#tell him everything he needs to hear like he told you everything YOU needed to hear!!!!!!!!!!!!

[fawnhart]

drew begs bambi to forgive him ! ˚ ᡣ𐭩. 𖥔 ๋࣭

They had just wrapped filming her final season on Outer Banks. The whole time, Bambi acted as if she wasn’t hurting inside and nailed every single take flawlessly. Drew, on the other hand, was a mess and everyone knew it.

He kept messing up his lines, forgetting his call times, and dozing off between takes. In a way, Bambi felt bad for him. But he had no right to her sympathy, at least not at the moment

Now, both back in New York, Drew for a photoshoot and Bambi back in her elementl she couldn’t help but look at him with disgust and anger.

How dare he show up?!

It was one of those nights where everything was happening all at once and nothing at all. Drew stood at Bambi’s townhome door, soaked from the rain, his hands trembling, his chest tight. His mullet was a mess, not giving a damn if paparazzi caught him. He just wanted her to listen. She stood there, arms crossed as her eyes burned with anger, hurt, maybe a little curiosity, but mostly just tired.

she had every right to be

“Please, Bambi. Please, let me in. I can’t” He cut himself off, his voice breaking just a little, the words too heavy in his chest. He couldn’t keep pretending to be fine. Not anymore.

She didn’t move, arms crossed, standing her ground. She was beautiful like that, even if her face was streaked with tears, even if her lip trembled slightly.

“You can’t just come in here after everything, Drew.” Her voice was quieter than he expected, but sharper. It made his heart twist “You think you can just say sorry and it all goes away!?”

“I’ve been a mess without you, baby. I’ve screwed everything up,” he said, his words coming out in a rush “I was… I was just scared. Scared of you and your reputation, of what people would say about us. i-” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to hold it together “I thought if I distanced myself, it would protect you.”

Bambi’s expression softened, just a little, but not enough for him to get comfortable. She was still holding that distance “You pushed me away because of what other people might think?” Her voice wavered just slightly on the word might. “And that’s supposed to be for my own good?”

He dropped his head, his eyes stinging “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was..no, I am an idiot.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze never wavered. After a long silence, she sighed, her breath shaky “And then there’s your friend” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. He didn’t need to ask which friend she meant. That girl. The one who had spent more time telling Drew what a mess he was for being with her than actually being his “friend”. Drew had started to feel that insidious doubt creeping in, her words twisting around in his head like vines.

“She told you I wasn’t good enough, didn’t she?” Bambi asked, and there was a bitter edge to her voice.

“i-I didn’t believe her, baby,” Drew said quickly, his hands shaking again. He took a step forward, desperate “I never believed her. I-look, I shouldn’t have listened to her at all. I was so caught up in my own shit, and-”

“And what!? You let her tell you who I am!? Who we are!? But you were perfectly fine having sex with me?, right” she said feeling utterly and totally used

He swallowed hard, a heavy knot in his throat “I should’ve told her to back the fuck off. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve never let her put those thoughts in my mind. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The air in the apartment felt thick, too heavy to breathe. He finally dropped to his knees, his face flushed with the weight of it all “I love you, Bambi. Please... don’t shut me out. I need you. I can’t fix this without you.”

Her eyes flickered with pain as she stared down at him, her arms still crossed, but now her lips were pressed tightly together as she fought back more tears. She couldn’t let him see her break just yet. Not like this. Not when she was still trying to figure out whether or not she could believe him.

“You really hurt me, Drew. You have no idea how much.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she turned away, wiping at her eyes. She moved slowly, the silence between them stretching like a thin wire.

Drew stayed kneeling, helpless. “Please, Bambi. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what I need to do.”

She turned back to him, eyes red-rimmed but steady. “You have to prove it. You have to show me you’re not just talking. Words don’t mean anything anymore.” She paused, her gaze hardening. “And you need to cut her off. She’s clearly got it out for me, and for us, and you can’t keep her around if you want to make this right.”

He nodded immediately “I swear I will. I’ll cut her off. I’ll do anything. Just... please don’t leave me.” His voice was raw, the last of his pride crumbling.

Bambi stared at him for a long moment, and then she sighed “Fine,” she said quietly “But I’m not forgiving you tonight. I need to think about it.”

Drew’s heart sank, but he nodded, trying to be understanding, even if every fiber of him wanted to scream.

“Get up, you’re embarrassing me” He stood up slowly, and she led him into her townhome, but not without a sharp glance over her shoulder as she said, “And you’re sleeping outside tonight, With my cat.”

Drew blinked, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious. Outside. With Ms. Mocha. You can sleep on the balcony.” Her tone was final, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she walked past him into the closet, grabbing a blanket and tossing it in his direction.

Drew was about to protest, but the look on her face stopped him. The soft, determined way she held herself now was a reminder of why he loved her in the first place, because she never made anything easy for him. She knew her worth, even if he had forgotten for a while.

He grabbed the blanket, muttering, “I’m an idiot.”

Her lips quirked up at that, just a little. “Yeah. You are. But you’re still my idiot.” She softened then, her voice growing quieter. “you have to prove you deserve to be with me. Because I can’t go back to being second place.”

Drew nodded, his chest tight. “I swear I will. I swear.” He hesitated then added “can I atleast sleep on the couch?” he said with a weak smile

Bambi rolled her eyes, but it was playful now, the tension easing just enough for her to offer him a tiny truce. “Fine. I haven’t burned your clothes yet, consider yourself lucky.” She said heading to her room to grab some of his pajamas he had left there several times

He laughed softly, grateful for the small weird victory. He knew it was far from over, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

“missed you Mocha” he whispered as he curled up on her soft pink couch, Ms. Mocha curled up next to him with an irritated meow, Drew stared at the night sky view from her townhome, wondering how he could have been so fucking stupid. But maybe, he had a chance to make it right.

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[plaidcowboy]

taking care of 𓂃 rafe cameron while he’s spiraling

⟳⠀ a little inebriated rafe ⟳⠀after an argument with ward

⊹ you blinked into the open space of your room, slowly collecting your coherence as you listened to the voice over the phone. it took a second to realize you were hearing rafe mumbling, not sounding like himself. you quickly jolted up in bed at his quiet, but frantic words.

“i just don’t get why everything i do goes unnoticed.. unappreciated. i saved him. she didn’t do anything but run off and betray us. i got the cross. i killed that sheriff for him. me, rafe.. i don’t understand what happened with us..”

it broke your heart to hear his voice crack. you nursed your phone against your cheek, letting him get everything out. where was he? did his words sound partially slurred or was that your still half asleep mind? but you were so glad he called you in a moment this vulnerable. after months of being with rafe, he had a habit of keeping his feelings in and not letting you into his mind. despite this, you constantly told him you were always there if he needed an outlet.

you heard a dry chuckle across the line. “he even tried to blame you. my precious girl.. does he know how much i didn’t know i needed you? he can’t even begin to understand the love we share. he doesn’t have someone to take care of him like you do with me. he crossed the line when he mentioned you.. i just lost it..”

you placed a hand over your mouth, letting his words and current state settle in. you couldn’t let yourself get focused on ward’s thoughts of you. you knew he wasn’t a good man. you knew he didn’t deserve rafe’s respect. after months of knowing this, and knowing the fights he and rafe got into, never was it like this. this truly was breaking you.

you softly sniffled, not realizing you were getting worked up. “it’s okay, baby. it’s okay to let out that frustration. i’m so proud of you for letting yourself feel it. i’m even prouder you called me. that’s so good, rafe.”

you heard him breathing over the line, not speaking for a second. you took this opportunity to find out his whereabouts.

“um.. do you know where you are right now? can you see any signs?” you got up, walking to your closet to throw on a jacket and slip on a pair of shoes, waiting for him to answer.

it was another second of silence before he responded quietly, prompting you to listen closer. “i needed to hear your voice. i know you told me you’d be an outlet, but i didn’t think i’d have to use that outlet, but i needed it..”

you paused after grabbing your keys, listening intently, clinging on to his every word.

“..i needed to hear you. that makes everything better. i can’t see you right now, and i can’t let you see me, but i needed to feel you somehow.”

you slightly panicked at rafe telling you, you couldn’t see him. “rafe, i already see you even if i physically can’t. but i would really like to see you. do you think you could tell me where you are, handsome?” you didn’t let your voice portray your desperation too much. you didn’t want to let him know he was worrying you. then, he really wouldn’t let you go near him. not if he knew he was making you scared.

you could hear chatter grow louder around him as he answered. “i..” he pushed out a heavy sigh. “..i’m not disappointing you, am i? because i.. i won’t tell you if you’re disappointed in me right now. i’ll fix it.. i’ll fix myself and give you time to think.. i can’t have you upset with me..” he voice broke off softly at the end.

you were out of your room and outside, heading towards your car as he finished his sentence. “rafe, i think it’s impossible for me to feel anything diminishing about you. that feeling doesn’t exist inside of me. there is nothing, rafe, you could do or say that would make me view you differently from the caring and gentle hearted man you are.”

you were pressing on the gas, making your way toward where you knew rafe was without him having to say it.

this time it was him that sniffled, and you couldn’t grip the wheel tighter at the sound. he affirmed your thought of his location after a beat of still silence from his side.

“this might be impossible for rafe cameron, but can you please stay still?” you softly chuckled, attempting to lighten the tone, panic easing from you now that you were making your towards him.

“yeah, i’ll try” was his muttered response.

you were pulling up to the restaurant a few minutes later, rushing out of your car and looking around for rafe.

it wasn’t long before you spotted him outside at a high rise table, his head hanging slighty over his arms that were pressed atop of the table. standing tall, and standing oddly still. doubt didn’t dawn on you that rafe would listen, but him literally holding himself still was something you weren’t expecting. you softly shook your head, walking up to him.

he saw you from his peripheral, but sensed you before he actually knew you were approaching. turning his head, his expression couldn’t seem to turn softer and his posture more relaxed.

his face started to crumble, and you quickly reached around him to pull him into a hug, tugging his head down to rest on your shoulder.

you couldn’t feel the clawing and gripping of his hands as he tried to hold you inhumanly closer. only relief that he was in your arms now, and not afar over the phone.

“i’m sorry..” he softly uttered into your top. “..i’m sorry you have to see me like this.. but it’s messed up that i don’t care. i needed to feel you, to touch you, even if it meant you seeing me this way..”

you dug your face into his side, willing your eyes to not produce the tears you felt coming on.

“i can’t.. i won’t let go. you’re gonna leave if i let go, and you can’t leave me. you can’t..”

he spoke so softly you knew it was a thought that he didn’t mean to say out loud.

you reared back, pulling up his head to face you. the sorrow in his eyes felt like the last tug at your heart to finally pull it from its strings.

“i’m never letting go, so you can’t.”

rafe’s arms came down, his hands both cupping over one of your hands. you took it as the sign rafe was ready to leave. was ready to only be near you.

you turned, walking back towards your car, feeling his hands tighten. you went to open the passenger side for rafe when he pulled you back, halting you.

you turned towards him to ask what was wrong when he pulled the back door open instead. he nodded his head into the opening, gesturing for you to climb in first. you did so, not once letting his hands slip from your one. rafe was right behind you, closing the door behind him.

you laid your legs out, letting him settle between them and rest himself against you. he was holding you up to your promise of never letting him go.

you wrapped your arms around him, listening to his breathing. he had done so much talking, it was time for you to return it.

“you’re perfect to me. for me. if no one else can see your worth, they’re not worth your time, rafe. there’s nothing for you to be sorry for. i am so, so glad you called me. it doesn’t hurt seeing you like this as much as it would hurt to know you were going through this alone. there’s nowhere i would rather be than right here with you.”

rafe settled closer into you, always needing to be so close to you it seemed as if you shared the same skin.

“i don’t need anyone but you. i only need you seeing me and really knowing me.. can you just hold me for right now? please.”

as if you would ever deny him. “of course. whatever you need.”

it was a second before you heard him mutter something, not aware he was responding to what you said.

“just you.”

ϧ𝑒ׅ ࣪

[wendichester]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier²,

summary. sam's been in love with you for far too long for it to still be a secret!

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester ; angsty!

wordcount. 1051

notes. @hauntedrose555 @mostlymarvelgirl @daryls-luvrr ya'll encouraged this nonsense. don't come after me for writing this 😳

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1

Dean isn't looking for trouble. Really. And he doesn't mean to snoop. He just wants the damn book. It’s gotta be somewhere in the bunker.

The three of you had been going through lore all week for this case, and Dean swears he saw Sam with it last. So, when he finds himself in front of Sam’s half-open bedroom door, he doesn’t think twice before stepping inside.

His eyes skim over the desk first, scanning through the mess of papers and thick books. No luck. Huffing, he crouches to check the floor. Nothing. Then he spots it, half-buried under a stack of old notes—faded leather binding, gold lettering along the spine.

Bingo.

But as Dean grabs the book, his fingers brush against something else. A journal. Sam’s journal.

He doesn’t mean to look. He shouldn’t. He knows that. But the damn thing is open, and his name—your name—catches his eye.

Dean tells himself it’s just for a second. Just one glance. But the words jump out at him like a punch to the gut.

"She would be so much happier with me."

His stomach drops.

“What the hell?” he mutters under his breath, flipping back a page, then another. It’s all there. The lingering looks. The inside jokes. The little moments that Sam thinks mean something more. Pages filled with words Dean doesn’t want to read, because they confirm what his gut has been telling him for a while now.

Sam’s in love with you.

A sharp exhale sounds from the doorway.

“The hell are you doing?”

Dean looks up to find Sam standing there, shoulders tense, expression instantly guarded as he sees his journal in Dean’s hands.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Dean drawls, flipping the book shut. His jaw clenches. “Maybe just finding out my brother’s been in love with my girlfriend behind my back.”

Sam’s face darkens. “Give me that.”

Dean tosses the journal onto the desk, standing up. “I don’t need to read more, Sammy. That one sentence told me everything.” He lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ. How long?”

Sam’s lips press into a thin line. “Dean—”

“How. Long.”

Sam’s nostrils flare as he exhales. “It doesn’t matter.”

Dean scoffs, stepping closer. “Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter? You don’t think it matters that my own brother’s been sneaking around behind my back, watching my girl like—”

“I haven’t done anything,” Sam cuts in, his voice sharp. “You’re acting like I betrayed you, but I haven’t.”

Dean lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, so I should be grateful? You’ve just been sitting on this, what, for months? Years? Jesus, Sam.”

Sam’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “You had no right to read my journal.”

Dean lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Oh, that’s rich. That’s what you’re focusing on? I invaded your privacy? I had all rights!” He shakes his head, stepping closer. “You know what, maybe if you weren’t writing about how my girlfriend should be with you, I wouldn’t have had to find out this way.”

“You shouldn’t have found out at all,” Sam snaps, voice low, dangerous.

Dean freezes.

And then it clicks.

“You weren’t gonna say a damn thing, were you?” Dean’s voice drops, something cold settling in his chest. “You were just gonna sit on this forever. Hope one day she woke up and realized she was in the wrong bed?”

Sam doesn’t answer.

That’s all the confirmation Dean needs.

Something ugly twists in his chest. He’s so caught up in it that he doesn’t hear the footsteps in the hall. Doesn’t realize you’re there until—

“What’s going on?”

Both of them snap their heads toward you.

You stand frozen in the doorway, brows furrowed in confusion. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on.

Dean glances at Sam, expecting him to fold, to back off now that you’re here. But Sam doesn’t. His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight, his eyes—

His eyes are already on you.

Something inside Dean cracks.

“Dean?” you try again, stepping forward slightly. “What’s happening?”

Dean lets out a slow breath, eyes flicking between you and his brother. He should lie. Brush it off. Keep the peace.

But he can’t.

“Ask Sam,” he says flatly. “Seems like he’s got a lot on his mind.”

Your brows pull together in confusion, gaze shifting to Sam. He hesitates, but then Dean sees it—the moment he decides to just go for it.

“I love you,” Sam blurts out.

The silence is deafening.

Your lips part slightly, eyes going wide. “What?”

Dean stares at Sam like he’s lost his mind. “Jesus Christ, dude.”

“I love you,” Sam says again, firmer this time, gaze locked on you. “I have for a long time.”

Dean runs a hand down his face, letting out a sharp breath. “Son of a bitch.”

You’re still frozen, staring at Sam like he’s just shattered the ground beneath you. “Sam, I—”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Sam continues, his voice raw, desperate. “But Dean found out, and now—” He swallows hard. “Now I can’t just keep pretending.”

Dean steps forward, his voice low and heated. “You can’t?” His lips curl in something that isn’t quite a smirk. “Let me get this straight, Sammy. You’ve been in love with my girl—my girl—for who knows how long, and now that you got caught, you think you get to lay it all out there? What, you think she’s just gonna drop everything and run into your arms?”

Sam’s expression hardens. “That’s not—”

“Because she’s with me,” Dean bites out. “She chose me.”

Sam’s breathing is heavy, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at Dean. He only looks at you.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She did.”

And then he walks out.

You’re left standing there, stunned into silence.

Dean’s chest rises and falls, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He glances at you, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Are you—” He exhales sharply. “Are you in love with him?”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out.

Dean swallows hard. “Jesus,” he mutters, raking a hand through his hair. He shakes his head, lets out a bitter chuckle, and then turns to leave.

And just like that, you’re alone.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @funkenniffler

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Say my Name, As if it’s Drowning in the Tide - Jayce x Reader (Chapter 2/End)

Summary: But Jayce is weak. So unbelievably weak. And the voice of temptation in the back of his mind insists you will never want him the same way he does you. It’s cowardly, and it’s spineless, and it goes against everything he’s ever been taught to value. Yet none of it seems to matter when he looks at you, bare in front of him, hair wet and sticking to your skin in heavy curls like a siren in the stormy sea. He’d sell his soul if it meant having you, and in more ways than one, he is.

Pairing: Jayce x Reader Modern AU, one-sided Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 8.2K

Warning: Explicit

Tags: Hate Sex, Emotional Roleplay, One-sided Attraction, Switch!Jayce, Rough Sex, Biting, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Female receiving), Eating Out, Angst, First Time, Vaginal Sex, Size Kink, Jayce Has A Big Dick, Self-Hate, Praise Kink, Body Worship, Crying

Notes: A LITTLE LATE BUT AS PROMISED, I’m publishing the ending to this fic before the end of January (and the beginning of my surprise Valentine’s Day event 👀). This one is gonna be quite the emotional ride, so better strap in, fellas (PS: I SWEAR I love Jayce with all my heart I just love toying with his heart because I’m a monster)

(Chapter 1)

“Do you want to know what Viktor likes or not? Because I haven't told you anything about what he wants in bed.”

‘Fuck you’, you wish you could spit back at Jayce. ‘What would you even know about what anyone wants in bed, you pathetic two-pump loser?’

It's extremely tempting, if only to see his face go crimson in frustration and embarrassment again, but you know his fragile little ego might not survive it. And no matter how much you'd like to deny it, he's right: you do want to know about what Viktor likes.

You want to know every single thing about Viktor so badly, it hurts.

You've fallen for him in the same way a forest fire burns: slowly, and then all at once, overwhelming, relentless, all-consuming. It's gotten almost painful to be near him in the last few months, your stomach contorting angrily whenever he gives you a witty smile or laughs at your idiotic banter. The desire for him to look at you, and only you, is searing your skin a little more each passing day; so much so that you wonder if there will be anything left of you but ashes by the time you muster the courage to confess.

And God, do you want to: the need to tell him how you feel has become a constant itch that's as painful as it’s unending. All it would take to quench these all-consuming flames are three little words, three measly syllables, a laughable eight letters.

Yet you just can’t say them.

Because underneath all the bravado you're always putting on, you're nothing more than a hypocrite, who is absolutely terrified of hearing his answer. Of seeing nothing but compassionate pity in those soothing golden eyes of his, a gentle ‘I'm sorry’ forming on his lips, and burning you alive once and for all.

So, you wait for a sign from Viktor: a word, a touch, anything that would make the risk of confessing more bearable. As a born engineer, you've always been pragmatic and logical to a fault; you simply won’t jeopardize your relationship with him based on insignificant data and hopeful speculations. Maybe it's nothing more than a spineless justification to let yourself wither away, but it's the best you, and your burning little heart, can do.

After all, something is comforting about staying in the unknown— in that state of limbo where there's no real acknowledgment of the nature of your feelings, or his. But the fire that is Viktor is relentless, ever burning, and it consumes you inch by inch, growing every minute you spend with him working side by side at the Academy.

It worsens more each time he remembers insignificant details about you: how you like a touch of extra cinnamon in your morning latte, how much you hate seeing your middle name used in the lab's paperwork, how you always fidget with your jewelry when you're stressed— little habits and quirks he somehow never misses or fails to offer a helping hand with.

You've been in love before, but never like this; and you doubt you ever will again. Viktor is the type of person you can only meet once in your life, a shooting star that graces the human eye every thousand years, just to disappear the second you look away, before you ever get the chance to tell it it's beautiful.

And then, there's Jayce.

Jayce, who looks nothing like Viktor, with his muscular frame, perfectly symmetrical smile, and sun-kissed skin.

Jayce, who is nothing like Viktor, with his annoyingly booming voice, total lack of social awareness, and oversized ego. Whose very presence signifies, at best, an incoming headache, and at worst, endless screaming matches and arguments over the most minor details.

Things hadn't always been that way with him. There had been admiration, at first, back when you had been accepted as dean Cecil B. Heimmerdinger’s newest pupil, and the fourth member of his elite team of post-graduates. He had more than his fair share of accolades for a man in his mid-twenties: many of his papers were cited in the highest calibre of academic journals, and he had a list of awards and scholarships almost as long as your arm. You had truly believed you would learn a lot from him.

It barely took a week with him for all your naive and bright-eyed delusions to come crashing down. Behind the pretty face and the accomplishments was nothing but arrogance and disregard for all the discipline you valued. It all came so maddeningly easy to him— school, work, looks—like effort was beneath him, or even worse, completely foreign to him.

He hadn’t been shy with his interest in you for a second, either. Between the corny pickup lines and the obvious stares at the meat of your thighs, Jayce hadn’t been quite subtle; but you had no endearment for men like him. A pretty boy whose grandiose romantic gestures were clearly an attempt to quickly get into your pants, only to leave you behind the moment your novelty had worn off. The type to take everything for granted, including women’s affection, and to never have heard a single ‘no’ in their life.

