#balde x reader

[n0vazsq]

Undercover | Alejandro Balde x Reader

pairing . . . alejandro balde x rma!femenino!reader

summary . . . Playing with the Real Madrid women's team, you were known for being a talented youngster, and also for being pretty and kind. Until now, your relationship with Alejandro has been a secret for over a year, but when a mysterious document leaks all your messages and photos together, everything starts to fall apart

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 2.1k+

warnings . . . kind of angsty? bad (?) teammates, stalking if you blink, overreactive media / journalists, leaked documents / pictures / messages / contracts

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . smh its not as long as i wanted it to be but like its still longish?? idk but yeah i hope you enjoy!! anyway ignore how the clubs are in two different cities i forgot abt that until like halfway in ALSO idk wtf the warnings are

. . . The sound of the bouncing ball slowly faded away as you walked off the pitch, the scent of the freshly cut grass left behind. You hummed quietly as you listened to the sound of your shoes squeaking against the floor, the coolness of the water bottle causng shivers to rise on your skin.

Training had just finished, and it was quite intense, but you weren't tired. In fact, you were basically bouncing on the balls of your feet, all because your boyfriend was here to pick you up.

Your teammates were chatting, laughter filling the air as your grabbed your things from the blue locker. Checking your phone, a smile formed on your lips at some messages from Alejandro, asking you how training was.

After sending him a brief reply, you quickly lock your screen, checking around to see if anyone saw. And to your luck, your teammates were distracted by something else on the other side of the room.

Waving them goodbye, you head outside, the blazing afternoon sun bathing you in warmth as you lock eyes with your boyfriend. He's waiting in his car, and as he sees you approach, he rolls down the window and shoots you a quick wink.

You roll your eyes, but can't help but give up to the growing smile on your face, his gaze making your heart flutter. The warmth of his hand brushes against yours when you get into the seat, the familiar scent of his cologne filling the space.

Tonight was special, a private celebration of your contract extension, just the two of you. Alejandro's hand rests on the gear shift, fingers occasionally brushing against yours, a casual, almost subconscious gesture.

The drive is peaceful, the hum of the engine blending with the soft melody playing through the speakers. The city lights flicker past in a blur, neon signs reflecting against the windshield. He drums his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, a small smile playing on his lips as he glances at you.

"You’re quiet," he notes, tilting his head slightly. "Tired?"

You shake your head, watching as the familiar roads pass by. "Just thinking."

"About?"

You hesitate before replying, "Just…how nice this is."

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his grip on your hand tightens just slightly makes your stomach flutter.

As Alejandro pulls up into the quiet lookout, he lets out a small sigh and parks the car, all while holding your hand. The place is scenic, hidden from the world but with an amazing view, the orange hues from the sunset casting a glow over you.

The conversation between you is effortless, full of jokes and teasing. Your stomach ached from laughing, your cheeks numb from the smile on your face. You watched as the sunset disappeared into the night, the orange light turning into grey, the glow of the streelights soft and bright.

You shivered slightly, the cold night wind washing over you. Of course, Ale noticed, and then your stomach filled with butterflies at the weight of his warm jacket when he drapes it over your shoulders.

He let out a soft smile as you put your head on his shoulder, his hand tracing small circles on your bicep. The comfort in his presence was obvious, you felt safety and happiness, like this secret is something that belongs only to the two of you.

You pretended to not notice the way he looks at you when you weren't paying attention, not notice the way your cheeks flushed when he brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, not notice the way he unconciously held you tighter everytime you both heard a noise. This felt like a night you'd want to live in forever.

After a long night, Alejandro drops you off at home near midnight, the wide grin never leaving his face as you climbed out the car and waved goodbye. You've sat in bed for a while, trying to sleep with a soft smile tugging at your lips, you really didn't know what you'd do without him.

The morning sun filters through your curtains as you stretch, muscles still slightly sore from training but mind still lingering on the night before. Your phone buzzes beside you. A message from Alejandro.

Buenos dias, hermosa. Sleep well?

You smile, thumbs hovering over the keyboard before you respond. Slept great. You?

As you go through your routine; brushing your hair, pulling on your training gear, lacing up your shoes, everything feels light, easy. Even stepping into the training facility, the usual scent of sweat and fresh grass greets you like home. But then… something feels off.

The air is different. Muted. Conversations cut off when you step inside. A few teammates glance up from their phones, exchanging unreadable looks before returning to their screens.

Something feels different, like there's a weight in the room no one is acknowledging. Maelle, your best friend on the team, comes up to you, looking hesitant. She looks around at the other teammates before speaking, her voice shaky.

"Hey, is this true?"

You blink at her. One time, two times, three times. What?

"This." She hesistates for a few second before she hands you her phone, the lighting bright and strike towards your eyes.

Your stomach knots as you take the phone from Maelle’s hand. The brightness of the screen is harsh against your eyes, and for a moment, you don’t understand what you’re looking at.

A photo. Alejandro’s car parked at the lookout, the two of you sitting inside. Another, his arm slung around your shoulders, his lips pressing to your temple.

Your throat tightens. Okay… this is weird, but maybe it’s just a random leak?

Then you scroll further. More pictures. Different days, different locations. Some from months ago. Some from nights you barely remember; private moments that were never meant to be seen. And then, at the bottom of the document, a contract. The emblem of Barcelona. The emblem of Madrid.

Your fingers tremble as you scan the words. Your name. Alejandro's name. A clause discussing disclosure.

The room tilts. The realization sinks in slowly, painfully. It hits you like a fast incoming train; someone exposed everything.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, the world spinning around you. Maelle places a gentle hand in your arm, grounding you. *"I wanted to tell you before coach did." she said softly against your ear, but you didn't pay her words any attention. Everything was too much, too overwhelming.

You clutch your necklace against your chest, an engravement of you and Ale's intials together, with the phrase Forever and Always. All you can feel is the thumping of your heart, beating against your chest, what once felt like a comfortable safe sign of love was now a cold metal dagger piercing your heart.

The locker room feels suffocating, the weight of everything pressing down on you, unabling you to breathe. Your hands are shaking, sweat forming at the palms as you try to stumble out the locker room. The glances of your teammates weigh you down, the feeling getting too much.

Your phone won’t stop buzzing. The vibrations rattle against the bench, flashing notifications lighting up the screen. Your stomach churns.

You press a hand against your forehead, trying to think, trying to breathe, but everything feels too much. The fluorescent lights are too bright. The air is too thick. The glances from your teammates feel like weights pressing down on your chest.

Someone mutters your name, but you can’t process it. Your fingers clench around the phone, nails digging into the metal. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

Get out.

You stumble toward the door, feet moving on autopilot. The second you're outside, the cool air hits you, but it does nothing to stop the nausea rising in your throat. Your phone is still buzzing. Your hands are still shaking.

Alejandro.

The dial tone feels like it lasts forever, seconds feeling like hours, each passing moment a stab to your heart. The moment he picks up, his voice fills the area and you can't help but let out a shaky breath.

"Hermosa, are you alright? What's happening?"

Managing out a few hurried breathes, you swallow the lump in your throat before finally speaking. Your voice is one you don't recognise, hoarse and shaky.

"Ale…. they know."

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaaa ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @bernalswifeyy ,, @nngkay ,, @justaf1girl (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[barcameowski]

i was wondering if you could do a balde fix where the reader is awful at football and hes trying to teach her since she wants to somewhat impress his teamates when she meets them

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ⁻ balde

warnings: none

genre: fluff

summary: you’re determined to make a good impression on alejandros friends so you ask him to teach you how to play football

you arrive at the same park that alejandro and you met for the first time at so he could teach you “the basics” in his words, of football. you had blurted out that you wanted to impress his teammates randomly and since then all he had done was try to convince you to let him teach you how to play football, he said that the best way to impress footballers is to be at least average at playing football.

“are you ready to become a pro footballer?” alejandro asks jokingly as he pulls you into a hug “you’re getting ahead of yourself” you tell him before you take a sip of the beverage you brought to refresh yourself.

“okay i think im ready to start” you say enthusiastically “lets start with the basics. dribbling and passing”

he passes you the ball which you somewhat stop before making an attempt to pass it back. which ended with you landing face first on the turf. he tried and failed to hold in his laugh as he offered you his hand to help you up, which you took before cleaning up your shirt with your hands

“so lets abandon that and just try dribbling. very easy, just walk with the ball. it’s really like riding a bike” spoiler alert, it was not anything like riding a bike

as soon as you started moving forward with the ball he quickly sweeped it away “alejandro!” you huffed, he laughed and passed the ball back

after two very long hours he finally gave you a break “I’m never touching a football again” you groan “it’s much easier with practice” he chuckles

on your way back to the car with cleats in hand you mumble a quick “thank you for helping me, I had a lot of fun” you smile as he looks down at you and wraps an arm around your shoulder before pressing a quick kiss on your forehead “of course, mi vida”

[xas24]

Balde doing a vlog with you and hes all lovey dovey w u throughout the whole video💕

gazing ~ alejandro balde

summary: alejandro can’t keep his eyes off his girlfriend whilst filming a youtube video with her.

y/n tried to hold in her laugh as she watched alejandro attempt to balance her camera against the stack of hardback books. she knew the camera was on due to the flashing, tiny red light and she made a mental note to put his struggling face in the usual mini bloopers at the end of the video.

he finally fixed the camera and sat back onto the couch with a relieved sigh.

“hecho?” (done?) y/n softly giggled as he gave her a little smile and a nod.

“vale, siguiendo con el vídeo...” (okay, carrying on with the video..) she brought her phone up and opened it to the instagram questions she had saved from a few days back.

she wasn’t really a massive youtuber, but she had a small channel with a few thousand subscribers, which had then started to increase once people found out she was dating alejandro balde.

she didn’t think much of it and honestly forgot about her random videos she had posted up there; but obviously, being alejandro’s girlfriend, people wanted to know more about her and their relationship.

so after about two months of putting it off, she finally decided to cave into everyone’s pestering and sit alejandro down for a quick and short video of answering some of the fans’ questions about them.

and that is what they were currently attempting to do - the two sat close together on the couch, infront of the camera that y/n mainly used for these random videos.

“sí, continuemos.” (yes, let’s carry on) alejandro replied as y/n looked through the many answers. alejandro’s eyes never left her focused figure, brown eyes taking her in. the corner of his lips upturned a bit the longer he stared at her, before turning his gaze to the camera, knowing it caught him staring.

“¿cómo se conocieron?” (how did you both meet?) she read out and looked towards him.

balde answered whilst glancing between her and the camera. “bueno, ella es amiga de uno de los miembros de los medios de comunicación social en Fútbol club Barcelona y vino a entrenar con ella una vez. nos conocimos a partir de ahí.” (well, she is friends with one of the social media members at Football club Barcelona and she came onto training with her once. we met from there)

y/n nodded, slightly blushing. “sí, no quería molestarles durante el entrenamiento. soy un gran aficionado del barcelona y como mi mejor amiga trabaja allí, pudo llevarme sólo una hora.” (yes, i didn’t want to bother them during training. i am a big fan of barcelona and since my bestfriend works there, she was able to bring me just for an hour.)

alejandro looked at her whilst she talked. his arm, that was first resting on his knee, went to lay against the back of the couch behind her.

“vale, next question..” alejandro chuckled at her heavy accent on her english statement. he loved when she randomly started speaking english around the house, even if he didn’t understand some of the things she was saying.

“¿qué hiciste en tu primera cita?” (what did you do on your first date?) y/n looked at alejandro and immediately burst out laughing, both of them already knowing the answer.

“nada!” (nothing!) y/n chuckled. “no hicimos nada.” (we did nothing)

“¡no lo digas así!” (dont phrase it like that!) he laughed along with her, slightly covering his face.

“me hace parecer un mal novio por no hacer nada en nuestra primera cita!” (it makes me look like a bad boyfriend for not doing anything on our first date!)

y/n reached forward and cupped his face in her hands, having to hold her laughter in but she couldn’t help snickering. “no! eres el mejor novio del mundo!” (you’re the best boyfriend there is!)

she kissed his cheek a few times and alejandro let her, not wanting to playfully push her away just because there was a camera watching them. his arms circled around her body and he pulled her closer to his own.

y/n pulled back and turned back to the camera, leaving alejandro’s arm around her waist.

“ya éramos amigos desde hacía meses y nos sentíamos muy cómodos el uno con el otro, así que acordamos quedarnos en casa y ver una película.” (we already were friends for months now and we were very comfortable with eachother so we agreed to stay home and just watch a movie)

“sí, aún así fue divertido. también cenamos y nos relajamos.” (yeah, it was still fun. we had dinner aswell and just relaxed) alejandro chimed in too.

y/n went to add onto the answer and alejandro just watched her, completely infatuated and smitten. the hand on the back of the couch came up to toy with the strap of her dress, which is an unconscious habit he liked to do sometimes.

he would often start playing with her clothing, her jewellery, her hair and y/n didn’t mind. in fact, she loved when he did that. it made her feel comforted, having that close proximity with him most of the time.

he watched, or more stared, at her whilst she spoke, eyes jumping for one feature on her face to another as his teeth bit down on the inside of his cheek. his fingers kept mindlessly playing with the soft material of the bow tie holding her dress up.

that’s how the rest of the video went, which was only for a few more minutes. y/n asked the questions and answered some of them. she would turn to alejandro for his opinion, which he would reluctantly give, before helplessly returning back to daydreaming and gazing at his girl.

