plant light kisses along your jaw, “you know i love you and for the record, i think you’re incredibly sexy all the time…” he takes your hand and places it on his firm abdomen before sliding it down, and your thighs squeeze together upon feeling the ridges of his abs

and maybe now isn’t a good time to be thinking this but you can’t help but feel good about the fact that taehyung still thinks you’re sexy — it’s giving you the little ego boost you’ve been needing and- I NEED TO SUCK HIS DICK

okay JESUS

your eyes shoot open at the sudden uncharacteristically graphic intrusive thought and you immediately push taehyung away from you, keeping him at arm’s length

“wh- what’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “did i say someth-“

“i need to suck your dick.” you interrupt, staring at him with a neutral expression on your face

“what?” he lets out a laugh, “i mean, yes, obviously i want that but-“

“you need to be quiet now.”

taehyung swallows thickly when he watches you drop to the ground in front of him, staring at him in a way he’s never seen before

oh, jesus.

»»————- 🏋🏻‍♂️ ————-««

“tae-“ you whimper, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he presses himself into you, a shaky breath slipping past his lips when he feels you clench up around him, “a-agh…”

“jesus, your pussy always feels so good…” he mutters under his breath, looking down to watch himself pull out slightly before pushing back in all the way, smiling to himself when you whimper and ask him to please, please fuck me-

(needless to say, you guys ended up with another noise complaint. whoops.)

🎙️ ask taehyung for the recipe to his 70g protein smoothie (talk to my characters!)

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series like this!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!)

637 notes · View notes

bonsubear · 9 days ago

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You're Dead Everywhere But Here │ Invincible Variants x Female! Reader x Mainstream Invincible │#4

#1, #2, #3, #4, #?

CW: ooc, violence, mild gore

WC: 8k

You tried to use the Invincible variant that was holding you as a stepping stool to give you a jumping leap, but he quickly acted as he grabbed a hold of the heel of your foot.

You yelped in surprise, not expecting a quick reaction as you slipped and fell downwards. Not wanting you to fall, he used his free arm to wrap around your leg to catch you.

You were now dangled upside down in the air, pressed against the variant's muscular body.

You grunted, straining your neck to lift your head away from Mask’s legs so you wouldn't be smothered against them. You pressed against his knees using your hands to create more distance from the lower part of his body, extremely displeased at this bad positioning.

"Wait, wait a minute!" He stumbled; his voice was close to a begging tone as he had a firm but soft grip on you. It was evident that Mask didn't want to hurt you, though you didn't care as you thrashed wildly against his hold, wanting nothing more than to get away from the man.

Trying to loosen the grip he had was strenuous with how this positioning actively worked against you, making it hard to get out of.

It felt like you were a fish caught by a hook—no matter how much you struggled his grip didn’t let up. Hell, it felt like the more you did the more he made sure to hold you even tighter.

"Fucking shit! —Let go of me!" You yelled through gritted teeth as you tried to look up as you kicked your legs wildly, though it was difficult to do so with how close your two bodies were.

"Just listen to me, I won't hurt you—I want to help you!"

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. "I am not finding out what your sick definition of help is!" You retorted, refusing to even play with the idea of hearing what this blue and black variant had to say.

It would be a very stupid and bad decision to spend one more second with this Invincible variant, especially with how "great" the previous interactions with the others were.

It was really absurd, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely infuriated you to your core. Being caught off guard and captured, then thrown into a dingy prison basement, and then to top it all off being used as an asset against your will was already upsetting.

But it didn't just stop there—your supposed opponents that the G.D.A told you to fight were some deranged, mentally ill freaks that wanted nothing more to push their delusions onto you because they apparently had a relationship with—well, you?

When you went searching for Invincibles to kill and find the perfect murder method for your own Invincible, you were expecting a fight. A brutal, disastrous fight where you were crowned victorious in the end.

That’s how all fights go—how all fights should go. It was the basic formula known to man.

Instead, it was some big reunion where they all drooled over you like a bunch of slobbery dogs looking at their long-lost favorite toy.

You would’ve rather been beaten to death then ever go through that again!

Each fiber of your being wanted to run away and come back with a flame thrower to kill each single one of them, exterminating their annoying asses to guarantee you’ll never see them again.

Especially that black and yellow degenerate.

"Okay, okay!" He panicked, "I can see how this looks but you have to trust me!" Mask desperately pleaded, a whine scratching at the back of his throat as you continued to fight against him. "I got you away from the others, they're way worse—"

"Oh!" You rolled your eyes, a scoff quick to escape your throat. "My hero, my hero! Thank you so much for rescuing me!"

You clasped your hands together, each word dripping in sarcasm. "Say, what do you want as your reward? Money?" You asked before pausing for dramatic effect. You let out a wild fake gasp. "Oh, of course not! Me, right?"

Mask was taken aback with that witty response, defensive words choking in his throat as his cheeks heated up underneath his black mask. "No! (Y/N)—No, I—that's not what's happening!"

You furrowed your brows, digging your fingernails in his knees. "Either way, I don't want to fucking know what is happening!" You replied, spitting out the curse word with venom.

You brought your head close to his leg, opening your jaw wide. You clamped your teeth down hard, making sure to make it hurt as much as it can. Your teeth sunk into his skin through the thin layer of spandex, the soft sensation yet sturdy muscle meeting your mouth.

The Invincible variant gasped in shock, not expecting the sharp sensation of your teeth to dig inside his leg. His grip loosened, allowing you to finally wiggle out of his grasp.

Even though his mind didn't know how to react to this, his body certainly did. His foot jerked to your face, and before you could raise your hand to block it his foot already contacted the top of your forehead.

It was immediate, and your head swung backwards from the kick.

It didn't take you long for you to hit the ground, the road splitting in half as you were smacked to the ground—rolling like an unstoppable boulder.

You crashed into a fire hydrant that stopped your momentum, but at a consequence of it busting open and water gushing out everywhere. The water sprayed on the ruined road, the cracked sidewalk, and onto you.

Your prison jumpsuit quickly became soaked with water from the broken fire hydrant, the loose fabric sticking to your skin making it hug your silhouette.

At first, Mask didn't realize what he had done—watching you crash into the fire hydrant not registering that he had been the one to be the cause. When he finally realized, he was fast to descend down.

"I'm, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kick you like that, I don't even know why I—are you okay?!" He hurriedly rushed to your side, crouching as his eyes looked at your forehead that was forming a noticeable bump.

Water still escaped from the fire hydrant, but it turned into a light lawn spray as he looked at you.

Your eyes hazily opened, pushing yourself up using your elbows. You slapped a hand on your forehead, your brain feeling like it shifted with how hard the kick was. You winced, jumping at how there was already a bump forming.

The variant next to you was repeating apologies, reciting them like scriptures. You couldn't really pay attention, your blurry vision taking their time to adjust as your hearing made everything around you, particularly Mask's voice, sound like white noise.

"—let's get you somewhere safe," Mask hurriedly looked around before landing his eyes on you again, "someone might've heard that. We have to go." He spoke with urgency, placing a careful hand behind your back.

Your blurry vision quickly became clear, and hearing returned to your ears, your healing properties finally kicking in and fixing the damage that had been done to you. The bump that was rapidly swelling on your forehead also died down, returning to the same level as the rest of your skin.

You blinked, your eyes finally trailing to the Invincible variant.

He was too close for comfort, and you tensed as you felt the hand that was cupped on your back. Your gaze moved to his face, and his goggles were completely void of glass besides the small remnants that edged the outline.

His brown eyes were on full display, and they looked deeply into yours as if they were the only thing worth peering into. It was clear as day how much blind affection, softness, and worry filled those eyes.

It made your skin crawl to be viewed with so much tender emotions for so many reasons, one of them being that you knew it wasn't directed towards you. It was someone else who was a different version of you that got to experience another life than the one you have currently.

You felt like a second rate to some weaker version of you that died. A version of you that didn't even have powers.

Though you guess if you had to admit you were a speck jealous. Those versions of you probably had normal lives, normal hobbies, normal jobs—normal everything. Even if their life wasn’t that pretty, it probably was better than what your life was right now.

Although that small trace of jealousy disappeared as soon as you remembered they had the misfortune of dating Invincible. The Invincible variants were whack, crazy, and probably made their lives a living hell.

You grimaced and shrunk away as he reached a hand out to you, aiming to caress your forehead with his blue gloves. Your face contorted into a glare, your hand flying to secure his wrist and fling him behind you like he weighed nothing but a grain of salt.

Mask was flung inside an empty cafe, breaking through the brick wall and through the marble counter. A pot of cold coffee that was abandoned at the workstation during evacuation fell on his shoulder, pouring out and staining the side of his suit.

You pulled yourself up, the soaked clothing making you shiver uncomfortably. I need to change out of this.

You looked around to see where you were. Even though the surrounding buildings and structures were decimated and resembled more of an apocalypse than a functioning city—you thankfully were able to recognize what part of Chicago you were in.

You squinted, trying to jog your memory. You had made secret deserted spaces that people and the city itself forgot existed as hide outs, places for you to retreat and hide from whenever you were finished doing your routine destruction and "rough housing" with civilians.

That's how you were able to run and disappear so fast whenever superheroes tried to capture you during your "hobby". It was funny hearing them frustrated and angry when you slipped away, their muffled voices coming behind the entrance of one of your many hideouts whenever they walked past one.

At least, that's how it used to be. Other superheroes seemed to have moved on from you, the only super showing up to stop your reenactment of Godzilla movies on the city before being locked up behind bars was Invincible.

...

It was odd, honestly.

To totally toot your own horn, even though you were a regular menace and an everyday pain in the ass that everyone became "use" to—you were still that, a menace.

You knew that the secret organization sent any hero near your vicinity to deal with you before you could cause any more indirect casualties—but they seemed to have changed their mind one day and only sent Invincible.

Sure, he stopped you each time—but it must’ve not been efficient to send him every time with how quick you were to get to wrecking. There was no way he was the closest to you every single time with how you made sure to pick different spots to remain unpredictable.

If you didn't know any better, it felt like he called dibs on you.

You couldn’t help but think that because there were multiple times where he unknowingly stood near a concealed hideout you were in. It was easy to eavesdrop him conversing with himself, overhearing mutters and incoherent whispers.

His mutters were always along the lines of hoping you were okay, that you'd heal and recover quickly, that he hoped he made a good impression this time, and something about how he should stop running to you?

You got a slow, sinking feeling form into your stomach as you thought more about this world's Invincible.

He was always weird, treating you differently from other villains. You always chalked it up to be a potential hero complex, all superheroes having some mild form of it. That’s what you theorized, anyway.

Saving the city, saving civilians—it's inevitable that a shiny new hero thinks they can save a villain from the mess they are.

It wasn't the first time a super thought they could change you, "fix" you for the better. You always spat out a harsh refusal over and over again until they finally gave up. It was easy, just be an insensitive prick and they wished the kind words they spoke to you were punches instead.

Invincible was the longest, being stubborn about offering you redemption and friendship no matter how much you drilled it into him that you won't budge.

You literally beat it in him with each encounter, but he would show up once again with a smile whenever you were out and about.

You became used to seeing him, even with how annoyed you were each time. It became familiar to just randomly turn around and see him staring at you while you were punching holes inside a building, like a shadow waiting to be acknowledged.

However, he was still a good guy—at least, you think. Experiencing these different versions of him made your head wonder if he had more interest in you than he should have beyond just the potential hero complex and annoying moves for friendship.

It seemed like all his variants so far did, having some sort of romantic relationship with your counterparts. You didn't want to think it but—did your Invincible hold some sort of affection for you?

Of five variants of five realities, Invincible liked you in each one of them.

What's to say this reality was any different in that regard?

What's to say that he didn't view you more than a criminal?

What's to say that your Invincible wasn't like them?

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to snap out of your train of thoughts.

That just wouldn't make sense, Invincible viewing you in a romantic way. It just logically wouldn't. You treated him lower than dirt more times than you can count—he'd have to have his own form of delusion to form lovey dovey thoughts for you.

You had to hold out hope that your Invincible was a good, weird, but normal superhero. If the Invincible variants were searching for you—you needed help getting them off your back until this war blows over somehow.

"Don't fucking touch her!" You heard Mask shout, and you turned around to see what he was screaming at. As you did, you were met face to face with an Invincible variant that had sneaked up behind you. They wore a similar get up to your Invincible's suit, but they had washed out colors and bigger goggles.

Your eyes widen, looking behind the newly appeared variant to see Mask approaching fast with his arms out. You were fast to sidestep, the newly appeared variant getting pushed to the ground where you previously stood.

You heard someone land behind you, and you turned around in a defensive stance to see that another Invincible variant had shown up.

Before he could get the chance to say anything, you jumped at him—socking him in the jaw. Twisting on your heel, you used the small momentum to kick his side. The variant was kicked to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

You jumped backwards, your back hitting someone else's. You looked over your shoulder to see that it was Mask, his fists raised ready to fight the variant he had roughly pushed aside.

Shifting your head to look at the sky. There were two more variants that were preparing to throw themselves at you, both having different versions of the yellow and blue Invincible suit that strayed far from the original.

You clicked your tongue, pressing your back further into Mask's as you knew if you fought them all by yourself, you'd be in deep shit. "If you're serious about helping me—then you'll help me get out of this alive. Then you'll fuck off and leave me alone."

"I can do the first one but..." His voice was muffled behind his mask, hesitance clear in his voice. His brown eyes flickered behind him, your hair in his view and the press of your back sending shivers down his spine.

Mask breath wavered, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from you to refocus on the Invincible variant that was picking themselves up from the floor.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mark huffed, trying to fight off the exhaustion that was threatening to overtake his body. He didn't know how long he was fighting these evil versions of him, but it must've been less than an hour with how the sky didn't shift to a different hue at all.

They were doing a number on him and to each other with how they were all strained in some way. Ragged breathing, minute slower movements, and taking any opportunity to catch themselves before jumping back into the chaotic fight.

The only variants that didn't seem completely worn out were Viltrum and Sinister—but even then, the two seemed out of it like the rest of them were.

"Are you kidding me with this bullshit!" Mohawk Mark screeched, his snarky voice making every variant pause. "Why the fuck are you fighting us?" He pointed, hovering next to Omni-Mark whose red cape was half torn.

Mark jumped, not expecting everyone to collectively stop fighting to look at who Mohawk was pointing at—which was him.

They all took in Mohawk's words, being interested to know the answer to his question. Either that or they were taking advantage of the rare stillness.

"What, what do you think!" He stuttered out, his voice squeezing as his body became more agitated than it already was. Mark felt on edge, like each nerve of his body was exposed. "You all think that you can just kidnap (Y/N)! She doesn't belong to either of you!"

"She doesn't belong to you either." Omni pointed out, his eyes narrowing at Mark with haughtiness. "Please, remind me again, what relationship do you two have?" He quipped, tilting his head in amusement.

Mark felt a lump form in his throat, his whole body feeling like someone had just ripped off his skin. Being reminded that these evil versions of him had something that he didn't have was painful—like he was being punished.

To add more salt to the wound that the red and white variant had opened, Mohawk jumped at the opportunity to rub it in Mainstream Mark's face on what he didn't have and ever got to experience—you.

"She was my girlfriend—got together senior year of high school and continued dating when she went to college." He let out an airy laugh, gesturing at the lower part of his body with both hands. "Suck it."

Viltrum took the surprise pause of the fight to add in his own relationship with you, tone flat but lighthearted—an invisible smile on his lips. "She was my wife. I met her the first time I went to Earth on the rooftop of her apartment complex."

His eyes flickered to the punk-style Invincible, the mention of college making him remember something. "... It was after she dropped out."

Sinister laughed, a playful grin gracing his lips. "Pfft, those are stupid. My bunny was an inspiring journalist who wanted to bring me to 'justice'—oh, how it was practically destiny that she landed herself to be my plaything." His hands twitched, thinking back on the first time he met you.

A smug, almost shit eating grin danced on his lips. "I could tell it made her feel alive, even through her senseless wailing. No matter how hard she tried to hide it, that bitch enjoyed me as much as I enjoyed her."

Omni shook his head, waving his hand as if all the words that the others spoke were meaningless. "She was my pet, the only perfect thing that could be my wife.

His lip quirked upwards, recalling the first time he saw you. "It was a long process to domesticate her, but it was worth everything." He chuckled before his smile faltered, transitioning to a frown.

"Oh, and we had a child together." He shrugged his shoulders before continuing, speaking casually like it was nothing too extraordinary.

He seemed displeased to have remembered that fact, his expression turning sour. "Shame there wasn't much use for it. Got in my way more than being convenient."

Mark choked on nothing when he heard that, his soul feeling like it got kicked out of his body as he tried to recover from the shock.

He burned his stare in the variant that resembled the suit his father once wore like he had just grown two heads.

"Child? —Child?!" He screamed, shaking his head as his mind was swirling with all this information that hit him at once.

Viltrum huffed hearing that, avoiding looking at Omni. "(Y/N) and I would've produced a child eventually." He murmured, defending himself like it was some sort of competition to who hit more milestones with you.

"Ugh, that's pointless! Why have a child?" Sinister rolled his eyes, thinking that it was absolutely absurd that his counterparts would think of having an offspring. His posture was relaxed as he voiced his thoughts. "Her body should only be available to me, not something else."

He hummed, as if agreeing with Sinister, "It was a good enrichment for a while, then the thing got annoying." Omni explained. "Didn't want to keep it around anymore."

"Anymore? The fuck that's supposed to mean?" Mohawk questioned, both hands settled on his hips. With how he phrased it, he didn't think it was farfetched to assume that his counterpart did something horrible to the child.

Omni-Mark stayed silent, not responding as he crossed his arms. That earned a raised brow from Mohawk, suspicion surfacing through his sharp features.

Mark finally snapped out of his shell shock, interrupting the variants' small conversation. "Fine, maybe I don't have a relationship with her like you guys had." He began reasoning, his eyes blinking fast behind his lens.

"But that doesn't mean I don't care about her, that doesn't mean I don't want her just as much as you all do—probably even more!" He gestured, shaking his head frantically as he raised the volume of his voice the more he continued his speech.

"I want to be close to her, I want her to be mine, I want her to..." His voice died down, closing his eyes before opening them again, "to feel for me like I do for her." Mark confessed in a hushed tone.

The words escaped from him faster than he could think of them. "I like her." He admitted, the complicated feelings that he had dealt with for so long surfacing brightly without being pushed down into the void of denial.

It was like a wave of clarity washed over him, crashing down on him so unexpectedly.

The first time he saw you, intense feelings bubbled up in him that he never experienced before. It only became worse the more he saw you, being consumed with the feelings that overtook his thoughts.

Mark Grayson began secretly begging the world to let him hear that you're out there so he can chase after you—the light at the end of the tunnel that only shows itself every once in a while.

Whenever he was with you, it was like his whole body was alive. He never felt like he ever truly lived before meeting you, each part of him waking up as soon as your presence basked his soul and body like sunlight.

It didn't make sense, there was no rhyme or reason why he felt this way. It was so wrong, but so endearingly right.

It felt so right just to be near you, look at you with so much affection and adoration that it was unmeasurable.

He drowned in thoughts about you that hijacked his mental space, each nook and cranny of his mind tied to you somehow. Each time he resisted and pulled away; he rushed back in with a tighter grip than before.

This pull never happened with Amber, his first girlfriend and the first person he'd ever been intimate with. As well as confess his superhero identity.