There was no way you were going to fall for it.

Yet the more drily you rejected his advances, the more Jayce seemed interested in you. It had to simply be the novelty of someone finally rejecting him and seeing his true nature that fascinated him. But it wasn’t love that he felt for you; it couldn't be.

People like him could love no one but themselves.

He would glance at you with desperate puppy eyes whenever he thought you weren’t looking, a shiny toy out of his reach. Every now and then, on one of his trashed design drafts, you’d find tiny pencilled sketches of your face with a surprising level of accuracy. He clearly took some pleasure in arguing with you over everything and nothing, and you'd lie if you said that you never got some enjoyment out of that dynamic.

You had let his resolve weaken you once, and only once, early into your arrival at the lab, and long before you had developed any feelings for the then much more reserved Viktor.

And it had been a mistake.

—

Those first few months had been gruelling for you: as the newest recruit, you did much more dull and tedious paperwork than any practical or creative assignments in the lab. It was hard, and the long hours of staring at nothing but the bright blue light of your computer screen made you dizzy; but you wouldn't have exchanged it for the world.

You had earned your place here by never being complacent, by refusing to see any task as below you or too difficult to accomplish. You had been a diligent student under the harshest of conditions throughout your life, and you would continue reaching higher and higher by working hard, and always proving your worth.

One day soon, you’d be standing at the very top of it all, with your wildest dreams accomplished; and it would be with the knowledge that you had made it there entirely of your own merit.

You had been surprised and apprehensive to see an email from Professor Heimerdinger that morning, requesting that you pass by his office. Heimerdinger was very much not the type to plan out discussions, preferring to randomly pop in and out of the lab to hold impromptu, casual meetings, so the atypically formal message had made you feel uneasy.

You were under the impression you had integrated into the program quite well, and that you had begun nicely bonding with your two lab partners. Although you had had strong reservations about Jayce and his attitude, and were still extremely on the fence about your opinion of him, his puppy-like charm had started to wear you out, and you had agreed to go get coffee with him during that weekend.

You had made it very clear it wasn't a romantic encounter, but a team-bonding exercise: an occasion for him to prove some of your unfavourable impressions of him wrong. Then, maybe, and only maybe, you'd consider the idea of a date with him; but he didn't need to know that yet, lest he’d let it go to his head.

For now, your focus was only on your appointment with Heimerdinger, and the anxious knot in the pit of your stomach.

You knocked on his door gently before coming in, finding the short, older man perched on top of a small ladder, nose-deep in one of the many books that lined every inch of the walls. The countless volumes adorned his office like multicoloured bricks, giving a cozy, yet slightly claustrophobic feel to the small room.

“You asked to see me, professor ?” you cleared your throat, attempting to steady your voice to appear more composed.

Heimerdinger raised his head in surprise, likely so entranced in the huge textbook that dwarfed his small frame that he hadn’t heard you come into his literary fortress—or even remembered he had scheduled a meeting with you.

“Ah, yes, dear girl, come on in and take a seat!” he exclaimed, closing the book with a loud ‘thwack’. He struggled a bit to place it back on one of the shelves as you sat to face his desk, eyeing his precarious position wearily. He, thankfully, managed to make his way down the creaking ladder without incident, landing on his feet with a slight wobble.

“The great, dangerous heights one has to reach to gain knowledge,” he mumbled pensively, a chubby hand running through his wild tuft of dusty blonde hair. “One would think that with twenty years of service here, the finance department could afford to invest in a less perilous stepping stool.”

He made his way to the other side of the desk, settling comfortably in his pillowy chair. He adjusted his thick, round glasses, his expression indecipherable behind the imposing white mustache that covered most of his lower face.

You immediately let yourself fear the worst, your firm conviction that you had been doing well since your arrival crumbling like a house of cards.

“Have I been performing… below your expectations, sir?” you asked abruptly, the anxious ball in your stomach tightening on itself.

Heimerdinger cocked his head to the side in confusion, frowning, his thick eyebrows shifting down like two fuzzy caterpillars.

“Now why would you say such a silly thing? You’ve been going above and beyond, from everything I’ve seen and heard,” he complimented with a reassuring smile. He gave you a sly wink, and you felt your shoulders relax, the tension leaving your body like a puff of smoke. “I have an eye for exceptionally talented people. I wouldn't have recruited you if I hadn’t been wholeheartedly convinced of your capacities.”

“Thank you, sir,” you exhaled, releasing a sharp breath you hadn't realized you were holding. So it was all a misunderstanding then. Everything was alright. “May I ask why you’ve requested to see me this morning, then?”

Heimerdinger only hummed as an answer, opening one of his desk's drawers and digging through a visibly messy pile of documents. “Aha!” he exclaimed, pulling out a single sheet of paper with a flourish, and handing it to you with no further explanation.

You grabbed it carefully, quickly looking it over with growing confusion: the bold title only stated your name, next to the words PROJECT TRANSFER.

“Here you go, all signed and completed,” Heimerdinger added with a casual wave of the hand. “I would have simply sent it to you by email, but protocol requires you to sign it in front of me. You know how bureaucrats get,” he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

The more snippets you caught of the document, the less you understood. ‘Personal request made by the student to be discharged from desk work duty for the Wyatt Project — Approved by team supervisor — Reason for request: Lack of affinity with the project and given tasks — Signatures of department head, team supervisor, and concerned student below’.

“I’m sorry, what… is this?” you asked slowly in hesitation.

The Wyatt project had been the most tiresome and dull assignment you had been given as of yet at the Academy, and although you often complained about it in your off time, you had never made any sort of official demand to be transferred from it.

“The discharge paper for the Wyatt project,” the older man explained, seemingly surprised by your lack of enthusiasm or recognition. “I was told you didn’t enjoy the busy work much and would prefer a change of pace. I’ll be putting you on the assignment corrections for the undergrads, which should be much simpler and less time-consuming.”

Your mind began racing chaotically, attempting to puzzle how a few unserious, nitpicky rants could have possibly made their way as an official demand to the dean himself. You barely registered the empathic nod he gave you as he cleared his voice, a sparkle of something akin to remorse in his eyes.

“Perhaps I was requesting a lot of you for your very first semester here, with an assignment as advanced as this. My apologies, dear girl. But do know this transfer is a rare exception, and I will require more receptiveness from you for future tasks.”

The slight pitying look he gave you made you feel like throwing up.

You'd disappointed him.

You had failed the expectations of the man who took a chance on you as his youngest pupil, and you weren't even aware of how you had done it.

“I—I mean yes, the Wyatt project is a lot of busy work, but I never—who told you I asked to be taken out?” you managed to stutter.

Who? Who could have possibly gone so out of their way to ruin the reliable and efficient reputation you were working so hard to build here? Your mind came up blank, reviewing the few people you might have said anything to, and not finding a single one who would so blatantly jeopardize your fragile new position.

“Why, Jayce,” Heimerdinger said as if it was entirely obvious. “As your team leader, he gives me monthly reports of the status of each project you're involved with. He was quite adamant about putting you off the Wyatt and onto an easier project.”

A flash of understanding crossed his face at the sight of your decomposing expression.

“Has… Jayce not discussed this with you?”

No. No, he hadn’t.

You barely remembered the walk out of Heimerdinger's office after that, fuelled only by a mixture of incomprehension and betrayal. With each step, it shifted into something much stronger, a fury burning from your core directed not only at him, but at yourself.

You slammed the door of the lab open, the plexiglass banging against the frame with a dull thud:

“How fucking dare you?!”

Jayce was thankfully alone in the lab, but even if Viktor had been here, you weren't sure you would have managed to control the outpour of anger. The man looked up from his notes in surprise:

“Woah—wait—excuse me?” Jayce stammered, visibly more confused than insulted.

“Who do you think you are to decide what I can do or not?!” you seethed, barreling rapidly towards him. “How dare you go around asking things in my name to our supervisor?”

He got up from his chair hurridly, eyes wide, raising his hands in a placating gesture as if you were a wild animal ready to attack.

"Relax, I really have no idea—" he started hastily, only to stop mid-sentence as realization dawned on him. His brows knit together in confusion. "Wait... is this about the Wyatt project?”

"What else could it possibly be about?!" you yelled, your voice slicing through the silence of the empty lab. Under different circumstances—if this wasn't about your entire career here—you might have remembered that your outburst could easily carry into the corridor, reaching the ears of other students, and even possibly teachers. But blind frustration consumed you, eclipsed only by the raw, aching sense of betrayal you felt towards him.

“But you’ve been telling me and Viktor for weeks how much you hate it,” Jayce argued, frowning, his lips reducing into a thin line. He was genuinely perplexed, like the very concept that he hadn’t done you a service wasn't registering in his mind. “You’re the one who said you wished you could do more work in the lab with us!”

“So you went over my head and told the fucking head of the department I was too lazy to complete the work he gave me?” you retorted without missing a beat. You hadn't realized how close you had gotten to him, your balled fists barely a foot away from his increasingly punchable face. You could smell the artificial scent of body spray off him, and you wrinkled your nose in disgust. “Do you have any idea how unreliable and ungrateful that makes me look as the new girl?! I haven’t even had this position for six months!”

Understanding slowly dawned across his face, and his expression softened, regret pooling in his chartreuse eyes.

"I was just trying to help, I didn't—" he began, his voice gentle and remorseful, but you weren't even close to being done with him.

“Help?” you spat, the word dripping with venom. “Help how? By making me look like I don’t want to work hard? Like I'm a spoiled brat who goes on dates with her team supervisor to get easy jobs? What, do you think I slept my way up here?”

“I’d never—I thought you felt too shy to talk to Heimerdinger, I just wanted to give you a hand as my junior! How is that a bad thing?!” he protested, frustration creeping into his voice.

“It's a bad thing because it means you don't fucking believe in me!” you shot back.

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, willing them gone and clinging to what little pride you had left.

“It means you think I'm too weak or too stupid to do the same work you and Viktor did when you started. That I'm not even enough of an adult to handle my own shit—that I need some random guy at work to baby me!”

He flinched at the harshness of your words, the hurt on his face unmistakable. His mouth opened as if to speak up again, eyes carrying the wounded look of a kicked puppy, but you didn’t let him, refusing to let his charm ever fool you again.

“I don't care if it's because I'm younger than you, or because I'm a woman, or because you think I'm attractive,” you snapped. “I'm staying on the Wyatt project until it's completed, like I signed up to. I won't let you mess up everything I've worked so hard for.”

You took a step back, your feelings too overwhelming to stand staring at him a minute longer. Your instinct about Jayce—that he was as spoiled as he was self-righteous— had been correct from the start, yet you felt no pride in that knowledge; there was only the bitter taste of disappointment.

Your voice was sharp and unforgiving when you spoke up again:

“Do me a favour. Next time you want to help, don’t.

—

And yet, here you are now, in a shitty motel in the middle of nowhere, butt naked in a cramped shower with him, the feeling of his tepid cum still lingering on your thigh.

Jayce Talis wants to help again, and you’d be an absolute fool to accept, or to give him more ground than you already have.

But things are different, this time.

You want his help. You need his help.

You know better now than to believe he feels anything resembling real affection for you. His obsession isn’t love: it’s a fixation born from entitlement, from the relentless need to possess what he’s been denied. You’re nothing more than a challenge, the one girl who refuses to fall for the Academy’s golden boy, and that only makes him want you more. But once he’s had his victory, once this game is over, the thrill will fade, and he’ll lose all interest in pretending he ever cared.

So what’s the harm in saying yes, then? It’s not like either of you will come out of this with any hurt feelings. It’s the same as back then, with him taking you for the easy fool he can be a knight in shining armour for, solving your issues like the great man he is. But at least, this time, he’s had the decency to ask you, first.

"Fine, whatever," you finally grumble, your gaze snapping back to his. A flicker of something unreadable passes through his expression, but you ignore it. It doesn't matter to you, just as you won’t matter to him. "What’s next, Talis?”

—

The issue is that Jayce really hasn't thought that far ahead.

His first and main goal was to distract you from how he had been so stupidly eager, he came without your hands ever even touching his cock. But now, he needs to come up with a next step—fast—before you see right through his bluff and realize he knows far less about Viktor’s sex life than he has so confidently let on.

To his credit, Viktor has always been intensely private about his personal life, even with his closest friends. In all their years of partnership, he had never once introduced Jayce to a girlfriend or boyfriend; never even hinted at a crush, or a stranger who might be something more. No matter how many times Jayce had prodded and teased him in their younger years, Viktor had never let anything slip.

But there is one thing, a small, passing remark, that Jayce does remember.

Back in their very first year together at the Academy, unravelling the enigma that was Viktor had been one of Jayce’s greatest challenges. The man revealed very little about himself and it seemed like science and logic were the sole foundations of his world, an unwavering structure built on nothing but reason and precision.

But every now and then, Viktor would do or say something so entirely unexpected, it shattered any understanding Jayce thought he had of him.

One of those moments had been Viktor’s quiet but undeniable fascination with the arts.

Jayce remembers a particular night, one that has somehow stayed in the back of his mind since. Sitting beside Viktor in the dim glow of the Academy’s theater, watching a play neither of them had particularly planned to see, he had expected boredom, maybe even a few sarcastic quips. Instead, Viktor had been captivated. His sharp eyes, usually so calculating while they worked in the lab, were alight with something softer, something close to wonder, as if he were seeing an entirely new world unfold before him.

"Do you not think it's nice? The music of someone's voice," Viktor had hummed afterward, his tone distant, contemplative, like he was still half-lost in the echoes of the performance.

Jayce had shrugged, stretching his legs out lazily in the cramped theatre seat. Art had never really been his thing—too abstract, too confusing. "I don’t know," he replied casually, "AI is getting pretty good at mimicking it."

Viktor had turned his head slightly, casting Jayce a look that was equal parts amused and disappointed, as if he couldn’t decide whether the comment was genuinely naive or just tragically shortsighted.

Viktor had merely tutted in disapproval, shaking his head. "The human soul, Jayce. The emotions, the passion, the sorrow—that is what a voice carries. We may build a thousand algorithms that reproduce it, down to the subtlest change in tone or pitch… but it will always be missing that.”

Jayce had gone quiet after that, letting the conversation die in the soft hum of the crowd leaving the theater. He didn’t get it then; maybe he does now.

“Voices,” Jayce blurts out, the thought snapping into place like a last-minute save. “Viktor likes hearing people’s voices. I think it’s because of how personal they are to everyone? Something about that just… makes him happy.”

He’s grasping at straws now, but it’s something, and that’s already better than staying silent with his mouth agape like an idiot.

“Maybe, um—maybe you could practice what you’d say to him? The kind of sounds you’d make?” His pulse stutters, but before he can stop himself. “I-I think he’d probably want to eat you out.”

It’s a blatant, bold-faced lie. A shot in the dark dressed up as certainty.

Because that’s not what Viktor said. That’s not even remotely what Viktor said.

It’s what Jayce wants to do.

But he’s already in too deep, tangled in his own bullshit with no way to back out. If he’s going to lie, he might as well be a little selfish about it.

You glare at him with that sharp, dissecting stare, the kind that strips away pretense and weighs his words like they’re under the lens of a microscope. Even though you’re shorter than him, there’s no mistaking who’s in control here; the balance of power tilts undeniably in your favour, and you have him fully, wholly under your thumb.

And he knows it, knows it from the tension in his own shoulders, from the way his lips uncontrollably twitch, from the slight tremor in his voice. He would do anything for this, for you, and he’s not foolish enough to think it doesn’t show. But this moment isn’t about him—not about how much he wants you, or how much he’d give to close the remaining space between your bodies.

It’s about you, and how much you want Viktor.

Jayce already knows your answer before it even leaves your lips.

“Alright. Just…”

You hesitate for just a second, as if there's something else you want to say; a glimpse of uncharacteristic doubt flashes across your face. But it vanishes just as quickly as it came, swallowed by that effortless, burning confidence. Whatever words you might have had for him go up in smoke.

"Forget it. Get on your knees."

Jayce certainly doesn’t need to be told twice.

It’s almost embarrassing how fast he drops, the wet tile beneath him offering no grace. He nearly slips twice as he contorts his broad frame awkwardly, trying to find a stable position. The cramped width of the glass panels press against his shoulders, making his movements all the more difficult.

You tsk at him, unimpressed and visibly growing impatient. The glare you send down his way is all the incentive he needs to stop fumbling and settle as best he can, even as the mosaic tiles dig uncomfortably into his knees.

One of your hands settles on his head, slightly brushing the damp strands of dark hair, and he leans into the touch; it's probably the closest thing to praise he's ever gotten from you.

"Don’t make me regret this," you warn him.

He grins, throwing you a wink with far more cockiness than he actually feels. "Regret is my middle name, baby."

Before you can shoot back a biting remark, his hands are on your hips, firm and certain, pulling you flush against his face. The heat of his breath ghosts over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

If this had been different, if it had been real, he would have taken his time. He would have traced every detail of your body with his hands, his lips, his tongue, committing every inch to memory like something sacred. He would have worshipped you slowly, methodically, with the kind of reverence you deserve.

But that's not the case.

Instead, he opts for savagely peppering your inner thighs with warm, rough kisses, just barely letting his teeth graze your skin. You hum in approval, the hand on his scalp petting him like a puppy. The rush of confidence that goes through his body is indescribable, and he makes the bites more insistent, leaving burn-like marks on your skin.

You tug at his hair, just enough to be insistent, but not enough to hurt. For once, he understands you immediately, without you uttering a single word. It’s a little strange —almost ironic— that conversations with you always spiral into arguments, yet here, without speaking at all, you're both in perfect sync.

He obeys the silent command and moves his mouth where you’re guiding him, never pausing the messy, open-mouth kisses against your lower body. It's no surprise that your pussy is as pretty and warm as the rest of you. The hair has been recently trimmed but has grown just enough to tickle against his face as he buries his face comfortably between your legs.

You twitch in his grip the second his tongue touches your folds, but you don't let out a sound. He’s not about to be beaten so easily, though: he gives a strong, assured lick against your clit, and this time you can't suppress a small moan:

“Ah…”

Oh, and God, it's an addictive sound, one that he yearns to hear again, immediately. He copies his movement once, twice, thrice, dizzy off the little vulnerable pants you make under your breath. He's like a starved man, lapping at the fresh water from the shower on your skin just to catch a hint of your juices.

“Hngh-” you inhale sharply when his tongue probes your hole. Your grip on his hair tightens, fingers tangling deeper as you pull him closer. It’s probably just instinct, a mechanical reaction to the rush of pleasure sparking through you; but for a split second, the pressure of your touch feels intentional. Like you want him. And that foolish, aching thought makes his poor little heart clench when you speak again:

“V-Viktor!”

A single word from you, just one name, and reality crashes back down on him like a tidal wave.

He freezes, his tongue flat against your clit, and the warmth of the moment vanishes in an instant, replaced by something sharp and unforgiving. The water hitting his exposed skin from the showerhead suddenly feels ice-cold, seeping into his bones.

This isn’t right. He knows it. And he’s certain you do, too.

But you’ve both chosen this.

You’re as guilty as he is, using him just as much as he’s using you. It’s a pathetic, hollow imitation of the intimacy he truly craves, the kind where your fingers intertwine with his without hesitation, where your voice murmurs words of love meant only for him, where your eyes remain wide open and locked into his.

But there’s no coming back from having tasted you. A single bite of the forbidden fruit, and he’s undone: his sense of judgment shattered, his pride discarded, his dignity crumbling beneath your touch. If this is all you’re willing to give him, if he’s nothing more than a placeholder for someone else—so be it.

He’ll take whatever scraps of affection you’ll offer, no matter how empty. No matter who it’s really meant for.

You let out another wonton moan when he shifts again, his teeth lightly scrapping your clit, and he lets himself wonder what you're imagining behind those closed eyes.

Granted, the who isn’t much of a mystery; that part is painfully obvious. But how?

How does it play out in your head? Is it tender and slow, filled with whispered confessions and gentle touches? Or is it something desperate, something raw, something that strips you down to nothing but need? Against his better judgment and all common sense, he can’t help speculating.

Viktor would probably not enjoy staying on his knees for very long; maybe you're picturing yourself laying in bed with him, his face nestled snuggly between the meat of your thighs. You’d have a smile on your lips, your sparkling eyes wide open, eager to take in every second of the moment. Viktor would probably chuckle at your eagerness, amused by the contrast of how firm and unyielding you are with everyone else, yet how effortlessly you melt in his presence.

“Viktor, please… please…!” you almost beg as he fucks you on his tongue, your hips rhythmically moving along to his pace, moans raw and unfiltered, forgetting about the thin walls and your likely disgruntled neighbours with how lost you are in your fantasy.

Jealousy begins to rear its ugly head in the pit of his stomach, a dangerous thing to start feeling during something that’s supposed to be pure make-believe. But no matter how hard he tries to swallow it down, it lingers, festering beneath the surface.

He can’t help it, spoiled brat that he is. He always wants more. Nothing is ever enough.

His childish ego whispers that he’s the one making you squirm under his touch, that for all your longing, for all the thoughts clouding your mind, he’s the one here. He’s the one touching you, drawing those needy sounds from your lips.

It's his name you should be saying.

He's gotten hard again, the touch of your skin blending with the smell of your body, the sharp taste of your wetness making his head spin. He's humping the air like a dog in heat, aching for any sort of relief. He wants to stay between your legs for as long as humanly possible, let you use him, but he's not sure how much longer he can handle hearing someone else’s name over, and over again.

He manages to pull away from the vice-like grip of your thighs, mouth coated with your juices. He looks up at you, standing above him like a goddess, surrounded by a halo of water from the showerhead.

"I really, really need you right now, baby," he breathes out, voice raw with desperation. He knows he should have some dignity left, some shred of self-respect; but it's all long gone. At this point, he doesn't care what you think of him anymore, not when he’s fallen this low. “Can I please fuck you right here?”

Your eyes flutter open, slow and reluctant, like it physically pains you to be pulled from whatever reverie you were lost in. For a moment, you just look at him, considering his expression, the firm grip on his head easing slightly.

“I…” you start hesitantly. There it is again, just like earlier: something uncertain in your gaze, lost, vulnerable. It’s jarring, unsettling in a way he can’t quite name. It doesn’t belong there, not in your eyes—eyes that are usually so bright, so sure and unwavering.

