#well that part wasn’t exactly what was said

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 14 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: Life with him is really good...Right?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, threatening, penetration, breeding kink, degradation kink, cockwarming, edging, overstimulation, sleepy sex (both consent!), not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Life was good.

Uncharacteristically so even.

There was still a tiny part of you that was tense around him and that was for various reasons. One of them being, that you never really knew when his evil persona would take over. So far you could tell, albeit roughly, but there were always moments, when he would simply snap and there was nothing you could do about it. Was that a problem? Probably, but not to you, anyways. Why? Because life was good.

The little trip to the balcony hadn’t been a one-time thing. In fact, it happened more and more regular. Not only to get naughty, because he was a freak, who liked the thought of possibly getting caught – but also because, as he said, you’ve been such a good girl for me all this time. And I told you, sweet girl, I don’t want to keep you locked away. I just needed to make sure you’re mine.

That you were. Quite obviously.

That one time when you told him you wanted to leave, it had been exactly that. One time. The reasons for that outburst were in the past so far. There were still moments when you feared punishment and rightfully so. But to your great relief, you were both learning.

You were learning not to expect a painful blow, whenever you went out of your way to speak your mind (which wasn’t quite as often as you wished, but you were getting there). Slow and steady.

And he? He was learning, too. He was learning to leave you be and control the wild beast that lived inside his mind and soul. The darkness that surrounded him became lighter every day or so it felt to you. Of course he wouldn’t let you downright insult him, without at least some punishment in sight. But he was working on himself and his behavior. He didn’t hurt you without a reason. He didn’t hurt severely. And on some lucky days, he didn’t hurt you at all.

Slow and steady.

What was probably the greatest part of it all, it felt like a relationship. A real one. Two people who shared a life together, doing all kinds of things, sharing an intimate relation, but most importantly, you talked.

You talked a lot.

And now it wasn’t only through games and the fear of punishment. It wasn’t even only you who was forced to talk. No, he talked as well. The important things were still a big issue, obviously. He didn’t have a name, an identity or a past, when it came to you. But you had the great, undying hope that one day he would trust you. Trust you enough to let you know who he was and where he came from, what made him who he was and what was truly important to him.

Sometimes you’d get those tiny, little flickers that shone through his façade, his tight mask. The moments when the look in his eyes became faraway and distant, when his voice became softer and the tension in his body gave way to something quiet. Maybe one day that would be the version of him that you would get. Entirely and without question. Without the filter to rule out his emotions for him.

Until then, though, you would make do with what you had. And what did you have?

His favorite movie? The good, the bad and the ugly. What a question. Actually, anything with Clint Eastwood in it. Haven’t you seen the man?

His favorite musician? Ennio Morricone. Did you watch that scene in Inglourious Basterds, right before the Bear Jew comes out of the cave? That scene – and that composition – it’s reason enough to watch the movie. Aside from all the Nazis getting burned, of course.

His favorite food? Tteokbokki. But they have to be spicy enough to make your tongue fall off.

You smirked to yourself as you stood by the stove, slowly stirring the rice cakes in a black pan. He was talking movies all the time and that was a language you understood well.

In a minute you needed to add the spices and that disturbingly hot, red sauce. It was something you had cooked before, back in England. You had been scrolling aimlessly through one of your countless apps, which you normally used so you wouldn’t have to think and there you found some recipe that had been viral for a while. A Korean recipe with rice cakes in a sauce, topped with sesame and green onions. It had been quite the ordeal to find rice cakes back where you lived, but when you finally did and you tasted the recipe you had so carefully and lovingly prepared, you found it was worth it. It had actually been the first step into the life you were now living.

South-Korea, you had thought. Why not?

You poured the sauce in and wanted to try it, but decided against it in the end. You’d spend the next hour trying to soothe the pain in your mouth with bread and milk. With a soft sigh, you turned off the stove and served the food on two plates. You set the table with the gentle precision of a lovely homemaker. Even the napkins were folded prettily, giving the whole scene the last touch it needed to come off as…thoughtful.

Of course you never mentioned to him that you knew the dish. He had mostly likely thought it was just another Korean word he threw around and you’d forget immediately. And you had made no attempts to make him believe differently. So, when you began to cook this, it was with the intention to surprise him. A short glance at the clock showed you that it was almost ten in the evening, so he would most likely be home soon.

Home. What an odd thought.

You sighed again and washed your hands. A lecture you had to learn only once before in your life – spicy food didn’t quite match well with eyes.

You glanced around the kitchen once more, half-expecting him to be late. After he luckily gave you the books back, you asked yourself if you should go and read something, until he arrived, but that question answered itself, the moment you heard the door creak open. A nervous smile grew on your face and you nibbled on your lower lip. For some reason, a part of you was still afraid. A tiny bit, at least. It was like you expected him to punish you for good things. For being affectionate or caring.

But the moment you saw his head perk through the door, you knew you wouldn’t get punished tonight. Well, at least not, until you gave him a reason to…or asked him to.

His face lit up in surprised delight, his brows furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

“Hello?” He murmured as he stepped closer and set the briefcase down on a chair. Your smile grew somewhat and you folded your hands behind your back.

“Hey.” You took a step closer and tilted your head to the side. “I made dinner.”

“I can see that.” He glanced at the lovely decorated kitchen table. You had put in quite some effort, looking through all the drawers until you found a tablecloth, lit some candles and then there was his favorite food. He looked from the table to you and smiled.

“And what exactly did I do to deserve this?” He raised a brow in suspicion. You returned the smile.

“I just felt like it.”

“So, you know Tteokbokki!”

You laughed quietly. “We’ll see about that. You should try it first.”

He hummed softly and stepped closer. You expected him to head for the sink and wash his hands, which he most definitely would, but before that, he stepped close to you, so close that you felt the warmth radiating off him and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek and then your lips.

You closed eyes and leaned into the kiss, immediately aching for more. But a second later he pulled his head back and smiled again.

“I just know I’m going to love it. Thank you.”

You felt yourself blush and so you averted your gaze. He finished up getting ready and then pulled out your chair for you, like the gentleman he was, or well, he could be.

The both of you settled down and you kept a keen eye on him to check his reaction, the second he brought the fork to his lips. You half-expected him to recoil in disgust, but instead, his brows furrowed and he hummed in approval.

“This is perfect.”

You scoffed in amusement. “Stop bullshitting me.”

“No, I mean it. It’s perfectly spicy, just the way I like it. And it’s homemade. Do you know how much that me-“ He stopped himself and cleared his throat. The filter. “I really love it. Thank you.” He squeezed your hand under the table.

You smiled again and leaned back in your chair, taking a moment to simply watch him eat.

When he saw you were staring at him, he cocked a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Now it’s you bullshitting me, huh?”

That made you laugh. God, how beautiful this was. Just simple, plain banter. Back and forth, like normal couples shared. You loved it.

You loved him.

When you laughed, a cocky grin grew on his face. “Mhm. I still have it in me, don’t I?”

You smirked. “Oh, shut up. For an old man.”

His grin widened and he picked up the fork, bringing it to your lips. Wordlessly, you parted them and took the food in your mouth. It was painful, of course, but you tried to keep a strong façade. And failed.

He laughed and held out a glass with milk to you, of which you took a big, grateful sip.

“Why are you making it, if you can’t even eat it?”

“You like it.”

He hummed softly. “And you remembered.”

“It’s not that hard. I collect the few things I know about you like postage stamps.”

He snorted. “Oh, so now we collect stamps, do we?”

You grinned cheekily and gently nudged his shoulder. “Eat your abnormal spicy food and shush.”

He shot you another smirk and eyed you up and down for a moment. It left you feeling oddly comfortable.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbled before he took another bite. Your brows shot up and you titled your head to the side. You were better now, when it came to this. Compliments and accepting them. After all, he had no reason to lie to you whatsoever, now, did he?

“Thank you. But why are you saying that?” Not as good as you thought, but better.

He brows furrowed. “And why wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged and he shot you a long, suspicious look. “I’m not taking it back.”

That made you laugh again. He sounded like petulant child and you loved him even more when he was like this. Just…easy.

Easy to love.

“Why are you laughing at me?” He joined your laughter.

You smirked and took another sip of your milk. “If you can’t tell, it’s already too late.”

Days passed, weeks even, and life was still good. Very much so.

Every now and then you would ask yourself, when will things take a dark turn again? You couldn’t help yourself. These first few weeks were stuck in your mind like a nightmare you hardly remembered and yet felt in every inch of your body. Even when you didn’t...

Your body remembered.

He had that in him. That dark, that evil. It would undoubtedly come out again at some point. That’s why you always tried to remind yourself, not to dive too deep into what you called your perfect world. At some point, you’d surely be in pain again.

Though, you had to admit, you were hardly in pain nowadays. Your mysterious man was a gentle man, when he wanted to be and that happened more and more these days. Whenever he came home, he’d make a habit of kissing you and asking you about your day. His smile came out, more and more often. On very rare occasions, when you got really lucky, you even heard him laugh. And not the mock-kind of laugh he’d have so well-rehearsed in his repertoire of masks, he had for the world to see, but the real kind. A sound so unbridled and genuine, so warm and endearing, it made something inside of you ache. Why was it so rare?

Of course he still hurt you sometimes, but that was more of a consented kind of thing. In most cases.

Whenever he decided it was time for you to cockwarm him, for example. God, you hated, when he did. Because you loved it.

You loved the feeling of having him inside you on any occasion, really. Sometimes he’d be reading the newspaper and have you on his lap, his free hand on your hip to hold you perfectly still. You always asked yourself, how on earth did he manage to read like that, without even cocking an eye brow, while you were nearly fainting in agony, because all you wanted was for him to move?

On other nights, and you were ashamed to admit how much you enjoyed it, you’d even sleep like that. You’d lay either facing away or facing him, but often clenched around him. He’d nuzzle his face in your hair and after a while he’d usually drift off like that, his breathing slowly soothing down to a soft sound. Sometimes, when he’d wake up in the middle of the night, you felt him move and grind his hips against yours, giving you the friction you so desperately desired. Sometimes it happened quickly, sometimes it took a few hours and sometimes it didn’t happen at all. But when it did and when it did take hours to get to that point, you’d normally be half-asleep and yet desperate. The second you felt him move inside you, it was as though a switch got flipped. You became needy and…

Wicked.

 For you, it didn’t matter how many times he fucked you. How many times he made you cum. When you felt him like that, you needed him. Ardently.

But in most cases you managed to be good for him, just like he asked you to. Good and perfectly still. When you did, you got rewarded. Which, in most cases, consisted of him going down on you and making you feel things with his tongue that made your toes curl and your breath stutter. He made you cum so good that you nearly forgot your own name.

At times, you did forget it. But odd enough, you didn’t really miss it. Names weren’t important. Not with him.

And then there were those other times. The times, when you got too needy, too desperate and, despite your better will, you found yourself moving against him, desperate for any kind of friction. That was when you got punished still.

Sometimes with a firm slap to get you back on track. That wasn’t enough to make you forget about your need for him though. Normally, you’d just fall back into the same pattern, given enough time. And after a while, he got more creative with his punishments. When he realized that pain was something that you were rather immune to, compared to other things, you were fucked.

Quite literally.

When you moved and disobeyed his orders not to…

He fucked you. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Not at all, actually.

That was until…

You came. You came every time with him, which was something you had highly doubted, before you started this thing between you. But to your surprise, you were more than relaxed with him. And so you came.

But he didn’t stop there. No, it was a punishment after all, right?

So, he kept fucking into you, like a feral animal. Even after you came and the pleasure quickly shifted into overstimulation. You got so sensitive, it was close to painful. But he kept going.

And then, oh God, you’d come again. Of course you did. He was good at what he was doing. You came again, shuddering and gasping.

And he still wouldn’t stop.

Even when your body arched into the air and you tried to get away from him, all desperate, he’d continue fucking you, until your mind was a mess and all you could do was stutter and whimper, cry even.

It was one of his favorite ways to punish you.

When he didn’t keep you on edge or withdrew your release for the time being, he made you cum until you begged him to stop, sobbing and whimpering.

Oh, the crying turned him on, you could tell. Because it normally ended with him filling you up to the brim. And then he’d go back to sleep, wouldn’t he? With his length still buried deep inside to keep warm.

Let’s just hope you learned your lesson now, darling. I’d hate to punish you again.

He had done exactly that the night before and so you found yourself lying on the sofa, feeling sore and exhausted. When he came home that night, you were still passed out on the couch, too sleepy to even open your eyes. He regarded your broken frame with a warm, yet subtle smile and set his briefcase down. He took a few slow steps closer and watched over you for a long moment, before he reached for the nearby blanket and pulled it up to your shoulders. You weren’t really fast asleep, just somewhere in-between, so you felt his knuckles gently caress your cheek. You mumbled something in response and you heard the way he smiled, before he vanished to the bathroom and you heard the way the water got turned on.

After a while you slowly blinked your eyes open and yawned. When you saw the blanket, a smile crept onto your face and you hugged the material tightly to your body. Slowly and carefully, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, before you decided to try and cook something for a change. You got better and better at it, considering how little you knew about the Korean cuisine. Yet you had to admit, it seemed healthier than anything you had ever eaten back home.

When you couldn’t think of anything, you decided to be safe and went for Bibimbap. It was a mixture of near everything and also the fastest thing you could think of. But before you even started, you went back to your room to grab a claw clip for your hair. You swiftly did it up and made your way through the hallway, when you saw that the door to his bedroom stood open. You saw his white shirt splayed out on the bed and you just knew it smelled like him. You bit your lip as you slowly tiptoed inside and picked the shirt up, only to bury your face in the material and inhale softly.

If this wasn’t home, what would ever be?

You hummed softly to yourself, before you swiftly slid off your caramel colored skirt and your black tank top, to put his button down shirt on instead. The material hugged your body like a gentle hug and you smiled to yourself as you rolled the sleeves up in the way he would. Of course the shirt looked fairly huge on you. You took a long glance at the big mirror and smirked. It looked like a dress on you, albeit a short one. You twirled around like a ballerina and took in the way your thighs were barely covered by the material. That gave you a wicked idea.

Of course your body was begging you to leave it be, especially after last night, but the devil inside your mind forced you to keep the shirt on and make your way back to the kitchen.

In the meantime, he had finished his shower and now he sat on the couch, with the newspaper in his hand. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants (the damned bastard) and a black shirt. His hair was still damp and hung loosely into his face. He looked delicious.

When he heard you approach, he looked up, ready to greet you, when he hesitated. His gaze roamed up and down your body in a way that made you bite back a smirk.

“Hello, darling.” He murmured, without ever looking up at your face.

“Why, hello.” You purred cheerfully and approached him with slow, tiptoed steps. His gaze wandered up your legs and torso, until he finally met your gaze.

“You look…”

“I thought it suits me better than you.” You teased.

His lips curved up into a slow smile. “I can’t disagree.” He took your hand, ready to pull you onto his lap. But after last night, you felt in dire need to take some action and control.

Not, that you didn’t somehow enjoy it. But still.

You briefly squeezed his hand, before you pulled yours away. You gave him a quick peck on the lips, then took a step back.

“I’ll go cook.”

His brows shot up. “I can-“

“No.”

You hid your smirk, until you had your back facing him. With quick, measured steps, you disappeared into the kitchen, all the while pretending not to hear his frustrated groan.

The next few minutes went by rather quickly. You did a great job cooking up some ingredients and even an egg, Sunny Side Up. You quickly set the table and eventually left some rice on the stove, to slowly simmer. With a soft, exaggerated sigh you made your way back to the living room.

“It’s almost done.” You murmured as you slowly approached him. When you looked at him, you deliberately missed his face and his expression became more and more dour.

“Good. I was thinking-“

“I nearly finished my book.” You interrupted him in a sweet voice, as you sat down on his lap, causing him to freeze for a moment. It only took him a second to relax, though he seemed to have forgotten that you had interrupted him and what he even intended to say in the first place.

“That’s…good.” He murmured.

“Just two more pages. I’ll finish it quickly, before dinner, okay?”

He cocked a brow and shrugged slowly. “Sure. Suit yourself.”

His shirt rode up your thighs and revealed more and more of your skin to his gaze. He didn’t even try to be secretive about it, he was straight-up ogling you. All the while you buried your nose in your book, without reading a single word. You had to save up all your energy as not to smile.

His fingertips brushed over the skin of your thigh and you did your best to keep your expression neutral. And he, he was just…

“Are you-“

“Oh God, I didn’t see that twist coming.” You closed the book and sighed. Then you shot him an innocent look and smiled. “That was a really good book.”

You leaned back against his chest and kept up your innocent façade, all the while the look in his eyes equaled that of a bear with his fish.

“You really-“

“I’d better go and get myself another one. I’m sure the rice needs a few more minutes.”

His hand ended up in the middle of the air, while you practically jumped off of his lap. He let out a soft grunt of frustration, while you slowly swayed your way back to the bookshelf. Of course your hips swayed along and obviously his gaze did the same.

You held a finger against your lips, pretending to think, while you slowly went about the rows and rows of books. And then, what a coincidence, a book in the last row caught your attention. You smiled and bent down, pretending to read.

At the same time, his patience snapped. When his shirt rode up further, exposing just a hint of your rear to him, he let out a low growl.

“That’s enough.” He hissed. You smirked, before you slowly turned and replaced the smirk with innocent surprise.

“What? What’s enough?”

“Oh, stop this.” He slammed the newspaper down on the coffee table and stood up in a swift movement. “Stop acting all innocent. You’ve been parading around here, half-naked and ready to…”

“To what?” You murmured and tilted your head to the side in feigned curiosity. He growled again and ran a hand over his chin. Only then did you see the obvious tent in his grey sweatpants. It cost you half your life not to look down there and trust your peripheral view.

“Don’t play dumb.” He murmured. “Get over here. Now.”

You licked your lips. “But the rice-“

“Now!”

That made you laugh and there went your innocent act out of the window.

“You minx! You’re doing this on purpose!”

You chuckled. “Well…”

The look on his face was near rabid. Only the foam was missing.

“I’ll forgive you this once, if you’ll be a good girl for me and get your ass over here.”

You smirked and took a step back, circling the sofa. “And if I don’t?

He hissed in response. “You don’t want to test me today.”

And for some inexplicable reason, right then and there, you weren’t scared. That tiny part of your brain that had continued to keep up the fear, albeit briefly and barely, was completely silent. And you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you, no matter what you did.

“Make me then.”

His eyes widened and he tilted his chin up. “Oh, that’s a mistake.”

You grinned. “Oh, that’s a mistake.” You mocked his voice.

With a movement so quick that it almost made you wince, he jumped over the back of the couch and stood before you, eyeing you like a predator. You let out a soft shriek and turned on your heel, running and laughing, without looking over your shoulder.

It took him only a second to put his hand on your shoulder, but it took you only a second to shrug him off and circle the coffee table.

“That all you got, old man?”

You could have sworn you saw his lip twitch, but that would have been too easy. He tried hard to keep his expression serious.

“Grew a backbone, did you?”

You raised a brow and smirked. “Oh, boo-hoo. Did I hurt you, oppa?” You hinted a mocking curtsy.

“Oh, you just wait!” He rushed to catch you from one side, but you quickly ran the other way. When he tried the other way, you went the other way, yet again. He gave a frustrated growl.

“What now, hm?” You smirked. “Giving up already?”

He gave you a long, wild look. For a moment you almost thought he was indeed giving up, but then he rushed forward and kicked the table out of the way. It rolled over and crashed against the wall loudly. Your eyes widened in surprise and you took a step back, but before you knew it, your back was already pressed against the wall and you had to tilt your head back to stare up at him.

“You caught me.” You whispered.

He clenched his jaw and reached out a hand. You were sure. You were still sure, that you were safe.

And then…

His hand slowly tangled in your hair and gently grasped the back of your neck. He leaned down so that your lips nearly met.

“I caught you.” He whispered back, before he captured your lips in a bruising kiss.

And you let the rice burn.

A few days later, you couldn’t even tell which day it was, because every day was but a collection of memories you kept replaying in your head, he was off to work.

And to no one’s great surprise, you missed him.

Every waking moment without him was empty. The emptiness was so intense, it left you nearly suffocating. All the while, all you could do was wait. Wait and eat. Wait and sleep. Wait and read.

Sometimes, you wrote. You remembered that one time you told him about your greatest dream.

To become an author one day. You didn’t even care, if anyone knew your real name, you just wanted to touch people with your words. Like the Bronte-sisters.

Ellis Bell, huh? And who would you be?

Hana, maybe. The thought made you equally as sad as it filled you with hope.

But that was about all you did. And after hours and hours, the day neared its end. Eventually it was far past eleven, so you were sure he would be late tonight. Of course you were concerned. As you always were. You had no idea what his job was, but you could tell it was dangerous.

The man in his clean suit and a briefcase full of secrets.

When it got closer to midnight and he still wasn’t back, you decided to distract yourself, by getting yourself ready. You changed into a beautiful, white negligee with a neckline made of pretty, see-through lace. You loved it. The silk made you feel like you were the most beautiful girl on earth. And you were sure, once he saw you in it, he would totally destroy it. Chew it off or tear it down, whatever worked faster.

You did your hair down (it was slowly growing back and you barely thought back to the dreadful day that he cut it) and took a last glance at your appearance in the mirror. You smiled at yourself, something you rarely did, and eventually made your way back to his bedroom to surprise him. On his bed, wearing nothing but the negligee and a pair of…

Where were the handcuffs? You frowned as you glanced around and didn’t immediately find them. You bent down to look under the bed, but still no cuffs in sight. Your frown deepened and you gave another quick onceover, before you decided that they most likely were in the wardrobe.

You opened it and knelt down, finding the knife and several guns in the process. The small shudder brought you back to reality and you exhaled softly, before you sat back and looked at the countless weapons. Had he ever killed someone with them? Most likely.