He liked her—loved her, cared for her and had feelings for her, but it wasn't the same. She just wasn't you.

Amber didn’t make him feel like his whole life purpose was fulfilled by just watching you do whatever, tracking your movements like he was writing them down in the folds of his brain. The physical contact he received from you, mostly violently, didn’t cause his body to soak up each centimeter of it like it was starved for it.

That subconsciously seeped into their relationship. He put so many things above Amber, missing so many places that she wanted him to be present because he was her boyfriend. He put their relationship on pause countless times to be a superhero, saving the world and saving lives—it was hard to drop it for her.

Though it came easy when it was for you, not for Amber.

Then there was Eve. She was a great person, helping Mark to understand what it truly was to be a superhero. She was there by his side and understood the hardships that the world relentlessly threw at him, giving him an open shoulder to talk about his problems.

It made sense their natural friendship blended into something more. She pulled him in—but not in the same way.

Eve didn't compare to you, not even close. Mark wanted her to, grounding himself and swallowing down this claim that she was the one—his girlfriend, his everything, his.

Everything else came secondary when it came to Eve. That was until he heard you were out there again instead of safely locked away, and suddenly it became easy to leave Eve behind when he was so adamant about staying with her.

He was so immersed in so many things and with Eve that when you were in that cell made by the G.D.A, his mind didn't wander to you so frequently anymore.

Mark didn't have to worry about the next time he'll see you again, always constantly on his feet ready to fly over to you.

Mark didn't have to worry about whether the last time he saw you was the final one, paranoid that you'll suddenly disappear without a trace, the chance to earn a mutual connection with you completely gone.

Mark didn't have to worry because he knew where you were and knew you were okay, safe, alive, and waiting. When things slowed down, he planned to visit you and show you that it was okay to give him a chance.

He wanted—no, he needed to earn your trust, earn your interest. That he could change your mind about rejecting him, even if it meant being a broken record that was on repeat.

Since, in truth, he wanted you to be his from the start.

It was unreasonable, illogical, but it felt more right than wrong. It was stupid, fucking pathetic even just like how Cecil said—but Mark couldn't help it. He tried to deny it for so long, but he couldn't anymore. It was impossible to.

It was love at first sight with you, and he wasn't going to let you get taken away. Mark wanted you to be his, and he'd push everything and everyone aside to get that opportunity.

He raised his voice again, stern and firm. "And I'm not going to let any of you take her just because you all failed at your chance. You don't get to have do overs with my (Y/N)."

"Aw, cute!" Mohawk mocked, lifting a hand to form a mouth puppet. "Practiced that speech of yours with good ol' buddy right hand?" He let out a forced coo, turning his mouth puppet into a circle—going up and down in a slow motion.

That earned a hearty chuckle from Sinister, but not Viltrum or Omni. It also didn't get a peep out of Mask either, not a single word coming from the masked Invincible variant.

"You almost sound as corny as—" He whipped his head around, searching for Mask who seemed to be not present. His mischievous grin dropped, and the others followed suit in looking around to spot the missing variant.

There were supposed to be five among them, yet there were only four. The yellow and black variant's relaxed posture disappeared as soon as the absence of one of them was brought to his attention, spinning around to confirm that the other's presence was truly not there.

"Jesus, where the fuck is the other one." Sinister growled, snapping his head to the direction of your body. He zoomed past, the others lagging behind to search for your unconscious body.

Mark drifted behind, his heart leaping to his throat.

The place where you were supposed to be—empty. Dried blood and the broken metal fragments of the collar were the only things there, greeting their eyes.

It didn't take a genius to piece together what happened, and it enraged Sinister how foolishly easy it was to sneak off with you.

Sinister fists clenched, screeching at the top of his lungs at a random direction. "You're dead!" His growly voice carried out, dragging his words across the distance.

Viltrum's hand grabbed a hold of the end of Omni's cape, draping it over his neck and pulling it towards him tightly. "Where did he take her." He spat out, eyes darkening as he tugged at the red cape he was using to strangle the variant.

Omni had quickly dug his fingers in between the space of the cape and neck, ensuring that he wouldn't be asphyxiated. "Your guess is as good as mine." He grunted, bringing his head forward before swinging it backwards—smacking Viltrum's face.

The white uniformed variant let go of his hold, and Omni-Mark whipped around to punch him in the chest, knocking him a few inches away.

"There goes the 'alliance!' Not that it was going to last long anyway. Ugh! He could be anywhere in this shithole." Mohawk grumbled; displeasure written on his face with how a deep frown embedded itself on his lips.

Suddenly, all the variants had something thrown at them, pushing them to the ground. A large wall from the collapsed building nearby was on top of them, the heavy weight grounding and crushing them.

Mark floated above them, having gone and grabbed a fallen chunk of a structure to pin them down. It wasn't going to delay them by much, but it gave him a running head start.

Each second counted to go searching for you and find the Invincible variant that stole you from right under his nose.

He propelled himself forward, flying in a random direction. His hair was pushed back as the wind howled against him; his forehead furrowed. Mark brought his hand to his ear, holding the earpiece that Cecil had given him.

"Donald? Donald are you there?" He asked while looking down, flying above structures. The city had been bulldozed by his evil counterparts, making it look more like a salvage yard rather than an international hub.

"-Uh, yes. I've—I've been here the entire time." Donald jumped, clearing his throat. He was surprised at being suddenly addressed, having been silent this entire time.

He had been observing safely at headquarters, watching through the screen. While the cameras themselves didn't have audio, Mark, having an earpiece, allowed him to finally listen to something.

Donald had been overhearing this entire time, and he had begun to think that the superhero had forgotten he was there. He felt out of place, and he couldn’t possibly interrupt him to remind Mark of his presence. He was saying vulnerable things that seemed rude to cutoff.

"Can you try and find (Y/N)?" Mark queried, scanning the streets below him for any sign of you.

He could care less that Donald may have overheard everything he said—it didn't matter. The time was ticking, and he was not going to leave you alone with your kidnapper nor let some other Invincible find you first.

"Mark I-" Donald shook his head, beginning to speak before being brashly interrupted.

"I don't give a shit what you have to say Donald! Just tell me if you can try and find her or not!" He snapped, his question shifting more into a demand.

Each letter of his words was as sharp as a blade, coming out of the blue which shocked the older man.

A static silence overcame the intercom, and Mark back tracked on his words. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh. "I'm—I'm sorry Donald that's not what I meant. I didn't mean to-" He sucked in an unleveled breath, "Can you try and find her? Please?"

"... Sure thing, Mark."

You hissed, pulling your hand out of the esophagus that you had forcefully slid your hand into. You ripped the tube out, throwing it aside as the Invincible variant fell on his knees—clawing at the gaping hole in his neck.

The blood gushed out like a geyser as you took a step back, your chest rising and releasing a huff.

Your hair was a mess, tangled and mangled together from fighting the Invincible variants that tried their hardest to take you down and submit to them. They were relentless, and you were grateful that Mask mitigated the fight—doing his part and killing two eviler versions of himself.

You looked over to Mask, the variant lunging a rusty metal bar that he got from a hanging sign inside the chest cavity of his opponent. It hit straight to his pumping heart, a gritted gasp escaping their throat before the light in their eyes disappeared.

Small muscle memory jerks remained, but it died down as Mask dug the metal bar harder—twisting it for good measure. He then pulled it out effortlessly, a string of thick blood and cartilage following as he threw it aside.

Comparing yourself to him, you probably looked like absolute shit. There was hardly any blood on him, the only liquid there being was the dried coffee stain and the damp areas of his suit from the fire hydrant.

You, on the other hand, were covered in sticky blood. Your neck was painted in a deep shade of red, it dripped down from your neck to the collar of your prison uniform. It looked like a badly botched tie dye job, minus the metallic smell that made your skin crawl.

The tips of your hair were dipped in the liquid of death as well, the affected hair forming clumps at the end and hardening.

You hated killing—not because of a moral compass, merely because of the smell that made your stomach feel absolutely sick. You could never avoid making a huge mess, so your face was always met with the waft of blood exposed to oxygen.

You breathed heavily as you blinked to look around. All four variants who tried to jump you and Mask were dead, the one you just killed on the ground—the blood gushing out of his throat formed a puddle.

You swallowed, putting your hands on your knees to catch a breath. The odor of blood seeped into your nostrils, and you gagged as your stomach was not taking too kindly to that smell. It felt like you were going to throw up with how it twisted and swished.

“Do you feel sick?” Mask softly asked, hopping off the variant he had just shoved a rod through their chest.

He surveyed the slaughter you both caused, mentally noting the splattered blood along the concrete. “It’s because of the blood, isn’t it?”

You gagged once again, bringing a hand to pinch the tip of your nose. “Kind of.” You replied bluntly, not elaborating more on it.

“The odor I’m guessing?” He continued, and you gave him a funny glance. Mask rushed to explain, “In my world, you also hated the smell of blood. It always made you feel nauseous—I got good at not getting too much on me because of that." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ding ding ding." You clapped lazily. "Never been a fan of it. It makes me want to projectile vomit everywhere."

"You did one time. It was on me though." He joked, but not really. It did actually happen when he rushed to the hospital after a fight because he promised to visit you at a specific time.

Mask had forgotten to change out of his blood-soaked suit with how panicked he was to arrive on time. The moment he appeared by your side from entering the window, the metallic smell hit your nose, and you puked all over him without sparing a second to register to face somewhere else.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mask's words echoed in your mind, and you mentally rolled your eyes at the reminder. The only reason why he wanted to stick around was because he wanted to project the variant version of you onto you—all of the variants did.

It was annoying. However, with how more docile and suppressed he was compared to the others, you had the chance to break this illusion of his. It wasn't the first time you've successfully pushed someone away.

You bit your tongue, feeling a dry laugh threatening to escape. "Guess all I did there was be sick and puke on you. Very romantic." You sarcastically responded, looking over to see how the masked variant would react to what you're going to say. "With how weak she was, she should've died sooner."

"..."

"Honestly, she managed to pull the short stick of our childhood." You bitterly mentioned, a small flashback to your childhood played in your mind. "If whatever illness I had didn't take me immediately, I would’ve just done it myself. That would've been the best option."

"..."

"Not only was she weak, but she was also stupid too apparently." You added, continuing to watch how he'd react to your words. His eyes were boring into yours, and you didn't peel away from them as you simply glared.

You were ready to dodge anything he threw at you or came at you with, expectantly waiting to move your legs to dodge an incoming fist.

A second passed, then another, then another.

“... Haha!” He suddenly burst into a small fit of giggles, raising a hand to cover his mouth. Startled, you flinched, your eyes turning wide at this unexpected reaction. You couldn’t gauge if this was some kind of ploy to catch you off guard so he can hit you by surprise, but the more he laughed the more confused you got.

“Is something wrong with you?” You asked annoyed, not understanding why he was laughing. His giggles were dying down, and he brought his hand back down to his side. “You found that funny?” He shook his head frantically, taking a few steps towards you.

“No, no. I just—even though your different from my world you’re still the same.”

You scoffed, taking his statement as a lie. “Bullshit.”

“No, you are! When we first met,” Mask took your hand, cupping it into his. You jumped, but didn’t pull away as you were curious to what he had to say. “You said something so similar about yourself. Looking back on it, you were trying to drive me away.”

He sighed, “You thought that if you pushed out all the worst traits of yourself, no one would want to stick around.” he said in a low voice, almost recalling it in a fond. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.

The smooth texture of his gloves sent goosebumps down your spine, causing you to tense. I’m not listening to this. You thought, but his gaze held your body firmly into place, like a nail driven in wood.

"You were wrong, though," he whispered. "It just made me stay longer."

Your breath hitched, your heart squeezing at those words.

You yanked your hand back instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs in an uneven rhythm. "Don't say shit like that," you snapped, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "You don't know me."

“I do.”

“No, you don’t!” You screamed, shaking your head. You stepped away from him, needing the distance like air in your lungs, "I'm not the same as her, I’m different," you muttered, your voice quieter, heavier now. "I'm stronger, I’m powerful—I’m worse."

He tilted his head, the smile slipping away from his face, replaced by something that looked almost like sadness. Not that you could tell with the mask that covered it, but his eyes expressed it. "Maybe you are," he agreed after a moment. "But I’m happy to learn.”

Shut up.

“I love each part of you, even the worse ones."

You stood there frozen, caught between cursing at him and lunging at him—but you did neither. You just stared at him, words caught in your throat and your hands flexing not knowing what to do.

Finally, you turned on your heel, going to the direction of the nearest hideout you owned. “Come on, we need to go.” You called out, walking without checking to see if he was following.

“We?” He repeated, hope filled in his voice as he quickly trailed behind you. Not bringing attention to the fact you dismissed everything he had just said, not bothered by it.

“Don’t misunderstand anything! This is momentary. I’m tired, exhausted, and clearly can’t think straight with how I’m even letting you tag along!” You grumbled; eyes stuck stared ahead. “You’re protecting me from whatever lunatic of an Invincible we come across.”

“I—”

“And don’t talk.” You whipped around, causing him to halt in his steps. “It lessens the chances of you saying stupid crap,” you hissed, referencing his whole cringe speech, “oh and, ten steps back when you’re walking with me—I don’t want you humping my leg.”

“Got it!” He happily chirped, overjoyed just to see you were allowing him to be with you without telling him to fuck off.

“Ughhh, shut up!” You swiveled back around, walking in a faster pace than before. You heard him begin walking at the distance you commanded him to follow, and you dug your nails in the palm of your hand.

This was stupid—you were going back on your word about how bad it was to spend one more second with this variant, yet here you were letting him follow you to your hideout. You wanted to pull your hair out with how you should be telling him to screw himself and to get lost, but you bit your tongue as you merely continued strolling.

Even worse, your cheeks were a tad warm. You hated what he said seemed to affect you. You tried to ignore how your heart was softly rattling against your chest, taking deep inhales and exhales to calm it.

Maybe the forced proximity of being near crazy variants were beginning to rub off their lunacy onto you, making your headspace cloudy.

At least it was only down to one.

An Invincible was standing on the roof of a building, peering down the alleyway that you and Mask were walking in.

He wore an exact replica of this world’s Invincible suit; the one small difference was the fact his gloves were blue at the end of his knuckles. The male also didn’t have the mask on, blood scattered on his face and chest.

His eyes were downcast, his hand over the other, holding it as he stared at you.

It was a way to self-soothe himself, no longer having his favorite person in the whole world to hold his hand anymore. His heart ached at that, breaking more than it already was.

His eyes burned thinking back on how his partner was forever gone—he’ll never see that handsome face ever again, the witty personality, and the easygoing jokes that always made him feel better.

The Invincible would’ve started crying if he hadn’t already squeezed out each tear already. He didn’t think he’d be able to produce any more with how hollow he felt, completely dried out.

He continued to watch intently, having witnessed the brutality you caused minutes prior. He didn’t mean to come across the scene, having been just wandering around aimlessly after doing the orders that Angstrom had instructed him and many others to do.

The variant had stayed silent, watching from a safe distance. He hadn’t expected to find you here, but he supposed it made sense.

The Invincible had been preoccupied thinking about his special one that his mind didn’t think to remind him about you until now.

You were special too. A good, dear friend. You were the second person to truly understand him and be by his side through everything. Accepting who he was and supporting him.

Guilt and grief swelled in his chest as he found himself hovering to you just a few feet away. You were completely unaware of the presence that was stalking you as you silently fumed at the predicament you were in.

Finding you made the emotional weariness drag him down further, like weights were placed upon his chest.

Seeing you made him think of—

“... I miss William...” He croaked out, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used for such a long time. He whispered out the name William like it was something sacred, holding the name of his dead lover with so much tenderness.

William was his boyfriend and his first best friend, the person he cared so deeply about more than himself.

You were his second best friend, the only other person in his life that he relied on. The three of you were a great trio that protected each other, being brought together by the wonderous work of his late boyfriend.

You died while trying to protect Wiliam, Nolan determined to kill the boy Mark was in love with—saying that having a big of a distraction as William would only hinder him from doing what his life’s purpose was.

There was only so much that you can do against a viltrumite while having the capabilities of being human. You were completely butchered, the overkill that Nolan did was unfathomable. William’s death was less severe, you stood between him and the painful ending he would’ve originally received.

He lost the two most important people in his life that day, dying next to each other.

All three of you promised to be together in the future, live in the same neighborhood so that every day whenever you and William wanted, you’ll all get together and hangout. Him and William would live in a cozy house just for the two of him, and you would be the next-door neighbor with the key to let yourself in anytime.

That’s what you three had promised—before Nolan ripped and tore that promise apart like it meant nothing.

Maskless Mark eyes shifted to the variant that had his face completely covered, squinting his eyes. He was too late to protect you and William, but he wasn’t going to repeat that same mistake with this dimension’s version of you.

William would’ve wanted him to protect you too��protect you from a stranger. He could practically hear his boyfriend’s nagging voice on how he shouldn’t leave (Y/N) alone with a guy, talking about how creeps would take any opportunity to snatch you away simply because you were a beautiful girl.

He would say that you didn’t have the privilege like him and Mark did to just wander around because of the absence of a dick in your pants.

His body was suddenly energized, pacing closer behind you both above the tall buildings. For the first time since the death of you and William, he felt something other than sadness and grief. He felt happy.

It was... nice to be reunited with a friend.

yawns me when I have to write plot progression🥱🥱

I blinked and suddenly two weeks passed 💀 I ain’t going to get into this habit trust 🤞🏽

UHH BUT BEING FR I LOST TRACK OF TIME MY BAD YALL… feel embarrassed LOL posting this with my eyes closed idc 💔

anyway we ALL CRACKING WILLIAM

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16bruises · 2 years ago

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and people say women don’t have hobbies 🙄

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 3 months ago

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Misunderstandings | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

@preeyas-world my humble offering as per your request!

Words: ~4,600

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance, Happy Ending

The first time you noticed it, you told yourself it was nothing.

Sebastian had always been the kind of person people were drawn to—charming, quick-witted, impossible to ignore. He had friends beyond your shared circle, people he spent time with when you weren’t around. That was fine. Healthy, even. You weren’t the type to demand his attention every waking moment, nor did you want to be.

But then there was Lillian Thornton.

At first, it was small things. A glance across the Great Hall, a study session in the library. You hadn’t thought much of it. Sebastian was friendly, and Lillian was in your year—Slytherin, well-bred, elegant in the way you weren’t. She carried herself with effortless grace, always dressed in pristine, perfectly pressed robes, always speaking in that refined, poised tone that made people listen.

You had no reason to feel threatened.

But then it became more.

It started with the little things. The moments where he was late to meet you outside class because he had gotten caught up talking to her. The times he promised he’d help you with an essay but got sidetracked and never showed up. The way his eyes lingered on her when she spoke, as if he were truly listening, when lately, he barely seemed to hear you.

At first, you tried to be rational.

Sebastian was just being himself—helpful, charismatic. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. You were overthinking.

So you brushed it off.

You ignored the slight sting when he laughed at something she said across the common room but barely reacted when you told him a story. You forced yourself to smile when he mentioned her in passing, pretended it didn’t bother you that her name kept slipping into conversations more and more. You reminded yourself that he was yours. That he loved you.

Sebastian was still affectionate. He still kissed you before class, still let his fingers skim over yours under the table at meals. He still called you love in that warm, effortless way.

But something had changed.