[juli19varez]

Sur...prise? | Alejandro Balde X Reader

summary: alejandro tried to do a surprise to you, but... well.

warnings: fem!reader, attempt to make it funny, reader described to be overworked (not too explicitly), fluff.

author's note: this was a request but my app excluded all of a sudden 😭 anyways, really liked that request and i made it a little more longer than i wanted (still good i swear) hope you like it and sorry for any mistakes <3 (requests open)

it was almost midnight, you were still studying on your dorm for your next exams, almost sleeping on your books, when you heard a knock on the door. confused and exhausted, you got up to see who was there at such a time. when you opened the door, you could see alejandro smiling, while carrying some bags with him, your eyes widened.

"ale, what the hell are you doing here?!" you said whispering. you knew the rules of the dorm very well. no one from the men's dorms could go to the women's dorms after ten o'clock.

alejandro grinned, entering your room. "i was bored, so i was thinking 'why not go visit mi princesa preciosa?' and here i am!" he said proudly, putting the bags on your desk.

you sighed closing the door, approaching him quickly. "you know the rules here and how much this is dangerous! are you crazy?" you whispered, touching his chest. ale looked down, smirking. "maybe i am, but it was worth the risk," he whispered, giving a little peck at your lips, making you blush.

ale smiled, taking your hand. "come on, i bought you presents, dont be mad at me" he pouted giving you puppy eyes, you shook your head in disbelief. ale pulled you closer, hugging you.

"okay, I'm sorry, that must be some stress because of the finals." you sighed, hugging him back tightly. he stroked your hair, nodding.

"I know that, that's why I'm here." you looked at him confused as he goes to grab the bags again, handing them to you. "open up!" opening the bags, you saw a stuffed animal, and the other, some chocolates.

"I know how stressed you get with these things and overwork yourself, and i cant be by your side all the time, so I bought that bear so you could use some company, he's even using my perfume!" he pointed, looking happy. "and the chocolates... well, you love chocolate."

you smiled, looking at him happily. "you're literally the best boyfriend ever!" he chuckled as you started to kiss all his face, hugging him like a koala. "wow, you really do love me, hm?" you nodded, feeling his arms around you.

"uhm... we just have one problem..." ale hid his face on the crook of your neck. you murmured telling him to continue. "i can't get back to my dorm right now, you know? and im really tired right now... and you need to rest a little, dont you think?"

you tried to say something to complain, but knew he was right, it was almost impossible to leave the building while the guards were everywhere, and wouldn't be a bad idea to sleep together after so much time studying. you nodded, leading him to your bed. "just this time, you troublemaker, don't get used to it." he laid beside you, babbling something you didn't really paid attention, too focused turning the lights on your side off.

you turned to face him, smiling at his sleepy face. "good night, amor" he kissed your nose, hugging you by the waist, resting his head on the top of yours. "good night, preciosa."

8:00am. you heard someone knocking on your door again, you tried to get up, but alejandro was hugging you tight, it made you smile. when you were about to get back to sleep, you heard someone outside.

"y/n!!! you promised to us that we would study together this morning! open up, girl!" your eyes widened realizing it was your friends, you whispered a 'holy shit' when you glanced back to ale, who was still sleeping peacefully by your side.

"u-uhm... one second!!! im... im in the bathroom!" you said back, trying to wake alejandro up. "please, wake up amor" you begged, and finally he opened his eyes, stretching himself and smiling tired. "good morn-"

"no time for it!! hide in the bathroom, right now" you whisper shouting to him, amost pushing him inside there. he looked so confused that made you feel bad, you murmured 'sorry' for him all the time while he just chuckled. "I'll explain later, just don't make any sound until i open the door again." he nodded, and you headed to the girls, still knocking on the door.

"why did you take so long?" "sorry, i was going to take a shower, and then you two appeared." you smiled awkwardly, trying to hide your nervousness. you took a little look até the gifts of the last night, at the same time your friends did. oh no.

"OMG! who gave you this?! this is so cute!!!" they screamed in awe, looking at the heart shaped box with chocolates.

"i-i.... uhm, someone not really important! just a... guy i know..." you grabbed the bear and the box quickly, putting them behind you. "ooh, come on! tell the truth."

"i-it was a guy i met sometime ago... i like h-him, you know?" you said shyly, feeling your cheeks burning, the two girls continued to say how cute and romantic that was. you interrupted them to make some bad excuse to cancel your plans, and they left.

you sighed in relief, hearing the bathroom door crack. "so... you like me?" alejandro hugged you from behind, kissing your red cheek. you laughed, pulling him off. "shut up!"

[lunaandco]

loser is a rotten egg

pairing: alejandro balde x ofc

summary: balde and eva have a very heated tournament of fifa

warning: super short

masterlist // I do not take requests

"You cheated!" Complained Balde. "There is no way you won fairly."

"Pff, I don't know, dude, maybe you just suck at this game." Eva stretched on the couch, a confident smile painting her lips.

"I'm not bad, you're just cheating," he insisted. Eva scoffed.

"I'm better at you at FIFA, both in real like and in video-games," she taunted. Balde hissed. He was still sore from the loss against Osasuna, while Eve was buzzing from victory with a high goal margin.

They had met in La Masia, two talented full backs that craved that first team spot more than anything, with the same sense of humour and similar music tastes.

It was the video-games that made them close, though.

"We could try Mario Kart," she offered with a smirk. Balde sucked at Mario Kart even more.

"Why don't we play some Wii Sports," he retorted. "You like that one, don't you?"

Eva hated Wii Sports.

"We could play another FIFA match," she offered. "Winner picks the next game, loser is a rotten egg."

"Deal," Balde said immediately.

"Good." Eva restarted the game, and as the virtual kick off took place, she left a peck on his lips.

"That's cheating!" He complained as she laughed. Balde lost, according to himself, because he had been distracted.

[soccerwag]

heyy it's me againn. really love your alejandro balde imagine soo could you do toxic relationship + angst with him ?? 🤍🤍

Yes I can love ☺️🫶🏼

(Not my gif, credits to creator)

Burning Flame

Pairing: balde x reader

Summary: you and blade have been dating since before he joined the first team. Your relationship was on and off but you couldn’t help but feel the last burn of the shared flame.

Warnings: cursing, yelling, manipulation, angst, bad ending

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Y/N’s POV

It was currently 3 in the afternoon. You were sitting on your couch waiting for Alejandro to come home from training. Recently you and Alejandro have been fighting more frequently. He’s never home when he says he would be, he’s been making plans without informing you and so forth.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t anxious for him to come home. You knew another fight was going to take place and you don’t even know if you can handle another one. You’d been considering breaking up with him a lot more recently. Especially after the fight where he kicked you out of the house and you had to find a cheap run down hotel to stay at since he wouldn’t give you your belongings either.

You guys used to have an amazing relationship but it seems either the stress or the same had gotten to his head. He sees himself as better than you now, always comparing you to other girls he’s come across but you so dearly wanted him to change, you wanted him to go back to the guy you fell in love with but as time went on you started to doubt it and your relationship together.

————————————————————————

It had now been 2 hours since the time he said he’d be home. You knew he wasn’t going to come home when he said he would but you wanted to believe you’d for once he wrong. It was your breaking point. You were tired of feeling used, tired of feeling like you meant nothing to him anymore. You were a person too and deserved just as much respect as you gave to him.

You walked to you and his shared bedroom before grabbing your suit case. You were done. You started to grab your clothes and fold them neatly into your suit case. You were so engulfed in your thoughts and your tears that you didn’t hear Alejandro walk in.

“Amor!” He yelled but you didn’t pay any attention.

You knew what he wanted, he wanted your attention, your body, your kind words to boost his ego while he destroyed yours. You were willing to give it this time.

“What are you doing? Why are you packing, we aren’t going anywhere?” He asked in confusion when he walked in and saw what you was doing.

You turned around, eyes red and cheeks puffy.

“You’re not going anywhere I am.” You said bluntly.

“What do you mean?” He asked again confused.

“I’m tired of your antics, I’m tired of feeling like I’m alone when I have a boyfriend, I’m tired of you taking advantage of my kindness, I’m tired of all this bullshit Alejandro!” You scream at him, not being able to compose yourself anymore.

“You can’t leave me! I love you and you know that! Is this about me going to hangout with friends and not coming straight home?! My life doesn’t revolve around you Y/n!” He yelled back.

He tried walking to you, tried to hug you but you shoved him away.

“YOU’RE NEVER FUCKING HOME ALEJANDRO, YOU NEVER THINK ABOUT ME IT’S LIKE I’M NOT EVEN HERE ANYMORE SO LET ME LEAVE LET ME FREE YOUR LIFE OF HAVING ME IN IT LET ME REMOVE A FUCKING BURDEN FROM YOU.” You were full on screaming at the top of your lungs now, tears falling hot and fast. You didn’t care to put things in neatly anymore you just shoved it all in and zipped up your suitcase.

“I LOVE YOU THOUGH HOW DO YOU NOT SEE THAT, WITHOUT ME YOU’D BE NOTHING, WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A PUTA GOD ITS LIKE NOTHING I DO IS ENOUGH FOR YOU, WHAT ABOUT THE FAMILY WE PLANNED WHAT ABOUT ALL THE NIGHTS I STAYED UP WITH YOU WHEN YOUR PARENTS DIED I’VE RISKED SO MUCH FOR YOU.” He screamed before trying to trap me in the bedroom.

I grabbed my suitcase and shoved through him, heading to the front door.

“Well now you don’t have to worry, you won’t have to risk anything else for me because we’re done, the burning flame has now burnt it’s last flame.” You said before walking out and never turning back.

————————————————————————

A/N: I know it’s short but I hope this fulfilled your balde angst cravings. 🫶🏼

[nyxxels]

A quick, silly short comic of @deathbyday's daisuke fic because I had a vision LMAO

Read left to right!

[kisakunt]

megumi’s pissed— pissed with a big, capital p. he’s bothered a lot; irritated and agitated with people daily, no stranger to fingers curling into a fist either at his sides or to the top of someone’s head. but right now, in the cold of your room, he’s pissed.

“take this shit off.” he won’t dare lift his hands himself because if megumi is a man of anything it’s principle. you laugh— louder than a giggle but nonetheless muffled by your pursed lips— and shake your head.

“no can do, nutmeg.” and now he’s really mad.

“don’t call me that.” he’s itching, his normally protruding hair flattened, his palms clammy, his breathing shallow.

“c’mon, why are you so miserable all the time?” it’s a slow drawl, a whine that he has to force himself to ignore. “can’t you show a little joy? maybe even some jubilance? or dare you say it might kill you?”

your name comes out stern, calculated and pointed in a way he knows will get to you, and simply, he repeats himself.

“take this shit off.”

megumi fushiguro is not a big believer of tradition. he has never obsessed over a birthday— although he did buy you a singular cupcake and candle on yours— or stressed at the thought of marriage. he’s not big on anniversaries and he couldn’t care less about a baby shower or bachelor party, so naturally holiday’s mean nothing to him.

you on the other hand are, in his own words, a nutcase. you’d met him two weeks before the christmas prior and insisted you get each other small trinkets. on valentine’s day you gave everyone you knew a card, on easter you mastered the art of making your very own chocolate, on halloween you bought a costume that he refused to wear.

and now, here you are again; snow on the ground outside and a small, and frankly sad, tree in your room symbolizing not only the biggest day of your year but an absolutely grueling year of knowing you.

you sit in front of him, criss cross, with a goofy little grin on your face. he can’t help but think it’s utterly disgusting that that’s doing something for him. regardless though, he stands his ground.

“if you don’t take this off right now i’m not talking to you for a week.” you laugh for real this time, shaking your head with more energy than before.

“well we both know that’s a lie. i’d probably drop dead if you did that and then, overwhelmed by guilt, you’d turn into an even weirder and sadder old man.”

“i’m not old. take this shit off.” atop his head sat a truthfully horrific santa hat. it couldn’t have cost more than two dollars, assortment of dim led lights on the trim. he can’t help but think of how many little, lice ridden kids must have tried this on. but he still won’t budge.

“you know you can just take it off yourself, right?” he does know that— obviously— but again, he has beliefs. he has pride. it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact you’re looking at him like he’s heaven on earth or the matching hat smothering your own hair. it has nothing to do with you at all.

he shifts, leaning his body weight onto his left side as he presses his hands into the plush of your bed to lift himself up. he makes a little show of it, slow and meticulous as he barely raises himself.

it would be so easy to avoid this situation. it would be so simple to shake his head or yank the hat off or have stopped you from putting it there to begin with.

megumi’s pissed, but it’s not with you.