But for a strange, inexplicable reason, you didn’t really care. Not really. Because it wasn’t real. Not then, not there, not in that moment. What was real, was him and his…

Desires.

You opened your mouth and closed it, before your fingers slowly closed around a small handgun. You swallowed thickly and carefully held it up, only to realize it was far heavier than you always assumed. The material felt cold and wrong in your hand.

Your mind involuntarily wandered back to the day he pressed one of them against your temple or…his. You closed your eyes. The thought of him…

Him…

With a shuddery gasp, the gun slipped through your fingers and landed on the carpet.

There was no thought more painful than that one. You couldn’t lose him. Not ever.

You loved him. And you loved him far too much.

Enough, to be what he wanted.

Enough, to give in to his desires.

You took another deep breath and picked up the gun again, determined to take it back to bed with you. You wanted to surprise him, right?

All you had to do beforehand was to make sure that it wasn’t loaded.

A frown formed on your face, when you realized you didn’t even know how to do that. The thought of accidentally shooting yourself, while waiting for him to come home…It didn’t sound all too appealing, though it did sound like something that could happen to you.

You sighed and already gave up the thought of ever finding the cuffs, when you caught sight of something else instead. It was far in the back of the wardrobe and you were sure, for some reason, you weren’t supposed to see it.

Of course you weren’t supposed to touch his gun, either, but you felt he would forgive you, once he realized you were slowly submitting to his every desire.

Even if it meant him fucking you, while he held a gun to your head. In your mouth…Or, God help you, somewhere else.

You were twisted. You were sure you were. Because you felt it. You felt how the thought did things to you.

But for now you tried to push the thought aside and instead glanced back at the box.

Then again, what terrible thing could be inside there?

Someone’s teeth maybe?

Your soft smile disappeared the second you realized it was possible. You nearly recoiled in disgust. But then you realized, you had to know.

It couldn’t be teeth. It was too sick. Too deranged.

Too…him?

No. No, no, no.

As if in a trance, you picked up the light, wooden box and took off the lid.

No teeth inside. Only…

Fuck.

What was in there was so much worse than teeth.

Your forehead creased into a small frown, which grew further with every second.

And suddenly you felt nauseous.

No.

Oh, no.

You nearly dropped the box and backed away like you’d been struck, the moment you heard it.

“Goddamn it." He sighed impatiently and the door slowly closed behind him. "You weren’t supposed to see that.”

___________________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: Did I lately mention that I love you, guys?

Ps. The Tteokbokki and the teasing were anon requests! I loved them and I hope I did them justice!

[landopoet]

two prizes.

pairing lando norris x journalist!reader

warnings smut, oral (fem receiving), mentions of alcohol

synopsis that day was not the first time you and lando had met, and he helps you remember that

author’s note posting my older works, thanks to @clovermoters for the collage up top!

♯

Excitement pulsed through your veins at the mere sound of engines roaring.

The amount of people trying to push past you made you anxious, but you knew it was all part of the experience. Everyone was bunching up to watch one of the greatest events of all time— the Miami GrandPrix.

Once you make it through the crowd, avoiding elbows and shoulders of people much taller and energetic than you, the entrance that you need comes into view.

You weren’t just excited for the interviews you were going to watch up close, but also the entire concept of the race. The hustle of engineers in all these garages, working their hardest to get the drivers in and out of the pits with minimal time to waste. Not to mention the drivers themselves, having to sit in the cars for multiple hours over the race weekend with no complaints— they chose to do this, they deal with the consequences.

That’s exactly what excited you. The reasoning for their choice to do this, you wanted to ask each and every one of them why they wanted to do this, what was so interesting?

You guessed their answer would be the same as yours if you were asked why you became a sports journalist.

Keeping your amazement at bay, you observed the race, focused on everything going on even though it was a lot to keep up with. But that’s exactly what you were there for.

You were sitting in the grandstands, intently watching the cars fly past you, when your phone rang. The caller ID said it was your coworker who had also been at the race but disappeared about ten minutes ago.

“Hello?”

She sounded distressed when you heard her voice. “Hey, love. I was wondering if you could take over the post-race interviews?”

Today was supposed to be a sort of intern day for you, meaning you were just going to watch your colleague interview the drivers and better understand what the etiquette is for it. You hadn’t expected to have your first interview today.

“Uh, why?” You asked, in a whisper. “You know I’ve never interviewed anyone before, right?”

“So?” She seemed much more confident in you than you were in yourself. “You’ve studied journalism for a few years now, yeah? I don’t think you’d have taken an internship at SkySports for nothing.”

“I mean, I guess?” You shrug. “I’m not sure if I’m ready to speak to actual drivers, though. What if I make a fool of myself?”

“You won’t if you remember that they’re just people doing their jobs, and you’re doing your job by asking them questions.” She makes a good point and you sigh in defeat.

“Alright, I’ll do it. Send over the information you’ve written.”

“Sorry.” You hear her slightly laugh. “You gotta fend for yourself with that one, hun. It’s a cruel world we live in. Cheers.”

With that, the call ended and you were left with nothing but anxiety weighing on your shoulders. The rest of the race seemed to fly by in mere minutes, your mind too focused on the pressure of your first ever interview.

Well, not first ever.

You imagined the day would come sooner or later, so you’d practise a conversation with one of the drivers by speaking to yourself in the mirror. That, and watching multiple interviews through the years, soaking up every bit of information you could about the process of it.

Before you knew it, you were standing in a sea of people with their cameras, waiting for the drivers to make their way to you.

It wasn’t that nerve wracking when you actually started talking to them, and by the time you got to Daniel, you had lost all feelings of anxiety, instead laughing along to his jokes.

You thought so, at least. A feeling of intimidation crawled up your spine when your eyes locked with Lando Norris, a driver for Mclaren. You noticed the piercing look from across the room as he spoke to a different interviewer, his green pupils tracking your every move as you spoke to Oscar.

The interview with Oscar wraps up and he begins turning away from you. “Good luck on your next race!”

Oscar smiled at you as he walked off to somewhere you could only guess.

If you had been anxious before, you were probably five times as anxious now, because Oscar Piastri leaving the spot in front of you meant that Lando Norris would be replacing him. And, for whatever reason, he was making you incredibly nervous.

You looked down at the ground as Lando approached you, waiting to hear what you had to say. You couldn’t bear looking up at him, knowing he’s already staring at you. But it was part of your job and you had to stay professional.

“Hello, Lando.” You said, cheerily.

“Hi,” he grinned at you, sweaty and all, his dimples appearing for a split second. “How are you?”

“I’m alright, thanks, how was the race?” You asked with a smile, ignoring the butterflies in the pit of your stomach when he smiled at you again.

Lando’s green eyes studied your face, soaking up each detail he missed since the last time he had seen you. He knows you don’t remember him and he doesn’t need you to, it’s kind of nice to feel something without reciprocation from the other.

After a long while, Lando shrugged. “Yeah, uh, the race was pretty good, I mean, I got first place, so I’d say it’s good. Y’know, aside from Oscar’s incident, but that’s not something we can predict, it just happens.”

You watched intently as he explained the race, your eyes oddly drawn to his lips. The pattern at which they move, and the tempting way he pokes his tongue out to tap the corners of his lips, makes you weak.

This was horribly unprofessional of you, and you knew that, but the charms of this young british racer had worked their magic on you, and you weren’t strong enough to resist it.

You felt like it was just the two of you in the room and both of you were trying your damn best not to break, one for more reasons than the other.

“Yeah, it seems like it was a lucky race for you, the pace of your car was incredible to watch.” You pointed out, looking down at the race data on your clipboard. “The RedBull’s were a bit slower this race, do you think that gave you an advantage?”

“Well, they already win races left, right and centre. They have to be bad sometimes.” Lando stifled a laugh. “But, uh, I don’t know. I think it all came down to the car and my ability to control it. The pace was insane, honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to be faster than a RedBull.”

The joke made you giggle and you quickly hid your face by looking away for a mere moment, in an attempt to recollect yourself. Thankfully, none of the cameras were on your face.

“Or it’s just pure talent, I’d say.” You look back up at him, his eyes never once leaving your face. He’s so smiley and it’s contagious, so you can’t help but smile at him, too. “Any plans for the celebration? You must be feeling ecstatic about your first win, so I assume the celebration must be as big as this.”

Lando puts the tube of his water bottle to his lips and takes a long sip, eyes still glued to you. He wasn’t even blinking, far too focused on the shape of your lips and how good they felt that night. That one night you can’t seem to remember.

“I’m not entirely sure, if I’m honest.” He shrugs, tongue poking out to lick his bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, biting back the widest grin you’ve ever seen on his face. “I still have to call my mum and siblings.”

“I’m sure they’re incredibly proud of you,” you smile, politely. He’s still intently looking at you, cheeks now burning red at your comment accompanied by his massive grin.

It was time to wrap up your chat with Lando, but, in all honesty, you really didn’t want to. You felt something brewing in your chest at the mere feeling of his eyes burning into you, and it excited you.

Still, you ignore it. You had to stay professional, even if it was all too much to handle. “It was lovely chatting with you, Lando. Congratulations and good luck next race.”

“Will you be interviewing me next time, too?” Lando asks, making no move to walk away just yet. His eyes narrowed onto yours when you looked back at him, an adorably surprised look on your face.

“Uh,” you look away for a moment, not sure what to say. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I look forward to seeing you again. Maybe.” He gave you another cocky smirk and nodded his head as a farewell, leaving you nothing but a blushing mess in the media pen.

After a plethora of interviews back to back, you were tired beyond words. Your feet were sore, your back hurt, you felt your eyelids close if you stood still for longer than two seconds. The image of your soft hotel bed made you motivated to keep moving through the building and find your way out.

“Oh, hey!” A familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. “Y/N, was it?”

Your eyes find their way to the person behind you and you’re happy to see that it’s Daniel. “Daniel! Hi, nice to see you again.” You extended a hand to shake and he smiled as he squeezed it.

“Was lovely talking to you earlier. You asked such great questions, honestly, it made me really think about my answers, y’know?” You hadn’t noticed how both of you started walking again and he kept up with your pace. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Oh, interviewing?” You ask and he nods eagerly, with the energy of a little boy. “This was my first official day of interviewing, actually. I had to step in for my colleague.”

“No way.” He muses, jaw slack and eyes glimmering with interest. “The way you interacted with me had me thinking you were carrying a load of experience.”

You stifle a laugh and watch the path ahead. “Yeah, well. I practised a lot in my room. You have race sims, I have a mirror and a hairbrush for a microphone.”

Daniel’s laugh echoed in the mostly empty area around you. “You’re funny, too.” He muses once again, shocked by how much fun you can be. “Listen, I know it’s not professional to ask this, but are you free tonight?”

“Oh, uh,” you look up at him and hesitate. “I’m not interested in-“

“No, no,” Daniel waves his hands in the air as if to stop the words spilling from your mouth. “God, no. I was going to ask if you’d like to come to the club later, all of the drivers are gonna be there to celebrate Lando’s win. It could be fun.”

You paused in your steps, brows furrowing as you felt a beam of energy climb up your spine. All of a sudden, your bed didn’t seem like the comfiest thing in the world and you were willing to exchange it for a pair of heels and a dress.

“I’d like that, yeah.” You smiled at Daniel and he reciprocated the gesture.

He gives you a piece of paper with something scribbled on it and you gladly pluck it from his fingers. “Shoot me a text when you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride to the club. Cheers.”

And with that, he disappeared into the car park, the only remainder of his friendly presence being his lingering smell in the air and the scribbled number on the back of a grocery store coupon.

“Thanks, mate.”

Lando’s hand felt heavy as he shook it with someone he barely knew, congratulating him on the win. He’s been stuck in this large group of people for way too long, desperately looking for an escape. And, eventually, he found it— you.

His eyes have been stuck to you for the past fifteen minutes, patiently waiting for the people to finish congratulating him so he could finally talk to you.

When the perfect moment arose, Lando swiftly shimmied between the dancing bodies and made his way to the bar. You were still sitting there, looking as beautiful as the last time he saw you, but now you were right in front of him and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Lando’s voice startles you when he plops down in a bar stool beside you.

You smile at him, feeling the same anxiety crawl up your spine as the last time you saw him. “I’d say the same, but this feels like the perfect place for a race winner.”

“I honestly hated it before,” he shrugged, looking out into the crowd. “I used to party after a podium, second place being the best I’ve ever had.”

“But now you’re here as a winner.” You’re still looking at him when he turns back around. There’s something so nostalgic about the way he looks at you, almost as if you’ve already been there and seen him before. “A victory looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” He flashes a grin your way, raising a brow. “I’ll try to win more then. Maybe I’ll get to see you again that way.”

“I’m free whenever you want to see me,” you blurt. Lando’s eyebrows raise with surprise when you say that and he bursts into a small laugh when you start flailing your hands around in the air. “Sorry, that’s so unprofessional, I didn’t mean to–“

“It’s fine,” he assures you. “I was actually going to ask you if you wanted to get out of here. But that’s so unprofessional of me.”

“Mr. Norris!” You exclaim with a faux gasp. Lando watches with an amused grin on his face as you smile back at him. “I’d like that very much.”

It didn’t take long for both of you to swivel your way past the drunk people in the club and find yourselves in a cab. Lando’s hand made a home on your thigh and you didn’t mind. It felt warm, secure and turned you on when he inched it closer to the hem of your dress.

Time flew fast in the company of a race winner, especially one as charming and attractive as Lando. You didn’t realise how many hours had passed after you had left the club and, frankly, you didn’t really care.

The moments spent with him felt somehow nostalgic, as if you had felt this way before. But you’re sure you just dreamt it. There’s no way you’ve met Lando before and didn’t remember it.

It felt silly to think that, so you just ignored that thought and continued watching the intoxicating way his lips moved as he spoke. He’s been talking about something for the past five minutes and you didn’t hear a word of it, being far too focused on the pattern of his freckles, the dip of his nose and the gentleness of his eyes when he looked at you.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, voice gentle and cautious.

You bit back a smile, eyes flickering between his eyes and lips. “You.”

The nostalgic feeling snuck its way into the back of your mind when he kissed you, his lips and hands feeling like a long lost home. You somehow already knew the melody of his breathing and the pattern of his hair, the familiarity of his kiss starting a fire in your chest. You felt the warmth of his lust spread through your torso, creeping up your neck, softly toying with the giggle in your throat.

Stars spackled on the inside of your eyelids and the harmonious sounds leaving your lips finally drew you back to that night.

Warm hands. Gentle strokes and soft kisses. Careful fingertips trailing their way down your hips. Lando’s tongue danced on your aching bud and you felt the whole world fade away. The mere touch of his fingers on your hips to keep you still reminded you of the last time.

“Mmh, fuck.” Lando hummed against you, the vibrations sending bolts of lightning through your veins. “So good. So fucking good for me, y/n.”

His tongue swirled around your throbbing clit, bringing you that much closer to the edge. The alcohol in your system mixed with the pleasure coursing through your body was a lethal combination. Your legs shook as you felt your walls close around nothing, Lando’s mouth attached to you as if he was a starved man and you were the first thing he could get his mouth on.

“I’m- I-” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before making a mess all over his goatee. He licked up every last bit of you, the sweet taste of you making a perfect combination with the aftertaste of whiskey in the back of his throat.

You stayed lying there, eyes fluttering closed and lips parted, deep breaths inflating your chest. Lando watched you, green eyes soaking in every inch of you— he wasn’t sure if you’d remember him this time, so he made the most of every moment spent with you.

After a while of him watching you, you felt Lando get up and come back in a few minutes, a damp towel in his hands. He touched your most sensitive parts with the weight of nothing, carefulness sewn into every movement he made. At that point, you were drifting in and out of consciousness, not fully knowing when the bed dipped under Lando’s weight again.

You felt his arms wrap around you and pull you in, the warmth of his bare skin heating your cheek. You were hesitant to speak, cautious as to not say something wrong. So, instead of speaking, you lifted your head and connected your lips with his again, the minty taste of his lips making you smile.

“It was you.”

Lando hummed into the kiss, as if to acknowledge that it was him, but also to ask what you meant.

You pulled away, fingers immediately making home in his curls. “That night.” A familiar look painted itself across Lando’s face. “I tried so hard to remember whose lips felt like home, and only the weight of yours reminded me.”

“You were thinking about me?” Lando inquired, brushing stray strands of hair away from your face.

You nodded. “Every day since that night.”

Lando smiled before kissing you again. “You never left my mind. I kept reminiscing that night, waiting for fate to magically bring us back to one another.” He whispered against your hairline, lips pressing soft, love-filled kisses against your skin. “Didn’t expect to win two prizes in one day.”

A small laugh slipped past your lips. “What a lucky man you are, Mr. Norris.”

“The luckiest.” He hummed. “Because I finally have you.”

[rizzanon]

Batdad brainrot

a bruce wayne and daughter! reader oneshot | m.list

Summary: your estranged father tries to connect with you in ways you didn’t expect him to

The argument had started as something small.

Bruce didn’t even remember what it was about. A minor disagreement, an offhand comment, something inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It shouldn’t have escalated.

But it had.

And now, you weren’t speaking to him.

Well—not exactly. You weren’t avoiding him outright. You still responded when necessary, still showed up when he called, still acknowledged his presence. But it was different.

It was distant.

Mechanical.

Gone were the casual conversations, the random observations you used to share just to fill the silence. Gone were the moments when you’d tell him about something you found interesting, even when you knew he probably wouldn’t have much to say in response. Gone were the little efforts you made to connect—because no matter how much he had failed to meet you halfway, you had always tried.

And now you weren’t.

At first, Bruce Wayne had told himself it didn’t matter. That it was fine. He wasn’t someone who needed constant conversation, who thrived on interaction. He was used to silence. Preferred it, even.

But this wasn’t silence.

This was absence.

And it made something in him itch with discomfort.

Because suddenly, the manor felt empty in a way it never had before.

Bruce had never been good at fixing things that weren’t tangible.

A broken bone could be set. A wound could be stitched. A case could be solved, an enemy could be defeated, a mission could be completed. But this? This was different. There was no direct solution, no simple fix.

And he hated that.

Because every time Bruce saw you, he saw the way your shoulders stiffened. The way your expression remained carefully neutral, the way you answered only when necessary. The way you no longer sought him out, no longer attempted to start conversations, no longer tried—and the worst part was knowing that it was his fault.

He had spent so much time thinking he was protecting you by keeping his distance, by not indulging in sentimentality, by maintaining the walls he had built so carefully over the years. But all he had done was push you away.

And now, he was left with nothing but silence.

He thought about it more than he wanted to admit.

During patrol, during Justice League meetings, even when reviewing case files in the Batcave, his mind kept drifting back to the argument. Kept replaying it over and over, picking apart every word, every moment, trying to pinpoint the exact second he had gone wrong.

Bruce had always believed himself to be a man who thrived in silence. It was in silence that he observed, that he planned, that he found control.

But now, this silence—your silence—was unbearable.

He hadn’t realized just how much you filled the manor with your presence until it was gone. The absent chatter, the missing quips at the dinner table, the lack of commentary whenever you sat next to him in the Batcave, pretending to work while obviously keeping him company. You were avoiding him. Not just in passing, but with intent. And Bruce wasn’t used to that.

Bruce Wayne was many things, but when it came to being a father, he was painfully aware that he wasn’t the best. And now, that awareness was staring him in the face every time you walked past him without a word.

He didn’t realize how lost in thought he was until he felt someone watching him.

Bruce glanced up from the Batcomputer, already knowing who it was before he saw him.

Dick was leaning against the cave’s stone wall, arms crossed, brow raised. He had that look on his face—the one that meant he had been standing there for a while, the one that meant he was waiting for Bruce to acknowledge him first.

Bruce exhaled slowly. “Something you need?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Dick said, pushing off the wall and walking toward him. “You’ve been staring at the same screen for the past twenty minutes. Either you’re trying to solve the world’s hardest crime, or you’re brooding.”

Bruce frowned. “I don’t brood.”

Dick snorted. “Right. And Gotham is a peaceful city with low crime rates.”

Bruce ignored that.

There was a beat of silence before Dick leaned against the Batcomputer, tilting his head slightly. “So? What’s up?”

Bruce hesitated.

For a moment, he considered brushing it off. Telling him it was nothing. That he was just tired, or distracted, or caught up in work. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew Dick wouldn’t buy it.

And… maybe a part of him didn’t want to brush it off.

So, with some reluctance, he told him.

And by the time he was done, Dick was looking at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world.

“So, let me get this straight,” Dick said, arms crossed as he leaned against the Batcomputer. “You and (Name) got into an argument. She’s now giving you the silent treatment. And you’re freaking out.”

Bruce gave him a look. “I’m not—”

“Bruce,” he said slowly, “do you hear yourself right now?”

Bruce frowned. “…Yes?”

Dick exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re overthinking this.”

“I’m aware that’s what I do.”

“Yeah, with cases. Not with your daughter.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the way his jaw tightened must have said enough, because Dick sighed and shook his head.

“There you go again,” he muttered. “Overanalyzing, scrutinizing, looking for some grand strategy when there isn’t one. She’s not you, Bruce. She doesn’t think like you, doesn’t work like you. So stop putting on the whole ‘Bruce Wayne’ act and trying to figure this out like it’s just another mission. Instead of thinking about how you would approach this, think about how she would.”

Bruce went still.

And just like that, his mind started turning again.

But this time, it wasn’t in the way he usually did.

This time, he wasn’t analyzing things from his own perspective—he was trying to see it from yours.

And that… changed things.

Over the next few days, Bruce found himself researching in a way he never had before.

He had read entire psychological profiles on some of the most complex minds in history. He had deciphered alien languages. He had cracked codes that entire intelligence agencies had failed to solve.

And yet nothing—nothing—prepared him for this.

