#but there's so much still to be done it's kinda intimidating

[petrichoravery]

So professional. | s.r.

masterlist | navigation

summery: when the team finally has a break through in a case that seemed endless and you and Spencer are assigned to search an abandoned laboratory together, old feeling come to the surface.

word count: 7,3k (it got away from me, sorryyy)

what to expect: ex!spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, kinda like lovers to "enemies" to ??, a lot!! of banter, morgan calls r 'doll', 'princess' and 'sugar', criminal minds typical violence; torture, shooting, gunshot wound, parental/domestic abuse (abusive father/husband), hyporeflexia (the absence of reflexes), medical inaccuracies? I’m sure, English is not my first language.

a/n: aaaa this is so far out of my comfort zone!! I hope you’ll enjoy this while I’ll go into hiding🙈🙈

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This case was endless until it wasn't. Until everything happened so quickly, all at once.

All of the victims had been burned to the point that the ME couldn't figure out the cause of death, until Eleven year old Amilie Porter was found on the side of the road by a passerby.

She had been cold and traumatised and wouldn't speak to anyone, so they brought her to the hospital, who alerted the police that then called you. The BAU.

Now, Spencer and JJ were crouching next to her hospital bed to seem less intimidating. Everything was going great, she wasn't speaking, but engaged in the conversation by nodding or shaking her head to their questions.

Until Amilie accidentally grabbed the mug of hot tea JJ handed her by the burning hot part, but instead of flinching she just held it there, as if it wasn't burning her fingers.

"Woah, hey hey hey!" Spencer took the cup from her before any more damage could be done. "Careful, that's still hot."

But his squeaked comment only made Amilie retreated into herself.

"Sorry, I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Did—" he frowned, he wasn't been sure how to ask her what he wanted to ask, given that she was eleven and still in shock.

"Did you not feel how hot that was?" He asked gently.

Amilie only nodded.

"Yes, you didn't feel how hot it was?"

She shook her head.

"So…you felt it, but didn't pull back?" He was trying his best not to come across as too impatient, keeping his voice low and soft.

He went on as she agreed to the question, "Let me ask you this, Amilie. Did—did the bad man do this?"

When Amilie nodded her head in answer to his question, Spencer glanced up at JJ, nodding as well. He could tell Amilie was exhausted and needed rest, his questions were probably not helping much.

He didn't blame her for being unresponsive, what happened to her must have been enough to traumatise a person with a fully developed brain. He could only calculate what damage it had done and will do to her life.

JJ's voice brought him back into the glaringly white hospital room. "Thank you, Amilie, you helped us very much. We're going to call the nice nurse back in, okay?"

She took Amilie's turning away from them as a yes and they made their way to the reception desk. After they were sure that the nurse was on her way, they walked back to the car.

"What did you see?" She asked him as they walked out of the hospital, onto the parking lot. Sirens were coming from every direction, so they had to speak a little louder.

"Wait—can you drive? I'll call the team." Spencer said, already pulling out his phone and dialling the first contact.

Which, unfortunately, was you.

"Reid? What did she say?" Your voice was usually distant, as if you were scared that letting any emotion into you voice would break the dam.

He pressed a hand over his ear to hear you better.

You see, when you and Spencer got together, you had to promise Hotch that you would stay professional when you would break up. A great prophecy for the rest of your relationship, right? Having to talk about your hypothetical breakup on the first official day of your relationship.

Both of you really tried to stay professional, but working with an ex was hard enough, working with an ex you haven't really talked it out with was harder.

"I think he might be torturing the victims until they loose their reflexes." He clamped the phone between his ear and shoulder as he unlocked the car door, holding it open for JJ, handing her the keys and getting into the passenger seat after she was securely in the car.

"Hyporeflexia? Do you—wait let me put you on speaker." There was shuffling on the other side of the phone. "You have Hotch and I. Do you know how he does it?"

"No. I have theories, but nothing concrete. There are a few ways to accomplish the absence of reflexes, drugs like K779 or Leuprorelin, for example. But I doubt he is using a drug, it would have shown up on the toxicology report and the chances of these drugs causing Hyporeflexia are too slim."

"What's your guess?" Hotch piped up.

"Well I think he might be damaging their nervous system. You see, motor neutrons send messages between the spinal cord and brain. Collectively they send messages to the rest of your body to control muscle movements. It's possible that the UnSub is damaging the sensory nerves, spinal cord or motor nerves to cause hyporeflexia." He rambled off the facts and you could practically see the wild gesturing of his hands.

"How is the girl?" You asked.

"She's quiet, but in good hands," he reassured you. "She'll be okay in no time."

"Are you on your way back?" Hotch asked, crossing his arms.

"Yes. We're driving to you now."

"Drive safely." You said, purely for performance purposes.

"I'm not driving." He replied dryly.

"That's why it was meant for JJ."

"She always drives safely." You tried not to roll your eyes as Spencer just hung up.

Being professional when the person you used to plan your future with was now your worst enemy was hard. And while you might spite him a lot, you were sad about it more than you were angry.

But anger always came easier to you than admitting to yourself and him that the break up really hurt you, that you want nothing more than to be friends if you couldn't have him as a partner. You wanted to hold him in your arms again, to fall asleep to his heartbeat every night.

You couldn't tell anyone that, of course, your pride would be in shambles.

So you took a deep breath and turned back to Hotch.

── ⋆｡𖦹°‧

When Spencer and JJ got back to Quantico the team reassembled for the briefing. Everyone shared their thoughts and theories and Spencer explained what had happened at the hospital.

"Um…I know that there is a poison called curare, it's won from various plants and causes paralysis by binding to the acetylcholine receptor of the junction where two nerve cells dock together and therefore prevents nerve impulses from activating skeletal muscles. Could it be something like that?" You asked into the room.

Spencer was quiet for a moment and you're unsure whether he was impressed by your knowledge or just thinking really hard about the possibilities. "Well, we obviously can't tell because the bodies are burnt. But it's unlikely that he is using curare, given that Amilie wasn't paralysed, but developed Hyporeflexia."

Never mind, he was just thinking of a polite way to say, you're so far from the point, stupid.

"Right. So what do you think?" You almost added oh almighty! but were able to stop yourself. Because you're professional.

"As I already said," he gave you a look, "he is probably damaging the nervous system."

"Right, sorry. I meant, how is he doing that?" You had been able to sound so unfazed until this moment.

"I don't know," he frowned at you, as if his answer was obvious (you would like to state that it was not), "or I would have shared it already."

The team was nice enough not to comment on your little dispute, but it's clear that it was getting on their nerves. Especially Hotch, who was looking more stoic than usual, Morgan was finding it more amusing than anything.

"I'll get Garcia to search for similar occurrences in the area." You said quickly, already hurrying out of the room and away from the pending lecture.

Spencer watched you scurry off with a sinking feeling in his gut.

He didn't know why he bitt like a wounded dog every time the two of you spoke. He would like to think that it was because he just genuinely didn't like you anymore, but he knew that wasn't true. Hating you would be easier than this.

On the other side of the office, you ripped open door of Penelope Garcia's office and slammed it closed behind you, leaning back against it with a heavy sigh.

Penelope startled upright, turning her swivel chair to look at you with wide eyes. "Well, hello. Are you alright?"

"No," you whined dramatically. "All of this is so incredibly fucking fucked."

"Oh, love," she patted the place next to her. "He, who shall not be named again?"

You nodded, slumping into the chair. "He's just so—I just feel so…ugh. All we do is spite each other. When will this get easier?"

She looks at you with so much pity, you can't stand it. "I'm not going to tell you that it will pass with time, because, well…" She gave you a look that said nothing less than because you're quite dramatic, over the rim of her glasses.

While you huffed in response, you couldn't quite find a good argument that spoke against her unspoken statement, so your mouth stayed closed. But you didn't refrain from sending her a glare.

"What?" She asked innocently, if anything about Penelope Garcia can ever be called innocent.

You gave her a look. "Constructive criticism? Didn't we just talk about that?"

"I didn't even say anything! It's not my fault that you interpreted something into my very lovely face."

You decided that this was totally fruitless, your fault for thinking that you had a friend in her. "Can you look into past histories of people with hyporeflexia? Anything you can find. People who have been diagnosed with it in the past…let's say fifteen years, suspicious reports of it, someone being especially interested in it, maybe a lot of it happening in one area. You know the drill."

"Yep, totally, ma chère. One sec." She turned her chair towards the computer screen and began working her magic.

After what feels like three seconds—thank God for Penelope's speed on the keyboard and swift fingers—she piped up, "Hyporeflexia is quite a rare official diagnosis, so I cross referenced it with torture or unnatural causes and I found," a few more mouse clicks. "…a Theodore Wilson, who has been in and out of the hospital for severe burns and bruises a lot when he was young."

Frowning, you lean over Penelope's shoulder to look at the screen. "And that's relevant because…?"

"That, my gorgeous girl," she booped your nose with her fluffy pen and you scrunched your nose. "Is because they look suspiciously similar to our victims and…" She paused for dramatic effect. "Theodore's father was a biochemist best known for his research on Hyporeflexia."

You frown deepened. "Is his father still alive?"

A few clicks later, Penelope replied, "Nope." She popped the p. "He died last month, but Theo's mother still lives in Virginia."

"If we consider Theodore a suspect, his father's passing could have been the stressor. Thank you, Pen. Could you—"

"The address is sent to your phone." She smiled up at you as you got up and walked towards the door. "But don't think our talk about you-know-who is over!" She sing-songs just before you could leave.

You rolled your eyes. The nicknames were getting excessive.

"I can't hear you!" You called back just before closing the door behind you.

You froze when you turned and saw the team gathered in the bullpen area. "Um," you glanced at Spencer for just a millisecond to see how much he has heard, but his face seemed impassive. Looking back at your unit chief, you continued, "Penelope found a lead."

Hotch nodded for you to continue and you made your way closer to the group. Recognition flickered across Spencer's face at the name Don Wilson, but he said nothing as you continued to explain what Penelope found.

"Penelope send the address of his mother to me already." You said as you finished.

"Do you think he might be the first victim or the UnSub?" Hotch asked.

"Possibly both. That's what I'd like to find out by talking to the mother." You replied, taking the last steps towards the team.

Hotch nodded. "Morgan, you accompany her."

Great, just what you needed. Relentless teasing from Derek Morgan, fun!

The devil grinned. "Let's do this, doll."

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You ignored Morgan the whole drive.

No, seriously, you didn't say a word to him besides giving him the directions. Of course that only stroked the fire.

When you finally did arrive at the house of Theodore's mother, you felt like you had just taught a class of first graders.

Morgan was in the middle of something like, "—come on, we're all waiting to hear what happened between you and pretty boy—" when you got out of the car and slammed the door shut. You couldn't stand to listen to even one more second of it.

But of course he just continued after exiting the car, too. "That bad, huh?"

If you didn't know any better, you might have thought there was some pity in that comment. "It's fine. And also really none of your business."

"You and Reid are kind of making it everyones business, princess."

Rolling your eyes at his statement, you sped up your steps along the gravel path. The faster you got to the door, the faster Morgan had to get into work mode and could finally stop behaving like an assho—

The door opened unexpectedly.

"Oh," an elderly woman—she must have been in her late sixties—startled back at the sight of the both of you. She had shoulder length red-brown hair that was frizzy and clearly not washed for at least two weeks. Her hands were fiddling with a button of her worn down brown cardigan.

Undoubtedly the woman you saw on the picture on Penelope's computer.

You quickly pulled out your badge, animating Morgan to do so as well. "Mrs. Wilson? We're with the FBI. My apologies if we startled you."

"The FBI?" She frowned, clutching her cardigan tightly around herself like an armour. "Why would the FBI come to my house?"

"Ma'am, we have reason to believe that your son might be involved in the case we are investigating right now." You said carefully, not knowing how much she could handle before having a heart attack.

"What? No, that—that's ridiculous! He—he…" she seemed to have forgotten what she was saying, now studying the ground for dirt.

Morgan and you glanced at each other. This was going to be difficult.

"Ma'am?" Morgan tried again. "Could we come in?"

She frowned up at him. "Yes, yes, of course. How rude of me." She made a sound that could have been a laugh as much as it could have been a sob.

"Make yourselves at home, dears. Oh, my apologies it's a little messy." She hurried across the room, gathering scraps of fabric and dirty dishes.

"Uh," you weren't sure how to say this politely, but you were in a rush and sour mood.

Luckily, Morgan saved you from having to come up with something polite. "Mrs. Wilson, we'd like to ask you some questions about your son, Theodore, if that is alright with you?"

"Oh, Theo," he fingertips touched her lips and her eyes welled up a little. It was a nostalgia only a mother could feel. "We—we don't talk a lot anymore, now that he is at university."

You frowned. There had been no evidence of Theodore being at university. "What is he studying?"

The woman seemed frozen in her thoughts. "Physics. No, that's not right…Chemistry, yes. He is studying chemistry at Princeton. He told me that."

You gave Morgan a signal to fact check that with Penelope and he left the room, leaving you to talk to Mrs. Wilson alone.

"Did he always like chemistry?"

"Yes, yes. When he was young, he always used to…no, I think that was biology." She laughed almost hysterically. "Can't keep up with that boy. So many talents."

Bingo. Biochemistry. His father's influence, no doubt. And it fit the theory of Theodore taking on his father's murderous tendencies. Just a little more and you had him.

"Was there any particular niche he was particularly interested in?"

"Yes, but…but I don't remember. You see, Don, my husband—Theo's father, he would know. He—he was the one who always went to the laboratory with Theo."

Laboratory? You froze at the mention of a possible secondary location. Double bingo, a place to hide the victims and possibly burn them. A place where his father could have taught him his ways, pass the torture down like some families might pass down jewellery.

"This lab," you asked cautiously, not wanting to come across too pushy or desperate (which you very much were). "You don't happen to know where it is?"

"Oh, it's abandoned now, run down, I'm certain. They stopped going there after Don got sick…" she couldn't finish the sentence, her eyes fogging up with grief.

You doubted that he just stopped going, but she didn't need to know that. "Is it possible that you find out where it is located?"

She nodded, mumbling something about a postcard before disappearing into another room.

Morgan came back from the hallway.

"There is no record of him at Princeton. No pay checks, nothing." He whispered to you.

That was to be expected. You just nodded.

All of this left you with a horrible, nauseating feeling in the pit of your stomach. This woman had lost everything—her husband, her son, her sanity���but the hope she clung to was that her son was in university, building a life of his own, making a name for himself.

Now you were working on destroying that hope. It might ruin her entirely. Irrevocably.

She came back a second later, a postcard in her hands. "That's the address, I think." She held it out to you.

But as you went to grab it, fingers closing around it, she didn't let go, keeping a tight grip on it. Like a lifeline. Like a part of her knew, that if she let you have it, there was no going back to the normal she once knew.

"Mrs. Wilson…?" You tested carefully.

She startled. "Oh! I'm sorry." She let the paper go. "Here you go. I hope it helps with your…"

Her face creased up, thinking hard of a reason why two FBI agents could be in her house, asking for her perfect son who was studying chemistry in Princeton.

Morgan, ever the escape artist, waved politely, "You have been very helpful, Ma'am. We best be going then, have a nice day."

"Yes, yes, of course. You must be busy kids." But just as you stepped through the door, feet just hitting the gravel, she called after you. "Agents?"

Both of you turned. "Yes?" You asked politely.

"My son, when you visit him at Princeton, could—could you tell him I was sorry?"

"Of course, Ma'am." You let your voice trail off, hoping she would clarify what she was apologising for.

Mrs. Wilson leaned against the door with one hand, as if stabilising herself. "We had a fight, you see. The night before he left for Princeton. I never got to apologise to him."

You were tempted to ask what the fight was about, but you held back. It might be important for the case, but not enough to dig up the rotten bones. "Of course. We will tell him, Mrs."

"Thank you—thank you. Tell him I love him, too, would you be so kind?"

You nodded. "Of course."

Morgan and you walked away, then. Leaving the woman behind.

You didn't recall reaching the car, didn't recall Morgan unlocking it and even holding open the door for you to climb in. Too deep in the past, too caught up in the future.

The conversation with the mother affected you more than you'd like to admit. A fight could ruin so many relationships, it could make you go crazy, make you say things that caused you to drift further and further apart. Until you didn't know each other at all anymore, but you still clung to the past yous that you once were.

You only came to yourself when you felt the seat under you, when the engine started to hum.

"We had a fight." You mumbled as Morgan reversed out of the parking space.

"What?" He looked over at you shortly, confused. He couldn't recall having fought with you.

"Spencer and I. We fought. That's why we broke up."

Morgan felt a little like laughing. "You broke up because of a fight? Must have been one hell of a fight, then. The both of you were always so inseparable."

When you didn't laugh or react, Morgan glanced over at you again. You looked sad, in thought. With a big pout-slash-frown on your face, fingers fiddling with the sleeves if your button up.

"Hello? Earth to earthling?" He waved a hand in front of your face.

"Sorry." You glanced up at him. "I don't know why I brought it up, I don't like talking about it."

Bless him, Morgan's face softened a little. He wasn't heartless enough to keep teasing you when you clearly had a hard time. Well, okay, he had his moments.

"You don't have to talk about it."

"No, it's okay. We—We fought a lot, leading up to the break up. Silly things like the dishes, different opinions on different things.…The real issue was this job, though." You swallowed around the urge to bolt.

"The job?"

You nodded. "We brought it home with us, made it the centre piece of our relationship."

Morgan winced. It was the mistake every agent was afraid to make when entering a relationship.

"Yeah," you breathed out. "I know. But you know us, we work, that's just who we are."

"Workaholics." Morgan coughed to lighten the mood.

In any other situation you would have dug your elbow into his side, scowled at him. But not in this one.

"It got too much in the end. The fear, the paranoia. We just…snapped. We talked it out, funnily enough that conversation was quite calm. Though we were naive enough to think we could stay friends." You sniffed.

It surprised him, to find out you were struggling so much in the past months leading up to your break up. "You always seemed so happy at work. Everyone agreed when I said you two were meant for each other."

"Yeah, well, things that are meant for each other aren't always the right thing."

"Do you really believe that? Or are you scared that it won't work out if you tried again and you opened yourself up for nothing?" He lifted one hand from the wheel to put air quotes around the word nothing.

You glared at his side profile. "Okay, Mr. Therapist."

"What?" He looked at you again, before focusing back on the road. "I'm just saying. Reid is so far gone for you, opening up to him would never be for nothing. If you want it to work you have to work for it."

"Since when are you an expert on relationships, Derek 'has a new girl every week' Morgan." You rolled your eyes. But you couldn't deny that his words stirred something inside you.

"Okay, you're just being mean now, sugar. I'm incredibly wise." He pretended to push glasses up his nose.

That got a laugh out of you. A real, stomach ache inducing laugh. Maybe you were hysterical now, too.

Morgan smiled at that. He was glad to hear that sound again, after months filled with frown lines and sharp tones.

After you calmed down, you got back into work mode, calling the team and telling them what you had discovered. You told Penelope to check the address and she confirmed that it was an abandoned laboratory.

Now everything happened quickly. Hotch ordered you to drive to the lab and wait for the team, to be on alert for anyone entering or leaving the building, but not to—under any circumstances—enter or separate from each other.

── ⋆｡𖦹°‧

Not even twenty minutes later, you and Morgan arrived at the laboratory and prepared by putting on your vests and checking your guns.

The other black SUVs lined up in front of the main entrance shortly after.

You caught Spencer's eyes as he got out of the car. He scanned you from head to toe for injuries. When he found none, the concern on his face melted away quickly enough for you to consider you had imagined it.

"No one has entered or left the front door in the time we were here." You said when the team reassembled.

Hotch nodded. "Morgan, you and Prentiss go in from behind and search the lower level. JJ, Rossi and I search the second floor."

"But that means—" Spencer started to protest but Hotch has already pointed at you.

"You and Reid, go to the upper level."

Because you were so focused on the case (totally not because you want to show Hotch you could be more professional than Spencer), you just nodded.

"Good. Let us not waste time we don't have." Hotch frowns and everyone goes their separate ways.

Spencer glanced at you and you glanced at him. This was the first time you had been alone together since the break up and you were both unsure what to do with each other.

"Is your vest secure?" Spencer asked after a short awkward pause. He took a step closer and you try your best not to flinch back. Professional, you remind yourself like a mantra.

"Yes." You retort steadily enough, but he was already reaching out to tug on the straps.

You frowned at the display of worry, but decided on letting him have his moment. Purely to save energy, of course.

"Fine, let's go up." He said as he was satisfied with your vest. Together you made your way up the stairwell onto the upper level.

As you sneaked through the eerily quiet lab, the only sound heard was the clacking of your heeled boots on the resin floor.

Spencer glared at you. "Couldn't have worn a worse shoe for this, could you?" He whispered.

"I could've hardly worn my crocks." You snapped back. "Focus."

Both of your guns were trained around the corners as you carefully assed the situation. So far there was nothing that seemed too out of the ordinary for an abandoned laboratory. Broken glass, dusty workstations, pipes…Nothing to accompany you and Spencer but silence.

Until a shot rang out. And you wince.

The bullet just barely grazed your upper arm but it was enough to make a crimson blotch bloom on your white button up.

Spencer pulled you behind a corner before you could get hurt even worse and presses his hand over your wound.

He wrapped a hand around your wrist to hold your arm still and assessed your arm. "Does it hurt badly?"

"It's fine. Focus on the UnSub." You scowled, pushing against his shoulders with your free hand. Spencer didn't budge. "Reid, I'm so serious—"

"No, I'm serious," he said your name sternly. "Answer my ques—"

Another shot rang out before he could finish repeating himself, but it thankfully didn't hit anyone.

You gave him a look that says see? I fucking told you so. and pushed him away to glance around the corner to fire some shots at the guy.

"The suspect is in the upper level." You said into the microphone. "He's wearing a black bomber. Brown hair. I can't tell much. He's armed and shooting." You listed off.

"Copy that." Answered JJ's voice back to you.

"Get," Spencer grumbled, "behind the wall."

"You almost sound worried." You grinned and taunted him by doing the direct opposite of his command, leaning further around the corner.

"That's because I am. It doesn't look great on my report if I just let you die." He bitt out, pulling you back by your wrist that he still hasn't let go of.

Unfortunately, he ended up slamming your back against the wall in the process.

You made a noise that could only be described as a grunt. "Oh, and manhandling does?"

Both of you were now pressed against the wall, with Spencer's arms caging you in so you couldn't make a run for it and do something even more reckless.

"I'll just put it down as keeping you from sabotaging the mission." He was panting, and for a moment the thought of just how attractive he was crossed your mind. Until you shook it off.

Just as you opened your mouth to taunt him some more, you ear piece crackles and Hotch's voice was heard saying yours and Spencer's names, "—what is your position?"

"We're still—fuck!" Another shot rang out before you could finish the sentence, hitting a pipe on the opposing wall and causing you to flinch. Steam hissed from the hole. Spencer shushed you and you were tempted to snap at him, but you lowered your voice instead. Staying quiet was in your best interest, to make the shooter believe you were hit and the danger passed.

"Still on the third floor. He's got us cornered." You continued quietly.

And because Spencer just couldn't leave it at that, he added into the mic, "She's hurt, we will need an ambulance when we're out of here."

Glaring, you retorted, "I'm fine, a bullet just grazed my arm."

"It's still important to get it checked out!" Spencer replied in a harsh whisper. He was really pushing your buttons now.

"We're on our way up. Try to get him into the stairwell." Is the only response you get from Hotch.

You breathe out. "Okay, let's try to get to the stairwell."

Spencer nods, gesturing for you to take the lead and finally stepped back to free you from the cage of his arms. (And the suffocating urge to kiss him.)

With your gun stretched out in front of of you, you carefully take step after step along the eerily quiet hallway.

"You go right," Spencer murmured, "I'll take the left."

"What? No—" But it was an impossible task, stopping Spencer Reid once he was set on doing something. He had already disappeared into another hallway.

"Does he learn nothing from his mistakes?" You mumbled to yourself, but do as he demanded nonetheless.

You placed one foot in front of the other with caution, rounding the corners not before listening into the silence.

Suddenly there was a noise. You didn't know if it was Spencer, your imagination or the UnSub, but all of your body was braced for battle.

Taking a deep breath, you rounded the corner. The hallway ended with a wall adorned with two doors. One lead to the stairwell, spiralling down into the second floor.

The other door was open. It looked like a lab to you, but you didn't have a good enough angle to see what was inside. The walls specked with dust and grime, mold forming in the crevices.

You caught movement in the room and walked slowly towards it. You had a half formed though to signal to Spencer through the mic, but before you could execute it, you had already entered the room.

A man stood with his back to you at one of the work stations. You took another step towards him, but your boot crushed a shard of glass under its heel. You froze.

Theodore spun around in panic, picking his gun up from the counter. "You—You should be—I shot you."

You breathed in deep to steady your voice. Theo's choice of words struck a match of hope in you. Maybe he didn't know that Spencer and the rest of the team were in the building, too. Maybe he just saw you.

"The bullet graced my arm." You confirmed, taking a step closer to him.

"Get back. Get back!" He screamed, forcing you to walk deeper into the room with his gun, so his back was to the door. "If you shoot, I'll go down pressing the trigger and you will go down, too."

His hand was shaking around the gun, he looked like he might drop it every moment. The room was dark, just a little sliver of light coming through the small window.

You watched it flicker and tried to come up with something to say, but your brain blanked on the profile.

Being a profiler had taught you a lot, but in this moment all you could focus on was that Spencer was somewhere in this building and you had no idea if he was safe.

"Theo, I know what your father did to you, how he would train you to take every hit without flinching, the burning." You said carefully.

"Don't—don't talk about my father like you know anything! Because you don't—you don't know anything!Lower you gun!" He spit out.

Just as you were trying to find a way to tell him that there was no way you would lower your gun, you saw Spencer through the doorframe behind Theo, gun pointed at him, too. You tried not to look at him as you continued.

"I won't shoot if you don't give me a reason to, Theo. I—I talked to your mother." You tried in a last desperate attempt to deescalate the situation.

That seemed to get his attention, he lowered his gun a little, before taking a step closer to you pointing it at you again. "Leave my mother out of this." He growled.

You continued anyway. "She told me that she was sorry, about your fight before you left. She is so, so proud of you, Theo. Told me to tell you that she loves you. Nothing could make her stay mad at you forever, she just wants you in her life again." You tried not to look at Spencer as you spoke the words to Theo that were really meant for him.

Tears formed in Theo's eyes. A sight that you had seen just forty minutes earlier, in his mother's. "Stop! It doesn't matter if she's proud. I lied to her! I lied."

"Of course it matters, if you put the weapon down and come back with us to the station, you could see her again. You could be her son again."

His laugh is hollow as he said, "Do you think I'm stupid? You're trying to get me to surrender. What do you called it? A talk down? Making false promises just to get me locked up. You never end up keeping them." His grip on the trigger tightened.

Another thing you learned as a profiler was not to get attached to victims or UnSubs. And while most of the team had failed at that, you had always considered yourself lucky—or heartless, for that matter.

But as you watched the pain on Theo's face, you understood. Maybe not everything he did, but you understood the cause. Understood that all of his life was set up for him to end here, in this lab, two guns pointed at him.

Behind him, Spencer nodded towards the stairs and you tried to signal to him that you didn't understand without exposing his location. He just gestured towards them again, frowning at you to just do as he said.

He took a few steps deeper into the room to clear the doorway, somehow managing not to get caught by Theo. It was a gamble he gladly took if it meant you were safe. "Theo, you don't have to do this."

Spencer's voice startled Theo and for a second you were terrified that he was going to shoot. But instead, he just turned around quickly, panicked pointing the gun at Spencer.

Your moment to run. Just to get help and come back to him. You sprinted out of the room, past Theo and Spencer. Theo shouted "No!" but it was too late, you were already half down the stairs.

You silently begged Spencer to hold on for a little longer. But just as you practically jumped of the last step in a hurry, you heard a gunshot.

Freezing on the bottom of the steps for the fraction of a second, you tried not to panic, but just as you turned to sprint back up the stairs, an arm wrapped around your middle, the other covering your mouth.

"Shh," came Rossi's voice from behind you. You struggled as he dragged you out of the building.

Fresh air hit your face as you were forced to exit, but all you could think about was the fact that Spencer's dead body might be lying on the third level of an abandoned laboratory.

You tried to pull back from him but he wouldn't let you. "No—Spencer. Spence is still—Spencer!" You struggled against his grip.

"You can't go back in there—" Rossi said your name. "The kid is smart, you know that. He—"

Before he could finish, there was another gunshot, this one closer. You almost sank to your knees as everyone around you prepared to take down the UnSub.

And were rebuild when Spencer emerged from the building a few seconds later, hands raised, "Don't shoot, he is injured, but breathing." He gestured behind him somewhere.

Rossi finally let you go when Spencer was far enough away from danger.

Not wasting a minute, you ran towards Spencer, almost crashing into him in the process.

Emily, JJ and an EMT passed you in a blur as they went into the laboratory to secure Theo. You barely registered them.

"What happened?" You didn't know whether to push him or to kiss him. You opted for the first, pushing against his shoulders. "Why would you tell me to leave? I—We had it handled. Together. I—I—You fucking scared me."

Spencer just pulled you to him by your good arm and wrapped you in a tight embrace. He didn't say anything for a while, just letting you process your feelings.

The fear of loosing Spencer for good, the pain of the break up, the conflicting feelings of having to work with your ex (that you're still very much in love with). You clung to him as your emotions overtake you. And, fuck, your arm hurt!

"Shh, it's okay. I'm okay. Here—" he pulled back with some difficulty, given that you had quite a firm grip on him, and took your hand in his, placing it on the side of his neck. "Can you feel that? I'm okay."

You nodded. "You're okay." You breathed out, looking from your hand on his pulse point, to his eyes. "Why would you do that?" Tears pricked at your eyes.