“i’m serious. it’d actually be nice to have a moment of quiet in my brain.” megumi is furious, livid and squirming in his own skin. he’s absolutely, unequivocally angry.

he’s angry because he can’t figure out why for the dear life of him there’s a tightly wrapped gift tucked in the bottom of his bag, or why he knows the nearly exact color hex of your eyes, or why he’s hummed— hummed— the song ‘war is over’ twice this week.

you grumble, butt hurt and annoyed now too, and you reach over as fast as you can and snatch it off of him.

“there,” and now megumi’s even more upset because that upset him and his head feels cold and empty now. “happy now?”

and before he can think, before he can be as calculated as he always is, it slips.

“no.” and in that moment something shifts. it’s both of you, just a little bit towards each other, it’s the tension that’s now (and always has been) in the air, it’s the way your hat slips a little to the side.

“well i just can’t win with you, can i?” the— his— hat lays loose between your fingers, your voice quieter than he thinks he’s ever heard it.

megumi wonders time to time if he’s a coward. he knows he’s strong, he knows he’s just in his opinions, he knows he fights. but sometimes he freezes and sometimes he panics and sometimes he can’t look you in the eye.

maybe it’s time for him to be brave. he leans into you, closer to you, breathing you all in and, brushing your fingers in the process, he takes it back from you.

suddenly it’s warm again. suddenly you’re matching again. suddenly he feels close to you again.

“there.” for once, it feels like christmas to megumi. “happy now?” and it feels like he’s got a gift in front of him.

[mintyys-blog]

NOT MY WORLD — bald! mark grayson / cap invincible x reader

WARNINGS: homicide, kidnapping, smut, swearing, lying, murder, DUBCON,

You weren’t supposed to touch it.

Rudy had been clear: “Don’t mess with the calibration unless you want to end up somewhere you can’t come back from.”

But curiosity got the better of you.

It always did.

Eve had warned you about it before, more exasperated than angry.

“You have got to stop messing with things before you know what they do.”

She was usually right, but that never stopped you. You liked pushing limits, testing boundaries. It’s what made you useful to the team—bold, quick-thinking, unafraid to take risks.

But it also meant you had a habit of not listening. So when Rudy told you to leave the machine alone, what did you do? One wrong press of a button. One flick of a switch.

And then— White-hot light. A deafening crack. The feeling of your body being ripped through space and time.

⸻

Nowhere and Nothing. When it stopped, the lab was gone. So was Eve. So was Rudy.

Instead, you were here. Where ever here was.

A ruined world, suffocating under a blood-red sky. Cities reduced to graveyards. Silence so thick it felt unnatural. Your stomach twisted as you took a shaky step forward. Where the hell were you?

The machine had been an experimental dimensional stabilizer, meant to analyze alternate timelines. It was never supposed to send you into one.

At least, that’s what Rudy had said. Your mind raced, piecing together the possibilities. This wasn’t just another time—this was a whole other world.

A world where something had gone terribly wrong.

Your foot brushed against something. You looked down. A half-ripped poster, barely clinging to the cracked pavement.

Your heart stopped. A man in a blue and black suit, mask covering his head like a second skin.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was him. Not the Mark you knew. Not the friend who made dumb jokes and struggled under the weight of heroism. This Mark was different. This Mark had won.

And then— A rush of wind. A presence behind you. A voice, smooth and amused.

“Now this is interesting.”

You turned too late. A hand clamped around your throat, lifting you off the ground with effortless strength. You gasped, fingers clawing at the hand around your throat. It wasn’t tight enough to choke you—just enough to remind you how easily he could.

Your feet dangled inches above the cracked pavement, your heart hammering against your ribs.

You forced yourself to look at him. Blue mask. Black suit. Eyes like a predator toying with his prey.

Mark. No—not your Mark.

“You should be dead,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, as if trying to make sense of you. His tone was light, almost amused. “I should know—I was the one who killed you.”

Cold horror shot through you.

He wasn’t lying. You could tell by the way he studied you—not with surprise, but recognition. Your mind raced. This wasn’t just another world—you had existed here before.

And you had died at his hands. Your chest tightened. “I—I don’t—” His grip tightened, cutting off your words.

“You begged, you know.” His voice was almost casual, like he was recalling an old memory. “Told me I wouldn’t go through with it.”

His fingers twitched against your skin. His voice dipped lower, almost a whisper. “You were wrong.”

A shudder ran down your spine. You didn’t know if it was fear or something worse. He leaned in slightly, as if waiting for a reaction. When you didn’t break, he chuckled under his breath.

“You always were stubborn.”

Your stomach twisted. He still thinks I’m her.

This was dangerous. You had no idea who the version of you in this world had been, what kind of relationship they had. If you said the wrong thing, if you broke the illusion— He would kill you. You forced your expression to remain blank. “I came back.”

His grip faltered for just a fraction of a second. A moment of hesitation—gone before you could process it.

But it was enough. You had his attention.

His hold on your throat loosened, and then—just as suddenly as he had grabbed you—he let go. You hit the ground, gasping, knees scraping against rough concrete. Above you, he stood still, watching. Assessing. And then— A smirk.

“If you’re lying,” he said, voice dripping with amusement, “I’ll tear you apart all over again.” His grin grew. What a sick fuck!

You swallowed hard. Play along. That’s the only way to survive this. Even if it meant standing at the side of a monster.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he spoke again.

“So tell me—how did you do it? How did you resurrect from the dead?”

He leaned in close, the sharp glow of his red eyes cutting through the dark. You instinctively leaned back, your spine pressing against the cracked pavement, but he followed—closing the distance until your lips were just inches apart. Too close.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, the barely restrained power in his body, the unsettling stillness in the way he hovered over you. He was waiting. Waiting for an answer you didn’t have. Your heart pounded. You had to think fast.

“I…” You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady. “You killed me.” A statement, not a question. His smirk widened slightly. “Mmm.” A pleased hum, as if savoring the memory. “And it was spectacular.”

Your stomach twisted, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you tilted your chin up, meeting his gaze head-on. “Then maybe you didn’t do a very good job.”

His fingers twitched at his sides. For a moment, there was silence. And then—he laughed. Low. Amused. Mocking.

“Oh, I missed you.” His gloved fingers brushed your jaw, almost affectionate. “I almost forgot how much I loved that sharp tongue of yours.” You forced yourself not to flinch. Play along. Keep him entertained. That’s the only way to survive. His hand ghosted lower, just barely skimming your throat before he pulled back, straightening up.

“Come on then.” He turned, as if the conversation had never happened. “Let’s see if you’re real.” You hesitated.

“What if I don’t go with you?” He glanced back over his shoulder. A slow, knowing smile stretched across his face. “You don’t have a choice.”

The tension in the air thickened as his words hung between you, the weight of them pressing down, suffocating. There was no escaping this. No negotiating. It was just you and him, and you knew better than to fight back, at least not yet.

You stood, trying to maintain some semblance of composure, your every muscle screaming at you to bolt, to run—but that would only make it worse. You’d learned that the hard way before.

He didn’t wait for you to move. His steps were confident, deliberate, like a predator enjoying the hunt. His voice, still laced with amusement, reached you before he turned the corner.

“Catch up if you can.”

It was a taunt. A challenge.

You followed, though every instinct in you screamed to resist. You weren’t ready for this. You weren’t ready to face the monster he’d become.

He stopped walking abruptly, turning to face you with an eerie calmness that only made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. His gaze was unrelenting, burning into you as though trying to strip away your very soul.

His lips curled into a dark smile, and his voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.

“You begged me to stop,” he murmured, as if savoring a long-lost memory. “Cried and pleaded for mercy, just like the pathetic little thing you were. Remember? ‘Please, I love you,’ you said. Please, don’t do this.” His voice cracked in mocking imitation, mimicking your past desperation with cruel accuracy. “It was… so beautiful, watching you break. I thought I might never get enough.”

Your pulse spiked, but you fought to keep your expression neutral, to keep him guessing.

“And yet, even in the end,” he continued, his tone sharpening, “you tried to stop me. You thought I’d listen. You thought I could still be the person you knew, the one you controlled.” He shook his head slowly, as if the very idea amused him. “You didn’t get it then, and you sure as hell don’t get it now. I’m not that man anymore. I will never bend to anyone’s rules again.”

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, the darkness of the alley seeming to close in around you. The walls felt too close, the air too thick, and before you could even react, his hands shot out—gripping your shoulders and pinning you with brutal force against the cold, unforgiving wall. His arms caged you in, leaving you no room to move, no space to breathe.

He leaned in, his breath hot on your face, his eyes dangerously intense.

“So tell me,” he hissed, his voice slipping into a dangerous edge. “Who are you really?”

The question hung in the air like a weight you couldn’t escape, suffocating. His gaze flickered over your face, as though searching for a flaw, a crack in the mask you wore. His lips quirked up slightly, as if he knew the answer before you did, but he wanted to hear you say it.

“You’re not her,” he added, voice dripping with disdain. “You don’t feel like her. You’re a stranger wearing her skin. I can see it. The difference in your eyes. The way you move. The way you breathe.”

His fingers dug into your arm, and the pressure sent a surge of pain through you.

“You’re lying. You can’t fool me.”

It didn’t matter if you wanted to fight him. You couldn’t. Not like this. Not against the monster he’d become. He would break you if you tried. And yet, every part of you screamed to hold on, to not let him have the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

But for now, there was only one thing left to do. Keep him talking. Keep him focused on the question, on trying to figure out who you were. Maybe that would buy you enough time to find a way out.

And so you swallowed the bile rising in your throat, your voice cold, as you spoke the only thing that came to mind: “I’m not the one you killed.”

The words hung between you like a bitter aftertaste, each syllable a tightrope of danger. His gaze flickered as he absorbed your confession, his sharp eyes narrowing just slightly. His grip on you loosened a fraction, but it was enough for you to push him away—an instinctive motion, desperate, filled with the weight of every wrong turn that led you here.

You shoved at his chest with all the strength you could muster, the force of the push barely making an impact. His body didn’t even budge, the muscle and power behind him making it feel like you were trying to shove a mountain. But it was something, a sign of defiance—something to hold on to.

“Even if I’m not the one from… whatever this dimension is—you killed me?!” The words shot out of you, a raw, unrelenting accusation. You could feel your heart racing, pulse pounding as the anger surged through you.

But his response was not what you expected.

His smile didn’t return immediately, but something in his eyes flickered. A moment of confusion, perhaps, or something darker creeping in. He stepped back, letting the silence hang for a beat longer than necessary. You couldn’t tell if he was amused or considering your words with a new kind of interest.

“Other dimensions?” he echoed, the question lingering with a strange, unfamiliar edge to his voice. His head tilted, a slow, sinister smile beginning to spread across his face. “Ones that… I could take over, you mean?”

Your heart skipped. This was far from what you’d hoped to avoid. Gods, what had you done?

“How do I access these dimensions?” he asked, his smirk growing again, more wicked, more dangerous now. The shift in his tone sent a cold chill crawling down your spine.

You swallowed, suddenly realizing how much you had just revealed. You should’ve known better than to let that slip. It was a mistake. But it was too late. There was no turning back now.

His thirst for power had always been insatiable, and now, with this new possibility, it could be worse—infinitely worse. He could destroy everything.

You needed to think quickly, to pull back. He was already searching your face for more information, eager for any scrap of knowledge you might have, any opening to feed his growing obsession.

“Look,” you said, your voice shaking but steeled with determination, “I’m not from your world. I’m not the same person you killed. I made a mistake, and now I’m trapped here, in this universe. But that doesn’t mean I know how to control any of it. I don’t even know how I got here.”

His expression remained locked on you, the dangerous curiosity never leaving his eyes.

“But you did just tell me,” he mused, almost thoughtfully. “You mentioned other dimensions, worlds. And if they exist, then there has to be a way to move between them.” He stepped forward, the smirk returning in full force as he closed the distance again, his presence overwhelming.

“You don’t know how, do you?” he taunted, his voice dropping to a low, menacing whisper. “But you will. You’ll find a way to help me access them, won’t you? Because the last thing you want… is for me to start looking for answers myself.”

A twisted gleam danced in his eyes, the hunt beginning anew. His gaze locked onto yours with cold certainty. He was no longer interested in your survival. He only cared about what he could gain.

And in that moment, you realized—this version of him, this monster—had no intention of letting you go.

“You’ll help me,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Whether you want to or not.”

“I can’t help you, not because I don’t want to— well that too— but I also can’t! The tech used wasn’t mine, it was my friends Rudy. I messed with it and now I’m here.” You explained.

A rush of dread washed over you as the words tumbled from his lips. “Damnit, I killed that guy already.”

You froze. Rudy? The realization hit you like a bolt of lightning—this version of him had already killed Rudy. Your stomach churned at the thought, a wave of panic rising in your chest. “You—what? You killed him?”

Your voice cracked, disbelief threading through the words. Rudy wasn’t supposed to be dead. He couldn’t be. But looking at the cruel gleam in Head Cap Invincible’s eyes, you knew it was true. This world wasn’t just a nightmare—it was a graveyard for everyone you cared about.

“Did you—did you kill the other heroes too?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. The words tasted like ash in your mouth.