It started with subtle observations. He paid closer attention to the things you watched, the things you laughed at, the things you scrolled through on your phone. He noted the words and phrases you used, the memes you sent in group chats (not that he snooped—he just happened to see them in passing), the trends you occasionally mentioned in conversation with your brothers and sister.

Then came the actual research.

Bruce Wayne was a detective. A strategist. A man who could crack the most encrypted codes, uncover the deepest secrets, solve the most impossible mysteries.

So surely, surely, understanding Gen Z slang couldn’t be that difficult.

He was wrong.

At first, it was just simple terminology. He started with the basics—words like “rizz,” “mid,” “slay,” and “delulu.” But then he found himself spiraling into deeper territory, encountering phrases that made absolutely no logical sense. “Ate and left no crumbs”? “Touching grass”? “Gyatt”?

What the hell was a “skibidi toilet”? Why was “no cap” a thing? Why did “mid” sound like an insult? What was the difference between “based” and “cringe”? Why did some of these phrases feel like they were meant to be grammatically incorrect?

He had never felt older in his entire life.

But Bruce wasn’t deterred. If anything, the confusion only made him more determined.

So, he studied. He took notes. He tried to analyze sentence structures, context, and usage patterns. He even ventured onto TikTok, only to be immediately bombarded with an overwhelming amount of fast-paced videos, most of which he did not understand.

But he persisted.

His first attempt at incorporating this newfound knowledge into conversation came during dinner.

The table was mostly silent—just the occasional clink of silverware, the occasional page turn from Tim’s book, the occasional soft exhale from Cassandra.

You were sitting across from Bruce, scrolling through your phone, expression unreadable.

And Bruce, in a desperate attempt to bridge the gap that had grown between you, cleared his throat and said, “So… I hear that a lot of things are… bussin’ nowadays.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Tim looked up from his book, squinting in suspicion. Damian paused mid-bite, staring as if Bruce had grown a second head.

And you?

You just slowly lifted your eyes from your phone, staring at your father with the most deadpan, unreadable expression he had ever seen.

“…What?” you asked flatly.

Bruce maintained his composure. “I was simply acknowledging that many things these days are… as you would say, based….?”

Your stare somehow became more bewildered.

“Father,” Damian said, voice wary. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Tim looked vaguely concerned. “Did you hit your head during patrol?”

Bruce frowned. “No. I—”

But before he could even attempt to recover, you sighed, shook your head, and went right back to your phone.

Bruce realized, then and there, that his first attempt had been a complete failure

So, he regrouped.

His second attempt happened in the Batcave.

You had come downstairs to grab something, and that’s when you saw it—Bruce sitting at the Batcomputer, scrolling.

At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Until you got closer.

And realized that your father was—oh god—scrolling through TikTok.

“…Dad.” you said slowly.

Bruce stiffened.

When he turned, there was a brief moment where he looked like he was debating whether or not to close the tab. But then, after a second of hesitation, he exhaled and faced you fully.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you,” he said seriously.

You raised a brow. “Okay?”

Bruce turned back to the screen.

“Why,” he starts, “do so many of these… influencers believe that Batman is an alpha male?”

You blinked.

He gestured toward the screen, where a video was paused on some random guy in sunglasses talking about “how Batman embodies the peak sigma mindset.”

“They claim that I—he—operates on some kind of grindset mentality,” Bruce continued, sounding vaguely irritated. “That the reason Batman fights crime is due to some misguided sense of superiority rather than a moral obligation. Some of them even say he ‘gives off major red pill energy.’”

You cringed.

Bruce’s frown deepened. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “B, please stop scrolling on that side of TikTok.”

“I didn’t intend to,” Bruce said. “It just happened to appear on my feed while I was doing research.”

“…Research?”

“For… communication purposes.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What kind of communication purposes?”

Bruce hesitated.

And then, in what was possibly the most botched attempt at Gen Z slang to ever exist, he slowly said, “I’m just trying to… get that W… and not be an L father. No cap.”

Silence.

Pure, unfiltered, incomprehensible silence.

You stared at him, utterly speechless.

Bruce held your gaze, waiting.

Tim, who had just entered the cave, immediately turned around and left.

It took a full ten seconds for you to finally find your voice.

“…What the actual fuck did you just say?”

“Language.”

You were baffled. Was your father hearing what he was saying??

Before you could respond, an alert suddenly blared through the Batcomputer, signaling an Arkham breakout.

And just like that, he was saved by the bell.

Bruce quickly turned back to the screen, scanning the situation, already shifting into mission mode. But before he left, he spared you one last glance.

And, in what was perhaps his most disastrous attempt yet, he said,

“Stay woke.”

Then, without another word, he swept out of the cave.

Leaving you standing there, completely and utterly at a loss for words.

You had no idea what the hell just happened.

And honestly? You weren’t sure you wanted to know.

But the next day, Bruce made one last attempt.

Bruce Wayne had faced some of the most dangerous criminals in the world. He had been thrown through walls, stabbed, shot at, and even died once (technically). He had outmaneuvered gods, masterminds, and creatures of the night.

And yet, standing outside your bedroom door, debating whether or not to knock, he found himself hesitating.

This was ridiculous.

He shouldn’t feel hesitant about this. He was your father. He had faced literal apocalypses without flinching—why was it so difficult to face you?

Was it because of his failed attempts at getting through to you these past few days?

Probably.

But he had committed to this. He wasn’t going to back down now.

So he took a deep breath, steeled himself, and knocked on your door.

A pause.

Then—“Come in.”

He opened the door, stepping inside with careful, measured movements. His eyes swept over the room instinctively, cataloging every detail—your posture, your expression, the way your fingers curled slightly where they rested on your crossed arms.

You were stiff, but not defensive. Guarded, but not hostile.

Not angry. Not anymore.

But you were distant. And that was worse.

Bruce had always relied on presence—on being there, on the sheer weight of existence as a means of maintaining connection. But now he understood that presence wasn’t the same as attention.

He hadn’t given you that. Not the way you had given it to him. Not the way you deserved.

Bruce cleared his throat, trying to find the words. “I…. would like to formally apologize for being the… goat of bad parenting. That was not very…. rizz of me.”

You blinked.

What?

A slow, deliberate blink, your expression frozen in something between shock and utter disbelief.

Bruce noted the way your brows twitched slightly, the way your lips parted just enough to indicate that you had words but were currently incapable of forming them.

Good. That meant you were listening.

He continued, tone steady. “I have, in fact, been caught in 4K being a cringe father. And that’s on me. Major L.”

The silence that followed was excruciating.

You tilted your head ever so slightly, like you were trying to determine if this was some elaborate joke.

Maybe it did seem like that to you.

Bruce pressed forward. “No cap, I have been acting incredibly mid. Probably even giga-mid.”

Still silence.

The twitch in your eye was microscopic but noticeable. The corner of your mouth jerked—barely, almost imperceptibly, but Bruce caught it.

He nodded, as if steeling himself, mentally adjusting his approach. “This whole situation has been, dare I say… a ratio.”

That was what did it.

You snorted.

A small sound, abrupt, barely audible—but it was real.

Encouraging. He could work with this.

“I have realized,” he said solemnly, “that I have been lacking fatherly rizz. A skill issue, if you will.”

Your entire body curled inward as you let out a strangled, disbelieving laugh, hands flying to cover your face as if that would somehow make this entire situation less insane.

Bruce analyzed every detail—the way your shoulders shook, the way your hands trembled slightly as you pressed them against your face, the way you leaned just a fraction forward, no longer so closed off.

Progress.

Finally, gasping for breath, you looked at him with pure horror. “Dad. Please tell me you’re not serious.”

“I am always serious,” Bruce said gravely. “This is an earnest attempt at slayful parenting.”

You made a sound that could only be described as a dying gremlin noise.

Bruce noted the way you hunched further over, like your body was physically rejecting what was happening, and yet—you were still laughing.

You peeked up again, eyes shining with barely restrained mirth. “Dad, what the hell are you saying?”

He furrowed his brows. “Am I not eating right now?”

You lost it again.

Bruce waited patiently as you continued to laugh into your hands.

Finally, wiping at your eyes, you shook your head. “Oh my god, Dad. What is this. Did Alfred put you up to this?”

“No,” Bruce said. “This was all Dick’s idea, somewhat.”

“Of course it was,” you groaned, still grinning. “I knew he was behind this somehow.”

Bruce hesitated, then walked over, sitting at the edge of your bed.

He saw it in the way you met his eyes, in the way your posture was looser, in the way you were actually looking at him now, rather than through him.

“I’m sorry.”

Your smile dimmed, just slightly. “…For what?”

“For the argument, for not listening. And for not being as emotionally available as I should be.”

You searched his face.

Bruce let you.

You studied him, guarded again. But then—softer, you asked, “Why are you trying now?”

“Because you tried first,” Bruce admitted. “And I never met you halfway.”

That got you.

He saw it in the flicker of your expression, in the way your fingers twitched slightly, in the way your gaze softened just enough for him to catch it.

Then, after a long moment, you huffed. “…Is that why you were acting so weird these past few days?”

Bruce nodded. “I will admit… it was incredibly painful.”

You laughed again, but it was softer now. Easier.

Bruce felt something in his chest loosen.

You sighed, stretching your arms behind your head. “…Fine. I forgive you. But please—never say fatherly rizz again.”

Bruce placed a hand on his chest. “I make no promises.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping onto your bed.

But you were smiling.

And for Bruce, that was more than enough.

literally based off my parents trying to act like they understand gen z slang infront of me and my sister LOL 😭 hope you guys enjoyed this 🫶

taglist (open): @k1arar3 @kingshitonly @rainnyydaysworld @ceridwyn3 @darkfaethedestroyer @blueiones @strwberryglass @lithiumval @thephantomdanny @eli-mayhaveatencats @rockyeatrock @dreaming-of-the-reality @shirp-collector-of-fixations @gneepgnorpsneepsnorp @skerbablo | ask to be added <3

[arbitrarykiwi]

I crave more thangyu x reader before/ no game! au your fic is 😫😩😫😖😖😫😩😩😣 *SCREAMS*

What's Better Than One Boyfriend?! TWO Boyfriends!!!: II

OH WHAT A DELICIOUS MEAL YOU BOTH REQUESTED!! Omg I got so much love on the original two boyfriends post!! And I’m so happy I did because these are so fun to write. I was sitting here kicking my feet writing this fr. I combined two requests for this one, I hope yall don’t mind🙏 as always thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy!! ORDER UPPP🗣️🗣️

Warnings: 18+ , drug usage , closed polyamory , swearing , some smutty parts / mentions of sex near the end , cum play , spit , probably ooc Thanos and Nam-Gyu, read at your own risk

You can find my other thangyu Two Boyfriends request here

You knew that agreeing to this relationship you’d have to please two people, give attention to two people, and you were well away of their chaotic personalities. But you did not expect that really at no point in your life are you alone now. Sure, if you’d ask nicely to have some time alone- they’d pout and give it to you- otherwise, if it wasn’t both of them with you; one of them was.

Thanos was like a ticking time bomb that could go off at any minute, he was always hyper and ready to run off with you and take you on various adventures. He was for sure an ass man, his hand always on your ass when you’re walking or bending over. He’s slapping your ass playfully as you three all head somewhere to eat lunch. When he’s walking with you his hand is 100% in one of your back pockets. He’s shitty with gifts, never really knowing what to get. He normally leaves the gift buying to Nam-Gyu. But, with his rap career picking up, he is always giving his dark haired counterpart money and telling him to buy something he thinks you’d like. And to also make up for his poor gift giving skills he often takes you shopping! Taking you wherever you like and telling you to buy whatever you pick up. He likes to say he’s not as touchy as Nam-Gyu, not as needy, but he always has to be touching you if he’s near you. Hand on your waist, thighs touching when your two sit together- just some sort of contact.

Nam-Gyu is the tamer of the two of them, balancing out the erratic nature that Thanos seems to bring to the table. Don’t get it twisted though, Nam-gyu can be just as chaotic. He’s walking into your apartment randomly and sneaking into your bed while you’re asleep because. Vary rarely do you three sleep apart, so the one night you all had work late- Nam-Gyu is texting Thanos to meet him at your apartment so they can use the key they have to enter and get to exactly where they belong- curled up next to you or on you. Nam-gyu is the one that is down for a nap whenever. You just want to stay the whole day in bed? Bet he’s getting up to close the curtains and return back in bed with you, almost immediately going back to sleep next to you. He remembers little things you said you wanted to buy but didn’t, leaving small gifts on your bed, hiding a package he got for weeks before he shows you it’s a hard to get item that you wanted and talked yourself out of because it was so expensive. And like the most perfect opposites they are Nam-Gyu is a huge tits guy. He’s laying on them, holding them, his mouth is sometimes just on your pert nipple for over an hour just because it relaxes him. When you’re walking somewhere with him- probably on the way to meet Thanos at some restaurant he found recently that he wanted to try- his hand is holding yours, fingers interlocked and pulled into his jacket pocket.

They just genuinely enjoy being around you. They swear you’re a drug yourself- claiming they get withdrawals without you nearby. Even if you wanted to go to the bathroom, just wanting to take a warm shower by yourself to relax- Thanos is on the counter of the bathroom sink, legs kicking back and forth aimlessly while Nam-gyu is sitting on the toilet lid. They’re passing a blunt back and forth, hot boxing the bathroom and making it more foggy than it already was by the hot water of your shower.

They always complain it’s too hot but never leave the bathroom. And as you turn the water off and rip open the shower curtain they’re both standing up quickly, Nam-gyu is wrapping you up in a towel and Thanos is holding a blunt to your lips. You glare at them, trying your best to seem annoyed but you can’t when they’re hazily smiling down at you with hooded eyes that are tinged red- and so your mouth begins to curl up in a smile to match theirs as you inhale the smoke.

They frequently fight for your attention. Nam-gyu more so compared to Thanos; but they both still need their precious baby’s attention! Thanos isn’t a stranger to pouting to try and get his way.

There was one time that you begged Thanos to let you finally dye his hair. The purple spray he used for the look damn near every day had stained nearly every pair of sheets you had with how easy it would come off with the slightest bit of friction. When all three of you were fucking?! Forget it- you would all come out stained purple. When he finally agrees you got him sat in front of you while you sit on the living room couch. You had to put on a show of his choice to keep him still enough to let you work your magic. Your hands work diligently against the bleached strands of hair, applying the vibrant purple dye over the entirety of his head.

The whole process was taking forever. It was a lot of steps!! And Nam-Gyu was getting fed up that Thanos seemed to have all your attention. Thanos himself didn’t have your attention captured- it was the bright purple dye that you had to apply with precision, less you stain him, you, or the furniture purple more permanently than his spray color he used to use- but Nam-gyu doesn’t notice the difference. All he sees is you’re not paying attention to him. He’s leaning down on the couch, slipping under your arms that work against Thanos’ hair to lay his head on your lap, looking up at you with a scowl. He’s trying hard to seem angry but all you can think about when you look down is a sad cat who just wants to be pet.

“What?” You ask between giggles as you look down at Nam-gyu. “It’s been hours…” he whines, “haven’t touched me at all.” He finishes, a glare still on his face. “‘M sorry baby..” you laugh again, only making him pout more but you couldn’t help it! He was just so cute. “I’m almost done! You were also the one complaining the most about being purple after we all fuck soooo- ‘m really doing this for you“ you draw out teasingly, “‘m almost done.” You say, leaning down and lifting your leg to raise his head- allowing you to place a quick kiss on your lips. You pull away and the kiss seems to make him relax a bit but there’s a look of deep thought on his face.

You quirk your eyebrow up at Nam-Gyu questioningly, your hands paused above Thanos’ head. “What if I want purple hair.” He mumbles, it’s quiet but it has both you and Thanos shocked. Thanos is spinning around to look at Nam-gyu, an accusatory eyebrow raised. “You’re jus’ being needy. You don’t want purple hair, just want ‘er to touch you.” He teases, poking Nam-gyu’s cheek with a laugh. Nam-gyu is swatting Thanos’ hand away and huffing. “No…” he grumbles, very obviously lying. He’s sitting up from your lap, “Was just thinking we could all match….i dunno, put a couple purple streaks in my hair and yours.” Nam-gyu says pointing to you.

And that’s how you ended up with purple streaks in your hair and Nam-gyu ended up with the underside of his hair purple. It was honestly adorable, all three of you matching. You took many photos of the three of you showing off your new style, you have a whole album dedicated to the three of you and your matching colored hair As time goes on you all keep it, eventually swapping colors- of course with Thanos choosing the color since he had the majority of his hair colored- it’s all about compromises!

They also take turns paying for your nails. They both seem to have their own kink for seeing your nails wrapped around their cocks or raking down their chests; and when they realized you went every two weeks like clockwork to get a cute new design, they begin taking turn handing you wads of cash to get your nails done. Who ever was paying would be the one to pick out the design. Thanos more often than not picked vibrant colors. Purples, greens, yellows- he even had you get them painted to match the pattern of his nails once. He loves French tip designs- something about them drives him crazy. He’s asks you to get crystals added or even a ‘T’ charm. Nam-Gyu usually picks dark colors. He loves seeing your nails all black with a deep blood red ombré or maybe deep blue set chrome details- of course like Thanos, he’s asking you to get his initial hidden somewhere on the design.

On weeks they’re feeling generous, they’re putting their heads together to find an extravagant design they both want to see wrapped around them. It’s one that has many add-ons, each nail a different design, different colored crystals littler the inspiration picture like a regal vault full of gems. And of course it costs more but they don’t care! When you finally leave the nail place and send them a picture of the nails they chose, not so innocently posed as if you had something cylindrical in your hand- they’re spamming your phone begging you to come back to your apartment so they could see your nails in person (and see them wrapped around their cocks).

In the relationship, surprisingly Nam-Gyu is the cook. He even ties back his hair and wears an apron. Oddly enough he seems to be able to make whatever you and Thanos want. You could simply be lounging on the couch with them, limbs entangled as you mumble about a specific craving you had- next thing you know Nam-gyu is crawling on the couch and heading to the kitchen. You can hear him rummaging, opening and closing the cupboards, beginning to call out various ingredients. Thanos-who knows his roll in the situation begins to type out a list on his phone, adjusting you off his arm and positioning you on his chest. His arms are wrapped around your back allowing you to feel the minuscule movements of his arms as he types.

When Nam-Gyu is done, he’s returning to the couch. Thanos is begrudgingly pulling himself off the couch, lifting you up a bit as he gets up, setting you in Nam-gyu’s lap. He grabs the back of your head pulling you to him and placing a quick kiss on your forehead before pulling back. “I’ll be back soon, the list isn’t too bad this time.” He chuckles as he grabs his keys off the hook by the door.

Nam-Gyu smiles when the door closes, pulling your back into him and beginning to place kisses all around your face in neck. It tickles, the rapid light touches has you giggling and squirming in his lap. As much as he loves the relationship you three have- he cherishes the moments he gets alone with you and has your attention all on him.

Thanos is off to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients that Nam-gyu requested. However, despite how many times he’s done this, and even him saying the list was easy before he left- he’s still texting Nam-gyu pictures of the items in rapid succession to make sure he’s getting the right item. It’s adorable really.

And as always, the meal is fucking phenomenal. You’d say it’s 5 star Michelin worthy but you’re sure that even the most expensive meal at the most luxurious restaurant could never compare to the full, warm flavor of the home cooked meals that Nam-Gyu makes. Anything he makes is wayyy better than any top chef- you know it and you always tell him. The sleeves off his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tattooed arms as he cooks. You’re happily hugging him from behind, standing on your tippy toes to hook your chin over his shoulder and watch him cook. You place a kiss on his neck right below his ear. “It’s not gonna be good if you keep distracting me pretty.” Nam-Gyu would hum out, pausing to turn more towards you and pull you into his side, turning his head and leaning down to place a kiss on your lips. He pats your ass a couple times and gently pushes you over to Thanos. “Help him break down the weed, I gotta focus on dinner.” The dark haired male says with a chuckle.

You’re pouting and walking over to Thanos who sits on the counter opposite the stove. He’s wearing a pair of shorts and has no shirt on, allowing you to see all his tattoos. You look up at him with a frown, “He doesn’t like me…” you playfully whine, it causes the both of them to laugh. “Mhm sure…he’s in an apron cooking for you because he hates you so bad.” Thanos teases, reaching up to cup your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks together. “You’re jus’ oh so needy, Señorita. There’s no satiating you- ever.” He laughs, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. You hum against his lips, standing up taller to press your lips against his harder. As he pulls away he tilts his head towards the rolling tray and the bag of weed that sits on the counter to his left, “Break it down f’me, sweetheart? I gotta break down the cigar.” He says in a sickly sweet tone, one that you simply cannot say no to. So you nod and he smiles, packing one more quick kiss on your lips before releasing your face.

Another bonus to add to the list of bonuses you get when dating the two of them- is they’re literally the best people to rant to. They’re both effortlessly sassy. They both think you could do no wrong- allowing you to bitch and complain about the littlest things involving work issues, friend drama, or even something as niche as a weird fixation you found on an internet deep dive.

You were lying on your back on the bed, your head at the foot end, one hand folded lackadaisically behind your head and the other holding the blunt to your mouth. When you exhale your hit you’re ranting on about a co-worker who pissed you off at work, how you have to do extra work because the others don’t do your fair share, even telling them about the workplace romances that bloom in the office. They’re sat on the edge of the bed, nodding along to your words, looking down at you- one of them on either side of you- and passing the blunt between each other and then back down to you with ‘mhm’’s and ‘ohhh’s coming out of their mouths.