"Bed. Viktor wouldn't be comfortable here," you mumble under your breath, refusing to meet his eyes. "And don’t call me baby."

Jayce exhales a shaky sigh of relief. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t tease—just moves.

He scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly slips again, catching himself just in time. With a sharp nudge of his elbow, he shuts off the faucet before effortlessly scooping you up from the wet tiles. You yelp in protest, but he ignores it, already carrying you out of the bathroom, his grip firm yet careful.

The second your back hits the mattress, he’s gone, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes to his backpack; balance has never been his forte, but you’ve rendered him so unsteady his legs feel like jello. His hands fumble through the numerous pockets, almost frantic.

Socks, phone, extra boxers, sunglasses, toothbrush, toothpaste—

There!

He raises the lone condom triumphantly into the air, presenting it like a grand prize, his grin wide with victory.

You don’t look half as impressed.

"Do you seriously bring that with you everywhere you go?" you remark drily, one brow arching in clear contempt.

Ah, right. For a moment, in the heat of it all, he had almost forgotten that you really hate him.

“Can we keep the insults for after I'm done fucking you?” he groans, his arm falling in defeat. Yet, despite the frustration laced in his voice, there’s something oddly familiar about this, something comforting. The push and pull, the sharp edges of your words clashing against his: it’s a unique rhythm, a dynamic that belongs to the two of you alone; one that Viktor will never experience.

The idea makes him happier than it should.

You let out a dramatic sigh in response, waving a dismissive hand as if to say ‘whatever’.

He climbs over you, his body still sopping wet, water trailing down his skin and seeping into the sheets beneath you both. Droplets fall from his hair onto yours, cool against the lingering heat of your skin. The bed is going to be disgustingly damp later, and you will certainly complain and blame him for it, but he can’t bring himself to care about it right now.

The sight of his fully hard cock resting on your inner thigh makes his throat dry almost instantly. Jayce is more than aware he’s well endowed, and he hasn’t shied away from using it as a selling argument for flirting before; but this is so very different. His size dwarfs your cunt, like a little toy underneath him; the realization that he's going to get so deep inside of you that you'll never be able to fully get rid of him is enough to break whatever hesitation he might have still had.

He glances up at you with a cocky grin, expecting you to eye his arguably imposing member with some anticipation, only to find that you're looking away, gaze lost somewhere in the printed forest of the peeling wallpaper.

He clears his throat, and you turn back towards him, expression distant, maybe even cold.

“Want me to, um… prep you a bit?” he asks. He knows you’re soaking wet, he's made quite sure of that, but the thickness of his cock has usually required him to use a few fingers with his previous partners.

You seem disinterested, barely sparing him a look:

“I don't care. Just do it, Talis.”

The absurdity of the fact that you’re still using his last name after he’s eaten you out—and right before he screws you—would be comical if it wasn’t so deeply sad. He tears the plastic wrapper open, rolling the condom on himself without another word. He aligns his member with your entrance, just barely spreading your folds with his dick, before you interrupt him with a firm hand on his bicep.

The look you give him is full of something unspoken, heavy with meaning he can’t quite grasp—or maybe just refuses to.

"Just… be gentle,” you ask stiffly, like you doubt he’s even capable of it. “Like Viktor would."

That last part splinters something inside him, shatters a piece of his heart he thought had accepted he would never be the one you’d want.

For a second, everything blurs. The floodgate cracks open, and with it, the jealousy he thought he had under control surges forward, unrestrained and bitter.

Because Viktor. Always Viktor.

And never him.

He pushes in without replying, groaning at the resistance his tip is already facing. It takes a bit more force, but the head of his cock finally passes through the ring of muscle, and he's able to slowly and fully sheathe himself in, your wetness making the slide easier.

“Fuck- fuck, you're tight,” he sputters, the words falling out of him without his control. “You're so fucking tight, princess.”

Maybe it’s just that he hasn’t gotten laid in too long, but he doesn’t think he's ever been inside someone who feels this snug around him, like you were made for him. You’re walls are fluttering around him, squeezing him so firmly it’s as if your pussy is forbidding him from leaving. It's heavenly, and he stays still for a moment, just to carve in his memory the exact way you’re clenching around his cock.

A quick glance at your face tells him everything he needs to know: your eyes are squeezed shut, your brows furrowed deeply, likely lost in a world where he isn’t the one above you. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’re picturing him instead, rewriting reality with Viktor’s touch, Viktor’s voice, Viktor’s presence.

That’s fine. Perfectly fine.

Because by the time he’s done, by the time he gives it to you just right—hard enough, deep enough, good enough—he’ll make sure the only name you’re screaming is Jayce.

He starts pulling out before sharply shoving himself back in, and you let out an absolutely broken cry. There. As a sound that's for no one else but him.

He repeats the motion, again and again, the sharp feeling of your nails digging into his back making all thought incoherent. Your cries are driving him insane, raw and oversensitive, and he pounds into you harder with the knowledge Jayce Talis is the one tearing them out from your throat.

He looks down where your bodies meet, drunk off the idea of seeing his fat cock plunging into you, but he freezes.

There's blood.

It's not much, just a little red that has tinted some of your combined juices, but it's there, a stark contrast against your skin.

He opens and closes his mouth in incomprehension; he had been harsh, and hungry, yes, but you should have been wet enough to take him with only a slight burn, a nice feeling of fullness. How?

He looks at you in panic: your eyes are still sealed shut, but unshed tears have pooled in their corners, your lips stuck in a thin line.

You’re crying.

It’s so silent, so light, that he hadn't even heard it despite your proximity, despite him being quite literally inside of you. He’s staring at you, dumbfounded—the tightness, the blood, the tears—as the math begins to add up very unpleasantly in his head.

"Wait, are you—" he starts, voice laced with panicked disbelief.

You don’t answer.

Instead, you turn your face away, hiding it behind the crook of your arm, ever the prideful one. But he sees it anyway, the telltale tremble of your bottom lip.

And just like that, every ounce of his frustration, every drop of jealousy, vanishes in an instant. What’s left is something colder, heavier—realization.

You're a virgin.

His stomach twists. "I'm sorry, I—I had no idea—" he stammers, his mind racing to catch up. "Did I hurt you? Oh my god, yeah, I did. Do you want to stop? I’m so sorry—"

The words tumble out in a frantic rush, hands hovering over you like he doesn’t know where they should be—whether to comfort, to retreat, or to hold you close.

He moves to pull out, but you make a pained hissing sound, grabbing his arm to keep him in place.

You stay silent, breathing haggard, clinging to him like a buoy in a storm. Your fingers dig into his skin painfully, but you still refuse to meet his gaze.

Jayce swallows thickly, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Carefully, he slides a hand beneath your head, lifting it just enough to keep you from sinking further into yourself. With the other, he brushes away a few damp strands of hair stuck to your clammy forehead. You don’t speak, and neither does he.

There’s nothing he can say right now that wouldn’t feel meaningless.

Your eyes eventually open, and the few tears you had been holding back finally spill down your cheeks. He catches them with the pad of his finger, wiping them away as gently as he can.

You’re so still in his arms it scares him. Fragile in a way he’s never seen before. Like a doll he’s played too rough with, beautiful, limp, and oh so breakable. Not meant for the big, clumsy, uncalculated hands of someone like him, but rather, for a gentle and precise touch.

Meant for hands like Viktor’s.

The thought cuts deep, a jagged wound of self-loathing splitting open inside him. Jayce has never hated himself more than in this moment.

"I'm fine," you murmur at last, your voice steadier than he expected. "It’s not like I haven’t done anything before, I'm not a prude, just… not this."

You pause, exhaling slowly before finally admitting the words you’ve been trying to say all along. "I know it’s stupid, but I don’t want to look like a clueless idiot if Viktor ever… wants me."

Jayce’s chest aches at how small your voice sounds, at the quiet vulnerability you’re letting slip through the cracks after being so closed off to him for almost three years.

Why do you always say you’re fine when you aren’t? Why won’t you ever let me help? Why can’t you admit you’re scared?

"Viktor would never think you're an idiot," he breathes. "He’d think you’re the smartest girl in the entire world."

You hesitate: “…Yeah?”

"Yeah," he confirms without missing a beat. Then, with a faint smile, he can’t help but add, teasing, "Maybe just a little too thick-headed for your own good."

A weak but genuine laugh escapes your lips, lightening the weight between you, the tension slowly washing away, the tide receding just enough to let you both breathe.

"Big words from someone who compliments himself in the mirror, Jayce," you shoot back with a smirk, eyes glinting with a flicker of mischief. “And it’s not like you’re that big, anyway.”

He huffs out a laugh in disbelief: “Are you seriously pulling that card right now?”

You snort in reply, unable to hold your smile back.

It’s all so absurd, so fucked, tangled in emotions he doesn’t fully understand. But here you are, smiling at him—teasing, but genuine. A fragile thread of connection woven between sarcasm and chaos.

And then it hits him.

You’ve finally said his name.

Not in anger. Not in passing. Not as part of some joke.

Just his name, wrapped in laughter, soft around the edges.

It’s not exactly in the way he’s craved, not in the way that would make this his; but still, his name has left your lips with a real smile, with your eyes looking at nothing but him. Despite everything, it settles something deep inside him, filling the hollow space that’s been eating him alive.

It makes him feel whole.

"I’ll be fine," you tell him again, voice back to the one he knows and adores. "Just… a little slower, alright?"

Jayce exhales, nodding, his grip on you instinctively firming— not possessive, not demanding. Just there. An anchor for you, as much as it is for himself. He’s going to make sure you’re actually fine for once.

“Yeah. Of course,” he promises, but more than that, it carries the weight of a vow, something unspoken yet deeply solemn, something true.

If he’s water, then you are fire, never defeated, blazing brightly with something that could consume him whole. Maybe that’s why he lets himself drown in you—because it’s the only way he can hold onto something that he was never meant to touch.

You will always burn him, and he will always yield to the sound of his name on your lips.

🌸 Taglist Darlings 🌸: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth , @raynoway , @just1cefor4ll , @apexie100

Tip a Coffee ☕: ko-fi.com/lefruitdelapassion

[seoups]

close as strangers - y. itadori

yuji thought everything would be the same when he came back. cw: angst w a bittersweet ending song: close as strangers by 5sos a/n: if i have an opportunity to write angst, i will take it.

"TELLING YOU I HAVENT SEEN YOUR FACE IN AGES. FEELS LIKE WE'RE AS CLOSE AS STRANGERS."

Yuji spent an entire month picturing this moment.

In every spare moment- between training in the basement, laughing with Gojo, and going on missions with Nanami- he thought about you.

He daydreamed about seeing your face again. About wrapping you in one of the tightest hugs he could manage and spinning you around until you laughed and smacked his shoulder as hard as you could, so he’d put you down.

He thought about sitting next to you at lunch and stealing bites from your food, sending you stupid TikTok’s that made you giggle at late hours, walking you back to your dorm room after missions just to talk to you a little longer.

And when he finally saw you standing there with Megumi and Nobara, he thought- Finally.

“Hey! Didja miss me?” He grinned, expecting a dramatic reaction. “You absolute dumbass,” Nobara scoffed, slamming a fist into his shoulder that was a touch too hard to be playful. Megumi let out a sigh of exasperation, “Welcome back.” Yuji laughed, rubbing his arm where Nobara had punched him, and turned to you, “And you? I bet you were devastated without me!” You blinked at him, lips parting, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, after a second too long, you smiled, “Yeah, I missed you a lot.”

It wasn’t what you said. It was how you said it. Like you were forcing the words out. Like you weren’t sure if they were true.

For the first time since he’d come back from the dead, Yuji felt uneasy.

He told himself things would go back to normal. You just needed time. You were probably still in shock. Afterall, he had died. That was a lot to deal with.

So, he gave you space. He didn’t want to push you further than you were ready. But after a few days of dry texts and halfhearted smiles, he decided enough was enough.

“Let’s go out.” You looked up from your textbook, brows knit together, “What?” “On a date! Y’know. Movies, snacks, maybe the arcade? Classic,” He grinned, rocking back and forth on his heels. “Come on, it’ll be fun! It’s been forever since we hung out. Plus, I heard human earthworm 4 is in theatres.”

You hesitated.

And that hesitation hit him harder than any curse ever could.

“Yuji…” you sighed, closing your book. “I don’t know if-” “Oh, nope- none of that!” He wagged a finger at you. “No excuses! You need a break. I need to make up for lost time. And I want to spend time with you, so… let’s go!”

There was an ounce of desperation in his voice that he hoped you couldn’t hear.

You stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally you agreed.

Relief flooded his chest so fast it made him lightheaded. Maybe things could go back to normal.

They couldn’t.

Yuji had tried everything. Everything he’d done with you before. New things. None of it was working.

He took you to a movie and cracked jokes through the trailers, but you had barely laughed. He won you a stuffed dog from a claw machine but you didn’t tease him for going all out like you normally would.

He filled the silence with endless conversation- jumping from one random topic to the next- but your answers were always short, your laughter never quite reaching your eyes.

It was like trying to hold onto something that was slipping through his fingers.

But Yuji was good at ignoring things. He could push down the sting in his chest and drown it out with more conversation, more jokes, more desperate attempts at being normal. But when he walked you back to your dorm room and reached for your hand, you pulled away.

It wasn’t dramatic. Not like you were disgusted or unhappy with it. Just… instinctively. Like you didn’t even realize you were doing it. Yuji felt his heart shatter.

He didn’t bring it up.

Instead, he tried harder. He called you every night, sent you stupid tiktoks, and went out of his way to be around you.

And at first, you humored him. You answered his calls, texted back, and sat with him at lunch.

But it was different.

And deep down, he knew that too.

He just couldn’t admit it.

Because if he admitted it, then he’d have to face it. And he wasn’t prepared for that.

The night he finally let himself say it out loud, it was raining.

You sat across from him in a tiny ramen shop that Yuji had sworn was amazing, your hands curled around a steaming bowl, looking exhausted. Not just physically- but in the way you held yourself, in the way you looked at him, like this conversation had been waiting to happen for a long time.

Yuji gripped his chopsticks a little too tightly, feeling the developing indent on his fingers, “You’re different.” You exhaled slowly, staring down at your food, “So are you.” His chest tightened, “I don’t want to be.” For the first time that night, you looked him in the eyes, “Neither do I.”

Silence.

The rain pattered against the windows, the hum of ongoing conversations around them buzzing like static.

Finally, Yuji spoke, his voice quieter than usual, “We’re not us anymore, are we?” You swallowed hard, “No, I don’t think we are.”

He should have seen this coming. Maybe he had seen it coming and had just been in denial.

“I really wanted this to work,” his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. You nodded, “Me too.”

Another long pause.

Then, you reached across the table, reading your hand in his, “You’re still my favorite person, Yuji.”

His breath hitched.

Yuji forced a small smile on his face, not allowing this to end on a heavy note, “Yeah?” You smiled, tired but real, “yeah.” He flipped his hand, curling his fingers around yours, “You’re mine too.”

You squeezed his hand, just once. And then, slowly, you let go.

And this time, Yuji let you.

[goshikisbaee]

Haikyuu Characters As Your Boyfriend headcanons ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

Content: Fluff

[ Tendou, Lev, Sakusa, Hoshiumi, Mad Dog ]

———

SATORI TENDŌ

He’s Your Biggest Cheerleader

Tendou hypes you up over everything. Whether you just got out of bed or did something impressive, he’s right there with an over-the-top reaction: “Ohhhh?! Look at you, absolute legend!”

Loves Teasing You

He lives for getting a reaction out of you. Expect a lot of playful pokes, dramatic gasps, and teasing nicknames like “mon petit choco ball” or “my adorable little shrimp.”

But He Knows When to Be Serious

As much as he jokes, he immediately drops everything the second you need him. If you’re upset, he’ll quietly sit next to you, letting you lean on him while he strokes your hair.

He’s Weird, and He Owns It

Tendou doesn’t care what people think of him, but he’s always watching how others treat you. If someone makes you uncomfortable, his eerie smile turns sharp, and he’ll make sure they regret it.

He Talks About the Future with You

Even though he acts carefree, he gets emotional thinking about a future where you’re not in his life. When he mentions growing old together, his voice is softer, as if he’s scared to jinx it.

Movie Nights Get Chaotic

Watching movies with Tendou means ridiculous commentary, throwing popcorn, and reenacting dramatic scenes. He’ll randomly pause the screen to make silly observations: “This guy? Total villain vibes.”

Insists on Late-Night Talks

He refuses to let you sleep if he’s feeling chatty. At 2 AM, he’ll roll over and whisper, “Do you think birds ever get bored of flying?”

He Writes You Dumb Love Notes

Expect random sticky notes on your stuff that say things like “Property of the most gorgeous human ever.” Some are heartfelt, but most are chaotic: “If you read this, you have to kiss me. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Holds Your Face When He Kisses You

He cups your cheeks with both hands, grinning before pulling you into a deep kiss. Sometimes, he just boops your nose instead and laughs when you pout.

He Loves PDA

Tendou is not shy about showing affection. He throws an arm around you, nuzzles into your shoulder, and loudly announces, “This right here? This is my absolute favorite human.”

He Gets Jealous in the Goofiest Way

If someone flirts with you, he’ll dramatically fake cry: “Babe, how could you do this to me?!” before pulling you into a hug, mumbling “Mine.”

He’s Not Used to Feeling Truly Loved

As confident as he seems, deep down, he has insecurities from how people treated him in the past. When you tell him how much you love him, he laughs it off, but you see the flicker of disbelief in his eyes.

He Gets Overwhelmed When You’re Gentle with Him

The first time you softly cup his face and say “I love you” without teasing, he doesn’t know how to react. He swallows hard, blinking rapidly before hiding his face in your shoulder.

He Remembers the Little Things About You

Your favorite snacks? Got them stocked. That random story you told him once? He brings it up months later. He doesn’t just listen—he remembers.

He Dances with You Out of Nowhere

You could be making coffee, and suddenly he’s twirling you around like it’s a ballroom. No music? No problem—he’ll hum something ridiculous and dip you dramatically.

He Loves Making You Laugh

Nothing makes him happier than hearing your laughter. He’ll do anything—bad impressions, ridiculous faces, even tripping over his own feet—just to see you smile.

He Lets You See His Vulnerable Side

It takes a while, but eventually, he opens up about how he felt isolated in the past. When he does, his voice is quiet, and his grip on your hand is tight, like he’s afraid you’ll leave.

He Gets Super Excited About Random Things

One day, he’ll wake up and be like “We should build a pillow fort today.” Or “What if we got matching socks?” His energy is unpredictable, but you love it.

He’s Your Ride-Or-Die

No matter what, Tendou always has your back. If someone hurts you, his usual playful demeanor turns cold as he leans in and whispers, “You really don’t wanna mess with them.”

He Loves You Loudly and Unapologetically

Tendou doesn’t love in halves—he loves you with everything he has. He doesn’t care if people stare when he runs up to hug you or if his affection is too much. You’re his person, and he’ll never let you forget it.

———

KIYOOMI SAKUSA

Slow to Open Up, But Deeply Loyal

Sakusa doesn’t trust easily, but once he lets you in, he’s unwaveringly loyal. He’s not the type to say “I love you” often, but when he does, it’s always deeply sincere.

Germaphobe Affection

At first, he avoids casual touches, but as he grows comfortable, he finds small ways to show affection—holding your sleeve instead of your hand or bumping his shoulder against yours instead of hugging.

Protective in a Quiet Way

He won’t openly admit it, but he worries about you constantly. If you’re in a crowded place, he subtly stands between you and strangers. If you’re sick, he nags you about taking medicine but won’t leave your side.

Dry, Sarcastic Humor

His humor is razor-sharp and deadpan. “You’re dating me? Must be tough.” You know it’s his way of teasing, especially when you catch the amused glint in his eyes.

Low-Key Jealousy

Sakusa doesn’t get openly jealous, but he will stare down anyone who flirts with you. He won’t say anything, just silently seethe and hold your hand a little tighter.

Subtle but Deep Affection

He’s not one for grand gestures, but he shows his love in quiet ways—bringing you your favorite tea, fixing your hoodie strings when they’re uneven, remembering every little detail you tell him.

Prefers Texting Over Calls

He’s not big on phone calls, but he always responds to your texts, even if it’s just a simple “Okay.” If he sends you a “Take care” out of nowhere, it means he’s thinking about you.

Secretly Loves When You’re Clingy

He acts like he’s annoyed when you lean on him or cling to his arm, but if you pull away, he frowns slightly and mumbles, “…I didn’t say stop.”

He Cleans Up After You Without Complaining

If you leave your stuff everywhere, he sighs but organizes it neatly instead of scolding you. If you tease him about it, he’ll just say, “If I don’t do it, who will?”

Acts Tough but Melts for You

He keeps up a cool, indifferent image, but if you cup his face and tell him he’s handsome, he’ll turn red and grumble, “Shut up.”

He’s a Great Listener

Sakusa isn’t a big talker, but he listens to you like you’re the most important person in the world. He remembers things you said months ago, bringing them up when you least expect it.

Won’t Let You Get Away with Lying

If you say you’re fine when you’re clearly not, he gives you a long, unimpressed stare. “Try again,” he says, waiting until you tell him what’s really wrong.

He Always Checks the Weather for You

If it’s cold, he makes sure you have a jacket. If it’s raining, he hands you an umbrella before you even think about it. He’ll never admit it, but he loves taking care of you.

Prefers Comfortable Silence Over Small Talk

He’s not a fan of unnecessary conversation, but he loves just sitting beside you, enjoying each other’s presence without feeling the need to fill the silence.

He’s Low-Key Clingy When He’s Sleepy

When he’s exhausted, he loses his usual grumpiness and just quietly leans against you. If you move, he grumbles “Don’t go yet,” keeping a loose grip on your wrist.

Stubborn, But Would Do Anything for You

Sakusa doesn’t like being told what to do—unless it’s by you. He’ll pretend to argue, but in the end, he always gives in with a quiet, “…Fine.”

Late-Night Talks When He Can’t Sleep

On rare nights when he’s restless, he’ll text you at 2 AM with a simple “You up?” If you are, he talks about everything on his mind in a way he never does during the day.

He’s Unintentionally Romantic

He doesn’t think of himself as romantic, but the way he softly brushes hair from your face, remembers your coffee order, or mutters “I’ll always be here” is more meaningful than any grand gesture.