He was distracted.

It was in the way his attention drifted when you spoke, like he was only half-listening. In the way he was always one step behind—laughing at a joke a second too late, responding to questions with absentminded nods, forgetting things he never would have forgotten before.

You had tried to be rational. You had tried to trust him.

But doubt, once planted, was a treacherous thing.

The moment it all unraveled, you hadn’t even meant to find them.

It had been a long day. You had been tired, drained, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you. All you had wanted was to grab a book from the library and go back to the common room. That was all.

But then you saw them.

Tucked away in a secluded corner, books spread between them, heads close together as they whispered. Lillian was laughing, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned in. And Sebastian—Sebastian was smiling.

Not the polite, casual smile he gave acquaintances. The real kind. The kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes, the kind he used to reserve for you.

And then she touched his arm.

It was subtle. Barely anything at all. Just a hand resting lightly on his sleeve, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric. But what shattered you was that he didn’t move away.

You felt something crack inside you.

It wasn’t anger that hit you first—it was nausea. A hollow, gut-wrenching feeling that made it hard to breathe.

Because this—this was the moment you had been dreading. The moment your worst fears solidified into something real.

Sebastian was slipping away from you, and he didn’t even notice.

So, without a sound, you turned and left.

By the time you made it outside, the lump in your throat had tightened into something unbearable. Your legs carried you on instinct, leading you away from the castle, away from the suffocating weight pressing down on your chest.

It wasn’t until you passed a group of Ravenclaws in the courtyard hat you realized you were crying.

You could feel it now, the hot, silent tears slipping down your cheeks. The way your breath hitched every time you tried to swallow down the ache in your throat. The Ravenclaws exchanged glances as you passed, murmuring in hushed voices. One of them—a younger girl, maybe a third-year—looked at you with wide, uncertain eyes, like she wasn’t sure if she should say something.

But you didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them whisper.

Nothing they said could hurt more than this.

The lake was ahead, the water stretching out into the dark horizon, reflecting the scattered stars above. It was quiet here, far from the hum of conversation and laughter that still lingered in the castle.

This had always been your place. Your safe haven.

You sank down onto the cool earth beneath your usual tree, curling in on yourself as the weight of it all crashed over you.

It should have been such a small thing. Just a smile. A simple moment between two people studying together. Something you wouldn’t have thought twice about a few months ago. Something that shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

Because it wasn’t just about the smiling.

It was every small thing, every moment, every hesitation, every inch of distance that had crept in between you and Sebastian over the last few months, piling up until you collapsed under the weight of them.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them as you stared out at the lake, watching the way the dark water rippled in the moonlight. The ache in your chest grew heavier with every thought that surfaced, memories stacking on top of each other, twisting into something painful.

Hadn’t things been different before? Hadn’t he been different before?

You tried to pinpoint the moment things had changed, but there wasn’t one moment—it was a slow unraveling, a series of little shifts so gradual you hadn’t noticed until now.

Like how you hadn’t been together as much lately. Not in the ways you used to be.

Sebastian had always been touchy—always slipping an arm around your shoulders, pressing absentminded kisses to the side of your head, tugging you into his lap when you were studying together in the Undercroft. he had never been able to keep his hands off of you when you were alone.

But now? Now he was too tired, too distracted, always promising later—but later never seemed to come.

And you had ignored it. You had convinced yourself it was just stress, that seventh year was demanding for both of you, that maybe you were reading too much into it. But now, as you sat by the lake, those thoughts turned into something worse.

What if it wasn’t stress at all? What if he had stopped touching you because he was touching her instead?

A shudder wracked through you, a bitter, sick feeling creeping into your stomach.

How many times had he been late to meet you for studying? For Hogsmeade trips? For dates he promised he wouldn’t forget? How many times had he made an excuse—something about Ominis, or a professor keeping him after class, or an essay he had forgotten about?

Was that all it had been? Or had he been sneaking off with her instead? Had he kissed her? Touched her? Had he pressed her against the walls of a hidden corridor, tangled his hands in her perfect curls the way he used to with you? Had he whispered the same things into her ear, the ones that used to send shivers down your spine?

The thought sent a sharp, breathless pain through your ribs, like something inside you had cracked clean through.

You had always trusted Sebastian.

Had loved him, wholly and completely, even when he made mistakes, even when he was reckless and impossible and difficult. You had always believed in him.

But now you weren’t so sure.

The thought alone made your chest cave in on itself. This was Sebastian. The boy who had sworn he’d do anything to keep you safe. The boy who used to hold you close as if he was afraid you’d disappear. The boy you loved. Trusted.

But that trust had cracks in it now, fragile and splintering under the weight of doubt.

You swallowed thickly, willing yourself to stop the spiral. To just breathe. But your thoughts wouldn’t let up, tearing through you like an open wound.

And then—

"There you are."

Sebastian’s voice cut through the quiet, and your entire body locked up. Your breath caught in your throat as you lifted your head, your heart lurching painfully.

He stood a few feet away, his brows drawn together in concern, his cloak slightly askew as if he’d rushed here. The dim glow of the moonlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his features—the sharpness of his jaw, the tension in his expression.

Sebastian took a step closer, breath slightly uneven. "I—uh—I ran into Samantha Dale. She said you looked upset, and then you weren’t in the common room, so—"

He cut himself off mid-sentence, his expression shifting as his gaze landed on your face.

His whole body tensed.

"Shit—are you crying?"

The words came out rough, raw. Almost panicked. And before you could react, he was moving toward you, closing the distance between you with quick, determined strides.

"Hey, hey—what’s wrong? Talk to me, love." His voice softened as he reached for you, hands outstretched like he was about to gather you into his arms. "Come here—"

"Stay away."

Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it stopped him dead, his hands hovering in the space between you, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

You swallowed hard, shifting back against the tree, every inch of you suddenly aching with exhaustion. "Just… don’t touch me."

A flicker of hurt crossed his face, barely concealed beneath the confusion. His mouth opened slightly, like he was going to argue, but then he really looked at you. At the tear tracks staining your cheeks. The way you were curled in on yourself, arms wrapped around your legs like you were trying to keep yourself from unraveling completely.

Something in his expression shifted. Slowly, he lowered his hands. "Did… did I do something?"

You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. "I don’t know, Sebastian." You met his gaze then, voice shaking. "Did you?"

His face paled slightly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You exhaled shakily, looking back at the lake. The reflection of the stars blurred in the water, their edges rippling as a cold breeze drifted through.

"I don’t want to do this right now," you murmured, voice strained.

Sebastian hesitated, and for a brief second, you thought he might listen, but then he stepped closer again. "No. I think we need to."

You closed your eyes, swallowing the fresh wave of emotion rising in your throat. And then, in a quiet, broken voice, you asked, "Are you in love with her?"

The question hung in the air, heavier than the weight on your chest.

Sebastian’s breath caught, his entire body going rigid. "What?"

You turned to look at him, your vision blurred with tears. "Lillian." You exhaled shakily. "Are you in love with her?"

Sebastian’s face twisted into something like horror. "What the hell are you talking about?"

You laughed then, a short, bitter sound. "I saw you with her in the library, Sebastian."

He blinked, caught completely off guard. "That’s what this is about? We were studying—"

"Oh, studying?" You cut him off, voice thick with hurt. "Is that what you were doing when she touched you? When you smiled at her like that?"

Sebastian’s mouth opened, then closed again.

His silence was enough.

You let out a shaky breath, looking away. "I should have known."

"No— Sebastian stepped forward quickly, desperation lacing his voice. "No, love, it’s not like that. It’s not—"

"Then what is it like, Sebastian?" You turned back to him, your voice breaking. "Because I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you’ve been pulling away, why you don’t see me anymore, why I feel like I have to fight just to be something important to you."

Sebastian shook his head, exhaling sharply as he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t—I don’t even know where this is coming from.”

You let out a breathless laugh, bitter and disbelieving. “You don’t know?”

His eyes flickered, hesitating. “We were just—”

“Studying, yeah, I heard you the first time.” You inhaled shakily. “That’s not the point, Sebastian. This isn’t just about what I saw tonight. This is about months of you pulling away.”

Sebastian opened his mouth, but you weren’t finished.

“At first, it was small things,” you continued, your voice thick with emotion. “You forgot my Quidditch match. No big deal, right? But then you started forgetting other things. Like our Hogsmeade plans. Like the fact that Thursdays are the one night I don’t study in the library. Like how I hate chamomile tea, and you’ve been handing me a cup of it every single morning without even thinking.”

Sebastian flinched, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to protest—but he didn’t.

“You used to see me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Now I feel like I have to fight just to be something important to you.”

Sebastian’s face twisted, his jaw clenching. “That’s not true.”

"Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?"

Sebastian flinched. "You're not! I—I love you."

"Really? Because you don’t look at me the way you used to." Your voice cracked, but you pushed through. "You used to—Merlin, Sebastian, you used to look at me like I was the only person in the room. And now?" You shook your head, eyes burning. "Now, I see that look when you’re with her."

Sebastian’s expression twisted in terror. "That’s not—"

You inhaled shakily, forcing yourself to keep going, even as it hurt. "You used to want me, Sebastian." The words felt raw, scraped straight from the depths of your chest. "And now, we hardly ever have sex anymore. We hardly touch anymore."

Sebastian looked like you had just ripped the air straight from his lungs. "That’s not—I do want you." His voice broke slightly at the end, panicked, desperate.

You shook your head, swallowing hard. "Then why do you hesitate now?"

Sebastian’s hands clenched at his sides. "I don’t—"

"You do." Your breath hitched. "Every time we’re alone, every time I reach for you, you pull away just a little bit. I feel it." You let out a sharp breath, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. "And yet with her, you never pull away."

Sebastian went rigid, his dark eyes flashing with something sharp, something defensive.

"That’s not—"

"Don’t lie." Your voice cracked, but you didn’t back down. "I see it. Everyone sees it. She touches you, and you let her. She leans in too close, and you don’t move away. She looks at you like you belong to her, and you—" Your throat tightened. "And you just let her."

Sebastian’s entire body went rigid.

You inhaled sharply, wiping at your eyes, even though the tears kept coming. "I trusted you, Sebastian." Your voice trembled, but you held his gaze. "I told myself over and over that I was imagining things. That I was being paranoid. That you loved me, and that was enough." You swallowed hard. "But love isn’t supposed to feel like this."

Sebastian’s face crumpled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I do love you."

"Then why does it feel like I have to compete for you?" You shook your head, voice breaking. "You used to tell me everything. Now I don’t even know where you are half the time. I used to be the person you looked for in a crowded room, and now—" A broken breath left your lips. "Now, I feel like a ghost to you."

Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath, his face twisting into something like shock, like you had just reached inside his chest and torn something out with your bare hands.

"That’s not—" He stopped, his voice catching, and before you could stop him, he surged forward, hands cupping your face with a desperation that made your chest cave in on itself.

"You listen to me right now." His voice was rough, unsteady, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, catching on the remnants of your tears. "I have never stopped wanting you. Never."

You inhaled sharply, your hands coming up to grip his wrists, but you didn’t pull him away.

His breath was uneven, warm against your skin. "I love you. I love you so fucking much, and I—" He shut his eyes for a moment, exhaling shakily. "I didn’t realize I was making you feel like this. I swear to you, I didn’t."

Sebastian’s hands trembled against your skin, his breath uneven as he held your face between his palms. His dark eyes were frantic, pleading, like he could hold everything together if he just held on tightly enough.

Because this wasn’t like the petty fights you had before. This wasn’t something he could just charm his way out of with a teasing smirk and a stolen kiss. This was you, looking at him like you didn’t recognize him anymore.

You swallowed, hating how small your voice sounded. "Why are we even together when it's obvious you'd rather be with her?"

Sebastian was panicking.

You saw it in the way his lips parted like he was gasping for air, in the way his hands trembled as they held your face, in the wide, frantic look in his eyes like he was watching something he loved slip through his fingers. And thhen his knees buckled, and he fell.

Fell hard.

He was on the ground before you could react, his breath ragged, his shoulders shaking. "No—no, please, love, don’t say that." His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Don’t—don’t tell me this is it. You’re not—" His breath hitched, his grip on you tightening just slightly. "You’re not breaking up with me, are you?"

You exhaled shakily, overwhelmed, aching, your mind screaming at you to step away before this hurt even more. Sebastian didn’t let you.

"Please," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I love you. I love you so fucking much, and I am infinitely sorry for ever making you feel like I didn’t." His forehead dropped against yours, his entire body trembling. "I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me. I swear to you, I will."

Your throat tightened, your hands hovering over his wrists. "Sebastian…"

His grip on you was desperate. "I should have told you sooner. I should have never let it get this far."

Your body went rigid. "Told me what sooner?"

Sebastian pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his own glassy with unshed tears. "God, love, it's... you’ve got it all wrong," he breathed, shaking his head. "I understand how it looked buut you have to believe me when I say—this isn’t what you think."

Your throat tightened. "Then explain to me what the hell this is, Sebastian. Because it looks pretty fucking clear to me."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, like he was bracing himself. Then—

"Lillian is in love with Anne."

The words hit you like a freight train. You blinked, staring at him, your mind struggling to process what he had just said. "What?"

Sebastian swallowed, nodding, his voice quieter now, but still urgent. "She’s in love with Anne. She has been for years. And Anne—" He took a shaky breath. "Anne… she likes women, too."

You stiffened.

Sebastian’s hands dropped from your face to your shoulders, his fingers tightening just slightly, grounding you. "You know what the world is like, love." His voice was barely above a whisper now. "You know how people see that, how dangerous it is for her."

Your chest tightened. "Sebastian—"

"Lillian wanted to know everything about Anne—what she liked, what made her smile, what made her laugh. She wanted to be sure before she risked everything by telling her." He let out a heavy breath. "I was helping her figure out how to do it. That’s all. That’s all it ever was and ever has been."

You stared at him, your mind reeling. Suddenly, every touch, every whispered conversation, every lingering glance between Sebastian and Lillian took on a completely different meaning.

She hadn’t been flirting with him, she had been leaning on him. The looks weren’t full of romantic affection—they were full of trust.

The physical closeness, the secret meetings, the time spent together—it wasn’t about Sebastian at all. It was about Anne.

Sebastian swallowed hard. "That’s why I spent so much time with her. That’s why we got close." He looked at you, pleading, begging you to believe him. "She... she makes me feel closer to Anne." His voice broke. "She reminds me of her."

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You had spent months drowning in doubt, in fear, in heartbreak—when all along, the truth had been something you never could have guessed.

Your fingers curled into his cloak, gripping the fabric tightly, trying to ground yourself.

"You're not fucking with me are you?"

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his dark eyes wide, desperate, full of something too raw to be anything but real.

"No," he said, shaking his head fervently. "God, no. I would never—I could never lie to you about this."

The sincerity in his voice, in his expression, in the way his hands clutched at your shoulders like he was terrified you might disappear—it was real.

But you were still trying to wrap your mind around it.

Lillian. Anne. Everything.

Your breath came shakily, the pieces clicking together, reassembling into something that was so painfully obvious now that you had the truth.

Anne, who had never shown much interest in the boys who flirted with her. Anne, who had always held herself at a slight distance in conversations about courtship. Anne, who had never once spoken about wanting a husband.

You had assumed it was grief. That losing her parents, losing her old life, had left her uninterested in romance. But this…

You swallowed thickly, blinking back the emotions rising in your throat.

Sebastian watched you, his entire body tense, waiting, his breath uneven. "I know—I know I should have told you." His voice was hoarse. "But Lillian didn’t want anyone to know. Anne definitely didn’t want anyone to know. She’s been scared, and—"

"I get it," you said softly, the words trembling on your tongue, uneven, but true.

And you did.

Of course, you wished he had told you. Wished he had trusted you enough to let you in, to explain instead of letting you drown in your own worst thoughts. But at the same time, you understood why he hadn't.

It wasn't his secret to tell. He had been protecting Anne. Protecting Lillian. But…

"But still," you murmured, voice thick with emotion. "I just… You let me believe I was losing you." Your voice cracked slightly. "For months, Sebastian. And this still doesn’t entirely explain why you've been so... so distant."

Sebastian flinched, his gaze dropping to the ground.

You exhaled shakily, the weight of it all pressing down on you. "Because even if Lillian wasn’t what I thought, you did pull away. You did stop looking at me the way you used to. You hesitated when I touched you. You forgot me." Your voice broke, and you swallowed down the thick lump rising in your throat. "And that has nothing to do with Lillian or Anne."

Sebastian inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment before dragging his hands through his hair, visibly unraveling in front of you. His chest rose and fell with each unsteady breath, like he was struggling to get the words out.

"I was scared."

You stiffened.

Sebastian let out a rough breath, shaking his head. "Not of you," he rushed to say. "Not of us. But of… of everything after this."

You blinked at him, not understanding. "After what?"

Sebastian exhaled, his jaw tightening. He looked away for a moment, then back at you. His voice was hoarse when he said, "After Hogwarts."

Your stomach twisted.

Sebastian swallowed thickly, his voice raw. "I don’t know what happens next," he admitted. "I don’t know where we go after this—what our lives look like when we leave this place. What if we… drift apart? What if life pulls us in different directions? What if—" He inhaled sharply, his fists clenching like he wanted to punch something. "What if I lose you?"

You felt your breath hitch.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Part of me thought… maybe if I distanced myself now, maybe if I stopped needing you so much, it wouldn’t hurt as badly if we had to say goodbye."

You stared at him, your heart twisting. "Sebastian—"

"I thought I was preparing myself," he murmured.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers twitching at your sides. "You know your logic doesn't make any sense right?"

Sebastian let out a breathless, broken laugh, his face crumpling. "I know."

"And you do realize that pushing me away just made everything worse?"

Sebastian swallowed thickly, nodding. "Yeah, love. I’m painfully aware."

Your chest ached. There was a part of you that still wanted to be angry, still wanted to hold on to the hurt he had caused, but looking at him now—really looking at him—you saw a boy who was just as lost as you had been. Afraid. Unsure. But never unloving.

You let out a slow, unsteady breath. "You can’t do that to me again."

Sebastian’s expression shattered further,

"I won’t," he whispered, his voice raw. "I swear I won’t. I love you more than anything. I'm so sorry."

Your throat tightened, your eyes burning.

Because you believed him.

Not because he was desperate, not because he was begging, but because the way he was looking at you now—like you were everything, like you were the air in his lungs, the only thing tethering him to the world—was the way he had always looked at you before all of this.

The way he should have been looking at you all along.

You exhaled sharply, your emotions still tangled, still raw, but your body had already made its decision before your mind had caught up.

You leaned forward, and Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body going rigid. And then, carefully, cautiously, you lifted your arms and wrapped them around his neck.

At first contact, Sebastian's arms slammed around you, pulling you against him with a desperation that knocked the breath from your lungs. His face buried into your shoulder, his body trembling against yours.

For the first time in months, it felt like home.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you." His voice cracked. "I love you so much, and I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

You swallowed hard, pressing your face into his neck. "Good," you whispered. "Because you’re going to have to."

Sebastian let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through him, his arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let go.

And this time, you knew he wouldn’t.

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mitsua · 3 months ago

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warnings: delusional behavior, love obsession

reader's g/n

➻ Yandere delusional author! who thinks anything he writes will become true someday, even if it's not for him, someone's living the life he's written/is writing about.