“So yeah, she comes into my cubicle and looks at the picture I have of you two on my desk- you know the one from new years last year where you guys are on my sides kissing my cheek.” You ramble, interjecting to describe the picture to make sure they know exactly what one you’re talking about. “Oh yeah I remember that, you looked so good in that dress.” Thanos says, free hand running gently over stomach under your shirt. “It’s a good fuckin’ picture. How cute that you have it in your cubicle.” Nam-gyu adds.

“Mhm.” You nod, “so anyway she asks about it and I say ‘oh it’s me and my boyfriends’” You say repeating what you told your co-worker. They both smile when they hear you say it, waiting for you to continue. “And this bitch gives me the nastiest look and says ‘as in both of them? that’s disgusting’” you say angrily mocking her nasally voice and rolling your eyes.

“What a fuckin’ bitch!” Thanos says with conviction, “She’s prolly’ mad she can’t even get one man to stay with her let alone two.” Thanos scoffs, passing the blunt down to you. “Yeah…ain’t she the cunt that you said fucked the entirety of the IT department? Don’t mind that bitch. The fuck does she know. ” Nam-gyu muses, recalling other stories about this co-worker you told him in the past. He’s rolling his eyes at the thought of that cunt saying anything like that to you.

To add to the ways they contrast each other, while Thanos is all for PDA, Nam-Gyu isn’t. Thanos has no problem with slapping your ass in public or gripping your face to pull you into a messy kiss on the subway- he’s addicted to you, when he needs a fix he’s going to get it. Nam-gyu, although not big on PDA, he makes it known he’s with you- hand in yours, small kisses to your temple or quick kisses to your lips. The difference between the two of them gives you the best of both worlds truly.

And while Nam-Gyu posts you all over his social media- tweeting about you, he adds photos of you with songs attached to his instagram or his Snapchat, posting various photos of the three of you or just you to his instagram to boast about you to his followers, Thanos doesn’t. It’s not that Thanos doesn’t post you- he does! Just not to the extent Nam-Gyu does. Maybe it’s a photo of you and Nam-Gyu across the table from him at a fancy restaurant in the middle of a photo slideshow or a few Snapchat videos of him waking you up, finding your sleepy mumbles adorable. When the rap career kicked off he gained a lot of followers and he’s painfully aware of the crowd he attracts- he doesn’t like the prying eyes of sleazy men in the comment section of the photos he does post of you.

Sometimes sleeping in the same bed with them is miserable. You love them, you really do, and most nights you three are tangled in a cozy pile of limbs that lulls you into the deepest, most blissful sleep ever. But let’s be honest, you’re dating two men who love various substances- and with that comes the occasional night of restless sleep. They both will twitch, jerking against you and pulling you out of your sleep. Thanos snores and Nam-gyu drools- sometimes you find it cute, endearing even, but other nights it only makes you toss and turn more. Thanos has a tendency to run hot, becoming a human furnace that causes you to wake up and throw the covers off you. Nam-gyu runs cold, some nights you have to put a blanket over your body between the two of you to stop your shivering, wanting to hold him but genuinely not being able to sleep when his body that feels as if it’s made out of ice is engulfing you.

As much as they know you, you know them better. One of your favorite things is stopping by the gas station before you return home after a long day of work to get them a little gift. You lazily, but politely- it is 2am after all, anyone working that hour deserves some grace- ask the man at the counter for a pack of camels and a sour watermelon vape. You giggle at the strange look he gives you but you thank him, pay him and head home.

When you come home and enter your room you wish you had your phone out to take a picture. Nam-gyu is lying on top of Thanos, head on his chest. Thanos has his arms around Nam-Gyu slowly scrolling on his phone. They’re both just in a pair of boxers- making the view all the more enticing. You smile widely, “hey my loves!” You laugh, kicking off your shoes excitedly. Nam-Gyu is rising off of Thanos with a yawn and looking back at you.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Oh hell yeah! You’re back!”

You nod and begin to take off your coat. “You’re home later than normal. Where’d you go after work?” Nam-Gyu asks as he’s pulling off of Thanos to sit next to him, rubbing his tired eyes and resting his back against the headboard. You raise a suspicious eyebrow- Nam-Gyu was always so on top of your schedule, your itinerary of day to day life burned into his internal clock; he knew if you strayed from the normal.

“You caught me!” You say teasingly, “I made a lil detour on my way home” you finish, reaching into your purse and grabbing what you got for them. You toss the vape and the cigarettes on the bed, following in the footsteps of the packaged nicotine you jump onto the bed. “Ohhhhhhh!!! You’re the best!!” Thanos yells, immediately beginning to open the box. “God you’re a fuckin’ angel” Nam-gyu says, his words muffled as he uses his teeth to tear the plastic off the carton of cigarettes. They’re both squeezing you between them, covering your face in excited kisses.

They have albums upon albums of photos and videos of you on their phones. It’s images on you sleeping on their chests, candid pictures of you waking up tiredly-your hair a disaster and the camera clicks right as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. They have those silly .5x zoom pictures of you from above- Nam-gyu honestly loves taking them when you and Thanos are holding plates of whatever he cooked, looking up at the camera as he points his phone downwards. He always post the images on his instagram, it becoming a little ‘thing’ for him to show off his new dishes that he cooks.

They also have an insane amount of filthy photos of you. They botch can’t help the thrill they get when they record you in the most desperate and debauched situations- only for their eyes to see. Both of them have albums dedicated to your nudes and the photos / videos they take of you. Admittedly, they have the most photos of your cunt raw and messy from the both of them cumming in you.

If you asked both of them, they’d tell you it’s their favorite place to cum, without question. Nothing can ever compare to the feeling of your tight walls sucking them in as they cum balls deep inside you. Even better if you’re taking both of them at the same time!! Good GOD the amount of storage the videos they take of you taking the both of them deep into your tight pussy is actually insane. It’s not every time they do it, it would destroy you if it happened every single time the three of you fucked, but every so often when they both fuck you, their cocks rubbing against each other while they fuck into your sloppy cunt, they’re most likely recording it to look back at later.

If not cumming in your cunt- their favorite place to cum will differ. Thanos loves to cum on your ass or on your face- something about painting your skin with his white cum drives him insane. He loves blowing his load on your ass then rocking his cock in the valley of your ass as the rest of his spend costs your back. His hands are on the globes of your ass, squeezing and smearing his cum all over you.

Just like Thanos, Nam-Gyu is fucking messy. His next favorite place to cum is in your mouth. But he doesn’t want you to swallow it. Sure, he loves watching you stick your pretty pink tongue out to show him the pool of white before you swallow it like it’s honey, but what drives him crazy- straight up feral- is when you take your tits in your hands and push them together, opening your mouth to spit a filthy mix of his cum and your spit onto the swell of your breasts, your hands and those fucking perfect manicured nails squeezing your skin and spreading the mixture on your skin.

And like the perfect girlfriend you are- you match their freak perfectly. Learning and compiling every little thing that makes them tick to get the most reaction out of them in bed.

With the two of them, you’re never alone, you’re always entertained, and you’re oh so spoiled!! Two boyfriends are so much better than one!

I LOVE getting to write about my Thangyu x reader thinks!! It’s so fun >:) thank you for the request!!! As always, much love - <3 kiwi !

For the next few requests (in order of when I received them) we have: thangyu x thick!reader smut , Nam-gyu x naïve!reader smut , Nam-gyu x reader angst into fluff , and Myun-Gi x Reader x Thanos smut

If you’ve requested something and don’t see it yet on the ‘next up’, don’t worry! I’m moving through them and as I post the next requests will be added! I have the next couple days of work so I’m moving through them slowly but surely!

Requests are still open just be aware that it may take me a bit to get to them <3

[winterxisxcomingx]

Imagine Catra coming to visit Glimmer everyday. At first, only one time a day - just because she had to, because that’s what Prime wanted.

But then, one time, when she was talking with prisoner, Glimmer’s expression changed. Her lips were slightly parted and Catra could swear that she saw sparkles in her eyes. What wouldn’t be that weird, because of what she read about the princess in documents about her, but it wasn’t that kind of sparkle. Just...

“You are smiling” Glimmer spoken and Catra raised her hand to her lips. She really was. She was smiling at some stupid joke that Glimmer said. But no, if she was being honest, it wasn’t exactly a joke as it was. But, talking with her, feeling some kind of freedom she has never felt before. That short visits let her relax for a moment. Her facial muscles began to relax and bring her natural, real, little smile. 

“That’s a one, pretty smile. Well, for a Horde’s scum, that is” and Glimmer sent her a wink and Catra felt something. Something in her heart and then that sudden pain in her head. It was only for a moment, but it was there. For a moment, she felt so weird. Something like this never had happened before. It was as if.. as if she for a moment lost connection to Lorde Prime. 

“What the fuck” she mumbled and when her eyes finally refocused, she realized that Glimmer’s expression changed again. And not just expression. She came closer to her, to the barrier, and was looking straight into her eyes. 

Catra didn’t know what to do with that, so she did what she knows best. Being cocky.

“What. See something that you like, princess?” Urge to let her hand land on her hip was huge. But she was still. She couldn’t move too much, “her brothers” wouldn’t like that and she doesn’t need new problems with Prime. 

“Yes. Frankly, yes there is.” She slowly raised her hand as if she was trying to touch Catra’s face. Which was, unfortunately, impossible through the barrier. Wait, “unfortunately”!? The fuck is wrong with me today. Catra took a step back.

“W-what?” Yes, very smug of her, but she wasn’t exactly familiar with physical touch. Not the nice one, at least.

“Just. Just, your eyes. For a moment, they were heterochromatic. One, yellow as sun on the Earth. And the other blue as sky. They reminded me of the Earth. It was nice.” Her smile was a little shy and Glimmer wasn’t sure why she said it, but she did, so she wasn’t going to run from it now.

Or maybe she will.

“Mhm, anyway, I’m going to nap. So. Yeah, that was nice. Interesting. Yeah. Bye, Horde Scum” and she went to lie down on her bed in prison, and after a moment Catra could only see her back.

This time, two things happened.

First, she was blushing. Her face and ears were warm, Catra could feel it.

And second, for a moment, she lost connection with Lord Prime again.

Something was happening to her.

And it was because Glimmer. Their new prisoner.

Maybe the idea of babysitting her wasn’t that stupid after all. 

Read a fanfic where Catra was taken in by Horde Prime at young age and now I love this au. Just imagine one day Catra walks into Glimmers cell and for the first time Catra's eye colour is revealed for even just a split second but it what makes Glimmer realize being in the Horde was never a choice for the soldiers raised there

[dulcescorderitas]

LARPing wasn’t exactly high on dean’s bucket list. sure, he’d been dragged into some weird shit before, but running around in a tunic while pretending to be a medieval knight? not exactly his scene. that was more of a ‘charlie thing.’ hell, it was more of a ‘sam thing’ too—his nerdy little brother was eating this up, already suited up in chainmail and chatting with some guy about proper swordplay techniques.

but you? you looked happy, and that was enough to make him shut up and go along with it.

charlie had roped you all into this after a hunt—something about a group of larpers dealing with an actual cursed relic. she had handled the nerd diplomacy, while the three of you handled the supernatural mess. and now, as a ‘thank you,’ she’d pulled some strings to get you all in on this grand, ridiculous game. dean had scoffed at first, but deep down? he was having more fun than he wanted to admit.

“come on, dean. it’s not that bad,” you teased, adjusting the belt around his waist where a plastic sword hung. “you look kinda hot like this.”

he snorted. “i look ridiculous.”

charlie appeared out of nowhere, grinning ear to ear in her elven rogue attire. “you look perfect! now, all you gotta do is commit. embrace the role.”

“yeah? and what’s my role, exactly?”

“you,” she said, pointing dramatically at him, “are a noble warrior, sworn to protect the queen.”

dean turned to you, eyebrows raised. “queen, huh?”

“that’s me.” you lifted the hem of your elaborate gown in a mock-curtsy. “so, sir winchester, you better do your duty.”

sam, already adjusted to the whole thing, smirked at dean. “oh, he will. he loves this. he just won’t admit it.”

“shut up, sam,” dean grumbled, but the little twitch of his lips betrayed him.

the day passed in a blur of staged battles, quests for ‘enchanted relics,’ and a suspiciously competitive archery contest that sam took way too seriously. dean found himself getting lost in it—the rush of a fake battle, the way his sword clashed against another, the way you laughed and played along like you were truly royalty. he couldn’t deny it. it was fun.

he got caught up in the way you looked at him when he took a ‘wound’ protecting you, how your lips parted in feigned distress as you rushed to his side. his heart kicked up a notch at the way your fingers traced over the faux gash on his tunic, the warmth of your touch setting fire to his skin even through the fabric.

as the campfires were lit and the remaining larpers gathered to revel in their ‘medieval feast,’ you tugged him away from the noise, leading him toward a more secluded part of the woods where an empty tent had been set up for you. it was part of the game, after all—the queen and her loyal kingsguard retreating after a long day.

“you played your part well today,” you murmured, running your fingers over the fabric of his tunic.

his eyes flickered to your touch, then back to your face, dark with something unspoken. “yeah, well,” he huffed, rolling his shoulders. “turns out playing the grumpy bodyguard ain’t too far off from real life.”

“and now?” you tilted your head, eyes glinting with mischief. “will you still protect me?”

dean’s gaze sharpened, his jaw tightening just slightly. he stepped in closer, voice dropping low. “with my life, your grace.”

you bit your lip, barely suppressing the shiver that ran down your spine at the way he said it. slow. deliberate.

“prove it.”

his breath hitched, but he didn’t hesitate. his hands found your waist, steady but firm, pulling you flush against him. the roleplay didn’t feel like a game anymore. it felt real. heavy with something unspoken, something that had been simmering between you two long before today.

the way he looked at you then—eyes smoldering, possessive—made your knees weak. he moved with careful intent, tilting his head as he studied you like prey he had finally cornered. your breath came in soft, shaky gasps, his presence alone making your pulse race.

his fingers ghosted over your arms, barely there, sending chills across your skin. “your grace,” he murmured, hands tracing slow, teasing patterns down your sides. “let me serve you.”

“dean…”

you barely had time to think before his lips were on yours, hot and demanding. he kissed you like he wanted to own every gasp, every moan, every little sound you made. his hands roamed, fingers slipping beneath the heavy skirts of your gown, finding bare skin, making you tremble beneath him.

dean groaned as his fingers explored, teasing, dipping lower, brushing over the heat between your thighs. “fuck,” he whispered against your lips, his breath uneven. “so warm… so wet for me.”

you arched into his touch, gasping when he slid a finger inside you, slow but firm, testing, teasing. he swallowed your moans with another searing kiss, curling his finger just right, making your hips jerk.

his gaze locked onto yours, eyes burning with need as he watched your reactions, drinking in every shiver, every whimper. “stay quiet, your grace,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement and lust. “we wouldn’t want your subjects overhearing, would we?”

dean’s thumb found your clit, circling with slow precision, his smirk deepening at the way you writhed beneath him.

“dean, please,” you whined, fingers clutching at his tunic, tugging it open, needing more of him.

his smirk faltered as you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him with deliberate slowness, making him hiss through his teeth. “fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, thrusting into your grip, his fingers faltering inside you. “you keep that up, this’ll be over too fast.”

“then take me,” you breathed, legs wrapping around his waist, guiding him closer. “protect me, serve me, claim me.”

dean’s eyes darkened further, something dangerous flickering there before he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. “your grace, i do as you command.”

his lips found your neck as he pushed inside you, filling you completely. he moved with controlled, deliberate thrusts, watching your face with every stroke, drinking in the way your mouth parted, the way your eyes fluttered shut in bliss.

his grip on your wrists tightened as he drove into you, rolling his hips, dragging pleasure from you with every deep thrust. “mine,” he growled against your throat, sucking a bruise into your skin. “all mine.”

you shattered beneath him, pleasure washing over you in waves, dragging him down with you as he groaned, spilling inside you, holding you so close it felt like he’d never let go.

for a long moment, neither of you moved, just breathing, tangled together in the dim glow of lantern light.

finally, dean let out a breathless chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple. “well, if this is LARPing, i think i could get used to it.”

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend

[niniwritesxo]

ahhhhh i love ur fics sm!! ur such an amazing writer! if ur taking requests could u do something w roh jae won and reader crushing on eachother on the squid game set? have a good one !! ❤️❤️

‘you told me last night’

hope you like it !

꩜ —————————————————————————

filming squid game season 2 was already intense, but dealing with a growing crush on roh jae-won? that was a whole different kind of high-stakes game.

it had started small, things like stolen glances, playful teasing, the way his laughter always seemed to linger in your ears longer than anyone else’s. but lately, it had escalated. the late-night rehearsals, the dramatic tension during scenes, the accidental touches that sent electricity through your veins, it was becoming unbearable.

꩜ .ᐟ ————

“again?” you groaned, stretching your arms over your head. the entire set was nearly empty except for a few lingering staff members. the two of you had volunteered (or rather, been forced) to stay late and rehearse an upcoming emotionally charged scene.

“you’re the one who kept messing up,” jae-won teased, tossing you a water bottle.

“oh, excuse me, mr. perfect actor. maybe if you didn’t keep staring at me like that, i wouldn’t forget my lines.”

his eyes widened slightly, and for a second, he looked caught, like he hadn’t realized just how obvious he’d been. but then he grinned, leaning in slightly. “like what?”

your heart nearly stopped. was he actually flirting back?

“you know what,” you muttered, turning away, trying to pretend your face wasn’t burning.

jae-won chuckled, but instead of pushing further, he exhaled and straightened. “okay, let’s be serious, one more take.”

the scene required raw emotion, desperation, anger, and heartbreak. and somehow, despite your mutual teasing, when the cameras weren’t rolling, jae-won had a way of locking eyes with you that made it terrifyingly real.

by the time you finished, the room was silent. the tension was so thick you could almost touch it.

“that was… intense,” you breathed out.

jae-won didn’t answer right away. he just looked at you, his gaze flickering to your lips for the briefest second before he shook his head with a soft laugh. “yeah. you’re good.”

did he almost say something else?

you’d never know, because at that exact moment, yim si-wan (one of the senior cast members) poked his head in. “you two still here? wow, the dedication.”

you and jae-won jumped apart like you’d been caught doing something illegal.

si-wan raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. well, don’t stay too late, lovebirds.”

you spluttered. “we’re not—”

“okay, okay, scene partners.” si-wan winked before leaving.

you risked a glance at jae-won, who simply rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you.

꩜ .ᐟ ————

days later, during a break, you were lounging around with kang ha-neul and lee jin-wook, waiting for the next scene to be set up. the conversation had somehow drifted into embarrassing crush stories.

“oh, I have a good one,” ha-neul said, leaning forward with a smirk. “i once confessed to someone by accident because I was sleep-deprived. full-on I love you situation. worst part? they thought I was joking.”

you laughed. “that’s horrible. imagine confessing by accident. couldn’t be me.”

“you sure?” ha-neul teased. “i feel like that’s exactly how you’d do it.”

“no way.”

“actually…” jae-won’s voice cut in from behind you. “you kinda already did.”

silence.

your entire body went stiff. slowly, you turned to face him. “what?”

jae-won crossed his arms, lips twitching like he was trying not to smirk. “you told me you liked me last night.”

the room erupted.

“omg, y/n?.” Jin-Wook nearly choked on his drink.

ha-neul looked at you like you’d just given him the juiciest gossip of the year. “wait when?!”

your brain short-circuited. “that’s a lie.”

“nope.” jae-won looked far too amused. “you were half-asleep, though. i think you thought I was a dream or something.”

tou groaned, burying your face in your hands as the others howled with laughter. but through your fingers, you peeked at jae-won

his expression was different now, softer, almost… hopeful?

“don’t worry,” he said, just loud enough for only you to hear. ‘‘i like you too.”

you almost stopped breathing.

but before you could say anything, the director called, “alright, back on set!”

jae-won winked at you before walking off, leaving you stunned, blushing, and fully aware that this wasn’t just a crush anymore.

꩜ .ᐟ ————————————————————————

hope you enjoyed it!

(english is not my first language so my apologies for any mistakes i may have made)

[gothamite-rambler]

Clark and Diana must've had a field day at Damian's existence

*and the rape part was a second canon that I think was retconned again. comics are weird*

Clark: I'm sorry… You have a child… again?

Bruce: Yes.

Clark: And he's yours… like DNA test, yours?

Bruce took a deep inhale and then sighed.

Bruce: Yes.

Clark: And the kid is also related to Talia Al Ghul?

Bruce: Yep… Yep… I thought the condom wouldn't break.

Clark: I… I… I'm— You thought the what wouldn't break?

Diana (amused): I'm surprised you didn't try the pull-out method with that thought process. You had a child with Talia and he's the new Robin, did I miss anything?

Bruce: No... no. You're about right.

Clark: I'm not sure how to react.

Diana: I got you on this. The dark knight, master detective, stoic emo billionaire had a child with one of your arch-enemies? The one you said you'd never have relations with again?

Bruce: …Yep.

Diana nodded and pointed at Bruce, laughing accordingly. The man covered his face, embarrassed.

Clark: Ignore her. You said you weren't even aware he was… alive. That there was a being that shares your DNA? You have plans that can defeat us, but you never thought to check in on the woman you slept with eight years ago?

Diana laughed harder, falling out of her seat in hysterics. Clark shook his head.

Bruce: Okay, at first I was aware she was pregnant, and then she said she lost the baby, so… I never called her about that. You can stop laughing, Diana!

Diana: I can't stop! This is too funny! It’s funnier than when Hermes tricked Zeus into drinking fermented wine. I can't breathe! Wait, wait— when Zeus found out about his child…

Clark (jokingly): Which one?

Bruce: I wasn’t aware he existed! I didn’t know the child I had with a crazy woman was around! Can she not laugh at me? I’m now linked to Ra's Al Ghul! This is a lot for me! Can you show me some pity?

Clark and Diana: No!

Bruce: Why are you judging me?!

Clark: Because you look hypocritical in the funniest way possible.