"I didn't think rationally. All I could think about was that there was a gun pointed at you and all my brain would come up with was stupid ideas to make him point it at me. Please forgive me."

He looked at you with his big, sad, brown puppy eyes, while his thumb brushed softly against the skin under your eye to catch your tears before they could fall.

You would have said something flirty like, you might have to make it up to me some more, if you weren't so terribly mad at him. "Maybe. I can't promise anything."

He smiled softly despite your answer. Maybe even because of it. It was a silly thought, you not forgiving him. "I can work with maybe."

An EMT whisked you away shortly after, but Spencer's hand stayed in yours until they slipped apart and his arm fell to his side.

He wasn't sure if he could just follow, he stayed away and watched you get checked out by the EMTs.

All of it—the story of you and him—reminded him of Cassandra witnessing the fall of Troy. It was stupid to compare two people who were so insignificant to history to two of histories most known tragedies, but it fit like he still did into the palm of your hand.

He had known that he would never be able to get over you. No one had believed him, telling him that time heals all wounds and that he couldn’t see the bigger picture yet, because he was still in it.

But he had known, and it still rang true. You were it for him and he would never find anyone that made him feel more like himself. It was foolish to think he could survive the break up, foolish to think he would get over it.

Hell, he had taken being on the receiving end of your spite over being your friend because it meant you'd look at him and feel something.

Taking all of his courage together, Spencer decided to approach you after the EMT finished patching you up.

"Hey," he said gently. This was the first time you talked without snarling at each other outside of work since the break up and it felt like finally breathing fresh air again after living purely off of carbon dioxide. "Doing good? How is your arm?"

You looked up at him from the steps on the back of the ambulance. You looked rough, exhausted. The sleeves of your shirt were rolled up to allow the EMT to bandage your wound.

It felt different now, talking to you. The moment of adrenaline had passed and he had no idea how to talk to you. The times of snarling seemed to be over, but the ones of kissing and I love you's were long gone, too.

"I'm okay. All patched up. I don't think I will ever take my reflexes for granted ever again." You tried to smile, but it didn't reach your eyes. "How are you?"

He wanted to deflect, to twist it back to you, but he humoured you. "Exhausted, but I'm good. I'm just glad you're safe."

What he actually wanted to say was: I love you, I'm glad you're speaking to me again. Let's never split up again. Please. And: I miss you, I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like everyone is running laps around me for the first time in my life.

Of course, he said none of it, this wasn't the time to dig that hole. Instead he just looked at you.

The blue of the sirens flickered on your face and even though you looked exhausted, he could't help but think you were the most beautiful thing Mother Earth has sculpted. The Grand Canyon was nothing in comparison to the frown lines on your face, the stars nothing compared to your freckles and birthmarks.

You looked back at him then, but thankfully didn't question the look on his face that without a doubt read, I love you.

Instead, you rested your head on his shoulder in a silent, I love you, too.

There was so much to talk about, so much to tell him, but when he insisted on taking you home, because he wouldn't let you drive home alone after the events of today, all you cared about was that he was there again. Fully. Without snapping, without pretend hate. Just the old you and the old him again.

You fell into your bed that night, the glaring blue light of your digital clock telling you that it was 3am. Earlier than a lot of other late nights at the BAU.

Spencer didn't hesitate to take off your work clothes, didn't ask where your pyjamas were, didn't stop to think what this all meant for you now. He didn't need to, all of this was an Obvious.

You didn't tell him to lay down next to you, to climb under the covers and flip the light off, to let you rest your head on his chest. He just did all of it. Because it was a routine, the known in all the unknown that was your relationship now. A Constant.

In the morning, you would talk about it. While he was changing your bandage with careful fingers. But right now, the sound of Spencer's heart beating your name lulled you to sleep.

In the end, fear and worry had been the best matchmakers.

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thank you so much for reading! please remember reblogging, commenting and liking if you enjoyed the fic. feedback is appreciated!! 𝜗𝜚

second a/n: I'm debating whether or not I should write a second part, but I'm not sure if there is any interest in that, so feel free to let me know:)

[yanderes-galore]

How about this concept: romantic yandere demon!Tanjiro in an AU where he was turned into demon instead of Nezuko. Would he be different than regular yandere Tanjiro somehow?

Original Tanjiro Concept Here.

Yandere! Role-Swap! Tanjiro Kamado Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Stalking, Violence, Blood, Murder implied, Clingy behavior, Kidnapping, Forced relationship.

Honestly, he probably isn't much different personality-wise... at first.

The biggest difference is, of course, his new demon physiology.

The biggest differences between this Tanjiro and his usual self is probably possessive behavior and him being more meek.

Essentially, he's less subtle and still pretty protective.

I would even argue he's more feral as a demon.

Yet Nezuko, like canon Tanjiro would, keeps him under control for the most part.

Something that could be done with his personality is make him act like canon Nezuko at times.

He has the usual bamboo muzzle and is a relatively quiet demon.

He has the powers canon Nezuko would, including the size changing and the burning blood.

When you first met Nezuko and Tanjiro, she said he was only ever affectionate with her since she was the only person he saw most of the time.

Usually Tanjiro is kept in a barrel or box on Nezuko's back, so you mostly see the demon during the night.

Your first proper encounter with him was probably when you were assigned with Nezuko on a demon slaying mission... Only for you both to wind up injured or overworked.

This leads to Tanjiro stepping in, defending you both.

At first you felt threatened by the appearance of a new demon... but Nezuko reassured you he's on your side.

Now, let's talk about the most important part of this concept, behavior.

Tanjiro often comes out of his box to greet you at night.

Whenever you have time to rest and are getting ready to lay down or sit... Tanjiro crawls out to greet you.

Admittedly, once you're used to him, Tanjiro is actually kinda cute at first.

He's probably just as if not more affectionate than his canon self.

In a way you can compare him to an animal, since he crawls up to you and bumps into you for affection.

Tanjiro no doubt wants to sit in his obsession's lap, keeping his form small as he cuddles into you.

That or he takes your hand to pat his head, looking up at you with eyes that are eerily close to lovestruck.

Nezuko muses about the fact that he doesn't usually do this with people, which you originally take as a compliment.

You're unaware that Tanjiro sees you as precious... that dreams of scenarios where you're both together as he rests in the day.

Tanjiro is clingy towards those he likes.

He loves to wrap himself around you to get your attention, making happy sounds once you greet and hold him.

The joke of him having a crush on you is no doubt tossed around... but you never take it too seriously.

You see Tanjiro as harmless due to his muzzle.

Although he definitely has the stored power to break it.

He doesn't though, instead he clings to you with a sound akin to a purr or growl.

Then when he's unable to touch you, he watches you from a distance.

Nezuko has even caught him hovering over you as you rest, as though a demon could snatch you up at any moment.

Unfortunately... Tanjiro isn't always cute.

He can be intimidating... a realization you learn during the Red Light District mission.

You realize the true danger Tanjiro holds as a demon when fighting an Upper Moon.

He grows in size, grows a horn, and snaps the bamboo muzzle like a twig.

It's moments where Tanjiro tries to protect you in general that you realize something horrifying.

Tanjiro usually means well when he uses his more feral side.

Unfortunately, you fear him more than anything.

During missions where Tanjiro is allowed to help, he often towers over you with animalistic eyes.

Demon Tanjiro acts like a guard dog with his beloved in battle.

You see him at his worst when he fights other demons... it's so different from his usual cute self.

Then when it's all over... and the demon is slain by Nezuko and your cohorts... He's right by your side.

You tend to hide your fear as even in this state, his gaze becomes oddly soft around you.

For the most part, Tanjiro just seems to be overly protective and affectionate.

He gives you soft smiles, even through his muzzle, and often cuddles into you.

Yet after you see the carnage he can cause...

After you see him covered in blood, screaming like an animal as he kicks, scratches, and bites at other demons...

It's natural that you grow cautious around him.

Your fears don't lessen once his possessive behavior starts to corrupt his protective tendencies.

You notice it when Tanjiro starts growling at Zenitsu or Inosuke.

You know he's naturally aggressive towards demons due to his want to protect those he cares about.

But... You aren't sure what to think when he growls at your friends.

He's usually soothed when you hold him or pat his head.

However, you can tell this is a sign for worse things to come.

Another thing that could be different from canon Tanjiro... is while he's still manipulative, he may go rogue and steal his obsession away.

If he feels too threatened or doesn't trust anyone around you... Imagine Tanjiro stealing you while you rest.

He probably tries to fight such instincts for the sake of Nezuko.

Yet, unfortunately, the demon may not be able to hold back for long.

Imagine waking up one night in an abandoned building.

The only other person there is Tanjiro, quietly either watching you sleep or trying to bury himself against you for comfort.

Your heart beats faster when you notice he no longer has his muzzle on.

He doesn't appear hostile when you first wake up, just looking at you as though you're the most attractive being he's seen.

He loves you, but it's obvious he isn't sure how to express that.

Instead... He resorts to his more possessive instincts.

As said before, Tanjiro is tame if you just stay in this unfamiliar place with him...

Yet... if you try to leave?

Before you make it out of the room, Tanjiro tackles you.

He's careful not to harm you, yet he's in his larger form as he drags you away from the exit.

He growls at you... and you can tell that's a warning.

Despite his feral behavior and sharp fangs, I actually can't see Tanjiro biting you.

Even if he wanted to mark you, he resorts to kissing your skin rather than biting you.

He doesn't want to accidentally taste your blood.

There's a good chance after these kidnapping attempts that Nezuko will come find you.

Yet until this, you often end up locked in Tanjiro's arms.

He's nuzzling and kissing you, murmuring quietly as he looks you in the eyes.

It's like the look a lover would give... but... it scares you.

While you know Nezuko will find you and resolve the issue...

You begin to worry if Tanjiro will try harder to keep you hidden for longer...

Maybe someday you won't be found... Forever meant to stay beside Tanjiro to satiate the demon's delusions.

[thephantomsdream]

"If you keep staring at me like that, I'll have to ask you what are we?" Imagine being the witness of a serious crime, but the team thought you were involved somehow and needed to rule you out. Cue to big, scary, mysterious, masked Ghost trying to intimidate you by existing near you.

Soap snorts and pats Ghost on the back, which earns a glare from him, all after the man blinked confused. He had pretty eyes. Gaz moves to a corner to smile way too much, and Price sighs loudly.

After a few more minutes of explaining that you were just on your way to your shitty job and that they needed to wrap this up before you are to inevitably getting fired, Ghost still looks straight into your soul, now with more intensity somehow.

At this point, you grit your teeth. You might legit not have a job after this, since you're already half an hour late, and this (weirdly cute) fucker is trying to read your thoughts.

"Oh, you're really into me, aren't you?" He blinks seemingly uninterested and you raise a brow at him, starting a staring contest until Price (as he previously introduced himself) got in between you two.

"I don't think you understand the situation that you're in." It took all of your will to not groan like a child and roll your eyes at him.

Cue to another round of you doubling down and explaining that you're extremely lame but a good person, all while Gaz still looks you up.

"She might be telling the truth, boss." He whispered to Price in the corner of the abandoned shop they broke onto to have some privacy. The man has been trying to confirm your identity all this time, meanwhile you looked up at your number one fan to say "I told you so" and gave him an exasperated sigh when you already caught him intensely staring into your eyes.

"Seriously..." You mutter and you almost believe seeing a crinkle of amusement in his eyes. Your eyes almost twitched. "I pronounce us husband and wife." You say, rolling your eyes at him. Yeah, take that, fuck-face. You childishly thought, absolutely thriving at his slow, surprised blink. Soap cackled and tried to hide it with a cough.

Long story (not) short, you were indeed let go after Gaz confirmed you're broke, lame and basic. No secret villain or anything. After they kinda apologized, Price basically tried to gaslight you into thinking everything is fine then tried to dip his toes into mansplaining the importance of greater things beyond you, he nodded to himself and patted you on the back before barking an order to his soldiers to move. Pretty brown eyes stayed glued onto your soul until you were pretty much skipping away out of sight, rushing to your job incredibly annoyed.

You couldn't really explain your absence to your boss and he didn't care much either, he told you to get to work.

Surprise, surprise, though, because at the end of your shift, he sugarly informed you that you're fired. He gave you the pay he owed you and there you were. Jobless. And probably homeless in a month's time.

A week later and some intense job hunting done, you're at your wit's end, truly. Job market is shit and nobody is looking to hire. As you enter your ratty apartment, you sigh and almost want to cry in frustration. You've been cursing the terrorists, soldiers and any motherfucker involved in last week's incident, entering your kitchen to grab a drink and eat some air since you needed to save money, when you froze in place.

In the middle of your tiny living room stood a massive dark frame, the outside lights shining through the balcony door behind him made the man unrecognizable. You were getting robbed. You just caught a dude right in the middle of robbing you. As if it was the cherry on top, every frustration you felt erupted out of you, and while you were still terrified by the massive frame, you growled a "Get the fuck out of my house."

A deep chuckle was your only response and you felt dread.

"You got spunk. And a shit survival instinct." He stepped closer. You stepped back immediately, calculating your route to the door, hoping he wouldn't be able to catch you. Denial. You knew. But you froze again in surprise. You knew that mask.

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" It came more of a whisper, thinking you'd never meet those people again. Even standing up in front of him, he's massive. Maybe he came back for those dumbass comments you made. Oh, this is revenge, isn't it? He's built, he can legit destroy you with a punch. Oh, God, you're fucking dead. They still think you're a terrorist or some shit and he's here to destroy you out of existence.

Your mind rambled until he moved, and when he did, you tensed, mind blank. The man, the Ghost took a couple of steps towards you and placed his large hand on the back of your neck, pulling you close. Oh, you're gonna fucking die for sure. He leaned down to your eye level, making you stare into his dark eyes as he studied you.

"Came back to take care of my wife." He said. It was your turn to slowly blink at him. What?

[wandaslovey]

ᴍʀꜱ. ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏꜰꜰ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 7k

authors note: i’m so excited to share this with you guys - this was so much fun to write! i’m planning on writing the first few parts as chapters where one will pick up right after the other and then once i get to a certain point i’ll do random time skips within the same au. oh also! i’m starting a tag list, so comment below if you’d like to be included on the next chapter! enjoy loves! 💕 as usual, this is not proofread.

content warning(s): legal age gap (w=30, n=33, r=23), natasha and wanda being two hot intimidating lawyers (except natasha kinda steals this show in this part, especially in the beginning. don’t worry though, wanda will have her time to shine!), conversation about kinkery and reader knows very little

if you’d like to read the drabble that inspired this series, click here

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you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your white button-up blouse for the 10th time. you huff, frustrated that your wardrobe just wouldn’t cooperate with you this morning. as you look yourself over in the mirror—the rest of your outfit consisting of a mid-thigh black pencil skirt, some black nylons and black combat boots—you couldn’t help but wonder if your attire was okay for the interview.

the interview…you can’t believe you landed an interview at thee M.R. law firm. you knew how unqualified you were for the position, so you felt extra pressure to compensate somehow with your appearance.

you turn to the side in the mirror, first left and then right, scrutinizing yourself at every angle. you readjust the pieces of hair framing your face that you pulled out of your bun, before deciding you’d done all you could to look your best.

you glance at the clock on your nightstand in the reflection of the mirror, seeing it was time to go. you grab your knock-off brand purse and slip out of your apartment. when you walk down the stairs and open the door to the outside, the noise from the city fills your ears. the sounds of cars, horns, sirens, music and people all blended together, creating a sort of hum all new-yorkers were familiar with. you step out onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding some tourists that were taking a picture in front of the trendy restaurant you lived by. you hail a cab, quickly sliding into the backseat and telling the driver your destination.

now that you were settled in your seat with only the taxi drivers quiet music to distract you, the nerves you’d been attempting to snub out suddenly hit you full force. there was no way you could do this. you were sure you were just wasting your own time and the poor person who had to interview you. you knew your 6 months working as a receptionist at a dentist office nowhere near qualified you to manage things at M.R. law. you mentally curse yourself, thinking you must’ve been half asleep and entirely too desperate when you sent in your application at this place. you needed a job though—urgently. with your roommate moving back home, and no one else taking her place, you were stuck with paying the rent on your own. on top of that, you were still paying back loans for school. you knew you should cut your losses, leave new york and transfer to a much more affordable school, but you really wanted to stay as much as you could help it.

every stoplight you hit along the 20 minute drive only makes you more nervous. the fluttery feeling in your stomach turns into full blown pterodactyls by the time the driver has pulled up to the very tall M.R. building. you pass some folded up cash to the driver, mumbling out a quiet ‘thank you,’ and then step out of the car. you stare up at the intimidating building, the lettering of “maximoff-romanoff law” taunting you—daring you to step inside. you let out a stubborn exhale, squaring your shoulders and walking in with a confidence as fake as grape flavored candy.

you stride over to the front desk, noticing that the only employees in sight are all women.

“hi, i’m here for an 11 o’clock interview,” you tell one of the women behind the desk. she offers you a polite smile, giving you instructions to head into the elevator and up to the 8th floor. you nod your head, thanking her and make your way to your doomsday interview.

as the elevator doors shut behind you, you find yourself all alone in the small space. there was no background music to distract you now. you stare at the floor, noticing a slight glint to the black tiles you were standing on. you listen to the beeps counting up each floor, your eyes dragging up the stainless steel panel when the number reads 8 and the final beep sounds. the doors open and you’re immediately greeted with the sight of more women pacing around the place. some seemed to be in a rush while others were leisurely walking across the floor while chatting with a co-worker. you walk over to the front desk again, repeating what you had told the other kind lady downstairs. she gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the waiting area, letting you know someone will grab you in a few minutes.

you take a seat on the black leather couch, figuring this piece of furniture probably costed more than the rent for your apartment. you cross your legs, interlocking your fingers together at your knee. you glance around the office, taking in the decor. it was very tasteful, some touches of greenery that went nicely with the black and dark woodsy vibe this floor was going for. you try your best to ignore the bile rising in your throat and the pterodactyls still swarming in your stomach. it was a good thing you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

as two minutes turns into ten, and then fifteen, you can’t help but feel the urge to just get up and leave. you felt so out of place here; you couldn’t imagine working at this place with all these women who were so obviously out of your league.

just as you were settling on the idea of ditching this interview, you hear clacking footsteps making their way over to you. you didn’t dare look up yet, pretending to be very interested in the tiny hole in your pantyhose just above your knee.

“miss (y/l/n)?” the most heavenly, sultry voice calls out to you. your eyes slowly trail along the tile, up the woman’s legs covered in black slacks, her blouse and matching black suit jacket, and then finally her face. it was her.

thee mrs. romanoff.

mrs. romanoff was the person who was going to interview you? you couldn’t believe your eyes, or the situation. you clear your throat, realizing you had yet to acknowledge her calling out to you.

“yeah, that’s me,” you reply, standing on slightly wobbly legs. you watch as mrs. romanoff’s eyes slowly take in your appearance, her eyes lingering on your frame. you feel a little scrutinized, wondering if you really did mess up with what you were wearing.

“follow me.” she turns and leads the way. you stumble a bit as you follow behind her, not expecting her to have as long of a stride as she does.

“you’ll have to forgive me for the wait—we had a couple meetings run over this morning,” she talks to you over her shoulder, slowing her walk a little when she notices you’re not directly behind her like she thought.

“oh, no worries. i didn’t mind the wait.” that was technically a lie, but it wasn’t the wait that bothered you as much as the fact that you were left alone with your thoughts a little too long.

she rounds a corner at the end of the hall, pausing and gesturing for you to enter in one of the two doors that were side by side on the wall to the right. you walk through the doorframe, stepping into what you assumed was her personal office.

“have a seat, miss (y/l/n),” she says in a low voice, walking from behind you and around her desk to sit in her chair. you sit in one of the two chairs across from her, your heart thudding violently in your chest from being in such close proximity to her.

you adjust your seating position three times before finally settling in place, forcing yourself to sit still. mrs. romanoff humors you, remaining silent and patient through your nervous fidgeting.

“so, i have to say i was a little surprised to see your application come through to my desk,” she starts and you immediately feel your cheeks grow hot, the feeling of being in a place you don’t belong filling your whole body with dread.

she pauses, and you realize she was waiting for you to respond. right. this was supposed to be where you attempt to prove yourself adequate to work in this position.

“yes, um… well, admittedly i myself did think it was a stretch to apply here, but then i figured, i’m a fast learner, i’m very thorough in all i do and i enjoy learning new things. i thought i’d try my hand at something i haven’t done before.” you rattle off an answer that while it was true, it was also something you rehearsed 20 times in the mirror while getting ready before you got here. you were almost positive the slight robotic edge in your voice was noticeable.

mrs. romanoff hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly at your rehearsed answer. “how well can you handle multi-tasking in a fast paced environment?” her lack of acknowledging your first answer puts a damper on your already fake confidence. you shift in your seat again, finding it harder to maintain eye contact with the sea of green that was her eyes.

“i would say i fare pretty well. i’m usually very good at managing stressful situations.” that was a complete lie—but most people bullshit their way through interviews, don’t they?

“usually?” she echoes, tilting her head to the side. she purses her lips, half attempting to hide a small smirk. she easily picked up on all your nervous antics the moment she saw you. you averting her gaze, walking unsteadily, fidgeting in your seat and the cute rose-y blush currently coloring your cheeks.

you clear your throat, interlocking your hands together in your lap. you notice they’ve already started to feel damp with sweat. “yeah, yeah most of the time i’d say so.”

“well, miss…” she glances down at what appeared to be your application and resume sitting in front of her on the desk. “(y/n)..you don’t sound very sure of yourself.” she sits upright in her chair, crossing her arms and leaning over the desk. your heart beats impossibly faster, the feeling of intimidation settling deep into your bones.

“no, i mean, i am sure—totally 100%.” you try to laugh, but it comes out sounding as nervous as you feel.

“okay, if that’s how you’d like to proceed…” she trails off, looking down at the papers in front of her again. you didn’t know what she meant, but your eyes fall desperately to the same papers she was looking at, as if they could provide some sort of answer to you. “what are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?”

you internally breath a sigh of relief. this was another answer you’d rehearsed in the mirror, it just needed to sound less robotic this time. “i’d say my greatest strengths are, i’m very punctual—i’m always on time if not early—um, i do all things thoroughly, as i mentioned before…i’m very reliable—hardly sick or need time off for family things, and i enjoy a good challenge. my greatest weakness is that i like to be very organized and sometimes i can spend a little too much time completing a certain project before moving onto the next.” you exhale after you finish talking, your eyes flicking across her face to try and get a sense of how she’s taking in your answer.

as you speak, you can’t help but notice that she was watching you so meticulously. it seemed that she was taking in not only your words, but your facial expressions, hand gestures and body language.

she looks at you for a moment as if she’s thinking hard on something. without taking her eyes off of you, she presses a button on her desk, the small ding from an intercom sounding. “joan, please track down mrs. maximoff and have her come into my office right away.”

your heartbeat now thrums loudly in your ears, your breath picking up its pace. you were not only going to be in the presence of mrs. romanoff but now mrs. maximoff too? never in your life had you seen such a powerful couple—and that was only in photos and billboards you’d seen around the city!

“is everything okay?” you ask nervously, feeling the permanent blush on your cheeks travel to the tips of your ears.

“everything’s fine, (y/n),” she gives you a smile but it was anything but reassuring. in fact, there was something about the expression that felt more intimidating with how devastatingly beautiful she was.

she grabs a pen and starts writing something on the paper. whatever it was was brief, but you couldn’t see clearly from your seat.

a quiet knock comes from the door and your posture becomes rigid as you hear who you assume to be mrs. maximoff entering the room.

“you called for me?” mrs. maximoff asks as she walks the length from the door to mrs. romanoff’s side. she walks around your chair and stands next to her wife, placing her palm flat against the desktop and leaning some of her weight on it.

“yes, i wanted you to meet our new interviewee,” she smiles with her lips and gestures to you in your seat. you look between the two beautiful, impeccably dressed women, feeling extremely small and insignificant. mrs. maximoff turns to look at you for the first time, a warm smile gracing her features.

“hi,” she offers simply, extending her hand to shake yours. you sit forward, reaching your arm out to shake her hand across the desk. her hand was incredibly soft and a little cold to the touch, but you wouldn’t expect anything less since the office was kept at such a cool temperature.

“mrs. maximoff is going to sit in on the rest of our interview. is that okay with you?” mrs. romanoff asks, her eyes daring you to object.

you quickly shake your head from side to side, shifting once again in your chair. “no, no that’s perfectly fine,” you reply easily, though you were feeling anything but fine. you notice mrs. maximoff giving her wife a curious glance but she doesn’t otherwise question it.

“let’s move over to the couches so we’re a little more comfortable,” mrs. romanoff stands up and heads over to the long olive green velvet sofa. you follow suit, except you take a seat in the smaller sofa, designed for only one person. mrs. maximoff sits closest to you on the long couch, brushing some of her pretty brown hair behind her shoulder. you watch as she glances back at her wife, mrs. romanoff giving her a certain look that you weren’t sure what it meant.

“so, (y/n), tells us what your career goals are,” mrs. romanoff proceeds with the interview as if the interruption never happened. you find yourself even more nervous to respond now that there were two, hot, older women sitting before you.

“umm…for now i really just need something steady that will simultaneously be giving me good work and life experience.. long term though, i’d like to become a therapist once i finish my masters program.” you bite your tongue once you finish your sentence, realizing this is not the sort of job where you tell your interviewers you’d like to pursue something that has nothing to do with their company.

“what appeals to you about becoming a therapist?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side curiously, just like mrs. romanoff had done earlier in the interview.

you lean back in your chair, a little surprised at her interest in your reply. “well, it’s a cliche answer, but i’m very passionate about helping people. it’s impossible to go through this life without getting seriously hurt and dealing with trauma. the vast majority of us have no idea how to cope or process through our experiences, so just knowing what i know, i’d like to try and be of some help for those who need it.”

the two lawyers look at you thoughtfully, mrs. maximoff nodding her head as you speak.

“that’s a very admirable passion. are you currently enrolled in a masters program?” she asks, crossing one of her legs over the other as she gets more comfortable in her seat.

“i am,” you reply with a shy smile. you never wanted to come across as bragging about your education, so you always sought to speak about it in the most humble way.

“you like school?” mrs. romanoff chimes in, leaning forward as she speaks.

your smile turns a bit rueful as you reply. “yes..i do. i know so many young people my age loathe school and all the hard work that needs to be put in, but…i love everything about it. i love taking notes, making flashcards, studying, taking tests, everything about it, i just love. i know it sounds a little crazy.” you laugh once, suddenly feeling more relaxed as you speak about something so genuinely. you feel a little more surprise again as you hear mrs. romanoff chuckle with you, nodding her head towards her brunette wife.

“sounds like somebody i know. this one here was a school addict. i had to practically pry textbooks out her hands just so we could do anything other than study,” she chuckles again, mrs. maximoff joining in with her.

“i won’t apologize for being so pointed about my studies. we both got straight A’s, didn’t we?” she jokes light-heartedly and you find yourself smiling warmly at their light banter.

mrs. maximoff turns back to face you, a smile still touching her lips. “what else do you do aside from school?” her question makes your face fall slightly as you now had to admit you were technically unemployed. you knew that didn’t look good for potential employers.

“right now, not a whole lot. just keeping busy with my studies,” you respond vaguely to which they both hum in response.

the pair of them continue asking you questions, except they become progressively more personal until they don’t attain to work or working at this position at all.

“do you like living alone? or do you prefer living with others?” was one of the questions mrs. romanoff asks you after you had explained you were currently without a roommate.

even though it was strange, you find that the more you talk about yourself, the more relaxed you feel. mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff both noticed it too. they could see more of your personality showing through as the nerves slowly but surely dissipated.

it had been near 40 minutes by the time mrs. romanoff checked her watch and noticed the time. she looked at her wife, mrs. maximoff seeming to sense her eyes on her as she automatically looked to the side. they shared a look, one of them nodding to the other before turning back to face you.

“well, we’ve kept you here much longer than was intended—i apologize for that.” mrs. romanoff says as she stands, mrs. maximoff following suit. you stand also, smoothing your skirt back over your legs. as you stand so closely to them now, you notice how they were both taller than you by a few inches, making you feel small again like you had earlier.

“it’s no big deal. i’m in no rush,” you smile shyly as you look up at the two of them. you extend your arm out, shaking both of their hands before getting ready to leave. they both give your hand a gentle squeeze and when mrs. romanoff shakes your hand, she grasps on longer than her wife, holding your gaze with a certain intensity.

“we’ll be in touch, miss (y/n),” she says smoothly, calling you out by your first name, and for some reason the combination between her voice and her eye contact made your knees feel weak.

you swallow thickly, nodding your head and thanking them both for the interview before turning away. mrs. maximoff leads you to the door to exit and walks you all the way out to the elevators. you pace the short distance in somewhat comfortable silence. when you turn to face her to say your final goodbye, your surprised to see mrs. romanoff behind her. she was following so quietly that you didn’t notice her presence.

“bye! thank you again,” you smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open. the two women stand side by side of each other, giving you a near identical smile which portrayed some sort of knowing behind it, almost like they were expecting something.

“it was a pleasure meeting you miss (y/l/n),” mrs. maximoff calls out to you as the elevator doors slide closed.

you exhale a breath you didn’t now you were holding, slumping back against the elevator walls.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

that evening, you cook up a box of mac n cheese, too lazy to try and find the ingredients to make anything else. not to mention, your mind was still a little bit jumbled after your interview with thee lesbian power couple.

mrs. romanoff’s words kept echoing in your head.