He shrugged, completely indifferent to your horror. “Oh well… I’ll just wait until they come to collect you and go with them,” he said, almost dismissive, as if his twisted plan was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

The terror inside you deepened, but before you could react, he moved swiftly. In one fluid motion, he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you tightly against his chest. The sudden proximity left you no room to breathe. His body was solid, unyielding—just like his grip on you.

“That just means I have to keep my eyes on you 24/7,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the words dripping with possessiveness. His hands were firm, locking you in place as he held you tightly against him. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the suffocating power of his presence closing in.

You stiffened, your pulse pounding in your ears, every muscle screaming for release, but you knew better than to fight him. Not now.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, your voice shaky but trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “You don’t have to keep me like this.”

He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh, but I do,” he replied, tightening his hold just enough to remind you that he was in charge. “You don’t understand, do you? This is about more than just you, sweet thing. This is about everything.”

You could feel his smirk against your cheek, and his next words were a cold, cruel whisper. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

And as the darkness around you seemed to close in tighter, you realized there was no escaping the nightmare. Not unless you found a way to outsmart him, to break free from the grip of this monster who was now obsessed with you.

The next day passed in a blur of tension and forced calm. He kept you close, never giving you a moment of respite. Every move you made, every breath you took, he was there, watching, waiting. And through it all, his presence never wavered—unrelenting, suffocating.

Now, standing before a large, imposing mansion, you felt the weight of your new reality settling heavily on your chest. The mansion was both beautiful and ominous, its tall, dark walls casting long shadows across the driveway. The windows were darkened, as if even the house itself had been swallowed up by his twisted influence.

“Welcome home!” His voice was loud, cheerful, as if the words were something he had been waiting to say for a long time. You swallowed back the bile rising in your throat, the heavy knot in your stomach refusing to loosen.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The very thought of this place, of what he had turned it into, made you want to scream.

He shot you a wicked grin, the kind of grin that could freeze your blood. “Don’t worry, sweet thing. You’ll share a room with me.” His eyes gleamed, dark and full of menace. “Can’t have you away from me.”

Your stomach dropped. You wanted to push him away, to yell at him to stop, but the last time you tried that, it only made things worse. You were trapped, suffocated by his twisted sense of ownership. There was no escape. Not now. Not here.

He led you through the front doors, the mansion’s interior a lavish maze of marble floors and gold-trimmed walls. The air inside was cool, but it felt thick, as if the mansion itself held its breath. You felt the weight of it all, the oppressive silence hanging like a shroud over everything.

“This place… it’s mine,” he said, as though sensing your unease. “I’ve turned it into something… ours.” He paused, looking down at you with that unsettling smile. “It’ll be our little haven, sweetheart.”

You tried to ignore the icy fingers of dread crawling down your spine as he guided you through the grand halls. There was a twisted sense of pride in his voice, as if he was showing you something you should be grateful for.

When he finally stopped in front of a door, he turned the handle with a flourish and pushed it open. The room was large and dark, with heavy curtains draped over the windows and ornate furniture that seemed to mock the luxury you used to take for granted. It was far from comforting—it felt like a gilded cage.

He stepped inside first, his eyes never leaving you as he gestured to the bed. “Your bed is right here, sweet thing. But don’t worry, I’ll be close by.”

You didn’t need him to tell you that. You could feel his eyes on you like a predator’s, constantly assessing, constantly watching.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said, almost too casually, as if he genuinely believed you would. “We’ll spend plenty of time together. You’ll see—this won’t be so bad.” His smirk deepened as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to him. “Come on, sit with me. We’ve got all the time in the world now.”

You stood in the doorway, your heart hammering in your chest, feeling the walls close in around you. You knew the only way to survive this—if you even could—was to play along. To not show weakness, to not let him see the fear he thrived on. But that didn’t make it any easier.

He was already waiting, staring at you with that same unyielding gaze, his hands relaxed but poised, as if he was ready for whatever came next. And you, trapped in the web he had spun around you, had no choice but to step forward into the darkness that had become your prison.

You sat on the bed, your nerves crawling up your spine like a thousand tiny ants, the room too still, too quiet. You could feel his eyes lingering on you, even though he hadn’t said a word. The silence only made the tension between you worse. He was a predator, and you were a cornered animal, trapped in the gilded cage he had built.

Then, with little warning, he disappeared for a moment, leaving you in the heavy stillness of the room. When he returned, he threw a shirt at you with a casual flick of his wrist.

“Put that on,” he ordered. “Much more comfortable than what you have on now.”

You glanced at your tight, form-fitting hero suit, the one that had saved you countless times before. It was durable, practical—but not meant for lounging around a mansion with a madman. You had to admit, you were already starting to feel the uncomfortable weight of your current attire in his presence.

You lifted the shirt, examining it. It was large, black, and clearly designed for comfort. You could already imagine how it would feel against your skin.

“Well?” he prompted again, his voice low and expectant.

Your jaw tightened, and you stood up. The nerve-racking decision to do what he wanted hit you like a punch to the gut. You glared at him. “Turn around.”

He scoffed, as if you’d just told him to do something utterly absurd. “Why? Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Your eyes narrowed. With a snap of your wrist, you grabbed a pillow from the bed and threw it directly at him. His reflexes were fast, and he caught it in mid-air, smirking as if he found this all terribly amusing.

“I won’t tell you again,” you warned, your voice steady despite the knot in your stomach. “Turn around.”

He leaned back against the bed’s headboard, raising his arms behind his head in mock relaxation. “Don’t worry,” he teased, his smirk widening. “I’m totally closing my eyes behind these goggles.”

The words dripped with sarcasm, and the mocking tone in his voice made you feel even more exposed. But he wasn’t going to make this easy. He was enjoying it.

With a long, defeated sigh, you turned around, facing the wall. The air felt heavier as you forced yourself to slip out of your hero suit and into the shirt he’d given you. You could feel his gaze burning into your back, his presence suffocating. Every movement felt deliberate, like you were performing for him in this twisted game.

When you finished, the shirt fell to mid-thigh, and you stood there for a moment, taking in the feeling of the fabric that was far too big for you. The way it hung on you, it was almost like a short dress, the hem brushing just above your knees. You couldn’t deny the fact that it felt… different—almost familiar. The thought made you shiver, but it was quickly followed by a sharp whistle from him.

“Damn,” he said, his voice dark and impressed, “looking at you like that almost made me forget why I killed you in the first place.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a sharp sting of anger welling up inside you. The man who had taken everything from you, who had torn apart your world, was now looking at you like some kind of prize. His words were laced with that same sickening amusement.

You gritted your teeth but said nothing. There was nothing to say. Nothing you could do to change what had already happened.

He studied you with a predatory gaze, almost as if he was savoring the moment. “Now that’s more like it,” he muttered under his breath, as if this small shift in the dynamic pleased him in ways you couldn’t even begin to understand.

But that look in his eyes—that hunger—made your stomach twist. You had to keep your wits about you, no matter what he threw your way.

In a flash, he was in his boxers, his movements swift and deliberate, leaving you with no time to react. Now, as he laid there casually, you could get a clear look at his face. It was eerily familiar, the same face as your Mark—but twisted. Darker. More sinister. The sharp features that once held warmth were now cold, calculated. His eyes gleamed with malice, as if daring you to make a move.

He patted the bed beside him with a slow, taunting gesture. “You gonna stand all night, or sleep on a mattress?” His voice was mocking, almost amused by your reluctance. He flopped onto the bed, curling onto his side, his hand supporting his head as he watched you, waiting for you to make your next move.

Your heart hammered in your chest. You hated every second of it. But you couldn’t afford to let your defiance get the better of you—not yet. Pissing him off further could be catastrophic. So, you bit your lip, swallowing down the rush of anger and disgust that threatened to rise in your throat. You didn’t have a choice.

With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly slid onto the bed beside him. You made sure to keep as much distance between you as possible, the mattress feeling like a small, fragile barrier between the two of you. Your body tensed, your muscles tight as you tried to steady your breathing, trying not to let your discomfort show.

He didn’t let the moment pass without remark. His gaze flickered over to you, that same smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I told you,” he murmured, “you’re going to get used to being close to me again.”

Your mind raced, thinking of how to escape, how to plan your next move. But for now, all you could do was lie there, staring at the ceiling, the dark weight of the situation pressing down on you. The stillness between you both was suffocating, and as you lay there in silence, you couldn’t help but wonder just how long you could endure this twisted version of your reality.

As you lay there beside him, the tension in the air thickened, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like an unspoken threat. He was too close, his presence far too overwhelming. The room felt smaller, suffocating, as you could feel every breath he took, every movement he made.

His eyes never left you, always watching, always waiting. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and his mere proximity made your pulse quicken in ways you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Comfortable?” His voice was low, almost teasing, as if he could sense the unease rolling off you.

You clenched your jaw but didn’t answer. The less you engaged, the better.

He let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the discomfort you were trying to hide. “You know, I could get used to this. The old you would’ve been more… cooperative.”

You could hear the edge of amusement in his voice, but it only made your stomach churn. This wasn’t the man you used to know—the one you fought beside, the one you trusted. This one was a shadow of that person, someone unrecognizable and filled with malice.

His hand shifted slightly, brushing against your side, just enough to make you tense, his fingers lightly grazing your skin. He smirked, enjoying your reaction.

“Relax,” he teased, though his words didn’t carry any genuine kindness. “I won’t bite… yet.” His voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was no mistaking the threat that lingered beneath it.

You could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air, as if everything in this room was a carefully orchestrated game, and you were the unwilling participant. Every small action, every brush of his fingers, every time his gaze flickered over you—it all felt like a warning, like a constant reminder of how powerless you were in this twisted version of your reality.

You tossed and turned all night, the sheets tangled around you, your mind racing with thoughts of escape, of how to get out of this twisted situation. Sleep wouldn’t come, not with him lying next to you, his presence a constant reminder of everything that was wrong about this world.

Then, his voice sliced through the silence, smooth and mocking, as though he had been waiting for you to crack.

“Can’t sleep?” He teased, his voice too calm, too knowing. You froze, feeling the weight of his gaze on your back, even though you couldn’t see him. “You know, I know something that always used to work.”

You bit your lip, trying to control your growing irritation. “You’re not my boyfriend, so—shut up.”

He chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying the rise he got out of you. “Aren’t I though?” His voice dropped lower, the mocking edge sharper now. “I mean… we used to date—well, the alternative version of you. Kinda the same thing, no?”

You could almost feel the smirk in his words. Your chest tightened at the reminder of the past that wasn’t your past. Your Mark had been your Mark—the one you trusted, the one you fought beside. But this man? This monster? He was nothing like the one you remembered.

“No, it’s not!” You sat up, your heart pounding, eyes burning with frustration. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, trying to ward off the uncomfortable mix of emotions rising inside you. “I miss my Mark—not you.”

His response was almost too quick, and you could feel the shift in the atmosphere. His laughter was low and dark, almost dangerous. “You miss him, huh?” He sounded almost too pleased with himself, and when you glanced over at him, you saw the way his lips curled into a wicked smile.

“But here’s the thing, sweet thing,” he continued, his voice suddenly colder, sharper. “You’re stuck with me now. And if you think your Mark’s coming to save you… well, you might just want to rethink that.”

You hated how his words sent a chill down your spine, but you refused to let him see your fear.

You felt a chill run through you at his words, but before you could even react, he was on you. His lips crashed onto yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t a kiss of affection—no, it was possessive, claiming, like he was marking you as his, a reminder of the twisted reality you were trapped in.

For a moment, you froze, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind screaming for you to pull away, to fight back. But his grip was unyielding, his presence overwhelming. You could feel the heat of his body, the power radiating off him, suffocating you.

When he finally pulled back, you were left breathless, staring at him with wide eyes. The smirk on his face told you everything—you were nothing more than a prize to him now, something to be claimed, to be controlled.

“You might as well forget about him, sweet thing,” he purred, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re mine now.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You couldn’t think, couldn’t process everything that had just happened. All you could do was stare at him, fury and confusion warring inside you. This wasn’t your Mark. This wasn’t the man you knew. This was someone else—someone far darker, far more dangerous.

The taste of his kiss still lingered on your lips, making your skin crawl, and you could feel the weight of his words hanging in the air like an oppressive cloud. His gaze bore into you, dark and knowing, a glint of something sinister flickering behind his eyes.

You forced yourself to breathe, your chest rising and falling with each frantic breath. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words affected you. You wouldn’t—couldn’t—let him win.

But the more you stared at him, the more you realized the truth: he was right. For now, you were trapped. There was no Mark to save you, no escape, no way out. Not yet, anyway.

He reclined against the pillows, arms behind his head, his body sprawled out in a casual dominance that made your skin itch. “You know, sweet thing,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “I’ve always loved this about you. The fire. The fight.” He rolled onto his side, his eyes scanning you, sharp and predatory. “It makes breaking you… so much more fun.”

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. “I’m not broken.” Your voice was quiet but firm, the defiance still there, no matter how small it seemed in comparison to his overwhelming presence.