Diana: Exactly! You had a kid from a booty call. Wait, wait, serious time.

Diana got back in her seat and cleared her throat.

Diana: It was consensual, correct?

Bruce: Yes.

Diana: And you used a condom from where?

Bruce: …A gas station.

Diana: And you thought it would do the job? A gas station condom?

Bruce: I was hoping it would, or at the very least she'd have protection. I didn't know she wanted kids!

Diana (chuckling): You thought the woman who's been wanting to marry you for years wouldn't want kids?!

Clark (laughing): We listen and we judge!

Bruce: I hate you both. Stop judging me. I'm the Dark Knight.

Bruce covered his face, groaning.

Clark: We're just messing with you. I, for one, am happy you took the kid in. I imagine being raised around the Ghuls wasn't great… or safe.

Bruce: Um… okay, he wasn't just raised around them… Jason helped babysit him. He’s known for eight years.

Clark and Diana (mocking him): We listen and we judge!

Diana burst into laughter again.

Diana: I knew there was a reason I like him!

Clark: I'm pretty sure she's happy for you too. Just the—

Bruce (mortified): Yeah, the situation is humorous because it's at my expense and ironic that I fumbled like that. I'm going to be dealing with this a lot now. I do love him, though. He's a cute kid… He's neat, like all my other sons.

Clark: Aww, that's sweet and reassuring, honestly. A rich white man with a baby from a booty call usually doesn’t go well.

Bruce: The fact I know that's true really says something, but thank you for the compliment.

[disappearinginq]

I'm calling this Febuwhump Day 3 prompt fulfillment (read: I need validation) because it was, conveniently, written yesterday. Prompt: Pinned Down.

It's long, so it's going underneath the cut:

“What is that?” River pushed himself further away from the man, eyeing the hypodermic in Frank’s hand, but there was nowhere to go. Not with his hands cuffed behind him, looped around the headboard of the bed frame, or his feet bound together with thick rounds of duct tape.

Frank sat down on the frame next to him, almost gentle in his movements, his face solemn and somewhat wistful, and he reached a hand over to pat River’s thigh, and for a disturbing moment, Frank seemed almost human.

Except for the part where he still had a needle in his hand, staring at it in a way that made River’s heart rate spike, the sudden wave of nausea threatening making him swallow convulsively.

When he was first dropped at his granddad’s house, Rose had a dog, Errol, an ancient terrier mix who much preferred a childless household, his quiet days filled with napping in the sun on his favorite spot on the carpet or making the rounds through Rose’s gardens - more out of habit than chasing vermin. But River had never been allowed a pet before. Isobel hardly wanted him around, never mind an extra mouth that couldn’t be left alone to figure out a cereal box while she was gone for hours or days at a time. He adored the cranky animal, enduring several nips to fingers to be able to stroke the wiry hair, even when prudence said he should leave Errol well enough alone. He liked to think he eventually appealed to Errol’s better half by sneaking him scraps from the table despite multiple warnings from his grandparents, and eventually, he and the dog were rarely apart. It wasn’t like Rose or David knew anyone with young children, or perhaps they did, and didn’t want to explain how River came to be dumped in the garden like a stray animal, so Errol was the only one around for River to play with. Even if that play was mostly reading in the garden under the shade of the trees while Errol stretched out beside him on his back, feet in the air, snoring loud enough to scare away birds.

But Errol was already old by the time River showed up. They had exactly one summer and three months together until two days before Christmas, Rose called the vet because Errol couldn’t stand anymore, and would only lay on his pillow near the fire, shaking and whining from pain.

Rose stayed with Errol while David ushered River upstairs, perhaps more to do with giving Rose a chance to say goodbye to her companion of 16 years, than sparing River the harsh realities of death and dying.

The last thing River saw before his granddad gently pushed him out of view of the parlor was the vet holding up a hypodermic that looks suspiciously like the one in Frank’s, and his expression was disturbingly similar to David’s when he’d sat with River on his bed, explaining as best he could that what they were doing for Errol was for the best, a kindness and a mercy borne from love for the old dog. He’d patted River’s leg ruefully, and sat with him in silence while River cried for the only friend he had.

River did not like the parallels.

“You are making this very difficult, son,” Frank sighed. “Pups are easier to train - that’s why you get them when they’re young. Once they’re eight months, a year - you have to break them down, start from scratch. Get rid of all the bad habits they’ve picked up before they came to you.”

River didn’t think it wise to point out what a load of shit that was, and more importantly, he was not a dog he was a person, not when Frank was still staring at the needle in his hand like maybe, maybe he wouldn’t have to use it.

“I should’ve come for you earlier. I see that now. If I’d known Isobel was going to dump you anyways, I would’ve just picked you up from your grandfather’s before he could really get his hooks into you. You and I - we could’ve made a real difference. I’ve been unreasonable, expecting too much of you too soon. I see that now. I’m not too big a man to admit my mistakes. But I am willing to try and correct them. You have potential. So much potential. But you’ve too many bad habits getting in your way. Habits that need to be broken.”

River twisted his hands against the cuffs, feeling the scabbed over skin break and bleed anew as he quietly tried to pull the unyielding metal over bone and tendon.

Frank sniffed, and clapped a hand on River’s knee, at first like someone might clap someone on the back in congratulations, but then his grip tightened, fingers digging painfully into already bruised skin in warning that River had better stop fidgeting while Frank was talking to him, or this almost civil conversation was going to get much worse, very quickly.

“But what defines a man, son, is how he learns from his mistakes. How he takes his weaknesses and makes them his strengths. Understand?”

River shook his head. “You don’t have to do this.”

“No, I do. I do, son. Because you’ve made me,” Frank said, turning to face River, offering a small smile that held no warmth. “Don’t worry. It’ll just put you to sleep.”

That was what the vet told Errol.

“You don’t have to do this, Frank - you don’t…” River shoved himself as far back as he could manage, but it was useless. He could go nowhere.

Frank’s hand came up, vicious and quick and slammed River’s head back into the wall before shoving him violently against the bedsprings, Frank’s meaty hand pressing down on the side of River’s face with such brutal force River could feel the metal biting in his other cheek even as his vision reeled from the blow.

“I don’t want to go to sleep!” It was embarrassing, to have to beg, to be a fully grown man with MI5 training, pinned down like some kind of animal, but River didn’t care. He could feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t budge, not with Frank’s weight pressing down on him, the awkward angle he forced River’s neck into feeling like at any moment, it would snap. “Don’t do this, Frank - sir - Dad,” he said the word in desperation, without thought, grasping at straws for anything that would keep his own father from putting him down like a misbehaving pet.

The needle sunk into his neck, and River closed his eyes, maybe in denial but mostly so that Frank couldn’t see the tears as whatever was in the hypodermic was injected, freezing cold but somehow burning all the way, and River knew beyond the shadow of a doubt, he wasn’t getting out of this.

Patrice stood in the corner, eyes cast down, arms folded across his chest, as unmoving as a statue, his warning that River had no idea what Frank was capable of echoing in his head.

River expected Frank to leave once he’d injected the drug, but he didn’t, and that was worse. He didn’t let up his bruising grip until River felt his muscles start to relax, and his vision swam dangerously. His heartbeat slowed, his breathing became shallow, his stomach rolling violently. When Frank finally lifted his hand, River tried to turn his head, but he couldn’t move, even as the metal dug painfully into his cheek and he could feel blood starting to well in the shallow cuts.

Frank’s hand came down, and River couldn’t flinch away from the expected slap, but instead, Frank’s hand brushed his hair away from his face, running a calloused thumb across River’s dampened cheek as River fought against the encroaching darkness, terrified that if he closed his eyes, he would never open them again.

He was going to die here.

“There’s a good boy,” Frank soothed, shushing him gently. “Good boy.”

River had never considered how much he hated that phrase. Hated it to his very bones, and felt a surge of rage so strong it momentarily beat back the black tide of unconsciousness that was dragging him down, and stupidly, foolishly, thought of the Slow Horses, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lamb warned him not to comply in advance.

It took every ounce of will that remained for him to force out the words, “They’ll find me.”

“He will look for you,” Frank agreed, his voice echoing distantly, “endlessly. But he’ll never find you. You’ll just be another ghost to haunt him.”

And River knew no more.

[cutecurly-hair]

Hearts Unleashed (Part 8)

Pairing: Nick Nelson x Black!fem!reader

Warning: Fluff, Smut in later chapters, Body Shaming, Eating Disorder

Words: 4,170

I was avoiding Nick like the plague. There was no other way to put it. He tried texting me, catching my eye in the halls, walking up to me whenever he got the chance. But I dodged every single attempt. It was easy enough in class or during lunch. I could pretend I didn’t see him or conveniently slip away before he reached me.

But rugby practice was a whole different story.

No matter how hard I tried, there was no escaping him on the field. His presence was unavoidable, his laughter echoing through the locker rooms, his eyes constantly searching for me. I could feel them on me every time I turned my back, it was torture.

Getting ready for the game at St. Johns Academy, I focused on refilling the water bottles for the team, trying to distract myself from the gnawing anxiety bubbling up inside me.

Charlie approached, a cautious look on his face. "You know Nick just talked to me, right?" he said, his tone careful, like he knew exactly what this conversation could lead to.

I paused, hands freezing on the water bottle. "He did?" I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. "What did he say?"

Charlie shifted uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder as if to make sure no one else was listening. "He was checking to see if you were okay," he said slowly. "It seems to me that you’re… avoiding him."

I bit my lip, staring at the water as it overflowed, my mind racing. Of course Nick noticed. Of course he cared. But facing him after everything? It felt impossible.

"You know that Elle told me everything," Charlie continued, his voice gentle but pointed.

Of course she did. I let out a small, frustrated sigh, capping the bottle before I could spill any more. I knew Elle meant well, but it didn’t make this any less mortifying.

"She was worried," Charlie added, like it was supposed to soften the blow. "You can’t avoid him forever."

I looked Charlie in the eye "Do you think I am overeacting," I needed the truth, whether I was being irrational, or just plain stupid. To be this upset over someone who wasn’t even mine someone I wasn’t even dating. Nick had no obligation to me, but I couldn’t shake the feelings weighing at me.

I literally threw up at lunch. I hadn’t done that in a long time, and it wasn’t exactly the best time for old habits to start creeping back.

Charlie met my gaze, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered my question. "I don't think you're overreacting," he said carefully. "But..." He hesitated, choosing his words. "I think you're making it harder on yourself by not talking to him."

I swallowed hard, the knot in my chest tightening. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make it easier to hear. "It's just..." I trailed off, my voice dropping. "He’s not even mine, Charlie. We’re not together, yet I’m still driving myself crazy over him. It’s ridiculous."

Charlie shook his head, his expression softening. "It’s not stupid if you care."

I opened my mouth to respond, but the memory of this morning stopped me. The lingering confusion and humiliation bubbled to the surface. No one knew about what happened. Not even Charlie, and yet, it was all I could think about.

Charlie glanced over my shoulder, his eyes shifting toward the field. "There here," he said, nodding in their direction.

I followed his gaze, spotting our friends gathered by the bleachers, "Come on," he said, gently nudging me with his elbow. "Let’s go."

Reluctantly, I capped the water bottle, and we headed over. Isaac and Elle greeted us with warm hugs, while Charlie gave Elle a quick squeeze.

Tao raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “What about me? Where’s my hug?”

I stretched out my arms, trying not to laugh. "I can give you a hug, Tao."

He looked me dead in the eye, completely serious. "No thanks, I’m good."

I let out a small laugh, dropping my arms. "Your loss," I teased, shaking my head.

Charlie rolled his eyes playfully and shrugged, grinning. “I see you guys all the time. Me and Elle barely have period together.”

Elle then introduced Tara and Darcy to Charlie, who looked a little skeptical at first. I shot him a reassuring smile, letting him know it was fine.

Darcy sauntered over, arms wide open. "Charlieeee! My guy!" she shouted, pulling him into a hug. "Not gonna lie, I’m mostly here to meet the local gays," she added with a wink, then turned her attention to me. "And to witness a little young love in action."

"Darcy, stop," Tara muttered, clearly embarrassed.

I couldn’t believe she said that out loud. "We’re just friends, like, literally just friends," I insisted.

Darcy grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. "Friends as in friends, or FrIeNds?"

Tara buried her face in her hands. "Please, just ignore her."

Darcy shrugged dramatically. "What? I’m just pointing out the obvious… especially with Nick Nelson staring at you since we got here. I'd say there's definitely something going on."

I felt my stomach flip at Darcy's comment, but I forced a laugh, trying to shake it off. "You're seeing things," I said, glancing over at Nick. Sure enough, his eyes flicked away the moment I looked his way.

Darcy snorted. "Yeah, okay. If that’s what you want to believe."

Elle, who had been quietly observing the whole exchange, stepped in. "Maybe we should, I don’t know, change the subject?"

"I have to go warm up actually-" Charlie's voice drowned out when a group of kids from school strolled past. Their laughter and chatter seemed louder than necessary, and I barely registered Charlie’s words as my attention shifted.

Nick stood a little straighter, offering a quick wave to someone in the group. My stomach twisted as I followed his gaze and saw Imogen waving back, her smile bright and easy. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and said something to the person beside her before glancing at Nick one more time.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until Nick dropped his hand and shifted his weight awkwardly.

"Hey," Charlie nudged me gently, bringing me back to the moment. "You good?"

I forced a smile, but my voice betrayed me. "Yeah, just zoned out for a second."

Charlie got called back onto the field, and though he groaned dramatically, he jogged off to rejoin his teammates, leaving the rest of us on the sidelines.

I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets, squinting as the opposing team began filing out onto the field. They were tall, muscular, and intimidatingly coordinated, even during their warm-ups.

My eyes widened, and I leaned closer to Tao. “We’re supposed to beat them?” I asked, my voice dripping with disbelief.

Tao didn’t even blink, his gaze fixed blankly on the field. “Oh yeah,” he deadpanned. “We are totally going to lose.”

And we were. It became painfully obvious within minutes of the game starting. Their team was relentless, fast, and sharp with their plays, while our side scrambled just to keep up. The scoreboard confirmed the worst: they were up. By a lot.

Elle let out a sympathetic groan, crossing her arms as she watched Charlie narrowly miss blocking a pass. “This is painful to watch.”

Isaac, ever the realist, shrugged. “I mean, at least they’re trying?”

Tao snorted. “Trying not to completely embarrass themselves, maybe.”

I couldn’t help but wince as another goal was scored against us, and the other team celebrated with an obnoxious cheer. “They’re making it look so easy,” I muttered.

Tara, standing nearby, tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe Charlie will pull off something amazing? He’s not bad, right?”

I didn't say anything, before even the game started Charlie looked like he was about to pass out. This is the first game he has ever been in.

Darcy nudged her, grinning. “I wouldn’t hold your breath. This is more of a ‘moral victory’ situation at this point.”

As the whistle blew for halftime, our team trudged off the field, looking thoroughly defeated. Charlie spotted us immediately, his expression taunt and pale. I waved weakly, hoping to offer some encouragement.

“We still have the second half,” Elle said optimistically.

“Yeah,” Tao added dryly. “Plenty of time to lose even worse.”

It began to rain, it quickly picked up into a steady patter, dampening both the field and everyone’s spirits. I huddled under Isaac’s umbrella, grateful for his quiet generosity. He held the umbrella just high enough to cover us both, engrossed in his copy of They Both Die at the End. I glanced at the cover and shook my head slightly, amused by his choice of reading during a game like this.

“Fitting, don’t you think?” Tao quipped from beside us, motioning toward the book. “Kind of matches the vibe out here.”

Isaac didn’t look up but smirked slightly. “It’s called atmosphere, Tao.”

Meanwhile, the team was gathered in a huddle near the bench, Coach Singh waving her arms emphatically, trying to pump them up for the second half.

Charlie lingered at the edge of the team huddle, his posture tense as if sheer willpower would be enough to carry him through the rest of the game. Rain slicked his dark hair to his forehead, his jersey sticking to his lean frame, showing just how small he seemed compared to some of the towering players around him.

But it wasn’t Charlie who kept drawing my gaze—it was Nick.

His jersey clung to him in the rain too, outlining his broad shoulders and athletic build. His hair was damp, messy in a way that somehow made him look even better. I caught myself staring, and my cheeks warmed despite the chilly drizzle.

Elle’s voice pulled me back to reality. “He looks like he’s running on fumes,” she said, her concern now sharper her eyes scanning Charlie.

“First game nerves,” I replied, trying to sound casual. “He’ll push through.”

But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I believed it.

Darcy twirled in the rain, completely ignoring the fact that she was getting soaked. “At least the rain makes this feel dramatic! Like one of those underdog sports films where they miraculously turn it around in the last second.”

Tara rolled her eyes but smiled fondly. “Except this isn’t a movie, Darcy.”

Darcy gasped theatrically. “How dare you ruin my moment!”

I chuckled, but my eyes kept finding their way back to Nick. He moved with effortless confidence, calling plays like second nature, completely in his element. The rain had plastered his jersey to his skin, outlining the muscles in his arms, the way his shoulders tensed and flexed with every movement. His hair clung to his forehead, droplets of water tracing down his face, but he didn’t seem to notice—too focused, too determined.

Even drenched and exhausted, he looked good. Unfairly so.

And worse, he had that look in his eyes the one that sparked when he was doing something he loved, when he was alive in the moment. It was captivating, and I hated how easily it pulled me in.

“You’re staring,” Elle whispered, nudging me with her elbow.

“I’m not,” I said quickly, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks despite the cold rain.

Tao smirked, not even bothering to look up from where he was adjusting his soaked jacket. “You’re definitely staring. Its starting to be concerning”

“Leave her alone,” Isaac chimed in with a dramatic sigh. “Let them have their star-crossed, rain-soaked moment.”

Tao groaned. “Isaac, not everything has to be a romance novel.”

I rolled my eyes, brushing off their teasing, but when Nick caught my gaze again and smiled faintly, my heart skipped.

Then it happened.

Charlie went for the ball, the other guy, easily twice his size, didn’t slow down. Charlie reached out with his foot, barely making contact with the ball before he was slammed into the ground.

I flinched, my heart leaping into my throat.

“Charlie!” Elle’s voice cut through the rain as she took a step forward.

Charlie went down hard. He didn’t get back up right away. My breath caught as he lay there, unmoving for a moment that felt like forever. The ref blew the whistle, and the game paused momentarily as the coach shouted something from the sidelines.

“That was brutal,” Tao muttered.

“Someone should pull him off the field,” Tara said, her brow furrowed.

“I’m going out there,” I said, moving before anyone could stop me.

The field was a muddy mess, but I didn’t care. My focus was entirely on Charlie as I crouched beside him. He was clutching his nose now, his face twisted in pain.

“Charlie, are you okay?” I asked, my voice shaky.

He tried to smile, though it came out more like a grimace. “I think I... might’ve landed wrong.”

“Come on, let’s get you off the field.” I looped an arm around his uninjured side, helping him to his feet.

Before we could get far, Harry’s voice cut through the rain. “What are you doing? You can’t be on the field!”

I glared at him, my patience snapping. “Bite me.”

The words came out louder than I intended, and I heard a few surprised chuckles from the sidelines.

“Need some help?”

I turned to see Nick jogging over, concern etched across his face. Without waiting for an answer, he moved to Charlie’s other side, supporting him as we made our way off the field together.

The three of us trudged toward the infirmary, the rain soaking through our clothes and making the grass slippery beneath our feet. Charlie leaned heavily on us, wincing with each step, his face pale and drawn.

“Charlie, you okay?” Nick asked gently, his voice steady despite the tension in his expression.

“Yeah… just… sore,” Charlie muttered, clearly

Charlie winced as we helped him onto the examination bed in the empty infirmary. The rain still drummed softly against the windows, and the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.

“Okay, sit tight,” I said, grabbing a first-aid kit from the counter.

Nick stayed close, leaning against the bed as he studied Charlie’s face. “You’re bleeding,” he said, motioning to Charlie’s nose.

Charlie reached up to touch it, but I swatted his hand away gently. “Don’t make it worse.”

I pulled out some gauze, taking a steadying breath before crouching in front of him. “I’ve got this. I’ve watched Grey’s Anatomy enough times to know what I’m doing.”

Charlie gave a weak laugh, his eyes crinkling despite the pain. “Pretty sure that’s not the same thing.”

“Quiet, you’re my patient now,” I teased, dabbing carefully at the blood. “I’m basically Dr. Shepherd.”

Nick chuckled softly from his spot, his arms crossed. “More like Dr. Bailey. All business.”

I smirked without looking up. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Charlie hissed as I cleaned the cut on his nose. “Ow!”

“Stop being dramatic,” I said, though my tone was light. “You just survived a rugby game. This is nothing.”

Nick crouched beside me, his hand brushing against mine as he handed over more gauze. The warmth of his fingers sent a shiver up my spine, but I focused on Charlie.

“You’re going to be fine,” Nick said, his voice soothing.

Charlie gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks for helping me off the field. Both of you.”

I shrugged, tossing the used gauze into a trash bin. “What are friends for?”

“Saving my life, from embarrassment apparently,” Charlie joked, though his voice was tired.

Nick’s eyes lingered on me for a moment, and when I glanced up, he gave me a soft smile that made my stomach flip.

“All done,” I announced, stepping back and wiping my hands on a paper towel. “You’re patched up, but no more tackling practice for you.”

Charlie grinned weakly, still cradling his ribs. “Noted.”

Nick stood and stretched, looking over at me. “You really do have a knack for this.”

“Thanks,” I said, avoiding his eyes as I tossed the towel into the bin. “But don’t go getting tackled on purpose just so I can play doctor again.”

Nick’s laugh was warm, easy, and entirely too distracting. “I’ll try my best not to.”