”we’ll be in touch” she’d said. but didn’t your interview totally blow? especially at the end. it wasn’t so much an interview but rather more like a conversation where people try to get to know each other better. maybe they were looking for a personality hire? you really doubted that though.

you eat your mac n cheese while staring blankly at the wall, thinking over the whole exchange with mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff. as you mindlessly feed yourself spoonfuls of your dinner, you realize you didn’t even know their first names. you remembered you had once seen them on a billboard somewhere but didn’t remember exactly what they were. mrs. romanoff’s first name was natalie or something similar? you were at a loss with mrs. maximoff. you decide to google them to put your curiosities to rest.

pulling out your phone, you google their names and the law firm. after doing just a little bit of digging, you see their full names: natasha romanoff and wanda maximoff. ah, so you were close with mrs. romanoff’s name. you wonder if they only go by their last names at the office. it definitely seemed like their vibe to have things be so professional.

as you go throughout the rest of your evening, showering and getting ready for bed, you continue thinking about them. the longer your mind lingers on them, the less “professionally” you think about them. you couldn’t help but notice how utterly beautiful they both were. they both carried themselves with a confidence that anyone would find intimidating. there was something so forceful about their presences, but not necessarily in a bad way. it seemed like natasha—mrs.romanoff—was a little more rough around the edges, but you could see she easily held a soft spot for her wife and life partner. mrs. maximoff gave off a much more approachable vibe, but she was still intimidating in her own way.

as your mind continues wandering, you find yourself becoming more tired before you finally drift off to sleep, your brain fatigued from all your analytical thinking.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

the first thing you notice when you wake up is the light shining through your thin curtains. you blink a few times, slowly adjusting to the light. you blindly reach over to your nightstand, unplugging your phone from the charger. as you unlock your phone, you notice a missed call from an unknown number nearly two hours ago. you shoot up into a sitting position in your bed, suddenly feeling much more awake. it was just passed 10 am. was the unknown number a call back about your interview?

your fingers furiously swipe on your phone, quickly googling the number for M.R. law. you breath a sigh of relief when you cross reference the digits in your phone and the number online, realizing it was just a random unknown caller. you let your body fall back limply on the bed, your leg dangling off the side as you clutch your phone to your chest. that would’ve been humiliating if they called offering you the job and you didn’t pick up the phone.

as you go about your morning leisurely—not having any classes this day—you try to push the two hot lawyers out of your mind. there was no point in dwelling on them if you’d never hear from them again.

you leave your face bare of makeup, not intending on leaving the apartment and you opt for wearing comfy clothes—or “frumpy” clothes as you called them—instead of something nice.

you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of frosted flakes cereal. you let it sit there for a few minutes to soak up the milk, as soggy cereal was your favorite. you’d argue with anyone who claimed crunchy cereal was best. as you wait, you power up your laptop, intent on working on some homework.

you’re munching on your cereal, blue-light filtered glasses adorning your nose as you work on your computer screen. you were mid-bite when you hear your phone buzzing on the counter next to you. you glance down at your phone and frown slightly when you notice it looks to be the same unknown number from earlier.

you continue chewing your bite, raising the phone to your ear as you accept the call.

“hello?” you ask, your voice mumbled a bit as you still had some food in your mouth.

“good morning, miss (y/n),” you hear a warm, velvety voice greet you. after almost an hour interview with her yesterday, you’d recognize this distinct voice anywhere.

“mrs. romanoff?” you just about choke on your food as you swallow, your body tensing slightly as you feel much more alert.

“that would be correct.” you hear her chuckle softly into the phone, your tone laced with obvious surprise she must have found endearing.

“i’m so sorry! i think i missed your call earlier? i didn’t recognize the number- i had no idea it was you, i’m sorry!” you apologize quickly, thinking that if she was actually calling to offer you the job, you might have just ruined it.

“don’t worry about it. i would be surprised if you recognized it given that this is my personal number,” her voice was low and warm. it was entirely too enticing.

“oh.. umm, right. well, good morning,” you stumble slightly over your words, unsure what else to say to her.

“are you normally a late riser?” she asks with humor in her voice.

“what? oh no, not normally no. i just don’t have classes today,” you explain, a little embarrassed at her having called you out on your sleeping habits.

“i see. well, we just wanted to call and ask if you’d meet us for a coffee,” her question came out as more of a statement and you were left wondering why on earth she would want to go out for coffee with you and…wait.. did she say we?

“we?” the words echo aloud from your mind.

“yes. my wife and i,” she reiterates calmly. you look around your small excuse for a kitchen as if the reasoning behind her posing this question was written on the walls.

“like today?” you ask stupidly. of course she meant today.

“yes - today. can you meet us in 15? we’re going on lunch break. i’ll text you the address.” your eyes zip to the digital numbers plastered on the microwave. you only had 15 minutes to try and look presentable, get a cab and meet them.

“ummm..yeah. yeah sure,” you nod your head as if she could see you through the phone. you quickly hop off the stool you were sitting on, walking briskly to the bathroom with the phone still held firmly to your ear.

“perfect. we’ll see you soon.” she hangs up and you all but toss your phone on the bathroom counter, staring down at the device as if it’s offended you. you quickly snap out of it, only having 5 or so minutes to un-hobo yourself. you quickly apply some concealer on your dark spots, powder on a little blush and brush on a coat of mascara in record time. in your haste, you stumble from the bathroom to your closet, trying to find something to quickly throw on. you grab a simple white baby tee, putting it on and then aggressively stepping into some loose light wash jeans. grabbing your belongings, you half jog out the door, nearly slipping down the last two stairs of your apartment.

you quickly get a cab, thanking whatever higher power there is in your head that there was very little delay in one driving by. as the taxi driver takes you to the address you gave him, you sit forward in your seat, gathering your hair in a pony tail near the top of your head. you secure it with an elastic you always keep around your wrist and pull some pieces out to frame your face. you glance in the cab rear view mirror, seeing you looked fairly presentable. you exhale shakily, sitting back in your seat as the same nerves you felt yesterday on the way to your interview were coming back now.

what was this about? i mean, you knew it wasn’t normal to meet with potential employees for coffee. it was especially suspicious because it was mrs. romanoff *and* her wife.

your thoughts are interrupted as the taxi slows to a crawl and he pulls up to the coffee shop. you’d never been to this one before, granted there were hundreds of shops all over the city so there were probably many you hadn’t gone to. your heart leaps in your chest as you see both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff waiting outside for you.

you pass the driver the money, thank him and slip out of the car. as you step onto the sidewalk, mrs. maximoff greets you with the same warm smile she’d given you when you first met. mrs. romanoff smiles too, though it’s not as wide as her wife’s.

“hello again, (y/n).” your heart skips a beat as you hear mrs. maximoff use your first name for the first time. mrs. romanoff had been calling you by your first name since you’d stepped foot into her office. you liked the way your name fell from both of their tongues.

“hi, good to see you both again,” you smile despite your nerves, making eye contact with both of them in a polite manner.

“shall we?” mrs. romanoff suggests as she opens the door for you, her wife placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. you inhale shakily, the unexpected contact surprising you in a pleasant way.

as the three of you file in behind the small line of people waiting to order, your eyes skim the menu, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted.

“cute outfit,” mrs. romanoff murmurs from behind you. you could hear what sounded to be amusement in her tone but you weren’t sure.

you turn to the side to face her, her being on your left and mrs. maximoff on your right just a half-step behind you. “thank you. i threw it on—literally. i was wearing something a lot less presentable when you first called.” you glance down at both of their outfits. the duality between yours and their outfits was almost laughable. they looked impeccably fashionable and you were just in street clothes.

wanda chuckles lightly at your comment. “what were you wearing before?” she asks.

“just an oversized tee and some biker shorts,” you shrug, crossing your arms casually over your chest. you always felt more comfortable when you had your arms wrapped around yourself.

as the line moves and you’re next, mrs. romanoff quickly stands in front of you, her body moving between you and the counter. “what’ll you have?” she gives you an expectant look, ready to give your order.

“an iced mocha?” you ask a little shyly, her show of putting herself between you and the cash register did something to you for some reason.

she nods, and turns to the barista, repeating your order along with hers and her wife’s. you’re about to protest, wanting to tell her she doesn’t have to pay for you, but you feel mrs. maximoff’s hand return to the small of your back, swiftly maneuvering you away from the line and over to the small cluster of tables.

you sit down in a chair she pulled out for you and you scoot yourself in as mrs. maximoff settles in her own seat across from you.

“you really don’t have to pay for me, you know,” you pipe gently, glancing over at mrs. romanoff who was standing at the counter waiting for the drinks before you turn back to mrs. maximoff.

“of course not, we want to. plus, neither her nor i would ever allow you to pay for yourself even if you insisted,” she smiles winsomely, her eyes gleaming with something warm and bright.

mrs. romanoff returns with all three coffees, somehow handling all three and setting them down in a graceful manner.

“thank you,” you give mrs. romanoff a gentle smile as your fingers interlock around the cup and you drag it closer to you.

they both take a sip from their coffees—which were both hot—before mrs. romanoff clears her throat, her eyes narrowing in on you as she leans forward on the table.

“so, i imagine you’re wondering why we asked you here.” she throws a glance at her wife who was already looking at her speak.

“it may have been on my mind…” you trail off, sounding as innocent as possible.

mrs. romanoff smiles knowingly, her eyes appraising you in a way that made you squirm slightly in your seat.

“it’s not about the job, as i’m sure you might have figured, but rather about offering a different type of position,” she begins. your brow furrows in confusion. what did she mean?

“a different position? like a cleaning job or something?” you immediately go to thinking about jobs that require little to no experience, figuring that might be all they’d have to offer given your background.

they both laugh at your guess, mrs. romanoff being the one to shake her head no.

“no, not a cleaning job,” she pauses, seeming to measure your expression before continuing. “(y/n), have you ever heard the term bdsm?”

your face goes blank and you look from mrs. romanoff to her wife who appeared to be watching you just as carefully.

“um…i think so? i’ve heard the term a few times before.” your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, an unfamiliar pit settling into your lower tummy at the abrupt shift in the topic of conversation.

“what do you know about it?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side which causes some of her neatly curled hair to fall forward.

you look between the two of them, unconsciously shrinking further down into your seat. this was such a taboo subject to talk about it public; you found yourself already growing warm from just the thought of this discussion.

“well, it’s..sex stuff…right? like being tied down and whipped?” you speak hesitantly in a small voice, throwing quick glances at the strangers littered across the coffee shop.

“those things can be a part of it, yes—if all parties discuss that’s something they like to participate in” mrs. romanoff explains and then continues. “what else have you heard about it? or is that the gist of what you know?”

you shrug, your shoulders slumped forward and your head bowed slightly to try and obscure your flushed cheeks. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth—your nervous habit.

mrs. maximoff pipes in again after noticing your bashfulness. “a lot of people have that imagery in mind when they hear the term ‘bdsm,’ so it’s understandable that that’s your impression. there is so much more to it though. really, bdsm is about exploring people’s sexual interests in a safe space. you learn about your limits, what you like, what you didn’t expect to like, and so much more.” you listen to her explanation intently, your mind immediately wandering and wondering where this conversation was going to go.

mrs. romanoff picks up off her wife’s words. “some people simply dabble in certain aspects of bdsm while others treat it more as a lifestyle—and for my wife and i, it is a lifestyle.”

you nod hesitantly as they both pause for a second, watching you digest this information. you’re unsure how to respond, feeling progressively more restless in your seat.

they both give each other a look before mrs romanoff nods and mrs. maximoff speaks.

“normally, for people who live this lifestyle, they draw up contracts between themselves and the person they want as their submissive.. now we know this is all very forward, but there’s just no other way to put it. we’d like to have you as our new submissive.”

your face turns bright red for reasons you’re not fully aware of. you weren’t quite sure what being a “submissive” all entailed, but you couldn’t wipe the imagery of being helplessly tied down and whipped from your mind. you’re silent as your brain flits through one imaginary scenario to the next. you were so clueless though, you weren’t sure if the things you were thinking up were things people actually did or if they were just shown in porn.

“me…? i just..well it’s just that..i’m-i don’t know if i would be your ideal candidate,” you stumble out, your eyes glued to the table as you avoid looking at either of them at all costs.

“on the contrary, (y/n), i singled you out almost immediately at our interview. i knew i wanted you. that’s why i had wanda join us.” her face softens as she notices your slight uneasiness. being a bit of a sadist though, she couldn’t help but find your innocence and embarrassment so incredibly gratifying. it only made her want you more.

your teeth worry into your bottom lip again as you look between one set of green eyes and then the other. “do you guys normally.. share, uhm..submissives?”

“not always, but we do like to when it’s possible,” wanda shares, a reassuring smile on her face. you purse your lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek as more questions arise in your head.

“how does that work? sharing i mean.” you knew there were people who participated in polyamorous relationships, and you had no issue with it, you just had trouble visualizing the dynamic.

natasha grins wickedly to herself, realizing now how truly innocent and unknowing you were. she suspected a little yesterday at the interview, but had no idea the true scope of your innocence. wanda also found herself undeniably more attracted to you after this conversation. her hands twitch in her lap, thinking of all the things she could do to you that you probably haven’t ever dreamed of.

“it works (y/n), trust me…” mrs. romanoff says seductively.

“we know this is all very foreign to you, sweetheart. you don’t have to say yes today, just think about it?” mrs. maximoff reaches across the table and affectionately holds onto your wrist. your stomach does a little flip-flop at the term of endearment paired with the affection.

there were so many thoughts and feelings swirling around you, but one thing stuck out above the rest. you wanted to learn more. you didn’t want to say no and close a door on something that you might enjoy.

“i want to.. i mean, um, i will think about it,” you clear your throat for the umpteenth time that day, pulling your hand back from mrs. maximoff’s light grasp. it was suddenly feeling like her hand was searing your skin.

“you want to what?” mrs. romanoff presses, her eyes looking at you with intensity again.

“i just meant that i want to learn more..about this,” you reply quietly, peeking at mrs. romanoff through your lashes. you notice her clench her jaw and flex her fingers that were resting on the table, but you weren’t sure what it meant.

“well, there’s a lot to learn, but luckily i’d say we’re both pretty good teachers,” mrs. maximoff grins more wickedly this time, her expression giving you a new glimpse into something you hadn’t seen in her until this point.

“why don’t we meet up again sometime this weekend? we can answer any questions you have—help you learn more about what we’re asking from you,” she adds, to which you surprisingly feel eager to agree to the idea. you find yourself already wanting to learn more, especially if the people who were going to educate you were two of the hottest women alive.

“yeah…let’s do that,” you nod once, your blush slowly creeping off your cheeks though a slight honey glow was still present.

you all begin to gather your things, mrs. maximoff noticing their lunch break was just about up. the three of you hardly touched your coffees, the conversation too intense to take swigs of the drinks.

the two of them walk you out of the shop, mrs. romanoff hailing down a cab for you. you turn to say goodbye to mrs. maximoff and find that she’s standing closer to you than expected.

“i look forward to seeing you again so soon, dragotsennaya veshch’,” she murmurs, reaching to give your arm an affectionate squeeze. you smile at her, unsure what she said but not caring much to know now.

you step closer to the cab after mrs. romanoff opens the door for you. before you can slip inside the car, mrs. romanoff leans down, murmuring in your ear.

“if you have any questions before the weekend that simply can’t wait, don’t hesitate to text me. you have my number.” her voice was a little rough which makes you shiver.

you nod slowly, sucking on your bottom lip again. you give mrs. maximoff a shy hand wave which she mimics with an amused grin. you sink down into the car seat, mrs. romanoff shutting the door behind you.

as the taxi drives away, you can’t help but look behind you as the two women grow smaller and smaller on the sidewalk. as the car turns a corner, the couple remain standing there until you disappear. you sigh and turn back around in your seat, resting heavily against the cushion behind you.

what just happened?

——————————

tag list:

@poppyshuman @wandamaximoffsbadgirl @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123 @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Older"

ok yall! i couldn't stop thinking of neglected Reader falling for Clark Kent, so instead of writing a new chapter of "I bet on losing dogs" I wrote an AU!!! Batfam's neglect stays till reader is 18, Tiffany isn't exposed till later. I got kinda carried away tbh! Remember, THIS IS AN AU!!!! Ya'll aren't ready for this plot actually. Or who really steals readers heart. Thank you to the wonderful anon who sent me down the rabit hole of this man. Reader is 18 when the romance actually starts.

Part 1:

Part 2: Here

Part 3:

When you were younger, you had always idolized Superman. Clark Kent, the unassuming, nerdy reporter with glasses, was a far cry from the intimidating presence he became when he donned the cape. You first saw him when you were 9, during a charity event your father had taken you to. At first, you thought he was just another well-dressed man who smiled too much. But then, when he lifted a car to save someone from an accident, you felt something shift in your chest.

That’s it, you thought. That’s what I want. I want him.

From that day on, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he saved people with a smile, how gentle his voice was. You’d daydream about being near him, holding his hand, his deep blue eyes looking down at you with affection. But Clark never saw you that way. To him, you were always just Bruce Wayne’s little girl—the kid he barely knew.

Maybe it was a result of being neglected by every man in your life that made you so feral for Clark Kent. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only person you knew who didn't prefer Tiffany to you. Whatever it was, it didn't matter, he'd never feel the same.

So, you pushed your feelings aside.

Or at least you tried to.

You’d flirted with boys before. You’d flirted with grown men. With your powers, you needed an outlet, a way to let go of your frustrations, to feel good. You lost your virginity only days after gaining your powers. It felt amazing, during those moments you were in control of your body, the pain went away, the neglect went away and you were loved.

But nothing had ever been like the times you found yourself in Clark’s presence. At 16, you’d started testing the waters, teasing him with subtle remarks. You’d gotten a little bolder in your attempts over the years, but he always brushed them off as playful jokes.

"Don’t you think you’re a little young for me, kiddo?" he’d chuckle every time you got close.

You hated that. He saw you as a kid. That was it.

But you didn’t stop. Because you were determined.

And by the time you turned 18, the world around you had shifted. You had grown into someone new, more mature, more confident. Your body had changed. Your personality had changed. But Clark... he still looked at you like you were that little girl from all those years ago.

It hurt. But you told yourself, Just be patient. It’ll come around. I just need more time.

You soon realized time was too long. Clark would never see you as anything more than a kid, he literally had children your age. He was old enough to be your father. His youngest son had a crush on you and Clark is a good man. He would never consider you romantically.

You couldn't keep chasing after another unrequited love. Not after years of chasing your family's. Not after years of being pushed aside for an imposter who always outsmarted your attempts to expose her.

You wanted to move on. To leave everyone behind.

And that's what you did. There was no dramatic breaking point, no emotional stand-off. You were looking out your window one day and you realized you've done nothing. You've never been happy, never once truly happy, you lived for everyone but yourself. Not anymore. One random sunny Tuesday, the summer after you graduated highschool, you packed up and left everything behind, no goodbyes. Not even a note for Alfred. None of them deserved it.

You were tired, tired of chasing people.

You wanted to be chased and that's what you got. Every week it was someone new, your professor, your friends, your boss, anyone who was attracted to you, you slept with. It was so freeing. It was euphoric, making them fall in love, leading them into your bed, then kicking them out as soon as the next one came along.

The only thing that you truly loved now was music, it was all that got you through years and years of mistreatment. No matter what happened in the manor, you could turn your headphones on and forget. You could grab your guitar and strum your worries away.

College sucked. Long ago, you would've pushed yourself to go, even though you hated it, just to make your family proud. To chase approval you would never get. Not anymore, you knew you needed a degree to make a living, but a gap year never hurt anyone.

You began working as a singer in different bars. It let you write songs and make money. There was nothing more addicting than feeling eyes on you, enchanted by you. Your voice was magnetic, drawing people in, and like any good predator, you feasted on their hearts and left as soon as they stopped inspiring you. Yet, no matter how good-looking or good in bed they were, they would never be Clark.

One night, after a few months of your reckless, self-destructive pattern, you found yourself in a dimly lit bar on the outskirts of Gotham, a place where nobody would recognize you. You weren't gonna sing, not tonight.

You weren’t here to find love, you weren’t here to talk or connect. You were here to forget.

The clink of glasses and low murmur of conversation surrounded you, but it was the figure in the corner that caught your attention.

A man with a commanding presence sat alone at the bar, his back straight, eyes locked on the dim-lit television above the counter. His hair was peppered with gray, but there was something ageless about the way he carried himself; tough, confident, dangerous. The eyepatch over his right eye only enhanced the mystery, adding a cruel allure to his already intimidating presence.

You couldn’t quite place why you were drawn to him, but the moment you saw him, a spark ignited. Slade Wilson. He worked with Bruce somehow one time, everyone hated him, even Clark. You remembered him because he was the only man, other than Clark, not to fall for Tiffany's charm and that was a win in your book.

You’d heard of him in passing, mostly in rumors—whispers of a deadly mercenary, a ghost in the shadows of Gotham, a man you wouldn’t want to cross. But here he was, sitting like a predator in a place filled with prey.

You weren’t afraid. You never were. You’d been raised in the shadows of Gotham, after all, with men who didn’t even know how to love you. You’d seen dangerous men before. You knew how to handle yourself.

You sauntered over, taking a seat next to him, your movements casual but purposeful. He glanced at you briefly, his lips twitching into the slightest of smirks before his eyes returned to the screen.

"Mind if I join you?" you asked, leaning into the counter, placing your drink beside his.

His gaze flicked toward you again, this time a little longer. There was something predatory in the way he sized you up, assessing your every move. "Not at all."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly. "I’ve been told I’m a good time."

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, but it was cold, calculated. "That so?"

You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped briefly to your lips, but he didn’t let his attention linger for long. He took a long sip of his drink and leaned back, unbothered, as though you were nothing more than another fleeting distraction.

You were used to this, the indifferent types. But you weren’t going to let him slip away that easily.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who spends his nights in places like this,” you said, turning towards him with a sly grin. “I imagine you’ve got better places to be.”

Slade didn’t look at you when he responded, his voice low and smooth, like gravel being ground underfoot. “I’m where I want to be.”

You laughed, the sound rich and teasing. "So, what does someone like you do for fun, then?"

For a moment, the silence stretched between you, and then he finally turned to meet your eyes, the weight of his gaze making your stomach flutter for reasons you couldn’t explain. "Fun... isn’t what I’m here for."

You let out a slow breath, leaning in a little closer, just enough for the scent of his cologne to hit you, something spicy, with a touch of danger.

"Then what are you here for?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You could see the muscles in his jaw tense slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he met your gaze head-on, his lips curling up ever so slightly at the corners.

"Business."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Business, huh? I love business."

“I'm sure you do” he said cryptically, but his voice was thick with unspoken meaning.

The tension between you was palpable, electric. You couldn’t deny the pull you felt toward him. It wasn’t just his looks, though they were undeniably attractive in their own gritty, dangerous way. No, it was the way he carried himself, like he was someone who could destroy everything in his path if he wanted.

You weren’t intimidated, though. If anything, it intrigued you more.

You leaned closer, the warmth of your body pressing against his, your breath hot against his ear. “So, what do you do when business is done?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just stared at you, his eyes hard and calculating. And then, before you could react, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t want to know."

You shivered at his words, at the heat of his breath, but you were beyond caring. You were tired of being the one who was always desired but never loved, the one who always chased but was never caught. Tonight, you wanted to be wanted, and you wanted him to want you more than anything.

"Maybe I wanna find out" you breathed, your hand sliding down his arm.

His hand shot out like lightning, grabbing your wrist before you could make contact. His grip was firm, but not painful—just a reminder of his control, of how easily he could break you if he wanted.

“Not tonight,” he murmured, voice rough. "Not the way you think."

You stared at him, uncertainty flickering in your gaze for the briefest of moments. You had gotten used to men not wanting you the way you wanted them, it was all you knew growing up. But now things were different with your abilities. This wasn’t the first time someone had pulled away, but with him, it felt different, like he was holding back, just as much as you were.

You smirked. "What makes you think you can stop me?"

His lips curled again, this time with something darker in his eyes. "Because I’m the one who calls the shots."

A challenge. A warning. And for some reason, that only made you want him more.

Before you could react, he stood up, his hand lingering on your wrist for just a beat longer. "If you’re serious about this, I’ll be at the back exit in thirty minutes."

Then, without waiting for a response, he was gone, disappearing into the shadows of the bar.

You sat there for a moment, staring after him, the heat of the moment hanging in the air between you.

You weren’t sure whether to follow or not, but you knew one thing for certain: tonight was going to be a night you wouldn’t forget.

And so, you found yourself standing outside in the cool night air, your heart racing. You hadn't planned for this, but somehow it felt inevitable.

When you saw him again, waiting by the dark alley, it was clear this was a man who didn’t let anything slip through his fingers. And tonight, you weren’t going to let him slip away either. You approached him, your steps measured and confident.

He didn't speak immediately, just gave you a slow, knowing smile as you came closer.

This wasn’t the start of a love story. This wasn’t about feelings or connections. This was something darker, something more primal.

This was a game. And you weren’t sure if you were the predator... or the prey.

But you were ready to find out.

The cool Gotham air settled in your lungs as you closed the distance between yourself and Slade, your heels clicking softly on the pavement.

He stood by the alley entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall, his figure lit only by the faint streetlight behind him. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, making his presence feel like an almost dangerous secret—something you weren’t sure you were ready to unravel, but damn, you were more than willing to try.

Slade didn’t say a word as you approached, his one visible eye catching yours with that piercing, unreadable stare of his. You knew that look. It was the same kind of look your father gave you when he had to make tough decisions, when he saw things for what they truly were. Cold, calculating. But this? This felt different. This felt like a challenge. And you were more than ready for it.

“Still think you can handle me?” His voice was low, but it had that same teasing bite, as if he were daring you to prove him wrong.

You were close now—too close for comfort, but you didn’t care. You stepped into his space, the heat of his body now radiating against yours, his scent filling your senses. “I don’t need to handle you,” you murmured, your lips barely brushing his ear as you leaned in. “I think you need to handle me.”

There was a flicker in his gaze, something almost imperceptible, but it was enough to make your pulse quicken. He didn’t move away, didn’t flinch like others would have. If anything, the air around you both seemed to crackle with intensity.

“Is that what you think this is about?” Slade asked, his voice rougher now, as though the control he so carefully maintained was slipping just a little. “You’re not the first woman who’s come to me thinking they can make me want them.”

You were sure he was referring to Tiffany, there was no way a man like him ever forgot a name or face. Knowing he knew who you were and knowing he didn't care made you want him more.

You smiled, feeling that familiar rush of excitement surge through your veins. It wasn’t about making him want you. It was about making him need you.

“Maybe,” you said, leaning even closer, your lips almost touching his. “But I’m the first one who might actually make you lose control.”

For a heartbeat, you could have sworn the world around you stopped. Slade’s eye darkened, the intensity in his stare shifting from challenge to something sharper. More dangerous. But there was something else in his eyes now. Something that made your heart race faster than you cared to admit.

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a force that had your breath hitching in your throat. The familiar spark of danger lit up your skin, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let your body melt into his, feeling the pulse of raw, untamed power that radiated off him.

“You think you can push me?” he growled, his voice like gravel, each word like a warning and a promise all at once.

You didn’t answer him right away. Instead, you let your fingers trail across his chest, feeling the ridged muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt. Your touch was deliberate, slow, each movement a calculated game of power.

“Maybe I want to push you,” you said softly, your breath a whisper against his neck, “until I break you.”

The grip on your wrist tightened for a split second, his muscles flexing with controlled restraint. For a moment, you wondered if this was where it would end, that he’d push you away, tell you it was all just a game. But when he finally spoke again, his voice was thick with tension.

“Careful, sweetheart,” Slade murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking for.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your body pressing even closer to his as your lips hovered dangerously close to his own. “Maybe I don’t,” you whispered. “But I’m willing to find out.”

Slade didn’t move for a long moment, just holding you there in that thin space between danger and desire. And then, finally, he closed the gap, his lips crashing into yours with the force of someone who had been holding back far too long.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was a brutal, desperate collision of mouths, a clash of power and need. You could feel the tension in every muscle of his body as he claimed your mouth, his hands gripping your arms, his touch insistent and almost hungry. But you didn’t break, didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back just as fiercely, hands roaming up his chest to grasp the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer.

For a second, you wondered if this would be the point where you lost yourself to the heat of the moment, but the longer you kissed him, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just about passion. It was about control. About testing boundaries.

And you were willing to play that game, because you were ready to win.

As the kiss deepened, Slade pulled away suddenly, his breath ragged, eyes darker now with desire and frustration. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to someone who didn’t give in.

“Not so easy, is it?” you whispered, your voice rough from the kiss, your body still pressed against his.

He glared at you for a moment, lips curling into a knowing smirk, the kind of smirk that made you feel like you were dancing on the edge of a knife.

“You’re not the first one to test me, Slade said, voice low and dangerous, his hands sliding down your arms with intent. “But you might be the first one who wants to."

Slade didn’t pull back, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm, but his gaze never left yours. His hand, still gripping your wrist, was no longer a force of restraint; it was an anchor, a silent promise of just how far this could go.

The weight of his stare sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or something deeper, something darker that he carried with him, but you felt it in every inch of your body. You weren’t here for games anymore, you were here because you wanted this. You wanted him.

But there was more to it. Something about the way he held you in his gaze told you that, for once, you weren’t in control. Slade Wilson was a man who played by his own rules. And now, you were learning the cost of trying to break them.

He released your wrist with slow precision, letting his fingers linger over your skin for just a second longer than necessary. You could feel the heat of his touch as he took a step back, eyes darkening with a new kind of challenge.

“You really think you’re the one calling the shots here?” His voice was low, rough, as though it had been soaked in whiskey and smoke.

You weren’t about to back down now. You smirked, leaning into him again, almost too close for comfort. “I think I’m just... along for the ride.”

Slade’s lips twisted into something dangerous, a mix of amusement and something else, something far more raw. He took a step toward you, crowding your space, his presence suffocating in the most exhilarating way.

“Not sure you know what that ride entails,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower, sending another shiver down your spine.

“I’m starting to,” you replied, reaching for him, but this time, you didn’t touch him the way you had before. You trailed your fingers slowly, almost teasingly, down his chest, feeling the firmness of muscle beneath the fabric.