He Needs Reassurance More Than He Lets On

Sakusa pretends he doesn’t care what people think, but deep down, he worries he’s too much—too distant, too complicated. When you tell him you love him as he is, he just nods, but his grip on your hand tightens.

He Loves You in His Own Way

Sakusa isn’t loud about his love, but it’s in everything he does—the way he waits for you without being asked, the way he softens around you, the way he lets you into his quiet little world when no one else ever has.

———

KŌRAI HOSHIUMI

Endless Energy

Dating Hoshiumi means zero dull moments. He’s always on the move, bouncing from one topic to another, dragging you into spontaneous adventures.

Wants to Impress You Constantly

He loves showing off for you, whether it’s his volleyball skills, his speed, or even random tricks like flipping a bottle perfectly onto a ledge. “Did you see that?! I’m amazing, right?”

Gets Flustered When You Compliment Him

He acts cocky, but the moment you genuinely tell him he’s incredible, he short-circuits. He turns pink, waves you off, and mumbles, “Yeah, yeah, I know…” but secretly, your words mean everything to him.

Competitive About Everything

Game night? He has to win. Eating a snack? He’ll take a bite of yours just to “claim victory.” If you challenge him, be ready—he’ll give it his all.

He’s Small but Fierce

If anyone disrespects you, he’s instantly ready to throw hands. His height doesn’t stop him from stepping up to people twice his size with zero hesitation.

Surprise Attacks of Affection

One second, you’re minding your business, and the next, he’s jumping on your back or wrapping his arms around you from behind. He thrives on catching you off guard.

Calls You Cute Nicknames (Even Weird Ones)

Expect random nicknames like “My Little Seagull” or “Shortcake” (even if you’re taller than him). He’ll grin every time he calls you one.

Needs Constant Attention

He will pout if you don’t text him back fast enough. If you’re on your phone but not talking to him, he’ll dramatically sigh: “Wow, ignored? In my own relationship?”

Shows Love Through Playful Insults

Instead of saying “I love you” outright, he’ll smirk and say, “Tch, I guess you’re kinda cool.” But if you ever doubt his feelings, his teasing stops, and he gets serious real fast.

Steals Your Food Without Regret

You’ll turn your head for one second, and suddenly, your fries are gone. When you glare at him, he just grins. “You love me, so it’s fine, right?”

Super Dramatic When Sick

He’ll act like he’s on his deathbed over a tiny cold, clinging to you and groaning, “This is it… Tell my team I was amazing.” But if you’re sick? He’s at your side in a heartbeat, fussing over you nonstop.

Protective Without Being Overbearing

He won’t tell you what to do, but if someone’s bothering you? He’s suddenly standing in front of you, arms crossed, radiating pure menace. “You got a problem?”

Can’t Sleep Without Saying Goodnight

Even if he’s exhausted, he will call or text you before bed. If he falls asleep mid-text, you’ll get a string of gibberish followed by “…zzz” LOLL

Loves Physical Contact but Pretends He Doesn’t

He acts cool, but he secretly loves it when you hold his hand or ruffle his hair. If you hug him out of nowhere, he melts—then immediately denies it.

Gets Jealous but Won’t Admit It

If someone flirts with you, he’ll get extra clingy and competitive, casually reminding them (and you) that he’s way better than any competition.

Loves Watching You Watch Him Play

When he knows you’re in the crowd, he plays extra hard. Every time he scores, he sneaks a glance at you, making sure you saw.

Hypes You Up No Matter What

He’s your personal cheerleader, screaming about how amazing you are at the top of his lungs, no matter how small the accomplishment.

Will Try to Scare You for Fun

He lives for sneaking up behind you and shouting “BOO!” just to see your reaction. But if you ever manage to scare him? He yells and insists he totally wasn’t scared.

Low-Key Soft for You

For all his loud, playful energy, he has quiet moments too—like resting his head in your lap after a long practice, sighing happily when you run your fingers through his hair.

Loves You Unconditionally

Hoshiumi is chaotic, competitive, and energetic, but when he looks at you, his eyes soften. No matter how much he jokes around, he adores you, and he makes sure you know it.

———

LEV HAIBA

Overexcited Puppy Energy

Lev is like a giant golden retriever—he’s constantly hyped about everything, especially you. If you so much as smile at him, he grins back like you just gave him the best news of his life.

Terrible at Subtlety

If he likes something about you—your hair, your laugh, the way you talk—he says it immediately. No filter. “Your nose is so cute. I just noticed! Wow, I love it.”

Loves Picking You Up

He will lift you off the ground just because he can. If you protest, he pouts. “But you’re so tiny! Let me carry you!” (Even if you’re tall, he still tries.)

Shameless with PDA

Lev loves showing affection in public. He’ll wrap an arm around you, kiss your cheek randomly, or proudly declare “That’s my partner!” to anyone within earshot.

Forgets How Big He Is

He leans on you like he’s a small guy. Spoiler: he’s not. You’ve nearly toppled over multiple times because he flops onto you without thinking.

Dramatic About Everything

If you ignore his texts for five minutes, he sends “RIP me” and dramatically collapses when he sees you next. If you compliment someone else, he gasps, “BETRAYAL.”

Obsessed with Taking Cute Pictures Together

He has an entire album of just you two. If you’re not in the mood, he pouts. “Come on, we need to capture our beauty!”

Fails at Being Smooth

Lev thinks he’s suave, but he’s so awkward. “Hey… do you, uh, wanna—uh, wait, what was I saying? Oh! Date! Yeah, I love dating you!”

Randomly Sings to You (Terribly)

His voice is awful, but he doesn’t care. He sings random made-up songs about how much he loves you. “I loooove my amazing partner, they’re soooo cute and smol—”

Jealousy? Immediate Panic Mode

If someone flirts with you, he freaks out. He either sulks dramatically (“Am I not enough?!”) or gets clingy (“Hey, babe, let’s go over there far away from them”).

Tries to Teach You Volleyball (Fails)

If you’re not a volleyball player, he insists on teaching you. But he gets way too excited, accidentally spikes the ball at you, and immediately panics.

Insanely Protective, Even When Unnecessary

“Wait, did that person just bump into you? Do I need to fight?” Spoiler: They did not. But he’s ready to defend your honor anyway.

Writes Your Name All Over His Notes

His notebooks are full of volleyball sketches and your name written over and over. Yaku once caught him and made fun of him for days.

Loves Buying You Gifts (Even If They’re Weird)

His gifts are… interesting. One time, he gave you a tiny plush because it reminded him of you. Another time? A giant volleyball.

Can’t Stop Talking About You

His teammates all know about you. They roll their eyes every time he starts a sentence with “Did you know my partner—” because yes, Lev, they know.

Forgets to Text Back but Then Spams You

If he forgets to respond for hours, he suddenly sends 50 texts in a row: “SORRY BABE” “I STILL LOVE YOU” “PLEASE DON’T DUMP ME” “ARE YOU OKAY”

Needs Constant Reassurance

Lev acts confident, but deep down, he worries he’s too much. If you tell him you love him, he beams like the sun—but if you say it while holding his face? He melts.

Horrible at Keeping Surprises

He gets too excited and spoils things immediately. “I got you something!” “Lev, it’s not my birthday yet.” “…Oh. But I wanna give it to you now.”

Loves Falling Asleep on You

He’s huge but sleeps like a cat on your lap. The downside? His legs always end up on top of you.

Loves You Loudly and Completely

Lev doesn’t do anything halfway. He loves you with his whole heart, loudly and proudly. Even if he’s clumsy, awkward, or over-the-top, his love is real, and he never lets you forget it.

———

KENTARŌ KYŌTANI

Love at Full Intensity

Mad Dog doesn’t do things halfway—when he falls for you, it’s hard. He might not always know how to express it, but his love for you is raw and overwhelming.

Awkward with Affection

He’s not great at soft romantic gestures, so when he tries to be sweet, it’s usually super clumsy. Like, instead of saying “I miss you,” he’ll just grumble, “Tch, where have you been?”

Absolutely Horrible at Flirting

His idea of flirting is just… intense staring. He doesn’t realize he looks like he’s about to fight you instead of confess his feelings.

Gets Jealous but Tries to Hide It

If someone gets too close to you, he clenches his fists, scowls, and mutters under his breath. He won’t start a fight, but his energy screams possessive.

Cannot Handle Compliments

The second you praise him, he turns bright red and either changes the subject or mutters, “Shut up.” But later, you’ll catch him secretly smiling to himself.

Not Good with Words but Shows Love Through Actions

He’s not the type to say “I love you” every day, but he will walk you home, carry your bags, and casually throw his jacket over you when it’s cold.

Defends You in a Second

Someone talks badly about you? Instant death glare. Someone bumps into you? He’s already stepping forward like he’s ready to throw hands.

Surprisingly Shy with PDA

Despite his rough personality, he gets super stiff when you grab his hand in public. But if you let go, he’ll glare and mumble, “Who said you could stop?”

The Type to Blush After Kissing You

He acts all tough, but if you suddenly kiss him? He short-circuits, turns away, and says something dumb like “Whatever, it wasn’t that great.” (Spoiler: It was, and he’s dying inside.)

Protects You Like It’s His Job

He’s always watching out for you, even when you don’t notice. Crossing the street? His hand is automatically on your back. Walking in a crowd? He moves people out of your way.

A Little Bit Clingy (But in Denial About It)

If you don’t text him for a while, he won’t say anything—but he will send you a single “?” to let you know he’s thinking about you.

Has No Idea How to Comfort You (But Tries His Best)

If you’re upset, he panics. “Uh—do you need food? A fight? A nap?” Eventually, he just pulls you into a tight hug and stays quiet, because that’s all he really knows how to do.

Horrible at Surprises

He sucks at keeping secrets. If he buys you a gift, he’ll shove it at you immediately like, “Here. Take it. Now.”

Thinks About You More Than He’d Ever Admit

Even during volleyball practice, he catches himself wondering what you’re doing. If his teammates tease him about it, he denies everything.

Gets Competitive Over the Dumbest Things

If you beat him at a video game, he demands a rematch. If you say another player is cool, he immediately starts listing why he’s better.

Has No Social Filter

If someone annoys him while he’s with you, he has zero hesitation in saying, “Can you leave? You’re ruining my time.”

Secretly Loves It When You Ruffle His Hair

If you do it in public, he complains (“I’m not a kid!”). But if you do it when it’s just the two of you, he closes his eyes and leans into it.

Randomly Drops the Cutest, Most Genuine Comments

He’s not great with words, but sometimes, out of nowhere, he’ll say something like, “You’re the only person I don’t get tired of.” And it’ll hit way harder than a simple “I love you.”

Has No Idea How to Be Romantic (But He Tries)

Dates with him are either super intense (“Let’s go to a trampoline park and race!”) or super awkward (“…What do couples even do?”). But no matter what, he always has fun just being with you.

Loves You in His Own Way

He may not be the most traditionally romantic boyfriend, but when he loves, he loves hard. He’s rough around the edges, but he’s fiercely loyal, deeply protective, and always yours.

———

[dollesung]

FEMME FATALE .ᐟ

PAIRING. jungwon x fem reader GENRE. nsfw REQUESTED? yes. WORD COUNT. 1.7k. SYNOPSIS. after a girls day out with your friends, you show your boyfriend, jungwon, your newest set of nails. let's just say he's more than a fan. WARNINGS. sub jungwon. dom reader. reader also yaps a lot. profanities. handjob. dirty talk. jungwon thinking with his penis and his penis only. (lmao). minors do not interact.

NOTE. i wrote this at the hospital semi-drugged on some strong-ass painkillers. i shouldn’t be held responsible for whatever the fuck i wrote but i will be (i’m jk, not about the hospital and the drugs tho.)

Jungwon was waiting by the couch when you got home.

Arm perched by the backrest, with a late-night show illuminating on the TV. Jungwon was nearly half-asleep, as he blankly stared at the screen, but his face lightened at the sight of your figure entering your shared-apartment.

You had an exhausting, but exciting day out with your girl friends. You spent a lot of hours shopping for clothes and bags, as well as pampering yourself with an entire session at a spa and salon.

You deserved it after tiring your back out at work for months now, project after project piling themselves at your desk. Jungwon, of course, your ever-loving boyfriend who could never resist you, absolutely agreed that you needed some time off and supported your endevour.

“Baby, you’re home,” speaking of, Jungwon greets you as you walk in the door, with a multiple array of shopping bags in both hands. “Let me help you with those.”

You give him a grin, handing over half of the bags and letting Jungwon place them on the sofa. He grabs the remote from the coffee table by the TV and shuts it off, wanting to focus entiret on you. (Not that he cared much about that show, anyway.)

Jungwon sets some of your bags down on the floor, leaving a bit of space for the two of you to sit.

“So,” he begins. “How was your day?”

MORE UNDER THE CUT.

“Oh, it was fantastic,” you gush, repositioning yourself to face your boyfriend. “The girls and I spent waaaay too much cash on this one spa but it was kinda worth it because I’ve never felt so relaxed—“

You begin to tell him loads of anecdotes about your day, the stuff you bought, the stores you went into, and without question, Jungwon listened quietly, resting his elbow against the couch and his head against his hand. He let you go on for a few minutes, wanting to hear everything about your day.

“—then, after that, we went to a Dior store, I bought you a perfume, but thankfully they didn’t have the shoes I wanted in my size because I was sure I was going broke already, and oh—!” You stop mid-rant, suddenly remembering something you had in mind earlier today.

“Yes?” Jungwon pried you to continue.

“I got my nails done!” You exclaimed, excited. “You wanna see them?”

“Of course, baby,” Jungwon responded with interest.

You squealed in delight, excited to show the man your new set. You always loved getting your nails done, but in the last couple of months, you were unable to get them fixed due to work.

“Okay, close your eyes,” you instructed, and Jungwon obliged. You placed your hands, palms down in front of his face and told him to look. “Open them.”

Jungwon eyes fluttered open as you told him to, and he was immediately greeted with the image of both of your hands.

“Tada!” You giggled. “I got them in your favorite color!”

The nails, colored both blue and black with a chromatic finish, shined as Jungwon eyed them, with a hand on your wrist so he could get a better look.

“These are really pretty—“ Jungwon notes, feeling his mouth go a little dry. “And long…”

You give the man a frown. “Do you not like them?”

“No—!” He exclaims, giving you an eager look. “I love them! They’re pretty.. I’ve just.. never seen you go for long nails before.”

Not knowing what to say, you keep quiet, watching as Jungwon continues to examine your nails like he’s never seen anything like it before.

You begin to notice a subtle flush of color in his cheeks, as well as the sudden change in his demeanor. His eyes flick between your face and your hands, and you notice him swallow, before licking his lips.

Then, your eyes flick down, towards his lap.

“Oh,” you vocalize, eyebrows raised and lips curling into a smirk. “Really, Wonnie?”

There was an evident print of his bulge against his shorts, which you swore wasn’t there before, given the fact that he’s been staring at your hands a little longer than an average person would, and his earlier expressions, the puzzle pieces click in your head.

Jungwon seems to have noticed your realization, as he makes a move to pull away and hide. “S-Sorry–!”

You grab the man by the wrist, lithe fingers wrapping themselves around the limb. You can almost feel his pulse quickening. “Don’t hide, baby.”

His face is flushed red, and he’s attempting to look away from you, possibly ashamed. You reach out with your other hand, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look you in the eye. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you comfort. “It’s okay.”

“I-I don’t know why…” He attempts.

“There’s no need to explain, love,” you give him a comforting smile. “C’mere.”

You pull him forward gently, allowing him to settle on your lap. You place a hand on his hip, while your other hand starts to brush up against his leg, leaving feather-like touches from his waist, down to his thigh, to his knees. 

Jungwon’s breath hitches, eyes locked on your hands, watching your every move. Then, after fiddling with the hem of Jungwon’s shorts, you press your palm against his bulge, cupping his half-hard cock against his shorts.

“Ah, n-noona,” Jungwon moans. “Y-Your hand…”

“Want me to stop?” You ask, watching Jungwon’s face for any signs of discomfort.

Instead, Jungwon fervently shakes his head, urging you to continue. You press your hand against him a little harder, eliciting a moan from the other. He throws his head back a little, his hands grabbing your shoulders for support.

Jungwon’s hips produce the tiniest bit of movement, and you’re not even sure if he’s aware he’s done it, but you urge him on, gripping his hip with your other hand and letting him grind against you.

“Fuck,” he curses, already looking breathless as he continues to grind on your hand. “Please?”

“Please what?” You look up at the boy, drunk on the image of him absolutely flushed and panting on your lap. “Let noona know what you want.”

Jungwon gasps, hands clenching against your shoulders. “Y-Your hand, please?”

A small part of you wants to continue teasing him, wants to see how far he can beg just for your hand alone, but you decide to take pity on the boy. You push him off your lap and instruct him to take his shorts and boxers off. 

Drunk on his own arousal, Jungwon follows as instructed, tugging the articles of clothing off of himself and unto the floor. Then, you tell him to turn around and sit back on your lap, right after you lean against the arm of the couch. 

Jungwon hesitantly takes his spot back on your lap, and you pull him close, his back flush against your chest. You start to press open-mouthed kisses against the expanse of his neck, relishing at the way the boy shivers at each one.

“Please, ah– stop teasing me,” Jungwon voices, hands placed on each of your knee.

You let out an entertained chuckle, letting your hands wander under Jungwon’s shirt. “You’re not exactly in the right position to be making demands, baby.”

Jungwon didn’t respond and remained quiet, whimpering as your fingers brushed against his nipples, before trailing back down to his legs. You watched in amusement as goosebumps appeared against his skin when you rake your nails ever so lightly against his inner thighs.

Your take a glance at the appendage between his legs, his cock, now hard as a rock, stood between his thighs, looking a little closer, you can almost see the precum pooling from the tip.

You laugh, amused. “You’re so fucking hard, huh?”

Jungwon doesn’t respond, embarrassed at the entire situation, eyes closed shut to avoid both looking at you and at his own arousal. 

“This what you wanted, Wonnie?” You ask rhetorically, before slowly wrapping your fingers around his cock.

“S-Shit,” he curses under his breath.

“Answer me,” you order, giving his cock a rough squeeze.

“Fuck, yes–!” He yelps, panting against your chest. 

“Good boy,” you whisper in his ear with a smirk, before starting a slow pace, stroking his cock with your hand.

“Oh, god,” Jungwon moans, hand loosely holding onto your wrist, as if he was bracing himself. 

You take a minute, stroking his cock at this pace, after a while, you decide to speed things up, focusing on the base of his cock. 

“O-Oh, noona–!” Jungwon’s moans only grow in volume, throwing his head back, against your shoulder. He’s starting to thrash on your lap, legs shaking and eyes closing from the sensation.

“Feels good, hm?” You taunt the boy on your lap, drunk on every moan he lets out. “Feel good, acting like a slut on my lap, Wonnie?”

The boy practically squeals, shaking his head, as if to deny your claim. “N-Not a– shit!”

You didn’t let him finish, the pace of your hand picking up speed as you continued to jerk him off. His thighs begin to shake, threatening to close on your wrists, but your legs keep him from doing so, trapping his legs between yours.

“Look at this fucking cock,” you taunt, giving the organ an experimental squeeze. “Fuckin’ leaking all over my hand.”

Jungwon whines, both hands now gripping your wrist. You’re not sure if he’s attempting to push you off or urging you to continue. ‘’m suh– sorry!”

You take Jungwon’s chin with your other hand, forcing him to look down. “This what you wanted, Wonnie? My hand around your cock, hm?”

He’s nodding so aggressively, eyes locked on his cock, as if he was hypnotized at the sight of your hand– or more importantly, at the sight of your nails, wrapped around his dick.

“Please, n-noona–!” He’s whining, back nearly arching against your chest as you continued your assault on his cock. “I-I’m, ungh, c-close!”

“Want you to cum, baby,” you mouth against Jungwon’s ear. “Cum all over noona’s hand, baby.”

It takes only four strokes before Jungwon was cumming all over your lap. His back arched and head thrown back, eyes shut and mouth open in a silent scream. After a moment, he wilts and nearly collapses against your chest.

As you maneuver him off your lap and onto the couch, you grab a tissue from the coffee table to clean the both of you up. Jungwon is still catching his breath by the arm of the couch after you finish.

“So,” you start. “I’m definitely going back to that nail salon.”

Jungwon chucks a pillow over your head in retaliation.

NOTE. ngl, can't remember writing that ending so idk why it sucks so much.

© dollesung 2025

[letmebeyourcrrsh]

the echo of his broken heart

idol!jeongin x reader

warnings: mention of hate, angst?

tell me if there is more-

genre: breakup

summary: you are dating the one and only maknae of stray kids. you two had been in a happy and healthy relationship for very long now.. until suddenly the internet was filled with pictures of you two…

You never thought you'd be here. Never thought the day would come when you'd have to walk away from him. The man who made your heart feel whole.

Jeongin was your secret—your calm in the chaos. You never wanted the world to know about your relationship. It was yours and his, tucked away in a quiet corner of the universe. The late-night phone calls, the stolen kisses when no one was looking, the soft promises to always be there for each other… That was enough. It was always enough.

But nothing stays hidden forever.

It was one photo. One innocent moment. You were both at a small café, tucked away in a quiet corner, laughing at something he had said. It was like any other day. However.. A fan saw. A fan snapped a picture, and from that moment, everything shattered.

At first, it was just curiosity.

“Is this real?” “Who are they?”

People wanted to know. But soon, the floodgates opened, and the hate followed.

They don`t deserve him. They’ll ruin his career. They’re just using him. They dont even look good next to him? ew. Bet they are only there for the money.

Jeongin tried to protect you at first, tried to deflect the hate, tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But you saw the pain in his eyes. You heard the exhaustion in his voice when he called you late at night, asking how you were holding up.

It hurt him. And it hurt you.

The once peaceful love you had shared started to feel suffocating. You didn’t want to be a part of the world that was judging you, tearing apart your life for the mere crime of loving someone who happened to be famous. But you knew that as long as Jeongin was by your side, you could endure it.

But then came the threats.

They started slowly—comments on his posts, DMs flooding his inbox. It wasn’t just hate anymore. It was fear. The " fans " were relentless. They told him to end it with you before things got worse. They said if he cared about his career, he would choose them over you. They said you weren’t good enough for him, and that you would bring him down.

And then the worst part came.