I blinked, forgetting where we were. Nick’s gaze was so steady, so disarming, and I felt myself leaning ever so slightly in his direction.

A loud cough broke the moment. “Still here, guys,” Charlie said, raising an eyebrow. His expression was somewhere between amused and mortified.

I snapped back to reality, feeling my face flame. “Right. Sorry, Charlie.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

Before Charlie could tease us—or worse, the infirmary door creaked open. Isaac poked his head in, holding a packet of antiseptic. His eyes darted between the three of us, his brow quirking at the strange tension hanging in the air.

“Hey,” Isaac said, stepping inside and setting the packet on the counter.

“Perfect timing, Isaac,” Charlie mumbled, pushing himself off the cot. “Thanks for the patch-up,” he added to me before quickly heading for the door. He grabbed Isaac’s arm on the way out. “Let’s go.”

Isaac frowned. “Wait, what? I just got here—”

“Trust me, you don’t want to stay,” Charlie muttered, practically dragging him out the door.

The infirmary door shut behind them, leaving me and Nick alone again, the awkwardness swirling between us like static. I glanced at him, then quickly busied myself with straightening the supplies on the counter.

The silence in the room felt heavier now, amplified by the sound of rain tapping softly against the infirmary window. I busied myself rearranging things that didn’t really need rearranging, hoping Nick would just let it drop.

But, of course, he didn’t.

Nick cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. "So, uh… you’ve been kind of distant lately."

I froze, my hands faltering with the gauze. I quickly recovered, trying to mask the unease with a shrug. "What do you mean? I’ve been busy, that’s all."

“You dont have to lie” he said firmly. “You barely look at me, you avoid being around me… and then there’s moments like earlier where it’s like everything’s fine, like old times. But it’s not, is it?”

I opened my mouth, searching for something, an excuse, anything to steer this conversation away from the truth. But the look in his eyes earnest, almost pleading made it impossible to lie outright. “I just… thought it was what you wanted,” I muttered, my gaze dropping to the floor.

“What I wanted?” Nick repeated, sounding confused. He stepped closer, his voice gentler now. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you needed space to figure things out, remember?” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “So I gave you space. I backed off because I didn’t want to get in the way of whatever you’re trying to figure out.”

Nick blinked, his brow furrowing. “That’s not what I meant. I never said I wanted you to disappear.”

I crossed my arms, feeling the heat rise in my chest—not just from embarrassment, but frustration. “Well, it felt like that, Nick. You can’t just say you need space and then get mad when I give it to you.”

Nick ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t think you’d shut me out completely! I just… I didn’t want to mess things up between us while I was figuring stuff out.”

I threw my hands up, this was getting us nowhere. “But you already did, Nick! You made everything weird, and now I don’t even know how to act around you.”

The hurt that flashed across his face was immediate, and my chest tightened with regret. His shoulders slumped as he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, the words heavy with guilt. “I never wanted to make things weird between us. You’re…”

He hesitated, his mouth opening slightly like he was searching for the right words, but nothing came. His eyes met mine, full of something unspoken, something I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear. Then, just like that, he looked away, biting his lip, shaking his head.

“…Never mind.”

His words hung in the air, but they didn’t feel like enough—not with the way everything between us had unraveled. My hands dropped to my sides as I stared at him, my voice trembling under the weight of my frustration.

“What even are we, Nick? What is this? Because I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what you want from me.”

My words hung between us, thick and suffocating. He just stood there, staring at me with that look—like he wanted to say something, like he was trying to find the right words but kept coming up empty. And the longer the silence stretched, the more it stung.

“I’m sorry.”

His voice was soft, barely there, but it still hit like a punch to the gut.

And then he turned and walked away. No explanation. No fight. Just... left.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ +

By Thursday night, I was buried under a pile of blankets, my English textbook open in front of me—not that I was actually reading it. Concentrating was impossible with the chaos unfolding across the room.

“No!” Tao groaned dramatically.

Charlie grinned, snatching a handful of Monopoly money like he’d just won the lottery. “Hand over.”

Elle sighed, glancing at the time. “It’s nearly midnight. Can we please call it a draw?”

“No, because I’m clearly winning. I just have unlucky rolls,” Tao argued.

Charlie scoffed. “No, I’m winning because I actually have more money.”

Tao shook his head stubbornly. “No, the winner is the superior businessperson, and that’s obviously me.”

Charlie smirked. “You do realize the goal is to have the most money, right? That would make me the winner.”

Tao gasped, looking scandalized. “Not if you cheated!”

“You can’t cheat at Monopoly.”

Before the argument could spiral further, Isaac, still engrossed in his book, casually nudged the board with his foot, sending game pieces scattering.

“Oh, whoops,” he said flatly.

I exhaled in relief, shooting him a grateful look. “About time. I was this close to flipping the board myself.”

Tao and Charlie stared at each other, then at the mess on the floor, before nodding in silent agreement.

“Draw,” Tao decided.

“Draw,” Charlie echoed.

Elle let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

My phone buzzed.

Mom: Don’t eat too many snacks. It’s not healthy. It makes your face look puffy.

I stared at the screen, my jaw tightening.

Then, my gaze flickered to the empty bowl in front of me. Well—technically, the second empty bowl. Too late for that.

My grip tightened around my phone.

This wasn’t new. Mom had always been like this. Watching what I ate. Making little comments. Warning me about too much sugar, too many carbs, too many snacks. Even before things got bad—before my health actually became something to worry about—she was always there with reminders. Do you really need a second helping? That’s a lot of bread. Maybe just one, okay?

At first, it was easy to brush off. She was just being a mom, right? Looking out for me. But then it became constant. The way her eyes would flick to my plate at dinner. The way she’d swap out everything for low-calorie versions and pretend it was the same. The way she’d remind me, again and again, like I couldn’t be trusted to make my own decisions.

And now? After everything I’d been through—she still thought this was something she needed to police. Like I wasn’t already aware of my own body every second of every day. Like I wasn’t already carrying enough.

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting.

My appetite had finally come back—something I’d told myself was a good thing. After everything—all the stress, all the confusion… after Nick—eating again had felt normal. Comforting, even.

But now, staring at the message, that familiar pang of guilt crawled under my skin, settling in my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake. Like I’d crossed some invisible line. Like I’d done something wrong.

“Everything good?” Tao’s voice cut through the fog in my head.

I blinked, forcing a shrug. “Yeah,” I muttered, pushing my phone aside like it wasn’t still burning a hole in my mind. But the words stuck in my throat, bitter and tight.

Elle shot me a look—long, knowing—but didn’t press. Instead, she stretched and stood. “I think that’s enough Monopoly-induced suffering for one night. Who’s up for a movie?”

Charlie perked up immediately. “Only if I get to pick.”

Tao groaned. “Not another sci-fi movie, please.”

The conversation swirled around me, easy and familiar, but I wasn’t really there. My fingers hovered over my phone screen, the words typed out but unsent. Then, with a sigh, I locked it and shoved it deep into my pocket.

I didn’t feel like replying.

Taglist:

@kimi01985

[chenlezip]

──★ ˙☕️ !! annoying customer | a na jaemin smau .

PART 2 : apology speedrun

annas note : thank you to those who wanted to be in my taglist for this smau >_< i appreciate you all so so much!! wrote this while half asleep so im sorry if nothing makes sense. pls lmk what you think! 🤍

last | next | masterlist

the next day rolled around quickly and jaemin felt himself growing a bit antsy as he approached the cafe a bit earlier than what time he usually goes - 7pm this time. well done jaemin!

jeno had begged him to go around this time because.. eh, something specific but he wasn’t really paying all his attention to his best friend right now because he had more on his mind. first of all, how was he going to approach you? nonchalantly? or just get it over and done with? maybe he could speedrun it.

with a pat on the shoulder from jeno, he enters the cafe with a soft smile plastered on those pretty pink lips of his. “hi,” jaemin spoke up as he reached the counter, looking around, seeing the cafe nearly empty. he was quite thankful.. he didn’t want to apologise to you in front of a whole crowd. you hum in response, muttering a small hi as you were too busy fixing the till.. once again, god! why can’t the manager just spend the money on higher quality needs?!

“sooo… i saw your tweet, and-“ “you saw my tweet? how? i’m on private- oh shit, did karina send you it?” he rubbed at his nape, “perhaps? but anyway what i wanna say is that i’m so sorry that i was making you stay later.. it’s the only time i could get here with how busy ive been and-“

as the male was about to continue, jeno dashed inside the cafe. “-well, your coffee is really-“ he gets grabbed by the arm and dragged out, quickly muttering another “sorry!” to you. as soon as jaemin was dragged outside, he glared at the older shouting out, “what the hell jeno?!”

you were confused by the whole commotion. all you saw was the pretty male that you seemed to dislike being dragged out by a handsome puppy faced man who had a nice physique. damn, a pretty boy with a handsome man? and they seem to be friends? well, the universe is in luck for you.

but you couldn’t help thinking about what jaemin said to you. karina first of all throwing you under the bus like that and how sweet he sounded when he apologised. he sounded so.. no. you need to focus on fixing the till.

jaemin, on the other hand, was rather annoyed at jeno. “what the actual hell, jeno? i was just about to explain how good she makes coffee!” “sorry, i uh, saw a girl who’s exactly my type and i need you to come with me to get her number.. can you get it for me?” he asked softly which elicited another groan from his best friend. “why the hell can’t you do it? are those muscles just for show?!”

“maybe..” jeno muttered. “look- maybe you have another shot to apologise to your girl, huh? but right now i need your help with this.”

taglist : @jeonghansshitester @kukkurookkoo @cigsaftersuh @polarisjisung @injvns @kaosuni @sibwol @n0hyuck @ayukas @phototypee @hyckvr @swee7dream @haechology @holyhaech @blondemrk @222low @njmluvr

[remy-white]

Lovers to Enemies Dialogue Prompts

"Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you didn’t do this."

"How long?" (A quiet, broken whisper, filled with disbelief.)

"I trusted you. I loved you. And you made a fool of me."

"Was any of it real? Or was I just another piece in your game?"

"You look at me like I'm the villain, but you left me no choice."

"You swore to me. You swore you'd never lie to me. And yet, here we are."

"Every word you ever said to me—it was all a lie, wasn’t it?"

"You can hate me all you want, but don't pretend you didn't know this was coming."

"I would have done anything for you. I would have burned the world for you. But now? I’ll watch it burn with you in it."

"I thought losing you would be the worst thing that could happen. Turns out, knowing you was."

"You have no idea what this is doing to me." "Oh, I do. And I don’t care."

"Do you even regret it? Do you even feel anything?"

"If I had known who you truly were, I never would have let you touch me."

"I didn’t want this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you." "Then why did you?"

"You’re the only person who could have hurt me like this."

"You loved me once. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?" "I don’t even recognize the person I loved anymore."

"I didn’t lie about loving you." "No, but you lied about everything else."

"Don’t walk away. Please." "I should’ve walked away a long time ago."

"I wish I had never met you." "That makes two of us."

"If I meant nothing to you, why did you bother pretending?"

"You played your part well. I’ll give you that."

"I tried to tell you. You just refused to see it."

"You could have told me the truth, and I might have understood. But you chose to lie."

"You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and now you’re the worst."

"I hope it was worth it." "It never was."

"Go ahead. Hate me. It won’t change what happened."

"You say you didn’t want to hurt me, but you still did."

"You weren’t supposed to find out this way." "Oh? And how exactly was I supposed to find out that the person I love is a liar?"

"I should have known better than to believe in you."

"You had a choice. And you chose to betray me."

[carpenoctxrn]

Little Lark (Yandere!Ominis x fem!reader) Part 2

Masterlist

Part 1

Disclaimer: p in v, cunnilingus, squirting, creampie, obsessive dark Ominis, manipulative Ominis, dubious pregnancy consent. grammar errors and not proofread. characters are atleast 19.

Ominis heard the gasps of students as she passed by, their whispers confirming what he already knew; she looked breathtaking. The silver dress clung to her, shaping her body in ways he had memorized too well. His jaw tightened. She was meant to be his.

The air felt sharper, charged with purpose. He had dressed immaculately for the occasion - a black suit, a dark grey vest, a crisp white shirt. His hair was slicked back, his polished Oxfords reflecting the candlelight. Every detail was perfect, composed. But his mind was anything but.

His white eyes ignored the sea of people around him, his wand tucked away yet still locked onto one presence alone. Her.

His love, his life, his entire being. She consumed him. And yet, now she was in Amit’s arms, laughing as they waltzed. That laugh, so light, so carefree, should have been for him.

Enough.

He stepped onto the dance floor, his wand guiding him through the moving bodies. He was only a few paces away when fate intervened; Amit spun her too wide, and she fell into Ominis.

A sharp gasp. His name whispered in surprise. And his arms, already wrapped around her waist, held fast. Tightly. Possessively.

“Ominis, I didn’t think the Yule Ball was your cup of tea,” she said, forcing a light tone between them.

His lips curled slightly. “It wasn’t, until I heard my little lark would be here… with another man.”

Without another word, he guided her into a waltz, moving seamlessly across the floor. The nickname stinging a bit. She hesitated, but his grip allowed no room for argument.

“It’s not what you th-”

He cut her off, spinning her away, just enough for her to feel the space between them, before pulling her back, her back pressing against his chest.

“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” he murmured in her ear, his voice low, the warmth of his breath sending a trail of goosebumps across her exposed shoulders.

She stilled. Ominis had always been sweet, always patient. But this? This was different.

And yet, he was right. None of it mattered now.

“It’s a bit selfish, isn’t it, darling?” he mused, knowing exactly how her mind worked. He could feel the hesitation, the way her breath caught. He had spent too long studying her, knowing exactly which threads to pull.

“I’m sorry, Omi,” she murmured, her head dipping slightly, the words barely above a whisper.

His grip slackened just a fraction, fingers still wrapped around her wrist, possessive yet deceptively tender. “It’s okay, love.” His voice was sweet again, too sweet, like poisoned honey coaxing her deeper into his grasp. He turned her to face him, tilting her chin up with a featherlight touch.

Though blind, his pale, milky eyes locked unerringly onto her face, as if he could see straight into her soul. And yet, she still refused to meet his gaze.

That simply wouldn’t do.

His fingers skimmed along her cheek, a deceptively soft caress that carried an edge of demand. “I think we should give this another go.”

And just like that, the music, the people, the entire world faded. The ballroom became nothing but a blur of irrelevant faces. They had stopped, frozen in place, every eye now on them.

Exactly as he had planned.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t second-guess. This Ominis; this new, insatiable, unyielding Ominis, set something inside her ablaze. She had always craved his undivided attention, and now that she had it, she would never let it go.

“I think so too,” she whispered, smiling as warmth spread through her chest. In this moment, all she could feel, all she could see, all she could breathe was Ominis.

His lips crashed against hers—not rough, not desperate, but perfectly controlled, perfectly measured. A kiss designed to claim her. His tongue dragged lazily along the soft curve of her lips, tasting, savoring. One hand curled possessively around her waist, the other cradling her cheek, holding her in place, ensuring she could never slip away. When he finally pulled back, they remained tangled together, foreheads pressed, breath mingling in the electrified space between them.

The kiss had done exactly what Ominis feared it would.

It had broken something inside him.

No - unleashed something.

A beast that did not simply want her. A beast that needed her. One that refused to share, refused to let go. As a child, it had surfaced when his aunt’s attention drifted to his siblings, stirring him to manipulate situations to keep her focus on him alone.

Now, that same beast had changed. Evolved. It craved a different kind of attention, a different kind of ownership. And it wanted all of it from her.

Sebastian whooped from the sidelines, laughter and applause rippling through the crowd. But it all came to a sudden, screeching halt when Professor Blackwell swept into the ballroom, demanding to know what had caused such a ruckus.

The perfect distraction came in the form of an explosion, courtesy of Gareth Weasley, his latest volatile concoction sending up plumes of smoke and the stench of burnt alcohol.

The moment was flawless.

“Follow me,” Ominis murmured against her skin, lips grazing the exposed slope of her shoulder, a teasing press of warmth that sent a shiver down her spine.

The intimate action made her breath hitch, and without thinking, she obeyed. She always did.

His hand remained firm on her waist as he led her from the ballroom, guiding her through the castle’s corridors, moving with silent determination. The moment they reached a deserted hallway bathed in silver moonlight, he pulled her into him, pressing her against the cold stone wall.

“Why ar-”

Her words died in a gasp as Ominis silenced her with his mouth.

This kiss was different.

There was no teasing this time, no slow exploration—only sharp bites against her lips, their teeth clashing in his hunger to consume her. His tongue barely soothed the sting before he was back to devouring her, his grip tightening, fingers digging into her sides as if she might disappear if he let go.

A breathy moan escaped her lips, but it quickly melted into a whimper as he bit down harder, dragging another small sound from her. He pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his body practically trembling from restraint.

And then, she pulled him back in.

Fingers tangling into his hair, her other hand gripping the back of his neck, she crushed herself against him, pressing feverishly into his warmth.

“I want you, Omi,” she breathed, voice dripping with longing.

Ominis froze.

She was asking for him. His little lark, the one he had worshiped, obsessed over, belonged to, was giving herself to him willingly.

A slow grin stretched across his lips, dark and predatory.

His lips descended to her neck, tasting, teasing, his tongue trailing lightly over her skin. The urge to mark her clawed at him, but not yet. Not here.

She was unraveling in his hands, responding to every firm grip, every insistent press of his lips. She loved how gently he could be, but now, she was melting under the way he commanded her. The way his once-sweet kisses had turned into something ravenous.

She was his.

“Please, Omi,” she begged, voice trembling.

The plea made something snap inside him.

A dangerous grin curved his lips as he guided her against the coarse stone of a pillar, caging her in with his body. One hand stayed firm on her waist while the other drifted lower, fingers ghosting over the hem of her dress before slipping beneath.

“What are you asking for, little lark?” he purred, his voice velvety and dark.

She sucked in a shaky breath, her thighs trembling as his fingers trailed higher. “E-everything,” she gasped.

“Everything?” He echoed the word like a promise, like an oath carved in blood. His fingers curled against her thighs, pulling her tighter against him, forcing her to feel the evidence of his desire.

The sharp gasp that left her lips was intoxicating.

Ominis groaned as she instinctively rolled her hips, grinding against him in desperate need. His grip tightened, nails pressing into her soft flesh, leaving crescent-shaped indents in their wake.

“Take care of me, Omi,” she whimpered, her voice the sweetest temptation.

His breath hitched.

A deep, guttural sound rumbled in his chest as his grip on her became almost bruising. “I’ll take care of you,” he vowed, voice raw with obsession, possessiveness dripping from every syllable.

His perfect little lark, so beautifully naive.

So willing.

So completely his.

And she had no idea.

No idea that this was not just love. Not just desire.

This was an obsession.

And Ominis had never been more sure of one thing in his life:

He would never let her go.

He chuckled at the thought, a dark, velvety sound that sent a shiver down her spine.

“Wh-what’s funny?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious under his lingering gaze. Her lips tingling from his kiss, her breath still uneven.

“Nothing, love,” he murmured, though amusement laced his tone. “Let’s go to my dorm.”

Before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, stealing the breath from her lungs. His hands abandoned her thighs, one drifting back to her waist, the other tangling possessively in her hair, keeping her right where he wanted her.

When they finally parted, her lashes fluttered, her voice breathless. “No… the Room of Requirement. No one will be there.”

He smiled against her lips, his fingers toying with the fabric of her dress. “Lead the way, little lark.”

They barely made it through the corridors, laughter spilling between heated kisses, their touches growing bolder. Every time their lips met, the intensity deepened, their hunger building, their smiles growing so wide it made their cheeks ache.

Their love, no, his obsession, was all-consuming. A fire that burned too brightly, too fiercely. She didn’t yet realize the dark tendrils wrapping around her, threading her fate to his.

And Ominis would keep it that way.

The Room of Requirement shifted at her will, crafting an intimate sanctuary. Moonlight poured through a single open window, sheer white curtains billowing softly with the night breeze. Candles flickered, their golden glow dancing over stone walls, illuminating the bed at the center of it all.

She barely had time to admire it before she felt warmth at her back, Ominis pressing flush against her, his lips finding the sensitive skin of her neck. A gasp left her lips as he sucked at the flesh, his hands ghosting over her waist. She could feel him, thick and heavy, pressing insistently between the swell of her ass.

She turned in his arms, capturing his lips in a kiss as she reached for his clothes. First, his vest, then his tie. Her fingers moved slowly, deliberately unbuttoning his crisp white shirt, her lips pressing to each newly exposed inch of flesh. She could feel the slight tremble in his breath, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.

She untucked his shirt, her fingers drifting to his belt-

But he was already pulling her back into another kiss, this one searing, all-consuming. Their teeth clashed, lips swollen and tinged with the faint taste of blood as she bit down on his. A deep groan rumbled in his throat, raw and needy, as his fingers fumbled with the laces of her corset, loosening them just enough for her dress to slip down her body.

Now she stood before him, nearly bare, clad only in the softest cotton panties. The cold air pebbled her skin, sending a shiver through her frame, one that had nothing to do with the chill and everything to do with the way Ominis’s hands traced over her curves, memorizing her with his touch.

She hesitated, her breath hitching. “Are we ready for this?”

His fingers stilled. “Do you not feel ready?” His voice was patient, but there was an unmistakable tension beneath it, a coiled restraint, as though he was holding himself back with sheer force of will.

She chewed her lip. “What if… what if you marry someone else? Then I’ll have to marry someone else too. And then… they’ll know.” Her voice grew softer, more hesitant.

Ominis frowned, tilting his head. “They’ll know what, love?”

“…That I’m not a virgin.” Her face burned with embarrassment, her fingers twisting into his shirt.

For a moment, he was silent. Then, he laughed. Actually laughed.