Slade didn’t stop you. His body stiffened, though. Just enough for you to feel that tight pull of control he was holding onto. It only made you want him more. You pressed a little closer, your body brushing against his in a subtle reminder that you were still in the game, too.

“I like doing things i'm not supposed to” you said, your lips grazing his ear as you spoke. “And I think you do, too.”

He stiffened at your words, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, you thought you saw something flash behind his gaze—something far more primal than the cold, calculating predator you’d come to know.

Slade’s hand shot out, gripping your chin with surprising gentleness, forcing you to look up at him. The control was unmistakable in his hold, yet his eyes… his eyes were like a storm just about to break. “Don’t think you know what you’re asking for.”

“I never said I did.” Your voice was steady, confident, even though the truth was you didn’t fully know what this was. But you knew what you wanted, and right now, it was him.

He searched your face, his gaze intense, like he was deciding something. just as you thought he might break, he leaned in, closing the gap between you both.

His lips brushed against yours, barely a touch, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. For a moment, it was almost like a game of cat and mouse. He was holding back, just enough to make you ache for more.

His lips moved to your ear, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “You should walk away now. Because once this starts, there’s no going back.”

You leaned into him, your breath shaky, but your resolve unwavering. “I never look back. Not anymore.”

Slade didn’t hesitate. His lips crushed against yours with an urgency that felt like a storm breaking free. There was no softness. It was rough, driven by something savage, and it made you lose your breath as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

You felt his hands on you, strong and sure, pulling you into him, his grip possessive in a way that made your pulse race even faster. You let him guide you, let him take the lead—because, for the first time in so long, you didn’t need to be the one in control. You didn’t want to be.

That night, Slade Wilson made you forget about every other man in your life, even Clark Kent.

For the next three weeks, you and Slade continued game of cat and mouse. Every other day, you would go to a bar to play and he would somehow appear in the crowd, like a sailor lured by a siren.

Yet everytime, in the morning when you woke, still hot after the previous nights activities, Slade Wilson was nowhere to be found.

You knew he was too old for you, too rough and unstable, but he could be kind at times, when he wanted.

And he was fun.

And you're sure your family would have a joint aneurysum if they found out.

It was fun until one night, he didn't find you.

Two months later, nothing changed. No word from your 'family' asking where you were, only Alfred's weekly check up, and Damian's insufferable posting of him, Tiffany, and the rest the family having fun without you on Instagram. He didn't even bother to block you.

No word from Slade either, yet you still hoped he would show one night. Seems like you had a thing for men ignoring you.

But tonight, something felt electric in the air.

Slade’s shadow stretched across the dimly lit bar, his presence pulling every ounce of warmth from the room. You hadn’t seen him in two months, not since he’d walked away without a word, leaving you to pick up the pieces of everything. You’d told yourself you didn’t care, that his absence meant nothing. But seeing him again, standing there with that predatory stare of his, you couldn’t help but feel the heat rise in your chest.

You were busy, sure, singing and flirting, giving the crowd exactly what they wanted. But you couldn’t ignore the sudden heaviness in the air. The way the music seemed to fade as his eyes locked onto yours from across the room. The same gaze that had always made you feel like you were his—like he could take whatever he wanted and leave you with nothing.

You kept the smile on your face, tossing your hair over your shoulder, a flirtatious laugh escaping your lips as you tossed a wink at one of the men leaning against the bar. You could feel Slade watching you, not just with his eyes but with every inch of his body. He hadn’t come to listen to the music. He didn’t give a damn about the crowd or the drinks. He was here for you.

And he was pissed.

He approached you with slow, deliberate steps, his frame imposing, his eyes cold with that familiar edge. When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, almost drowned out by the noise of the bar, but it cut through everything like a blade.

“Well, well, well… look at you, darlin’. Didn’t take you long to move on, huh?”

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your head high. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission, babe.”

He ignored the jab, his lips twitching in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in two months, and this is what I come back to? You’re out here playing with the other boys now?”

You didn’t flinch. “You didn’t exactly leave me with much of a choice. You were the one who disappeared, remember?”

Slade's gaze hardened, and before you knew it, he was right in front of you, close enough that his breath stirred the strands of your hair. He leaned down, his voice dropping low, rough. “You really think you can just forget about me? Move on with them? Cute little act you've got going, sweetheart, but I can see right through it.”

You pushed back, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just having fun. I’m living my life, Slade. You should try it sometime.”

His smirk curled, but there was no warmth in it. “I don’t need advice from you. And I don’t give a damn about your ‘fun.’” His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a brutal grip, pulling you closer. “Where’s your old man? Where’s your daddy been? What about your brothers? Do they even know what the hell you’ve been up to?”

The sharpness of his words cut deeper than you wanted to admit. Slade always knew how to hit you where it hurt, and he wasn’t giving you any room to breathe. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, but the defiance didn’t reach your voice the way you wanted it to.

“Funny, that’s what I thought you’d say.” He released your wrist, but not before giving it a firm squeeze. “I already know what’s been going on with your family. They’ve been too busy holding onto their precious Tiffany, haven’t they?”

You flinched at the mention of her name. Everyone knew Tiffany was the golden child, the one your family had actually cared about. The one they’d all protected, even when she turned out to be the one using them. You’d known for a while that she was a spy, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

Slade’s eyes glinted with that sharp, calculating look. “You knew what she was doing, didn’t you? All this time, she was playing them like puppets, and now they’re gonna come crawling back, pretending they care. They’ll be looking for you soon enough, you know. Guilt’s a hell of a thing.”

The words sank into you, twisting painfully. You hated how right he was. Your family had always been so focused on Tiffany that they hadn’t noticed how you were slipping through the cracks. And now, with her gone, they were going to realize their mistake. They were going to come for you, but it wouldn’t be because they cared. It would be because they felt guilty.

Slade took a step closer, his hand lightly grazing your cheek, the touch cold and commanding. “They’ll come running for you when they realize what they’ve lost, sweetheart. But don’t fool yourself. It won’t be about you. It’ll be about guilt. About making things right because they fucked up. But you know better than anyone, those kinds of people always forget when the next shiny thing comes along.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “What do you want from me?”

His smirk widened, his fingers trailing down your jaw with a casualness that made your skin crawl in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “What do I want from you, sweetheart? Maybe just the same thing I’ve always wanted. But let’s be clear: I’m not here to save you from them. Hell, I don’t even know if you want saving.”

You glared at him, feeling the bitter edge of your own anger. “Then why the hell are you here?”

Slade's eyes softened for a brief second—just long enough to make you wonder if this was something more than just a game to him. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment was gone, replaced by that familiar coldness. “I’m here because you’re a hell of a lot smarter than they’ll ever give you credit for. And you’re not stupid enough to think you need them. You know they never cared, not really.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. He was right. You did know it, deep down. You’d always known. It stung, more than you cared to admit, but you were done being angry about it.

He leaned in, his lips brushing just below your ear. “When they come, and they will come, you can show them what it feels like to be abandoned. You can make them feel just how you felt. But don’t think for a second you can do it without me.”

You didn’t respond right away, your heart pounding in your chest. He wasn’t offering you a way out, he was offering you a choice. A choice between playing the victim to your family’s guilt, or standing beside him as he carved his own path. Neither option was a clean one, but something about him made it feel like the one you’d always been meant to choose.

Slade stepped back, his eyes scanning you as if he was trying to figure you out. “You’re not like them, sweetheart. And you’re not gonna let them walk all over you. Not this time.”

You finally met his gaze, the anger and frustration swirling in your chest. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Slade grinned, that predatory, dangerous grin that made you feel like you were in over your head. “Oh, I know more than you think.”

Slade’s presence was suffocating, his shadow looming over you like something darker than the night itself. He’d always had that effect on you, but tonight, with the way he leaned in so close, his words cutting through the air like daggers, you couldn't help but feel a chill creep down your spine.

His eyes never left yours, not for a second, his smirk tightening as if he knew exactly how to push every button. "You know, sweetheart, you always think you’ve got everything figured out, don’t you?” His voice was soft, dangerous, like a whisper in a dark alley. “But you’ve been running from something for a long time. Something you can’t hide from anymore."

You felt your heart beat a little faster, but you refused to show it. You’d dealt with him long enough to know that showing weakness only made him more dangerous. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Slade’s gaze slid over you, dismissive yet calculating. “I think you know exactly what I mean. But let’s not play coy here. You used to be close with Jason. Back when he was alive, at least. You were a team, weren’t you?”

The mention of Jason made your stomach twist, but you clenched your jaw and forced your face into something resembling indifference. You refused to let Slade see you hurt. “What about it?”

“Nothing, just... funny, isn’t it?” Slade’s lips curved into a grin that made your skin crawl. “You two were close. But then, Jason died, and who was left? The family? They couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to you. They didn’t notice when Tiffany came around, and they sure as hell haven’t noticed since.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the truth hitting a little too hard. But you kept your composure, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it stung. “What do you want, Slade?”

His eyes softened just enough to make you think for a second that he might’ve been telling the truth—only for that same grin to return, sharper than before. “What I want? You're not getting it, sweetheart. It’s not about me. It’s about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out just how much of this conversation was manipulation. And how much was something more... personal? The tension between you two was so thick, it felt like it might snap at any moment.

Slade took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “You’ve been wasting your time, haven’t you? Hiding behind that bar, singing, flirting with men who’ll never understand you. You could do so much more than this, you know. You’ve got potential.”

He said the word like it was something sacred. A promise or a curse, you couldn’t quite decide.

You shook your head, taking a small step back. "I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what I can and can’t do."

Slade’s eyes darkened, his smirk turning predatory. “Oh, I think you do. I think you want to know. Deep down, you’re craving someone to show you how to unlock it. Your powers. Your real potential. You want something bigger, something more than this.”

Your pulse quickened, and a sickening unease washed over you. How the hell did he know about your powers? How much did he really know? The idea that he’d been watching you from afar, or worse, had been tracking your every move, made your skin crawl.

You tried to push that thought away. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you’re wrong. I don’t need anyone’s help.”

Slade studied you for a long moment, his gaze never faltering. He was evaluating you, and you could feel the weight of it pressing on your chest. When he spoke again, his tone was almost... too calm, too casual.

“Let’s be real here, darlin'. You do need help. You’ve got power, and I’m not talking about the small-time tricks you’ve been playing with. You could be so much more. But you're stuck. Trapped in this little life you’ve built for yourself because you’re too afraid to face what's really inside you.”

“Why are you even here?” You asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the edge was starting to creep in. You wanted answers, and you wanted them now. “You disappeared for two months, and now you’re showing up like you know everything about me. What’s your game?”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his figure blocking the dim light above you. “My game? I’m not here to play games. I’m here because I’m offering you an opportunity. An opportunity to stop hiding from yourself. To work with me. To really figure out what you’re capable of. I’ve seen the way you move. The way you think. And I know you’re capable of so much more than this little bar. But you’ll need training. You’ll need guidance. My guidance.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you couldn’t stop the involuntary shiver that ran through you. He was offering you something, something you didn’t quite understand, but the implication was clear: he wanted you to join him. To work together.

But there was something... off. The way he was talking. The way he seemed to know everything about you, the things you hadn’t told anyone, not even yourself.

“How do you know all this?” You demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound confident. “How do you know about Jason? About Tiffany? About whats happening to me?”

Slade’s grin widened, a strange glint in his eyes as he leaned in, almost as if savoring the tension. “There's nothing I don't know. I know more than you think. But here’s the thing: you don’t need to understand everything right away. You just need to trust me. Trust that I know what you need. And trust that I can give you what you’ve been searching for. What they could never give you.”

His words were like a knife, each one digging deeper. “I’m not asking for your loyalty. Not yet. But think about it, yeah? I’m offering you something bigger than this... this place, these people. I can offer you something real. Power. Freedom.”

Your eyes were still locked with his, but your mind was racing. You couldn't stop the unease creeping through you. There was a part of you that wanted to know what he meant. Wanted to know how far your powers could go. Wanted to trust him, even though everything in your gut told you not to.

“And what about Clark?” You blurted out, unable to stop yourself. “I’m supposed to just... forget about him too? You don’t think I notice? You think I’m some naive little girl who doesn’t know what’s going on? You think I can't see you using me? Trying to groom me?”

Slade’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, before his lips curled into a snide smile. “Clark.” He scoffed. “The big, shiny boy scout with all the answers. I wouldn’t worry too much about him. You and I both know how far that age gap really stretches. He’s too good for you, always will be.”

He took a step closer, his eyes glinting with something dark. “But me? I don’t need to pretend. I know exactly what you need. And I won’t keep running from it like your little superhero friend. I’m offering you something real, and you’re smart enough to see that.”

His words, sharp and possessive, lingered in the air. You swallowed, your throat dry.

“I’ll think about it.” The words came out more breathless than you intended, but Slade didn’t seem to mind.

“Good girl.” His tone was sharp, like an order, but there was something more in it, something possessive, like a claim. He reached out, his fingers brushing your arm as if he had every right to touch you. And the worst part was, you didn’t pull away.

“Don’t take too long,” he murmured, his lips close to your ear. “I’m not the patient type. And when I come back, you’ll have an answer. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”

You hated how that sent a chill down your spine.

OKKKKKK WHAT DO YALL THINK??? IS IT GOOD??? BE HONEST!! I BARELY KNEW WHO SLADE WAS BEFORE THIS SO IT MIGHT BE OOC! REMEBER THIS IS AN AU! SORRY IF THERE'S TYPOS I WROTE THIS ON MY PHONE IN BED. I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKS SO I MIGHT TAKE IT DOWN AND NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!!!!

[saerotonins]

actor!toji headcanons

ft. fushiguro toji x reader

content warnings: fluff, parent!reader, megumi is yalls son, just overall cuteness

wc: 918

note: this is my apology for that nanami angst i posted days ago heh

jjk actor au masterlist

as an actor:

very intimidating man, from his aura to his build, oh boy, who wouldn't be scared

but to everyone's surprise, he's actually just a really goofy and adorable man with a really good resting bitch face lmfao

is actually a household name in the acting industry! definitely those types of actors that once casted into a show, it's guaranteed to get hella VIEWS AND RATINGS

has been in the acting industry for YEARS and has a ton of experience but is still very humble

is actually very shy when his co stars tease him whenever his fans thirst for him whenever he's on screen and he's just a blushing mess LOL

i mean he's a literal dilf so 

believe it or not, this man has been in more romance shows and movies than action, especially as a VILLAIN

his fans couldn't believe it either

so when he was first casted in jjk as a villain who kills CHILDREN they were so ecstatic!

and boy were they so happy when toji SURPASSED their expectations because he was so good!

also so happy that he was casted together with his son, megumi, in the same show!

they usually go to the shoot together and even when he doesn't have a scene to shoot and only megumi does, he drives him off to the shooting site whenever his time permits

it's actually so adorable 

in contrast to jjk!toji, he's really a hands on father to him and is actually very supportive of megumi going to the same career path as him

megumi is also the definition of nepo babies who deserved what they got but that's another discussion 

at first though, he is kind of hesitant especially knowing how toxic can it get with the industry but when he saw his son's determination, he eventually gave him a green light and supported him along the way

this man is so fucking strong OML the producers are so grateful the most of the time he helps cleaning up with the equipment once filming is done

literally lifts them up like it's nothing BYE

listen, this old man is RIPPED and really likes to work out 

he's like pedro pascal who is like really chill but really cheeky when it comes to fanservice LOL he is so adorable 

megumi is kinda cringing though 😭 it's understandable though because that's literally your father trying to act cute and he's a teenager so i don't really blame him

also a big gentleman, again, contrary to his role, he is actually very good with the ladies and often checks with his co stars especially when a fight scene is being filmed

profusely apologized to satoru when their fight was filmed because he literally has to do the stunts himself and make everything believable as much as possible 

has ig and twitter but barely posts unless it's a promotion or a thank you post for the team

he's very active in stories though 😭

and i mean VERY VERY active

you know that point where a person posts too much stories and the lines above almost look like dots??? 

yeah that's him 😭

mostly posts the behind the scenes and his family there!

has a pet chicken that he posts there too

no he's not vegan... he just doesn't eat chicken 😭

as a husband:

oh yeah another married man on set sorry ladies he’s off the market

a very romantic and private lover

especially when you're the only one in the family who is not involved in show business

looks forward to coming home to you all the time

the type of husband who says, "i miss my spouse," on set out of nowhere and his co stars just sigh in faux annoyance 

this man is WHIPPED 

his lines is always and SHOULD always be practiced with you, because aside from his fans (not really though since he's already an established actor), the only approval he looks for is from his lover

is really happy and giddy (almost like a teenage boy like SIR you guys are already married for YEARS) when you praise him and has this really boyish smile which happens very often btw

he's such a fucking sap please

as mentioned, he is kinda shy about the thirst but is not uncomfortable and actually goes along with it

you on the other hand GO HAM with it LOL

you're one of the fans lmfaoooo

a very BIG ONE

unlike him who is not active on twitter, you actually reply to fans and agree what they were saying and fangirl/boy with them which is actually so adorable LOL

his fandom is having a field day of you gushing about your husband like you're not married to him and have a literal CHILD with him bye

both megumi and toji, especially toji, are very protective of you so any slanderous rumors from the tabloids and any defamation will immediately face a lawsuit 

and fans love it when y'all fight back!!

if they stan either toji or megumi, it's immediately a given that they also stan you LOL

your boys both find it cute that even you have a very supportive fanbase like theirs

[luffington]

young master ♡

➤ summary: You don't worship the ground Doflamingo walks on, and it turns him on a little too much. (18+)

➤ pairing: doflamingo x afab!reader

➤ word count: 3.7k

➤ warnings: kinda sub!doflamingo (he’s a horny menace), mild dubcon, possessive doffy, spit kink, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m receiving), degradation, name-calling

➤ notes: this takes place before dressrosa but i’m only halfway done with the arc so sorry for any inaccuracies! i haven't posted my writing online in years so please lmk what you think :3

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Doflamingo was sulking. His signature smile was comically turned upside down and his arms were crossed over his chest. Feet resting on top of his desk as he leaned back in his plush office chair, crumpling the important documents strewn underneath them that he was meant to review and sign. He knew he probably looked like a petulant child, and he felt like one, too. This was all your fucking fault.

Even though you were only in your twenties, you were already a well-known Vice Admiral. Vergo had informed Doflamingo of your impressive Haki abilities months ago, but that wasn’t the only reason he kept a close eye on you. You were sexy as hell, even in a Marines uniform, and he delighted in every brief interaction he had with you at Warlord meetings. When you decided to take some time off, he snatched you up immediately with a tantalizing job offer. After all, working for him was technically still a Government job, and he was helping so many countries in need!

You made it clear from the very beginning that this was a temporary gig and you had no intention of permanently joining the Donquixote Family. You were his business partner, not his subordinate. He never planned on honoring that agreement, of course, but you were making his plans particularly difficult. 

The man had hundreds of thousands – if not millions – of loyal and passive subjects. Obedient workers who never questioned his judgment and praised his iron fist, from the filthy commoners at the bottom to the Elite Officers up top. But not you. 

You had the kind of effortless confidence that got under his skin. You were unbothered and detached from his evil antics, from him. He made his presence known everywhere he went and was always the focus of the room, but it seemed like you paid more attention to the damn servants than him. His threats and intimidation which made thousands tremble in fear hardly made you flinch. When he revealed the secret of Dressrosa’s toys in hopes of getting a reaction from you, you practically yawned. 

You knew who he was. You knew what he was capable of. You didn’t fucking care.

You weren’t afraid of him, and this greatly disturbed him.

A few days ago, you had strolled into his office without even knocking on the door. He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance, but you barely took notice. You were there to discuss your agreement in order to figure out a time frame of how long he needed you. He threw his head back and laughed loudly as he said, “That’s adorable. You really think you can get away from me, hm?”

Perceptive as always, you noticed the slightest twitch of his middle finger and immediately held an Armament Haki-coated hand in front of your chest, blocking the nearly invisible string flung your way. “Doffy, I’m being serious.”

He frowned and narrowed his eyes. Diamante used that nickname once in front of you and now you wouldn’t call him anything else. You thought it was cute. “Since when can you block my strings?”

“Do you really think I’d be a Vice Admiral if I couldn’t do that? You were so obvious about it, too.” You clicked your tongue, knowing full well that anyone less powerful than you wouldn’t be able to perceive his movement. Prominent veins popped in Doflamingo’s forehead but the blonde man stayed silent. “I think I’ll stay here for a few more months, at least. Maybe longer if I don’t have a terrible time here. Dressrosa is kind of growing on me.” 

“You’re acting like I can’t keep you here by force.” Doflamingo interrupted your train of thought. “I could have Sugar turn you into a cute little doll, and then your Vice Admiral position would disappear. Or Giolla could turn you into a painting to hang on my wall.” He paused as if considering his options, knowing full well what he truly wanted. “Maybe I’ll keep you tied up with strings as my own personal pet.”

Many times he’d pictured you tied to the headboard of his bed, stripped naked and covered in his drying cum as he used you however he wanted. Perhaps then he’d finally ignite a spark of fear in you. 

“If you actually wanted to do that, it would’ve happened already. But you’re the one who hired me, remember?” You acted like you were explaining something obvious to a kid. “If you try anything against me, I can always call up the Navy and tell them what you’re doing to your poor innocent citizens. Maybe even let them know your alias? Begins with a J, right?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He snarled, sitting up in his seat immediately and binding strings around your wrists to keep them pinned above your head. You kept your eyes trained on his, a determined and almost taunting glint in them. 

“I’m not a big fan of blackmail, so I don’t want to do that,” you replied in an even tone. “I’m just saying that I can. Now, are we gonna talk business, or are you gonna play cat’s cradle all day?”

Doflamingo should’ve killed you right then and there. That would’ve put an end to his confusing thoughts about you, but your conversation only made them worse. You were on his mind constantly, to the point where he couldn’t focus on anything else. It was an obsession, an infatuation, one completely unbecoming of a heavenly being like himself. People were meant to grovel at his feet and kiss the very ground he walked on – why the fuck were you not affected?

He finally had enough. He pushed the chair away from his desk and stormed out of his office. Servants hurried away in fear, knowing that his scowl and heavy footsteps meant nothing but trouble. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled around his mind — he wanted to make you scream, to completely immobilize you with his power, to kiss you so hard you saw stars. No, that wasn’t it. 

He wanted you to call him ‘Young Master’. 

Doflamingo threw open the double doors to a secluded drawing room in his typical dramatic flair. You were alone, reclining on a couch and reading a book. Even this pissed him off – you were in a potential viper’s nest, surrounded by powerful people who could turn on you at any point, yet you didn’t feel the need to keep others around you for protection. You turned your head towards the intruder in confusion. His massive body filled the door frame and light from the hallway illuminated him and his feathery coat from behind, making him look like a fallen angel.

“What Devil Fruit did you eat.” It was a statement, not a question. His voice was a dangerously low growl. 

“I already told you, I didn’t eat one.” You said slowly, slightly thrown off by his demeanor but still not afraid. 

“You lying bitch!” He roared, using his strings to slam the doors behind him as he crossed the room towards you in three giant steps. “You must have some kind of mind control ability, or manipulation, or… I don’t fucking know! Tell me what’s happening!” He threw his head in his hands and crouched over, almost as if he was in pain. “Why can’t I stop fucking thinking about you!”

Your mouth opened slightly and you blinked a few times to process the situation, and then it hit you. A sly grin slowly formed on your face as you dog-eared your book and set it down next to you. You knew this man was incapable of love in its purest sense, but maybe… “Doffy, have you never been attracted to someone before?”

His head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at you furiously behind his sunglasses. Of course he’d fucking been attracted to people – he refused to settle for nothing but the best with his lovers. He had fucked enough sexy men and women over the years to form a small army. But none of them were like you. 

They were all cheaply made toys, suitable for one or two uses then tossed in the trash when they broke or when he got bored. He was a greedy and spoiled child who always got what he wanted. But with you… it felt like he was staring through the front window of a shop at a shiny new toy. So close and so enticing but completely out of reach.

“Fuck you! I… I…” You would never know how that sentence was supposed to end, because he sunk to his knees and hung his head in frustrated shame. He slammed his fist against the floor hard enough to rattle the room. “Why won’t you belong to me?!”

The almighty King of Dressrosa, the feared Warlord, the powerful underground broker, was on his knees begging for you. He knew he sounded pathetic. He felt pathetic. But he couldn’t go a moment longer without getting what he wanted, what was rightfully his. 

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You had always stood your ground because you knew your worth, but sometimes you did it to purposely push the blonde man’s buttons since no one else seemed to have the courage to do so. But you were just teasing him – this was not the outcome you had in mind. 

You slowly stood from the couch to move in front of him. Even bent over, the massive man was practically your height, but he had never seemed smaller.

“Doffy,” you began in a quiet voice and reached out to gently touch his feather-clad shoulder, but he slammed the ground again. 

“I don’t need you to patronize me! I need…” he trailed off again and hesitated for a moment before realizing what he needed to do to calm the fire roaring inside him. Fine, he would give you a fucking reason to worship him. He threw himself at your midsection, making you yelp in surprise. He had finally drawn a reaction out of you, and it spurred him on even more. Rough hands yanked your shirt up to your breasts and he hungrily mouthed at the soft skin of your tummy, a frenzied mess of tongue and teeth and soft lips. “I need you. Give yourself to me.” He said breathlessly, punctuating his words with a sharp bite at your hip. 

You were frozen in place but weak in the knees, unable to do anything but accept his bites and bruises. You’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined what his long tongue and nimble fingers felt like on your body, in your body. He nipped at your skin hard enough to bruise then soothed it with his tongue, sending heat straight to your core. 

Doflamingo was in a drugged-like haze, mind clouded with a dizzying mix of lust and hatred and longing. He belatedly noticed that you weren’t resisting him when he popped the button on your jeans. When he looked up, he realized your cheeks were flushed and your gaze was trained on his long fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants. 

He smiled wickedly, feeling a sliver of regained control. “You fucking whore. You want this, don’t you?”

“Doffy, you’re the one literally trying to get in my pants.”

“Shut up.” He snarled, annoyed yet allured by your sweet giggle afterwards. He yanked your jeans down to your ankles to reveal pretty pink lace panties underneath. They practically matched the color of his coat – you had to have worn those just for him. Might as well take them later. 

A needy and unashamed whine tore from his lips when he saw your pussy. Even more perfect than he’d imagined all those times he fucked his fist alone in bed. He told himself this was what was necessary to crush that annoying ego of yours, knowing full well he was nearly shaking with pure carnal desire. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise and shoved your thighs apart before diving in. His tongue was ravenous, licking a sloppy stripe from your ass to your clit, mouth closing around the nub and sucking harshly. The sweetest moan he’d ever heard fell from your lips and he echoed it, eager to hear more. 

Fingers tangled in his short blonde hair as you tried to steady yourself. It was too much all at once. You tried to tug him away to tell him to slow down, yet wanted to pull him even closer. Doflamingo flinched at the contact. Part of him wanted to tie your hands behind your back because how dare you touch him without permission. But instead, he groaned at the rough pull on his scalp, which went straight to his hardening cock. His grip on you tightened as he dragged you further onto his face.

His long tongue lapped messily at your folds then slipped into your cunt, shallowly thrusting the wet tip in and out. He laughed in delight at your delicious juices coating his tastebuds and making his head spin.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He panted and rubbed his nose against your clit, making you jump. A sloppy string of his saliva still connected his mouth to your entrance. “I think you like me after all.”

“I’d like anyone who eats me out this good,” you quipped.

“But no one’s as good as me, hm?” To prove his point, he shoved the entirety of his skilled tongue deep inside you. You threw your head back and whined as the wet muscle curled and twisted inside you, hungrily lapping at your sensitive inner walls. “No one will ever be as good as me. Say you’re mine and you can have this every day.”

“F-fuck, Doffy… so, mmh, good…” He ate you out like a man starved, desperately sucking at every part of your pussy he could reach. One hand moved from your hip, leaving dark blue fingerprint-shaped bruises behind, and plunged into his own pants. He let out a deep groan at the contact.

“Call me Young Master.” Doflamingo breathed heavily as he pulled his pants down slightly. Your jaw dropped when he revealed his massive and fully erect dick, leaking beads of precum and bobbing against his stomach. You knew he’d be big based on his height, but this was inhuman. The blonde man noticed your hungry gaze and chuckled. “You want me so badly. Stop denying the truth and I’ll give you everything you want. I am a benevolent king, after all.”

You actually laughed at that, and he didn’t even try to be angry – being on full display for you meant he couldn’t hide the way your disobedience made his cock twitch. His other hand slithered between your legs and rubbed at your folds and the smile fell off your face.

You stumbled backwards – there was nothing behind you to lean on and your legs were quickly turning into jelly. “W-wait, Doffy, I can’t, ahh, l-let me sit…”

Two of his fingers moved downwards and bound your feet to the floor with his string. Immobilizing your bottom half like a statue but intentionally leaving your top half free to grab at his hair and body as you pleased. “Your king will grant you permission to move when I want to.” 

“S’okay, I l-like seeing you look up to me for once.” Your witty reply was lost on the blonde, who had spread your folds apart and was hypnotized by your entrance clenching around nothing. You were so fucking tiny compared to him and he ached at the thought of molding your insides to take him and him alone.

Just one thick finger was enough to make you moan and pant, slowly pushing its way inside your cunt. “Shit, you’re so tight.” The soft squelches of your inner walls rang in his ears and pretty pearls of precum leaked from his dick. “Perfect fucking pussy. Give it to me.”

A second digit was soon added, scissoring you apart expertly. Unsurprisingly, the man really knew how to use his fingers. He crooked them and brushed against your most sensitive spot, causing you to cry out and hold onto him even harder. Sharp teeth playfully bit at your inner thigh in response. Doflamingo gathered some of the constant dribble of precum from the tip of his cock to lube his rough palm. He considered making you spit on his hand to ease the glide, but a better idea came to mind.