The messages you received. The ones that told you to leave him. The ones that told you to disappear. They weren’t just cruel; they were dangerous. They said they knew where you lived. They said they knew everything about you.

Your life became a nightmare.

You wanted to fight back, to scream at them that they didn’t know you, that you weren’t some kind of villain. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t risk his safety. You couldn’t risk your own.

And in the quietest, darkest part of your heart, you knew what was coming. You knew this couldn’t go on.

It was the night after a particularly ugly comment had gone viral. Jeongin called you. His voice was low, almost robotic, as if he had rehearsed these words a thousand times in his head.

“Y/N, we need to talk.”

You already knew what he was going to say.

“I think... it’s best if we end this,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

Your chest tightened. You had been expecting it. You had known it was coming. But hearing him say the words felt like a knife twisting in your heart.

“No,” you whispered. “Please, Jeongin. We can’t just let them win. We’ll figure this out. We can make it through.”

He was silent for a moment. And then, you heard the deep, painful exhale of a man who was already broken inside.

“I can’t do this anymore, Y/N. I can’t see you like this. You’re scared all the time. You’re hurting, and it’s because of me. You don’t deserve this. You deserve peace. You deserve a life that isn’t filled with hate and threats.”

Your tears began to fall silently, as if your heart knew the end was coming even before your mind could process it.

“Jeongin,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I don’t care about the hate. I care about you. You’re worth every bit of pain. I just want to be with you.”

He was crying now, and his voice was barely audible as he responded, “I love you so much, Y/N. I always will. But the truth is… I’m not enough to keep you safe. I can’t protect you from this. I can’t let you drown in a world that doesn’t care about you the way I do.”

Your world felt like it was crumbling. All of the love you shared, all the quiet moments, the dreams you had together—they were slipping through your fingers, and you couldn’t stop it.

“Please… don’t ask me to walk away,” you begged, your heart breaking with every word. “I can’t do this without you.”

But he was already shaking his head. “I’m so sorry. You’re everything to me, but I can’t be the reason you lose yourself.”

There was no more fight in him. No more hope in his eyes. Just sorrow. Just resignation.

And so, you did what you had to do. You said goodbye. The words felt empty as they left your lips. They were hollow, unable to fill the space between you two, because the truth was, neither of you wanted this. Neither of you wanted to let go.

“I’ll never forget you,” he whispered, his voice broken. “I promise.”

You wanted to say the same, but it was too much. The tears clouded your vision as you turned away, walking out of his life with the weight of everything you couldn’t change.

And as you walked away, all you could hear was the echo of his broken heart, calling your name in the distance.

[callme-holly]

Hello there, I saw you were taking requests, (free feel to ignore this) but I was wondering if you could do a younger version of the gang and a younger. Meeting when they were kids, like really cute, and the gang and reader having crushes. Like very childish. Hope you have a great day!

-🐭

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 (𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧)

a/n: this is so cute i canttttt

Darry Curtis:

You and Darry first meet each other when you’re around 10. You both spotted each other in the playground, and he was already incredibly responsible and serious, looking after his brothers and chasing after them. 

You first spoke when his younger brother Sodapop knocked you over and you scraped your knee. Darry was very quick to help you, and like the little gentleman he is, he apologised profusely and checked you over, cleaning you off.

After that, he made it his job to protect you and wouldn’t let a single kid make fun of you. He definitely had a tiny crush on you and would get flustered anytime you hugged him or smiled at him. 

Sodapop Curtis:

 You met Soda when you were both 8, and he immediately adored you. He developed a little crush on you very quickly and would always bring you little flowers or pictures. 

He was always trailing after you, helping you whenever you needed and making sure you were happy. He loved when you laughed at his jokes and would always try to impress you in different, silly ways. 

He would always gush over you to his mom, telling her how pretty you were and how amazing you were.

Ponyboy Curtis:

You and Pony both met when you were 6 in kindergarten. He was a little shy at first and didn’t tend to talk to many people; however, when you introduced yourself, he very quickly came out of his shell. 

He loved to draw with you or sit and look at all the picture books with you, and the two of you would spend hours together. He’d get nervous whenever you’d hug him or hold his hand, his cheeks flushing pink.

He’d always make sure his seat was next to yours, and if you weren’t, he’d be all sad and pouty for the rest of the day.

Johnny Cade:

You and Johnny first met when you were 7, and he was the most timid, sweetest kid ever. He was very quiet and would always stay on the sidelines, but the moment you started talking to him, his whole face lit up, and pretty soon you were both inseparable.

You became his favourite person in the whole world; you’d share snacks at lunch and hold hands wherever you went. He’d get very flustered around you, his cheeks flushing red, and he’d look away. 

One time, you told him he was your “most favourite friend in the whole world,” and he couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day. 

Dallas Winton:

You met Dally at 9, when you caught him getting into some kind of trouble. He was rough and a little guarded, so your first impression of him was that he was rude and not very kind. However, that changed when he protected you at the playground once, and soon you thought the world of him.

He pretended to be too cool for your affection, but he’d secretly get very flustered whenever you’d gush over him. He’d always try to impress you, stealing your snacks or climbing trees to show you how high he could go. 

If someone ever made you upset, he’d go and find them and force them to apologise. 

Steve Randle:

You and Steve met when you were 8, and you thought he was the funniest kid around. He’d always make silly jokes just to hear you laugh or to see you smile, and whenever you did, he’d grin like he’d won a prize.

He’d always race you everywhere, turning everything into a little game, and secretly letting you win almost every single time. He never really gets flustered, and if you ever hug him or hold his hand, he’d just act all smug and cocky. 

Two-Bit Mathews:

You and Two met at 9, and he immediately decided that you were his favourite person to joke around with. He’d always tease you in the sweetest way, pulling on your hair gently and giving you cute little nicknames.

He always enjoyed it when you laughed at his jokes, and one time, he found a cheap little ring and presented it to you like he was proposing. You two definitely had a playground wedding. 

He always shared his snacks with you, sometimes giving you his whole lunch, claiming that he was a gentleman. 

[teddiee]

Into Each Life: Chapter 15

Summary:

He lands hard on the floor—metal ridges biting into his skin—and a new wave of adrenaline slams into him. Tony bucks wildly, thrashing. A knee pins his thigh, a forearm braces across his chest. Someone mutters a curse. For a second, it sounds like they might sedate him. Tony wonders if they’ll press a cloth soaked in chloroform over his mouth, maybe jam a needle into his neck. But no sedation comes. Instead, they force him into a corner, shoulders jammed against cold steel.

The engine rumbles to life.

Words: 11,090

Content Warning : 18+ (Explicit language)

Tony’s fingers tremble as he dials. The heavy brass rotary clicks under his touch, each number dragging out the inevitable. The dim glow of the servant’s quarters is the only thing keeping him from feeling like he’s suffocating entirely. It’s not much, but it’s enough to stop his hands from shaking too visibly.

The line crackles. One ring. Two.

Then—

“Yeah?”

Bucky’s voice is thick with exhaustion, a low rasp wrapped in the remnants of sleep. Tony almost falters, almost drops the phone back onto the receiver. But he can’t. He’s already let the moment stretch too long.

He licks his lips, forces his tone to be light, breezy, the way he does when things are spiraling out of his control.

“Guess who’s off the market?”

He immediately winces.

Silence.

A stillness so sharp it might as well be the edge of a knife pressed against his skin.

Then—

CRASH.

Tony jerks the receiver away from his ear as a deafening smash rattles through the line.

Something heavy, ceramic maybe, a plate, hits the wall on the other end. The muffled shout of Steve’s voice follows, alarmed, urgent.

“What the hell, Buck—?”

Tony breathes out a slow, unsteady exhale.

Bucky’s voice is different when it comes back. Lower. Tighter. Lethal.

“Say that again.”

Tony closes his eyes. “It’s official,” he says, voice steadier than he feels. “Howard has it all lined up. Contracts, legalities, the whole nine yards. I’m spoken for.”

Another beat of silence.

Then—

A low, guttural sound rumbles through the receiver.

Tony stiffens. He’s never heard Bucky make that sound before.

It’s not anger. Not entirely.

It’s something more. Something primordial. Something deadly.

“Who.”

Tony doesn’t answer immediately. He doesn’t have to.

Bucky already knows.

But he needs to hear it anyway.

Tony swallows. “Stone.”

The sharp inhale on the other end tells him everything.

Then—

“That’s not happening.”

Tony lets out a weak laugh, but it’s humorless. Wet. “Hate to break it to you, stud, but my old man’s not really one for democratic decision-making.”

Another bang. This time, something heavier. Maybe a chair against the wall.

Steve’s voice, distant and alarmed, filters through again. “Jesus, Buck, calm the hell down—”

“Tell me everything.” Bucky’s voice is so quiet, so measured, that it sends an actual chill down Tony’s spine. “Now.”

So Tony does.

He tells Bucky about the inevitable contract, the moment his father told him like it was a business transaction, the way Tiberius had stood there, smug, reveling in his victory.

He strategically leaves out the part about the press of lips against his cheek, the suffocating scent of the Alpha curling around him, the way his thumb had pressed against Tony’s scent gland like he had a claim.

He doesn’t need Bucky destroying any more of his and Steve’s meager furniture.

Tony doesn’t realize his breathing has gone shallow until he hears Bucky’s next exhale. It’s shaking.

Then, barely above a whisper:

“I’m going to kill him.”

It’s not a threat.

It’s a promise.

Tony exhales shakily, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, well, if you could do that without landing yourself in Leavenworth, that’d be swell—”

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Tony,” Bucky snarls. “He can’t have you. He won’t. I won’t let him.”

Tony flinches, but not out of fear. Out of something else. Something deep in his chest that tightens at the possessive edge in Bucky’s voice.

Because this isn’t just about keeping Tony safe.

This is about keeping Tony.

The silence stretches thick between them, heavy with something unspoken. Then, after what feels like an eternity:

“Tell me where you are.”

Tony hesitates. “Bucky—”

“Tell me where you are, Tony. Now. Tell me he’s not—”

Tony swallows hard. “I’m safe. I’m okay, I’m with the Jarvises.”

He glances at Jarvis, who is watching with quiet, measured concern. The butler doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.

Tony inhales sharply. Then, slowly:

“I have a plan.”

Bucky’s breath is sharp. “I don’t give a damn about plans. I need you out. I need you with me.”

Tony’s chest clenches. “I know. But if I don’t do this right, I’ll never be free.”

Bucky is silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, deliberately:

“If you’re not free,” he says, voice raw, “then neither am I.”

Tony’s throat tightens.

“You are mine, Tony. Not his. Not ever.”

Tony exhales shakily, gripping the receiver tighter. He can feel it, the fire burning beneath Bucky’s words, the sheer, unwavering truth of them.

“Yours,” he whispers back, like a vow.

***

Tony doesn’t so much wake up as he does surface slowly from a fitful doze, the edges of sleep clinging stubbornly even as his mind alerts him to something amiss. There’s an uneasy hush in the air—a tension he can’t quite place. It takes him a long minute to register that the unusual quiet is because the Jarvises, who typically bustle about at dawn with a comforting routine, aren’t making a sound.

A pang of alarm tightens his chest. He’s still in the modest servant’s suite—tiny bed, worn nightstand, overhead light dimmed to the lowest setting. Jarvis insisted he stay here last night, away from prying eyes. For safety.

If this is safety, Tony thinks sourly, then I’m toast.

He rolls out of bed, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. The recollection of the phone call with Bucky rakes over him like a raw bruise. His pulse jumps as he remembers the crash, the rage in Bucky’s voice, the vow.

You are mine, Tony.

The echo of it warms him even as dread prickles at the base of his spine.

He slides on yesterday’s clothes—still neatly folded on a chair, courtesy of Ana—and smooths his unruly bedhead back with trembling fingers. His heart is thrumming, but he forces his face into neutrality before easing open the bedroom door.

The hallway is empty. Not a whisper of the usual morning clatter. Tony’s ears strain for any sign of the Jarvises. Nothing.

He makes his way toward the small kitchen, footsteps nearly silent. The overhead lights in the corridor are only half-lit, the gloom casting odd shadows along the walls. Outside, the sun has barely crept over the horizon, painting thin slivers of dawn across the windowsills.

When Tony steps into the kitchen, he halts.

Tiberius Stone is seated at the little wooden table at the center of the room—like he belongs there, like this is his domain. He’s alone. No father, no business associates, no staff. Just Tiberius, perched with disconcerting ease in the Jarvises’ private space.

And Tony’s heart drops to his stomach.

Tiberius sports impeccably slicked-back dark hair and a face that radiates smug confidence—traits that, in Tony’s humble view, seem overly assertive for seven in the morning. He’s wearing a crisp, tailored suit, the top few buttons undone as though to display the edge of a claim. It’s a power move—everything Tiberius does is a power move.

He looks up at Tony with a slow, appraising gaze.

“Morning, Stark,” he drawls. “You look like hell.” The corner of his mouth twitches in a half-smile that never reaches his eyes. “Cozy little hole you’ve got back here.”

Tony tucks his hands into his pockets to hide the tremor in his fingertips. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he says evenly, though his throat feels tight. “This is the servants’ quarters. They’re off-limits to visitors.”

Tiberius shrugs, barely acknowledging Tony’s complaint. “Servants, guests—does it matter?” He lazily straightens, rolling his shoulders. “Once the contract is sealed, you’ll figure out how pointless those distinctions are. I go where I want.”

Tony’s stomach lurches. He edges forward, hands slipping into his pockets so Tiberius doesn’t see how his fingers clench. “Where are Ana and Jarvis?”

Tiberius’ lips twitch. “I asked them to step out. Politely, of course. I don’t think they’ll wander too far. They worry about you.” His eyes dance with mock innocence. “Such loyal employees.”

“So you threatened them until they left me alone,” Tony sighs. “How very chivalrous of you. Want to skip the niceties and tell me why you’re here?”

“Straight to business.” Tiberius sets his forearms on the table, leaning in. “I suppose it’s too early to pretend pleasantries. Let’s see...” He tilts his head, nostrils flaring—subtle, but obvious enough in Alpha body language. “You smell… off,” he remarks, distaste curling at the edges of his tone. “One could even say ‘mangy’.”

Tony’s jaw tenses. “You’d know all about it, I’m sure. You do love burying your nose where it doesn’t fucking belong.”

Tiberius’ eyes narrow with predatory interest. “Funny. My nose says you’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time with that Alpha. You reek of someone strong.” There’s a purr in his voice, dangerous and amused. “Daddy still doesn’t know about this one, does he?”

Every muscle in Tony’s body goes rigid. He doesn’t respond. Can’t. Because giving Tiberius anything would be a mistake.

Tiberius interprets the silence with a flicker of triumph. “Mm. Thought so.” He slides his gaze down Tony’s frame, lingering on the faint flush at Tony’s collar. “An Alpha so potent he’s practically branded you. That’s quite the scandal in the making.”

He stands up smoothly, stepping away from the table. Tony’s eyes track the movement, every cell on high alert.

“Dunno what you’re sniffing around for, Stone,” Tony says, voice carefully bored, “but you might want to keep your fantasies on a leash. The last thing that paper-thin reputation of yours needs is another tabloid feeding frenzy.”

Tiberius lifts an eyebrow, still wearing that faint, disinterested smirk. With casual ease, he pulls the cuff of his shirt sleeve over his warped, exposed wrist. “Don’t play stupid. I can practically taste his scent on your skin. Did he knot you yet? Or did you just let him rub one out against you like a desperate pup in rut?”

Tony can’t contain the sharp flare of rage in his chest. It’s only the memory of Jarvis’s and Anna’s presence nearby—anxious, listening—that keeps Tony from lunging at Tiberius.

“Charming,” Tony says instead.

“You smell like him, Tony,” Tiberius volleys, voice dropping to a near-whisper. “And if you won’t tell me who he is, I’ll find out on my own. Not that it matters, of course.” He glances toward the doorway, and Tony can sense Jarvis hovering out of sight. “Once our contract is done, I don’t care who he is—he’ll be irrelevant. But I do like to know exactly who I’m taking from.”

Tony’s chest constricts.

Tiberius steps closer, and before Tony can flinch back, he’s grabbed Tony’s chin. His grip is firm but oddly dispassionate, his thumb brushing over Tony’s lower lip in a way that sends a wave of revulsion through Tony’s entire body.

“So,” Tiberius muses quietly, as if he’s inquiring about the weather, “did your little secret Alpha mark you yet? Did he bite right here—” Tiberius ghosts his thumb over Tony’s scent gland, where Bucky had worried a bruise into the skin mere weeks ago—“pump you full, maybe do it on his knees so he could see how pretty you look when you’re pinned?” He cocks his head. “You strike me as the type who likes it rough. But hey, maybe you prefer a gentle hand. Hard to say with that attitude.”

Tony jerks away, dizzy. “Fuck off, Stone.”

Tiberius leans in, tone dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Or… perhaps he hasn’t actually gotten around to knotting you, yet?” He waits, eyes boring into Tony’s. “Oh, you sweet, foolish pup. That blush on your face is very telling.”

Tony’s fists clench. “Stop—”

Tiberius continues as though Tony never spoke. “Well, he’s done… something, I can smell that much. But not everything. Tsk. So he’s a coward, is he? Or maybe he just doesn’t have the balls to see it through.” He gives a mocking shrug. “Either way, that’s good news for me.”

“I said shut up, you fucking lunatic,” Tony snaps, voice tight with anger and shame. The heat in his cheeks intensifies, exactly what Tiberius wants.

Tiberius’s grin spreads, slow and cruel. “There’s no need to be shy, darling. I’m just assessing the goods. Howard wants me to be fully informed, and let’s be honest—an Omega’s sexual experience is crucial in a contract like this.” His voice is so cold, so casually degrading, that Tony feels sick. “If you were already knotted, well… that would certainly be messy, complicated. But since you’re still unmarked—still untouched in the real sense, anyway—it’s actually quite a relief. Gives me a nice, clean slate to work with.”

“If you’re trying to woo me, jackass, maybe don’t talk about me like I’m a piece of property,” Tony snarls, taking a step forward without even realizing it. He’s so angry he can feel his heartbeat thrumming at the back of his throat.

Tiberius merely raises an eyebrow. “But that’s exactly what you are, Stark. At least, that’s what your old man’s selling. And I’m buying.” His smile turns into something wolfish, a flash of teeth. “Or do you think Daddy would have drawn up these papers if you had a real choice?”

Tony’s stomach churns. He can’t deny the truth in Tiberius’s words—this is exactly what Howard does, packaging Tony up like an investment, a bargaining chip to strengthen alliances. That doesn’t make it any less maddening.

Tiberius lets out a small, theatrical sigh. “For what it’s worth, I’m almost disappointed your Alpha friend hasn’t knotted you. I would’ve enjoyed the challenge—scrubbing his scent off you while I fucked you full of mine.” He laughs, soft and humorless, as though the idea amuses him. “But seeing as he hasn’t staked a real claim, you won’t be that hard to break in.”

Tony recoils, repulsion tightening his chest until he can barely breathe. “You’re insane.”

Tiberius’s eyebrows lift. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.” He stands, looming over the table with the kind of quiet menace that makes the hair on Tony’s arms rise. “Funny how everyone says that, yet nobody seems interested in doing a damn thing about it. Howard, least of all.”

The tension in the cramped kitchen is suffocating, thick enough to taste. Tony watches as Tiberius adjusts his cuffs, methodical and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. The knowledge that Tiberius waltzed in here—into the Jarvises’ private space—and made himself comfortable only twists the knife deeper.

Tony breathes carefully, forcing himself to think of Bucky’s voice—of that promise he made. It steadies Tony, even if just a little. “If you’re only here to threaten me, consider me underwhelmed. All bark and no bite—can’t expect much more from dad’s lapdog, I suppose.”

Tiberius’ eyes flare. For a moment, Tony wonders if he’s pushed too far. Then Tiberius laughs again, an ugly, abrasive sound. “I do so enjoy that smart mouth of yours. It’ll be fun finding ways to put it to better use.”

Tony’s stomach turns. “H romantic. These threats are becoming increasingly unoriginal, by the way.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” Tiberius says, triumphant. “Let’s not pretend otherwise. I know your father. He won’t let a little detail like your… ah… private entanglements sway his business. So if you don’t want me ratting out your indiscretion, maybe you should start acting like the good, obedient fiancé—ah, sorry.” He spreads his hands in mock apology. “Whatever the hell your father calls this arrangement. ‘Pre-bonded partner’? ‘Future acquisition?’ The terminology barely matters.”

Tony forces himself to unclench his fists, ignoring the sting in his palms where his nails have bitten into flesh. He can’t risk letting Tiberius goad him into something rash. “What do you want?”

Tiberius steps closer, crowding Tony against the edge of the counter. Tony holds his ground, refusing to back away. This close, the Alpha musk is overpowering, an oppressive weight in the air. “For now?” Tiberius murmurs, voice dropping to a private hush. “I want compliance. I want you to remember exactly who’s in charge, that you can’t wiggle your way out of this. You will present yourself as my prospective mate, as intended. No more of this sneaking off. No more midnight phone calls. If I so much as suspect you’re letting someone else sniff around your neck, I’ll make it known to your father. And I’ll make sure you regret it.”

A flicker of genuine fear churns in Tony’s gut. He hates that Tiberius can see it in his eyes, but there’s no hiding that primal surge of adrenaline in the face of an alpha’s threat.

“Did I make myself clear?” Tiberius demands, stepping close enough that their bodies almost brush, his breath hot against Tony’s cheek.

“Crystal,” Tony says, voice tight.

Tiberius’ lip curls with satisfaction. “Good.” He leans in, dangerously close, and Tony can smell the rancid sweetness of coffee on Tiberius’ breath. “We’ll keep up appearances until the contracts are finalized. Then…” His hand drifts up, just shy of grazing Tony’s mating gland. Tony stiffens, bile rising in his throat. “Then I’ll make my claim real. Permanently. And I won’t let your father’s money or your sense of self-preservation stop me from marking what’s mine.”

Tony glares at him, teeth clenched. “Quit touching me, Svengali, I swear to God—”

Tiberius smirks, letting his hand fall away. “Oh, there weill be plenty of touching, Omega. But I’ll let you cling to your illusions a little longer if that’s what keeps you docile.”

An unsteady breath escapes Tony. He can’t even summon a retort. The raw disgust in his chest makes it hard to speak.