She blinked up at him, confused, but Ominis only shook his head. “Silly little lark.” His fingers brushed over her cheek, his voice dripping with something almost affectionate—almost.

How adorable that she thought there was even a possibility of him marrying someone else.

How utterly ridiculous that she hadn’t realized she was already his.

“I promise never to ask that question after our marriage,” he said smoothly, as though it were a mere afterthought.

Because, of course, there was no if. No what if.

They would be married.

Ominis didn’t intend to give her a choice.

She let out a small gasp as he effortlessly lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. A delighted giggle escaped her lips, her worries momentarily forgotten.

“And I’ll carry you into our home and our bed just like this on our wedding night,” he murmured, laying her down with deliberate tenderness. Before she could respond, he was on her again, his lips capturing hers in a kiss so soft, so sweet, that it made her heart stutter.

“And then,” he whispered against her lips, his smirk sharp, wicked, “I’m going to make sure the next morning, you won’t be able to walk without feeling me.”

A gasp turned into laughter as she swatted at his shoulder, half-scandalized. “Ominis!”

His lips found her ear, pressing a lingering kiss just below it. “What is it, love? Just stating the truth.”

Her breath hitched.

A new kind of nervousness flickered across her face, her fingers tightening on his biceps. “Ominis… what if I get pregnant?” Her voice was small, uncertain.

His hands stilled for only a second. Then, a slow smile curved his lips. “Then I’ll take care of you both.” His voice was so steady, so utterly confident, that it made her fears seem foolish.

Her heart swelled.

He always knew exactly what to say to put her at ease.

As she relaxed beneath him, Ominis pressed a trail of kisses down her neck, over her collarbone, until he reached the swell of her breast. His mouth was hot, insistent, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak as his fingers toyed with the other. Her breath came in quick, uneven gasps, her back arching as new sensations coursed through her.

Her thighs clenched together, an unbearable ache building between them. A needy whimper slipped past her lips.

Ominis groaned at the sound, his large hand trailing lower, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, “of both of you.”

His fingers brushed against her mound, tracing the soft, delicate flesh.

She gasped.

His touch was light, teasing, as if memorizing every inch of her. First, he explored her vulva, then her labia, before his fingertips finally found that sensitive pearl nestled at the top.

She jolted, a breathless cry escaping as he pressed against it, circling it in slow, deliberate strokes.

“My perfect little lark,” he whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he watched her unravel beneath his hands. Submitting to him.

She was his.

His fingers dipped lower, finding her entrance, feeling the heat, the slickness that coated her folds. His own arousal pulsed painfully against his thigh, aching, starving for her.

He was going to make her crave him.

But as he inhaled, catching the sweet, intoxicating scent of her arousal, he realized something.

He was the one addicted.

His lips ghosted over her inner thigh, his fingers hooking into her panties, drawing them aside. The warmth of her core was just inches from his lips now, her muscles tensing beneath his hands.

A dark, satisfied smirk curled on his lips.

She had no idea what she had done; no idea that by offering herself to him, she had sealed her fate.

Ominis would never let her go now.

And the next time she spoke of another man, of marrying someone else:

He would remind her exactly who she belonged to.

Ominis licked a thick stripe from her dripping entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top, savoring the taste that now belonged to him. It was **new, intoxicating** sweet like overripe fruit, yet uniquely her. He groaned, feeling his entire body tighten with raw, unfiltered need.

His lips pressed against her soft flesh, worshipping the delicate skin surrounding her core before sinking his teeth in, leaving tiny, possessive marks. Mine. His little lark tangled her fingers in his hair, gasping out his name between breathless moans. He smirked against her, drinking in every sound, every twitch, every desperate plea.

Then, he took things further.

His tongue slipped inside, curling, exploring, claiming. She trembled, a fresh wave of her slick coating his tongue, and he groaned at the sensation. She was so helpless beneath him, so vulnerable, so completely at his mercy. And she didn’t even realize it.

Perfect.

Experimenting, he dragged two fingers over her clit; light, teasing, just enough to make her arch completely off the bed.

The cycle became deliciously vicious. The more he played with her, the more she gave. And he was addicted.

He could not stop.

Would not stop.

Her body was his to ravish, his to worship, his to consume.

His little lark whimpered and moaned, her pleasure dripping from her lips as much as it did from her body. Ominis could hear the shift in her voice, the rising pitch, the way her breath hitched and turned erratic. He knew, oh, he knew, she was close.

Would she gush for him?

Or would she be creamy and thick?

The depraved thoughts sent another sharp pulse of pleasure through his own aching length. He could feel the wet patch on his trousers, the evidence of his own unrelenting arousal, and yet his hunger for her overpowered it all.

His tongue plunged into her again, his fingers circling her pearl faster, relentless now. His pace became messy, greedy, desperate; and then he felt it.

The way her entire body seized, trembled, broke apart beneath him.

Her thighs shook violently, her hands weakly trying to push him away. But he didn't stop. He wouldn’t. Why would he? She was giving him everything and he wanted more.

Her cries of too much, too much were music to his ears.

His little lark, so overwhelmed, so beautifully undone.

And then he felt it. A sudden burst of warm liquid coating his tongue, his chin, his entire face. A gush, not as potent as the first orgasm, but enough to drive him mad with excitement.

His lark could squirt.

Ominis groaned deeply, shuddering as he realized the extent of what her body could do for him. His mind raced, imagining all the ways he could break her down further.

She sobbed his name, her body trembling, spent, ruined, overwhelmed.

Good.

She had only ever belonged to him, and now she would never forget it.

He moved up her body, kissing her lips, letting her taste herself on his tongue. She moaned, dizzy, hazy, pulling him closer, desperate to mark him in return.

Then - she bit him.

Ominis groaned, feeling her teeth sink into his bare chest, her tiny, fragile body desperate to brand him, just as he had branded her.

Perfect, perfect, perfect.

She was learning.

His precious little lark was finally learning what it meant to be his.

She dragged her lips lower, leaving a wet trail of kisses down his abdomen. His pale skin glowed in the moonlight, sharp shadows outlining every flex of his muscles as she unzipped his pants.

And then, she saw it.

A sharp gasp left her lips.

Ominis smirked. “Kneazle got your tongue, love?”

She stared at him, gaping, cheeks flushed. Too big. Too thick. Too much.

“It-it won’t fit,” she stammered, voice frightened yet fascinated.

Adorable.

He cupped her cheek, tilting her face up toward his, his grin dark and knowing.

“Don’t worry, love,” he murmured, his voice low, soothing; yet full of wicked promise. “I’ll make it fit.”

Her breath hitched. Panic flickered in her eyes. “No, Omi…you’re too big. It’ll tear me apart!”

Yes. It will.

He kissed her neck, pressing soft, slow kisses designed to lull her into compliance. “It’s okay,” he whispered, voice dripping with manipulative tenderness.

“If you don’t want me…” He pulled away, feigning disappointment, his lips barely grazing her skin as if he were reconsidering everything.

She panicked instantly.

“No! No, I do!” she stuttered, grabbing onto him, pulling him back.

There it is.

His smirk widened. He knew exactly how to play her. Manipulate wasn’t the right word—guide sounded much better.

She was so soft, so trusting. She truly believed he would never do anything to hurt her.

Sweet little thing.

“Be careful,” she murmured, still trembling beneath him.

He hushed her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Of course, my love. I would never hurt you.

(Not more than necessary.)

A week without her had been torture, but it had given him time. Time to prepare. He had read books, brewed potions for aftercare (and ones to make her more pliant, but she was so eager, so needy, he wouldn’t even need them).

One technique stood out to him. Stretch her first. Just the tip.

He kissed her again, softly, sweetly, as he coaxed her onto her back.

“Lay down for me, love,” he instructed gently, guiding her into position.

Her body tensed with anticipation, her mind warring between desire and hesitation.

She had no idea how much he had waited for this.

No idea how much he had sacrificed, suffered, and planned to make this moment happen.

But soon, she would understand.

She gasped as his warm, swollen tip brushed against her clit, the sheer size of it making her tremble. He dragged himself between her folds, coating himself in her slick, rubbing slow, agonizing circles around her entrance.

Her moans were intoxicating.

He groaned, feeling her grip his thighs, her body desperately adjusting to the sensation of him.

“Just the tip, okay, love?” he murmured, his voice dark and strained, his patience hanging by a thread.

She arched beneath him, one hand kneading her breast, the other clutching at his body.

Ominis licked his lips.

This was it.

Soon, she would truly be his.

And nothing, not fate, not family, not even death itself, could ever take her away.

Not anymore.

“Mmhm,” she moaned, nodding her head in eager submission.

Ominis groaned at the sight before him. His length was coated in a thin sheen of her slick, a clear sign of how ready she was, how perfectly prepared for him.

My perfect little lark…

“My pretty lark, so wet for me, so eager,” he mused, his voice thick with possessive satisfaction. She was so trusting, so willing, and the thought sent a dangerous thrill through him.

He tried to push inside her, but her tight, untouched body resisted him, forcing him upward, his length rubbing roughly against her clit instead.

She whimpered loudly, and Ominis smirked, memorizing every sound she made, storing them deep within him to replay later.

“It’s okay, little lark,” he whispered, voice dripping with dark promise. “I’ll make it fit.”

His thumbs found her swollen bud, rubbing slow, methodical circles, knowing exactly how to break her apart, to make her give in to him completely.

He ignored the way his own body ached painfully for release; ignored the way his own length throbbed and twitched, dangerously close to the edge just from the sight of her.

Not yet.

Ominis wanted her ruined first.

He slipped a finger inside her, feeling her muscles flutter and flex, then added another. So tight, so warm, and all mine.

She moaned loudly, moaned his name, moaned about how good he was making her feel. She had no shame anymore, and Ominis relished it.

She was slipping deeper and deeper into his trap.

When he felt her walls pulse and flutter the same way they had around his tongue earlier, he replaced his fingers with his tip at her entrance.

Her hazy, pleasure-drunk mind barely registered the change, until;

A sharp, choked whine escaped her lips as he finally entered her.

Ominis froze, savoring the sensation.

It was everything he had ever dreamed of—better, even. She was so tight, her body gripping him like she never wanted to let go.

That’s right, love. You never will.

She gasped, squirming beneath him, her thighs trembling. “Th-thas so good,” she squealed, barely able to form words.

Ominis grinned darkly.

She was losing herself in him.

The filthy, wet sound of her arousal echoed in the room as he slowly moved, giving her only the first two inches, teasing her, breaking her in piece by piece.

He wondered if her body clenched so beautifully around him because of the pleasure…

Or because he hadn’t stopped rubbing that sensitive little pearl of hers.

Then she came. Hard.

Ominis groaned as he felt her cream around him, coating him in her release, making the slide even easier.

Perfect.

She gasped, eyes clouded with lust, her body still trembling, but she wasn’t satisfied yet.

“More, Omi!” she pleaded, her voice high-pitched, desperate.

Ominis smirked, dragging her even closer.

She thought she was simply his lover, his girlfriend.

That was fine.

Because she was so much more.

She was his obsession. His object of desire. His to own.

Before she could process what was happening, he grabbed her thighs, pushing them up toward her chest.

The position was so vulnerable, so exposed; but she obeyed him, hooking her hands under her thighs, holding them open just for him.

“Good little lark,” he purred, voice dripping with satisfaction.

He dragged himself down her soaked entrance and plunged even deeper.

She cried out, body bowing off the mattress, her tight walls fluttering helplessly around him.

Ominis shuddered, his control slipping.

She felt so full now, so completely stretched. The thought that he had ruined her for anyone else sent something dangerously primal through him.

Not that there would ever be anyone else.

She was his.

She had always been his.

She just didn’t realize it yet.

His movements were slow, careful, stretching her inch by inch. Not because he wanted to be gentle; no, he wanted to pound her into the mattress, claim her completely, mark her inside and out;

But he had to pace himself.

He had to make sure she came with him.

Because only then, only when their pleasure peaked together, would the soul tie be forged.

Then, she would never leave him.

Not in this life.

Not in the next.

Not even in death.

Then she moaned; a filthy, needy sound that shattered his patience completely.

“Fuck me, Omi… fuck me hard, Ommmiii—”

Her voice broke into a shrill gasp, her toes curling, her entire body arching for him.

Ominis grinned, wild and hungry.

“Yes, my love,” he whispered darkly. “As you wish.”

Even Merlin himself couldn’t save her from the brutal, relentless pace Ominis had set for her.

Her body took more and more of him, her slick, welcoming heat stretching beyond its limits—accommodating him. Accepting him. Becoming his.

Her eyes rolled back, her mouth hung open, and a thin trail of drool slipped down her chin. She couldn’t even form words now, her mind reduced to nothing but him.

Beautiful. Perfect.

His precious little lark; so utterly ruined for anyone but him.

“Soo—” she gasped, but the word broke apart as her orgasm clutched her in its ruthless grip.

Ominis felt it; the way she creamed around him, her walls squeezing, milking him, trying to pull him even deeper.

And yet; she wanted more.

“Deeper, Omi!” she mewled, releasing her legs and wrapping herself around him, pulling him closer.

Ominis’s breath hitched, his control snapping, his mind flooded with pure, obsessive hunger.

She wanted him to ruin her completely.

He could feel it in the way she clung to him, how her trembling thighs braced against him, how she offered herself to him with no hesitation, no resistance.

His grin was wicked. Dark. Possessive.

“My beautiful lark,” he rasped, his voice hoarse with raw obsession. “You’re doing so lovely for me.”

He captured her lips in a deep, searing kiss, swallowing her moans, tasting the desperation on her tongue.

The wet, sinful sound of their bodies colliding filled the air, echoing against the floral wallpaper, wrapping around them like a symphony of filth.

Nothing else existed; only her. Only this.

She was his world.

And he was hers.

“You’re gripping me like you never want to let go…” he groaned, his voice thick with need.

His little lark… so tight, so impossibly tight.

“H-how are you so impossibly tight?” he panted, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“F-fuck… you’re clenching me so damn hard…”

He smirked, dropping his mouth to her throat, sucking bruises into her delicate flesh.

“I’ll fill you,” he whispered, voice laced with dark, carnal promise. “Make you mine in every intimate way.”

He pulled back just enough to watch her reaction, his white, unseeing eyes somehow filled with fire.

“You’d like that, huh?” he taunted, half-dazed, fully consumed.

Her body arched at his words, and his smirk deepened.

She was breaking.

She was losing herself in him.

Just as she should.

His hips ground into hers, his length bulging against her lower stomach, stretching her beyond reason.

She gasped, voice breathless and wrecked. “Yes!”

Ominis’s pupils dilated, his hunger morphing into something darker.

He was going to fuck her pregnant.

“Shall I make you a mother then?” he mused, smirking against her sweat-slicked skin. “Fill you up completely until there’s no going back?”

“Ye-yes, Omi!” she cried out, her body shuddering beneath him.

His thrusts grew deeper, harder, filthier.

Her breathy moans, her glistening skin, her helpless little whimpers; everything about her was made for him.

“Is that what you want?” he purred, his voice mockingly sweet, dangerously low. “To make me a father so soon?”

But by now, she couldn’t answer.

She was too lost in him.

Too fucked out to do anything but whimper and mewl, her legs trembling, her fingers tangled desperately in his hair.

Not satisfied with her silence, Ominis’s hands slid from her thighs to the back of her neck.

His fingers tangled in her soft locks, gripping just enough to make her gasp.

He tugged.

Hard.

Her eyes snapped open, irises no longer rolled back, but instead wide, dazed, drowning in him.

A sharp yelp left her lips, and yet her pretty little cunt squeezed him tighter.

A silent confession.

She liked being handled.

She liked being his.

She wants me to fuck her like she belongs to me.

The thought made his entire body seize with overwhelming pleasure.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, no longer calling her his darling little names.

She barely understood what he was asking.

But saying yes wouldn’t hurt.

Right?

Her naive little mind couldn’t grasp the full weight of what she was agreeing to.

So innocent, so clueless.

And so utterly his.

Before she could process anything, Ominis captured her lips once more, claiming her with a kiss so deep, so consuming, she could only surrender.

His tongue teased the edges of her swollen lips before he bit down, making her gasp into his mouth.

Her body bent to his will, melting beneath him, surrendering everything to him.

“You’d have me claim you completely, wouldn’t you?” he whispered, his voice a wicked caress.

“There’ll be no hiding what we’ve done.”

“They’ll see you walk around with a pregnant belly.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you little minx?”

Her mind was hazy, overwhelmed, but she still nodded; still begged for more.

And then; he felt her unravel beneath him.

Her body convulsed, her core squeezing him like a vice.

And when she came; it was filthy. Messy. Absolute perfection.

Her oversensitive little body twitched, her thighs shaking, her breath stolen from her lungs as she drenched his lower half.

Ominis’s grin stretched wide.

“Look at you,” he taunted, his voice breaking, slurring. “Utterly lost to me. Like the harlot you are.”

She didn’t even flinch at his words.

Didn’t even realize the weight behind them.

“Cum in me, Omi. Make me pregnant,” she whimpered, pulling him into a desperate kiss.

Ominis shuddered violently, his resolve snapping completely as her lips opened wider, pulling him in, urging him deeper.

He felt it then.

The moment he hit her cervix, the moment she wailed in pleasure, the moment she lost herself to him entirely.

Her legs shook violently, her small body trembling beneath his towering form.

He slammed into that spot over and over, fucking her through her orgasm, forcing her to drown in him.

“You won’t leave me so easily now,” he murmured darkly.

But to her, his words weren’t a threat.

They were a promise.

A promise to bind their fates together, forever.

And as she climaxed around him, as he emptied himself inside her, filling her completely, ensuring she would never escape;

He pressed one last, slow, lingering kiss to her lips, dragging his tongue across them as if savoring his final victory.

And then, he smirked.

“I suppose I no longer have to be a gentleman.”

THE END!

Masterlist (for more ominis work and other x reader story!)

A/N: Yall its 2am and I wake up at 7:30am.....shoot me pretty please. but imma pat myself in the back because this Ominis is a neeed, his so obsessive it makes me happy.

also these lovely dividers are by @pommecita they are not taking requests so please be mindful of that!

also special thank you to everyone who liked the first fic!

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 13.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 6,9K

tag: #what was that

author’s note: @rennethen as beta reader. This the all-is-lost moment chapter, so tw would be angst, but I promise from now on it will only get better :')

Cross-posted on AO3

—

They kept missing each other for a week. Each of them was too stubborn, too proud, too scared to reach out. Renly had nearly turned nocturnal, convincing herself that she needed something concrete—something ready—before she faced Viktor again. Her guilt gnawed at her, pushing her forward and holding her back in equal measure.

Tonight, though, her newest iteration of the cure would finally be ready. She couldn’t put it off any longer. Steeling herself, she arrived at the lab earlier than usual, intent on finally confronting Viktor.

Only to be met by Jayce.

“Gods, Ren, I haven’t seen you in a week! Are you alright?” he exclaimed, his voice warm and filled with relief as he wrapped her in one of his massive, crushing hugs.

The embrace lingered a beat too long, and it wasn’t until Jayce realised she hadn’t answered that he loosened his grip, noticing her muffled protests.

“Ah, thanks. I might’ve actually needed that,” she huffed, her voice breathy as she smoothed her slightly wrinkled shirt. She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’ve been working nights. Sorry about that.” Definitely just turned out like this, definitely not avoiding Viktor.

Jayce stepped back, his brows knitting together as he scanned her dishevelled appearance. “Are you avoiding Vik?”

Ah, Jayce was smarter than her, of course.

“Not really,” she replied quickly, though her tone betrayed her unease. “It just… turned out like this, honestly. Is he here?” Part of her hoped he was. That she could get all of this off her chest, give him the new medicine, kiss his forehead, and say she was sorry.

“No, he went home early,” Jayce said with a sigh, his expression softening but still clouded with concern. “Ren, I think he feels like shit. You should talk to him.”

“Well, I was planning to,” she said, crossing her arms defensively, “but he’s not here, is he?” Dear Jayce, if he’d only known. Renly knew there was no bad intention underneath it and Jayce probably went through hell that week.

Jayce raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, save that look for later. I’ll leave the lecture for another time. Are you going to head over to see him?”

Renly hesitated, glancing at the stack of notes she’d brought with her. “Yes, definitely. Later.” Her gaze shifted back to him, catching the worry etched across his face. “Are you alright? Everything okay with Mel?”

“Yes, yes,” Jayce replied quickly, though his hand instinctively went to the back of his neck—a telltale sign he was holding something back.

“It’s not about her,” he added after a moment. “I just… got weird news from Caitlyn.”

“Weird meaning…?” Renly prompted, her brow furrowing as her concern deepened.

Jayce hesitated, his lips pressing into a tight line before he asked, “Have you heard anything from the Undercity recently?”

Renly thought for a moment, her mind flipping through recent events. “Uh, now that you mention it, Ekko hasn’t reached out since the last dispatch. Why?”

Jayce’s expression darkened. “Apparently, tensions are growing tighter down there. Caitlyn said they’re planning a diversion to flush out whoever’s been smuggling Shimmer through the gates.”

Renly’s stomach twisted. “Flush them out how, exactly?”

“They want to literally smoke them out. With the Grey.”

Her heart sank. “Oh, Gods.”

Jayce nodded grimly. “It’s reckless and dangerous, but they’re desperate. Caitlyn’s trying to keep the peace, but it’s hard to control the situation from above.”

Renly’s voice rose slightly. “Jayce, did you tell Viktor?”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “And he’s worried. He thinks the council will use this as an excuse to come after Hextech next.”

Renly’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

Jayce’s jaw set with determination. “I’m on my way to talk to Mel about it. She might be able to sway the council or at least buy us some time.”

Renly exhaled sharply, her mind racing. “Be careful, Jayce. This could escalate fast.”

“I know.” He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You should talk to Viktor, Ren. He needs you.”