➻ Yandere delusional author! who just published a new book about a lovelife initiating at the mountains of his town, all lovey-dovey pouring the love life he wants to live someday.

➻ Yandere delusional author! who'd book a vacation some months later to the mountains without thinking too much into it, since it now was a costume of him to travel there once a year for holidays.

➻ Yandere delusional author! who'd meet you as the new hotel's employee, also seeing your photograph hanging under a plaque that read "best talent".

➻ Yandere delusional author! who relates your introduction as the one he wrote on his latest book of the love interest.

➻ Yandere delusional author! whose hopes would go up to the moon when your attitude and reactions seemed like the ones he put so much effort into writing.

➻ Yandere delusional author! who'd then fall in love completely, believing you're made for each other as his book told.

➻ Yandere delusional author! who'd then create a new twist when he saw you being equally friendly with any customer as you were with him, planning on asking you out after knowing you for barely one week.

➻ Yandere delusional author! whose heart skipped a beat when you shyly agreed to go on the date and immediately started imagining scenarios of how it would go.

➻ Yandere delusional author! who would think you're already a couple when the date's over and you're beaming in happiness under the moonlight.

➹ "𝑾𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒊𝒕, 𝒔𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆".

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angels-of-horror · 6 months ago

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Writing what you think other people want to read over what you want to write will slowly kill your creativity.

Write those self indulgent fics! Write those self-inserts. Write what you find joy in creating—not what you think is an objectively “good” story. If you have fun writing it, it is good. I promise there’s someone out there who will enjoy reading your stories as much as you enjoy writing them.

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bogleech · 8 months ago

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Everyone's favorite manga character!! The guy who tries to grope women and leers at little girls but the protagonist stays friends with him and the narrative evidently considers it more than enough consequences when people just call him a pervert and bop him in the head comedically. What quirky antics that have not completely ruined otherwise good series at all

#in multiple series this guy is also the confirmed author insert???

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mindiemakes · 8 months ago

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Sun carrying time!

(The Lego literally hurt for like 5 seconds)

A doodle to accompany this one

#fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sun #y/n #self insert #fnaf security breach #Sun would be a worrier but wouldn’t wanna show it #so he doesn’t make you worry #he’s just silly like that #he needed permission to leave the daycare so he’s talking to #the person who would authorize that idk #my art

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ilariyalavorowrites · 6 days ago

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Bright Lights

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, post-divorce healing, Pitt Fest is a warning of its own, medical inaccuracies.

Pairings: Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Word count: 2.5k

Universe: The Pitt

Reader gender: Female

Tagged: @questionably-intelligent69 , @dizzybee03 , @virgomillie , @mrsjosephmazzello , @sus-styles , @moonshooter , @hagarsays @that-sarcastic-writer

Part 1/3

Pitt Fest was far from where you had expected to be, with your Rig parked up just behind the Medical Tent that you, Frankie, several other untrained volunteers and additional off-duty health care workers manned in a six hours on then two hours off. This was one of the many such stations dotted around the festival's grounds, yet still, you had ended up at the one closest to the main stage.

Your House, Station 42, had quickly signed up for this opportunity, alongside a few others dotted about the district, when the call went out across the airwaves. Reyes and Smith had been selected, only to pull out at the eleventh hour. This left the spot open; Frankie swiftly volunteered the two of you. She almost tripped over her feet as she darted towards Captain Valentino’s office.

The additional pay bump was definitely a helpful incentive, but Frankie’s overly keen desire to attend in some capacity had won out. At least your day would be wildly different from the standard shift. Your mind would be occupied, forgetting about him for one day. It could be the jumping-off point you needed to finally move forward with your life and let go of any nagging residual feelings. As you checked over the supplies in the back of your Rig one last time, making sure you were full stocked for whatever this day might bring. You relaxed, maybe you would enjoy this after all, as there were allocated slots for you and Frankie to explore, eat and enjoy all of what made up Pitt Fest.

Placing your clipboard down, you climbed out of the back of the Ambulance before slamming the doors shut. “Frankie, all the checks are done,” you called out to your partner.

“Excellent, let’s get this show on the road!” ----------------------------------------------------------------------- 5pm Pitt Fest

The morning flew by in a blink of an eye. You had handed out more than a few dozen water bottles to a fair few people, some more noticeably stoned than others. The first aid that you had delivered had been for minor scrapes, bruises and the most noticeable had been heat exhaustion. Thankfully, they had good friends with the forethought to bring them to the medical tent as soon as they had noticed that they were flagging.

Their patient would recover; they were out of the sun, shaded by the tent, drinking fluids whilst being cooled by one of the portable fans. “I’ve retaken the temp,” Frankie said, as she stepped up beside you. “37.4, looks like they will avoid a trip to the ER this time”

“Hopefully, this will be enough of an experience,” You replied, as that had been you once upon a time. You had been that overconfident, only to later suffer the consequences hours later down the line. There had been a fair few college night outs where your adolescence brain thought it knew best. The hangovers the next morning told a completely different story.

You couldn’t help but silently chuckle at the memories of who you had once been. When you had finally decided on what you wanted to do with the rest of your life, it was then you had needed to grow up. You never once regretted the choice. Helping the injured and the sick was more of a calling than just a job. A few opportunities arose along the way, including one that was abruptly ended. Namely, your failed marriage to one Dr Michael Robinavitch.

The one bright spark that had come out of it was Jake. Your ex-husband’s sort of stepson. Robby and Jake’s mother Janey had never quite made it to the altar, but he was still involved in Jake’s life when the two of you dated what felt like many moons ago. Jake had been a small kid when you first started coming round, yet his devilishly cheeky smile and infectious bubbly nature bowled you over. So when your marriage broke down, it was hard to even consider not having him in your life. It felt wrong to abandon the connection that had built up with both him and his mother.

Janey had become a good friend along the way, ultimately; you had decided that you would keep them in your life. The text messages, phone calls, and weekly lunches continued. You had built a life outside the broken shards of your marriage. They were part of the family you had chosen. You could not help but smile as you thought over the moments that you might have missed if you had chosen to push them away and out of your life. It was one of the few decisions you’d never regret making.

Marrying Michael was another. He had been a bright spark in the sea of countless bad dates. You had been the one to venture across the thin line where friendship and romance met. Yet, he had been the one to silence the whispers, choosing to kiss you publicly in the middle of the department. That sent the gossip train in overdrive as they each took turns not so subtly places bets. Was this a midlife crisis in slow motion unfolding for all the world to see? How serious was it, actually? Was it going to last longer than his last relationship? Or would you grow tired of your older man as he continued to come home a little more broken, a little more given up in the aid of others.

The post-it notes went up with varying predicts but as the days rolled into months and the first anniversary came and went. Soon, the tone started to shift and change. The odds of you walking away from him faded away, leaving room for the possibility of him proposing or you getting pregnant. It was hard not to laugh each time that you walked through the ambulance bay doors as you passed the security office window with the cork board in plain sight.

Frankie and your other colleagues had started their own game, placing bets on what the latest and most ridiculous and wildest speculation would come from this shift. There were a few rotating favourites that were simply produce of individuals have too much time on their hands. Such a wild notion that either you or Michael would invite Dr Jack Abbott to join in your relationship. You had gotten some good laughs from it.

It had never crossed your mind until you had seen that neon yellow post-it, but it was an avenue that would remain unexplored. A few late nights followed some nightmare shifts; drinks flowed and what happened next, well, that you’d never say. That would stay between you, Jack and Robby. This way, no one could weaponize it, or use it as an excuse to uncover why the marriage had failed. Communication lay at the heart of it; both you had been to blame.

As he had steadily closed more of himself off, you had not been quick enough to seize the opportunities to reach him. By the time you had pushed to make him see you, it was too late. Michael Robinavitch had slammed the door firmly shut. There had been no way back.

As you lifted your gaze up, only to find a familiar and welcomed sight mere feet away. “Jake!” You called out before you crossed the short distance, making your way over to where he was hovering at the edge of the tent. Your warm smile deepened, but quickly you remembered that in his latest message, Jake had mentioned that Robby would be with him. Dread bubbled up from within; this was going to be awkward.

A figure strides into place, slipping a hand into Jake’s, beaming from ear to ear; this was not Robby. Long dirty locks framing her soft features; maybe this was the infamous Leah that he had been casually dropping into conversations over the last several weeks. For a few moments, you all stood there in silence, waiting for someone to speak. It was far too hot to be needing your standard issue jacket, which thankfully you’d left in the Ambulance. This wasn’t what you had expected; all that fear at having to try to navigate through small talk with Michael faded away.

How do you know each other?” Leah said, as the breath that you didn’t know you were holding rushed out, leaving space for Jake to jump in. “Yes, this is my mum’s friend,” Jake answered; that was one way to be introduced, better without adding in the Ex-wife label into the mix, over complicating an already complicated situation. It was refreshing to escape being viewed through that broken lens. “This is Leah, my friend…girlfriend” You watched as Leah playfully jabbed at him after he said friend, only to swiftly correct himself.

You smiled, offering a hand out to her. She seemed like a sweet kid, from what you could gather from this brief encounter, but Jake was over the moon, floating on cloud nine as he stood beside her. You could remember when Robby looked you like Jake looked at Leah. With pure affection, joy and contentment just from being together. It warmed your heart to see him happy. Leah didn’t leave you hanging, shaking your hand. Mirroring the sentiment, you responded, “Nice to meet you as well.”

“Oh, so you’re the person Jake always mentions.” You blinked, not expecting that; he talks about you? A warm feeling bubbled up from within. That maternal love that you once you would never embrace, yet Robby had brought that into your life. The opportunity to embark on that journey from the beginning may soon disappear. Not that hadn’t chances that had burnt out before truly beginning; Michael did not know. He had not been by your side then, Jake and Janey had.

You would count on one hand the ones you trusted with that secret. Could the stress from the divorce tipped your body over the edge? Possibly, but you’d never really an answer to what caused the miscarriage. Yet, that was not an avenue you would venture down right here and now.

“All good” Hearing this, a smile spread across your face, the image of the kind young man he’d become filling your mind. You briefly met his gaze, realizing he’d been observing the interaction. Your smile widened, knowing the countless questions racing through Jake’s mind in a split second. You dared to tease him.

“Did you know that Jake wanted to be a paramedic when he was younger, that or an astronaut.” You said in jest, knowing exactly how he would react. “Driving the wee woo and patching up the boo boos” You could see the redness in his cheeks in response to your words. He was trying to play it off, but Leah beat to him to the punch.

“It’s so cool that you have a doctor and paramedic in your life; I bet you get to hear the best stories;” This girl was a gift. The mere mention of Robby brings you back down; Leah was unaware of your connection to her boyfriend’s sort of step dad. Her words were untainted by malicious intent; there was an innocence wrapped around each syllable. A curiosity to know the family that Jake had, both by blood and by choice.

‘Just keep smiling, just keep smiling. Don’t break’ This has been your mantra for far too long, for each moment that his name had arisen in conversation, when remembering the good times and the funny stories where had a starring role. The pain persisted, even a year and a half after your divorce became official. It was almost two years since you had spent more than a few minutes together in the same room.

It had to make a choice, the same one that had you kept you barely held together, by the thinnest of threads as you pulled yourself up and out of your thoughts. It had only been a fraction of a minute, a few seconds at best. Not long enough for anyone to notice that anything was wrong; you had played this hand one too many times; it had become almost like a second nature. A poor excuse for a coping mechanism, but it would do.

“You two should be off enjoying yourselves, not hanging around here unless you need anything?” You gave them a gentle push, hoping they’d go and enjoy themselves. To see, hear, and experience and make memories that they’d look back on fondly. You had been passively glancing around the tent to ensure that you hadn’t missed any new medical emergency, no matter how minor. Nothing had come through, just a few more water bottles had been passed out.

“No, we’re all good. We’re on the way to the main stage,” You nodded, listening. The band that was billed to perform next hadn’t been one that you had heard of. They were an up-and-coming act that Jake had recently discovered. You could hear the excitement as he spoke. “Good, take some water but if you need anything you know where to find me,” You replied as Frankie slid up beside you. “We’ve got a new patient” You nodded, turning back to Jake and Leah.

“I’ll text you later Jake, Leah it was great to meet you” You said before following Frankie over to where the injured patient sat uncomfortably on a plastic chair. You smiled over your shoulder, watching as the two teenagers departed. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------5:45 pm Pitt Fest

Frankie stood on the edge of the tent, ready for her next break. She had let her friend head off first and get something to eat at that one vendor that they both had spotted on their way in. The mouthwatering aroma still lingered in her mind, her stomach growling in response to the mere memory. She was more than ready to explore all that Pitt Fest had to offer up.

Yet the series of loud popping drew Frankie back out of her thoughts; had someone just set off firecrackers this close to the main stage? If so, that was thoughtlessly reckless; there would be burns heading over shortly. Mixing alcohol and anything that even the smallest of explosive was a bad idea. The popping stopped, but bone chilling screams followed, drowning out the pulsating flow of music.

This wasn’t what she had initially concluded as another round of popping, louder and closer than before. It took a few seconds to register what was going on, as her radio sparked into life. Through the crackles of the airway, SHOTS FIRED came through as clear as day. This repeated a few times to make sure that everyone received the message.

‘Fuck,’ Frankie muttered, as she grabbed the nearest first aid kit before rushing off into the panicked crowd. In this moment, she wasn’t thinking of herself, she was thinking about the safety of the public, of her friend who had wandered unknowingly in danger.

This wasn’t how today was meant to go; far from it.

---------------------------- If anyone wishes to tagged in any of the Pitt x Reader content, please reply or message me

#reader insert #angst heavy #angst with a happy ending #the pitt #author ilariya lavoro #the pitt x reader #dr. michael robinavitch #dr robby #dr robby x reader #tw: hurt/comfort #tw: angst #tw: pitt fest

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mazeeelabyrinth · 15 days ago

Text

○●○ Daggers and Kisses ○●○

"And now," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "now, you're going to find out just how much of a monster I can truly be."

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Pairing: Sylus x AFAB!Reader

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Tags: 18+, eventual smut, explicit sexual language, explicit sexual scene, enemies to lovers, dubious consent, dubcon kissing, dubcon blow jobs, nipple play, cunnillingus, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, creampie, bdsm, handcuffs and blinfolds, canon divergence au, ooc?

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Summary:

You are a bounty hunter with a long-standing vendetta against Sylus, the elusive and dangerous leader of the criminal syndicate Onychinus. Years of near-misses and unspoken tension have turned your rivalry into something darker, something charged. When you infiltrate his extravagant birthday gala aboard one of his luxury cruise ships, you're seconds away from finally striking—until everything goes wrong. Drugged and captured, you wake up blindfolded, bound to the bed in his private suite.

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ Word Count: 7.8K

Chapter II: Gilded Cage, Velvet Drapes

♡▪︎♡▪︎♡▪︎♡ A/N: It's supposed to be for Sylus' birthday but I was busy with other fics. Better late than never. And yeah, I'm opening the holy gates of LADS fanfics.

MASTERLIST ☆ AO3 ☆ NAVIGATION ☆ TAG LIST

The ocean outside was velvet-dark, its only shimmer the flicker of moonlight splintered by waves. Above it sailed a behemoth of indulgence—an Onychinus cruise liner, gleaming like a floating city, cloaked in celebration and secrets. Music pulsed from the gala deck like a heartbeat, echoing through the ship’s opulent veins.

It was a decadent affair—gilded ceilings reflecting the glittering chandeliers above, their shimmer cascading like rainfall over a sea of masked guests dressed in silk, diamonds, and ambition. Every surface gleamed. Every laugh held secrets.

And at the heart of it all, like a star in his own gravity field, stood Sylus.

The name itself was almost a sin, tasted like something forbidden. White hair falling carelessly over crimson eyes that could ruin you with a glance. He stood near the grand piano, fingers lazily caressing the rim of a wine glass as he listened to a group of investors trying far too hard to impress him. He was barely listening. He never really had to.

Years of pursuit had led to this moment. And still, your breath hitched.

You had tracked Sylus from the shadowy depths of trading networks to rogue Evol labs, always just a step too late, always outmatched. Your assassination attempts were clever, calculated—but he danced through them like smoke. Mocked you, even.

And the worst part? He never retaliated.

You’d survived only because he’d let you. Like a cat with a mouse it wasn’t quite finished playing with. You didn’t know if it was mercy or mockery, and it clawed at you.

You watched him from a distance, holding a silver tray like it belonged to you. Your disguise was simple: black waistcoat, crisp apron, plain white colombina mask similar to those worn by the other waitstaff; and a name tag that read “Isla”—whoever she was. The real Isla was bound and gagged in a supply closet five decks below—your work.

Makeup skillfully applied to conceal your features—particularly your eyes; which he’d seen enough through the masks you wore during your attempts of wiping Sylus’ existence.

Waitress, your brilliant disguise. Nobody important. Nobody worth looking at twice. A perfect shadow to blend in with the glittering snakes of society that slithered through the gala.

The scent of champagne lingered in the air like deceit dressed in silk. You stepped lightly, shoes silent over imported marble, tray perfectly balanced on your gloved hand. But your eyes never left him.

Sylus.

He was a flame in a room of moths—every eye caught in his orbit, every laugh a little louder when it came from his direction. That white hair, always slightly disheveled like he'd just walked away from a fight he enjoyed. Red eyes half-lidded in amusement, danger coiling beneath the velvet of his voice as he conversed with guests draped in silk and sin.

You hated him. You wanted him… dead.

But tonight was different. This time, you had a plan so foolproof it sang in your blood. A few seconds alone with him and you’d deliver a toxin engineered to mimic a slow-onset neural shutdown. He’d never see it coming.

And yet…

Your hands trembled slightly as you passed by him, just close enough to smell the faint musk of his cologne—clean smoke and cedarwood. His voice reached you, smooth and disarmingly amused.

“Careful,” he said, not even turning. “You almost spilled that champagne.”

Your spine went stiff, though you managed to murmur. “Yes, of course, sir. I apologize.”

The party wore on like a fever dream. Dancers spun in silks. The air was thick with perfume, the tension of contracts being made, broken, and reborn. Sylus vanished from the main floor for only a few minutes—and you followed, pretending to carry a new bottle of Dom Perignon.

The hallway was narrow and dim, the hum of the ship louder here, industrial and alive. You’d made it past the ballroom and into the suites' passageway, heart hammering in your chest, adrenaline slick on your palms. You reached for the blade—

And then:

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” The voice was low, taunting.

Just as you turned around a corner, two men flanked you before you even registered them—sharp suits, cruel eyes, hands like stone. A heavy hand closed around your arm. The tray clattered to the floor, the expensive wine and glasses shattered like fragile illusions. One wordless, the other sneering as he caught your arm. You struck fast, a knee to the gut and elbow to the throat—but you weren’t fast enough.

Before you could draw, the first guard's arm locked around your waist, another hand slamming a linen-dampened cloth over your nose and mouth.

Chloroform. The sickly sweet smell filled your lungs. Panic surged—your pulse raced, your instincts frenzied, your scream muffled.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You woke with the ache of time lost, your limbs heavy with the residue of the sedative. The room was too quiet. Your head throbbed like a war drum as you stirred awake. Lashes fluttering. Breathing shallow. You blinked, only to find blackness still—until you realized the silk blindfold was tight across your eyes. You tried to move—and realized something was wrong.