“Spit in my mouth.” He ordered, tilting his head up and sticking his tongue out. Waiting for you to follow his command like a good toy.

You were taken aback by the sudden request, but you gathered a ball of spit in your mouth like you were told… and it landed directly on the lens of his sunglasses, obscuring the vision of one eye. Doflamingo knew that it wasn’t just badly aimed. This was an act of defiance. You intentionally spit on his defining accessory, his very essence.

“You stupid slut.” The venomous insult came with a maniacally pleased grin. He pushed the stained glasses onto his forehead and you finally saw his eyes for the first time. Gorgeous and bright blue with lust-blown pupils. Looking at his beautifully depraved expression in its entirety, you briefly wondered if he really was an angel. His fingers sped up to a nearly brutal pace and he slipped in a third digit, causing you to choke on your spit. “Love me. Love me.”

A divine being who fell from heaven to beg at your feet. 

“Y-you’re fucking insane,” you panted with a blissful smile, your cunt clenching down deliciously on him. “Make up your, mmh, mind.”

“Adore me.” He responded immediately. “Say you’re mine. Be mine.”

Even though you refused to respond, the blonde was lost in his fantasies yet grounded in the reality of your beautiful face scrunched up in pleasure. Mouth hanging open, hands nearly going numb from how hard you held onto him. He needed to see you like this every day – no, every hour. He could keep you under his desk like a pet, ready to suck his dick whenever he allowed you to. Or maybe you’d sit in his lap all day, one of his hands fondling your tits as he attended meetings and forced his subordinates to watch him play with his favorite toy. 

But that was too mundane. He could snatch up anyone in Dressrosa right now and do the same. No, the twisted fantasy that really made his cock ache was already happening. That annoyingly sexy confidence of yours was threatening his godliness. 

Maybe he’d make you step on him next time.

“Call me Young Master,” he begged again, too far gone to realize how ridiculous he sounded. Tongue hanging out like a dog (and panting like one, too), he rutted into his hand even faster. His cock was absolutely throbbing, red and angry and dripping precum. He was in no position to be giving orders. You stifled a giggle with your hand, which quickly turned into a moan as his fingers bumped against your cervix. 

“I already t-told you,” you sucked in a few shaky breaths. He was watching you intently and still smiling, but his fingers never slowed down. “You’re not my –mm– Master, I don’t, ahh, work for you…”

“But why not?” He whined again. “At least call me it when you cum. I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t.” 

You didn’t acknowledge the ridiculously empty threat, instead throwing your head back when his fingers crooked against your most sensitive spot. Slick was dribbling down your legs – Doflamingo licked it off of your thighs before slurping around his digits buried inside you. The blonde echoed your unashamedly loud moans, practically on the edge himself. He only needed one thing to send him into a rapturous white bliss. 

He stared up at you unblinkingly, face frozen in a grin as he took in all the telltale signs of your approaching orgasm. Sweat dribbled down your forehead, eyebrows furrowed together, body tense and breath hot. “I-I’m gonna… gonna…” He crooked his fingers inside you the way he’d done thousands of times to turn people into obedient little puppets.

“Doffy~!” Your face contorted into the most divine expression he’d ever seen, crying out his name like a desperate prayer. 

You ignored his order. You used that stupid fucking nickname. 

He came hard. 

The tight coil that had been building in his groin for days at the mere thought of you finally snapped. An animalistic moan left his lips as thick ropes of cum coated his hand and spilled onto his abdomen. He looked even more blissed out than you, panting hard and shuddering and nearly overstimulating himself with the hand on his cock still slowly moving up and down. 

Doflamingo finally removed his fingers from inside you and loudly sucked them clean of your essence. Still craning his neck upwards so he wouldn’t break eye contact with you. You could lose yourself inside that piercing gaze, so full of obsession and hunger, especially when it was coming from a position of worship rather than condescension. 

Blinking out of your stupor, you realized the blonde’s cum-coated hand was in front of your mouth. If you were anyone else, he would’ve shoved his fingers all the way to your throat and made you choke on it. Instead, he stayed still and kept quiet. This was an offering. 

You grabbed his wrist and kitten-licked his sticky palm twice, humming thoughtfully as if appraising the taste. His grin grew even wider. Then you pulled away and teasingly said, “You take care of the rest of it.”

Doflamingo simply giggled in delight — you’d willingly tasted the essence of a god, one that was soon to be your god, but you were still too stubborn to give in. He didn’t expect you to crumble so easily and he didn’t want you to. He was having way too much fun. The blonde smeared the rest of his cum on the crotch of the pink panties still pooled around your ankles. 

“That’s disgusting.” You huffed in annoyance and rolled your eyes. “What am I supposed to wear out of here?”

The man chuckled lowly and rose to his feet, suddenly towering above you at full height. He wiped the dried spit off of his sunglasses before returning them to their rightful place on the bridge of his nose. 

“Who said anything about leaving?” You paled at the sight of his devilish grin but felt your core clench in need. “You still haven’t called me by my proper title.”

[tthoroughfare]

crush // abby anderson

*･゜ﾟ･* summary: abby is like can u read my mind? i've been watching u! couldn't fight to save ur life, but you look so cool!!! just me rambling about making abby realize she's not straight

*･゜ﾟ･* pairing: canon!abby x reader

*･゜ﾟ･* content: sfw! you two dancing around each other for now. abby being nervous and cute.

*･゜ﾟ･* length: 1.3k

this is part one and i've already written the majority of the rest. just thought this was a good way to break it up :)

recently i am thinking A Lot about the concept of being the girl that makes abby realize she’s not straight ,,, and the first girl she’s ever with

the idea of her being all fumbly and nervous and you having to take the lead. it’s just good

i also love the idea of being very different to her. you’re not a soldier like her, maybe you do something technical and sciencey. you get moved to the base and become friends, and people are just like… kinda surprised that you’re so close, so fast? on paper, you don’t seem to have that much in common but it just works. she likes that you’re different to her, it’s refreshing

you’d already heard a lot about her before you moved. you told her that not long into being friends with her, to which she’d scoffed a little, toying with her fingers. you were in the canteen, the two of you sitting opposite each other on the end of the table, leaving a gap between the rest of the group.

“good or bad?”

“good,” you’d chuckled, taking a bite of your lunch.

she paused, flitting her gaze away as you held eye contact, chewing slowly. “gonna elaborate?”

the corners of your mouth quirked as you swallowed. “just that you’re… pretty impressive. good at what you do. slightly intimidating.”

she scoffed again, eyebrows twitching. “i’m not… do you think i’m… you think that?”

“…impressive or intimidating?”

“either.”

you’d looked downwards, pausing before meeting her eyes with a teasing smile on your face. “you’re very tall.”

she didn’t tell you this at the time, but she’d heard things about you, too. she hadn’t paid it much mind at the time, but there had been a couple of mentions of a scientist girl moving in to help out with a new assignment full time, and that she was, ‘like, a genius’

also, manny had said something to her along the lines of ‘apparently she’s hot’, while raising his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk

she’d just rolled her eyes

but then she meets you for the first time, and okay. he wasn’t wrong

it’s only a chaste introduction as you cross paths one day, but she has to make a real effort to keep her cool. she doesn’t understand it, she’s just affected by you, just has to know you

and then she does know you, and she still wants to know you more. it’s this feeling, this drive, always wanting more more more

it sends her crazy. the fact it takes her so long to realize she has a crush on you makes her look back and laugh at her own naivety

she finds out you’re gay maybe a month into being friends with you, when you’re hanging out with her at the library. she never gave much thought to the fact you seemed to follow her around, spend nearly all your spare time with her. she figured it was just because you didn’t know anyone else that well yet.

she’s quietly reading on one side of the couch, while you try your best to get some work done on the other, papers strewn over the coffee table in front. it’s difficult to concentrate, though, even though you’re fully aware how inundated you are. one of her legs is slung up on the couch, bent at the knee, and you’re so conscious of the proximity.

after a good while of trying and failing to get anywhere, you look up at her and lean in a little. “hey, abby?”

she looks up from her book, acknowledging you.

“i’m bored.”

she chuckles as she sits up, closing the pages around her middle finger to keep her place. “c’mon, we need you to… save the world.”

you let out a small, fond scoff, putting your notebook and pen down on the coffee table. “that’s really… not what i do. appreciate the delusion of grandeur you’ve just given me, though.”

she watches you with a smile, not meeting your eyes as you sit back on the couch, shuffling around to face her. “so…” you begin.

“so…?” she parrots, raising her eyebrows slightly.

“what went on between you and owen?”

she’s a little shocked at your bluntness, laughing nervously and shifting in her seat. as far as she was aware, you didn’t even know anything about that. “what?”

you pull a face. “come on, i’m not stupid. i notice things.”

in truth, you’re using the question as a trojan horse to figure out if she likes women. you are genuinely curious, though, and right now the conversation sounds a hell of a lot better than doing what you’re actually supposed to be.

she pauses, eyes flitting around the room. “uh… we were together for a while. and now we’re not.”

you nod slowly, waiting for an elaboration that never comes. “that’s it?”

abby shrugs awkwardly, and you feel a little bad for pushing, holding your hands up. “sorry, sorry. i don’t mean to pry.”

“s’okay.” she messes with the novel, eyes trained on it as she runs the pad of her index over the closed pages. “what about you? you got a boyfriend?”

“i, uh… i was with someone. it didn’t work out.”

she hums in sympathy. “he a scientist, too?”

“she’s a medic.”

abby freezes, looking up at you, mouth falling open slightly. she feels stupid for assuming. “oh, shit, sorry. i didn’t realize you were — sorry. not that there’s anything wrong with that.” she mentally kicks herself for the last statement. of course there isn’t. she doesn’t even know why she said it.

you laugh, amused by her babbling and the way the tops of her cheeks turn pink. “you’re good, you’re good.”

she lets out a final, ‘sorry’, gaze darting from you, to her book, to the shelf on your right. then, she looks back at you, feeling the need to break the slightly uncomfortable silence that had fallen. “anyway… her loss.”

you chuckle. “owen’s loss. who needs ‘em?”

“who needs ‘em?” she repeats, breathing out a laugh.

after the revelation, something shifts for abby. she doesn’t know why, but finding out that you like women makes her feel… different (?) about you

not in a bad way. just different

she’d always looked at you and thought you were beautiful. possibly more beautiful than any girl she’d ever seen

and she knew she was nervous around you; she was normally pretty outgoing and didn’t really have an issue talking to anyone. but when it came to you she’d overthink every sentence, words getting caught in her throat. she just felt such a need to impress you, wanted to say and do everything right

she just thought that she really, really wanted to be friends with you. that she thought you were cool, and admirable, and funny, and smart, and liked being around you

but finding out that you’re gay just makes her… think. on a whole other level she’d never really looked into

knowing that you could, maybe, maybe, be a viable option sends her mind reeling with a whole host of confusing thoughts more than she’d like to admit

she’d never really put much thought into her sexuality. she’d always just assumed she was straight. sure, she’d looked at women before, gotten a little flustered around pretty girls, but just guessed everyone did

but when it was you… like. you… it was a whole other ballgame

and then, over a few months, she starts thinking about silly things like how it would feel to touch you — really touch you, not just the friendly brushes you already shared. how soft you’d feel, how it would be to have her fingers threaded through your hair

then she starts thinking about if she’d maybe want to kiss you

she decides she’s not against the idea

[arilevenatz]

Outscored 𝟏┃C.JH

Pairing: jock!Jongho x Reader

Genre/trope: enemies to lovers au

Word Count: 25.7k (💀) [it's gonna be a 2 parter]

Warnings: biker jongho (need I say more?), he is also a bit annoying, but he becomes a MAN at the end

AN: Ok I'm a sucker for jongho, u guys know it. And after he posted his picture I had a seizure. And I kinda slipped and wrote this whole thing. And yeah this is for all the jongho girlies out there like me. Please please please love this as I spent a lot of time writing this!

Masterlist

This is part one. Read part two here-

one | two

The brisk winter air nipped at YN’s cheeks as she stood at the entrance of her new college. The towering brick building seemed almost menacing in the gray morning light, but she pushed the uneasiness aside. This was her fresh start—a chance to prove herself in a new environment. With her books clutched tightly to her chest, she took a deep breath and walked inside.

The first few days were a whirlwind of introductions, lectures, and navigating unfamiliar hallways. YN quickly found herself bonding with Hanni, a bright and cheerful girl who seemed to know everyone. Hanni made the transition easier, guiding YN through the social intricacies of the campus.

By the end of the week, YN noticed something odd. Every time a certain group walked down the hall, conversations died, students avoided eye contact, and some even went as far as turning around to take another route. She spotted them from a distance—eight guys, each exuding an air of dominance that seemed to make the air thicker. They moved like a pack, and the energy around them was impossible to ignore.

"Who are they?" YN finally asked Hanni during lunch, her curiosity outweighing her hesitance.

Hanni’s face turned serious as she glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “That’s Ateez,” she whispered. “They’re…well, the jocks of the college. Everyone fears them.”

YN frowned. “Why?”

“They’re not just athletes. They’re...intense. If someone so much as looks at them the wrong way, things don’t end well.” Hanni hesitated, lowering her voice further. “I heard someone got sent to the hospital last year because of an argument with one of them.”

YN’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Hongjoong is their leader. He’s smart but scary. Seonghwa, his second-in-command, always has this calm but intimidating vibe. Yunho and Mingi are the muscle—you don’t want to get on their bad side. San and Wooyoung? Absolute chaos, always ready to start something. Yeosang is quiet, but people say he’s the sharpest one of them all. And Jongho…he’s the enforcer. If Hongjoong gives the word, Jongho makes sure it’s done.”

YN’s stomach twisted uneasily. “They sound like villains in a movie.”

Hanni shrugged. “It’s best to steer clear of them. Just focus on your studies and don’t give them a reason to notice you.”

YN didn’t respond to Hanni’s warning, opting instead to stay quiet and let the conversation drift to safer topics. Deep down, she wasn’t sure how she felt about this so-called fearsome group. They sounded like trouble, but she didn’t see how avoiding them would be difficult—she wasn’t the type to get involved with people like that anyway.

Later that afternoon, YN walked into her next lecture, the chill of the earlier conversation still lingering. She found her usual spot near the back of the classroom, quietly unpacking her notebook and pen. The room slowly filled with students, but the air shifted when a group entered.

She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Whispers and nervous glances rippled through the class, and her pulse quickened.

For the first time, YN let herself take a cautious look. There he was—Jongho. He was hard to miss, even without the murmurs. Tall and broad-shouldered, he carried an aura of icy indifference, his sharp jawline and piercing gaze giving him an almost unapproachable air. He wore a simple hoodie, but somehow, it only emphasized his muscular frame.

YN quickly looked away, her heart pounding. So this is what Hanni meant. She had shared a class with him all week but hadn’t even realized it. She must have been too absorbed in adjusting to the new college life to notice.

Jongho took a seat a few rows ahead of her, close enough that she could see the subtle tension in his posture. He didn’t speak to anyone, his focus completely on the empty whiteboard at the front of the room. He radiated a coldness that seemed to push everyone away, yet she noticed how other students carefully avoided sitting near him.

Deciding to stick to her original plan, YN ignored his presence, keeping her eyes firmly on her notes throughout the lecture. But as the weeks passed, it became harder to pretend he wasn’t there. He was in more of her classes than she’d realized, and his presence was impossible to miss.

Jongho never caused a scene—he was silent, focused, and distant. Yet there was something about him that made her uneasy. He wasn’t just another student. There was a weight to him, a quiet strength that made the air feel heavier when he walked into a room.

And whether she wanted to admit it or not, YN was beginning to notice him more and more.

Jongho had never paid much attention to his classmates. He came to class, did what was required, and left—never lingering or engaging unless absolutely necessary. To him, school was simply a task to complete, something to cross off his list.

But one day, during a particularly grueling economics lecture, something caught his attention. The professor had asked a question—a tricky one that made most of the class go silent, their heads sinking lower to avoid eye contact.

And then, she spoke.

"Isn’t the answer related to the supply-demand equilibrium in a perfectly competitive market?"

Her voice was calm and self-assured, and when Jongho glanced up from his notebook, he saw her. She sat near the back, her expression thoughtful as she explained her reasoning. The professor nodded, impressed, and praised her for her detailed response.

Jongho’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t even considered answering that question—it had seemed too abstract to bother with. Yet, there she was, providing answers with ease.

At first, he shrugged it off. Maybe she just got lucky. But over the next few classes, he noticed it happening again. The professor would pose a difficult question, and before anyone else could muster the courage to speak, she’d answer it. Every time.

It started to bother him.

Jongho prided himself on being one of the smartest students in his classes, even if he didn’t flaunt it. He hated drawing attention to himself, but deep down, he knew he was sharp—more than capable of holding his own against anyone. Yet this transfer student, who barely even seemed to acknowledge anyone in the room, was constantly one step ahead.

“Who does she think she is?” he muttered under his breath after one particularly frustrating class.

From then on, Jongho found himself paying closer attention to her. He wasn’t sure if it was out of curiosity or sheer annoyance, but he started to notice little things about her. The way her hand shot up the moment a question was asked. The quiet determination in her eyes as she scribbled down notes. The slight smile she gave when the professor praised her responses.

It wasn’t just that she was smart—she was confident in her knowledge, and it was infuriating.

For the first time in a long time, Jongho felt like someone was challenging him. And he didn’t like it.

The buzz around campus was electric when the exam results were finally posted on the bulletin board. Students crowded around, eagerly scanning the list of names and scores. YN was among the last to approach, her usual calm demeanor giving way to quiet excitement.

When she finally found her name at the very top of the list, her heart soared. She had done it—topped her first major exam at the new college. Her efforts, countless late nights of studying, and meticulous note-taking had paid off.

Hanni squealed in delight when she saw the results. “YN! You’re at the top! I told you you’re a genius!”

YN laughed, the joy bubbling up inside her. “It’s just one exam, Hanni.”

“Doesn’t matter! You crushed it!” Hanni grinned and tugged her arm. “We’re celebrating. There’s this cute cafe nearby—my treat!”

They walked to the cafe, the chill of the winter day melting into the warmth of good company and coffee. YN felt proud, her confidence growing as Hanni hyped her up about her success.

But across campus, in a quieter corner of the library, Jongho wasn’t in such a celebratory mood.

He stared at the results list on his phone, his jaw clenched. Second place. He’d never been second. Not once. For as long as he could remember, his name had always been at the top. It was his thing—the one thing no one could take from him.

But now, there it was. YN. A name he hadn’t even bothered to remember until recently. The transfer student had dethroned him, and it stung.

Jongho closed his phone and leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His mind replayed the last few weeks: her quick answers in class, the way she always seemed to know everything, her calm confidence. He had brushed it off at first, but now it was clear—she wasn’t just smart. She was better than him, at least academically.

And Jongho hated losing.

“She’s just a transfer,” he muttered to himself, trying to shake off the irritation. “It’s probably beginner’s luck.”

But the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him. It wasn’t just the results—it was the way she seemed so unaffected by everything. While he was stewing in his frustration, she was probably out there celebrating, not even thinking twice about the fact that she had knocked him down.

For the first time in a long time, Jongho felt something unfamiliar—a mix of annoyance and determination. He wasn’t about to let this stand.

“Fine,” he thought, his jaw tightening. “Let’s see how long she can keep this up.”

Jongho's frustration only grew as the weeks turned into months. Every test, every quiz, every exam—YN was always at the top. It didn’t matter how much he studied or how hard he tried to reclaim his spot. Her name remained above his, and it gnawed at him.

His friends noticed the change in him.

During one of their usual hangouts, Wooyoung nudged Jongho with his elbow. “You’ve been acting weird lately. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Jongho muttered, not bothering to look up from his phone.

San leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Don’t tell me it’s about those scores again. You’re still stuck on that, aren’t you?”

“I said it’s nothing,” Jongho snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s definitely something. You’ve been sulking since those results came out. What’s the deal with her? Did she do something to you?”

Jongho sighed, running a hand through his hair. “No, she didn’t do anything. She just—she keeps beating me. It’s annoying.”

Yeosang, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. “So what? You’re not used to competition?”

“It’s not just competition,” Jongho muttered. “It’s like…no matter what I do, she’s always one step ahead.”

The room fell silent for a moment before San shrugged. “Then maybe talk to her. Figure out what she’s doing that you’re not.”

Jongho scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, like I’m going to go up to her and ask for advice. She’s the reason I’m in this mess.”

But even as the words left his mouth, he knew San had a point. He couldn’t keep letting this get to him. If he wanted to understand why she was always on top, he’d have to confront her eventually.

Two months had passed since the first exam results, and YN’s streak hadn’t faltered. Every high score, every bit of praise from the professors only added to Jongho’s growing frustration. He’d tried ignoring it, tried telling himself it didn’t matter, but the truth was, it did.

He finally decided he couldn’t take it anymore. After class one afternoon, as the students began to trickle out of the lecture hall, Jongho stayed behind, his eyes fixed on YN as she packed her things.

She was just about to leave when he stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over her desk.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady.

YN looked up, surprised to see him standing there. “Oh, hi.”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He had spent so long stewing in his own thoughts that now, face-to-face with her, he felt unprepared.

“You’re YN, right?” he finally asked, even though he already knew the answer.

She nodded, her expression curious. “Yeah. And you’re Jongho.”

He was slightly taken aback that she knew his name, but he didn’t let it show. “We need to talk,” he said, his tone firm.

YN blinked, clearly confused. “About what?”

“About how you keep getting the highest scores,” he said bluntly. “And why you’re always ahead of me.”

Jongho froze as YN’s words echoed in his mind.

"Maybe it’s because you’re not studying enough."

She had said it so casually, so effortlessly, before slinging her bag over her shoulder and walking out of the room, leaving him standing there like a statue.

For a moment, all he could do was stare at the empty doorway. Then, something inside him snapped. A laugh escaped his lips, low and disbelieving at first, before growing louder.

When he walked out of the lecture hall and joined his friends, they immediately noticed something was off.

“Uh…why are you laughing like a maniac?” Wooyoung asked, leaning away from him as if Jongho had finally lost it.

“Did you finally crack under the pressure?” San teased, though there was genuine concern in his voice.

Jongho shook his head, the grin still lingering on his face. “She told me I don’t study enough,” he said, almost in disbelief, as if saying it out loud would make it sound less ridiculous.

Wooyoung blinked. “Wait. She said that?”

“The nerve,” San muttered, shaking his head.

Mingi, who had been quietly listening, tilted his head thoughtfully. “So…do you want us to talk to her? You know, scare her a bit? Make her think twice before pulling that again?”

Jongho’s laughter stopped abruptly. His expression hardened, and he gave Mingi a sharp look. “No.”

“No?” Wooyoung echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Jongho repeated firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not stooping to that level. I don’t need to threaten her to get what I want.”

“But she insulted you!” Wooyoung said, throwing his hands in the air.

“She didn’t insult me. She just…” Jongho paused, his jaw clenching as he searched for the right words. “She got under my skin.”

Yeosang, who had been leaning against the wall silently, finally spoke. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Jongho exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to beat her.”

“Hold up man what-” San frowned.

“In the next exam,” Jongho clarified, his eyes narrowing with determination. “I’m going to study harder than I ever have, and I’m going to take that top spot back. She thinks I’m not studying enough? Fine. I’ll show her exactly what I’m capable of.”

His friends exchanged glances, a mix of curiosity and concern on their faces.

Wooyoung leaned closer to San and whispered, “I give him three days before he snaps again.”

But Jongho ignored them, his mind already racing with plans. This wasn’t just about pride anymore. It was about proving to himself—and to her—that he was the best.

When Hanni heard what YN had said to Jongho, she nearly dropped her phone in shock.

“You told Jongho—the cold, terrifying Jongho—that he doesn’t study enough?” Hanni exclaimed, pacing back and forth in YN’s dorm room. Her voice was a mix of disbelief and panic, her hands flailing in the air.

YN, sitting calmly on her bed, shrugged as she sipped her coffee. “Yeah, I did. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

Hanni stopped pacing and stared at her friend like she had grown a second head. “YN, you don’t just say that to someone like him! Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? This is Jongho! The guy who could probably crush someone’s desk in half with his bare hands!”

YN smiled slightly, setting her cup down. “You’re exaggerating. He’s just another student, Hanni. Besides, it’s not like I insulted him. I gave him constructive criticism.”

“Constructive—YN, are you listening to yourself?!” Hanni groaned, clutching her head as if she could physically hold in her frustration. “I’m scared for you! What if he gets mad? What if his friends get involved? They’re not exactly known for handling things peacefully.”

“It’s fine,” YN said, her tone steady. “I don’t think he’s the type to do anything rash over something like this. He seems too...proud for that.”

“Proud?” Hanni snorted. “That’s putting it mildly.”

YN chuckled softly, leaning back against her pillows. “Look, Hanni, I appreciate you worrying about me, but it’s not a big deal. He’ll get over it. If anything, maybe it’ll motivate him to work harder.”

Hanni sat down heavily on the edge of YN’s bed, her arms crossed. “I hope you’re right. But if he so much as looks at you funny, I’m grabbing your hand and running for the hills. Got it?”

YN laughed, nudging her friend’s shoulder. “Got it. But trust me, I can handle myself.”

Hanni gave her a wary look but eventually sighed in defeat. “You’re way too calm about this. I don’t know whether to admire you or scream at you.”

YN just smiled, her confidence unwavering. Little did she know, Jongho wasn’t the type to let something like this go unnoticed—and he had no intention of backing down.

Jongho's determination was like a fire, burning through his focus as he buried himself in his books for weeks leading up to the next exam. He studied longer, harder—pushing his limits. He felt the tension, the pressure building in his chest every day. The thought of losing to YN again fueled his resolve. This time, he would prove he was the best.

But when the results came in, his stomach sank.

There it was again—YN's name at the top. Not his.

He clenched his jaw, staring at the paper with frustration boiling inside him. He had done everything right. He had pushed himself to the breaking point. And yet, once again, she had beaten him.

This time, it was different. This time, it wasn’t just about pride. Jongho could feel something snapping inside him, the pressure and disappointment manifesting as a tight ball of anger in his chest.

That day in class, he couldn’t focus. The words the professor spoke seemed distant and irrelevant, his mind consumed by the crushing weight of defeat. As he stared at the floor, barely registering the lecture, one of his classmates—someone who had clearly noticed his mood—decided to test him.

The guy leaned over and smirked, a sharp edge to his tone. "So, Jongho, how does it feel to be second to a girl? Maybe you should quit studying and leave it to the real people, huh?"

The words hit Jongho like a punch to the gut.

Before he could even think, he stood up, his chair scraping violently against the floor. His hands balled into fists. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t need to. The guy barely had time to react before Jongho stood up, took the guy's phone, slammed it to the ground, and crushed it under his boot.

The silence in the classroom was deafening.

But it wasn’t over.

Once class was dismissed, Jongho stormed out of the building, his anger blinding him. He found the guy outside, lurking near the campus gates, laughing to his friends about how "easy" it was to get under Jongho’s skin.

Jongho didn’t hesitate. He charged at the guy, grabbing him by the throat and pushing him against the nearest wall. The punches came fast and brutal, each one landing with a sickening thud.

The guy didn’t stand a chance.

It wasn’t until he was gasping for breath, barely conscious, that Jongho stopped. His knuckles were bloody, his anger slowly subsiding as the reality of what he had done set in.

When word of the fight spread through campus, it didn’t take long for YN to hear about it.

She had been in the library when a group of students started whispering, talking about how Jongho had beaten up some guy for talking trash about him. Her stomach twisted, and an unease settled in her chest.

The image of the cold, calculating Jongho she had always seen in class—silent, intense, and distant—was nothing compared to the picture that now formed in her mind. The guy had provoked him, sure, but it didn’t make the violence any less jarring.

That night, as she walked back to her dorm, her mind was racing. Jongho had never struck her as the violent type, but now she wasn’t so sure. The thought of him losing control scared her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

YN leaned against the door of her room, her hand lingering on the knob. She wanted to shake the unease off, tell herself it was just a one-off thing. But a part of her couldn’t stop wondering what else lay beneath the surface of his cold exterior.

For the first time, she was genuinely afraid.

And as she lay in bed that night, trying to push the thoughts away, one question lingered in her mind: What would happen if he ever lost control around her?

The tension between YN and Jongho had been building for weeks, and it finally reached a boiling point. The news of the fight still fresh in YN's mind, she couldn't shake the unease every time she saw Jongho. His cold, imposing presence was something she'd learned to ignore—until now.

It was an ordinary afternoon when she walked through the halls, lost in thought, heading to her next class. The campus was quieter than usual, most students already in their lecture halls. As she turned down a less-traveled corridor, she froze. Jongho stood at the far end, his broad frame blocking the only way out.

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched her with that unreadable expression. YN’s heart rate quickened, her pulse pounding in her ears. She could feel the familiar tension rising in her chest, the uneasy flutter of anxiety that crept in whenever she had to face him. But this time, it felt different. She could sense that something had shifted.

She instinctively took a step back, her back pressing against the cold wall. Jongho’s eyes flickered for a moment, his lips curling into something between a smirk and a scowl. He started walking toward her, each step deliberate, the weight of his presence sending a chill down her spine.

"You really think you're better than me, huh?" Jongho's voice was low, almost menacing. His height loomed over her as he stopped just inches away, trapping her between his muscular frame and the wall.

YN’s breath caught in her throat, but she held her ground. Her legs were tense, her mind racing for a way to escape this moment. "I didn’t say that," she replied, her voice shaky but firm. "I just did my best. It’s not my fault you can’t handle it."

Jongho’s eyes darkened, his arms leaning on the wall beside her, the air between them thick with a charged tension. "You think it’s just about scores?" he growled. "You think I care about that little competition? You’re making me look weak, YN. And I don’t like that."

YN's hands clenched into fists at her sides, her fear and anger mixing into a potent cocktail. I have to stand my ground, she thought. I can't let him intimidate me like this.