He chuckled darkly, his gaze never leaving you. “Not yet, you’re not. But you will be.” The words were like a promise, a warning you couldn’t escape.

His smile widened, the cruel edge to it clear. He was enjoying this—all of this—your discomfort, your struggle. The room felt colder, and the silence between you grew heavier, suffocating.

“Come on now,” he coaxed, reaching out toward you, his fingers brushing the edge of your arm. “Don’t look at me like that. We could have a lot of fun together, you know. Maybe you just need to… relax.”

You flinched slightly at his touch, recoiling before you could stop yourself. His smile faded for a split second, but his amusement never did.

“You don’t get it,” you spat, your voice thick with anger and frustration. “You’re not my Mark, and you never will be. You can’t replace him.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense, the glimmer of danger in his eyes sharpening. “I don’t need to replace him.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m better than him.”

Your stomach twisted, the bitter taste of his words settling deep inside you. You couldn’t tell whether he believed it or if it was just part of his sick game, but either way, it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t break you—not like this.

He spread your legs, going between them, “so what do you say, sweet thing? Will you still have that fight even if I fuck it out of you?” You felt your face heat up at his words, you slapped him as hard as you could, but it remained ineffective. “That’s it, that’s the fire I can’t wait to see burn away,” he ripped off her shirt, and she quickly covered her chest. “What the— hey! Stop that!” He pins her arms to her sides, “just like before huh…” he said more to himself.

He grabbed your breast in one hand, rolling your nipple in with his fingers, “you were always sensitive here, glad to see that hasn’t changed.” He said with that grin of his. You moan as he sucks on one, palming the other breast with his other hand. Your hands go to his hair, tugging and squirming beneath him. “Mark!”

He suddenly stopped, releasing his mouth with a pop sound, “say my name again.” You shook your head, he frowned, “hm, fine be that way.” He thrusted his fingers inside, slipping in two easily because of how wet you have become. Embarrassingly so. You moaned, biting your lip and gripping at the sheets, “wait! Mark im gonna—“

“I know sweet thing, cum for me” he whispered in her ear, and you came with a cry. He smirked againist your neck, and removed his fingers, replacing them with his cock almost immediately. You gasp, holding into his shoulders, “Mark!”

Your legs were held by him as he continued his brutal thrusts, he grunted, watching your breast bounce from the movement. He watched as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The head board slammed into the wall, and the room shook with terrifying force. He wasn’t gentle, not compared to your mark, who was so sweet. This one was rough, and he thrusted with a purpose, to prove a point, to show how helpless you are. Proven by how you cried out his name, begging for more yet telling him to stop, orgasming again and again.

The night stretched on in unsettling silence. The exhaustion from the tension, the fear, the constant fight inside you, finally overtook your resolve. Your body, despite your best efforts to stay alert, succumbed to sleep. You didn’t remember exactly when you drifted off, but the comfort of the bed—distant as it seemed—lulled you into a restless slumber.

While you slept, the air in the room shifted again. It was subtle, but he was still awake, watching you.

Slowly, his fingers moved, tracing the outline of your body with a practiced ease. It was gentle at first, almost tender, but there was a coldness to it—like a predator savoring the moment before striking.

As his fingers moved down the curve of your side, you remained unaware, lost in the haze of your dreams, and a small, satisfied smirk curled onto his lips.

“Told you it would work,” he murmured softly to himself, his voice low, just loud enough for you to hear in your half-conscious state. The words were a sickening reminder of the game he played, his ownership, his control over the situation.

His hand lingered just a moment longer before he pulled it away, enjoying the subtle shift in the room that came with his touch—the way your body tensed slightly, though you didn’t wake.

He leaned back, still watching you, the darkness in his eyes a constant reminder of the twisted reality you were now stuck in. And in the quiet of the room, his smirk remained, the satisfaction of his control evident in every move he made.

As you slept, the nightmare never truly ceased—it only shifted forms.

[sp4ceboo]

Atonement: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: fic i wrote with @triluvial 's lovely idea

tw: 18+, smut but pretty soft, oral (f recieving), so so so so much angst, fluff after tho dw, swearing, hints of sa and pedophilia from the baron, baron is also creepy to reader but not explicitly, u gotta bear with my yapping in the beginning but it gets good i promise, inkpie

wc: 3.9k

headcanons for this universe

When you married Feyd-Rautha, you were warned of many things. His cruelty, both in and out of the bedroom, his bloodlust, his uncontrollable rage, his violence, his complete and utter lack of mercy. They told you he was psychotic, he was a cold blooded murderer, he was insatiable and that you’d be lucky to last a year with him, and yet, they never cautioned you of his sheer, unerring indifference.

Before your marriage, you fancied that he’d be like fire; raging, searing to touch. You went as far as to wish to tame his inferno. Late at night, when you could not sleep and doubt wreathed your thoughts, you also considered that he’d be like ice, like the colour of his piercing eyes, glacial and cold, devoid of anything soft or sweet.

As a child, you saw him fight in the arena. There he blazed with passion, his victor’s smile a cruel curve upon his face, his knife blade stained dark with fresh blood: he was mesmerising. At that time you were beginning to understand that your future had been sold to this violent man, and you resented your parents for it - now you realise that it went deeper than that, that it was rooted in generations of religion, of whisperings of the Bene Gesserit. Still, even then, you found the way he burned intriguing, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

But you were wrong. He turned out to be neither fire nor ice, just stingingly, dismissively apathetic. His eyes slide right over you when he happens to pass you in the corridors, as if you’re lower than a servant, lower than the rare rats that survive Giedi Prime’s conditions. You suspected your marriage would be painful, wedded to a man such as he was, but you didn’t think it would be this damn lonely.

You wished he hated you.

That way, at least you’d mean something to your husband. At least then vehement, savage emotion would rise within his gaze whenever he looked at you, not that horrible, polarising blankness. You wish you disgusted him, because then he’d at least he’d speak his mind - you had learnt that he spoke with brutal honesty, uncaring of the consequences.

Maybe to him, that’s all you are. A consequence of being high born, of being the na-Baron. You mean nothing to him, and he treats you as such; to him, you are less than the speck of dust on the floor, less than a grain of sand in his beloved arena.

It’s not that you wish for him to dote on you, nor love you or devote himself to you. You just wish he would look you in the eye and feel something; you’d rather him stare at you in revulsion and call you names that you can’t even think up yourself than the dead, lifeless detachment that clouds his face when he sees you in your shared chambers.

Feyd-Rautha has never laid a hand on you in violence; in fact he rarely touches you at all. The last, and only time he kissed you was during the wedding day, and he makes no moves to be in bodily contact with you any more than he has to be. You are obliged to produce an heir from him, yet even in these infrequent encounters it seems as if it is a chore for him - he takes no pleasure in your body nor does he try to pleasure you, and he makes no sound when he takes you, staying as long as it takes for his seed to fill your womb before leaving without a word. On those nights, your thighs tremble as you stumble to the bathroom, only allowing your tears to fall once the shower water is searing on your skin.

During the first month of your marriage, you did everything in your power to please him. You thought maybe you weren’t pretty enough for him, maybe you were not desirable as a wife, so you always smiled at him, made an effort to fill the silence that pervaded the air around him, bringing up topics you knew he would enjoy, like the arena, like his love for knives and duels. To even that he would not reply, rebutting your questions with monosyllables or simply ignoring you. You stopped once he began to leave the room while you were mid sentence.

It is now your fourth month locked in this marriage with an uncaring man, and all you feel is bleak, crushing resignation. Somehow, Feyd-Rautha seems to take more interest in conversing with his brother than you.

You wonder if he has forgotten your name. He addresses you simply as ‘wife’ - that, and nothing more, the title leaving his lips like an accusatory curse, reminding you that if you did not serve a purpose to him, and if decorum did not restrain him, he’d have disposed of you by now, either by slitting your throat or simply abandoning you outside the palace grounds, not even bothering to end you himself.

The palace in question is lonely, but you feel the loneliest when you lay awake at night, shivering on your side of the bed as Feyd-Rautha slumbers to your right. Tears always prick your eyes during those moments, but you stifle them, afraid that you’ll rouse him with your crying; you do not know what you’ve done to garner his mistrust, but many times you’ve glimpsed the knife he keeps beneath his pillow, the cold blade glinting in the moonlight.

Often you wonder if he has a secret lover, and that is why he does not bother with you. You wake up sometimes and he is gone, but soon you realised that he would visit his concubines, especially after he had bred you. You would finish your shower, unable to wash off the feel that you were dirty, you were just an animal, a mindless thing to produce an heir for him, and he would be lounging in the antechambers of your quarters, ignoring your presence with the three harpies wrapped around him, whispering in his ears and caressing his moonlight skin. They accompanied him everywhere he wished, even in public, and to begin with, you felt humiliated that he would so explicitly show that you were not to his satisfaction.

Now, it just makes the solitude even worse.

You find solace in no one. More than once, you have walked in on the servants laughing behind your back, and as it became evident your husband was uninterested in you, they did not hide their mocking. The Baron’s other nephew you hardly saw, and the Baron himself terrified you: there was something in the way that he stared at you, his beady eyes glittering from where they were set deep within his putrid flesh, that made you feel more soiled than even after Feyd-Rautha took you.

So you remain isolated, speaking only when spoken to, drifting through the palace’s wide, dark hallways like a ghoul, a mourning spectre. You can barely remember your life before, just wisps and fleeting flashes of colour that ridicule rather than comfort you.

To Feyd, it is obvious who you are. A spy, commanded by his uncle to report every single one of his doings to you; he cannot slip up once around you, cannot reveal his weaknesses, that he is desperate to be loved, to be seen as someone whose only use is not war. He sees the way his uncle looks at you, hungry for information you do not have because he does not impart it, the way the Baron comments on you and the way you flinch at his words, pretending that you do not report to him.

Feyd is determined in his resolve to give nothing away. His uncle has held power over him since he was young, he refuses to give him even an inch over him now. He still has nightmares of it, which he wakes up from with his pale skin sheened in clammy sweat, clammy like the hands of his uncle.

Sometimes, he sees the tears in your eyes after he fucks you. The first time, he almost stopped, almost asked you where it hurt, but you turned away before he could, acting, always acting; acting when you smile graciously at him, acting when you ask him what his favourite type of blade is, what his favourite form of swordsmanship is. You are good at pretending, but of course you are - his uncle is the Baron, a man who bathes in power. No doubt he would get only the best of spies.

Tonight, you are not where you normally are. At this hour, you are usually asleep, or feigning it in the very least, curled up small on your side of the mattress, yet the bed is still made, the sheets unrumpled and smoothed down as they were this morning. Feyd thinks that maybe he might catch you reporting to his uncle, so he strides out of your shared chambers, pausing in the doorway to listen carefully; as a boy, he hunted in forests that have now been chopped down and industrialised, but he has maintained his keen ears long after the last wild plant on Giedi Prime’s surface choked on the fumes of pollution.

There’s a soft noise, barely perceptible, that echoes down the corridor to his right. Silently, he tracks it down the labyrinthine passages of the palace, servants scurrying out of his warpath, bowing their heads to him - he wonders if they too report to his uncle, if they travel now to his quarters to inform him of his beloved nephew’s whereabouts.

Feyd wishes he and Rabban were brothers first before rivals. Then he could have someone to rely on, someone who he trusted in this palace built on lies.

Pausing, Feyd cocks his head. You huddle in a crumpled heap at the end of the corridor, your knees hugged tightly to your chest, head low as if under a crushing weight. It occurs to him that maybe the Baron was displeased with your efforts to gain information and made it known to you - a pang of pity tugs at him, for he knows what his uncle’s wrath is like. At least you have been spared from the sole thing worse than that - the Baron’s thirst.

"What are you doing, wife?"

Your head snaps up, Feyd-Rautha’s unfeeling voice kindling a rare burst of temper from you. Is it not evident to him what you are doing? Or is he just too blind to see the tears streaking down your cheeks? Your words are injected with venom when you speak, and you hope that it stings him for leaving you alone in this cold, dark place.

"So now I am of concern to you?"

Feyd is taken aback by the indignant arch of your brows, the resentment displayed in your eyes. It takes him a moment to register the harshness lacing your voice - you have never addressed him in this way - and another to digest your words. There’s a bleakness in your wet, tear stained face as you stare up at him, and shock too, as if you did not expect yourself to speak against him this way.

Something clicks into place.

Feyd recognises that look in your eyes. He recognises it, because he’s seen it in the mirror a hundred times before; haunted, harrowed, lonely. He remembers nights when he trembled beneath the cold sheets of his bed, when he was small enough that he felt like he was drowning in the black satin, his eyes wide as the fabric seemed to wend around his limbs, tying him there as he lay fearful of everyone, fearful that his uncle would summon him. Even young, he was so terribly aware of not knowing who he could trust and who would turn to the Baron, bearing information like knives to split open his childish skin and spill his guts on the freezing stone floor.

It broke him. He is barely a shell of a sentient being, repressed emotions wreathing like ghosts around his frame, his eyes hollow, his heart decaying. In his fear, he was blinded, and he pushed you to the place where he had been all those years ago, so terribly, terribly alone - you are stronger than him, for lasting this long.