You were lying on a bed. Silken sheets cradled your body, disheveled, legs tangled in expensive fabric you didn’t recognize. Your wrists were bound—cold metal cuffing them to the upholstered headboard. Your legs were free, but trembling. The clothes you’d worn had been stripped of their weapons, apron gone, hair untucked, the crisp blouse now wrinkled and half-unbuttoned, askew, pulled halfway down your torso. There was no pain, but the disarray was unmistakably deliberate.

And someone was there.

His presence was unmistakable, even with his back turned. Broad shoulders beneath a crisp button up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the crimson lining flickering as he lit a cigarette with quiet fingers. The cherry flare cast shadows on the walls like firelight in hell.

Sylus.

He exhaled slowly, a long stream of smoke curling toward the ceiling like a prayer lost on the wind.

“You know,” he said, voice smooth as obsidian, “I had a bet going. How long would it take before you tried again?” He turned just slightly, enough for the orange glow to paint the side of his jaw.

“Happy fucking birthday,” you rasped, voice hoarse with disbelief and fury.

“You remembered,” he murmured in mock sincerity. “I’m touched.”

The silence that followed was thick, electric, buzzing with tension. Your heart thundered beneath your ribs. The cold thrill that swept through your veins wasn’t fear.

Not exactly.

“You gonna kill me?” you asked.

Sylus chuckled—low, indulgent. He flicked ash into a crystal tray and stepped closer. The room felt suddenly too warm as you listened to the faint rustling caused by his movements.

“Kill you?” he repeated. “Now why would I ruin the one thing that’s kept me entertained these last few years?”

His hand touched the bedpost. A lazy drag of his fingers down the metal. “You should’ve worn something prettier,” he mused. “But I suppose we’ll fix that soon enough.”

You swallowed hard, pulse screaming in your ears.

Sylus moved like a predator—slow, deliberate, savoring the prowl. He took a long drag from the cigarette, his movements languid and deliberate. With the soft flick of his wrist, the smoke spiraled upward in thick plumes, and you could feel the faint sting of it in your nostrils, even as the weight of the blindfold made the world blur into darkness.

Your breath hitched as the mattress dipped beside your hips, a subtle shift that sent every nerve ending screaming awake. The blindfold turned the world into a void, and in that darkness, every sound amplified. The faint rustle of fabric. The soft clink of his belt as he sat down. The sharp flick of the lighter once more, followed by a second exhale of smoke that drifted across your cheek like a ghost.

"You look… quite helpless, like this," he murmured, his voice a low hum that reverberated against your chest. "I wonder what you'll do now. You can't even see me coming, can you?"

You could hear the amusement in his tone, and it stoked the fire of defiance inside you.

"I don't need to see you to know what kind of monster you are," you hissed, biting back the tightness in your throat.

Sylus’ presence hovered over you like a storm. He put away the tobacco, pressing it down against the tray until its last ember faded into ash.

You could feel the heat of him radiating, the crisp, clean scent of his cologne growing nearer, mingling with the tobacco and subtle musk of his skin. Every breath you took felt laced with danger, and yet there was something irresistible about the way he moved, like a predator toying with its prey. The luxurious bed beneath you shifted with the weight of his body as he leaned closer, just close enough for the heat of his breath to ghost across the curve of your neck.

He wasn’t in a hurry. There was no rush. The teasing silence between you felt like an eternity—your heart pounding in your chest, your pulse thrumming against the cold, unforgiving steel of the handcuffs. You tugged, pulled at your restraints, but they only gave a small, satisfying jingle that mocked your struggle.

“Struggling?” His voice, like velvet and whiskey, was too close, and yet you couldn’t see him. You could only feel his presence, like an electric charge that arced between your skin and his.

“I’m not your toy, Sylus,” you spat, squirming on the bed, body tense and restless.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers traced the edge of your jaw, delicate and deliberate, sending a shiver skittering down your spine. The touch was light—almost playful—but you knew it was a calculated move to test your reaction. Your jaw clenched, and you turned your head away from his touch.

He chuckled. “You can keep telling yourself that. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You think you’re in control.” His fingers dipped lower, brushing the curve of your collarbone, the pads of his fingers circling as if savoring every inch of your skin.

You bit back a breath, trying to remain composed despite the undeniable warmth spreading through your body. But your body betrayed you. Every brush of his fingers, every exhaled word, coiled your insides tighter.

“You’re playing with fire,” you warned, though the words trembled in your throat.

His response was a soft, dangerous laugh, and then, just as you thought he might back away, his lips were on your ear.

“You have no idea how much I like fire,” Sylus murmured, hot and husky in your ear. “It burns. It licks at your skin until there’s nothing left but the heat.” His lips brushed over your earlobe, making your breath catch, but you couldn’t turn your head away. You couldn’t even see him.

You felt his hand—strong and unyielding—grip your chin, lifting your face toward him. You twisted, but the restraints held you fast, and then his lips were there, brushing over your mouth, just a whisper of pressure.

The kiss didn’t come. He teased you with it, letting his lips hover so close you could feel the warmth of him, feel the pulse of his breath.

“I know what you want,” he murmured, lips still a breath away from yours, “and you know exactly what I can give you.”

You tried to fight back, twisting your body beneath him, but it was futile. The strength in his hands was overwhelming, more than you’d ever anticipated. His fingers slipped over your waist, dragging across the fabric of your disheveled clothes, tracing the lines of your body as if mapping out every secret you tried to hide.

You kicked out instinctively, your heel connecting with his shin in an attempt to push him back. But it only seemed to amuse him further. Sylus’ fingers wrapped around your ankle in a grip so tight you couldn’t move, pulling your leg back and pushing it to the bed as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

“You think kicking me will get you out of this?” he asked, voice dripping with amusement and something darker. His lips brushed your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “It only makes me want to hold you down more.”

Your chest rose and fell with every shaky breath. His proximity made you burn, yet every instinct told you to fight. You bit your lip, forcing your body not to react. “I won’t let you control me, Sylus.”

“Oh, darling,” he whispered, the words sinking into your skin like a promise of something dangerous. He brushed his lips lightly against your earlobe, the touch so soft, it almost felt like a ghost. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

You yanked against the cuffs, trying to twist your body free, but the moment you did, he pressed his knee between your thighs, forcing you to stay still. His touch was all consuming—firm, teasing—his knee nudging, pressing just enough to make your pulse race, but never quite enough to give you what you wanted.

You gritted your teeth, refusing to let him see how much his touch affected you. “Fuck you,” you spat, voice dripping with defiance, though your heart was pounding, erratic in your chest. “I won’t beg.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound rough and amused, as if he was finding your resistance amusing rather than frustrating. His hand moved lower, trailing across your ribs, fingers skimming over the curves of your body with maddening precision. You shivered, trying to turn your face away, but your blindfolded senses only made everything sharper.

You tried to bite at him, teeth snapping in his direction, your breath ragged and angry beneath the blindfold. But Sylus only chuckled again, a sound that made your skin burn and your heart race even faster. He seemed to revel in your resistance.

"Such a fire," he mused, almost to himself. "But it won’t be enough to burn me down."

The lightest brush of his lips against your collarbone made you flinch, your body betraying you in ways you didn’t want to admit. You hissed in frustration, trying to pull away from him, but he was everywhere now—his scent, his heat, his overwhelming presence.

You felt the pressure of his body closer, now brushing against yours. Your breathing was shallow, erratic, every brush of his skin sending a ripple of tension through you. His fingers, still tracing up your thigh, slid higher, pushing the edge of your clothes up with a slow, deliberate drag.

You felt him shift, moving above you like a predator circling its prey. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and your mind screamed at you to fight, to not give in to the burning tension building between you.

“You won’t get away from me,” he whispered, voice dark and filled with something primal. The way he said it made your breath hitch in your throat. It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

You squirmed again, trying to break free, but Sylus leaned down, his lips finding the pulse at your throat. His kiss was soft at first—almost gentle—but then his teeth grazed your skin, and you gasped, the sensation sending a flood of heat straight to your pussy. He didn’t let up, his hands moving with a purpose, pulling you closer to him, as though he was marking you as his own.

"I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm, little hunter," Sylus murmured, his voice low and almost pleading with cruel delight. His lips dragged down your neck, his body pressing in close, and the fire between your legs burned hotter, more intense with every breath. The fight was draining from you, replaced by something else—a deep ache that you couldn't deny.

“Stop,” you hissed, the defiance still clinging to your voice even as your pulse betrayed you. Your body reacted—tensed, arched, seeking something you couldn’t name. Anything to break the suffocating tension.

But Sylus wasn’t interested in letting you off that easily.

He didn’t stop. Instead, he leaned in, lips finally meeting yours in a slow, agonizing kiss. His mouth was fierce, claiming, tasting, as his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you deeper into him. The kiss was a clash of heat and hunger, a storm that flooded your senses.

His hand slid down your ribs, and you gasped at the sudden heat of his touch. He was testing your limits, deliberately pushing you until your restraint faltered. His voice came again, softer this time, the heat of it like a furnace against your ear.

“You like that?”

You kicked, thrashing against the bed in a futile attempt to throw him off, but he simply shifted, pinning your legs down with a weight that left you breathless. Every movement only fueled his resolve, deepened his touch.

“Still fighting?” he asked, lips brushing against your neck as he traced his thumb across your jaw. “Such a shame. I thought you’d learned by now.”

He kissed your throat again, his lips moving with dark intention, pressing against the sensitive skin, as if marking you in a way no one else would dare. The contrast between his warmth and the cold steel of your cuffs made your skin tingle, the sensations amplified by the blindfold that left you without sight but all the more aware of every other nerve in your body.

You couldn’t see him. But you could feel him. Every inch of him. Every breath, every whisper of his touch. The taste of him lingered on your lips, intoxicating. He was a drug—something dangerous and addictive.

You were so close. So close to giving in. But the game was far from over.

Sylus pulled away, his smile wicked in the shadows, his breath hot against your cheek. "You're so predictable," he taunted, his voice a seductive caress. "But that's what makes this so much fun."

You could feel the heat of his eyes on you, even through the blindfold, and you clenched your fists in anger. "I'm not playing your games," you ground out, your voice shaking with a mix of fear and desire.

"But you are," he murmured, his fingers tracing a line from the base of your throat down to the swell of your breasts. "And you're losing, sweetheart."

You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to moan as his thumb brushed over your nipple, already peaked and sensitive. His touch was a brand, searing through the fabric of your shirt. You felt yourself softening, your body betraying you with every stroke.

“Please,” you breathed out, not sure if you were begging him to stop or to go on.

Sylus’ smirk was palpable in the air, his thumb circling your nipple with a cruel precision that had you writhing beneath him. “Please what?” he whispered, his voice a dark caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

You clenched your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he affected you. But your body had its own agenda, your breaths coming faster, your chest rising and falling against the restraint of the handcuffs.

Sylus chuckled, the sound a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very bed you were bound to. "I've been looking forward to this," he murmured, his hand sliding down to the hem of your shirt. He tugged it upward, the fabric dragging against your skin as it revealed the softness of your stomach. "To finally see what's beneath that stoic exterior."

You felt the coolness of the room against your exposed skin, the stark contrast to the heat of his touch. The anticipation was agonizing—a delicious torture that had your senses on high alert. The smell of his cologne, the sound of his breathing, the way the mattress dipped and groaned beneath his weight as he leaned closer—it all painted a picture in your mind that was more vivid than any sight.

“You’re going to regret this,” you whispered, trying to sound menacing, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

“Doubtful,” he chuckled, his voice a dark purr that sent a shiver down your spine. His hand slid up under your shirt, his palm flattening against your stomach, the heat of his skin making you quiver. You tried to keep your body still, but it was an impossible task as his fingers danced over your skin.

With a sudden jerk, Sylus ripped the fabric, the sound of the tearing fabric echoing through the room. The shirt was torn away followed by your bra, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. You gasped, the chilly bite of the air making your nipples tighten further under his gaze.

Sylus leaned in, his mouth capturing yours again, his tongue demanding entry as his hand moved higher, cupping your breast with a possessiveness that made your toes curl. You whimpered into the kiss, unable to stop yourself, and you felt him smile against your lips. He knew he had you.

His thumb circled your nipple, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arched into his touch, hips moving restlessly against the bed. His other hand moved to your other breast, teasing and taunting until you were panting for more. He broke the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

"Is that all you've got?" you spat out, trying to sound brave.

Sylus’ chuckle was a dark promise. “Oh, no. That’s just the appetizer, darling.” He leaned back, his hand still cupping your bare breast, thumb flicking at the peak. You bit your lip to keep from crying out. The pleasure was unexpected, unwelcome, but it was there, pulsing through your veins like a siren’s song.

He took his time, the sound of his belt unbuckling like a gun cocking in the stillness. The zipper on your pants followed, a slow, meticulous descent that made you feel like a butterfly being unwrapped from a cocoon of steel. You could feel the coolness of the air against your skin, the anticipation making your stomach tighten and your pussy throb.

"You're wet," he mused, “you know that?"

With a firm grip, Sylus pulled your pants down to your knees, leaving you exposed. You kicked again, trying to fight the rising tide of need. But he was too fast, too strong. He caught your ankles in his hands and held them down, his fingers digging into your flesh as he bent to kiss the inside of your thigh. His breath was hot, his tongue tracing the path of your veins, moving closer and closer to your center.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to taste you, to feel you come apart in my mouth.”

You bit your lip, fighting back the whimper that threatened to spill out. “I want you to go to hell,” you managed, though your voice was little more than a whisper.

Sylus’ smile was a wicked curve against your skin. “Now, now,” he said, his breath warm and teasing against the dampness between your thighs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

You squirmed again, trying to get away, the movement only serving to arch your pelvis further against the bed. You felt the soft brush of his nose against the fabric of your panties, and despite the anger, your body reacted, your hips jerking slightly. It was a betrayal—but it was a betrayal that had your heart racing, your breaths coming in quick, desperate gasps.

The jolt of sensation, and your breath hitched. He took the opportunity to nip at your inner thigh, teeth scraping just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Say it,” he coaxed, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your pussy through the fabric. The wetness grew, a silent confession to your body’s betrayal. “Say you want me to lick you until you scream my name. Until you forget why you ever wanted to kill me in the first place.”

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the way your body responded to his touch. But the way his tongue slid against the fabric of your panties was a sweet agony that made it difficult to hold onto your anger. The heat of his breath against your clit made your hips buck involuntarily.

"You're a monster," you whispered, but it lacked conviction.

"Darling, you kill solely for the money. I don't think you get to tell me that." Sylus' words were laced in sarcasm. He pressed his lips on the damp spot of your lace panties, sneaking a deep inhale of your arousal before pulling away.

Your body was trembling now, your mind racing with a mix of anger and lust. The way he talked about your past made you feel cheap, used—like you were just a toy to him, but the way he touched you...it was driving you wild.

“You’re right, I’m a monster,” Sylus whispered, his breath a warm caress against the damp fabric. “But so are you, aren’t you?” His voice was a seductive purr, his words a dark confession that seemed to resonate deep within you.

You felt his fingers hook under the elastic band of your panties, sliding them down your legs, exposing you completely. The coolness of the air made you shiver, but it was the heat of his gaze that made your skin burn.

"I don't want this," you lied, trying to ignore the slickness between your thighs.

Sylus' response was a knowing smirk that you could feel rather than see. "Your body says otherwise," he whispered, his thumb stroking your pussy lightly. You bit back a moan, the sensation sending a jolt through your body.

You felt the bed shift as he stood, the loss of his weight making you feel exposed and cold. The silence was maddening, but it was broken by the sound of his clothes dropping to the floor. Your heart raced as you tried to imagine what he was doing, the anticipation making you wetter.

“What are you doing?” you choked out, trying to sound more in control than you felt.

“What does it feel like?” His voice was a dark caress as his fingers found the fabric of your torn blouse. He took his sweet time, brushing the stray fabric with a leisurely confidence that made your heart race even faster. The fabric parted, revealing the swells of your breasts more.

“What does what feel like?” you asked, playing dumb, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.

“The anticipation,” he said, his voice a low growl. “The sweet, sweet taste of victory as it lingers on your tongue. And the thrill of knowing you’re about to get what you’ve been chasing for so long.”

Sylus' words hung in the air like a promise as you felt the coolness of your breasts exposed, the air teasing your nipples into hard, sensitive peaks. His fingers danced the side of your breasts, his movements a silent question. You didn’t respond, but your body did, arching into his touch without your consent.

With a smug chuckle, he tugged at your overstimulated nipples, rolling them gently between calloused fingers. The sensation was jolting, making you gasp as your skin tightened into gooseflesh. But it was his eyes—his hungry, predatory gaze—that had your breath hitching. He studied you like a piece of art, his eyes lingering on the rosy tips of your breasts, the way they pointed to the ceiling in silent invitation.

And then, with a suddenness that took your breath away, he leaned in. His mouth closed over one peak, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud in a dance that was both tormenting and exquisite. You couldn’t help the whimper that escaped your lips, the sound a mix of protest and pleasure. He bit gently, the sting sending a bolt of electricity straight to your core.

You writhed beneath him, the cuffs biting into your wrists as you tried to arch away from the sensation. But Sylus was relentless, his mouth moving to the other breast as his hand took over, his thumb and forefinger rolling and pinching your nipple, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“Please...” you whispered, the word slipping out despite your best efforts.

Sylus’ eyes glinted with triumph, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft pop. He leaned back, his eyes raking over your exposed body with a hunger that was both terrifying and thrilling.

“Please what?” he taunted, his voice a low, seductive murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. “Please stop, or please more?”

Déja vu.

You glared at him, though you knew he couldn’t see it through the blindfold. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you spat.

Sylus’ smirk grew wider. “Immensely,” he admitted, his eyes dark and gleaming. He slid a hand down your stomach, the calloused pads of his fingers leaving trails of fire in their wake. His touch was both terrifying and thrilling—like a dance with a snake, you weren’t sure if you’d end up charmed or bitten.

The bed shifted, his weight moving to hover over your chest. His thighs bracing against the sides of your breasts, the tip of his cock brushing against your cheek. The smell of him was intoxicating—musk and power, a heady combination that made your mouth water in spite of yourself. You could feel the heat of him, the solid length of him, the blunt reality of his desire pressing into your skin.

“Open up, darling,” Sylus murmured, his voice thick with arrogance. “Let’s see if you can handle what I have to offer.”

With a jerk of your head, you tried to turn away from him, the tip of his cock grazing your cheek. The gesture was one of defiance, but it only served to make him chuckle. His hand wrapped around your jaw, turning your face back to him, his grip firm but not painful.

“You don’t get to dictate the terms here,” he said, his voice a soft command. “You’re mine now.”

You felt his hand tighten on your jaw, his thumb stroking your bottom lip, the pressure of his cock against your cheek insistent. You wanted to bite, to make him feel the same pain you did, but the need to breathe was stronger. You parted your lips, the salty taste of him coating your tongue as he slid inside your mouth.

He groaned, a sound that was pure male satisfaction, and you felt a twinge of anger at the power he had over you. But that anger was quickly drowned by the sensation of his length pushing deeper, filling your mouth, his hand guiding you to take him as he wished.

Your tongue worked against him, reluctant but obedient, as he began to thrust in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had your cheeks hollowing with every movement. You could feel the slickness of your own arousal coating your thighs, the wetness a traitorous confession of how much he affected you.