"You don't scare me, Jongho," she said, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. Her words were quieter than she wanted, but there was strength behind them. "If you have a problem with me, then deal with it without resorting to violence."

The moment she said it, Jongho’s smirk widened, a flash of something darker crossing his features. "Oh, but I do have a problem with you. You think you can just waltz in here and take what’s mine, huh? You think you're better than me because you’re smarter? You think you can just walk around untouched?"

YN’s breath quickened as she realized how cornered she truly was. She had thought she could handle him, but now, with him standing so close, all she could feel was the overwhelming presence of his body. The intimidating way he leaned into her personal space, his arms just above her shoulders, blocking any escape.

"I’m not afraid of you," she said again, though she could feel the doubt creeping in. She was scared—terrified, even—but she refused to let him see that.

Jongho leaned in closer, his face hovering just inches from hers. "You should be," he whispered. "You’ve made me look like a fool twice now. You’ve gone and crossed a line, YN."

For a split second, she could feel her heart pounding in her throat. Was he going to hurt her? Was he finally going to break the calm facade he always wore? But before she could react, something in him shifted, and his grip loosened just slightly.

“Don’t make me do this again,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to leave her with a sliver of space. The tension didn’t fully dissolve, but it was a temporary reprieve.

The silence between them was thick, each of them locked in their own thoughts. YN’s mind was racing. What just happened? She had stood up to him, but had it been enough? Would he let this go, or would this feud only escalate?

Jongho finally straightened up, casting one last look at her. "You’re not getting away with this, you know," he muttered before turning and walking away.

YN let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her legs were trembling, but she stood tall, refusing to let herself appear weak in front of him.

This was only the beginning. She knew that now. The rivalry between them had officially begun, and it would take everything she had to survive it.

The tension between YN and Jongho simmered beneath the surface, manifesting in small, irritating ways at first. It started with the little things—her pens went missing, her notes rearranged in ways that made no sense, and every now and then, she’d find her books out of order. At first, she thought it was just her imagination, or maybe even her own forgetfulness. But the longer it went on, the more she began to suspect that it wasn’t just random.

Then, one day, she was walking between classes when one of Jongho’s friends—Mingi, she recognized him from class—deliberately bumped into her, causing her to drop her bag and its contents. Papers scattered across the hallway, and YN scrambled to collect them, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“Oops, sorry,” Mingi said, his tone dripping with false sweetness, though his grin said otherwise.

YN said nothing, biting her lip and standing up straight, trying to keep her composure. She quickly gathered her things, but as she bent down to pick up the last few papers, she saw the same smirk on his face, as if he were enjoying the scene.

It was deliberate, she thought, clenching her jaw as she stood up.

She could feel his gaze still on her as she gathered the rest of her things in silence. But she didn’t let it show—she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. When she walked away, she could sense his eyes lingering, but she kept her head high.

The following week, she arrived in class to find her desk had been vandalized. Not in a big, obvious way, but enough to leave a bad taste in her mouth. There were scribbles in the margins of her textbooks—crude drawings, insults, and even a few threatening words that made her skin crawl.

Jongho.

She didn’t have proof, but there was no mistaking it. She could feel his influence, like a shadow following her at every turn. And the worst part? It wasn’t just him. It was his friends, too. They were all in on it—targeting her, testing her patience, pushing her to the edge. They’d figured out how to get to her without crossing the line too far.

The final straw came one afternoon when she sat down at her desk and found her pencil case had been emptied out. It wasn’t just the pens this time; it was everything—everything scattered across the floor. When she picked up the pieces, her hands trembling, she saw a note hidden inside.

"Better luck next time, genius."

Her blood ran cold.

This time, it wasn’t just annoying. It was personal.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her fists clenching. She could take a lot of things—insults, small pranks—but this was pushing it. This was harassment.

YN’s mind raced with determination as she walked through the campus, every step firm and resolute. The pencil case incident had been the last straw. Jongho and his friends had pushed her to her limits, and she wasn’t going to let them get away with it any longer.

She had been debating it for days, but now she was certain—she had to confront him, face to face. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Hanni had tried to stop her, pleading with her to let things go. But YN couldn’t back down. She couldn’t let herself be intimidated. Not anymore.

She entered the cafeteria with a clear purpose, scanning the room until her eyes landed on him. Jongho sat at the head of a table, surrounded by his friends, laughing and joking as if everything were normal. The sight of him made her blood boil, but she didn’t hesitate. She walked straight up to the table, her steps loud and deliberate.

When she reached the center, she slammed her hands down on the table, the sound of it echoing through the cafeteria, drawing the attention of everyone around. The chatter died down, all eyes on her. Jongho’s friends froze, surprised by the sudden boldness. YN stood there, staring at Jongho with unwavering defiance.

"Stop these pathetic games and face me like a man!" she declared, her voice strong and clear.

The room fell silent, everyone waiting for Jongho’s reaction. His friends exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to expect, while Jongho himself leaned back in his seat, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, everything felt frozen. Then, slowly, Jongho stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. His height towered over hers, and for a second, the sheer difference in their sizes was almost comical. He was a giant compared to her, and yet, there she was, standing tall and not backing down.

He studied her for a moment, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. His lips curled into that familiar, confident smirk. "So, you want me to face you, huh?" he said, his voice low but full of challenge. "Well, I guess I can give you what you want."

His friends were stunned, clearly not expecting YN to show such boldness. Some of them exchanged worried looks, while others couldn’t help but chuckle nervously.

Jongho didn’t look worried, though. He stepped closer to her, his towering presence making her feel even smaller. Yet, YN stood her ground, refusing to let her fear show.

“You’re brave,” Jongho said, his voice rough, but there was something almost impressed in it. "I’ll give you that." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “But be careful what you wish for. You really want me to face you, YN? You sure about that?”

YN didn’t flinch. She locked eyes with him, her heart pounding in her chest. "I’m sure.”

For a long moment, they just stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills. The tension between them was thick, palpable. It wasn’t about the score anymore, not about the pranks or the harassment—it was about proving who had the upper hand.

Finally, Jongho broke the silence. He stepped back, crossing his arms. "Alright, YN. You’ve got my attention," he said, his voice cold but not dismissive. "You wanted me to face you. So I will."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and YN’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t over. It was only just beginning. She could feel the shift in their dynamic now, the lines of the feud being drawn more clearly than ever.

His friends remained silent, watching the exchange with bated breath. Jongho didn’t seem like he was going to back down either, and YN knew this wouldn’t end easily. But for the first time in a long while, she felt empowered. She had stood up to him, and he hadn’t crushed her. That meant something.

With a final glance at Jongho, YN turned away but not before she threw one last remark over her shoulder.

"I’m not afraid of you.”

The moment YN turned to leave, feeling the adrenaline of her bold confrontation, she felt a sudden, strong grip on her wrist. Before she could react, Jongho yanked her back with ease, his hand tightening around her wrist as he dragged her out of the cafeteria.

"Hey!" YN protested, trying to pull away, but his grip was unyielding, his strength overwhelming. She tugged harder, her steps stumbling as she struggled to break free, but it was no use—Jongho was far stronger than she could have imagined.

The cafeteria had fallen silent, all eyes still on them, but Jongho’s friends were the only ones who seemed unfazed. They continued their conversation as though nothing unusual was happening. It was clear to YN now—their group operated on a different set of rules, and no one dared challenge them.

Jongho didn’t look back, his focus entirely on pulling her out of the building. "Stop resisting," he muttered, his voice low and commanding. "If you wanted to talk, you should've done it differently."

YN’s heart raced in her chest. She had expected a confrontation, but not like this. Being dragged out of the cafeteria, humiliated in front of everyone—it was more than just a challenge now. It felt like an outright power play, a move to remind her of who really held the control.

“Let go of me!” she shouted again, trying to wrench her arm from his grip, but he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he pulled her toward the exit, his jaw set in a hard line.

Once they were outside, the cool air hit her face, but the storm in her chest only grew stronger. She was angry, more than she had been in weeks. She had finally stood up to him, and now he was treating it like some twisted game.

Jongho stopped in the middle of the empty courtyard, releasing her wrist abruptly. YN stumbled slightly, but caught herself before she could fall. Her hand instinctively rubbed where his grip had been, the sting of it still fresh.

"That’s the problem with you," Jongho said, his voice cold, but there was an edge to it now. "You think you can just challenge me like that, without consequences? You think you can walk in here and take everything, without anyone pushing back?"

YN glared at him, her pulse still racing. "I didn’t want to take anything. I just wanted you to stop being a coward. To face me without all your games."

Jongho’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, it grew more intense. "You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about you and me. This is about who owns this place. Who holds the power."

He took a step closer to her, towering over her as usual. The same sense of intimidation that had always been there was present now, but something in his eyes—a flicker of something deeper—made her pause for a second.

"What happens next, YN? You think you can win this? Because right now, you’re just poking the bear, and trust me, you don’t want to go any further." His voice was dangerously calm, like he was warning her—threatening her.

For a moment, YN’s breath caught. She had been so focused on proving herself, on standing up to him, that she hadn’t considered what would come next. She had no idea what kind of person Jongho really was, and now, facing him in this quiet courtyard, she realized just how deep the game went.

But despite the fear clawing at her chest, she wasn’t ready to back down. Not now. Not after everything she had endured.

"I’m not scared of you, Jongho," she said, her voice unwavering. "You want to play? Then let’s play. But I’m not going to let you intimidate me anymore."

Jongho stood there for a long moment, studying her as if trying to figure her out. Then, without another word, he turned and began to walk away, his back to her.

But as he reached the entrance to the building, he paused and looked over his shoulder.

"You’ll regret this," he said quietly, his voice carrying an almost unrecognizable note of warning. "You have no idea who you're dealing with.”

YN stood there, watching him go, the weight of his words sinking in. But even with that warning hanging in the air, she wasn’t going to back down. Not now.

She had made her choice. And from here on out, she would face the consequences.

The days following their confrontation marked the beginning of something far more sinister than YN had ever anticipated. What started as small pranks—missing books, random notes, pens vanishing from her desk—soon escalated into something far more calculated. Jongho wasn’t just trying to annoy her anymore. Now, it was as if he were playing a psychological game with her, testing her limits, breaking her down bit by bit.

At first, it was subtle. During class, Jongho would sit behind her and drop her textbooks just enough to cause a distraction, so she’d lose her focus. When she turned around, he’d act like it was an accident, offering a lazy apology that barely sounded sincere. The worst part was, he didn’t stop when she asked him to. Instead, the “accidents” seemed to happen more frequently, each one wearing her down, bit by bit.

Then came the whispers. At lunch, when YN walked into the cafeteria, she’d overhear Jongho’s friends whispering just loud enough for her to catch snippets of conversation. They’d talk about her in the most degrading way, not even bothering to hide it, knowing she could hear. She’d try to ignore them, but every word they said lingered in her mind. They called her a nerd, mocked her for thinking she could take on Jongho. But what stung the most was when they started to question her sanity, insinuating that she was unstable, that maybe she was imagining things.

The insults didn’t end there. As days passed, YN would arrive at her locker to find it had been vandalized again—her carefully written notes defaced with sarcastic messages, her books covered in nonsensical drawings, and sometimes, there would be personal remarks, comments that hit too close to home.

She was starting to feel it—the isolation. The feeling that she was being targeted by something darker than just school pranks. Every time she walked into class, she could feel eyes on her. Jongho’s eyes. He had made it clear that he enjoyed the game, that he enjoyed seeing her squirm.

But what was worse was how it started to affect her. She’d find herself unable to concentrate in class, the constant weight of his presence in the background. She started second-guessing her every move, wondering if her classmates could see the cracks forming in her façade. Her hands trembled when she reached for her books, and she found herself waking up in the middle of the night, heart racing, thinking she’d heard footsteps outside her door, as if he was watching her even when she wasn’t at school.

One afternoon, after a particularly brutal round of pranks in class, YN was heading to the library to get some quiet time. But as she turned the corner, she froze. Jongho was leaning against the wall, blocking her way. His usual smirk was replaced with something darker, a glint in his eyes that sent a chill down her spine.

"Thought you could escape?" he said softly, the words hanging in the air like a threat. "You’re mine now, YN. You’re not going to get away from me that easily." His tone was low, but there was a certainty to it, a finality that made her stomach twist.

She took a step back, trying to ignore the panic rising in her chest. "What do you want from me?" she asked, her voice shaky despite her best efforts to remain calm.

Jongho pushed off the wall and walked toward her slowly, his steps measured. "I want you to understand who’s in control," he said, his voice quiet but full of malice. "You don’t get to come in here, challenge me, and expect it to end like a fairy tale. You want to keep playing? Fine. But you better be prepared to lose. And when you do, I’ll be here to remind you."

Her heart raced as he took another step forward, his presence looming over her. There was no escape, no way to fight back. He had already won in ways she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She stood frozen, a mix of fear and anger coursing through her veins.

She didn’t say anything more as Jongho turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with her heart pounding in her chest. The quiet moments after he left felt more oppressive than any of the pranks or insults he’d thrown her way. She could feel the weight of his words settling on her, knowing that he had marked her as his target, and there would be no way to avoid his wrath.

Jongho was playing a game, but this time, it wasn’t just about winning or losing. It was about control—and he was determined to make YN realize just how powerless she truly was.

The day had come. YN could feel herself on the edge, the constant psychological torment, the pranks, the whispers, the humiliation—it had all built up to this moment. Her hands shook slightly as she sat in class, trying to focus on the lecture, but her mind was clouded with frustration. She had been walking around with a constant knot in her stomach for weeks, dreading every moment she stepped into class, every glance that was thrown her way.

Jongho had been especially persistent that day. The moment she sat down, he was there, taking his usual seat behind her. His presence felt like a weight pressing down on her, and she could almost feel his eyes on her back, waiting for the perfect moment to start.

Then, it happened. Just like every other time, he shook her desk, hard enough to make her papers tremble and her drink teeter dangerously on the edge. But this time, something inside her snapped.

Her hand gripped the cup tighter than she realized, the warmth of the coffee almost burning her palm, but it didn’t matter. In one swift motion, she turned around and dumped the entire contents of her coffee on Jongho’s desk. The liquid splashed across his notes, seeping into the wood and staining everything in its path. The room went completely silent.

Jongho froze, his expression blank for a moment, as the coffee soaked into his things. The other students in the class watched in shock, unsure of how to react. YN's breath was coming fast and ragged, her heart racing in her chest. She had done it. She had finally snapped.

Jongho’s face twisted in anger, but there was something else in his eyes—surprise, maybe even a flicker of respect. He looked up at her, his jaw clenched.

“You think this is funny?” he growled, his voice low, dark with frustration.

But YN didn’t flinch. She didn’t back down. The tension in the room was palpable, but for the first time in weeks, she felt a sense of control. Her voice came out calm, but her eyes were fiery.

“Do you think this is funny, Jongho?” she shot back, her words sharp like daggers. “Do you think it’s funny what you’ve been doing to me all this time? The pranks, the insults, the mind games? You think I’m just going to sit here and take it? Well, I’m done.”

The class was dead silent, no one daring to speak. Jongho didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he slowly stood up, towering over her. His friends, who had been silent spectators until now, shifted uneasily in their seats, glancing at each other.

"You’re really testing me now, YN," Jongho said, his voice controlled but filled with an edge that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "You think this is the end of it? You think dumping coffee on my desk will make me back off?"

YN stood her ground, her posture strong, though inside she could feel a storm brewing. “Maybe it won’t make you back off, but it’ll make you think twice. You’re not invincible, Jongho. And I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the anger and frustration in his gaze palpable, before he finally spoke again, his voice low but cold.

"Don’t think this is over," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "You just made it worse for yourself."

But YN didn’t care anymore. She had finally spoken up, finally taken a stand. For the first time, she wasn’t the quiet, submissive girl she had been before. She had fought back, and even though she knew things were far from over, a small part of her felt empowered.

As Jongho turned and walked away, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, YN stayed seated for a moment, her heart still racing. She didn’t know what was coming next, but she knew one thing for sure: she wouldn’t let him control her anymore. She had drawn a line in the sand, and this time, she wasn’t going to let him cross it.

As YN and Jongho stood there, the tension between them thickening with every word exchanged, neither of them willing to back down, the professor’s voice cut through the silence like a sharp knife.

"Enough," the professor said, standing up from behind the desk. "Both of you, stay after class. You're clearly not focused on the lesson, so you're going to stay behind and finish your homework together. You’ll leave once you both complete it. Understood?"

The class seemed to hold its collective breath, eyes darting between the two of them. The professor’s order caught both YN and Jongho off guard, but neither could afford to challenge it. Both were still seething from their confrontation, their tempers flaring, but the professor had made it clear that there would be consequences if they didn’t comply.

Jongho shot YN one last, heated look, his jaw clenched tightly, before muttering under his breath, "This isn’t over."

YN didn't bother to respond. She was too exhausted, emotionally and mentally, to keep fighting. Instead, she gathered her things quickly and retook her seat, ignoring the whispers that started circulating through the room. Jongho, reluctantly, sat down beside her, though the air between them was still thick with animosity.

The professor, seemingly unfazed by the tension between the two students, resumed the lesson, but the entire class was distracted by the palpable conflict unfolding before them. Time dragged on as YN tried to focus on her work, her hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline that still buzzed in her veins. Her eyes kept darting toward Jongho, who was scribbling furiously in his notebook, as though the homework could somehow take his mind off the encounter.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, but the professor gestured for them both to stay. The students filed out of the room, leaving just the two of them alone, and the silence between YN and Jongho grew even more awkward. Neither of them spoke as they began working on the homework, the atmosphere charged with tension.

For the first few minutes, it was clear that neither was ready to engage in any form of conversation. YN focused on her paper, trying to ignore the weight of Jongho's presence beside her. But every now and then, she felt the heat of his gaze, the intensity of it making her skin prickle. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was still watching her, trying to figure out what she would do next.

Eventually, the silence became unbearable. Jongho broke it, his voice low but dripping with frustration.

"This is your fault, you know," he muttered, his pen tapping against the desk in agitation. "If you hadn’t made a scene, none of this would’ve happened."

YN didn’t look up from her paper, her focus unwavering. She had long stopped caring about his blame. "I didn’t make a scene. You pushed me to it. I didn’t ask for this," she shot back, her voice steady but edged with annoyance.

Jongho let out a low, frustrated growl. "You think I care about your excuses?" he snapped. "You think I won’t make you regret this?"

YN met his gaze, her own expression hardening. "I’m done with you trying to make me regret everything I do. You don’t scare me, Jongho."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension crackling between them like electricity. It was clear that neither of them had the intention of backing down, but there was something else, too—something unspoken, a shift that neither could quite understand.

Jongho let out a deep breath, finally turning back to his homework. The air between them wasn’t any less tense, but at least it was quiet now, with both of them trying to get through the task at hand.

Time dragged on, and the silence remained. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, YN finished her homework. She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, and started to gather her things.

"Done," she said curtly, not bothering to look at him as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

Jongho followed suit, packing up his things, but his movements were stiff, like he was still holding something back. He didn’t say anything as YN turned to leave, but she could feel his gaze burning into her back.

"See you around, YN," he said, his tone low, a challenge lingering in his words.

YN paused at the door, her hand on the handle. She turned to face him, her expression cold but firm. "You’ll never get me to back down, Jongho," she said, her voice steady. "And one day, you’ll realize that."

Without another word, she stepped out into the hallway, leaving Jongho standing there, his fists clenched at his sides, trying to understand the weight of her words. The conflict between them was far from over, but somehow, YN felt like she had taken a small step toward taking back control. She didn’t know what would happen next, but for the first time, she felt like she could face whatever came her way.

After that tense punishment session, YN made a firm decision—she was done engaging with Jongho. She’d had enough of his games, his constant attempts to rattle her, and the exhausting back-and-forth that seemed to follow them everywhere. From that day forward, she resolved to ignore him completely.

She wouldn’t look at him during class. If she felt his gaze on her, she’d keep her head down and focus on her notes. If his friends tried to whisper snide remarks as she passed by, she’d pretend not to hear. She even started taking different routes to her classes to avoid crossing paths with him altogether.

At first, it seemed to work. Jongho didn’t immediately escalate things, and YN began to feel a small sense of relief. Hanni noticed the change too and encouraged her to keep at it.

“It’s the best way to deal with guys like him,” Hanni said one afternoon as they studied together in the library. “They thrive on attention. If you don’t give him any, he’ll eventually get bored and move on.”

YN nodded, determined to stick to her plan. She was finally starting to feel like she could breathe again, even if the occasional encounter with Jongho still made her stomach twist.

But, of course, Jongho noticed.

At first, he thought her silence was just a phase, a temporary retreat before she would come back swinging. But as days turned into weeks, he realized she was serious. She wasn’t reacting to him at all. No glares, no comebacks, no confrontations. It was like he didn’t exist to her anymore.

And it infuriated him.

In class, he’d purposely drop his pen near her desk, just to see if she’d flinch. She didn’t. He’d make loud remarks to his friends, knowing she could hear, but she never looked his way. Even during group projects, when they were forced to interact, she kept her responses curt and professional, refusing to engage in any unnecessary conversation.

The more she ignored him, the more it ate at him. Jongho wasn’t used to being dismissed like this. People either feared him, admired him, or tried to stay on his good side. But YN? She acted like he didn’t even matter.

One day, during a particularly dull lecture, Jongho found himself staring at her from across the room. She was diligently taking notes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Something about her calm, focused demeanor made his irritation bubble to the surface. How could she be so unaffected?

After class, as YN packed up her things, Jongho lingered by the door, waiting for her to leave. When she finally stepped into the hallway, he fell into step beside her, his presence impossible to ignore.

“You think ignoring me is going to make me stop?” he asked, his tone low and almost teasing.

YN didn’t even glance at him. “I don’t care what you do, Jongho. Do whatever you want. It doesn’t concern me anymore.”

As YN took a step to walk away, Jongho’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist—not harshly, but firm enough to stop her in her tracks. She froze, her eyes darting to where his fingers wrapped around her wrist before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“What is it now?” she asked sharply, her voice tinged with exasperation. “I talk to you, you make my life miserable. I ignore you, and now you’re bothering me again. What do you want from me, Jongho?”

Her words hung in the air, cutting through the bustling noise of students in the hallway. Jongho didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he stared at her. For a moment, it seemed like he was struggling to find the right words, his usual confidence faltering.

“I…” he started, but then stopped, his frustration evident. He released her wrist, running a hand through his hair as if trying to compose himself.

“You’re so irritating,” he finally said, his tone low but not as sharp as usual.

YN blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected response. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, his voice growing more frustrated. “You’re irritating. You come in here, acting like you’re better than everyone—"

“I never acted like that!” YN cut him off, her voice rising. “All I’ve done is mind my own business and try to survive in this place. You’re the one who decided to make me your target. And for what? Because I’m smarter than you? Because I beat you on a few exams? Get over it, Jongho!”

Her words hit him like a slap, and for a moment, Jongho just stared at her, his lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t back down, her chest rising and falling with anger, her gaze steady and unwavering.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

“Then explain it to me,” YN snapped, crossing her arms. “Because I’ve had enough of your nonsense. If you’ve got something to say, just say it already.”

Jongho looked at her, his expression unreadable. His usual arrogance seemed to waver, replaced by something more vulnerable, though he masked it quickly.

“You’re the first person who’s ever beaten me,” he said finally, his voice quieter than she expected. “I’ve always been at the top, always been the one everyone looked up to. And then you show up, and suddenly… I’m not.”

YN blinked, her anger softening just slightly. She hadn’t expected him to admit that, least of all to her.

“That’s what this is about?” she asked, her tone incredulous. “Your ego?”

Jongho’s jaw clenched, and he looked away. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I do understand,” YN said, her voice firm but calmer now. “You’re used to being the best, and when you’re not, you don’t know how to handle it. But that doesn’t give you the right to make my life hell. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, just like you. If you have a problem with me, deal with it in a healthy way. Compete with me in class, not by… whatever this is.”

Her words seemed to strike a chord, and for the first time, Jongho didn’t have a retort. He just stood there, staring at her, his expression unreadable.

“Are we done here?” YN asked after a moment, her voice steady but tinged with exhaustion.

Jongho hesitated, then gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Fine,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away.

Jongho watched her go, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. For the first time, he felt… uncertain. He couldn’t explain it, but something about her words lingered, gnawing at him in a way that nothing ever had before.

Jongho sat with his friends at their usual spot in the cafeteria, poking at his food absentmindedly. The others were chatting and laughing, but his brooding silence didn’t go unnoticed.

Wooyoung was the first to comment, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “Alright, spill it. What’s got you looking like someone stole your protein powder, Jongho?”

“Yeah,” Mingi chimed in, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth. “You’ve been weird lately. Is it because of that girl again?”

At the mention of YN, Jongho’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look up, but his grip on his fork visibly tensed.

San raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s definitely about her. The way you keep glaring at her during class could set fire to her notebook.”

“Shut up,” Jongho muttered, shoving a piece of food into his mouth to avoid saying anything more.

But his friends weren’t about to let it go.

“It’s not healthy, man,” Yunho said, leaning forward with a concerned look. “You’re obsessed. Every time she walks into a room, you lose your mind. What’s the deal?”

Jongho finally looked up, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Everything about her bothers me,” he said sharply. “The way she talks, the way she’s always so perfect in class, the way she acts like she doesn’t care about anything—”

“Or the way she beat you?” Seonghwa interjected calmly, raising an eyebrow.

Jongho shot him a glare but didn’t respond.

“Sounds personal,” Wooyoung teased, grinning mischievously. “Are you sure this isn’t just… you know, a crush?”

The table fell silent for a moment, and Jongho froze, his expression caught somewhere between shock and denial. “What?” he said, his tone sharp.

“You heard him,” Hongjoong said, smirking slightly. “All this energy you’re putting into her… are you sure it’s not something else?”

“No,” Jongho said immediately, his voice firm. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” San asked, leaning his chin on his hand. “I mean, it’s classic, isn’t it? The whole ‘I can’t stand her, but I can’t stop thinking about her’ thing. Sounds like a crush to me.”

“I don’t like her,” Jongho snapped, his ears tinging red. “She’s annoying, and she thinks she’s better than everyone else. That’s all.”

His friends exchanged knowing looks, clearly unconvinced.

“Whatever you say,” Wooyoung said with a shrug, his grin widening. “But I’ve seen this before. Denial is step one.”

“Step two is overcompensating,” Mingi added with a laugh.

“And step three,” Yeosang said smoothly, “is realizing you’ve been an idiot the whole time.”

Jongho scowled, shoving his chair back and standing up. “You’re all delusional. There’s nothing going on.”

He grabbed his tray and stormed off, leaving his friends laughing behind him.

But as he walked away, his thoughts betrayed him. Their words replayed in his mind, and for the first time, he wondered if there was a kernel of truth in what they said. No, he told himself firmly. It’s not that. It can’t be.

Still, the idea lingered, unsettling him in a way he couldn’t quite shake.

The next day, Jongho walked into college with a heavy sense of unease. His friends’ words from the day before replayed in his mind like an annoying song he couldn’t shake. A crush? On her? The idea was absurd—laughable even. There was no way that was true.

Yet, as he walked into the classroom and his eyes instinctively searched for her, he felt a strange tightness in his chest when he saw her sitting at her desk, completely focused on her notes. She was chewing on the end of her pen, her brows slightly furrowed, clearly deep in thought.

Jongho shook his head and looked away. No. Absolutely not.

But throughout the lecture, he found his gaze drifting back to her, no matter how hard he tried to stop himself. He told himself he was just observing her—nothing more. But every time she raised her hand to answer a question or leaned over to highlight something in her book, he found himself questioning his own thoughts.

Why am I looking at her? Why does it bother me that she doesn’t even glance in my direction anymore?

He denied it over and over. It’s not that. I’m just annoyed with her. That’s all. She’s competition, and I don’t like losing. That’s it.

But then, during a group discussion, she laughed at something one of her friends said, and Jongho froze. It wasn’t loud or attention-grabbing, but something about the way her face lit up made him stop and stare for just a second too long. His chest felt… weird.

He immediately snapped his head down to his notebook, gripping his pen tightly. No. No way.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, but the thought refused to leave his mind. Every time he saw her—whether in class, in the hallway, or even at lunch—his brain kept returning to the same annoying question: Why do I care so much?

By the time the final bell rang, Jongho was more frustrated with himself than he’d ever been. He stormed out of the building, ignoring his friends’ calls, and headed straight to the gym. He needed to work off this confusion, to get his head back in the game.

But even as he threw punches at the bag, the image of her wouldn’t leave his mind. Her voice, her laugh, her determination—it all haunted him.

And as much as he tried to deny it, a small, nagging voice in the back of his head whispered the truth he didn’t want to hear.

Maybe his friends were right.

The evening was calm as YN sat across from Hanni in their favorite cafe, sipping on iced coffee and chatting about everything and nothing. The warm ambiance of the cafe felt like a comforting bubble where YN could momentarily forget about the chaos that had become her college life.

As they wrapped up their time together, Hanni gave her a playful warning. "Don’t overthink things, okay? And if that Jongho guy gives you trouble again, call me. I’ll—well, I can’t fight, but I’ll be there for moral support."

YN laughed. “Thanks, Hanni. I think I’ll be fine.”

She hailed a cab outside the cafe and slid into the backseat, giving the driver her address. The night was cool, the faint hum of the city filling the silence as the cab moved through traffic. YN rested her head against the window, her thoughts wandering as the streetlights blurred into streaks of gold.

At a red light, the cab came to a halt. Absentmindedly, she glanced out the window, her eyes tracing the silhouettes of vehicles and pedestrians passing by. Then, her gaze locked on a sleek black motorcycle that pulled up beside her.

The bike was spotless, its polished surface gleaming under the streetlights. The rider wore an all-black outfit—leather jacket, gloves, and boots—and a black helmet that seemed to swallow the light. His presence was almost magnetic, drawing her attention without effort.