Tiberius gives him a once-over, then steps back. “I’m done here.” He casts a derisive glance around the Jarvises’ modest kitchen. “Tell your father I stopped by, if you like. I’m sure he already knows. But do me a favor…” He turns his gaze back on Tony, eyes gleaming. “Wash off that stink. If I have to smell someone else on you again, I might not be so polite next time.”

Tony swallows, shoulders tight enough to snap, but says nothing.

With a short, humorless laugh, Tiberius saunters past him, heading for the back door. The hush seems to thicken once more, pressing against Tony’s ears until all he hears is the dull thud of his heart.

A heartbeat later, Tiberius is gone, the screen door swinging shut behind him.

Tony waits until he’s certain Tiberius isn’t coming back, then lets out a shaky exhale. His knees feel weak. He braces his palms on the counter, trying to steady the tremor in his hands.

He hears movement at the edge of the hallway. Jarvis, reluctant but stepping in now that the intruder is gone, appears at the threshold. His expression is grave, lines of concern etched across his brow.

“Are you all right, Tony?” Jarvis asks quietly.

Tony doesn’t look up. He can’t. His throat feels too tight. “I’m swell,” he forces out, voice ragged. He clears it, tries again. “Yeah, J. I’m okay.”

Neither of them believes it. But Jarvis doesn’t push. He simply crosses the room and sets a warm hand on Tony’s shoulder, silent comfort radiating in his touch.

Tony draws in a slow breath, chest aching. The memory of Bucky’s voice, fierce and protective, echoes in his mind:

He can’t have you. He won’t. I won’t let him.

Tony lets that resonance ground him. Because if he has any hope of making it out of this nightmare intact—and keeping Bucky free with him—he’s going to need every scrap of resolve he can muster.

***

The kitchens have always been Tony’s refuge, a small pocket of warmth and normalcy in an otherwise suffocating environment. He’s barely left since Friday, tethering himself to the space where Ana moves with practiced ease, flour dusting her sleeves, the scent of fresh bread curling through the air like a lifeline.

She doesn’t question why he’s here, why he hasn’t set foot outside these walls except to sleep. She just… lets him be. And maybe that’s why he hasn’t unraveled completely—because while the rest of the estate looms over him like a cage, Ana and her kitchen is safe.

She fusses over him like it’s a full-time job, placing warm plates in front of him every few hours, making tsk noises when he so much as looks at his coffee without touching the food. He tries to protest—because eating feels like a chore, because his stomach is in knots, because the walls are closing in and the air is too thick—but she just raises an eyebrow and levels him with that look.

The one that says you are not winning this fight, idióta, so eat.

So he does. Mostly because she’s watching him like a hawk.

At least the conversation is a welcome distraction.

“Tell me about your Alphas,” she says, slicing vegetables with quick, sure movements, her back to him but her tone deliberately light.

Tony snorts softly, poking at the eggs on his plate. Tony snorts softly, poking at the eggs on his plate. “Alpha. Singular. One very beautiful, slightly possessive, and currently homicidal Alpha. Steve’s just a friend.”

Ana hums, unimpressed, the rhythmic slice of her knife against the cutting board never faltering. “Oh, igen?” she muses, tone as dry as overbaked biscuits. “Just a friend?”

Tony waves his fork loosely, leaning back against the worn wooden chair. “A good friend. A good, small friend with violent tendencies and a chronic inability to mind his own business, sure, but that doesn’t make him my Alpha. We’ve been over this, Ana.”

Ana simply hums again, turning to toss the diced peppers into a sizzling pan. The scent of caramelizing onions and garlic thickens in the air, grounding, soothing. She moves with a quiet certainty, each movement efficient and precise, but there’s a warmth to it, a familiarity that makes the kitchen feel like a space outside of time.

Tony exhales, rolling his shoulders. “Look, if I had two Alphas by choice, don’t you think I’d be the first to admit it? Alas, I seem to have acquired one through hostile takeover, so forgive me if I’m not throwing a parade.”

Ana doesn’t look up, but he catches the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Of course, drágám.”

Tony eyes her warily. “I feel like you’re humoring me.”

“Always.”

Tony sighs, picking up his fork again. “I can’t win with you.”

“No, you cannot.” Ana slides a skillet onto the stove with a practiced flick of her wrist, setting a wooden spoon against the edge before finally turning back to him. “So, tell me about them anyway.”

Tony exhales but doesn’t protest. He knows what she’s doing—keeping him talking, keeping him here, instead of wherever his mind keeps spiraling. He lets her.

He pushes his eggs around with his fork, nudging a piece to the side like it personally offended him. “Bucky’s still boxing,” he says, voice quieter now. “He’s a YMCA welterweight champion now—ridiculous, right? Not that I’m surprised. I mean, look at him. Or—well, you can’t, but if you could, you’d get it. Not that I—” He cuts himself off, face suddenly warm, and promptly redirects his frustration toward his eggs, stabbing at them like they’re to blame.

Ana smiles, pouring a cup of coffee for herself and sitting down across from him. “And yet, you are the one he has claimed for his own.”

Tony huffs. “Yeah, well, I have many redeeming qualities.”

Ana’s brows lift. “Such as?”

“Excellent bone structure.”

She snorts but waves him on, signaling for more.

Tony shifts, tapping his fork against the edge of his plate. “Steve’s still out there trying to teach Brooklyn’s youth how to throw a proper punch,” he says. “Which is deeply ironic, considering he spends more time getting tossed into gutters than actually landing any hits. You’d think some benevolent force of the universe would’ve given him an upgrade by now, but nope—still five-foot-nothing, a hundred pounds soaking wet, and running purely on spite and righteous indignation.”

Ana’s lips twitch, watching him closely.

“He got into it with some guy last week over a stolen bicycle,” Tony goes on, shaking his head. “One second, he’s just buying milk, next thing you know, he’s nose-deep in a brawl because some punk snatched a kid’s ride.”

Ana hums. “And your Alpha?”

Tony shrugs. “Oh, Buck was furious. He’s got this whole ‘I’m the only one allowed to rough up this vigilante idiot’ thing going on. Almost decked Steve himself out of sheer principle.”

Ana shakes her head, sipping her coffee. “That one—he carries the weight of the world, doesn’t he?”

Tony huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it. And Steve sure as hell isn’t gonna stop picking fights with guys twice his size, so Bucky’s pretty much signed up for a lifetime of damage control.”

Ana hums, setting her cup down. “And what about you?”

Tony blinks. “What about me?”

She gestures vaguely at him. “Do they carry you, too?”

Tony hesitates, fork stilling against his plate. The answer is obvious.

Of course, they do. They always have. In ways he doesn’t always recognize until it’s too late—until he’s halfway drowning and they’re the ones dragging him back to shore.

But he doesn’t reply, just focuses a little too hard on breaking apart a piece of toast, crumbling the edges between his fingers. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable, but not quite easy either.

Ana gives him a look that says I see you, even if you don’t see yourself. But she doesn’t push, just tucks a piece of stray hair behind her ear and reaches over to pluck his fork out of his fingers, setting it back onto his plate. Then, in one smooth motion, she picks up his coffee and slides a small dish of honey-drizzled toast in its place.

Tony blinks at her. “Uh—”

“You are running on caffeine and willpower,” she says, cutting him off. “Eat something real, if you don’t want your eggs, or I will start feeding you by hand.”

Tony squints at her. “You wouldn’t.”

Ana raises an eyebrow, reaching for his plate.

Tony immediately snatches up the toast, taking a bite before she can make good on her threat.

“Okay, okay! Jesus.”

Ana smiles, satisfied, and takes a slow sip of her coffee.

He chews slowly, mechanically, as Ana returns to the stove, but the act feels distant—like he’s watching himself from somewhere just outside his own body. His limbs feel heavy, weighed down by something thick and inescapable, like wading through molasses.

He shifts in his chair, too aware of the way his skin feels too tight, his breath too shallow. There’s an ache in his chest, a pressure building under his ribs that he can’t quite shake.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

He forces himself to focus on the warmth of the kitchen, the scent of fresh bread, the quiet scrape of Ana’s knife against the cutting board. It should be comforting. It is comforting. But something in him won’t settle. His hands are clammy, his pulse a dull, thrumming beat against his ribs. He can still feel the ghost of fingers on his chin, the press of a foreign Alpha’s presence suffocating the air from his lungs.

Tiberius had been in this kitchen. Had leaned against this table, spoken with that same smug certainty, left his scent behind like a warning.

Tony’s stomach churns, and he barely catches himself before he gags on the bite of toast.

He shoves his plate away, appetite completely gone.

Ana’s eyes flicker up from her work, sharp as a blade. She doesn’t speak at first, just watches.

Tony pointedly looks anywhere but at her.

The silence stretches, stretching thin and tight, until—

“Antal.”

His spine stiffens, breath catching in his throat.

Ana sets her knife down and wipes her hands on a dish towel, slow and deliberate. She moves around the counter, quiet and steady, like she’s approaching a wounded animal.

Tony forces a smirk, though it feels cracked around the edges. “If you’re about to give me a lecture on finishing my breakfast, I gotta warn you—I’m a lost cause.”

Ana doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even acknowledge the deflection. Instead, she reaches out and rests a gentle hand on his wrist.

Tony barely stops himself from flinching.

The touch is light, grounding, a counterweight to the spiraling tightness in his chest. It shouldn’t make his eyes sting, but—God—everything inside him feels frayed, pulled too tight.

Ana tilts her head, studying him with that quiet, unshakable patience that somehow makes it worse.

“You are dropping,” she murmurs.

Tony exhales through his nose, gaze flickering away. “I’m fine,” he says, too quickly, too sharp.

Ana’s grip tightens just slightly—not enough to trap him, just enough to keep him here.

“You are not fine,” she corrects, voice firm but soft, like she’s stating an undeniable fact. “Your body knows it, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

Tony swallows. His throat feels thick, uncooperative.

He knows what this is. Just like after the gala.

The aftershock. The crash. The biological recoil of an Omega after an altercation with an Alpha who wasn’t supposed to be near him.

His nervous system is shot, his scent profile probably erratic, and the more he ignores it, the worse it gets.

He can feel it now, the sharp-edged restlessness clawing under his skin, the deep-seated ache in his muscles like he’s been wrung out. His throat feels tight, the air in his lungs too shallow. His body wants comfort, stability, something to anchor him, but—

No.

He clenches his jaw, shoving the feeling down with all the force he can muster.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, more stubborn this time, shaking off Ana’s hand.

Ana doesn’t look convinced.

She exhales through her nose, then—without a word—turns back to the counter and pulls out a clean dish towel. She moves with practiced ease, dipping it into a basin of warm water before wringing it out.

Tony watches, wary, as she steps back toward him and, without hesitation, presses the damp towel to the back of his neck.

The sensation is immediate.

The warmth sinks into his skin, soothing the overheated, overstimulated edges of him, and his breath stutters without permission.

He hates how effective it is.

Ana doesn’t say anything. She just keeps the towel there, firm but gentle, the way one might calm a feverish child.

Tony exhales shakily, fingers curling against his thigh. He should pull away. He should crack a joke, make some clever quip about spa treatments or overbearing housekeepers, but—

He doesn’t.

Because for the first time since Tiberius pressed his lips to Tony’s cheek, since the suffocating presence of that Alpha curled around him like a noose—

He feels like he can breathe.

His muscles unclench by inches, the tension draining so slowly it almost hurts, like a tightly wound spring finally releasing. The air in the kitchen isn’t so thick anymore, and his own pulse, erratic and jagged, starts to even out.

Ana doesn’t speak. Doesn’t comment.

She just stays, standing beside him, the towel warm against his skin, her other hand resting lightly against his shoulder in quiet reassurance.

Tony swallows past the knot in his throat. His fingers twitch against the table.

“… It’s stupid,” he mutters after a long beat.

Ana glances down at him. “No,” she says simply.

The silence stretches between them, thick but not suffocating. Ana gives him the space to gather his thoughts. To decide what he wants to say. If he wants to say anything at all.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Tony exhales shakily. His grip on the edge of his stool tightens, then loosens, then tightens again.

His voice is quieter when he speaks. Less sure. Less armored.

“It’s worse when I’m with him,” he murmurs. “Tiberius.”

Ana doesn’t react, doesn’t so much as flinch. She just nods, waiting for him to continue.

Tony stares down at the counterop, watching the surface seemingly ripple from the slight waver of his gaze.

“The closer I get to Bucky,” he says slowly, “the worse it feels. Being around him.” His throat bobs. “Like my body knows it’s wrong.”

Ana exhales, quiet but steady. “It does know,” she murmurs. “Of course it does.”

Tony swallows. His chest feels too tight, his skin too warm, the residual pull of Alpha presence clinging to his scent receptors like something toxic. “It—it hurts to be around him,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “Not just—not just in my head. It’s—physical.” His hands clench into fists against his lap. “Like something inside me is short-circuiting, like—like I’m being rewired wrong.” His breath falters, catching on something jagged. “Like every part of me is fighting it.”

Ana’s lips press together, and her gaze darkens, something sharp and protective flashing through her expression. But she still doesn’t interrupt. She lets him speak.

Tony lets out a shaky breath. “And it wasn’t—it wasn’t this bad, before.” He rubs at his chest like he can soothe the ache blooming beneath his sternum. “But now? Now, it feels like my entire body is rejecting him outright. The closer I get to Bucky, the worse it gets. It’s like my system is…” He trails off, voice cracking slightly.

Ana finishes for him. “Telling you to go to your Alpha instead.”

Tony’s jaw tightens.

Because she’s right.

Everything in him aches to be near Bucky. It screams for him when Tiberius gets too close, when his scent so much as lingers too long. The bond—even unfinished, even incomplete—is already pulling at him, demanding he go where he’s meant to be.

And that’s the worst part.

Because he can’t.

He can’t go to Bucky. He can’t let himself sink into that warmth, that safety. Can’t let himself be taken in the way his body is already pleading for.

Not when this contract looms over him. Not when Tiberius is circling like a vulture, waiting to sink his teeth in.

Ana moves first.

Not quickly. Not sharply. Just with that quiet, practiced ease that makes it so easy to forget she was raised in a world where softness was a liability.

She picks up the damp towel from where she left it, folding it neatly in her hands before pressing it back against the nape of his neck.

Tony stiffens—just slightly—but doesn’t pull away.

The warmth sinks into his skin, soothing the overstimulated ache beneath the surface. His breath stutters, but he lets it happen.

Ana doesn’t say anything.

She just keeps the towel there, firm but gentle, her other hand settling lightly on his shoulder.

It’s grounding.

It shouldn’t be.

But it is.

He’s always been sensitive, there.

Tony exhales, something tight in his chest unraveling just a fraction.

He still feels like he’s too close to the edge, like his own body isn’t entirely his right now, but—this helps.

The warmth. The steadiness. The presence.

Ana moves carefully, like she knows exactly how close he is to shattering, like she’s done this before. And maybe she has. Maybe not with him, but with someone else.

And maybe that’s why she doesn’t say anything.

Because she knows no words will change the fact that his body is wrong right now, that every cell is screaming for something—someone—he can’t have.

No words will change the fact that the one bond he wants is the one he’s being forced to deny.

His fingers twitch against his thigh.

He should joke. He should smile, throw something careless into the air just to fill the silence, make it easier to ignore the weight pressing against his ribs.

But he doesn’t.

Because for once—for once—he doesn’t have the energy.

Ana watches him, quiet and patient.

After a long moment, she speaks.

“You would bond with him,” she murmurs, the words careful, deliberate. “Your Brooklyn boy.” Not a question. Just a quiet, steady acknowledgment.

Tony doesn’t look at her.

His jaw clenches, throat working as he forces down the sharp, aching thing curling in his chest.

“Yeah,” he whispers. It’s not even a confession at this point. Just a tired, inevitable truth. “I would.”

The words settle between them, heavy and irreversible.

Ana’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“Then that’s what we fight for,” she says.

Tony squeezes his eyes shut.

Ana’s hand stays firm on his shoulder, her presence steady, unwavering.

“You are not alone in this, Antal,” she murmurs, low and certain. “No matter how much you try to be.”

Tony exhales slowly so his breath doesn’t expose itself as a shuddering sob.

The kitchen hums around them, the soft crackle of something simmering on the stove, the rhythmic tick of the old clock on the wall. The world is still moving—uncaring, relentless—despite the storm rolling under Tony’s skin.

He lets himself lean into the moment, just for a breath. Just long enough to remember that not everything has to be a battle.

But it never lasts.

Because reality doesn’t care if he’s barely holding himself together. It doesn’t care if he’s unraveling at the seams, if every inch of him is screaming to be somewhere else—to be with someone else.

Tony lifts a hand and drags it down his face, exhaling slowly. “I should get out of your way,” he mutters, his voice rough, too raw around the edges. “You’ve got things to do. I can—”

Ana doesn’t let him finish.

She gives his shoulder the barest squeeze before releasing him, stepping away only to grab another plate. A fresh slice of warm bread, butter melting into the surface, a small dish of preserves set beside it. Nothing extravagant. Nothing overwhelming. Just enough.

She sets it in front of him without a word.

Tony stares at it.

His throat works around something thick, something unbearably fragile.

Ana doesn’t meet his eyes, just busies herself at the counter again, pouring herself another cup of coffee, moving with the same quiet ease she always does.

But the gesture is there.

The choice is there.

No force, no expectations—just something offered. A simple, unspoken stay.

Tony exhales sharply through his nose, blinking hard as he reaches for the toast. He takes a slow bite, ignoring the way his fingers shake just slightly where they curl around the edges.

Ana doesn’t comment.

She never does.

Instead, she sips her coffee, idly stirring the pan on the stove, and lets the silence settle between them like an understanding too old, too deep, to need words.

***

Tony doesn’t so much wake up as lurch into consciousness.

One moment, he’s tumbling through a vague, distorted nightmare of Tiberius’s voice echoing in his head—sly promises, threatening whispers, a sneering mouth pressed too close. The next, he’s wrenched from his bed by rough hands, his entire body jolting awake in a visceral rush of fear.

He yelps, and fights on instinct, half-blind in the dark, still tangled in sheets and disoriented by the abruptness of it all. His limbs flail, heart pounding a frantic tattoo in his ears. He tries to shout, to demand to know what the hell is happening, but the words die in his throat as a thick gag is shoved between his teeth. It tastes of cloth and dust and panic.

He chokes on it, a muffled curse burning in his mouth. The blindfold slams over his eyes a breath later. He barely has time to register the shape of the intruders—too many, definitely more than one or two—before everything goes black. The press of cloth against his face is suffocating, and for a moment, he’s seized by raw, animal terror: I can’t see, I can’t breathe, I can’t—

The hands grip him like a vice, manhandling him off the mattress. He’s in nothing but his thin boxer shorts and a threadbare undershirt.

If he weren’t terrified, he’d be a little mortified.

The nighttime warmth of June does little to shield him from the gooseflesh prickling across his skin.

He thrashes, wild and uncoordinated, elbows connecting with unyielding torsos, knees slamming into muscle. One of the intruders grunts sharply—Tony hopes he’s done some damage—but they don’t relent. Strong arms clamp around his shoulders, and a new surge of panic flares in Tony’s gut as he’s dragged across the room. He can’t see, can’t even get his bearings. His socks catch on the carpet, tangling around his toes.

A voice hisses, “Careful, don’t let him—”

Then Tony’s back hits a solid wall—no, a doorframe—and a burst of pain explodes across his shoulder blades. He lets out a furious, muffled scream. The gag reduces it to little more than a choked growl.

How the hell did they even get into the Stark estate?

His father’s property is patrolled by private security and guarded by enormous wrought-iron gates. And Tony can’t imagine Jarvis letting some random strangers just march upstairs to yank Tony from his bed. Unless these people wore S.I. badges… or had forged some kind of official paperwork.

Or Tiberius. Could Tiberius have bribed someone?

And if Tony could roll his eyes, he would.

Because, of course, Tiberius would bribe someone.

He tries to snarl something around the gag—an insult, a plea, a demand, he isn’t sure—when another set of hands wraps around his legs, lifting his feet from the floor. He’s bodily carried from his bedroom, pinned between two or three people like a struggling cat.

The estate’s corridors blur by in frantic half-steps and stumbles. Tony’s sense of direction is shot. He’s never been more aware of the echoes of footsteps, the shifts in the air, the temperature changes between rooms. They’re moving fast, too fast for him to count corners or guess where they’re headed. Outside? Probably. He can feel the rush of warmer air—summer night humidity clinging to his skin. Then a jarring tilt, a sudden down-step—stairs—and he almost slips from their grip. They hoist him higher, ignoring the bruises no doubt forming on his arms.

Eventually, they reach what Tony assumes is the driveway—or maybe the side parking lot? He’s not sure. Either way, he hears the slam of a heavy door, feels the shift of night air replaced by stifling, enclosed darkness. A vehicle. A van, most likely. The sting of metal against his bare ankles confirms it: he’s being shoved into a cargo area.

He lands hard on the floor—metal ridges biting into his skin—and a new wave of adrenaline slams into him. Tony bucks wildly, thrashing. A knee pins his thigh, a forearm braces across his chest. Someone mutters a curse. For a second, it sounds like they might sedate him. Tony wonders if they’ll press a cloth soaked in chloroform over his mouth, maybe jam a needle into his neck. But no sedation comes. Instead, they force him into a corner, shoulders jammed against cold steel.

The engine rumbles to life.

He’s moving. And there’s nothing he can do about it.

It’s a long drive.

Could be an hour, could be three—Tony’s sense of time distorts into a haze of terror and anger. His limbs ache from being twisted in an uncomfortable position. The gag is suffocating; saliva soaks into the fabric, and breathing becomes an exercise in willpower. He’s painfully aware of every noise: the hum of the van’s tires against asphalt, the occasional hiss of static on a radio, subdued voices murmuring instructions.

He keeps trying to place them—who the hell are these people? But none of the voices are distinct enough to recognize. They don’t speak enough for him to get a real read. All he can do is nurse his fury and try to calm the wild, panicked flutter in his chest.

He realizes that everyone in the van can probably smell his panic. The thought angers him as much as it should unsettle him.

By the time his right hand is asleep, Tony’s fully convinced Tiberius is behind everything

The slimy bastard had threatened him, after all—threatened to ensure Tony couldn’t run, threatened to force the bond before Tony could do anything about it. This must be Tiberius’s next move, right?