Sylus’ eyes never left your obscured ones, watching your every reaction with an intensity that made you feel both exposed and desired. The hand that wasn’t guiding your head moved to cup your breast, his thumb teasing the nipple in a rhythm that matched his hips. Each tug sent a pulse of pleasure straight to your pussy, making it difficult to maintain your resolve.

But you wouldn’t give in. You couldn’t. You were a bounty hunter, not a plaything for his amusement.

With a growl, you tried to buck your hips, to push him away, but the movement only served to drive him deeper into your mouth. His grip on your jaw tightened, a silent warning not to bite.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a dark praise that had you clenching your fists. You hated the way your body responded to him, the way your pussy grew wetter with every stroke of his cock.

The hand on your breast moved down, his fingers slipping between your legs to find your clit. The touch was feather-light at first, a mere whisper of sensation that had you gasping around his cock.

You could feel his smirk against your skin even as he began to move faster, his hips pistoning into your mouth, his thumb circling your clit with a skill that was impossible to ignore. You tried to fight it, to hold onto your anger, but the tension was building, the pressure growing with every beat of your heart.

The hand on your jaw released, leaving you gasping for air as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. But the relief was short-lived as you felt his wetness coat your cheek, a silent declaration of his intent.

“You want this just as badly as I do,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Admit it.”

You bit back the words that wanted to spill out, the truth that you were dangerously close to begging. Instead, you turned your face away, your jaw clenched tightly.

Sylus chuckled again, a sound that seemed to echo through the room. “Alright, if you want to play hard to get...”

The bed shifted again, and you felt him move away. But before you could take a breath, you felt his mouth replace his hand between your legs, his tongue flicking against your clit with a precision that had your body arching off the bed.

“Sylus!” you gasped, the word torn from your throat despite your efforts to keep it contained.

He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body. “That’s better,” he murmured, his mouth closing over your clit, sucking and licking with a hunger that was almost terrifying.

Your legs trembled, your toes curling into the bed. The handcuffs bit into your wrists as you tried to find purchase, the pain a strange counterpoint to the pleasure that was building deep within you.

Sylus’ mouth was a weapon, his tongue a masterstroke that painted patterns of desire on your sensitive flesh. He licked and sucked with an intensity that was almost punishing, his teeth grazing your clit with enough pressure to make you jolt but never quite enough to push you over the edge. You could feel his smile against your skin, his enjoyment of your struggle a dark thrill that only added to the tension coiling in your belly.

Your hips moved of their own accord, trying to find the friction you so desperately craved. His fingers slid into your pussy, the invasion both welcome and unwelcome, stretching you as he explored your depths with a curious thoroughness that had you biting your lip to keep from crying out.

His tongue swirled and danced, each pass bringing you closer to the precipice, your body tightening like a spring ready to snap. You felt the beginnings of your orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that seemed to echo through the very air.

Sylus’ teeth scraped your clit, the sensation sending a bolt of pleasure that had you arching off the bed, a desperate sound ripped from your throat. He didn’t stop, his tongue lapping at your folds, his fingers curling inside you, the rhythm of his mouth and hand in perfect synchronization—creating a salacious symphony of wet slurping and reluctant moans of delight.

Your mind was a whirlwind of sensation, thoughts of escape and anger lost in the storm of pleasure. The only thing that remained was the need, the all-consuming demand for release.

But just as you felt the first wave of your climax building, he pulled away, leaving you panting and trembling with need. The absence of his touch was a physical ache, your body crying out for more.

“Please just…” you begged, the word slipping from your lips despite your best efforts.

Sylus’ laugh was a dark symphony that seemed to fill the room, his eyes gleaming with victory. “Ah, so you do know how to ask nicely,” he murmured, his voice a sweet torture that had you clenching around his fingers.

He didn’t move for a moment, letting your desperation build, the anticipation almost as potent as the pleasure. Then, with a smug smirk, he leaned back in, his mouth closing over your clit with a renewed fervor that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

You were lost now, unable to hold back the tide of sensation. Your body bucked against his mouth, your legs tightening around his head as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. The hand that wasn’t cupping your breast slid down to your waist, his grip firm as he held you in place, his other hand continuing to play with your nipples.

You could feel the orgasm building, the pressure in your core threatening to burst like a dam. You didn’t know if you could take much more—every touch, every lick was like a match thrown on gasoline.

And then, with a final, agonizing stroke, you shattered. The world fell away, leaving only the blissful oblivion of pleasure. You screamed his name as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, pussy juices pouring like ambrosia that made him want to taste you more.

Sylus didn’t let up, his mouth working you through the climax, drawing out every last tremor until you were limp and panting, the handcuffs the only thing keeping you anchored to reality. You felt him shift, his weight leaving the bed, and for a moment, panic gripped you. But then you felt the coolness of a cloth against your face, gently wiping away the sweat and tears.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a dark purr that had your heart racing. “Now, let’s see if you’re as good at giving as you are at receiving, shall we?”

The blindfold was removed, and you blinked against the sudden brightness, your eyes adjusting to the sight of him standing before you. He was completely naked now, his cock erect and the bulbous tip gleaming with precum.

The look in his eyes was a challenge, a promise of what was to come. You took a deep, shuddering breath, your body still humming with the aftermath of your orgasm. You knew what he wanted, knew what he expected of you.

With a smirk, Sylus positioned himself between your spread legs, the tip of his cock brushing against your swollen pussy. Your body was still reeling from the intense orgasm he’d wrung from you, but the anticipation of what was to come had your breath hitching.

He didn’t rush, taking his time to align himself with your sensitized cunt, his eyes never leaving yours. The teasing was a silent declaration of his dominance, a promise of the pleasure—and pain—he had in store for you.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he slid the tip of his cock along the plump folds of your labia, the sensation making you bite your bottom lip to keep from gasping. He watched you, his expression one of dark amusement, his eyes hooded with lust.

The first shallow thrust made you moan, your body already begging for more. But Sylus was in no hurry, pulling out almost immediately and leaving you with only the memory of his thickness. Your eyes narrowed, and you could feel the challenge in his touch. You weren’t going to let him win so easily.

“You’re going to beg for it, aren’t you?” you taunted, your voice a mix of defiance and need.

Sylus chuckled, the sound low and predatory. “We’ll see about that,” he said, leaning in to kiss you again. His tongue danced with yours, the taste of you still on his mouth, making you crave him even more.

The second time he pushed into you, he went deeper, the pressure making you arch your back. You could feel every inch of him, the thickness of his cock stretching you, filling you in a way that was almost painful.

But you wouldn’t beg. Not yet. You’d make him work for it.

He pulled out again, leaving you panting and desperate. The room was filled with the slick sound of his cock sliding along your wetness, a sound that seemed to echo in your ears.

“Please,” you whispered, unable to stop the word from escaping.

Sylus’ eyes gleamed with victory, his smirk turning into a full smile. “There it is,” he murmured, his voice a seductive purr that seemed to resonate in your very bones.

He slammed into you then, the suddenness making you cry out. The handcuffs bit into your wrists, the pain mixing with pleasure, making it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Sylus’ hips moved in a steady, punishing rhythm, his cock hitting all the right spots, making your body sing with every thrust. You could feel another orgasm building, the pressure mounting with every stroke.

“Is this what you wanted?” you managed to say between gasps. “Is this what you’ve been waiting for?”

His only response was a groan, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration as he drove into you, his teeth gritted with the effort to hold back his own release.

The third time he pulled out, you were ready to beg for more. The need was a living thing inside of you, demanding to be satiated. But you bit your tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

When he entered you again, it was with a force that had your eyes rolling back in your head. You could feel yourself getting wetter with every movement, the friction making your toes curl and your back arch. The hand that had been playing with your breasts moved to your clit, his thumb pressing down with just the right amount of pressure.

Your second orgasm crashed over you like a wave, stealing your breath and your resolve. You screamed his name, the sound echoing through the room as you shuddered around him, your body writhing in pleasure.

You were lost in the sensation, unable to do anything but feel. The handcuffs that had once been a symbol of your captivity now felt like a strange sort of freedom, allowing you to give in completely to the storm of pleasure.

Watching you lose yourself once more to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your veins, Sylus allowed himself an indulgent flush of pride at having brought his enemy to such heights of ecstasy twice in quick succession. With every guttural cry that escaped your trembling lips, he felt himself edging closer towards a gratifying climax.

His rhythm grew erratic, his breaths coming in harsh pants as he pumped into you with a ferocity that sent shockwaves through the very core of your being. The headboard thudded against the wall in a staccato beat, setting the room's atmosphere alight with a primal energy that seemed to feed the flames of your passion.

Your eyes fluttered open to meet his, those eyes filled with a mix of anger, desire, and something else—something unidentifiable that sent a shiver down his spine. The fire in your gaze only served to stoke his own, making him push deeper, harder, until you were both teetering on the brink of oblivion.

And then, with a final, earth-shattering thrust, Sylus let go.

"Fucking hell…" He panted heavily, his mind momentarily blanked out by sheer physical exertion required to reach his explosive peak. His eyes rolling back in his head as he emptied himself into you, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. Your walls tightened around him, milking every drop of semen from his body.

For a moment, the world stilled, the only sounds the harsh gasps of your shared breathing. Then, with a shudder, Sylus collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his heart pounding against your chest.

One of his hands gently cradled the back of your head as he kissed you, his mouth soft and seeking. The kiss was a stark contrast to the raw power of his earlier touches, a gentle reminder that even in this twisted game of power and domination, there was something deeper—a connection that neither of you could deny.

As your breathing evened out, he pulled back, his gaze searching yours for any signs of regret or fear. But all he found was a smoldering challenge. The fire in your eyes had not been extinguished—it had only been banked, waiting for the next round.

With a smirk that held the promise of future battles and even greater pleasures, Sylus reached up to unlock the handcuffs, his movements surprisingly gentle as he freed you from the headboard. The metal clicked open, the sound echoing in the quiet room like the promise of release.

You didn't move immediately, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body. But as the reality of the situation set in, you pushed him off, sitting up with a jerk, the fabric of your torn shirt sticking to your damp skin.

"This isn't over," you murmured, your voice thick with a mix of lust and anger.

Sylus chuckled, his cock still semi-erect and gleaming with the evidence of your passion. "On the contrary," he said, his voice a seductive promise. "It's only just begun."

The air in the suite grew thick with tension, the power dynamics shifting once again as you both stared at each other, the unspoken challenge hanging between you like a live wire.

"You're mine," he said, his voice a low, possessive growl. "You've always been mine, even when you were chasing me across the galaxy."

You stood, the remnants of your clothing falling away to reveal the marks his desire had left on your body—the bruises from his grip, the bite marks on your skin; and especially the creamy white liquid that has started running down your inner thighs. You felt a strange thrill at the sight, a dark thrill that made your stomach clench.

"And now," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours, "now, you're going to find out just how much of a monster I can truly be."

The smile that played on his lips was the most terrifying thing you'd ever seen—promising a night of pleasure and pain that would leave you forever changed, forever marked as his. And deep down, you knew that you were ready for it. You were ready for whatever he had in store.

You took a step towards him, the taste of his dominance still lingering on your tongue. "Bring it," you said, your voice a dare.

Sylus' smile widened, and in that moment, you realized that you had just accepted his challenge. You had stepped into the lion's den, and there was no turning back. The hunt was over—now, it was time to become the prey.

The anticipation of what was to come had you on edge, your heart racing in your chest like a wild animal.

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ss-shitstorm · 1 year ago

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guys please I am BEGGING you DON'T TAG YOUR OC FICS AS READER-INSERT or YOU/ CANON. Pls. Pls I've got like 2 hours a week where I can sit down and read ANYTHING getting baited like this turns me into that sad watery eye kitten meme. Have mercy.

#OC #Reader inserts #youfics #author inserts #there's a difference guys pls pls pls

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jungshookz · 2 months ago

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y/n seems to have everyone wrapped around her finger and to be quite frank, namjoon's unimpressed

➺ pairing; professor!namjoon x y/n

➺ genre; mostly sfw with a little something something at the end!! namjoon is a philosophy professor who suddenly has to share his precious lecture hall newbie professor y/n!! we all know i am a big fan of enemies to lovers/opposites attract and i love it even more when both of them are total nerds!! y/n’s approach to philosophy is so ridiculous and namjoon can’t stand her!! namjoon is so stuffy and y/n can’t stand him!! god damnit just kiss already!!

➺ wordcount; 7.2k

➺ summary; you’re the newest professor joining the university, and all of a sudden, it feels like namjoon actually has someone to compete with for the first time.

➺ what to expect; “Also, please stick to black, blue, and red ink for future note-taking and grading purposes. Pastel purple is not an appropriate colour for a higher education atmosphere. Thank you.”

➺ currently playing on cee.fm; what is this feeling? — wicked soundtrack

»»————- 📚 ————-««

namjoon isn’t a fan of change.

he’s always liked things in a particular way — he only likes notebooks with a seamless, perfect binding for the spines, he only likes ballpoint pens and never gel, he only uses traditional coloured highlighters and none of that strange, pastel-coloured junk, and he only likes to use a sandalwood scented essential oil diffuser in his apartment and his lecture hall

most of his life has been planned out (he planned out how the next twenty years of his life would go when he was ten, and according to this twenty-year plan, he’s pretty on track) and he likes it that way, so yes, he isn’t a big fan of change when it comes to such an important timeline like this

he’s currently a professor at the university he got his phd from, and because part of his twenty-year plan included going from his bachelor’s degree to his master’s degree to his doctoral degree, it means that he’s actually the youngest professor on the staff’s roster (which, again, was part of his plan all along)

he’s been teaching here for nearly two years now and has built a very solid reputation with his co-workers, he’s the school’s most sought-after professor when it comes to his philosophy classes — he teaches three undergrad classes and two graduate classes and every semester they’re always packed and students will always email him to try and get into the class when the capacity is full — and he’s pretty sure he’s getting a raise soon, which is great because he’s been meaning to splurge on a new electric tea kettle that lets you control the temperature and sings a little song when the water’s done boiling

“alright, let’s bring today’s discussion to a close.” namjoon shakes his wrist, checking the time on his watch before nodding to himself — the lecture ends in five minutes, so he’s wrapping up right on time and he’ll be able to grab a coffee and a croissant before his office hours start, “what we’ve explored today is really just a glimpse into the vast and ongoing conversation about how to engage critically with your existence.” he hums, leaning back against his desk as he looks out at the sea of students in front of him, the sound of pen tips scratching on paper and typing on keyboards coming from all over the room

“after you leave class today, i’d like for you to reflect on the choices you make — not just the big, life-altering ones, but the miniscule, everyday decisions.” he reaches up to adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose, “are they leading you toward a life of purpose and integrity? or are they dictated by external pressures and unexamined habits? we’ll continue this discussion next time, but until then, i’d like you to keep questioning, keep thinking, and keep living philosophically. as always, i have office hours here from 3:30-6 if you have any questions. class dismissed.” he nods, and almost immediately the class breaks into packing up, murmurs rippling through the vast lecture hall

namjoon smiles lightly to himself as he gives himself a mental pat on the back

yet another successful lecture!

he really does love teaching, and he’s so grateful that he’s able to do something that he actually likes for work

shaping young minds is something that he’s always wanted to do, and he thinks he’s been doing a pretty good job as a professor

…

oh, who is he kidding? of course he’s been doing a fantastic job as a professor!

he smiles politely as his students trickle out the door, turning around to grab his wallet out of his backpack

croissant time!

»»————- 📚 ————-««

“hello, are you here for office hours?” namjoon isn’t surprised when he opens the door to see someone standing by his desk, looking around the empty lecture hall, “it actually starts at 3:30, so it would be great if you could come back in fifteen minutes and i’d be happy to answer any questions you have about the lecture.”

“oh, hi!“ you spin around with a smile, and namjoon returns a polite one as he sets his coffee and pastry bag down on the desk, “no, i’m not here for office hours, i’m here to check out the lecture hall for when i start teaching alongside you next week. you’re namjoon, right? i’ve heard so much about you, i’m y/n y/l/n and i’m really excited to start working together-“ you stick your hand out for him to shake and he immediately frowns, glancing down at your hand before looking back up at you with a scoff of disbelief

“teaching… alongside me?” he tilts his head, reaching over to give your hand a shake after a moment of hesitation (it would be rude of him to turn down a handshake, and he has to admit you have a nice, firm handshake), “i’m sorry, what are you talking about?”

“didn’t you get the email? i’m the newest philosophy professor joining the staff-“ you slide your tote bag off your shoulder and pull your phone out, “they told me i’d kinda be shadowing you before they can determine if i should lead my own lectures or not. so i guess i’m a co-professor for now, but eventually i’ll just be a professor. i’ve seen a few of your lectures online, i’m looking forward to working together and-“

“co-professor?” namjoon interrupts, holding his hand out to make you stop talking, “i’m sorry, this is the first i’m hearing of this.” he fumbles for his phone before looking through his email because there’s no way he would’ve missed an email as important as-

okay there it is

yep

he totally missed that

“i see.” namjoon pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, “okay, well… i guess you can just sit with the class and listen to the lectures. i don’t need an assistant professor, but you can help give out handouts or something-“

“well, that would make sense if i was a TA, but i’m not entering this classroom as a TA or an assistant professor, i’m entering it as a co-professor. we’re equals!” you point out, namjoon’s eyes widening when you pull a pen out from your bun and slap a copy of the class syllabus down on his desk

he’s appalled to see that you’ve written all over it, and not only that, you’ve used multiple colours to take notes instead of the traditional black, blue, and red

…pastel purple?!

“i took a look at the lineup you have, and to be frank, it’s a little stiff. your students are drowning in dense readings, and i don’t know about you, but i actually hated reading so much when i was in undergrad-“

“well, that sounds like it’s a you problem, because i liked reading and always appreciated when the professor gave us something dense and enriching to read-“

“why not swap out one of the medieval philosophy lectures for something a little fresher?” you suggest, using the back of your pen to point to the lecture he has planned in a few weeks, “maybe we can do a session on philosophy in science fiction? ooh, ethics in AI might be fun, no? it’s something they can apply to the modern world-“

“philosophy isn’t about chasing trends. it’s about discipline, rigorous thought, and engaging with foundational texts that have shaped human understanding for centuries, professor y/l/n-“

“it’s doctor.”

“what?”

“dr. y/l/n. i just graduated with my phd.”

a moment of silence passes as namjoon processes all of this new information

processing…

“you-“ still processing… “you what? how old are you?”

“you should never ask a woman how old she is, but i’m two years younger than you. and i know that because i actually took the time to look at your profile on the university’s website after getting the email that we’d be working together for the rest of the semester-“

“rest of the-“ namjoon chokes, reaching up to adjust his tie, “okay, respectfully, dr. y/l/n, my whole point is that students have no business calling themselves actual philosophers if they can’t wrestle with aquinas and avicenna-“

“right, because thirty pages of medieval metaphysical debates on the essence of angels is going to determine whether or not a student can call themself an actual philosopher. i’m not saying to abandon the classics, i’m just saying it’s not gonna hurt to throw in a few discussions that’ll make philosophy feel a little more… alive to them!”

namjoon resists the urge to roll his eyes as he takes a seat at his desk, keeping his eyes glued on the scribbles all over your copy of the syllabus

there’s no way he’s gonna work with someone who thinks pastel purple is an appropriate colour to use when taking notes

he reaches over to grab his coffee, taking a sip and-

his coffee is cold

he waited too long and now his coffee is cold, and he would’ve been drinking perfectly lukewarm coffee if it weren’t for the fact that you came and disrupted his whole schedule like this

“anyway, i’m open to discussing spicing up the syllabus once you have the time. i don’t want to take up any of your office hours, i know you probably have students lined up outside already-“ you fold the syllabus back up into four squares before tucking it away into your tote bag (namjoon is once again appalled you don’t have a folder for your papers and seem to have based your organising system off mary poppins’ purse), “but it was really nice meeting you, dr. kim. you have my phone number and email when you want to arrange a meeting.”