And then, as if he could feel her gaze, the rider tilted his head slightly in her direction. He reached up and flipped open the visor of his helmet.

Her breath hitched.

All she could see were his eyes, but that alone was enough to captivate her. They were sharp, intense, and utterly mesmerizing, framed by long lashes that made them look almost unreal. The dim glow of the streetlights reflected in his dark irises, giving them an almost smoldering effect. It was a gaze that carried an effortless power, like he didn’t need to say a word to command attention.

It took her a moment to realize she recognized those eyes.

Jongho.

Her heart skipped a beat. He didn’t move, didn’t say a word, but the weight of his stare was enough to send a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t hostile or challenging like she was used to; it was unreadable, calm, yet undeniably strong.

She couldn’t look away.

The light turned green, and the cab started moving again, breaking the spell. YN turned her head back toward the window, her mind racing. She could still feel his gaze lingering even as the cab sped away.

What was he doing out here? Why was he on that bike? And why, of all things, did the memory of his eyes make her cheeks burn?

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thoughts. It’s just Jongho. Stop overthinking it, YN.

But deep down, she knew she wouldn’t be able to shake the image of him so easily.

The lecture hall buzzed with excitement as the professor announced the group assignment. "Alright, everyone! Pair up into groups of two for this project. You’ll be working together for the next two weeks, so choose wisely."

YN sat up straighter in her seat, mentally scanning the room for Hanni or anyone else she could team up with. She had barely turned her head to search when someone pulled the chair next to hers with an air of finality.

She glanced over, and her stomach flipped. Jongho.

Without so much as a greeting, he dropped his bag on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "I’m your partner," he said, his tone making it clear it wasn’t up for debate.

YN blinked at him, startled. "You didn’t even ask me. What if I already had a partner?"

He raised an eyebrow, his expression indifferent. "You don’t."

Her jaw dropped slightly. "And how do you know that?"

Jongho shrugged, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "Because I got here first. Problem?"

YN’s fingers tightened around her pen. His confidence was maddening, the way he acted as if he had every right to make decisions for her. "Actually, yes, I do have a problem," she shot back.

He tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Too bad. We’re already partners. Let’s just get this over with."

YN stared at him, torn between frustration and disbelief. Of all people, why did he have to be the one to claim her as his partner?

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Fine. But don’t think you can just boss me around, Jongho."

He chuckled softly, the sound low and almost teasing. "Wouldn’t dream of it," he said, though the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise.

As the professor continued explaining the assignment, YN couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of her eye. He sat there, completely relaxed, as if he hadn’t just bulldozed his way into her plans.

Two weeks with him, she thought, resisting the urge to groan. This was going to be a long project.

As the lecture ended and the other pairs started discussing their plans, Jongho turned to YN, his expression as composed and commanding as ever.

"We’ll get started this weekend," he said, packing up his things. "Meet me outside campus. I’ll take you to my place."

YN blinked at him, confused. "Your place?"

"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly. "You live in the dorms, right? Too cramped to work there. My place is better."

She hesitated, her instincts screaming that this was a bad idea. "Wait… how am I supposed to get there?"

Jongho slung his bag over his shoulder, looking at her like the answer was obvious. "I’ll take you on my bike."

Her eyes widened. "Your bike? No way."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by her protest. "What’s the problem?"

"The problem," she said, crossing her arms, "is that you’re probably going to crash it on purpose just to mess with me."

At that, Jongho actually laughed—a low, deep sound that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "Seriously? You think I’d risk my bike just to scare you?"

"Yes," she said flatly.

He smirked, leaning slightly closer. "I’m not crashing my bike, YN. Trust me, I take care of it better than I take care of myself."

She gave him a skeptical look. "Still, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I can just take a cab or something."

Jongho shook his head, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Cabs take too long. Besides, this way, I know you’ll actually show up."

YN frowned, feeling cornered. She hated how he always had a way of making her feel like she didn’t have a choice. "I don’t even like bikes," she mumbled.

"Then it’s about time you got used to them," he said with a smirk. "I’ll pick you up Saturday at noon. Don’t be late."

And with that, he walked away, leaving her standing there, staring after him in disbelief.

As much as she wanted to refuse, she knew Jongho wouldn’t take no for an answer. She sighed, already dreading the weekend. This is going to be a nightmare.

Saturday rolled around, and YN begrudgingly got ready for the day. She decided to keep it casual but cute, pairing a skirt with a cozy sweater and boots. She knew Jongho would probably make some snarky comment no matter what she wore, but she didn’t care.

When she walked out to the dorm entrance, there he was—leaning against his sleek black bike, arms crossed, looking effortlessly intimidating. His leather jacket fit perfectly, and the helmet tucked under his arm completed the look.

Jongho’s eyes scanned her from head to toe, and before she could say anything, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you really wearing that skirt?"

YN frowned, her hands going to her hips. "What’s that supposed to mean? Are you shitting on my fashion choices now?"

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, it’s not that. But if you want your skirt to ride up every time we hit a bump and your legs to freeze in the wind, then go ahead. Your choice."

She blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. "Oh, how cute," she said sarcastically. "You’re looking out for me now?"

Jongho smirked, leaning slightly closer. "Don’t get the wrong idea. I just don’t want to deal with you whining the whole ride."

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Fine, fine. I’ll change. You’re so thoughtful," she added with a dramatic flair of sarcasm before turning to head back inside.

As she walked back to her room, she muttered to herself. He really has a way of ruining a perfectly good morning.

As YN walked back out in her new outfit, Jongho was already waiting, his fingers tapping idly against his helmet. When he saw her, he wordlessly handed her a second helmet.

"Put it on," he said curtly.

She took it with a slight glare and slid it over her head, fumbling with the straps under her chin. It wasn’t exactly her area of expertise, and she struggled to fasten it securely.

Jongho tsked, stepping closer. "You’re hopeless," he muttered, reaching out to fix it himself. His fingers worked deftly, fastening the hook with ease. YN stood frozen as he worked, her cheeks warming at the proximity.

"There," he said, stepping back and grabbing his own helmet. "Try not to mess it up."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Jongho climbed onto the bike, motioning for her to get on. Reluctantly, she swung her leg over and settled onto the seat behind him. The bike rumbled beneath them, the vibrations already making her nervous.

"Hold on," he said, glancing over his shoulder.

"No, thanks," she replied stiffly, gripping the edges of her seat instead.

Jongho chuckled darkly. "Suit yourself."

Before she could react, he revved the engine, and the bike lurched forward. YN yelped, her hands instinctively flying to his waist as the sudden acceleration caught her off guard.

"Thought so," Jongho said smugly, his voice barely audible over the roar of the engine.

"Shut up!" she yelled back, her grip tightening as they sped down the street.

The wind whipped past them, and YN had no choice but to hold onto him as they weaved through the city. Despite her earlier reluctance, she couldn’t deny that the ride was thrilling—though she’d never admit that to Jongho.

As they rode on, she felt a mix of frustration and something she couldn’t quite place. Whatever it was, she chalked it up to the adrenaline. For now, she just wanted the ride to end without incident.

The bike came to a smooth stop in front of an upscale apartment complex. YN’s eyes widened as she took in the towering building, its modern design complete with sleek glass panels and a luxurious entrance. It was easily one of the nicest places she’d ever seen.

"You live here?" she blurted out as she climbed off the bike, staring up at the building in disbelief.

Jongho removed his helmet, shaking out his hair as he turned to her. "Yeah. Why?"

"Why?" she repeated, still gawking. "How can you afford a place like this at your age? Are you secretly some kind of heir or something?"

He smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

YN rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but feel even more intrigued. She followed him as he led the way to the entrance, her curiosity growing with every step.

The lobby was just as impressive as the exterior—polished floors, tasteful decor, and a front desk manned by a professional-looking concierge. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing around, taking it all in.

"This is… insane," she muttered under her breath.

Jongho glanced over his shoulder, his smirk still firmly in place. "You coming, or are you just going to stand there gawking?"

She shot him a glare and hurried to catch up, determined not to let him get under her skin any more than he already had. But as they stepped into the elevator and ascended to his floor, she couldn’t help but wonder just how much she didn’t know about him.

As the door to Jongho’s apartment swung open, YN stepped inside and took a moment to take everything in. The interior was sleek and minimalistic, with a predominantly black and gray color scheme. There was gym equipment neatly set up in one corner, a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a couch that looked both comfortable and expensive. The only thing that stood out amidst the masculine decor was a small potted plant on the windowsill and a couple of oddly cute figurines on the shelf.

"This is so… you," YN said, her voice filled with curiosity as she walked further in, her fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the sleek black counter in the kitchen. "Gym equipment in the living room, all black interiors, and—wait, are those little figurines?"

Jongho leaned against the doorframe, watching her as she explored his space. "Don’t touch those," he said, his voice calm but firm.

"Relax," she said, giving him a playful glance. "I’m just looking."

Her curiosity and the way she looked at everything with awe made Jongho pause. His arms were crossed, but his gaze softened as he observed her. There was something about the way she moved—so full of energy, yet grounded—that made it hard for him to look away.

He caught himself staring and frowned slightly. What is wrong with me? he thought.

His mind wandered to his friends' teasing words from before. Did he actually like her, or was she just annoyingly cute today? The way she had stood up to him earlier, the way she looked at him with fire in her eyes, and now the way her curiosity lit up his apartment like she belonged there—everything about her was throwing him off.

YN turned around, catching him looking at her. "What?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Nothing," Jongho muttered, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "Are you done looking around, or are we actually going to work on this project?"

She raised an eyebrow, smirking a little. "I don’t know… maybe I should take a closer look at those figurines."

"Don’t even think about it," he warned, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

As she laughed and turned back to the desk he had cleared for their work, Jongho found himself wondering just how long he could keep denying whatever it was he was feeling.

As they sat down at the desk to start their project, Jongho found himself unexpectedly captivated by YN. At first, he had been irritated by her sharp tongue and unrelenting determination to beat him at everything. But now, as she leaned over the papers, her brows furrowed in concentration, he noticed the small things—how her hair framed her face, the way her lips pursed as she thought, and how her intelligence shone through every word she spoke.

She was explaining something about their topic, her voice steady and confident. He nodded along, but his focus wasn’t on the words—it was on her.

She’s not just smart, he thought to himself. She’s… beautiful.

He didn’t even realize he was staring until YN looked up, catching his gaze.

"Jongho?" she asked, waving a hand in front of his face. "Are you even listening?"

He blinked, quickly snapping out of his thoughts. "Yeah, of course. You were saying… something about this part of the project?"

She raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical, but let it slide. "Right… anyway, we’ll need to gather some more sources for this section."

As the hours went on, Jongho found himself getting more comfortable around her. The way she approached problems with a mix of logic and creativity impressed him, and he started to appreciate her little quirks—the way she tapped her pen against the table when she was thinking or the way she smiled triumphantly whenever she solved something tricky.

Unbeknownst to him, his initial irritation toward her was transforming into something else entirely. He liked having her around. Her presence, her energy, the way she challenged him—it all felt… right.

But he didn’t recognize it for what it was. Not yet.

He told himself it was just admiration, just a growing respect for her intelligence. But deep down, something was changing. Jongho was falling, and he didn’t even realize it.

Jongho leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms as he scrolled through food delivery apps on his phone. "I’m starving," he muttered. "I’m thinking of ordering something. What do you want? Pizza? Burgers?"

When he didn’t hear a response, he glanced up, only to find YN wasn’t in her seat anymore. Confused, he turned his head and saw her standing in his kitchen, opening cabinets and peeking into the fridge.

"What are you doing?" he asked, getting up and walking toward her.

YN glanced over her shoulder, tilting her head slightly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Let me cook. Don’t waste your money."

He blinked, caught off guard. "You can cook?"

"Of course," she said, pulling out a few ingredients she had found—a carton of eggs, some vegetables, and a pack of noodles. "It’s not going to be anything fancy, but it’ll be better than spending money on overpriced takeout."

Jongho leaned against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched her move around his kitchen like she owned the place. "You don’t have to do that," he said, though there was no real protest in his tone.

"I want to," YN replied simply, giving him a quick glance. "Besides, it’s the least I can do since I’m using your space for this project."

Jongho didn’t argue further. Instead, he stood there, watching her as she chopped vegetables with practiced ease. There was something oddly comforting about the sight of her cooking in his kitchen, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself, a rare, genuine smile. This girl really knows how to surprise me, he thought.

As the aroma of the food filled the apartment, Jongho realized that for the first time in a long time, he didn’t mind sharing his space with someone else. And as much as he tried to deny it, he was starting to like the feeling.

As YN stirred the pot, she glanced over her shoulder to see Jongho still standing there, arms crossed, watching her like she was a show on TV. She raised an eyebrow.

"Why don’t you stop standing there like a statue and help me out, Jongho?" she said, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Jongho straightened up, clearly caught off guard. "Help? Me? You’re the one who insisted on cooking."

"And you’re the one with two perfectly working hands," she shot back, turning to point the spoon at him. "Come on, big guy. Chop some vegetables or something. Or do you only know how to lift weights?"

His jaw clenched slightly, more out of mock annoyance than anything else. "Fine," he muttered, stepping closer. He grabbed a knife and the vegetables she handed him.

"Careful," she said, watching him for a moment. "I don’t need you ruining my masterpiece."

Jongho gave her a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "You really like bossing me around, don’t you?"

"Someone has to," she quipped, going back to her cooking.

He smirked but didn’t say anything, focusing instead on cutting the vegetables as precisely as possible. For a guy who spent most of his free time in the gym or with his friends, he was surprisingly good with a knife.

As they worked side by side in the kitchen, a strange sense of ease settled between them. The usual tension was still there, but it felt lighter somehow, almost playful.

"See?" YN said as she tossed the chopped vegetables into the pan. "Teamwork makes the dream work."

Jongho rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head."

But deep down, he couldn’t ignore how natural it felt to be here with her, working together like this. And no matter how much he tried to deny it, he liked it. Maybe a little too much.

As they sat down at the coffee table to eat, Jongho casually turned on the TV and scrolled through the streaming options. “Might as well put on something while we eat,” he said, settling on an action movie.

YN nodded, already digging into the meal she had prepared. She took a bite, and at first, everything was fine—until the spice hit her. Her face betrayed her struggle as her lips parted slightly, and her eyes darted toward her glass of water.

Jongho noticed immediately. He paused mid-bite, watching her subtle struggle. Without a word, he stood up and walked to the kitchen. YN blinked, confused for a moment, but didn’t say anything as she reached for her water.

When he returned, he was holding a small tub of ice cream and a spoon. He set it in front of her without meeting her eyes, sitting back down like it was no big deal.

She looked at the ice cream, then at him. “You… got this for me?”

“Don’t read too much into it,” he muttered, focusing on his food. “You looked like you were about to set your mouth on fire.”

Despite his dismissive tone, YN couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks,” she said softly, taking a spoonful of the ice cream. The cool sweetness instantly soothed her, and she let out a small sigh of relief.

Jongho glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to stay engrossed in the movie. But he noticed everything—the way her shoulders relaxed, the small smile playing on her lips, the way her eyes brightened as she ate.

It wasn’t the first time he had paid attention to her without realizing it, but it was the first time he felt… something. A warmth in his chest he couldn’t explain.

Why am I doing this? he thought, shoving another bite of food into his mouth as if that would quiet his mind.

Every little thing about her was starting to stick with him. The way she challenged him, the way she surprised him, the way she smiled. And now, the way she sat across from him, enjoying the ice cream he’d fetched without a second thought.

He shook his head slightly, trying to brush it off. It’s nothing, he told himself. It’s just… habit. Or pity. Or… something.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

Divider from @/cafekitsune

[writtenbymoonflower]

hi!!! could i pls request some casual dominance polymarauders 🙈

Thanks for requesting, hope this is okay! gn!reader x poly!marauders, kinda modern!au

cw: kinda d/s dynamics, boys order reader around a bit. if it's not your cup of tea feel free to skip!

810 words

You were attacked with affection the minute you had stepped foot in the house, but you weren’t complaining. It was like James had appeared from thin air to help you shuck your coat off and hang it up for you. 

“Christ, babe. It didn’t know how freezing it was out there. You’ve got like, bits of ice on you.” He fussed, scrutinizing your shaking body and wind-pinched face. 

“It wasn’t that bad, the walk was pretty.” You thought that would be reassuring, but James just looked more aghast. 

“You walked the whole way here?”

“I mean, yeah. I didn’t have money for the bus.” You admitted shamefully. It seemed like Sirius had appeared in the room to give you a (loving) talking to as well. 

“Then in that case, you call one of us, yeah?” He grabbed your face gently, turning you away from James to look at him. He had his whole intimidation thing going on that made you want to melt into the floor. “You don’t get to put yourself in danger walking in this.” He gave your chin an affectionate squeeze before dropping his hand from your face, you let your gaze fall to the floor.

“I will,” You muttered, barely intelligible. This time it was James who tilted your face up. 

“Speak up baby, and look Pads in the eye when you talk to him.” He was gentle but still assertive. You quickly corrected. 

“I will call you next time.” Still mousy, but at a discernible volume, and now you could see when Sirius’ usual grin overtook his concerned features. He pulled you into him, giving you a tight squeeze. 

“You’re okay, babydoll. You’re not in trouble.” He kissed your neck, making it hard for you to breathe. 

“Who’s not in trouble?” You heard Remus’ even tone from the kitchen. You tugged the two men next to you over to where Remus was. He was sitting at the counter, doing some work on his laptop.

“Well it seems like Y/N was determined to give us the fright of our life this afternoon.” James joked (rather dramatically in your opinion), but it’s all good now. 

“They will be requiring some hot chocolate, though.” Sirius pinched at your nose, making an awful cooing sound. “Baby, your face is still all cold.” 

Remus stood up to rummage through the box of hot drink mixes. “Pads love, could you run upstairs and grab the sweater off the end of the bed?” his voice turned more serious as he looked at you. “It doesn’t surprise me that you’re still cold, that shirt likely isn’t doing much to keep you warm.” 

“Actually,” You spoke up, ignoring his comment. “Could I have some coffee instead?” James scoffed and Remus rolled his eyes. 

“It’s half past five, baby dove. You’ll be up all night if you have caffeine right now.” Remus clearly wasn’t in the mood to be argued with, but you pressed in.

“I’ll be fine! Besides, my head hurts and I need to get some work done.” 

“Yeah, well, get that idea out of your head.” James shook your shoulders affectionately. “You’ve been burning the candle at both ends lately, you need a rest.” 

“Who needs a rest?” Sirius trotted over to you, manhandling you to get Remus’ sweater over your head. 

“Y/N,” James tattled. “They think they’re getting coffee at this hour.” He laughed like you were being obviously ridiculous. “They also have a headache and didn’t tell us.” You must’ve looked absolutely appalled and quickly floundered to control the damages. 

“I didn’t think it was important! It’s not bad anyway.” 

“Well, let’s try to keep it from getting bad.” Remus handed you a steaming cup of hot cocoa, along with a packet of biscuits. “Here, eat these so you can take some pain pills.” He glanced over to James, making the bespectacled boy rummage through the medicine box while Sirius set on getting a glass of water for you. 

“I don’t need any medicine, it will go away on its own.” You pleaded, covering your mouth full of biscoff and feeling flustered from all the attention. Sirius clearly disagreed, because the comment earned you a hard pinch on your bum. 

“Do what Moons said” He punctuated the order with a kiss to your forehead, letting you know he wasn’t really upset with you. Sirius may play stern, but he was really just silly and enjoyed ordering you around a bit, knowing that it made you heated and blushy. 

You set down your hot drink and half-eaten snack to take the pills and water, swallowing your pills and finishing the whole glass before you handed it back. 

“There you go,” James cooed, pulling you into his side. “That’s a good girl” 

You groaned, earning a dark chuckle from Remus.

"Poor baby," He teased, clearly not feeling very sorry for you.

It was going to be a trying night.

[hyuckswoman]

mark and you arguing pt1

pt2

genre: angst (doesn’t have good ending but i can make a pt2)

summary: you don’t like how touchy one of your boyfriend’s friend is, when you try to tell him, he doesn’t listen

pairing: mark x y/n

“no mark you don’t understand and that’s fine, i never asked you to understand either way” you say putting your things down and closing your front door behind you 

earlier that night, you and mark were on a double date with his childhood friend and her situationship? you thought it was her boyfriend but seeing the dynamic up close you understood how wrong you were 

the date was going okay at first. since her situationship was so entertaining, it completed shifted your focus away from the fact that you had barely taked to your boyfriend ever since stepping foot inside of the restaurant, not only that but you had also failed to see how her hand was on mark’s forearm and didn’t look like it was going to move in any second. 

you’re not normally the jealous type but seeing how there’s been a few instances where she had stepped over the boundaries you put with your bf and when you told him about it he just shrugged claiming that “she’s an old friend, she’s bound to be…comfortable” you were apprehensive of the evening. 

and you were right to be! the whole evening was basically her flirting and eye fucking mark, cutting you off when you were speaking, barely paying any attention to her date i mean hell even YOU talked more to him than she did. 

the more the evening progressed the more you dread coming home, yea it meant she wouldn’t be here anymore but it also meant you having to be vocal about your feelings and a possible argument with mark because of course his friend could never be in the wrong 

“why are you being like this? each time we hang out with her you’re always mean and tense about it, i don’t get why you have a vendetta against her” you boyfriend says taking off his coat following you into the living room 

“it’s not like i don’t have a reason to have a vendetta against her mark, she was flirting with you all evening! and i don’t even understand why you’re picking a fight with me, i bit my tongue on purpose and didn’t tell you shit and wasn’t planning to just to avoid this so i’m having trouble understanding why we’re even having an argument right now” you say sitting on the sofa hoping he’ll let it go

but of course he doesn’t 

“oh so now i’m so scary and intimidating that you can’t communicate? and we’re having an argument because tonight, just like every night we’ve ever spend with her you were in a pissy mood. do you know how embarrassing it is to have to apologize for your behavior each time” mark says 

“no one asked you to apologize, i kinda think it’s crazy how you’ve never even taken the time to maybe wonder why i dislike her so much mark” you answer anger rising 

“i know why you’re like this, it’s because you’re jealous” your boyfriend answers

“i’m sorry? yea you’re gonna have to elaborate on this one” you say

“i don’t know maybe it’s because her and i get along or the fact that we were a thing for a short while maybe that makes you insecure or something” you boyfriend says ever so casually 

“what the fuck?? she doesn’t make me insecure i’m just tired of having to explain to you why it bothers me to see one of your friends eye fucking you while you let it happen. i can’t even have a man be in the same vicinity as me before you start to lose your shit mark. Like i really don’t care that you and her were a thing because you’re with me now so unless it’s an issue i need to worry about I don’t see why I’d be jealous? But if you’re gonna be mad at me for being in a ‘pissy’ mood i never want to hear you complain about any men apparently flirting with me ” you say getting up, if you see his face you might start to hit it at this point 

“I still don’t understand why you’re being so bitchy, if her and i were still dating, she would’ve never done this to me” mark says instantly regretting his words 

“So it is something i need to worry about then.. you know what? go date her or something i don’t care mark, maybe she’ll appreciate you acting like a dick” you say sighing. this argument honestly tired you, repeating the same things over and over again tired you but what could be done? 

you were starting to head upstairs to brush your teeth and head to bed when mark gripped your arm preventing you from leaving 

“let go mark” you ask tiredly 

“i’m sorry” he says apologizing 

“okay, now let go” you ask and he shakes his head no 

“please i’m tired i want to sleep let me go” you say as you forcefully remove your arm from his grip, if he wasn’t going to let you go, you’ll leave 

“we don’t go to sleep mad at each other” mark says still blocking your way 

“maybe sometimes we do, plus i’m not even mad at you now please move i want to brush my teeth and you’re blocking the path” you say 

“i’m sorry” mark says 

“i heard you the first time” you answer giving up on brushing your teeth settling to  find a place to sit in your shared house 

“talk to me, please” your boyfriend pleads 

“i have been talking to you mark! ever since the first hang out i told you how she would make backhanded comments about me, then told you how it made me uncomfortable how touchy she was with you, then told you i didn’t want to hang out with her anymore so you could go see her alone and i also told you how her eye fucking you and making me feel like i’m bothering you guys annoyed me. mark you just never listen, and since you don’t listen i sit back, bite my tongue and try my best to act nice but it’s not because she’s your friend that i’m going to let myself get walked over” you say as mark finally lets you in your bedroom where you just lay down to sleep 

“you’re right i’m sorry” mark says hugging your figure thankful that you still communicated despite his actions 

“no you’re not, you say this every time the proceed to do it all over again, anyway good night mark” you say turning so your back faces him just wanting to be done with the conversation because you were starting to feel bad for acting this way when you have every right to be upset. Mark on the other hand is biting his lip realizing that he seriously messed up and needs to make it right somehow. 

because he’d 100% rather never talk to that one friend than have you feel the way you’re feeling right now, at the end of the day, nobody compared to you and he now realized how little he’s been showing it to you 

[ceruark]

campus crush - pt. 1

synopsis: bllk men as uni crushes you see around campus! (ft. itoshi sae & michael kaiser) words: 2.0k notes: gn! reader a/n: let me know who you'd like to see next! :>

itoshi sae - gym crush

it’s virtually impossible to not know of the itoshi brothers on this campus; their reputation of being gorgeous but absolutely untouchable precedes them. 

you’ve never had a class with sae— being in two completely different disciplines, the only time your paths cross is at the gym. not that you ever approach him, god no. you’re much smarter than to willingly subject yourself to someone so cold and condescending, thank you very much. you’ve seen how that’s gone over for other people, and you'd much prefer to keep your self-esteem intact rather than delude yourself into thinking that you might be “the one” to finally get through to sae.

however, you do find yourself… staring at him when you’re at the gym. it’s not in a creepy way, you swear. it’s just that there’s not many people who bother to go to the gym early in the morning before classes, and he obviously knows what he’s doing when he’s using the complex machines that you’ve always wanted to try, but have been too intimidated to even attempt to use. so, you’ve taken to watching him do a few reps on some of the machines while you do your warmup on the treadmill and then approaching the machines a few minutes after he’s left it. you feel kinda stupid following him around the gym like a lost puppy, but after a few weeks you’re already starting to notice that using the machines is paying off, so you swallow your embarrassment and keep doing it.

besides, it’s not like you’re the only person in the gym ogling him. you just happen to be doing it for more respectable reasons (not that you’re entirely innocent when you’re watching him— you’ve had to look away on more than one occasion when he gets to doing bicep curls, for your own sanity).

in fact, people staring at sae and his brother when they’re in the gym is such a normal occurrence that you’re genuinely surprised when he comes up to you and proves that he seems to have actually noticed you watching him.

it’s midterms, so naturally, you’re a bit out of it, the stress leaving you distracted as you think about all the work you have to get done before the end of the day. despite how busy you are, you still came to the gym to blow off some steam— you’re quite proud of yourself for rolling out of bed this morning instead of wallowing in your misery.

it happens like a train wreck in slow motion. at first, when you see sae walking in your general direction, you’re unconcerned. but as he draws nearer, gaze locked on you, you start to question yourself, wondering if maybe you didn’t get as much sleep as you thought and now you’re hallucinating. 

no such luck for you, though. when he comes to a full stop beside the machine you’re on, watching you expectantly, you can feel your heart come to a full halt as well, experiencing equal parts dread and awe as you process what’s happening. you reach up to press the pause button on your headphones and one side of it off your ear. 

when you look at him, he just blinks and says, “your form is wrong.”

you blink back, uncertain of what to say or do. “oh, um—” you look around, not wanting to meet his gaze. “thanks for letting me know.”

after a moment of awkward silence, he sighs— as if you’re inconveniencing him and he’s not the one who approached you first— before taking a few more steps forward. sirens go off in your head as he leans over you and reaches forward, nudging at your arms with his fingertips. “bend more at the elbow, and pull in before you lift up,” he instructs. you do as you’re told, but he stops you as you’re bringing your arms back down. “don’t let your elbows lock all the way. and don’t let the weight drop entirely unless you’re done with the rep. you’ll hurt yourself if you keep doing that.”

the next rep is the longest one of your life— not just because you can feel the strain more now that you’re using the machine properly, but mostly because sae is standing right beside you the entire time, making sure your form is correct and you don’t slip up again. once you let the weight drop, you spring out of the seat, eager to get out from under the microscope he’s decided to hold over you today for whatever reason.

“well, uh, thanks again.” you pick up your water bottle and nod at him politely, already beginning to turn on your feet. the stairmaster on the other end of the gym looks more appealing now than it ever has.