Sharp, plunging, dread sinks in his stomach, weighs down his soul; he has done unspeakable things to you, treated you like a dog, like a whore - worse. How can you look at him without hatred in your eyes, spite?

Bile rises in his throat, his heart seized by a dark, burning anger. He has done this to you, he has slashed your skin and left you bleeding, and yet all you did was try to please him. In an effort to save himself, he trampled you under foot; in order to keep you out, he left you surrounded by shadows. Feyd has never hated himself so much, has never despised who he has become with this much furor.

Slowly, he crouches before you. Eyes wide, you shrink away, misreading the direction of his rage, flinching when he reaches out a hand. Pressing your back against the wall behind you, you turn your head away from him, fear causing tears to spill down your cheeks: he sees the way you will the stone to swallow you up, knows the feeling.

"Please don’t hurt me," you choke out, hands trembling uncontrollably.

Something deep within Feyd’s soul withers and dies at your words. Forcing his jaw to unclench, his hands to release the fists they held, he shoves down his anger. The fury is for later, for when he has made things right - for now it is you that is his priority. Too late, a voice whispers in his ears, too late, too late, too late -

Gods, he deserves to burn at the fucking stake for this. He deserves eternal hell for this, he deserves worse. He is a fool: a blind, blundering fool, stuffed to the brim with paranoia and cynicism.

He sucks in a breath. "I will not hurt you. You have my word, whatever it is worth to you. I - I have made an irredeemable mistake, I - "

After his first sentence, you have not heard him. Tears of relief soak your face, and you whisper needless apologies for them; it is an arrow through his heart that you fear him so - yet the pain is where it is due, justifiable for the way he has shamed you, belittled you.

"May I - may I touch you, my wife?"

You do not know why you nod in reply of your husband’s strange request, but the moment you do, strong arms pull you into a solid chest, and a sob leaves you - he is so warm, warm enough to banish the seeping cold embedded in your bones, warm enough to let your sorrow flow anew, soaking his shirt as your hands bunch in its fabric, so that if he is cruel enough to leave you here, at least he will have to fight to do so. You have not been held in a long time.

Each of your shuddering sobs is a knife blade twisting in Feyd’s spirit. He lets the pain wash over him, clings to the way you burrow into his arms, a kind creature in the embrace of a monster. At one point, in the throes of your crying, you beat at his chest, telling him that you hate him, and he takes it with a bowed head, stroking your hair and holding you tighter once you exhaust yourself; this is only a fraction of his atonement.

You fall asleep in his arms. He carries you back to your quarters, and only once the door is closed behind him does he let his tears mingle with yours. Keeping you cradled to his chest like a child, he pours a glass of water for you to drink in the morning, knowing you will be dehydrated; he sets it on your bedside table before laying you down on the mattress.

You don’t let go of him, even in your sleep. His heart clenches, tight in his chest, and he drops a kiss in your hair before lying down beside you.

He believes he will love you, if you will let him.

Consciousness leaks slowly into your mind, and you blink, squinting through the beam of light that filters in through the curtains. From your months spent here, you’ve realised that Giedi Prime’s atmosphere is normally churned up with violent storms and choked with pollution, so this ray of sun that falls against your pillow, warming your face is far from unwanted - nor is the pale forearm tucked around your waist, firmly so, but not trapping you either.

Your husband’s chest fits snugly against your back, his breath warm and steady against your skin; his fingers splay out across your stomach, gentle, communicating so many things that were left unsaid. Vaguely, you remember falling asleep, nestled against his chest, tears drying on your cheeks.

When you roll over, you’re unsurprised that he’s already awake. With blue eyes softened by the sunlight, he regards you, fingers settled at the small of your waist. Something clouds his gaze, and he shifts, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I owe you an explanation."

You wait silently, unperturbed by the way he clenches his jaw. He vowed to you last night that he would not hurt you, and you trust that. Wordlessly, his lips open, then close, and you patiently watch him, far too well acquainted with how this man struggles to let down his guard - even now, you cannot read the twisting of his features, the way his eyes squint as he looks at you.

"I - I thought you were a spy sent by my uncle," he finally confesses. "My uncle… when I was younger, he,"

Reaching out, you cup his jaw in your hand, running your thumb along his cheekbone until he relaxes. You see the battle in his eyes, to let go, to tell you the knowledge that he thinks you deserve, but you see with it the years of hurt, of solitude. Something hopeful, something beautiful blossoms within you - the realisation that this wounded beast before you is someone that you could grow to love; you want him to bare his scars to you, those that are long healed and those that still seep with blood.

"All in good time, Feyd," you assure him quietly.

He sighs, touches his lips against your palm. "I am sorry, my wife."

Slipping your hand down to grip his shoulder, you lean closer towards him so you can kiss him. An anguished sound leaves him, and you see clearly how he realises that he has wronged you, how it pains him, and yet how the taste of you awakens something tender within him - you marvel at it, that it has survived, buried within him for so long. Perhaps he will let you love him.

Feyd is neither forward nor insatiable in the way he kisses you. In fact, he pulls away first, moving to get up from the bed despite the way your hands grip his shoulders, and you almost doubt that he wants you before you glimpse the longing in his eyes that lingers before he pushes it down. You wonder if this man knows how to make love or if he just knows how to fuck, you wonder if he feels the same molten feeling in his stomach that you feel and that is why his movements are tinged with nerves as he gently escapes your grasp. It is clear to you: he does not want to scare you.

"Must you go?" You ask, tugging at his fingers.

He tilts his head. "I don’t know if you want me here, after what I have inflicted upon you."

A streak of bravery takes ahold of you. "Please, Feyd, I want you."

You delight at the fire that ignites in his eyes upon your words. He wastes no time in returning to your side, dropping a sweet tasting kiss to your lips before taking your chin in his hand, eyes searching yours as he sits between your thighs.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he says. "Yes?"

"Yes," you echo, blood heating your cheeks.

Feyd kisses you again, giving you time to rescind your reply if you want, but you just tug at the hem of his shirt, drinking in his sculpted chest when he pulls the black cloth over his head. Delicately, he trails his lips down your skin as he undresses you, his broad hands warm where they encircle your waist, holding you flush to him as his calloused palms explore your body, skimming over your spine and caressing your breasts before settling on your thighs and pulling them open.

You’re terribly aware of how wet you are when his eyes settle on your pussy. Instinctively, your knees tip inwards, your face growing hot at the hunger in his gaze, but his broad shoulders block your legs from closing, followed closely by his hands which gently push them back open. He smiles at the blush high on your cheeks, rubbing his thumb over your ankle in order to put you at ease.

The sound you make when he pushes his fingers into your cunt and curls them almost makes Feyd moan. You tremble for him, bashful, and he can feel himself rock hard against the mattress, aching for the tight clamp of your velvet walls. He wants to bury himself between your thighs, and so he does, your sweet slick exquisite on his tongue - he presses kisses like butterflies to your thighs, your hips, worshipping you as his fingers pump in and out of you to the same pace as your heaving chest.

You look beautiful, gilded by the sunlight, lower lip trapped between your teeth, but he doesn’t miss the way you grip the sheets with one hand, the other clapped over your mouth, panting as he pleases you. Stroking your thigh, he pauses, licking your slick off his lips.

"Let me hear you," he bids.

You blush again but obey him, tremors wracking your body as he sucks on your clit, laving his tongue over it until you throw your head back, eyes rolling as you come, your honeyed moans and hot release exquisite upon his senses. He wants more, needs more of the taste of you, but you tug at his shoulders, whining for his cock, and he’d rather die than deny you.

The way you say his name when he buries himself inside you sets his soul on fire. You look beautiful beneath him, shaking and whimpering from the hot pulse of his length, clawing at his shoulders until he wears red marks that he’s proud to bear, moaning into his mouth when he kisses you. It seems you cannot get enough of him, and Feyd is more than fine with that because he finds himself addicted to the feel of you under his hands, begging him for more.

Feyd remains entranced long after he comes inside you, with you, your cunt spasming around him. You draw close to him, intertwining your legs with his as he kisses your face, your neck, your chest, making sure he has not hurt you, making sure you are sated. Curling your fingers under his jaw, stopping him, you look him in the eye and smile before kissing him, and he finds himself mesmerised again by you.

He is certain you will let him love you. He is yours.

[urdreamydoodles]

"A UNIVERSE WITHOUT YOU" — Mark Variants x Fem!Reader Fanfic

CHAPTER 2 OF ?

CHAPTER 1 HERE

(Mark Variants: Sinister Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Prisoner Mark, Bald Mark, Goggles Mark, Sheisty Mark, Omni-Mark & Viltrum Mark)

WARNING: Heavy smut, Violence, Emotional and physical abuse, Non-con (at first)

SMUT WITH A PLOT!

SYNOPSIS —

You exist in a world that should have been safe. But safety is an illusion, and so is peace.

They arrive like a plague, tearing through your city with hands built for slaughter, eyes sharpened by obsession. Mark Grayson—many Mark Graysons—each one twisted, each one wrong. They have hunted you across universes, through blood and ruin, through lifetimes lost to grief. And now, they have found you.

Sinister Mark is the first to taste you, the first to carve his claim into your skin, his hunger slow, deliberate—inescapable. But the others will not be denied. Mohawk Mark wants you wild and breathless, a creature of instinct. Hoodvincible, all fury and need, wants to break you into something that belongs only to him. Prison Mark, silent, watching, waits for his turn to unravel you with patient hands. Each of them will take you. Each of them will ruin you. And you—

You will learn what it means to be wanted.

@weaponxgames @martinys-world

If you want to be tagged for this story, comment!

The alley is suffocating.

Your breath comes fast, shallow, but not from exertion. Not from fear, though that, too, coils in your chest like a thing alive. No, it is the weight of him that steals the air from your lungs.

Sinister Mark is close. Too close.

The bricks are cold at your back, unyielding, rough against your palms as you brace yourself. But he is warm—so terribly, unbearably warm. His presence is suffocating, his body caging you in, hands planted on either side of your head. His eyes burn through you, deeper than they ever did before, dark with something far worse than rage.

Possession.

His lips part like he might speak, but nothing comes out. Instead, his breathing sharpens, the rise and fall of his chest ragged, like he's trying to hold himself together with sheer force of will.

Then, finally, he exhales a curse under his breath, something guttural and raw.

"You don’t get to run from me," he says, voice almost gentle. Almost.

A lie of softness wrapped around something razor-sharp.

Your heart pounds, but you meet his gaze, refusing to cower. You should be afraid. You are. But there is something else, something deeper, something that should not exist in the face of such violent devotion.

"You’re not him," you say.

And oh, that does something to him.

His fingers twitch against the brick, his whole body going rigid like he’s just been struck.

"No," he agrees, voice hoarse. "I’m not."

He should be furious. He should rip through the wall behind you in his rage, in his inability to be what you lost. But instead, he lets out something close to a laugh. It’s dry, humorless.

And then, without warning, he kisses you.

It is not a kiss meant to soothe, nor a kiss meant to convince. It is a claim. A demand.

His lips crash against yours with bruising force, fingers digging into the wall like he’s holding himself back from tearing you apart in a way you would not survive. His teeth catch your lower lip, sharp enough to sting, but he does not relent. His hands have yet to touch you, and yet you feel him everywhere—his presence, his heat, his need, pressing into you like gravity itself.

It is the most dangerous thing you have ever felt.

But you do not push him away.

You tilt your chin, just enough to break the kiss, just enough to breathe, and when you speak, your voice is steady, unwavering.

"He would hate you," you murmur. "Everything you are. Everything you've done."

Sinister Mark inhales sharply, his head tipping forward so that his forehead brushes yours.

Then he laughs.

It is low, deep, shaking through him in something close to ecstasy. He exhales against your lips, slow and measured, a ghost of breath against your skin.

"Then it’s a good thing he’s dead."

And the worst part?

You believe him.

The realization sends a tremor through you, but before you can react—before either of you can—another voice cuts through the alley like a blade.

"Well, well."

A slow, amused whistle follows.

"You found her first. That’s cute."

Sinister Mark does not move, but you feel the shift in his body, the slow turn of his head toward the source of the voice.

Mohawk Mark.

He stands at the mouth of the alley, his silhouette cast in flickering streetlight. There is blood on his hands, on his clothes, smeared across his jaw like war paint. His grin is wide, lazy, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"Was wondering when you’d get tired of playing with your food," he muses, stepping forward.

Sinister Mark is still, his posture unchanged, but something about him feels even more dangerous now, like a predator whose kill has just been threatened.

"You’re in my way," he says, voice void of any warmth it once held.

Mohawk Mark chuckles, rubbing his thumb through the blood on his knuckles.

"You’re so serious," he muses. "Come on. We all came here for the same thing."

His gaze slides to you, and his grin widens.

"And damn, she looks even better up close."

A rush of cold floods your veins, but before Mohawk Mark can take another step, the air shifts.

The wall behind you cracks under Sinister Mark’s grip, a deep, splintering sound that vibrates through the alley. His expression is unreadable, but his intent is clear.