And yet…

The way these people handle him isn’t the typical manhandling of personal goons. They feel more regimented, more disciplined—like soldiers. They keep Tony pinned with minimal force, never letting him slip free, but not breaking bones either. They haven’t battered him unconscious.

They’re rough, but they aren’t sloppy. Professional.

Besides, it doesn’t match the typical brute force Tony’s beloved betrothed would probably employ.

So… maybe Howard’s enemies? Or some other corporate sabotage? Or possibly Howard himself, pulling a twisted power play? Tony doesn’t know. He can only stew in the uncertainty as the miles roll by beneath them.

Eventually, the van stops.

There’s a jolting sense of movement as the doors slide open. The arms haul him out again, and the night air—or is it morning now?—smacks him in the face. The temperature is cooler, less humid. Maybe they’re farther north, or near a coastline. Tony can’t tell. Everything’s disorienting.

They drag him through another threshold, and the air changes again: colder, staler, artificially filtered. A building with heavy ventilation, maybe a lab or an industrial facility. The faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead sets his nerves on edge. The floor under his feet is concrete. His toes are cold. The blindfold is still on, pressing uncomfortably into the bridge of his nose, and every small sound—footsteps, the rustle of clothing, the echo of doors opening—is a brand-new source of panic.

They march him down a corridor—turn left, then right, then left again. Tony keeps track of corners automatically, clinging to whatever details he can glean. He tries to force himself to memorize the route, just in case an opportunity to escape arises.

At last, they halt. A door hisses open—mechanical, high-tech. Then Tony is shoved forward, stumbling blindly until he collides with the cold metal of a chair. He grips its back to steady himself. The hands on his arms don’t let go until he’s properly seated.

Then, mercifully, the blindfold slips away, undone from behind. Tony flinches at the sudden brightness, eyes watering as he blinks rapidly. The gag remains, cutting off any immediate demands he might have.

His surroundings come into focus slowly: white walls, bright overhead lights, a wide mirrored window on one side—one-way glass. Definitely an interrogation room. Stainless steel table, two chairs, minimal furnishings. No windows. No sign of Tiberius or anyone else Tony recognizes.

Tony’s chest heaves, each breath rasping past the gag. He’s about to try and speak around the cloth when when one of the men in dark suits steps forward. Without ceremony, he grabs hold of the cloth and yanks it free with a sharp tug. The burn in Tony’s mouth is immediate; the corners of his lips sting, raw from friction. He coughs, sputtering.

“What the—cough—hell—” He sucks in a deep breath. “Where am I?” His voice comes out harsh and ragged. He looks around, seeing that the people who brought him here—maybe three or four?—are stepping back toward the door. None of them answer. “Who are you working for?”

Tony demands, anger lacing every syllable. “Stone? Howard? Who?”

No one responds.

Lovely.

One by one, they file out, leaving him alone in the room with only the reflection of his disheveled self in the mirrored glass. Tony curses loudly, stands up, slams his palm against the table to anchor his swirling thoughts.

Nothing. No response.

“Hey!” Tony barks, his voice cracking slightly, raw from the gag. “This is kidnapping, you bunch of two-bit gangsters! You can’t just—just—” He slams his palm against the cold metal table, the sharp sound cutting through the room. Frustration burns hot in his chest, setting his nerves on edge. “Do you have any idea who I am? If my father doesn’t skin you alive for this, I—”

He cuts himself off, bile rising in his throat at the mention of his father.

Howard’s involvement is ambiguous, but Tony can’t imagine him orchestrating something so clandestine. Usually, Howard likes to operate in the spotlight of his own ego.

This feels too neat, too government.

Seconds tick by. Minutes, maybe. The buzzing fluorescent light overhead sets his teeth on edge.

Tony paces, every muscle wound tight, his mind racing with a thousand worst-case scenarios.

He’s being tested, or they’re waiting for him to break, or Tiberius is about to walk in with a smug grin and a twisted contract of his own.

When the door finally clicks, Tony whirls around so fast he nearly topples the chair. He braces himself, fists clenched at his sides, bracing for Tiberius or a stranger or maybe even some official he’s never met.

Instead, Abraham Erskine steps through.

Tony stands still, unmoving. Stunned.

Erskine closes the door behind him with deliberate care. He wears a utilitarian suit, tie slightly askew, as though he threw it on in a hurry.

He looks… tired.

“Stark,” Erskine says quietly, his accent unmistakable. “I do apologize. Truly, this was not how I intended to do this.”

Tony blinks, adrenaline coursing through him. “You—what—why—?” It could be the interrupted sleep, or the lack of caffeine, but he can’t seem to process the fact that it’s the German doctor in front of him, not some foreign operative or Tiberius Stone’s hired muscle.

Erskine offers a small, apologetic tilt of his head. “The dramatics were… regrettable. But it was necessary. Bringing you here discreetly was the only way we could ensure your father—and certain parties—would not interfere.”

Tony’s pulse still thrums with leftover adrenaline. His mind wrestles with contradictory impulses—run or demand answers—but his body is too exhausted to do either effectively. He slumps back against the metal chair, every nerve on high alert.

“Not how you intended to do this?” he hisses, voice shaking with residual fury and no small dose of fear. “You—what the hell is going on, Erskine? You abducted me.”

Erskine exhales heavily, stepping closer with slow, deliberate movements, as though trying not to spook a cornered animal. “It wasn’t my first choice, Anthony.” He gestures apologetically at the mirrored glass and the harsh lighting. “But we were running out of time, and it was critical that we get you away from Stark Industries—away from Howard’s estate—without drawing attention.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. “This is the Strategic Scientific Reserve, isn’t it? Some secret bunker in the middle of nowhere.” He flings an arm at the sterile walls. “Could’ve just asked me to come along, you know. Maybe sent a nice letter? A singing telegram? Instead of… this.” He motions to the reddened marks on his wrists where the bindings had cut into his skin.

Erskine’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Mm, yes, I considered a formal invitation. But then I remembered your father reads your mail. Besides, we had to circumvent certain… legal entanglements. From what little you’ve told me, I understand you have… contractual obligations. And that you wish to be free of them.”

“My father reads my mail?”

Erskine continues, voice even. “The law is not in your favor, Tony. You know this. Omegas—especially those with binding contracts—have little recourse without intervention. We are that intervention.”

Tony huffs a breath, shifting his weight like he’s trying to shake off the tension crawling up his spine. “And what, you just happened to have a legal team on hand to pull an Omega out of a bonding contract? Not sure if I buy that little fairytale.”

Erskine actually smiles at that, small and wry. “No, I planned for it. I had already begun drafting the petition once you called me. I anticipated you would need an alternative to your current… situation.”

Erskine then settles into the other chair, leaning forward with his hands laced atop the metal table. There’s a studied calm to his posture, like a kindly professor about to walk a student through a complicated theorem. The fluorescent light overhead hums, painting Erskine’s face in tired lines.

“Let me explain, Tony,” he begins, voice subdued. “I plan to invoke what is known as the ‘Defense Priority Omega Provision’—an emergency wartime statute that rarely sees the light of day, even within these halls. It’s been on the books less than a year.”

Tony rubs his sore arms, wincing at the faint bruises left by the government lackeys. “But why? I didn’t even know the War Department had laws that could override standard Omega guardianship.”

“It’s a convoluted legal beast,” Erskine admits. “When war broke out, the War Department pushed for a series of emergency measures to secure any and all resources they deemed critical. Usually, they aim for materials—steel, rubber, uranium. But in theory, the same logic can apply to specialized personnel, including…” His eyes flick sympathetically to Tony. “…unbonded Omegas with key expertise. Nurses, mainly. Medical staff.”

Tony’s heart gives an unsteady thump at being referred to as a ‘key resource.’ He’s not sure whether it’s flattering or unnerving. “So you’re saying the SSR can basically step in and say, ‘We need Tony Stark for national defense,’ and that trumps my father’s guardianship? And—and the bonding contract?” He stumbles over the last phrase, Tiberius’s sneering voice a jagged echo in his mind.

Erskine offers a small, encouraging nod. “Exactly so. Under this statute, the SSR is authorized to file a federal injunction on your behalf—if I can prove that you are indispensable. It won’t sever your father’s guardianship permanently, not immediately, but it will suspend it for the duration of your involvement with our project.”

Tony frowns, lips pressing into a thin line. “So this would be… temporary?”

“For now, yes,” Erskine says gently. “But experience shows once you’ve been granted a measure of legal autonomy—especially in a high-security context—it’s difficult for anyone to reassert the old constraints. The War Department wouldn’t easily relinquish valuable personnel to a private Alpha who might hamper the war effort. You’d remain under an SSR ‘protective contract’—not so different from a civilian consultant—but with additional legal shields in place because of your Omega status. A judge’s signature would ensure neither Howard nor your intended Alpha could force you back home against your will.”

Tony’s pulse hitches at the thought of a protective contract. The last time he heard the word ‘contract,’ it involved Howard trying to brand Tony’s neck for good a mere two days ago. But this… “So I’d be… effectively on loan to the SSR,” he says slowly, processing. “As long as you need my math, you keep me safe.”

It sounds ludicrous to even say out loud.

Erskine gives a faint, wry smile. “It’s an extraordinary measure for extraordinary times. The formal petition is an ‘Emergency Guardianship Override’—coupled with a ‘Non-Compete Injunction’ that bars your father and your Alpha from interfering. We’d cite the War Powers Act of ’41, along with our own SSR statutes and this new Omega provision. It sounds complicated—because it is—but the net result is straightforward: you would answer to us, not Howard, for the duration of this work.”

Tony wants to scoff at the idea of answering to anyone, because he’s Tony, but it’s still better than being under Howard’s thumb.

He also can’t ignore the coil of real fear that tightens in his chest every time he thinks about confronting his father. “He’s not going to stand for it,” Tony mutters, knuckles going white where they grip the table. “When he finds out I’ve gone behind his back… he’s not just going to yell, Erskine. He gets—” Tony’s throat works. He can almost feel Howard’s hand clamping down, bruises blossoming. “He gets physical.”

Erskine’s expression darkens, genuine concern etched across his features. “I’m sorry, Anthony,” he says softly. “Truly. I suspected Howard’s temper was no small matter, but I didn’t realize…” He clears his throat, something like sorrow flickering behind his glasses. “Well. Under these War Department clauses, if your father tried to forcibly remove you from SSR premises or harm you, he’d be in violation of a federal injunction and could face charges as serious as treason—especially if it was deemed sabotage of essential defense personnel.”

Tony’s breath catches. “Treason? Because of me?”

“Yes,” Erskine agrees quietly. “But it means you’d be protected. Legally, physically. They’ll station guards if necessary. Your father might be powerful, Tony, but the federal government has ways of ensuring cooperation—especially during wartime.”

Tony drags a hand down his face, exhaustion settling over him like a heavy blanket. “All right. Okay. Jesus. So let’s say we do that. I get assigned to this project under SSR oversight. But how long are we talking? Because this—” He gestures at the sterile interrogation room. “This doesn’t exactly feel like a place I want to hole up in for the rest of the war. I have a… I have a life out there. I can’t just vanish for a year.”

“We don’t intend for you to live on-site permanently. The chamber construction is projected to run at least through next summer—maybe longer—but that doesn’t mean you’ll be confined here the entire time. Once we secure the injunction, you’ll be free to come and go under SSR jurisdiction. Think of it as a specialized consultancy contract. You’ll return here for major breakthroughs, tests, demonstrations. In between, you can live wherever you choose—Brooklyn, if that’s your preference.” He arches a subtle eyebrow.

Brooklyn. Just the mention of it unleashes a tumult of hope tangled with dread. Tony’s mind jumps straight to Bucky—God, he’s been picturing Bucky’s restless pacing ever since the van ride, those broad hands curled white-knuckled, ready to stand against the entire world once Monday night comes and Tony doesn’t appear at the cramped apartment like he promised.

He can practically feel his Alpha’s anxiety, that fierce protectiveness turning into a raw, furious determination. Bucky would tear through every street, every corner of the city, until he was certain Tony was safe.

Suddenly, the ache in Tony’s chest is impossible to ignore. He lowers his gaze, swallowing hard before forcing himself to speak. “I… yeah,” he manages, voice tight. “Brooklyn would be good. I—there’s someone… some people there.” It’s lame, not nearly the declaration he wants to make—I have an Alpha who’s my everything, and I need to get back to him.

Erskine nods, a fleeting smile acknowledging Tony’s unspoken admission. “There would be restrictions, of course,” he cautions gently. “You can’t publicly share anything about the project. You’ll probably have to meet with an SSR liaison regularly for status updates. But otherwise, you can maintain a private life. We’re not trying to conscript you, Tony. We just need your work.”

Tony swallows the rush of conflicting emotions—gratitude, fear, relief, disbelief. “You make it sound almost too good to be true,” he mutters. “But I guess if it keeps Howard and—” He hesitates, heart pounding at the thought of Tiberius. “—and any other Alpha from forcing a bond on me, I’ll take my chances. Speaking of which,” he says, “where the hell are we, anyway? Because I swear if we’re in some government dungeon in Manhattan, you people really took the scenic route.”

Erskine shifts, as though weighing whether to divulge that detail. Eventually, he says, “This is an SSR holding facility in New Jersey.”

Tony stares at him, deadpan. “New Jersey?” The words drip with derision. “You kidnapped me and dragged me across state lines just to plop me into the one situation that might be worse than a forced bond?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “God. If my father doesn’t kill me, the smell of this place might do it.”

Erskine hums in amusement. “I didn’t realize you held such animosity for your neighbor.”

Tony snorts. “Neighbor, schneighbor. Guess we just skip Manhattan, skip civilization, and hide in some random bunker in an East Coast armpit.” He throws his hands up. “Great. Can’t wait to sample the local… bagels.”

Erskine regards him quietly for a moment. “May I ask one thing?”

Tony tenses. “What?”

“If there is someone in Brooklyn you trust—someone you might want to inform you’re safe—” Erskine lifts a hand in a calming gesture. “We can arrange a discreet communication. No details of your location or the project, of course, but perhaps a short telegram letting them know you’re unharmed.”

Tony’s chest tightens. Bucky’s face flashes through his mind. He wants nothing more than to tell him, I’m okay, don’t do anything reckless, but the risk… “Maybe,” he says, voice rough. “Let me think about it.” The last thing he needs is a paper trail leading Howard or Tiberius to Bucky’s door.

“Of course,” Erskine says. He’s perceptive enough not to pry further. “But know that it’s an option. We don’t want your life suspended entirely.”

Tony nods, releasing a slow breath that does little to quell the racing in his veins. “All right. So… when does this all go down? The hearing, the demonstration, the whole dog-and-pony show?”

“It’s set to move swiftly,” Erskine explains, laying out the timeline with methodical care. “Colonel Phillips arrives in a few days, along with Senator Brandt. We’ll brief them on your role and demonstrate that Howard’s current blueprint is unworkable without your corrections. Once we have their backing, we’ll file the injunction in federal court—likely in Washington, if we can expedite it. Given the war climate, I expect they’ll push it through quickly.”

He folds his hands. “In the meantime, you’ll begin reviewing the existing Chamber schematics. Identify every critical flaw, start drafting solutions. If the War Department sees that you’ve already made progress—maybe even solved major issues—they won’t hesitate to sign off on your provisional independence.”

“So,” Tony says, voice rough, “I roll out the improvements on Howard’s designs, prove I’m not just some spare part, and then… the War Department grants me independence? They’ll step in and remind him he can’t keep me under lock and key?”

A faint smile touches Erskine’s lips. “That’s the essence, yes. Of course, Howard remains a powerful figure—he won’t be dismissed from the project entirely. In fact, we still need him for funding and resources, not to mention his existing contracts. The government can’t exactly throw Stark Industries out the door. But we can set legal boundaries around you. If we can show you’re vital on your own terms, the War Department won’t let him override that.”

Tony’s mouth tightens at the thought of Howard retaining any control, but he exhales through his nose, reminding himself that partial freedom is still miles better than none. “Well, it’s not a perfect solution,” he says wryly, “but I’m sure I can find a way to live with it.”

He doesn’t tell Erskine that it’s more privilege than anyone has ever promised him. That the promise of it is so tempting that Tony can almost taste it.

“Another option is to file a sworn statement about any… potential mistreatment, to emphasize the national interest in keeping you safe. The War Department could label it an anti-sabotage measure, if necessary.”

The suggestion hangs in the air, sharp as glass. Tony’s face shutters, all amusement draining away at the thought of sharing details of Howard’s cruelty—in writing, on an official document no less. His stomach churns violently. He shakes his head, words caught in his throat. “No,” he says at last, bracing his palms against the table. “I’m not—I’m not doing that.”

Erskine doesn’t press. “Understood,” he says quietly, and leaves it at that. He stands, pushing his chair back with a soft scrape. His smile is subdued, but there’s gentle warmth behind it.

“Regardless, Tony, you should know you aren’t alone here. The SSR is prepared to see this through. And—if I may speak freely—I have every faith you can outshine even your father’s reputation.”

Tony’s throat works around a tangle of emotion. He thinks of Bucky again, of that quiet vows they shared in the dark of a cramped Brooklyn dorm room: We’ll figure this out. We’ll find a way. Maybe this is it.

He stands too, legs still shaky from the night’s ordeal, but he musters a ragged half-smile. “All right, Doc,” he says. “Point me to the nearest drafting table, and let’s fix your mechanical fiasco. Then we can kick my father’s guardianship all the way to Siberia. And, uh… any chance you’ve got some pants on standby?” He glances down at his bare legs with a grimace. “Or at least a bathrobe? I’m all for making a statement, but this wasn’t exactly the outfit I had in mind for my big professional debut.”

Erskine’s grin warms into something genuine. “Follow me,” he says, opening the door to the corridor. “First, we’ll get you settled in. This facility isn’t home, but we’ll do our best to make you comfortable for now. And once the immediate demonstration’s done, we can talk about letting you return to Brooklyn.”

As Tony steps out into the glaring hallway lights, a quiet sense of possibility hums in his chest. It’s not a guarantee—he knows that. There’s a thousand ways this could blow up in his face, especially if Howard gets wind of it too soon, or if Tiberius angles for a final power grab. But if the government can truly shield him… maybe Tony can have a future that doesn’t end in a forced bond or a black eye.

A future that includes Bucky, openly, without fear.

Until he leaves Tony.

But that’s a problem for another day.

Tony will make it work, if only for the sake of the promise he made to himself—and, in unspoken moments, to Bucky. No more hiding. No more limping away from Howard’s fists or another Alpha’s schemes.

And so when Erskine leads him past a pair of uniformed guards who nod respectfully, Tony—with as much dignity as he can muster in his wrinkled undershirt and bare feet—straightens his spine and returns it.

He has work to do.

[marcelloandtyler]

"We don't know that it's dead. He might have just gotten a little bit of service and now he's out of range again. And if it has died, like I said. He's smart. If he doesn't have a charger, he'd find a gas station that sold one or something, if he needed his phone to get home," she said, unable to believe she was the one comforting him when she felt a bit worked about everything. In a way, it forced her to be calm to make sure Levi stayed calm. Logically, she knew they could do nothing about it right now and she trusted her brother to make smart decisions. Marcello had been really active and outdoorsy in recent years and he knew what to do in different situations. Even if he was stuck in his car, he would be alright. It'd likely only be a few hours before a plow could rescue him.

Still, she knew what it was like to spiral and knew that sometimes pointing out logic didn't help. She rubbed his back gently.

"Sure," she said. "That sounds great. Thanks." She got up. "I'm going to run and change quick and call Nico, but I'll be right back, okay?"

She nodded. "I hope so, too. But I think it will be okay," she said genuinely, even though her anxiety was poking at her.

Allegra quickly ran up to her room to change and dialed Nico on the way. He picked up, but she could hear one of the twins screaming in the background.

"Uh, bad time?" she asked.

"Always," Nico teased. "Have you heard from Marc?"

"No," she said. "That's why I was calling you. Levi came in to talk to me and told me he'd gone hiking. He actually texted Levi a little bit ago. Or... maybe earlier but it just came through. He has bad service, his phone's dying, and he's stuck in the snow? He said he'd be home tomorrow. He didn't say where he was, like... Levi's wondering if he was in his car stuck somewhere or maybe he'd gotten stuck on the mountain? But surely, if that were the case, he'd have said so or called for help if he needed it since he apparently had a bit of service? Anyway, I was hoping he might have messaged you."

"He didn't," Nico said. "That's alarming. But it sounds like he's probably alright if he sent a text that didn't sound panicked."

Allegra took a deep breath as she tugged on thick, comfy socks and a sweatshirt. She decided she would not go to the gym; Levi needed her more and she was too anxious to leave, afraid she might miss something about her brother's whereabouts.

"Do you guys need me to come over? Does Levi? I could get a sitter," he said.

"Oh, no. Well? I'll ask Levi," she said, deciding to let Levi decide.

"Yeah, ask him. Don't tell him I'll need a sitter. I don't want that to impact his needs. I'll be here, sitter on standby. Penny will only be out for a couple more hours, so no biggy."

"Okay. I'll text you shortly."

"Okay."

They hung up and she hurried back down to Levi's side, crossing into the space. "Hey," she said. "Nico hasn't heard from him, but he offered to come over if you want him or need him to."

"But his phone is dead now. What if he didn't need it then but he needs it now?" Levi asked, frowning. He took in a deep breath and then furrowed his brows, feeling overwhelmed. He didn't need his thoughts to spiral like this.

"I bought food for us," he said quietly. "For Marcello and I for dinner. Uh, I could grab it, if you want. If you're hungry."

He took in a deep breath and then nodded his head at her words. "Yes, please. That would be good. Christ. I hope he's okay."

[woniefication]

First Love/Late Spring L.Heeseung

Cupids Calender.

Day One of Cupids calender//Angst// inspired by Mitskis song// Wc:480~//Warnings: Tears//我相信你

Taglist: @flufflightss @orimuraa @douqhnxtss @hoonsita @stawberri @leaderwon @sugarikiz send ask or comment to be added!

A/N: Sorry for posting this so late, it was a bit rushed. And sorry that its angst i promise the other ones will be happier I promise TwT

Lee Heeseung your first love. It was late spring marking your one year anniversary, both of you were lying on the roof of a abandoned building looking into the dark sky. The night breeze carried something sweet,a peach tree perhaps.