“your incompetence is distracting,” he says, stopping you in your tracks. you glance back at him, stunned. he sounds annoyed, yet he adds, “just ask me how to use a machine if you need help.”

your ego is a little bruised, but your friends will not shut the hell up about how you’ve gotten explicit permission to talk to itoshi sae, which— yeah, okay, you guess your pride can take a bit of a beating here and there if it means you get to talk to him.

michael kaiser - library tablemate

now, of course, you know who he is long before that fateful night in the library. you’re pretty sure there’s not a single person on this damn campus who doesn’t know he is.

he’s tall, gorgeous, muscular, and commands attention every time he walks into a room. sure, he’s egotistical, but it’s justified in just how intelligent and talented he is. he can even be a bit flirty if you catch him in a good mood—something a few of your friends have put to the test a few times. needless to say, you had a bit of a “hallway crush” on him for a long time— you know nothing about him besides the fact that he’s hot. but, then again, who at this university doesn’t have a thing for michael kaiser?

so it’s reasonable to say that you nearly have a goddamn stroke when he drops into the seat diagonally across from you where you’re sitting in the library. 

it’s midterm season, and you— along with many of your peers— have holed up to study or take care of essays and take-home exams. you’re abruptly snapped out of your essay-writing fervor by the sound of the chair across the table being pulled out, and your stomach backflips so violently when your brain registers the familiar blonde-blue hair and tattoo that it’s a miracle you don’t start gaping or otherwise make a fool of yourself.

every table in this part of the library has at least one person at it, but for whatever reason, kaiser has decided that you’re the person in the room least likely to be a nuisance to him. and he’s right, for you quickly avert your eyes back to your laptop and return to writing your essay, even though you’re hyper-aware of yourself right now and haven’t been able to complete a sentence since he got here. 

you’re in the middle of spam-texting your friend about your current situation when someone commits the cardinal sin: they call out their friend’s name loudly, yelling on a strictly noise-free floor. you glance up briefly, irritated, and you also catch kaiser throw a look over his shoulder in similar annoyance before going back to studying. to your chagrin, the two girls start talking to each other, occasionally bursting out in loud, grating laughter.

for a few minutes, you just watch them, willing them to notice your death stare and get the hint to take their conversation elsewhere. they don’t, though, too caught up in gossiping to notice the countless people around them giving them dirty looks.

at some point, kaiser looks back up from his psychology textbook, making direct eye contact with you— you were still glaring at the girls standing behind him. he’s clearly pissed off, and he holds your gaze for just a moment, as if commiserating with you. then, with a slow exhale through his nose, he shuts his textbook loudly, drawing the attention of the girls to your table. he turns the full intensity of his glare on them and asks, “can you clowns fuck off somewhere else?”

the girls scurry off in record time, and there’s a collective sigh of relief that travels through the room before everyone returns to their own work.

that weird moment of commiseration seems to have solidified a bond between you two— at least, that’s what you think, given that kaiser continues to sit at the same table as you after that. you’re doing mental gymnastics trying to downplay the whole situation, convincing yourself that he’s just taking a preference to this specific part of the library and this particular table the same way you have. it’s most likely got absolutely nothing to do with you. (besides, those times you’ve caught him already looking at you when you go to sneak a glance at him are not what you think they are. he’s probably just irritated that you keep looking at him. you should stop.)

“if you’re so sure it’s not you, then try sitting somewhere else for a change.” your friend’s words echo through your mind as you enter the library during finals the following semester. it’s been months at this point, and your entire friend group is just as invested in this as you are. you’re actually considering testing your theory today, especially because you really need to finish this essay and don’t need any distractions in the form of gorgeous blondes sitting nearby.

you catch a glimpse of him already sitting at your usual table as you walk up the stairs, and you hesitate for just a moment before going up two more floors— it’s not like he’s even gonna notice you’re not there. you find a secluded nook that has four large, plush chairs facing each other, two placed on each side of a table set between them. it’s much cozier than your usual spot, so you curl up on one of the chairs and settle in to work on your paper.

the sharp sound of something slamming against the table cuts through the music playing on your headphones and startles you out of your flow state. it’s been about an hour and a half since you started, and you’ve made good progress. you look up, ready to give your fellow student a piece of your mind, but you falter when your eyes meet kaiser’s. his eyes are stormier than usual, conveying his irritation with something. with a quick glance down, you realize the sound you heard was him dropping his textbooks on the table.

you pause your music and ask, “um, do you need something?” it’s the first time you’ve actually spoken to him, and you’re trying really hard to ignore how nervous you feel. he glares at you for a moment longer, before he just rolls his eyes and takes the seat across from you. you wait for a response, but once he resumes his own studying, you return to your essay.

you end up wrapping up your assignment before he finishes his studying, and as you’re slinging your bag over your shoulder and preparing to leave, he says, “if you’re finally tired of this shitty library, i know a nice cafe off-campus you can study at.”

your heart leaps into your throat, and you swallow before you answer to ensure you don’t choke on it. “oh, sure, that sounds nice. do you have the address?”

he looks up from his notes and slides his gaze to you, his expression appearing as cold and bored as ever as he gives you a once-over. “just go to our normal spot at the usual time,” he says, turning back to his notebook. “i’ll take you there.”

“oh my god,” your roommate gushes later that night as you relay the tale to them, “was he looking for you?”

“is it a date?” your other friend shrieks.

well, way to make you more nervous about tomorrow.

[devdozes]

Spiderman phainon but what about Spiderman mydeimos???

SPIDERMAN MYDEIMOS‼️

AAAA I NEED TO START DRAWING SPIDEY MYDEI RN

Being Spider-Man's Girlfriend was supposed to be cool, but nobody told you it would involve this much damage control.

"Hold still, Mydeimos, you're bleeding on the couch again."

"It's fine," he said, tone as flat as ever, even as you pressed a disinfectant wipe to his arm. His golden eyes barely flicked toward the wound. "It'll heal."

"Yeah, but my couch won't," you huffed. "You keep doing this, and we're gonna have to invest in plastic covers like an old married couple."

"Tch. Ugly."

"So is your arm right now."

He exhaled sharply through his nose—his version of a laugh. His whole vibe screamed 'intimidating man who has no time for nonsense,' but you knew better. Mydei might look like a cold, blunt realist, but he had his moments of secret softness. Not that he'd ever admit to them.

"You saw the news, right?" he asked, switching topics while you bandaged him up. "Everyone thinks Spider-Man is terrifying. Some reporter said I move like a 'predator in the dark.'" He scoffed. "I'm saving them, and they still call me scary."

You patted his arm, amused. "To be fair, you do have that whole 'gruff, intimidating presence' thing going on."

"They can't even see my face."

"No, but you could stop glaring at people like you're deciding their fate."

Mydei clicked his tongue and looked away. He totally did that.

Once you finished bandaging him, you leaned back with a satisfied grin. "There, all done. Now you can go back to swinging around the city like a menace."

"I'm not a menace."

"You also saved a kitten today and pet its head for like a whole minute."

"Shut up."

You beamed. Got him.

He sighed and leaned back, arms crossed, eyes scanning the ceiling as if contemplating the entire universe. This was the real Mydei. Not the scary, unapproachable figure everyone thought he was. This was your Mydei—the one who let you patch him up, who tolerated your teasing, who had a hidden love for cute things and a soft spot for you.

You nudged his leg with your foot. "Wanna watch something? I promise not to pick anything stupid."

"Liar."

"Okay, I promise not to pick something too stupid."

He huffed but didn’t object as you grabbed the remote. A victory. A small one, but still.

A few minutes passed before he moved again. This time, he didn’t just rest his arm around you—he practically wrapped himself around you, his strong arms locking you in place. His head buried into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You blinked. "Uh... Mydei?"

He mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t budge.

A small laugh bubbled up in your throat. Everyone called him a tiger, but for you, he was just a big, clingy cat.

"You're really comfy," he muttered, voice low, almost sheepish. "And warm."

Your heart did an embarrassing flip. How was this the same guy who scared half the city?

Smiling, you brought a hand up, gently running your fingers through his hair. "I swear, for someone with a scary reputation, you sure act like an oversized cat sometimes."

"Don't make it weird."

"Too late."

Mydei groaned but didn’t move an inch. If anything, he held you tighter.

Minutes passed, and you realized he wasn’t just holding you—he was trapping you. His arms were ridiculously strong, making escape impossible. Even shifting slightly earned you a grumble from where his face was buried in your neck.

"Uh, Mydei? I can’t move."

"Don’t need to."

You huffed. "Okay, but I kinda wanna grab the popcorn—"

"No."

You tried to wiggle an arm free. Failed. "Mydei, you're literally Spider-Man. You can reach it."

"Lazy."

"You're the one pinning me down!"

"Mhm."

He was completely content like this, muscles relaxed, warmth radiating from him as he clung to you like some oversized, stubborn cat refusing to let go of its favorite person.

Eventually, you gave up and sighed. "You better not fall asleep on me."

No response. Just the steady rhythm of his breathing, still wrapped around you like a human blanket.

You were about to tease him again, but the comfort of his warmth, the quiet hum of the movie playing in the background, and the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours started to lull you into drowsiness. His breath was slow, his hold secure, and before you knew it, your own eyelids grew heavy.

Sinking deeper into his embrace, you let sleep take over, your fingers still loosely tangled in his hair. Mydei shifted slightly, adjusting his grip just enough to bury his face even further into the crook of your neck, murmuring something inaudible in his sleep.

And just like that, you both drifted off—tangled together, warm, safe.

Mydei woke up first, groggy but comfortable. The first thing he noticed was you, still tucked under him, breathing softly in your sleep.

His golden eyes softened. He was heavy, practically draped over you like a living weighted blanket, yet you hadn’t pushed him away. You let him stay.

Carefully, he loosened his grip—just enough to scoop you up in his arms, moving with the silent ease of someone used to carrying people through the city.

You barely stirred as he lifted you, your face nuzzling against his chest instinctively.

Mydei sighed, pressing a quiet kiss to your forehead before walking toward your bedroom. But Just as Mydei tucked you into bed, his entire body tensed. A sharp, unmistakable sting prickled at the back of his neck—his spider-sense screaming.

His golden eyes snapped toward the window, instincts already kicking in. Something was happening.

In one swift motion, he pulled the blanket up over you, making sure you were comfortably settled. His fingers lingered for just a second—reluctant, but there was no time to hesitate. Duty called.

He turned, moving across the room with silent precision, already shrugging on his suit and golden metal claws. The familiar fabric clung to him like a second skin, his mask slipping over his face as he strode toward the window.

He turns his head to give you one last glance, before jumping out the window off to where his senses were taking him. . . . . .When he reached the scene, the first thing he saw was chaos. A messed-up road, broken stones, debris everywhere—

And a car on fire.

His eyes narrowed as he stepped forward, scanning the destruction. His gaze caught on something small lying among the rubble.

A Spiderman plushie?

Before he could react, an immense force slammed into him from the side, sending him flying—straight into the wall of a shop.

The impact rattled through Mydei’s ribs as he crashed into the shop’s wall, shattering the glass windows with the sheer force of the throw. Dust and debris clouded his vision, the ringing in his ears a dull reminder that he’d let his guard down. His fingers twitched around the small Spider-Man plushie he had picked up—what the hell was that doing here?

But before he could process it, a deep, guttural laugh rumbled from the cracked road ahead.

"Not so tough now, are ya, Spider?"

Mydei’s sharp golden eyes snapped up, locking onto the massive figure emerging from the wreckage. The guy was built like a wrecking ball—easily over seven feet tall, muscles bulging unnaturally under his torn clothes. His skin had a rough, almost stone-like texture, giving him an armored appearance. His face was twisted in a grin, eyes gleaming with the thrill of destruction.

Super strength. That explained the obliterated street. But Mydei had already noticed something else. The brute’s movements were sluggish—slow to adjust, slow to react. He had power, but speed? Weak.

Mydei cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders as he tossed the plushie aside.

“Alright, big guy,” he muttered, voice laced with sharp amusement, “You’re strong. I’ll give you that.” He bent his knees slightly, fingers twitching as he prepared to launch. “But let’s see how well you handle someone who actually knows how to fight.”

The brute snarled and charged, the ground trembling beneath his heavy steps. But Mydei was already moving.

WHIP—

A web shot out, latching onto the crumbling remains of a streetlight. In a heartbeat, Mydei launched himself into the air, narrowly avoiding the devastating punch that cratered the pavement where he had just stood. The mutant’s fist sunk into the concrete, struggling to pull it back out.

“Too slow.” Mydei’s voice rang from above.

The mutant barely had time to look up before Mydei came crashing down with a devastating kick to his jaw. The sheer force sent the brute stumbling back, cracks forming along his hardened skin.

"HRGH—!" The villain spat out something red—blood? A tooth? Who cared.

But Mydei didn’t stop.

He was already moving again, flipping midair, using another web to slingshot himself behind his opponent. Before the brute could react, Mydei landed a flurry of precise, brutal punches—each blow aimed at weak points. The ribs. The back of the knees. The joints. The guy was a tank, sure, but even tanks had weak spots.

The mutant roared in frustration, swinging wildly, trying to catch him. But Mydei was untouchable. Ducking. Weaving. Flipping. His movements were as fluid as water, never in the same place twice.

"You know," Mydei mused, narrowly avoiding a grab attempt, "for someone with that much muscle, you’d think you’d be better at actually landing a hit."

The brute’s eyes burned with rage. "STAND STILL!"

“No thanks.”

With that, Mydei shot a web at the mutant’s face—SPLAT!—effectively blinding him.

The villain roared, clawing at the sticky mess over his eyes. And that’s when Mydei saw his opening.

Launching forward, Mydei twisted midair and delivered a final, devastating roundhouse kick to the side of the mutant’s head. The sheer force sent him flying—his body crashing through a half-destroyed car before finally going still.

For a moment, silence.

Then, a groan. The brute twitched, clearly still conscious but dazed.

Mydei landed smoothly, rolling his shoulders. “You’re still awake? That’s impressive. Too bad it won’t last.”

With practiced ease, he shot out several webs, wrapping the mutant up tight against a broken lamppost. Struggle all he wanted, the brute wasn’t breaking out of that anytime soon.

The sirens were already wailing in the distance. Cops were on their way.

Mydei exhaled, finally relaxing his stance.

Then, he noticed it—the little Spider-Man plushie he had tossed aside earlier, lying near the wreckage.

“…Tch.” Without thinking, he picked it back up, dusting it off. He glanced at the unconscious villain, then at the mess around him.

“…Still gotta get back before she wakes up,” he muttered.

Just as Mydei swung through the city, a sudden, searing bolt of energy shot past him—so close he barely dodged in time. Someone was watching. Someone hidden.

Golden eyes narrowed. Fine. If they wanted to play this game—

He’d find them first.

The cowardly villain was a lanky figure wrapped in tattered cloth, his gaunt face shadowed by a hood. His power? Energy-based projectiles. He hid in the dark, firing shots from afar, never engaging in direct combat. He was weak up close—he knew it, Mydei knew it.

Which was why the villain always ran when things got too heated.

And tonight was no exception. As soon as Mydei got close, the villain turned tail, attempting to flee.

But before he could escape, a flying baseball bat shot through the air at an insane speed, striking him directly in the head with a sickening thud. The villain's body crumpled to the ground instantly.

Mydei's gaze snapped to where the bat had come from, and there you stood, arms crossed, glaring down at him from your apartment window with an expression of pure annoyed fury.

"Dear Spider-Man," you said, voice dripping with passive-aggressive venom, "if you're gonna fight, please try to be quiet and not interrupt people's sleep."

Mydei blinked. Then sighed. Oh god hes fucked . . . . . Mydei landed on your balcony with practiced ease, his mask still in place as he crouched, golden eyes watching you with a mix of guilt and amusement. You were still standing at the window, arms crossed, your glare sharp enough to cut through steel.

"I was handling it," he muttered, pulling off his mask.

"Yeah? Well, I handled it faster," you shot back, tilting your chin up. "And now my precious sleep is gone, all thanks to my dear superhero boyfriend who can’t keep it down."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I’ll make it up to you."

You raised a skeptical brow. "Oh? How?"

Without another word, Mydei scooped you up effortlessly, pulling you into his arms before stepping inside.

"Mydei—! Put me down, you dramatic bastard, or what do you call phainon? yeah HKS."

He ignored you, carrying you over to the couch and gently setting you down before disappearing into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned, holding a warm cup of tea in one hand and your favorite snack in the other.

He placed them on the table in front of you before sitting on the floor down beside you.

"Accept my offering," he murmured against your thighs.

You huffed, trying to hold on to your grumpiness. But between the warmth of the tea, the comfort of his hold, and the way he was resting his on your lap like some overgrown cat, your resolve crumbled.

"...Fine," you grumbled, taking the tea. "But you still owe me for the lost sleep."

Mydei smirked. "I can think of a way." "Shut the fuck up mydei" But then an idea flashed in your mind as you gave him a cheeky smile.

Mydei eyed you suspiciously as you flashed him a devious smile, pulling something from behind your back. His sharp golden eyes narrowed when he saw the fabric in your hands—a pair of matching Hello Kitty pajamas.

"If you want to make it up to me," you cooed, holding up the ridiculously cute pink pajamas, "then put this on."

Mydei's expression went completely blank. He slowly blinked at you, then at the pajamas, then back at you again.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"I fight crime in the dead of night, swinging across the city, getting smashed into walls, and dealing with the most annoying villains imaginable—"

"And now you're putting on the Hello Kitty pajamas," you cut him off sweetly, pushing them into his chest.

Mydei sighed, running a hand down his face. He was a realist, a straightforward man who prided himself on logic and practicality. There was no practical reason for him to wear pink Hello Kitty pajamas.

And yet, ten minutes later, there he was.

Standing in your living room.

Wearing them.

And looking absolutely massive in the cutesy, oversized fabric.

You barely held in your laughter, eyes sparkling with mischief as you twirled around in your own matching set.

"This is blackmail material," Mydei muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he towered over you, looking both dead inside and resigned to his fate.

"You look adorable," you chirped, hugging his arm.

He grumbled, ears slightly red, before pulling you into his arms like a hostage.

"If I'm doing this, we're doing this right. Movie day," he declared, dragging you onto the couch.

"Exactly! Now, go order snacks," you said, shoving your phone into his hands.

Mydei gave you a long, unamused stare.

"...You're really milking this, huh?"

"Absolutely."

He exhaled heavily but started placing the order anyway. Because, despite his protests, he was completely wrapped around your finger.

And unfortunately for him?

You knew it.

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

been loving the jack abbott fics soooo much!!!

A request for a potential fic about Jack. I was thinking something along the lines of his wife is maybe in the Peds/Psych department and comes to consult in the ER sometimes. The newbies don't know her as Jack's wife, but just the kind peds/Psych doc and then something something they discover she's Jack's wife and they're all like "how did that happen?"

thank uuu!!! this is a good one!!

The Other Dr Abbott

Pairing: Dr Jack Abbott x Wife!Reader

“Vitals are stable but he’s swinging between psychosis and charm like a damn metronome,” Santos muttered, watching the patient over the rim of her coffee cup.

Jack Abbott stood by the trauma bed, expression unreadable, arms crossed, as their patient—a shirtless man in his 30s with wild eyes and blood still drying under his nails—grinned up at the fluorescent lights like they were divine.

Dr. Whitaker explained the patient's history to Dr. Abbott, “He assaulted a pedestrian, bit a paramedic, and started quoting Shakespeare to the defibrillator. I think we’re out of our depth here.”

“Page psych,” Jack said without looking up.

“Already did,” Santos replied. “They said Dr. Abbot’s on call.”

Javadi looked up sharply. “But he’s standing right here.”

Jack sighed. “No. The other Dr. Abbot.”

Santos blinked. “There’s... two?”

Whitaker’s brows furrowed. “Is she your sister or something?”

But before they could interrogate further, the doors swung open.

In walked her—the hospital’s most requested psychiatrist. Elegant. Kind. Intimidating in the quietest way possible. She had a pen behind her ear, a folder under one arm, and a calm confidence that silenced the room the moment she entered.

“Hi,” she said gently. “I heard you needed psych?”

The patient lit up. “Ohhhh. There she is. Finally. Someone beautiful around here.”

Jack’s jaw ticked. “Watch it.”

The patient smirked. “What? Just saying. You all bring me the mean doctor with the wavey hair, but then this goddess walks in? Tell me you see it. She's the moon and you’re... I dunno. A pencil.”

Javadi bit her lip. Santos turned away, grinning.

The psychiatrist pulled on gloves with practiced grace. “I’m here to help, Mr. Reed. Can you tell me how you’re feeling right now?”

“Like I’ve seen heaven,” he said smoothly. “And heaven is you. Are you single?”

Jack stepped forward. “She’s married.”

The patient cocked his head, eyes narrowing like he suddenly understood something far more interesting. “Wait a second... no way.”

“What?” Santos asked.

The patient pointed at Jack, then her. “You’re married. You two. I see it now. That stare. The way you hovered when I called her beautiful? You’re totally married.”

Silence.

Then:

“She’s your wife?” Whitaker all but gasped, looking at Jack like he’d just revealed he was an alien.

Jack didn’t blink. “Yeah.”

Santos’s mouth dropped open. “Hold on—how long has that been a thing?”

“Seven years,” she answered calmly, scribbling notes onto her chart.

Javadi stared. “You mean to tell me we’ve been working beside both of you this whole time and never knew?”

“We keep it professional,” she said, glancing at Jack, who was clearly trying to sink through the floor.

The patient beamed, delighted. “This is way better than when I saw a guy get tasered in the cafeteria.”

“Please sedate him,” Jack muttered.

His wife smirked. “Not yet. He’s lucid enough to spill tea.”

Santos laughed so hard she had to turn around. Whitaker looked like he was trying to solve an algebra problem with no numbers.

“But—but she’s so nice,” he mumbled.

“She is,” Jack said flatly. “And she married me anyway. Try not to think too hard about it.”

As she moved to the side of the bed, the patient winked at her. “I’m just saying... you could’ve done better.”

Jack leaned down, eyeing him coldly. “Say that again and I will intubate you awake.”

Everyone blinked.

The patient raised both hands. “Okay damn. The wave’s kinda hot now that I get the context.”

Javadi crossed her arms. “Well, now I get why he punched that radiologist last year for calling her sweetheart.”

Jack didn’t deny it.

[natewriteslol]

housewardens with a reader who, despite being magicless, she is very good at robotics and after a few months she can create a robot that can use elements in combat too?

Reader is gender neutral!

Riddle:

-He honestly was highly impressed that you found a solution since you're magicless and the redhead wondered if you could possibly combine both magic and your inventions

-A little bit wary of another tech genius because of the incidents surrounding Idia but he quickly corrects himself because he shouldn't make assumptions just on the basis you two share a talent

-After seeing your inventions perform in battle he is giving you all of your kudos (and is a lil intimidated) and often tells others about your endeavors regarding your gadgets if your name pops in the conversation

-As for your robot, as much as he doesn't exactly hate it BUT is a little bit scared however M.O.R.T.O.N (Mobile Object-Oriented Technological Operator Network) has done so many useful things that he couldn't help but let him live in peace and not chew you out but please make sure you control M.O.R.T.O.N and you will have no problems

-Overall, thinks you're really cool and admires you because you are stellar at something he has no clue about :)

Leona:

-Polar opposite of Riddle and shamelessly assumes you would be like Idia because he is not at all messing around and assuming that you're harmless

-Especially after seeing how your gadgets were able to perform against magic users, he is very wary of you openly and asks Ruggie to keep an eye on you

-And I'm not gonna lie to you Y/N... once seeing M.O.R.T.O.N... he is not pleased whatsoever because he is enormous AND can control elements...you're done because that isn't something to joke with

-But eventually, he warms up to you? Kinda? Warm is more like lukewarm since he sees how you and Idia are absolutely not like one another and that you genuinely want to help others with your assets. Especially since your little doohickeys have gotten him out of a pickle or two

-Lowkey defends if you're getting flack for your hobby and is more open to robotics now

Azul:

-Another person who is wary about your contraptions because of Idia, he is NOT trying to get kidnapped and experimented on again

-However, he sees your technological prowess and begins to start cooking (never let him cook pls)

-Azul could absolutely use your tech as a way to benefit himself and his business from cooking, serving, managing and it would cut costs in half! All he had to do was to get them from you after all there was no way you would notice since you had an abundance of different gismos

-You did notice.

-So you sent M.O.R.T.O.N after the Monstro Lounge to retrieve your gadgets, which in return you got a bouquet and apology which you decided to forgive since Azul felt genuinely sorry for disrespecting you

-Which allowed you to come to a compromise of giving gadgets safe for Azul to use and a cash payment to you

Kalim:

-Number one fan honestly

-He sees virtually no problem because you're such a nice person and all of your gadgets have been helpful on their adventures and although Kalim is airheaded, he still understands people's concerns

-But he always defends you and tries to reason with them especially because M.O.R.T.O.N has done so much to defend the school which includes the haters of your inventions

-Secretly also tries to play with M.O.R.T.O.N and talk to him despite you telling him that he's not going to respond but the white haired boy SWEARS on the Great Seven the robot understands him

Vil:

-Again, another person who is wary because of the whole Idia situation (I'm sorry Y/N 😞)

-But be warms up to your helpful and kind nature quickly and realizes that you're just trying to be innovative rather than a menace to society and wanting to take over the Earth :)

-Especially when you use your sweet little bots to deliver him some gifts and other things, he finds it very endearing

-As for M.O.R.T.O.N he is both impressed and a bit spooked BUT he thinks that it's super cool that you're able to be so powerful as a non-magic user! Adapting to ones environment is one of the things Vil finds extremely admirable and a skill those who want to succeed need to possess

Idia:

-...secretly a little bit obsessed with you guys share the same hobbies because he has never met someone who is just as invested in robotics as him

-He mainly admires you from afar however that does not last for long as it was only a matter of time before you met the infamous Idia who kinda gave robot mechanics a bad rep on campus

-But genuinely you were so amazing and nice to him and even decided to ask for his advice on certain areas and he was really happy

-Eventually once you guys become close enough Idia would open up about how he was a bit intimidated by you and striking up a conversation, but your guys' shared interest really allows you to connect and open his shell a bit

-Absurdly impressed with M.O.R.T.O.N as he had always thought of the concept but never created a robot that could control elements

-You guys eventually team up to create robots that make campus life a bit easier, making you a bit of money and you two become better friends and repair some damages from...previous incidents involving robots that won't be named

Malleus:

-Doesn't really care about the judgement from other people and is a major influence into people not projecting what happened with Idia

-"The Child of Man is their own seperate person, if we judged every person who has a slight similarity to another, there would be no progress nor acceptance in this world."

-Finds your hobbies very fascinating and intently listens about your inventions from your homeworld "Earth" and how they connect to your inventions present in their universe

-A big fan of M.O.R.T.O.N and he is extremely proud of his friends' talent that could rival magic users

-Is always lending an ear to listen to your latest breakthrough or gizmo you have cooking up :)

[cwritesforfun]

Hey can I request an emporor geta x reader, like them growing up together, maybe reader is the daughter of one fo the senators. As they become teenagers they fall in love with eachother, like cute first kiss and first time kinda thing

Emperor Geta x Fem!Reader: Teenager In Love (Request)

Y/N - Your First Name

They will not follow the Roman style of speech - it will be written in modern language.

*I do not own the Gladiator 2 characters or plot.* I do change some of the plot and add new characters. *

Your POV

You grew up living in Rome with your father, Senator Titus. (Yes, a new character!) Your father was good friends with Senator Gracchus and met with him many times in secret about how to overthrow the senators.

You spent your days braiding hair, drinking wine, dancing, socializing, and entertaining guests. You were a pianist, and your talent was in demand by whoever sat on the throne in Rome. Your father let you go and play for guests as long as you took 2 of your security guards. So you did.

This experience of playing in the palace introduced you to Calla and Geta. You met them at a young age as they were both maturing. They were lanky and pale and soon to rule. They intimidated you.

One day you got close with Calla after talking to Dundus and giving him snacks.

You became friends with Geta quicker. He trusted you and you would help him throughout the day. You were often at his right hand side much to your father’s dismay. Your father disliked your closeness to Calla and Geta.

You were intrigued with the relationship between Calla and Dundus because you had never seen someone so trusting and needy of a pet.

Then there was Calla and Geta’s relationship. It was not one you wanted for yourself. Geta watched over Calla to where it took a toll on him. You could see the light dimming from Geta’s eyes day by day.

…

It was to your surprise that one night, when you were already asleep at home, you were awoken to your guards announcing Geta’s arrival. You quickly threw a robe over your pajamas, slid your knife into your pocket, and ran downstairs. Geta was pacing at the bottom of the steps, and he looked worried. You bow and quickly ask, “Geta, what may I do for you this late?” He answers, “I need to talk to you.” You nod and lead him into the sitting room closest to you. You sit on the couch next to each other, and he confesses, “I’m not fit to rule. There are so many things I haven’t done and so many things I still haven’t learned. I’m not ready for this.” You place your hand on his rubbing circles on it and say, “Geta, you are ready. You’ve always been strong and confident in your ability to lead. Whatever is shaking you up tonight, push it aside because you are fit to rule.” He says, “I haven’t even kissed a girl yet.” You reply, “Oh well, that’s easy to check off. It also does not affect your leadership... You should just kiss me.” His eyes widen, and he asks, “Really? Do you mean it?” You answer, “If it’ll help you sleep tonight and make you feel fit to rule, yes, I mean it. I will kiss you.” He smiles, leans in, and kisses you.

…

If people thought you two were close before, then that is nothing compared to after the kiss.

Geta never failed to find you in a crowd. If you were there, he would know and he would request your presence.

Once, you had just entered into the palace into a big crowd and Geta’s guards found you just like that. When you made it over to Geta, you ask, “How’d you know I was here already? I just arrived.” He answers, "I'll always look out for you." You smile, and he softly presses a kiss to your cheek. He pulls you into a different room and says, “I’ve been thinking about our kiss, and I think we should do it again.” You wrap your arms around his neck and ask, “Are you really going to do this every day that we see each other? It’s been 6 months.” He shrugs, wrapping his arms around his waist, and says, “Why? It could be our thing.” You smile, and he presses a kiss to your lips.

That night ends differently than your usual nights. Geta requests you to walk with him in the gardens. You notice he seems fidgety and off. You ask, “Geta, what’s wrong?” Geta answers, “Nothing, I just have something on my mind.” You keep walking and reach an area with your favorite flowers. Geta asks, “Are these still your favorites?” You answer, “Yes, they’re truly beautiful too.” He nods, bends down on one knee, and exclaims, “I bow to no one. But... as tradition goes, when a man asks a woman for her hand in marriage, they should kneel. I am entranced by you, my sweet, beautiful Y/N. You bring me light, and you are always supportive. I have come to rely and depend on you. I find myself wishing you to be here every night and every day by my side. So... I guess what I’m asking is will you marry me?” You answer, “Yes!”

…

You move in within 2 weeks after Geta proposes.

Geta can hardly handle his excitement that he throws a feast to celebrate your engagement.

That night, Geta's hands don't leave your body. They're on your waist, your shoulders, and tracing your body as you spend your first night together.