Mohawk Mark tilts his head.

"Don’t be greedy," he teases. "I mean, I could fight you for her, but we both know how that’d end."

Sinister Mark’s jaw tightens.

"You’d lose."

Mohawk Mark’s grin sharpens.

"Maybe."

He steps closer.

"But I’d have fun trying."

The space between them shrinks, and you realize with a sick, sinking feeling that they are not arguing about if you will be theirs.

Only who gets to have you first.

Sinister Mark doesn’t blink, doesn’t so much as twitch.

Then, slowly, he reaches out—grabbing the front of Mohawk Mark’s suit.

And slams him into the opposite wall.

The force cracks the bricks, a spiderweb of fractures blooming outward. Mohawk Mark exhales sharply but laughs, wiping a streak of blood from his temple where the impact cut skin.

"That’s the spirit," he purrs.

Sinister Mark leans in, his voice dropping to something quiet, something lethal.

"You won’t touch her."

Mohawk Mark raises a brow.

"Oh? And what are you gonna do about it?"

Sinister Mark smiles.

A slow, terrifying thing.

"I’ll show you."

The alley goes silent.

For a moment, the only sound is your own breathing, too fast, too uneven.

Then, suddenly—

Mohawk Mark moves.

Faster than you can process, faster than human sight can track. His fist swings for Sinister Mark’s jaw, a hit that would shatter bone—

But Sinister Mark catches it.

The impact is deafening.

For a long, terrible moment, they are locked in place, a silent battle of strength and will.

Then they move.

It happens too fast. One second, Sinister Mark’s grip is crushing Mohawk Mark’s fingers, an unspoken promise of destruction. The next, Mohawk grins, twisting his wrist with practiced ease, slipping free just enough to drive his other fist into Sinister’s ribs. The crack is deafening.

Sinister barely flinches.

Instead, his response is immediate and brutal. He swings Mohawk like a ragdoll, slamming him into the opposite wall with enough force to send debris flying. Mohawk lets out a bark of laughter even as the impact splits his lip, blood smearing his grin.

"You hit like a jealous boyfriend," he taunts.

Sinister doesn’t waste breath on words. He lunges.

Their battle is violent, chaotic. Brick and concrete crumble around them as they tear through the alley, each strike a promise of suffering. Mohawk is fast, laughing between his dodges, jabs sharp and mocking. But Sinister is relentless, every attack carrying the weight of absolute hatred.

And they are distracted.

For the first time since this nightmare began, no hands are holding you down. No cruel voices whispering claims to your body, your existence.

You run.

It is not planned, not graceful. It is instinct. Pure, blinding survival. Your feet slam against the pavement, your breath ragged as you race through the ruined city.

Everything is in ruins.

Buildings are gutted, glass and steel strewn like the organs of a dying beast. Fires burn in the distance, black smoke curling into a bruised sky. The scent of blood is thick in the air, mingling with the acrid stench of destruction.

The dead are everywhere.

Twisted forms litter the streets—civilians, heroes, anyone who dared stand in their way. Some are unrecognizable, bodies reduced to pulp beneath inhuman strength. Others are frozen in their last moments of horror, eyes wide, mouths open in screams that will never end.

This is what they have done.

What they have turned the world into.

And you are next.

A flicker of movement in the distance makes your stomach drop.

At first, he is just a shadow against the firelit horizon, standing amid the carnage like a god surveying his kingdom. Then, as your breath hitches, he turns.

No Goggles Mark sees you.

His head tilts, blood dripping from his fingers, his grin slow and lazy. His eyes gleam with something hungry.

You run faster.

It is useless.

In the blink of an eye, he is gone—vanished from his perch among the corpses. Before you can even scream, a gust of air slams into you, and suddenly—

He is there.

Directly in front of you.

You crash into his chest, the impact sending you stumbling, but his hands catch you, firm and unyielding. He holds you steady, fingers pressing into your shoulders with bruising amusement.

"Well, well," he murmurs. "I was gonna say we should just kill you."

His grin widens.

"But now that I see you?"

He leans in, breath warm against your skin.

"I just wanna taste you."

Your stomach twists violently. His grip tightens, one hand dragging up to brush your jaw, slow and deliberate. His fingers are still wet with blood, smearing against your skin like war paint.

You shove him.

It is like pushing against steel. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even budge, just laughs—a delighted, terrible sound.

"Oh, I like you," he hums. "You're not even crying yet. That's cute."

His hand moves again, fingers tracing the line of your throat.

"You know," he continues, conversational, "Sinister’s gonna be pissed when he finds out you ran. He’s real possessive. Real crazy about you."

His thumb presses against your pulse, feeling the frantic beat beneath your skin.

"But me?" He tilts his head, grinning. "I don’t mind sharing."

Terror flares white-hot in your chest.

You try to twist away, but he moves faster, catching your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his.

"Mm," he muses. "Yeah. I get it now. Why they all want you."

He steps closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.

"You’re just so—"

A blur of motion—

And suddenly, he is gone.

One second, he is pressed against you, his breath ghosting over your lips. The next, he is yanked backward with bone-crushing force.

The world spins.

Then you hear it—

A snarl of fury.

A brutal, devastating impact.

And the growled, venom-laced words that follow:

"She. Is. Mine."

Sinister Mark.

You turn just in time to see him drive No Goggles into the pavement with the force of a meteor. The ground shatters beneath the impact, cracks webbing out in every direction.

No Goggles Mark coughs, laughing even as blood drips from his mouth.

"Damn," he wheezes. "Took you long enough."

Sinister looms over him, eyes black with rage.

"You let her run," he seethes.

No Goggles grins, wiping blood from his chin.

"And you almost lost her."

The words are a taunt, a goad. Sinister reacts exactly as expected—by grabbing No Goggles by the throat and slamming him into the nearest wall.

"You don’t get to touch her."

No Goggles laughs, the sound strained from the pressure on his windpipe.

"You gonna fight me for her, too?" he rasps. "Or are you scared you’ll lose?"

Sinister’s fingers tighten.

"You were never a threat."

His free hand moves—too fast to track—gripping No Goggles’ wrist and twisting. The sickening crack of breaking bone fills the air.

No Goggles’ laughter chokes off into a sharp inhale.

And yet—

Even as agony flashes across his face, his grin remains.

He leans in, voice dropping to something almost reverent.

"Then prove it."

For a moment, neither of them move.

A tense breath between destruction.

Then Sinister Mark lunges.

No hesitation. No warning. Just pure, unrelenting violence.

His fist collides with No Goggles Mark’s jaw, sending a ripple of force through the air. The pavement beneath them splinters from the impact. No Goggles barely has time to react before the next blow comes—a brutal uppercut that sends him hurtling through the ruined cityscape, smashing through what remains of a collapsed skyscraper.

Debris rains like a dying god’s final breath.

Sinister doesn’t let up.

He moves faster than thought, a streak of crimson and darkness as he follows No Goggles into the wreckage. A heartbeat later, another impact shakes the ground. Dust billows out in waves, choking the sky. The sounds of their battle are deafening—flesh hitting flesh, bones fracturing, the sickening crunch of destruction.

You do not wait to see the outcome.

You run.

Again.

Your body screams in protest, muscles aching, lungs burning from the effort. But you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when every moment wasted brings you closer to being caught again.

You dart through the ruins, slipping between shattered cars and crumbling buildings, heart hammering in your chest. The world is a graveyard, a smoldering wasteland left in their wake. You do not think about the bodies. You do not think about the blood.

You only think about escape.

But fate—fate is a cruel, laughing thing.

Because before you can even reach the next block—

A shadow looms above you.

A rush of wind.

And then—

You are airborne.

Your scream is stolen by the sky as you are yanked from the ground, lifted with terrifying speed. The city shrinks beneath you, buildings reduced to tiny, smoldering corpses of their former selves. The higher you rise, the more the destruction spreads out like a bleeding wound, stretching to the horizon.

The grip on you is unyielding. Strong. Familiar in its cruelty.

Then, a low, smug voice in your ear—

"Miss me?"

Mohawk Mark.

You twist, struggling against his hold, but his arms are locked around you, iron-clad, caging you against his chest. His laughter vibrates against your back, a pleased, predatory hum.

"Damn, you really don’t wanna be caught, huh?" he muses, effortlessly adjusting his grip as you writhe. "Too bad."

He tilts his head, smirking. His face is bloodied—whether his own or someone else’s, you can’t tell. His grin is sharp, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

"You know," he murmurs, voice dipping, "Sinister’s gonna lose his mind when he finds out I got to you first."

His words send a fresh wave of panic through you.

You jerk against him, desperate, nails digging into his skin. He only grins wider.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts, tightening his grip. "Be nice now."

Then, without warning—

He kisses you.

Rough. Unforgiving.

His mouth crashes against yours with a hunger that is almost painful, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. His grip around your waist tightens as he holds you steady, savoring the way you struggle.

Your reaction is immediate.

You bite him.

Hard.

He jerks back with a sharp inhale, tasting his own blood.

Then—

He laughs.

A delighted, wicked sound, rolling from his throat like a lover’s sigh.

"Shit," he breathes, licking his lip where you broke the skin. "That was hot."

He looks down at you, amusement flickering through his gaze.

"You really got some fight in you," he muses, voice rich with approval. "I like that."

Then—his grip shifts.

Suddenly, he is no longer holding you.

He is dangling you.

The air around you turns colder as he loosens his grasp, just enough for your body to slip a little. The city stretches out beneath you, endless, waiting.

"You know," he murmurs, tilting his head, "I could just drop you."

The words are spoken playfully, casually.

And yet—

There is no doubt that he means them.

Your breath catches.

Mohawk watches your reaction, utterly enthralled.

"You scared, pretty thing?" he teases, voice honeyed with mock sympathy. "You should be. Bet you’d hit the ground real hard. Splat."

He chuckles, fingers flexing around your waist.

"But don’t worry," he purrs, pulling you back in. "I like you too much to waste you like that."

Before you can respond—

Another voice cuts through the wind.

"Well, shit."

Mohawk tenses.

You twist in his grasp—just in time to see another figure hovering in the air, watching the two of you with a lazy, knowing smirk.

Sheisty Mark.

His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—

His eyes are locked onto you.

And he looks—

Obsessed.

Mohawk exhales, rolling his shoulders.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he drawls, tone half-annoyed, half-amused.

Sheisty’s grin widens.

"Yeah, yeah, took me a second," he shrugs. "Had some fun down below first. Damn, though."

His gaze rakes over you, dark and slow.

"You really are as pretty as I remember."

Your stomach twists.

Mohawk tightens his grip around you, possessive.

"Back off," he warns. "I found her first."

Sheisty raises an eyebrow, floating closer.

"Yeah?" he muses. "And? You really think Sinister’s gonna let that slide?"

Mohawk’s smirk falters—just slightly.

Sheisty chuckles.

"Man’s losing his mind over her," he continues, shaking his head. "Tearing the city apart, wrecking everything in his way. He ain't gonna let you have her just 'cause you got lucky."

Mohawk narrows his eyes.

"Maybe not," he admits. "But I don’t see him here right now, do you?"

Sheisty hums, considering.

Then he grins.

"Guess that means I can cut in."

Before Mohawk can react—

Sheisty is in front of you.

Too fast. Too close.

His hand reaches out, trailing a finger along your jaw, slow and deliberate.

"Been waitin’ a long time to see you, baby," he murmurs, voice like velvet and danger. "And you don’t know how bad I wanna get my hands on you."

His touch is feather-light, teasing, his eyes drinking in every detail of you.

Mohawk growls.

"Touch her again," he warns, "and I'll break you."

Sheisty laughs.

Loud. Careless.

"You wish you could," he taunts. "But let's be real, man."

He smirks, tilting his head.

"You really think any of us get to keep her?"

His words hang heavy in the air.

A reminder.

A promise.

Because this—

This is just the beginning.

[vellatrelle]

So... I started playing Baldur's Gate 3...

[xas24]

bookworm ~ alejandro balde

summary: alejandro’s girlfriend being the biggest reader ever and him just loving to listen to her talk about books.

alejandro wasn’t surprised to see y/n reading her book when he walked into her bedroom on a saturday evening. he knew how much she loved reading books and the huge bookcase in the corner of her room was proof enough.

a smile made its way onto his face when he shut the door but she didn’t seem to react in any way. she was so immersed into the words on her page that she didn’t even acknowledge her boyfriend walking over to where she was sat on her bed.

when he jumped down next to her, she was forced to look away and she threw him a smile in greeting. alejandro’s arm slipped onto her waist as he brought her body closer to his but she didn’t let go of her paperback.

her finger kept it open on her page and alejandro sneaked a peek at the cover. he noticed it was a different book from what she was reading just two days ago.

“es un libro nuevo.” (that’s a new book) he pointed out as he nodded his head towards the cover.

y/n nodded with a smile, not surprised that he noticed so soon, “sí, lo recibí ayer.” (i got it yesterday)

“¿ya terminaste la otra?” (did you finish the other one already?) he was shocked but not surprised; he’d seen her finish a book in a day.

“sí, ale.”