“…right…” namjoon trails off, and for the first time is rendered completely speechless and doesn’t know what else to say

all he knows is that there’s no way in hell he’s going to allow this co-professor business to happen.

»»————- 📚 ————-««

you let out a breath as you shut the door behind you, your shoulders finally slumping

you hated that whole interaction

you can already tell that working with namjoon is going to be a pain in the ass

you’d heard some things about him — you’d heard about how great of a lecturer he is and how he genuinely cares about what he’s teaching and what his students are learning from him, but you’d also heard that he was pretty stuck in his ways and not… super cooperative, which you already saw first hand

at the same time, you had to admit that that was a quality that both of you shared — you’re not exactly a fan of being co-professors, you’d much rather just take the reins and lead the class yourself while namjoon sits off to the side, but you are the new one around here and you do want to be liked

so you can play nice for now, because the most important thing you’re focusing on is securing your place as an official staff member and making a great first impression on your new co-workers and your new students

you’d prefer for namjoon to like you, but he seems to be a tough nut to crack

the both of you should at least try to get along, and you’re willing to do that as long as he’s willing to meet you in the middle

so… let’s just hope he’s willing to meet you in the middle

your phone buzzes in the back pocket of your jeans and you pull it out, surprised to already see a text from namjoon

okay

this is great!

the fact that he’s already opening a line of communication is a good sign, maybe this semester won’t be hell on earth after all

the smile on your face slowly disappears when you finally get around to reading the texts, your eyebrows knitting together instead

Hello, Dr. Y/L/N. This is Kim Namjoon. Please save my number so that we may communicate with each other if needed. The semester has already begun, therefore I don’t think there has to be any changes made to my syllabus. We do not need to discuss this topic any further. Thank you.

you don’t even get a chance to really process his text before another one pops up

Also, please stick to black, blue, and red ink for future note-taking and grading purposes. Pastel purple is not an appropriate colour for a higher education atmosphere. Thank you.

»»————- 📚 ————-««

namjoon sighs to himself as he makes his way up the brick stairs to enter the philosophy building, reaching up to adjust his tie

for the first time ever, he’s running a little behind (only by like, three minutes, he’s not that reckless) but it’s only because he spent the earlier portion of the afternoon speaking with the department head and practically pleading them to change their minds about this whole co-professor situation

he’d gone into the office with many good arguments tucked into a neat little powerpoint presentation

for example, he doesn’t need a co-professor because he knows what he’s doing and you would only slow him down

also his students consistently have high grades and his classes are always packed each semester so there’s no issues with consistency or lack of interest

sure, philosophy can be a stiff subject to work with but he thinks he’s done a great job at teaching it and upkeeping enthusiasm

the point is he doesn’t need you, and if anything you should just be teaching your own class and the students who don’t make it into his class can all go to you!

(maybe he shouldn’t have made that last comment, but it’s true.)

but of course, because luck wasn’t on his side, his presentation didn’t convince the department head to change his mind

apparently you were a “great addition” to the staff and that namjoon should feel lucky he gets to work alongside such a “smart, well-spoken young professional” who is “just as good at teaching as he is”

ridiculous

totally ridiculous

what’s even more ridiculous is the fact that you seem to have become a fan favourite despite only being here for literally a week

your mug is already right next to his in the cupboard in the professor’s lounge

it’s clearly a handmade mug you probably made at one of those pottery places because the edges are a little bumpy which makes it wobble a little when you put it face down

the outside is an eggplant purple and the inside of the cup is painted a shade of sage green and it looks like a child would drink chocolate milk out of it

his mug is sensible and professional

it’s plain white with his initials on the front printed in times new roman

everyone knows it’s his mug and there’s never any confusion

he even heard a rumour about one of the spare rooms in the philosophy department being cleared out for a new office for you if things work out

and yes, he has his own office already, but he just thinks everyone is being a little hasty clearing out an office space just for you

he can’t even imagine how you’d decorate the space

you’re probably one of those people who have little trinkets everywhere and you’ll probably have like a miniature pool table on your desk to play with

he shudders as he thinks about having to sit in oversized beanbag chairs instead of actual chairs

“alright, alright, alright!”

namjoon’s surprised when he opens the lecture hall door to an unusually bustling room, the students chatting animatedly as they flip through their notebooks

the air is alive with the rustling of papers, clinking of metal water bottles, and the occasional burst of laughter and he frowns as he sees a few of them leaning forward enthusiastically compared to the usual scene of them scrolling through their phones or talking to each other

he turns his head and sees you at the front of the room, perched casually on the edge of the desk twirling a purple pen between your fingers before shoving it into your bun, “now, something a little controversial...” you pause dramatically, “red ink for grading. ethical, or a crime against student morale?”

namjoon’s jaw immediately clenches as he rolls his eyes — obviously this has something to do with the text he sent you the other day about your ridiculous coloured pens and your little ego’s been bruised and that’s why you’re being bratty

but whatever, because if anything this is just proving his point — you’re an immature little kid totally unfit to be his equal! and he’s more than happy to let you make a fool of yourself in front of his students, so sure, go ahead and talk about your little purple pen for all he cares

the room erupts in laughter and groans and namjoon silently makes his way over to the front to join you, pulling his chair back to see that you’ve already put your backpack down on it

he picks it up and plops it down on the ground, using his foot to kick it under the desk before taking a seat and hanging his backpack on the back of the chair

“i always feel like i’m being yelled at when i see red ink!”

“exactly!” you laugh, sliding up to sit on the edge of the desk with your legs swinging slightly, completely blocking the class from seeing namjoon, “it’s psychological torture. red ink doesn’t just mark mistakes, it screams them. it’s aggressive. but what about if i used green? or pink? or… pastel purple? would you feel a little different about your grade?”

“it would feel… friendlier?”

“friendlier, right?” you grin, tapping your temple as you look out at the room of enthusiastic students, “then here’s the real ethical dilemma, kids — if something as small as ink colour affects how we perceive feedback, then what do we think that says about bigger, more serious choices? if we can reframe an experience with something as simple as colour, then what other biases are shaping the way we see the world around us? something to think about...”

“are you just about done, dr. y/l/n?” namjoon raises an eyebrow, tapping his fingers against the desk as he leans back against his chair, “because i’d like to get started with class now, if you’re ready to go.”

“ah! dr. kim, sorry — i know you usually like to start your classes with a silent ten minutes of quiet reflection of last week’s lecture, but i figured i’d warm up the class myself since this is my first day as co-professor.” you chirp, sliding off the desk before turning to face the class again, “very lovely to meet you all and i’m looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you as we progress with the semester!”

“kiss ass.” namjoon coughs into his fist quietly, getting up from his seat before smiling warmly at his students, nudging you aside with his hip before clapping his hands together, “alright, class! medieval philosophy, let’s get into it…”

you immediately roll your eyes when you turn to face away from the class, taking a seat next to the desk and crossing one leg over the other

he’s just jealous because the students clearly like you more and you’ve only been here five minutes

but if this is how he wants to play, then you’re more than willing to play along.

»»————- 📚 ————-««

namjoon finds that the simplest things in life bring him the most pleasure

a hot cup of black coffee, the perfect scent of sandalwood in a room, the feeling of cracking the spine on a brand new notebook…

but most importantly, a perfectly toasted buttery flaky croissant from the cafe on the bottom floor of the philosophy building

he’s eaten these croissants ever since he was a student here, and he always has a croissant after he teaches classes here on tuesdays and thursdays — it’s like a reward!

“what do you mean there are no more croissants?!” namjoon slams both palms down on the counter, pulling away immediately when he feels that the surface is a little sticky

gross

“sorry, namjoon!” hoseok shrugs, “i just sold the last croissant to- actually, i think you know her, she said she’s the new professor in the philosophy department-“

you.

“i know who you’re talking about.” namjoon grits his teeth, looking at the pastry case for anything else that might satisfy his midday sweet treat craving but he doesn’t want a stupid sea salt chocolate chip cookie or a raspberry white chocolate scone, he wants his plain buttery croissant that you probably only bought to spite him!

“yeah, her!” hoseok grins, setting namjoon’s coffee down on the counter, “she’s really nice, isn’t she? she said she likes the way i do my leaf design on her caramel lattes, no one’s ever complimented my leaves before- it just feels so nice to be appreciated for once-“

“no!” namjoon snaps, pointing a finger at hoseok, “you have to stop yourself from being charmed by her, it’s all an act and- and- next time she asks for a latte, you should do a giant- a GIANT frowney face-“

“well, i don’t think i’m going to do that but-“ hoseok frowns when he notices a vein starting to bulge out namjoon’s forehead, “hey, you seem a little tense! how about a cookie on the house?” he asks, using his tongs to pick up the sad-looking cookie before putting it in a paper bag for namjoon, “it’s just a croissant, namjoon. i know you like ‘em every tuesday and thursday but if it makes you feel better i’ll save you one on thursday! it seems like both of you guys like croissants so i can definitely save two of them-“

the both of them look over to where you’re sitting by the window with his croissant while you flip to the next page of whatever stupid book you’re reading, and namjoon’s gaze doesn’t waver in the slightest when you look up and over at them

you smile brightly, raising the croissant in the air a little before taking a massive bite out of it, rubbing your stomach and nodding your head exaggeratingly

namjoon’s eye twitches and he turns back to look at hoseok

“it is not just a croissant and you know that, hoseok-“ he snatches the cookie from his friend before shaking his head in disappointment, “she is a siren and you are a helpless, weak little sailor-“

“hey! what the hell, man?!”

“WEAK little sailor!” namjoon exclaims as he storms away, angrily shoving the cookie into his mouth and wiping crumbs off with the back of his hand sloppily

»»————- 📚 ————-««

“tae, have you seen my mug?” you frown, taking a few steps back to see if you can get a better view of the second shelf, “i usually have it on the first shelf but i can’t find it anywhere…”

“is it not there?” taehyung — he’s the janitor here and you guys got along pretty quickly — hums, setting his mop aside before walking over to join you by the cupboards, “i swear i saw it there this morning, that’s odd. i’ll keep an eye out and let you know if i see it anywhere. you sure you didn’t leave it in your lecture hall?”

“no…” you trail off, shutting the cupboard doors gently with a sigh, “hm. i’m sure it’ll pop up somewhere. thanks, anyway…”

you like to think that you’re a pretty chill person, but there’s just something about misplacing something that really irks you

because then you start thinking about when the last time you saw the missing object was and then it turns into a spiral of how you could be so careless and irresponsible and lose something and also it makes you anxiously think about someone else using something that belongs to you and only you

that’s your good luck mug!

you made it at a colour-me-mine in freshman year and you’ve used it ever since

you’re convinced it has some kind of magical power because the mug always happens to be there when you get good news

it was there when you got accepted into your graduate program, your doctoral program, and it was literally in your hands when you got the email from the university accepting you as a new professor

so… hopefully it does pop up somewhere

you used it yesterday after class and you remember washing and drying it immediately before sliding it back on the shelf

you chew on the corner of your lip as you push open the door to the lecture hall, your eyes widening when you see namjoon standing there taking a sip from your mug

you open your mouth to say something but he immediately brings a finger up to his lips to shush you — the class is having their silent time and the last thing you want to do is cause a scene, right?

“that’s my mug.” you whisper through gritted teeth, and namjoon moves his hands to the side quickly when you reach up to try to snatch it out of his hands, “you have a stupid, boring mug already-“

“oh, but your mug is so much fun!” namjoon grins, taking another sip of water from it

(it’s actually killing him having to drink from this cursed vessel. why are the edges so bumpy?! how do you drink from this stupid thing without dribbling all over yourself?!)

“it is on, dr. kim.” you hiss, forcing a smile on your face when a few students look up from their desks, “it is so on.”

“hm.” namjoon clears his throat quietly, the two of you standing side by side with your arms pressed together, “bring it, dr. y/l/n.”

»»————- 📚 ————-««

the next few weeks seem to go by like a blur — maybe because you’re actually having a good time teaching the class and slowly growing more comfortable being a professor (you agreed to stick to namjoon’s syllabus only if he allowed you to teach your ethics of AI lecture) but also because this rivalry between the two of you seems to be keeping you on high alert

after the croissant and the mug incident, the two of you only continued to one-up each other

you replaced the sandalwood essential oil in the lecture hall with a refreshing peppermint (and you really doused it in the machine so it would take multiple cycles to be fully flushed out) and in response namjoon bought the entire jug of caramel syrup from the cafe so you’d be forced to pick another flavour

and then you took all of namjoon’s sensible coloured whiteboard markers and replaced them with bright, fun ones forcing him to write in a fuschia pink and in response namjoon bought all fifteen croissants that day which felt kind of dramatic but at the same time you can’t help but kind of respect it

whatever

all you know is that you despise kim namjoon

every morning when you wake up, you’re thinking about how else you can terrorise him besides just taking the last croissant in the display case

every night before bed, you’re thinking about how else you can make fun of his stupid powerpoint presentations and you even considered hacking his laptop and adding fun transitions to his powerpoints to throw him off

he hates fun transitions

with that being said, you’re willing to put the fight on pause because today is an important day — it’s your first time leading a lecture! you’ve been prepping for this ethics in AI lecture and you’re more than excited to show the class (and namjoon) what you’re capable of

and if all goes well, you will be rubbing this success in his stupid, handsome face.

“handfphome?” you blurt out, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth as you blink at yourself in the mirror

oh no

you don’t actually think he’s handsome, do you?

well, there was that one time he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and when he turned around you couldn’t help but notice how broad his back was

and that other time you were looking at his hands when he was pointing to something on his stupid powerpoint and you couldn’t help but think that he had such pretty hands

and also he always smells really good — like a combination of smokey sandalwood and his natural musk

and when you listen to him speak it’s really soothing because he has a deep voice that kind of makes you feel like you’re floating on a cloud being rocked back and forth

he’s also very intelligent and incredibly well-spoken

highly educated, charming in his own weird way (not with you, but you’ve seen the way he interacts with other professors), kinda funny sometimes, and you only know he’s single because you overheard two students whispering about it in the hallway — apparently they’d done a deep dive of his socials and there was no partner to be found, his instagram page was full of pictures of plants and quotes from philosophers

so basically he’s a hot single nerd who’s really into philosophy and plants and you guys are only two years apart and hypothetically if you didn’t know each other and you saw him at the bar you would probably feel a little flustered if he flirted with you

and maybe one time you watched him apply chapstick onto his plump lips and you wondered if they were as soft as they looked

…

you take your toothbrush out of your mouth, your eyes widening in realisation and-

“son of a BITC-“

»»————- 📚 ————-««

“would you let AI decide whether you get a loan? a job? parole? surgery?” you pause, letting the weight of the question settle over the students, “i know, it’s a crazy question. but maybe you already have… algorithms are making these decisions right now — sorting resumes, predicting crime, even diagnosing illnesses. AI is everywhere, and the question isn’t whether it should exist, it’s whether we should trust it…”

the only reason why namjoon is cooperating today is because you’ve (sort of) cooperated with his syllabus over the last couple weeks despite being a total menace to him personally

yes, he’ll let you teach your ethics in AI lecture today because he’s interested in seeing what points you’ll bring up today

he can also tell you’ve been really nervous about leading your first lecture and he still remembers how nervous he was when he was in your position, so he’ll take it easy on you

he caught you practicing your intro in the professor’s lounge and he slowly backed out so that you wouldn’t see him

and he’ll never say this to your face but from the intro alone it sounds like a pretty promising lecture

and it was kind of cute seeing you fumble with your cue cards and going over your lines with your eyes shut

namjoon leans back against his chair as he listens to you speak, keeping his eyes on the back of your head as he crosses his arms over his chest

sure, maybe you��re more than immature when it comes to buying his croissants and replacing his scented oils, but…

oh god

does he respect you as an educator?!

he pauses for a second to think, watching as you reach up to fiddle with a button on your shirt nervously

also you actually dressed up today compared to your usual attire of a sweater and jeans and namjoon can’t help but notice that your ass looks really round in that pencil skirt

he tilts his head slightly as his eyes continue staring at you from behind, the ooga booga man part of his brain wondering how it’d feel to grasp your waist and cup your ass as he-

oh no

he feels his dick twitch in his boxers and he clears his throat quietly, looking down at the desk and focusing on a speck of dust instead

what is this feeling?

he’s pretty sure he hates you

and he’s pretty sure you hate him, so it doesn’t make sense for him to suddenly be thinking about how sweet you smell and how pretty your smile is and how funny it actually was for you to buy the last croissant just to get on his nerves

nope

you guys don’t like each other!

that’s how this works!

you just came in here and totally messed up his flow and you just expect him to go along with it but he refuses to do that and after this semester is over he hopes they stick you in another building far, far away from him

he doesn’t need anyone messing with his routine, and especially not some hotshot professor who just got her phd

“now, some of my less adventurous colleagues-“ you step aside to reveal namjoon, and namjoon feels his jaw twitch when the class laughs lightly after you gesture to him, “would tell you that AI is a dangerous pandora’s box, something that we should fear. and sure, it’s got its problems… bias, accountability, control. but let’s not kid ourselves — human decision making isn’t exactly perfect, either. AI didn’t invent discrimination, it just inherited it from us. so can we teach morality to something that doesn’t feel?”

“AI is a threat to ethical stability. we’re delegating moral decision-making to machines that lack genuine understanding, consciousness, or accountability.” namjoon butts in, standing up from his desk with a scoff, “how can we trust algorithms with decisions that affect human lives when they can’t even grasp mortality in any meaningful way?”

you look at him, slightly surprised that he’s interrupted you this early in your lecture for a debate

but sure, you’ll give it a go — the two of you haven’t actually debated over a subject before and you’re down to totally humiliate him in front of the class

“dr. kim is a great example of what sounding like a doomsday prophet is, class.” you smile sweetly, fluttering your lashes at namjoon as the class breaks into a few giggles and chuckles, “AI is a tool. nothing more, nothing less. it doesn’t need to ‘grasp’ mortality than a calculator needs to ‘understand’ math. the ethical responsibility lies with us! blaming AI is like blaming a knife for stabbing.”