You’ve observed how weird heeseung was acting today, he barely talked,barely teased you. You thought that he might just be tired,but that was a desperate attempt to calm your overthinking. Suddenly while Heeseung was holding you in his arms he whispered "Y/N". You opened your eyes looking at him waiting for him to continue. "I-I dont know how to tell you this but... I think ive fallen out of love with you." He continued.

Oh how those few words hit like bullets. You thought your eyes were deceiving you. The tears just fell down your face,leaving a damp streak. You just looked at him in disbelief, the man you loved no longer loved you back. Heeseung gently cupped your face but his gentleness got overshadowed by the hurt you were feeling. " Y/N please dont cry, I still love you, just not in a romantic way.” Heeseung said while staring into your eyes. Did he really think that that would make it better?

"Please hurry,leave me.Please don't say you love me." You coughed out while the tears kept flowing down. Even though Heeseung had hurt you, you were glad he told you rather than pretending to love you.He held you in his arms like you were everything, yet the moment you let myself believe, you heard the truth—he never felt a thing.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Heeseung whispered, his voice breaking slightly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. His apology meant nothing now.

You wiped your face, the tears still flowing despite every effort to stop them. You had loved him with everything you had, but now, there was nothing left. He was no longer the Heeseung you once knew, and you were no longer the person who could keep holding on to a love that had already died.

“I need you to go,” you said, your voice hoarse, but firm. “Please. Just… leave me.”

He hesitated, as if there was something more he wanted to say. But you couldn’t bear to hear it.

With one last look at you, Heeseung finally stood up, his movements slow, reluctant. As he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the finality in his footsteps. You had let him go, and now, there was no turning back.

The wind whispered through the branches of the peach tree, a bittersweet melody that seemed to echo your pain. You stared at the night sky, trying to find comfort in the stars, but all you could feel was the emptiness in your chest.

Heeseung had fallen out of love with you. And now, you had to learn how to live without him.

[calirph]

𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋, 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒. all these sentences quotes are based on medieval marriages and the tensions regarding arranged marriages and the notion of affairs and mistresses and the such. warnings for infidelity and anything related to medieval times if that thing is not your thing. change pronouns, name and locations as you see fit.

"You need not love me, but at least grant me the courtesy of discretion."

"Do you whisper her name when you lie beside me?"

"I see the way your eyes follow him. Am I to be a fool in my own home?"

"She is nothing to me, a mere dalliance. You, however, are my wife."

"Did you ever look at me the way you look at her?"

"Tell me, husband, how many times have you left our bed to warm hers?"

"It is not love I ask for, only loyalty."

"My father sold me to you like a horse at auction, and now you expect devotion?"

"If you mean to humiliate me, at least do it behind closed doors."

"A mistress is but a shadow, but a wife is the foundation of a house."

"You come to me only when she has turned you away."

"He looks at you as if he could devour you whole. Does it please you?"

"I swore an oath to you before gods and men. Does that mean nothing?"

"I hear the whispers, I see the stolen glances. Do not insult me by denying it."

"Did she laugh when you told her I was none the wiser?"

"I will not be another meek wife who turns her head and pretends not to see."

"Shall I seek a lover of my own, then? Or is it only men who are granted such indulgences?"

"Would you have wed me if not for my father’s gold?"

"She is your past, but I am your present and future."

"You wear my colors at tourneys, but it is her favor you carry."

"I was raised to know my duty, but that does not mean it does not wound me."

"If you do not love me, at least do not disgrace me."

"Is her kiss sweeter than mine? Do you hold her as you once held me?"

"She is a girl playing at love. I am the woman who bore your children."

"I will not bear a bastard under my roof while my own sons are set aside."

"Your honor, your duty, your house—you throw it all away for a bedwarmer."

"Do you think me blind? Do you think me foolish?"

"I may not be the wife you wanted, but I am the wife you have."

"Tell me truly—when you look at me, do you wish I were her?"

"I have given you everything, and still, it is not enough."

"What has she given you that I have not?"

"Was she worth the shame you bring upon me?"

"If you will not be faithful in love, then be faithful in duty."

"A noble wife is a burden to a man who wishes to be free."

"Do not forget, dear husband, that I am not without allies of my own."

"I did not choose this life, but I will not be shamed within it."

"Does she weep for you when you ride to battle? Or is that still my duty?"

"I have stood by your side in war and in peace, and still, you seek another."

"You call it love. I call it betrayal."

"She can never give you what I can—power, legacy, a name to be remembered."

"I see how she touches you when she thinks no one is looking."

"You have given her your heart, and me, your duty."

"Would you put her in my place if you could?"

"She wears silk and pearls, but I wear your name."

"She may be the one in your bed, but I am the one who will be remembered in history."

"Did she vow to honor you? Did she stand before the gods and swear her life to you?"

"When you tire of her, you will come crawling back to me."

"I will not weep for a man who has forgotten his vows."

"If she carries your child, I will see it drowned before it can steal from my own."

"It is not love she wants, only what she can take from you."

"You think her love is true? Wait until you have nothing left to give her."

"You say you love me, yet I wake in an empty bed."

"How many nights did you lie to my face before I finally saw the truth?"

"The court may gossip, but I will not give them the pleasure of seeing me break."

"I was a fool to think duty would be enough to hold you."

"Even if you leave her, the stain of betrayal will remain."

"I will not let her turn my children against me."

"When your name is dust and your house is ashes, will she still love you?"

"A queen is not so easily replaced, nor a wife so easily forgotten."

"You have made your choice. Now live with it."

30 Prompts and Actions.

A wife catches her husband’s mistress wearing one of her gowns.

A husband returns home late at night, reeking of another woman’s perfume.

A noblewoman warns her husband’s mistress to stay away or suffer the consequences.

A lord brings his mistress to a feast, forcing his wife to sit beside her.

A queen confronts her king about his infidelities before the entire court.

A wife befriends her husband’s mistress, shocking him.

A jealous wife arranges for her husband’s mistress to be sent away in secret.

A husband accuses his wife of seeking a lover of her own in retaliation.

A mistress discovers she is pregnant and fears the wife’s wrath.

A wife secretly bribes her husband’s mistress to leave the city.

A nobleman is forced to marry a woman he does not love while his heart belongs to another.

A woman’s lover is exiled after her husband discovers their affair.

A queen’s bastard half-brother is rumored to be her lover.

A wife replaces the mistress’s perfume with something foul.

A jilted noblewoman plots revenge against the husband who abandoned her.

A king forces his mistress to attend his wife’s coronation.

A husband gifts his mistress jewels that once belonged to his wife.

A noblewoman publicly humiliates her husband’s mistress at a tournament.

A wife secretly arranges for her husband’s mistress to be wed to an old and cruel nobleman.

A husband demands his wife accept his mistress as part of their household.

A young bride watches as her husband kisses another woman at their wedding feast.

A king’s mistress poisons the queen in hopes of replacing her.

A mistress flaunts her power by wearing the queen’s favorite color at court.

A husband swears his fidelity to his wife after she falls ill.

A nobleman returns from war to find his wife in the arms of another.

A queen takes a lover of her own in defiance of her unfaithful husband.

A wife gives birth to a child that does not resemble her husband.

A husband is forced to execute his former lover for treason.

A mistress learns that her lover is to be married and begs him to run away with her.

A scorned wife offers her husband’s mistress a drink—laced with poison.

[hannism]

5 WAYS I LOVE YOU — HAN YUJIN

synopsis how yujin fulfills all the 5 love languages towards you.

p bf!yujin x reader g established relationship, yujin being lovesick, pure fluff, not proofread. w 52O

link to navi — PLS REBLOG !

acts of service

tying your shoelace ──── han yujin would suddenly go down on his knees to tie your untied shoelace, you didn’t even notice it was untied. he’d tie on a little bow on it and stand back up, walking and acting like nothing happened.

picking up your stuff ──── sometimes you’d forget to get your ipad from your room, or maybe you left your bag in your class. no matter, yujin would go grab it for you so long as you’re the one who needs help. he’d inconvenience himself as long as it makes you happy.

physical touch

interwining your hands ──── one thing you’ve learned about yujin is that he avoids physical touch. he allows it from time to time from his friends, but overall he’d show his discomfort towards it. so it was to your surprise when yujin started holding your hand whenever you two walked side-by-side. ‘i only like it when it’s from you, silly’ he says, looking away embarassed. you can only think about how adorable he looks.

playing with your hair ──── you could be sitting down on the couch reading a book and suddenly feel his hands raking through you hair. at first it alarms you, but as time went on, you were used to it. not even turning whenever you feel him ruffle your hair.

gift giving

small things he finds ──── often times yujin gets dragged into hangouts with his friends. and often times he finds a part of you clinging into everything he sees. a cute cat keychain he saw? he’d remember of your fondness towards cats and buy it without a second thought. a bracelet he finds in a shop he strolled through? gyuvin would have to pull him out of the store the next second to stop him from buying anymore stuff for you.

special occasion gifts ──── you always thought yujin’s insistence in buying you expensive things for your birthdays were going to be the bane of your existence. but soon finds out he’d buy you things for special dates too — valentines, your dating anniversary, christmas. you used to scold him for spending so much on you, yet knowing him, he’ll never stop. how can he? there’s no one else in the world he could use his money for except for his sweet girlfriend

quality time

study dates ──── it was ridiculous enough when yujin first offered studying together. you knew him. he had a really bad attention span and much more so whenever you were near. you didn’t regret it, however, you knew amongst classes and midterms you were both bound to be busy. besides, you loved hearing your boyfriend talk about whatever was in his mind, its always really refreshing talking to him. not only because the way he seemed to be so expressive but also how active he is in trying to make you feel included in everything in his life.

sport dates ──── he fascinates you sometimes, truly. it’s not that you don’t know much about yujin, you expect him to have told you practically everything from his life with how much he talks to you in a day. sometimes it’s that yujin forgets to tell you some other things or thinks some parts of him are insignificant to talk about. apparently being able to play basketball is one of them. yujin was behind you, guiding your hands above you as you hold the ball, eyes on the net. when he gives you the sign, you jump and throw the ball. for the first time for the whole evening, you made a goal. yujin beamed at you, hugging you like it was your win as much as it was his.

words of affirmation

comforting you while you cry ──── rare are the times where you let your guard down around anyone. you didn’t find the need to show everyone how sad you were because you don’t like when people pity you. so, when one day yujin finds you curled up into a ball sobbing your heart out it was, if anything, shocking to him. yujin approached you slowly and let his arms slide up and down your back in comfort. he was silent the entire time, letting you have your peace without having someone ask you why or who made you feel like this. that’s what you love about yujin. he makes you feel like home.

supporting messages ──── whether it was an exam or a competition you had, yujin didn’t care. to be honest the only time he isn’t physically there to give you support is when he’s forced to be elsewhere (more like dragged). yet distance can never seperate you, especially if han yujin is in the equation. the amount of loving and supporting messages he’d send you would be uncountable. if time lets him, he’d even call you — an excuse to see your pretty face. he’d wish he was there with you and give you so much flying kisses until you were filled with warmth and love. you reckon waiting for him to come back home will feel longer now.

TAGLIST | nets— @k-nets

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Stand By Me (Part 3)

You knew it was coming.

Your mother wasn’t the type to let things go. The silence—the control she was losing over you—was like a lit fuse, and you knew it was only a matter of time before it blew.

Marshall knew it, too.

He never said it outright, but he stayed a little closer, held you a little longer, kept his phone on him more than usual, like he was waiting for the moment she finally snapped.

And when she did?

It was worse than you ever could have imagined.

---

It happened on a Sunday.

You had just started to feel okay again—just started to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could move forward without the weight of your mother’s words dragging you down.

Then your phone rang.

You stared at the screen, dread settling heavy in your gut.

Mom calling.

You almost let it go to voicemail. But something told you that if you didn’t pick up, she wouldn’t stop. That she’d just keep calling, keep finding ways to push herself back into your life.

So you answered.

And from the second you said hello, it was a mistake.

“Oh, so you do still know how to pick up the phone,” she snapped. No greeting. No warmth.

You swallowed. “Mom—”

“No, don’t start,” she cut you off. “I have sat here for weeks wondering what the hell I did to deserve this. You ignoring me? Treating me like I’m some kind of villain?”

Your grip on the phone tightened. “Mom, I’m not—”

“Shut up!” she screamed, her voice cracking through the line.

You flinched.

Marshall, who had been in the kitchen, immediately looked up, his expression hardening.

“I gave you everything!” your mother raged. “And this is how you repay me? By cutting me off? By choosing him over your own family?”

Your heart pounded. “This isn’t about Marshall—”

“Bullshit! He did this to you! He poisoned you against me!”

Marshall was watching now, his entire body tense, his fists clenched. He couldn’t hear her words, but he didn’t need to. He could see the way they were hitting you like knives, the way you were curling in on yourself.

And that was enough.

Before you could stop him, he was next to you, pressing the speaker button.

“If you got somethin’ to say about me,” he said, his voice calm but deadly, “say it to my face.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

“You piece of shit,” your mother spat. “You ruined her. You took her from me.”

Marshall scoffed. “Nah, lady. You did that all on your own.”

Her breath hitched. “How dare you—”

“I dare ’cause someone had to tell you the truth,” he cut her off. “You don’t get to treat her like garbage and still expect her to come runnin’ back. You don’t get to guilt her into keepin’ you in her life.”

You swallowed hard, gripping Marshall’s hand like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You know what your problem is?” Marshall continued. “You thought you could break her down so much that she’d never leave. But guess what? She did. And she ain’t comin’ back.”

The line was so quiet you almost thought she had hung up.

Then, in a low, venomous voice, she hissed, “She will. When you get tired of her. When you finally throw her away like you do with everyone else.”

Marshall’s jaw clenched, his entire body going rigid. You could feel the anger radiating off of him, the way his breathing deepened.

But before he could say anything, you spoke.

“No,” you said softly, but firmly. “He won’t.”

Your mother let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, honey, wake up. He’s Eminem. He’s not built to love anyone. He’s just playing house with you until he gets bored.”

You felt Marshall flinch beside you.

And maybe, once, you would have believed her. Maybe, once, her words would have sent you spiraling, had you questioning everything.

But not anymore.

Not after everything he had done to prove otherwise.

“He loves me,” you said simply. “And he treats me better than you ever have.”

Your mother sucked in a breath, like you had physically struck her.

And for the first time, you felt free.

She could rage, she could insult you, she could twist the knife all she wanted—but she couldn’t control you anymore.

You had made your choice.

And it wasn’t her.

“Don’t call me again,” you said, voice steady. Then, without waiting for a response, you ended the call.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Marshall was still staring at the phone, like he half-expected it to ring again.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“You okay?” His voice was rough, edged with anger he hadn’t been able to unleash.

You exhaled, dropping your hands. “Yeah.” And then, quieter, “I think I really am.”

He studied you for a long moment, like he was making sure you weren’t just saying that. Then, finally, he sighed and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tight it knocked the breath out of you.

“I got you,” he murmured. “Always.”

And you believed him.

For the first time, you really, truly believed him.

[witchygagirlwrites]

Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz x Reader

When you take a place on a task force and get hurt Mouse has to face his entire world falling down

Warnings: talks of death, gunshot wounds, suicidal ideation?

You sat in the middle of the bed in the hotel room holding your laptop across your legs as Mouse’s face came into view. A smile split your face the moment you saw him “Well hey there handsome” “Hey beautiful. How’s New York?” he asked and you sighed “Not as good as Chicago, you’re not here”

When Sergeant Benson and Erin had asked you to join the task force SVU and Erin’s team had put together for a six week operation you’d been on the fence. That was a long time in your opinion to be away from home, from Mouse and your unit but you could do some good well a lot of good. You’d hesitantly agreed with Voight’s blessing on the job front and Mouse’s blessing on the personal front. After Erin left Chicago that was his push to join the academy and as soon as he could Hank pulled him for intelligence. You loved working with him and knew he loved having his girlfriend and best friend right there at his side most days. 

He smiled “I miss you too love. You don’t have much longer and you’ll be home” you turned to get comfortable against the headboard and he grinned “Taking me to bed with you Detective?” you laughed lightly “Why yes officer Gerwitz, just don’t report me to the ivory tower. Might see it as me using the fact that I’m higher ranking than you to get you in bed” “Lucky me I say” he teased. 

You listened while he caught you up on things you’d missed in Chicago and you told him about some of the things in New York. “Promise me when I get home we don’t have to leave our apartment for like two days solid. I just want to curl up in your arms” you told him and the smile he gave you made your heart flip “How could I turn that down?” you smiled “I love you so damn much Greg” he grinned “I love you too sweetheart. Get some rest, you have another bust tomorrow. I don’t want you tired going into it” you nodded “Tell everyone I said hey. I’ll call you around noon your time” “I’ll be waiting”

It was a little after twelve and Jay knew Mouse was getting worried even if he was trying his best not to show it. You always checked in right on time with him. When Jay’s phone rang he nearly knocked it off the desk trying to answer it and when Erin’s voice hit his ear his heart dropped to his feet “Jay?”

He hadn’t really spoken to her except via text since she’d left. You and her kept in contact regularly hence you taking the place on the task force. If she was calling him…. “Jay, are you there?” she asked and he replied “Yeah I’m here”

She took a deep breath and he heard her voice shake at the end. Something was wrong, really wrong. “Is Mouse around you?” he cut his eyes across the room where Mouse was texting you again “Yeah, you want to talk to him?” “I can’t Jay…He he doesn’t need to hear this from me” he could hear the tears in her voice “Erin what happened” he didn’t even think about the fact that he probably shouldn’t have said her name but Mouse’s eyes flew up and everyone in the room turned to look at him.

“There was..there was a perp..he had a hostage and Y/N drew the fire to herself..everything happened so damn fast…I promise you I tried to get to her…I tried to stop him..” 

Mouse stood up from his desk to walk towards Jay only to feel his entire world shift when Jay asked Erin “Is she dead?” The next few moments were the longest of his life. He could read Jay too well. He could feel his legs try to go out from under him but Kevin moved to grab his arm. “Yeah I’ll call you” Jay hung up and walked towards him.

“Is she dead Jay? Is the love of my life dead?” he asked and Jay took a deep breath “It’s bad man. You can try to get a plane but she might not make it until you land” he nodded “I’ve got to try” “I’m going with you” Jay told him, looking back at Voight who’d come out of his office and caught the  end of the phone call “Go”

Erin sat just outside of surgery, your blood drying on her skin. She could only keep replaying those moments in her mind. The bullets tearing through your vest, how your body dropped. When she got to your side the way you’d looked at her and how scared you’d looked when you’d told her “It doesn’t hurt Erin…why doesn’t it hurt?” 

This was her fault, she’d called you onto this task force. If you died she killed her best friend. Her hand was wrapped around Mouse’s dog tags you always wore, it didn't feel right leaving them in a patient belonging bag when she knew how much they meant to you. “Tell Greg I love him” was the last words you told her before you’d lost consciousness. Your heart stopped and she’d done CPR until the ambulance got there. She only hoped it was enough.

__________________

Mouse was numb the entire plane ride. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to break down but it was like the entire world was holding its breath. His entire being needed to see you, needed to see if you were alive. He couldn’t think of a world without you in it. What was he without you? You were everything to him, the reason he was still here. The reason he’d fought to stay clean when he’d nearly slipped after getting the job at CPD. You were there helping him every step of the way. You were the one person who never got annoyed with him, never yelled at his rambling when his mind wandered.

You were the love of his life. Every thought of the future was of you. If there was no you there was no him. If you died? He had no reason to keep living. Erin had said you drew fire from a civilian, a kid that was about fourteen. That was you to your core, always saving someone even at your own expense. If he lost you, who was supposed to save him? 

When they landed in New York Sergeant Benson had uniforms waiting to take them to the hospital. You were still in surgery but at least that meant you were still alive. You were still holding on.

“Erin!” she flinched when she heard Mouse’s voice. She glanced up and saw him and Jay walking towards her. His eyes went to her shirt, jeans and hands. “Is that her blood?” she nodded slowly “Mouse, I never meant for this to happen..” 

“I know” he whispered, eyes glued to her bloody hands. She held out his dog tags “She made me promise to tell you she loves you” Mouse took the dog tags in his hand, fingers tracing over the drying blood that he knew was yours “Erin, how bad is it?” He saw tears slip down her face as she said “She told me it didn’t hurt, she was so afraid because it didn’t hurt” he pulled her into his arms and they both finally broke sobbing against each other, one for her best friend, one for the woman he loved. Jay stood to the side not knowing how to comfort either of them.

The surgery took a total of five and a half hours. Your insides were shredded from the bullets. When the surgeons finally walked out they asked for your family so Erin, Mouse and Jay stood up. “This is her boyfriend and best friend” Jay explained so the doctor nodded “She’s alive but in critical condition. The next twenty four hours will tell if she makes it or not. The bullets did extensive damage. We repaired what we could, it's up to her body to do the rest”

“Thank you” Jay replied knowing neither Erin or Mouse was in the shape to talk. “Can they see her?” he asked and the surgeon shook his head “I’m afraid only one visitor is permitted in ICU” 

Erin looked at Mouse “You go” he nodded “Ok” the surgeon waved him through “A nurse will show you the way”

__________________

A nurse led Mouse through the hallway to your room. When she walked him inside he froze at the foot of the bed. The body laying there didn’t even look like you. It was like you were already dead, there was no life left. Wires and tubes stuck out of you in every direction. Bandages covered every inch of your body and dried blood covered your face. 

He walked to the side of the bed, fingers lightly skimming your hand, careful of the iv. “Is there any hope for her waking up? I don’t want the sugar coated answer. This woman is everything to me” he turned to look at the nurse and saw the answer in her eyes before she ever spoke “If she wakes up sir I will believe in miracles” then turned and walked out of the room.

Mouse watched her go then looked back at you. The tube in your mouth helping you to breath making a soft noise with every inhale “They don’t know you do they baby?” he whispered, eyes filling with tears. “Wake up for me love, please? I need you, the world needs you. Please don’t leave me. It feels like I just got you. I can’t lose you now”

He knew it was probably hopeless but you’d never given up on him. He wasn’t giving up on you until the moment your heart stopped beating for good, even then he’d still love you with everything he had and probably wouldn’t be far behind. There was nothing on this earth for him if you weren’t in it.

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