“eso fue rápido.” (that was fast) he commented with a chuckle. the arm that was wrapped around her tightened as he brought her closer to him and hitched his leg up on her bed to be a bit more comfortable.

“¿te gusta este libro?” (do you like this book?) his eyes were focused on the cover and the intense colouring of it. he thought it looked quite interesting and bold.

a bright smile landed on y/n’s lips, one that didn’t go past her boyfriend. she nodded slightly shyly, before starting to explain some of what she’s read so far.

alejandro, as usual, nodded along. his eyes stayed focused on her face, watching intently as she talked, maybe rambled on, about her thoughts and theories on some of the different characters.

he couldn’t deny how attractive he found it, the way she talked so passionately about her book, how engaged she was with the fictional world she was reading about, the smile on her face as she worded her thoughts. he didn’t want to admit that the way she spoke about her books made him want to read them too.

he also loved how innocent and angelic she seemed when she read. the way her eyes danced accross the page of her book, lips either forming the words or caught between her teeth, and he especially loved the way she got shy when he asked her what she was reading about.

y/n adored the way her boyfriend engaged with her. she loved it when he asked her about her books, asked her to read something out for him, went to some bookstores with her and even offered to pay for her heaving pile of chosen books no matter how many times she refused him.

he was the only one in her life who enjoyed listening to her, the only one who understood her, didn’t find her annoying or obsessive and she was forever thankful for him.

[cronaskullz]

Breaking my silence.

I NEED ALL VERSIONS OF HIM BIBLICALLY

Please write for this man 🥲🤧🤧

[nefertiti2003]

If someone doesn’t make an obsessed mark x reader imma go crazy 😩😩

[the-witty-pen-name]

Little Glimpses

Igor (Anora) x F! Reader

18+ Only Blog - Minors DNI

Warnings: smoking, alcohol consumption, cursing

Word Count: 2.5k

Notes: I have not been able to stop thinking about this man since I saw Anora. I just had little parts of stories in my head so I compiled them into one thing.

Little glimpses into the reader’s relationship with Igor.

Everything on the table shakes when the train passes by. You press your hand down, gently holding onto the crystal ashtray in front of you to stop it from dancing around. Your eyes feel heavy. So you tilt your head back, and rest them for a moment until the disruption subsides. You take a drag of your cigarette and exhale in the direction of the open window next to you- letting the smoke waft outside your small studio. Once everything stills, the only sound is the comforting tick of the clock above your stove. You take one final puff before dropping your butt into the ashtray. You watch it smolder as it slowly burns out. You need to get ready for your shift.

You hate your uniform. The bright blue polo shirt and the stupid matching visor- fucking stupid. You feel like you look like a moron and you’ve always found it embarrassing. You always took off the dumb thing when your manager went home for the night. No one comes in after midnight ever- the occasional drunk but they don’t care if you’re wearing your visor or not.

On the slow nights you read, or sometimes you’ll watch trashy reality TV on your phone. With your elbows perched on the counter, you flip through your most recent romance novel as the time passes. It’s well past 1am and the bright fluorescent lights buzz above you.

“Uh- $40 pump two, please,” a polite voice breaks your concentration. It makes you jump in surprise and you apologize quickly.

“Shit- uh, fuck sorry,” you fumble, quickly placing the book down, opened to keep your page. You take the cash he hands you as he offers a subtle smile.

“No need for apology,” he expresses, and you can now hear his accent- distinctly Russian, or maybe Armenian? You aren’t sure. His voice is soft and comforting- very kind. You’re immediately more at ease. He reads your name aloud from your name tag. It’s infuriating as much as it’s endearing.

“You’re all set,” you offer, suddenly shy. You pass him the receipt after it is printed. He nods, tucking it into his jacket pocket. You watch him walk back outside, the cold air wafting in as the bell above the door rings.

As he waits by the pump, he catches you watching him through the window of the store. When he meets your eye, he’s amused when you immediately look away- trying to play off like you weren’t looking the whole time. He’s flattered, and he can’t help but smile to himself. He’s not used to any sort of attention- he tends to go by unnoticed in his daily life. He can be intimidating when he tries- out of necessity, but that’s not him.

He’s so pretty, you observe, like James McAvoy you settle on. You avert your attention away for the final time and decide to turn back to your book and do your best to ignore the headache that’s developing under the store’s harsh lights.

It’s one of those passing crushes, at first. The kind like when you fall in love temporarily with a stranger across the grocery store. You play out the whole thing in your head to inevitably never approach them, go home, and let the cycle of daydream continue another day with another stranger.

---

You’re freezing as you stand on the sidewalk in the long line that has now wrapped around the block. Your ankles hurt from the height of your heels but they’re too cute not to wear. Your outfit is far too short and shows far too much skin for the night air, but in your defense- you and your friends didn’t imagine you’d be outside this long. Your entire body is covered in goosebumps as you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm. Your friend offers you a cigarette which you accept gratefully as she places it in your mouth for you.

“Fuck!” you exclaim frustrated, “Why aren’t they fucking letting anyone in?” You peer over to try to see the front of the line, and you notice people towards the front are trying to reason with the club’s bouncer- who you immediately hate because you resent his hoodie and puffer jacket he wears to brace the cold. You think about how the moment you can step foot in, you’re making a beeline to the bar and getting a shot to warm up.

Someone, probably a promoter or something, emerges from the inside. He says something to the bouncer, you’re too far away to hear. The bouncer nods, and the guy starts walking down the line. He looks at the groups who are waiting, and he gestures to a few groups of just girls- you and your friends included- and ushers you all inside. You’re too elated to care as he’s saying something about needing to up the ratio of men to women blah blah blah. You quickly stomp out your cigarette and all you can think about is warming up.

You link arms with two of your friends as you head towards the inside, scurrying excitedly to get out of the cold. The bouncer nods to each group as they enter, but puts up an arm to stop you and your friends. “IDs,” he says, and you swear his voice sounds so familiar.

“C’mon man, we’re cold as shit,” your friend complains, letting go of your arm to retrieve her ID from her clutch. Looking in his direction, you immediately recognize him from the other day- the customer from your overnight shift. You aren’t sure if he would recognize you, you're positive you put more thought into the whole interaction than he did. You make eye contact and you swear for a moment he wants to say something, but he just stares. Realizing you decided to go without a bag, you bite your lip and mutter a silent “shit” as you need to pull your ID from your bra to hand to him. He says nothing, just nervously licks his lips as he takes your license.

“Thanks,” he says, handing them back. Your friends huff, and drag you inside. Your eyes linger on him as they pull you and you both watch each other until you disappear from view.

A remix of Von dutch is playing so loud and the club is packed. It’s completely dark except for the raving strobe lights that are synced to the beat of the music. You can’t hear anything over the screams of Addison Rae as your friends get a round of shots. You happily accept, tilting your head back. The burn is such a welcomed sensation to your freezing body. You let the crowd dictate where your body moves, letting yourself start to let loose.

A couple of hours later, you’re more than ready to get out of there. It was fun, but your friends have mostly paired off with men and you’re anticipating that soon they’ll be roping them into wherever the group decides to go next. You aren’t in the mood for another night of splitting a cab with one of your friends and whatever guy is going back to their place. You don’t need the reminder that amongst the group, you’re never the one getting the guy, you think pessimistically. You text your friends, lying about an early shift, and let them know you’re getting an Uber.

Standing outside, you’re freezing again, and it’s almost worse now that your body has been so acclimated to the warmth inside. You lean against the brick building and cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to warm yourself up.

“Here,” you hear him say, and you look up surprised, not realizing he was there. He offers you his jacket for you to take. “You need,” he insists. You offer a thankful smile and slip it over your shoulders. It smells like woodsy cologne and cigarettes. The warmth engulfs you and you swaddle yourself into the warm fabric.

“Thank you,” you say shyly. He nods and puts his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. He pulls out a small pack of pre-rolls, and offers one to you. You accept and hold it between your fingers as he lights it for you.

“You probably don’t fucking remember me, but like, I think you got gas the other night at the uh place I work-”

“I remember.”

“Oh, okay-”

“You were reading a book and then what’s the word ‘ogled’ me? You ‘ogled’ me when you thought I wasn’t looking,” he teased.

“I was not ogling you!” you scoff, defensive. You can feel how warm your face is from his accusation. “It’s my job to make sure dumbasses aren’t gonna blow themselves up at the pump. It was purely a safety measure,” you lie obviously, making him laugh.

“Whatever you say,” he responds with a sly smile. You see a car start to pull up. Reluctantly, you unwrap yourself from his jacket and hand it back to him.

“Uh, that’s my Uber,” you explain and you swear he looks disappointed. He nods, accepting his jacket back.

“Can I call you?” he asks as the black sedan pulls up to the curb. You nod enthusiastically. He hands you his phone and you quickly text yourself.

“Uh that’s me,” you explain dumbly, cringing because duh. He just smiles, and it’s painfully sincere. You slide into the backseat of the car, and you can feel your phone buzz with a notification before you even finish putting on your seatbelt.

My name is Igor

---

You’re sitting on your couch as you lick the rolling paper to finish off your joint. A metal tv tray rests over your lap acting as your work station. You admire your work and then pass it to Igor, who accepts it without a word. You move the tray table to the floor so you can get comfortable, and you lean into his side as he lights the joint. The two of you share it, passing it back and forth between each other as your eyes are both focused on the TV.

It’s been a few weeks and your relationship with Igor has gone on undefined. Lines have been blurred and you can’t pin point if it’s the substances that are in your systems or if it’s just that when you’re with him, time feels like it stops- a hangout stretching into a couple days without you even realizing.

You don’t know what you’d call this. It’s not friends, and it feels much like it’s much more than casual. You assume it’s exclusive- you spend so much time together; there’s hardly any opportunities for him to see someone else. But there’s been no lines drawn, no labels given- he’s slotted himself into your life seamlessly like you’ve known him forever. His grandmother treats you like her own blood, taking an immediate liking to you. It all just works.

“What is this?” You ask suddenly, looking up at him. His eyes widen in confusion. He takes the joint out from between his lips, exhaling smoke.

“Maybe Idica, I don’t know,” he muses and you sigh in frustration at your inability to be direct.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, hiding your face in your hands. “No, not that,” you clarify. “I meant like- you and me.”

“Oh, um,” he replies, mulling things over in his head before he speaks. “Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” you answer honestly, and he nods understandingly, but you feel him clear his throat and you can feel him straighten his posture. You worry he misunderstood your meaning. “No, no- fuck. I made it weird,” you sigh, “I just meant like, I don’t want to mess it up by changing it. But at the same time, I don’t want you doing this with someone else- and I don’t want to do this with anyone else but you- you know?”

“I know,” he replies, he’s so patient and sweet about it. He kisses your temple and just lets you process. He’s so gentle like that, all the time. “I want the same,” he states simply. “Just us,” he reiterates, taking another hit and then passes the joint back to you.

“Just us,” you smile.

“So does this mean we’re uh, boyfriend girlfriend?” He teases and he laughs at how your nose scrunches in disgust.

“Gross,” you pretend to gag. You shake your head, like your trying to shake out the memory of him saying something so fucking cheesy. It makes him smile.

—

“He’s coming runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’ runnin’,” you sing obnoxiously as Igor’s pulls up to the curb. “He’s coming. Ridin’ round town, they gonna feel this one.” You see his cheeks turn pink as he tries to not laugh.

“What the fuck is that?” He questions, walking around to open the passenger door for you.

“Oh my fucking god, dude. It’s Tyler the Creator- it’s IGOR’S THEME. Did you now know that? I’ve been doing that bit for like two weeks and you didn’t think to fucking look it up?” You laugh a little. You buckle up, and extend out your hand. “Give me your phone, you need to listen to it.”

Without hesitation, he passes his phone to you and then he pulls away from the curb slowly. You start the album from the beginning, and you settle back into your seat. You put his phone down in the cup holder and rest your head against the seat belt. It’s a comfortable silence as you both listen. As he drives, he rests his right hand comfortably on your thigh, his thumb making circles.

Anxiety is a tricky thing. As time passes, you begin to feel insecure for monopolizing the music. You start to feel guilty about the jab you made at Igor’s expense for not knowing this album. You begin to overthink everything, and the music playing starts to make you feel overexposed. And you begin to associate his silence with resentment.

“You can change it to whatever you want,” you say apologetically. He looks at you confused from the corner of his eye, only glancing over so he can focus on the road.

“But you like this?” He asks, puzzled.

“I don’t want to force feed stuff to you,” you try to explain, “I didn’t mean to make you sit through it.”

“I think it’s great,” he offers sincerely, “it’s good.”

“You don’t have to say that, just because I like it,” you counter, feeling insecure.

“I like the music,” he reiterates, “I like it, and I like it because it’s something you wanted to share with me.”

“You don’t have to…”

“I love when you share things with me,” he interrupts you before you begin to spiral. “Do it more often,” he says, encouragingly. He stops for the red light, and leans over to kiss you. “Please.”

He turns his attention back to the road as the light turns green and you can’t help but smile as you watch him turn the dial up.

PART TWO