“that’s a dangerously naive view, dr. y/l/n!” namjoon laughs, the two of you staring each other down as you stand at opposite ends of the desk, “AI systems are already making high-stakes decisions — these systems inherit biases from their training data and can operate in ways even their own creators can’t explain. if we don’t impose strict ethical guidelines, we’re ceding control to forces we barely understand-“

“you’re acting like we’re summoning some digital god that’ll enslave us all! AI doesn’t have agency — instead of fearing it, we should focus on improving transparency and fairness in these systems. ethics in AI isn’t about rejecting technology, it’s about guiding it responsibly-“

“guiding it-“ namjoon can practically hear his heart thumping in his chest as his frustration rises inside him, “guiding it responsibly?! and what happens when corporations prioritise efficiency over ethics? what- what about when governments exploit AI for mass surveillance? when biased training data leads to systemic discrimination? you’re placing blind faith in a system that rewards profit over morality- you’re playing a dangerous game, dr. y/l/n, AI isn’t just another tool, it’s a tool we may not be able to control. and your reckless optimism makes you too eager to hand over the reins-“

“maybe you just don’t like that i’m willing to embrace the unknown!” you throw your hands up into the air before pointing an accusatory finger at him, “maybe that unsettles you because you have everything planned to a ridiculous degree, like the temperature of your coffee and what time you eat your croissants-“

“what unsettles me is your inability to take this seriously!” namjoon presses his lips into a firm line, feeling his face heating up, “you act as if ethics in AI is some intellectual playground when in reality, it has life-or-death consequences-“

“oh, i take it very seriously, dr. kim, i just don’t think fear is the right response. fear clouds judgement, and i think you just like to have an insane amount of control over things-“

“well, excuse me! someone has to have control, someone has to make sure we don’t create something we can’t contain-“

“you always think you can contain things, don’t you?”

“and you always think you can push boundaries without consequences!”

“you’d be surprised how many boundaries can be pushed safely, dr. kim.”

there’s a beat of silence between the two of you, the air heavy with something that doesn’t feel like loathing, but rather…

you pause, remembering all of a sudden that the students should be debating with each other instead of watching their professors do it

“uh-“ you turn back to face the class before letting out a chuckle, “let’s take twenty minutes to discuss this subject with the person next to you! dr. kim and i have to re-evaluate the structure of today’s lecture, please pardon us-“

the class breaks into discussion and both you and namjoon exchange glares as you head towards the door

the two of you stumble against each other and get caught in the door for a second, both of you wanting to be the first one out to lead the way

“oh, get off me-“

“you get off me!”

“what is your problem?!” you snap as soon as you leave the lecture hall, heading straight for an empty classroom nearby, “you’re supposed to let me lead this lecture, today was my day and you just couldn’t help yourself!”

when the hell is this going to end?!

there’s no way the both of you can work together if he’s going to get this heated in a debate

and sure, he made some really good points and the nerd inside of you is saying that that really good debate session might as well been some form of foreplay but that’s beside the point

“oh, please.” namjoon kicks the door shut behind him, “all we did was get into a debate, you should be glad i participated at all-“

“you know what, i actually do know what your problem is.” you whip around, jabbing a finger into his (firm) chest, “you’re just a little man who’s threatened by me because we both know i can do your job just as well — or honestly, even better than you can, and this is the first time you’ve had any sort of competition. i’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but you just have to accept the fact that i’m going to be here and i’m sticking around for a long, long-“

“i’m going to kiss you, and if you don’t want that to happen, then tell me now and we can go back to the classroom and i’ll sit there quietly for the rest of your lecture.” namjoon interrupts, and your eyes widen as your breath hitches in your throat

“wha-“ your voice cracks and you feel your face flush, “you- i’m sorry, what?”

“you heard me, y/n.” namjoon looks down at you, and you’re half expecting him to quit the act and say that he’s just fucking with you, but… “so what’s it going to be?”

a moment of silence passes and you feel your thighs press together slightly when namjoon reaches up to loosen his tie slightly, his chest falling and rising in heavy breaths, “funny. you’re so quiet all of a sudden.”

“i…” your lashes flutter as you stare up at him, “fine. you- we-“ you straighten your posture, trying your best not to show how flustered you actually are, “but make it quick because i have a lecture to-“

without another word, namjoon closes the distance between the two of you and in one fluid motion, presses his lips against yours and now you can finally confirm that his lips are as soft as they look

you grip the front of his shirt to pull him closer, deepening the kiss with a fervor that matches the intensity of your back-and-forth over the last few weeks

your lips move against each other’s as namjoon’s hands slide around your waist to pull you in even tighter, his body pressing against yours as if he can’t get close enough

you’re breathless when the two of you eventually pull away, your cheeks flushed and your heart thumping wildly in your chest

“this better not be some weird prank-“ you manage to blurt out, head still spinning from what was a very, very good kiss, “because i’m petty enough to call the catering company and tell them to nix the croissant deliveries entirely-“

namjoon laughs, leaning down for another kiss — this time softer, more deliberate — before pulling away with a playful eye roll

“we’re gonna go back in and you’ll finish your lecture, and if you’re free tonight, i’d love to take you out for dinner.” he murmurs, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was being a little shy

it’s cute

“i’ll go out with you… on one condition.” you hum, reaching up to adjust his glasses for him

“hm?”

“next week you let me lead a lecture on examining the moral dilemmas faced by superheroes in film and comics — like how batman has a no-kill rule and-“

namjoon immediately groans as he turns and heads towards the door, “oh my god, you are infuriating-“

“what?! it’s a good subject!”

🎙️ ask y/n about her thoughts on the nature of consciousness (talk to my characters!)

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!)

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miraclecherryblossomsblog · 5 months ago

Text

Two scenes from the "Give up/ give in" by @revelboo that made me punch the air and squeal like a high-school girl I swear HE MAKE ME GIDDY NIJIJJIJIJI 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

#self ship #self insert #megatron x self insert #ane #author #megatron #earthspark megatron #canon character x self insert #Can call tell whose my fave character in the franchise jjjjjdjjjdjidjidjidj #transformers

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 months ago

Note

I just imagine the worst case senerio mc is very much in love with sebastian but is to much of a coward and ominis is just like date me and we will see if he does anything I imagine ominis just wanting to start some chaos for fun up to you if mc stays with ominis or goes to sebastian

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

BAHAHA I love chaotic Ominis energy, thank you so much for this fun idea anon!!!

Words: ~2,900

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Fluff, Fluff Again, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance

Beta: @newdreamlove95💚

You weren’t sure how the conversation had gotten to this point. One moment, you were lamenting to Ominis about your absolutely humiliating, all-consuming love for Sebastian Sallow—your best friend, the object of your affection, the man who would never actually see you as anything more than a friend. The next?

"Date me," Ominis said, far too casually for something that nearly made you choke on your tea.

You blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"

"Pretend to date me. Just for a little while," he repeated, smirking. "Let's see if it gets a reaction out of him."

You gawked at him. "Ominis. That’s—that’s ridiculous. That’s insane."

"It’s brilliant," he corrected smoothly. "You’re too much of a coward to confess, and Sebastian is too much of an idiot to realize he loves you. So, why not give him a little… motivation?"

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "This is absurd," you muttered, but a traitorous part of you—the one that had suffered through years of unspoken feelings, of watching Sebastian flirt his way through half the bloody school without sparing you a second glance—was tempted.

Ominis, sensing your hesitance, leaned in. "Come now, darling," he drawled, his voice dripping with mischief. "Let's have some fun, shall we?"

And that was how you ended up fake-dating Ominis Gaunt.

At first, it was just small things—little gestures designed to sell the illusion. Ominis would walk you to class, hold doors open for you, lean in close when you spoke so it seemed like you were sharing something secret, something intimate.

It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was.. quite nice. Pleasant even.

Ominis was handsome—sharply so, with his angular features and regal posture. He was charming, too, undeniably a gentleman. He treated you well—better than well. If you hadn’t already been hopelessly in love with someone else, you might have been in danger of falling for him for real.

The first time he kissed your cheek, it was at breakfast.

The Great Hall was loud, buzzing with idle chatter and the clatter of silverware, but the moment Ominis leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek—so soft and brief, like it was something he’d done a hundred times before—the world seemed to pause.

You heard the sharp inhale Sebastian took from across the table.

A beat of silence.

Then, chaos.

Gasping. Whispering. A sudden scraping of chairs as people leaned in to murmur, eyes darting to you, to Ominis, to Sebastian—who hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, but had gone very still, his knuckles white as he gripped his fork. The sound of your name mixed with Ominis’s swirled around you in frantic, excited voices.

"Are they together?"

"Since when?"

"They never said anything!"

The rumors spread like fiendfyre. By lunchtime, people were glancing at you with barely contained excitement, whispering whenever you and Ominis walked past. At dinner, Imelda raised an eyebrow and said, "Didn’t peg you for Gaunt’s type, but you two are sort of cute together, I suppose."

And all Sebastian did was sit there.

Not a word. Not a single comment. Just tense silence.

Ominis, for his part, was thoroughly enjoying himself. His theatrics only increased as the day went on—light touches on your arm, a hand resting at the small of your back when you walked, the occasional teasing whisper that made it look like he was saying something scandalous. But the longer it went on, the more painfully obvious it became:

There was a Sebastian-shaped void in your heart.

And no matter how much you enjoyed Ominis’s company, no matter how sweet and effortless it all felt—he wasn’t him.

He wasn’t the one you wanted to laugh with, to steal glances at when he wasn’t looking. His touch wasn’t the one you craved, his voice wasn’t the one you longed to hear first thing in the morning. It wasn’t Ominis who made your heart race with just a look, who made your pulse stutter every time he leaned in a little too close.

It was Sebastian.

And Sebastian, the idiot, was doing absolutely nothing.

Until the fifth day.

Until you were sitting in the common room, curled up on the couch with Ominis, his arm slung lazily over the back of the cushions behind you, when Sebastian finally—finally—snapped.

It started small, just a shift in the air, a tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago. You felt it before you saw it—before you looked up and found Sebastian standing over you, his expression unreadable, his jaw tight.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked.

Your breath caught. His voice was even, but there was something off about it. Something dangerous.

Ominis hummed beside you, amused. "She’s rather comfortable at the moment, Sallow. Surely it can wait?"

Sebastian’s eyes flickered to him, dark and sharp. "No, it can’t."

Ominis barely concealed his smirk. He made a show of shifting away from you, drawing his hand back, and you knew he was enjoying every second of this.

You let Sebastian pull you from the couch, his grip firm around your wrist as he all but dragged you out of the common room.

Only when you were alone—tucked away in a quiet corridor where no one else could hear—did he let go.

Your wrist tingled where his fingers had been. You swallowed, suddenly nervous under the weight of his stare.

Sebastian didn’t say anything at first. He just stood there, staring at you, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His hands clenched into fists, like he was barely restraining himself.

"Since when?" His voice was rough, the words scraping against his throat.

You blinked. "Since when what?"

His expression darkened. "Don’t play dumb," he said, stepping closer. "Since when have you liked Ominis?"

You hesitated. There were a thousand ways you could answer, a thousand ways you could end this little charade—but you weren’t sure you were ready to.

"Why do you care?" you asked instead, your voice quieter than before.

His eyes flashed. "Why do I—" He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Are you serious?"

"You never cared before," you pointed out, tilting your chin up. "You're the one spending every waking moment with some girl or another. Why does it matter if I'm with Ominis?"

"Because he’s not right for you," Sebastian snapped. "He doesn’t—he’s not—" He broke off, frustrated, like the words were getting caught in his throat. "Do you even like him?" he asked suddenly, voice sharper now, accusing.

You swallowed. "Of course I do."

"Yeah?" Sebastian's lips curled, a flicker of something cruel in his expression. "Then say it."

Your stomach twisted. "Sebastian—"

"Say you love him," he challenged, stepping closer. "Tell me you love him."

For a long, aching moment, the two of you just stared at each other. The dim glow of the torches cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw, the storm raging in his dark eyes. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him like this before—so desperate, so unguarded.

And maybe you should have ended it right there. Maybe you should have told him the truth—that it had all been fake, that Ominis had only done it to force his hand, that you had always wanted him. But after years of pining, years of watching him chase after other girls while you sat on the sidelines, something petty and reckless inside you wanted to push him just a little bit further.

You inhaled slowly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze with as much conviction as you could muster.

"I love Ominis," you said.

It was a lie, a flimsy, paper-thin thing, but you said it anyway.

Sebastian stilled.

For a moment, there was nothing—just the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, the way the candlelight flickered against the stone walls.

Then he laughed—a hollow, humorless sound.

"You're such a shit liar," he muttered.

He took another step forward, closing the remaining space between you, and suddenly, there was nowhere to go. Your back hit the cold stone wall, your hands clenched into fists at your sides, but Sebastian didn’t touch you. He just stood there, so close you could feel the heat of him, smell the faint scent of cedar and parchment and something distinctly him.

You had spent years longing for Sebastian Sallow, years waiting for even a fraction of this attention. And now? Now he was looking at you like he was one breath away from devouring you whole.

You swallowed hard, summoning every ounce of stubbornness you had left. "I'm not lying."

His lips twitched. Wrong answer

"Yeah?" he murmured. "Then say it again. Say it like you mean it."

You swallowed hard. "Alright fine," you admitted. "Maybe I don't love him, but—"

"But what?" His hand slammed against the wall beside your head, fingers curling into a fist as he exhaled sharply through his nose. "I don't get it. You don't even fucking like him that way, it's obvious, and yet suddenly you're dating?"

A lump formed in your throat. "Why does it matter?! You've never cared before!"

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

"You think I don't care?" His fingers twitched at his sides, his restraint fraying right before your eyes. "You think I could just sit there and watch you be with someone else and not lose my fucking mind?"

He scoffed.

"Do you have any idea what these last few days have been like for me?" he leaned even closer—so close now that his nose brushed yours. "Watching him touch you like that? Watching you smile at him like he hung the fucking stars?"

Your heart slammed against your ribs. "Sebastian—"

"No." His hands came up, fingers brushing against your jaw before gripping—not rough, not painful, but enough to hold you still. Enough to make sure you listened. "I have been hopelessly in love with you for years, and now you're dating my best fucking friend?"

You felt like the air had been knocked from your lungs.

Sebastian Sallow—your best friend, the man who had occupied every stolen thought, every quiet wish, every stupid, hopeless dream—was looking at you like you were his entire world. Like he couldn’t breathe without you.

You stared at him, lips parted, breath caught in your throat.

"You... you love me?"

"Of course I love you," he said, voice rough with frustration, with desperation. "How could you not know that?"

"Because you never said anything!" you shot back, your voice trembling. "Because you’ve spent years acting like I was just your friend while you flirted with every other girl in Hogwarts! Because you—"

Sebastian cursed under his breath. "None of them were you!"

Your breath hitched.

"None of them ever mattered," he continued. "Do you hear me? Not a single one of them."

His hands were trembling now, his jaw tight, his brows drawn in an expression that looked almost pained. His thumb brushed against your cheek, just barely, as if testing whether this was happening, whether he had already lost you.

Your resolve crumbled. Seeing him like this, you couldn’t lie anymore.

Not when you had spent years pretending you were fine being his friend. Not when he was right here, raw and desperate, telling you everything you had ever wanted to hear.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

Sebastian's eyes widened, his breath hitching like you had just knocked the wind out of him. His grip on you faltered for a split second—like he couldn’t believe he had actually heard the words.

"You do?" He breathed.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, your heart racing. "Of course I do, I always have."

Sebastian let out something between a laugh and a shuddering breath, like he had just been freed from something unbearable.

But then his fingers tensed against your cheek, his brows furrowing.

"Then why the hell are you dating Ominis?" he demanded, his voice still breathless but frustrated now, like his brain had just caught up with the situation.

You winced.

Well. This part was going to be awkward.

You hesitated, your hands reaching to grip the front of his robes as you avoided his piercing stare. “Uh… well—”

“Well?”

You cleared your throat. “Technically, I’m not… really… dating Ominis.”

Silence. Dead, suffocating silence.

"What?"

You winced again, gripping his robes tighter. “It isn’t real.”

“…Excuse me?”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Ominis—uh, may have suggested it, you see, and I may have agreed to—”

Sebastian pulled back, staring at you in disbelief. “You’re fake-dating my best friend?”

You nodded weakly. “Mmm. Just a bit.”

Sebastian opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. And then he groaned, dragging both hands down his face, his entire body practically vibrating with irritation. “I lost my fucking mind for five days over something that wasn’t even real?”

You bit your lip. “Well, when you say it like that—”

Sebastian cut you off by grabbing your face, tilting it up, his eyes blazing.

“You schemed with Ominis,” he growled, shaking his head, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “You plotted against me.”

You gave him a sheepish smile. “Yes, but it worked, didn’t it?”

Sebastian inhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on you tightening. Before you could even think of saying anything more, he crashed his lips against yours.

You gasped into his mouth, but he didn’t give you a second to react. Didn't give you a second to tease him, to smirk about how well your little plan had worked, because he was done playing games.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, kissing you like he was staking his claim, like he was furious with you but couldn’t stop himself. And you—you melted instantly, hands threading through his hair, pressing yourself closer, deeper, letting him consume you whole.

It was heat and desperation and frustration, the kind of kiss that made your entire body feel weak, made you feel like Sebastian was the only thing keeping you upright, and fuck—

You were so gone for him.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths ragged.

“You conniving little minx,” he murmured, shaking his head, though there was something almost fond beneath the exasperation in his voice. “You really schemed against me.”

You shrugged, your fingers still tangled in his hair. “To be fair, it was Ominis’s idea.”

Sebastian pulled back just enough to glare at you. “Of course it was.”

“I just went along with it.”

He scoffed. “Oh, sure. Just an innocent bystander in your own elaborate scheme.”

“Well,” you tilted your head. “I didn’t know if it would work. I didn't even think you liked me that way.”

Sebastian groaned, dragging one hand through his hair before gripping your waist even tighter. “Merlin, you really don’t have a single clue, do you?”

You hesitated, chewing your lip. “I mean… no, but I was pretty hopeless, so... desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Sebastian let out a strangled laugh, his eyes narrowing. “Unbelievable.”

You gave him an innocent smile. “Are you saying you would’ve confessed if I hadn’t fake-dated Ominis?”

Sebastian let out a huff, tipping his head back like he was asking the ceiling for patience. Then he leveled you with a pointed stare. “I don’t know, maybe I would have! Eventually! I was getting there!”

You snorted. “Yeah? When? After I married someone else?”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “Not funny.”

You grinned, unable to stop yourself. “Kind of funny.”

His fingers flexed against your waist, like he was debating whether to throttle you or kiss you again.

“I should be furious with you,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, considering. “But you’re not.”

His jaw worked. “No. Because now I finally have you.”

A slow, deliberate clap echoed from down the corridor.

You both whipped around to see Ominis, leaning far too casually against the wall, looking deeply pleased with himself.

"Beautifully done," he said, smirking. "Truly magnificent."

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face. "Merlin’s bloody beard."

You, on the other hand, couldn’t help the way your lips twitched as you met Ominis’s self-satisfied gaze. He looked positively smug, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he was enjoying every second of this.

“I hate you,” Sebastian muttered at him.

Ominis hummed, completely unbothered. “No, you don’t.” He pushed off the wall, taking a few slow steps toward the two of you. “In fact, I daresay you love me. Perhaps not as much as you love her, but still.”

Sebastian scowled, muttering something under his breath about “smarmy little bastards” while Ominis grinned like he’d just won the House Cup.

“I have to admit,” Ominis continued, tapping a finger against his chin, “I thought you’d crack after three days. Four, at the most. But no, you really dragged it out.”

Sebastian shot him a glare. "Piss off."

Ominis only grinned.

"Enjoy your night, lovebirds," he said, strolling away like he hadn’t just orchestrated your entire love life.

His footsteps retreated, and Sebastian let out a frustrated groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You laughed breathlessly, still a little dazed, still reeling from everything that had just happened. "So… are you going to thank him later?"

Sebastian huffed against your skin. "I’m going to kill him later."

Then he pulled back just enough to kiss you again. And this time, neither of you stopped.

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