Renly swallowed hard, nodding. “I will.”

Her resolve solidified as she turned back to her work. With shaky hands, she carefully packed the vial of the cure she’d designed specifically for Viktor, enough to last him the next two weeks. She gathered her notes, stacking them neatly into a pile, ensuring they were ready to present to him. Her heart was pounding as she slung her bag over her shoulder and practically bolted out of the lab.

She had to stop herself from outright running to his apartment, though the attempt was futile. Her hurried steps turned into skipping over every other step, her bag clinking faintly with the bottles inside each time she slowed down.

By the time she reached his door, her chest was heaving, her breath short, and her heart felt lodged in her throat. She raised a trembling hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.

A pause. Silence.

Then, faint footsteps approached, and the door cracked open.

“Renly?” Viktor’s voice was low, almost relieved. He let out a long exhale, as though he’d been holding his breath, as though her knocking on his door was a possibility he hadn’t dared to entertain. His hand rocked slightly on his cane, the hesitation in his posture betraying his uncertainty. For a moment, he seemed torn between pulling her into an embrace or keeping his distance. Finally, he settled on a small beckoning gesture with a tug of his chin.

“Hey, you.” Her voice felt so small, lodged somewhere in her throat. She stepped inside, only to find herself standing awkwardly in the hallway, unsure of what to do with herself.

This same hallway, she realised, was where Viktor would always sweep her into his arms, showering her with kisses whenever they came back to his place together. The absence of that now felt unbearable, a hollow ache settling in her chest.

She glanced at him properly, taking him in. He looked tired—no, beyond tired. Troubled. The crease between his eyebrows was deep and pronounced, etched into his pale features like it had been carved there. The flat itself mirrored his state: slightly messier than she remembered, with cups and scattered notes abandoned on various surfaces. It was a quiet confession that he’d been working endlessly, even here at home.

Renly swallowed hard, forcing herself to look past it all.

For a long, drawn-out moment, neither of them spoke. They just stood there in the dim hallway, their gazes falling to the floor. The silence stretched until it was almost unbearable.

Then, at last, she heard the faint sound of him shifting. And before she could process it, she felt his arms circle around her, pulling her close.

She exhaled shakily, her face tucking into the crook of his neck. He leaned against her fully, his weight pressing into her, his cane now hovering slightly above the floor. His fingers tangled in her hair as though to anchor himself, and she felt his chest expand as he took a long breath, inhaling her scent—a mix of flowers and disinfectant.

In that fragile moment, it felt like he was holding on for dear life.

“You came,” Viktor’s voice was soft, laced with disbelief and relief, as though her presence alone might heal him. He didn’t want to let go. The week had been unbearable. The silence at work was deafening, the emptiness of his flat crushing. Even his coffee tasted too sweet without her there to mock it.

“I... I’ve got something for you,” Renly whispered, shaking her bag gently so the bottles clinked together.

Viktor leaned back, but his arms remained loosely around her, as if afraid she might vanish. His brow furrowed slightly, his expression both tentative and curious. He glanced down at the bag she held out and then peered inside: bottles carefully labelled, a fresh notebook, sterile containers with syringes and needles, bandages, disinfectants, and other small items. He felt his chest tighten—not from his condition, but from the realisation that she hadn’t given up on him.

“Renly, what—” He stopped, unsure how to frame the whirlwind of questions swirling in his mind. What is this? What do you want me to do with it? Why are you doing this after our last fight?

“I’ve worked it out.” Her voice was steady but quiet, as though she feared his reaction. “You’re not going to like it, but this batch should work without a fault. For your breathing,” she added, almost as an afterthought, though it was far from trivial. She bit her lip, her gaze flitting to his face, trying to gauge his response.

Viktor finally let go of her, though reluctantly, and reached into the bag. He pulled out one of the bottles, turning it over in his hands. Each was meticulously labelled with dates, concentrations, and dosages. He glanced at the notebook and saw neat tables with dates and times, spaces for notes, and a carefully outlined regimen.

“Renly,” he began, his voice softer now, almost disbelieving, “did you work around the clock for this?”

“It only took a week,” she replied with a huff, trying to sound casual, but the faint bags under her eyes betrayed her.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by her attempt at nonchalance. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

“I… might have to show you how to do the injection,” she admitted, deflecting slightly. “We could start today?”

“If I ask what went wrong, will I get a lecture?” he asked, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite the weight of the moment.

Renly’s face softened, and a knowing smile broke through. “I come prepared.” She reached into her bag again and produced a folder, thick with notes and diagrams documenting every second of the process. She handed it to him with the air of someone ready to argue every point.

Viktor sighed, setting the bag aside as he moved toward the kettle. “Tea first,” he murmured, as though they weren’t standing on the edge of something monumental.

Renly followed him into the kitchen, her fingers fidgeting nervously as she sat down at the small table. “So…” she began, her voice quieter now, “it would seem that I’ve… well, I’ve fucked up.”

Viktor turned to look at her, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing, letting her continue.

“I didn’t take the state of your immune system into account,” she explained, choosing her words carefully. “It was too strong, which is why…” She paused, exhaling slowly before continuing with clinical precision. “Your batch is crafted based on the samples I collected from you over time. Each one has a different concentration, designed to… coax your immune system into functioning properly, rather than attacking the islet cells.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed slightly, his mind working through her explanation. “What does this mean long term?” His tone was measured, though his chest tightened at the prospect of what she was about to say.

Renly met his gaze, her professionalism steadying her nerves. “It means you’d be dependent on it… indefinitely. But there’s a chance it could minimise your symptoms almost entirely.”

“My symptoms?” Viktor asked, his voice dipping slightly, as if he already knew the answer but needed to hear her say it.

“Your breathing affliction,” she clarified, her voice softer now.

For a long moment, Viktor said nothing. He looked down at the bottle still in his hand, running his thumb over the label. The meticulous care she’d poured into this, the endless hours she’d sacrificed—it all spoke volumes.

“Why?” he finally asked, his voice almost a whisper. “Why are you doing this for me?”

Renly’s lips parted, but no words came immediately. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “Because you deserve better than this.”

Viktor’s gaze lifted to hers, his chest tightening for a different reason now. Longing warred with hesitation in his eyes, but he didn’t dare speak the thought that had lodged itself in his throat: I missed you.

Instead, he walked over to her, leaned in, and kissed her. The angle wasn’t ideal for his spine at the moment, but the sensation of Renly’s lips on his eclipsed any discomfort. At first, she froze, caught off guard, but then she softened into him, slowly rising to stand level with him.

Viktor pulled her flush against him, his hands travelling down to cup her ass as her palms fisted into his shirt. He pushed her gently until she steadied herself against the nearest countertop, breathing into her mouth, “I hated this entire week until now.”

“Viktor, I—” she began, her voice trembling, but she barely managed the words before Viktor captured her lips again in another kiss.

His touch was laced with guilt and remorse, wielded like unspoken words he couldn’t yet form. Every press of his lips, every movement of his hands, was a silent apology—a plea for forgiveness he couldn’t articulate.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against hers, he whispered his confession. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like… you couldn’t,” Renly replied, her voice soft yet steady. Her eyes searched his face, looking for even a flicker of insincerity, but there was none. His raw vulnerability mirrored her own.

Her gaze shifted briefly to the bag resting on the table, then back to him. “Should we?” she asked quietly, her meaning clear.

Viktor hesitated, reluctant to let the moment shatter. He exhaled slowly, his eyes closing as he nodded.

Renly carried the tea and her bag with her as they moved to the bedroom. She stole glances at the space—messier than she remembered. Viktor had been working, not just in the lab but clearly here too. Sketches of the Hexcore, rune patterns, and scribbled calculations were scattered across the desk and even the nightstand. A faint smell of ink and parchment lingered in the air, mixing with something distinctly him.

She placed the tea on the bedside table, setting her bag down gently on the bed. Viktor eased himself onto the mattress, his posture slightly slouched, his cane set to the side. He looked tired—more so than usual—and she didn’t miss the weight of the week etched across his features.

Renly rummaged through her bag, pulling out the bottle and syringe, the familiarity of the routine grounding her nerves. Her eyes flicked up to him. “May I?” she asked softly, her hands hovering near his belt buckle.

Viktor looked at her for a long moment, his amber eyes holding hers. Then he gave a slow, wordless nod, leaning back slightly to give her access.

Her fingers worked carefully, unbuckling his belt and sliding his trousers down just enough to expose his upper thigh. The act, once clinical, now felt different. Intimate. She couldn’t ignore the quiet vulnerability in the air.

Renly reached for the disinfectant, but before applying it, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his thigh. It was tender, unhurried—a gesture she hadn’t planned but couldn’t stop herself from doing. Viktor watched her silently, his expression unreadable, though something in his gaze softened.

She disinfected the skin with slow, deliberate movements, her touch losing the sterility it once held. When she placed the needle in, Viktor didn’t flinch; he simply observed her, his gaze unwavering, as if her presence was more potent than the act itself.

Once the injection was done, Renly set the syringe aside and carefully massaged the area, her fingertips working lightly over his skin. Viktor’s head tipped back at her touch, his body leaning into the sensation. The tension in his posture seemed to melt away.

Renly finished and wiped her hands before sitting beside him. She reached out, tugging a few stray strands of his hair behind his ear. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice soft and laced with concern.

Viktor chuckled softly, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Exposed,” he murmured, his voice low and raspy. “But not like a test subject.”

Renly smiled back. “Would you like to be touched some more? Not like a test subject?”

Viktor’s smirk was faint but teasing, and she laughed, quickly correcting herself. “Not like that, you—” But the words faltered as her thoughts betrayed her, the unspoken desire lingering in the air. She swallowed and shifted the conversation. “Is there any pain I can help you with?”

“My back aches,” he admitted after a moment, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along her hand.

Renly nodded, standing from the bed with quiet determination. She disappeared into the bathroom and returned moments later with a small bottle of oil and a warm, clean washcloth. Without a word, she set them down on the bedside table and began to undress him.

Viktor stayed still, watching her with a quiet curiosity as she moved with purpose. His woollen jumper was first to go, tugged gently over his head. The linen shirt followed, her fingers brushing against his collarbone as she unfastened the buttons and slipped it off his shoulders. She folded the discarded clothes neatly and placed them on a nearby chair.

“Do you want me to take the brace off?” she asked softly, her voice carrying no judgment, only care.

Viktor hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “Yes, please.”

Renly knelt beside him, her fingers carefully working at the leather straps and metal bolts embedded into his back. She undid each one slowly, her touch reverent, her breaths quiet. The closeness brought their faces near, and she lingered at times, her focus entirely on the intricate task. Viktor didn’t look at her, but he felt her presence acutely—the warmth of her skin, the gentle pull of her fingers.

When the brace was finally removed, Renly placed it carefully at the side of the bed. “I’ll clean it later,” she murmured, almost to herself. For now, Viktor was her only priority.

“Lie on your stomach,” she instructed gently.

He obeyed, shifting with measured movements until he was stretched out on the bed. Renly sat beside him, brushing her fingers lightly against the nape of his neck to sweep his hair aside. Viktor shivered at her touch, a quiet exhale escaping his lips.

She pressed the warm washcloth along the line of his spine, letting the heat relax his tense muscles. Slowly, she worked her way down, the cloth tracing the contours of his ribs and the edges of his shoulders. When she reached the bolts embedded in his back, she paused.

“I’m going to clean around these,” she said softly, taking a small bandage and soaking it in disinfectant.

Viktor only hummed in acknowledgment. When she pressed it against one of the bolts, he winced slightly, the sharpness of the sting making him flinch.

“Sorry,” Renly murmured, her hand instinctively resting on his shoulder blade, a silent apology in her touch.

“How do you do this on your own?” she asked after a moment, her voice heavy with quiet concern.

Viktor shrugged under her hand; his response unbothered yet resigned. “I just do.” He always had. Once, he’d let someone else do it for him—a long time ago. There was even a time he allowed Jayce to try, but Jayce’s hands had been too clumsy, too heavy. Now, he managed the basic maintenance himself, convincing himself it was enough—until now.

Renly’s hands moved with careful purpose, her fingers pressing gently into the base of Viktor’s skull. She started with soft pinches, holding the tension in her grip until the tight muscle beneath her fingers gave way, melting slowly like ice under sunlight. He let out a quiet hum, his breathing deep and steady as if she were unearthing a hidden well of relief.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, her focus entirely on him.

“It’s perfect,” Viktor replied, his voice muffled by the pillow beneath him.

Her hands moved lower, finding the stress coiled in his shoulders. She worked it slowly, methodically, using her thumbs to knead the tension loose. Gently, she pulled his shoulders upward, coaxing his chest to open as he released a soft, involuntary cough. The sound was small, almost embarrassed, but Renly smiled to herself, glad to see even the subtlest signs of release.

“You carry too much here,” she said gently, her thumbs pushing into the thick knots of muscle. “No wonder you’re so stiff.”

He huffed a breath, the closest he’d come to a laugh. “The weight of genius,” he muttered, his tone dry but laced with affection.

She pressed her thumbs deeper into the dense muscle, her touch firm but never harsh, and the tension slowly began to unravel. Viktor’s breathing grew softer, more rhythmic. As her hands travelled downward, she began to work along the length of his spine. With practiced care, she rolled the fascia beneath her fingers, gliding up and down the delicate column. She paused when she reached the lumbar region, where the tension was the most stubborn, her fingers pausing to gently probe and soothe.

“Here,” she murmured, taking note of the density. “This is the worst spot.”

Viktor only hummed in response, too relaxed to offer anything more.

Renly shifted her approach, gliding the heels of her palms along the muscles flanking his spine. She moved deliberately, tracing the length of his erector spinae, rolling and stretching the stubborn tension as she worked. The sigh that escaped Viktor was deep and unguarded, a sound of pure relief.

“There we go,” she whispered, her palms continuing their gentle, rhythmic motion. “Better?”

He nodded against the pillow, his voice almost a whisper. “Much better.” It felt... odd. To be touched for a clinical reason, but with love. Viktor found himself wondering if he could settle for his life to be this. If he could accept the momentary relief of her hands on him, the fleeting reprieve from pain. Could he make peace with his leg always being numb, his spine forever twisted? Would the ability to breathe freely be enough to outweigh everything else?

But the answer didn’t come.

Renly poured a small amount of scented oil into her hands, rubbing them together to warm it before smoothing her palms across the plane of his back. The aroma—something light and floral—wafted into the air as her hands moved over him, steady and deliberate. Her touch was soft yet firm, grounding him as much as it soothed him.

She began to hum quietly, the melody unrecognisable but comforting. Viktor let out a soft chuckle, the sound breaking the quiet intimacy of the room.

“What?” Renly asked, her hands pausing briefly before continuing their work.

“Nothing,” Viktor murmured, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You hum like an old woman knitting by the fire.”

Renly gasped in mock offence, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. “I’ll have you know this is a very sophisticated tune.”

“Oh, I can tell,” he replied, his tone teasing but warm. “It’s utterly riveting.”

She pressed her thumbs a little deeper into a particularly tight spot on his back, eliciting a small grunt from him. “Careful,” she warned lightly, “or I might lose my delicate touch.”

Viktor smirked against the pillow, his eyes falling closed as her hands continued their gentle ministrations. “I’ll take my chances.”

Renly shifted her hands under his arm to help him roll onto his side. Viktor grunted softly, his body resisting the change in position, but he let her guide him. Once he was settled, she nestled in front of him, her face close to his.

“Hi,” she said, her voice light but tinged with awkwardness, a small smile playing on her lips.

Viktor raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Hi yourself,” he replied, his tone soft as his arm wrapped around her, pulling her closer against his chest.

Her hands rested on him instinctively, palms pressed flat against his skin. She began rubbing gentle circles over his chest, her touch soothing. His fingers drifted into her hair, combing through it absentmindedly, his motions slow and tender.

“Have you heard about Zaun?” Viktor asked, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Renly’s hands stilled briefly. “Yes,” she murmured, her tone cautious.

Silence stretched between them for a beat, heavy and tentative. She finally broke it, her voice trembling slightly with conviction. “I’ve been thinking... about going in. About helping Ekko.”

Viktor’s fingers stilled in her hair, his body tensing against hers. He shifted slightly, his gaze darkening. “You can’t,” he said simply, the words sharp and final.

“Viktor,” she whispered, leaning back just enough to meet his eyes. “I have something—something that could counter the Grey. If they actually drop it in Zaun, I have to do something. I can’t just stand by.”

His jaw tightened, and his grip on her waist firmed. “I can’t let you,” he said, his voice low but resolute. His mind churned bitterly, painting a narrative he didn’t dare to voice. How could he support her in something like this? Sending her into danger, knowing he couldn’t protect her—knowing what Zaun might become under the chem-barons’ desperation?

She stared at him, her eyes searching his face for a sign of understanding, of compromise, but he offered none. It was just another grain on the delicate scale of his mind. It teetered in the middle, tilting from one side to the other with each emotion that clouded his heart. Could he settle for this, for her safety at the cost of everything else? And yet, surely he couldn’t. If she went, he would have to be stronger, better. If she went, surely he would have to be more than half a man.

He pulled her closer, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Will you stay?” His words carried layers of unspoken meaning: Will you stay here? Will you stay on the Top Side? Will you stand by me when I make an impossible choice?

Renly didn’t answer with words. She only nodded, her forehead brushing against his chest as she nuzzled into him, her warmth settling against his. Viktor exhaled slowly, his grip on her loosening just enough to rest his palm against the curve of her back.

The silence returned, heavier now, laden with the weight of unspoken fears and half-formed promises. The room seemed to hold its breath with them, the soft rustle of fabric and the faint hum of the city beyond the only sounds.

Eventually, their breathing began to even out, though it still carried an unsteady rhythm, a cadence of unease. Their brows remained furrowed, as if their worries had followed them into this fragile peace. Viktor’s hand brushed against her hair one last time before stilling, and Renly’s fingers idly traced the edge of the bed sheet where it bunched against his ribs.

Sleep came for them slowly, creeping in at the edges of their thoughts, until exhaustion finally overpowered everything left unsaid. They drifted off together, their bodies entwined but their minds restless, painted with doubts they couldn’t voice.

The morning found them clutching each other, and Renly felt as though the crease in her forehead hadn’t relaxed for even a minute during her sleep.

Renly poured them both coffee, the steam rising in the quiet room, mingling with the soft sounds of the morning. They sat close, the warmth between them shared not only through the mugs but in the tender way their fingers brushed against each other, lingering for just a moment too long before pulling away. Words seemed unnecessary as they both sipped in silence, the weight of the night still pressed onto their bodies, a quiet understanding passing between them without needing to be said aloud. Viktor reached for her hand across the table, his thumb brushing over her knuckles, a silent gesture of comfort and connection. But neither of them could completely shake the tension, the uncertainty nagging them like a splinter.

When the time came to part, they stood together, neither rushing to break the moment. Viktor’s hand found the small of her back as they exchanged one final, lingering kiss on the doorstep. “See you later at work,” he murmured, his voice thick with more than just the words. She nodded, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “Later,” she replied softly, her own heart heavy with the same unspoken thoughts. As she stepped away, the door clicking shut behind her, they both walked off in opposite directions, the promise of ‘later’ hanging in the air. But they knew, deep down, they would work through their struggles separately—for now, anyway. The heaviness in their chests weighed them down, both carrying the quiet burden of what was yet to come.

***

After a short routine back in her apartment, Renly made her way to the lab, her mind still clouded with uncertainty. She hoped she might find something—anything—that would help her make sense of it all. Inside, she found Jayce hunched over, deeply focused on the Hexcore runes scattered before him. His brows were furrowed, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Any news?" she asked, her voice laced with quiet concern.

Jayce let out a sharp sigh, pushing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. "The council is steering clear. For now."

"But?" Renly pressed, already sensing the tension in his words.

"The Grey plan is still on the table," Jayce continued, his eyes darkening. "And... now we have Heimerdinger against us."

"What do you mean, against us?" Renly asked, stepping closer to him.

Jayce gestured toward the Hexcore. "He... thinks we should destroy it. He doesn’t believe it’s safe. I really don’t understand—if this could save Viktor, save other people—how he can’t see that."

Renly folded her arms, feeling the weight of her own thoughts pressing down on her chest. "What if he’s right?" she asked quietly.

Jayce scoffed, but there was an edge to his voice. "What do you mean? You can’t seriously be suggesting that Heimerdinger is right. It could change everything. It could save Viktor!"

"Jayce," she interrupted softly, "please listen. He’s seen so much more than we have. He has what? Over two centuries on us? More? Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, when he says he’s already seen this... he means it?"

Jayce’s expression faltered, but he quickly recovered. "I... How is Viktor?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Renly hesitated, her gaze drifting to the floor. "He accepted the cure," she said, her words heavy. "But... his mind is still stirring. I can tell."

Jayce frowned. "Well, what if Heimerdinger is wrong? What if it’s the only way?"

"What if he’s right?" Renly snapped, her frustration bubbling up. "What if he dies? What if it changes him? Is that a price you’re willing to pay just to prove a point?"

"Renly," Jayce said, his voice rising with urgency, "I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to save my friend."

Renly took a step back, her breath shallow. "He can live, Jayce," she said quietly. "Comfortably. A long life. Loved and accepted. Isn’t that enough?"

Jayce stared at her, struggling to reconcile the weight of her words. "How can you know he’ll be comfortable? How can you know it will change him?"

"How can you know it won’t?" Renly’s voice cracked with raw emotion. "Jayce, I’m not asking you to throw away your work. I’m asking you to measure the risk. This isn’t just a procedure you can redo if it goes wrong. If you go through with it, you live with the consequences. And I’m not sure if I—" her voice got lost in her throat, the bitter feeling on her tongue burning her mouth.

"What are you saying, Renly?" Jayce interrupted, his expression softening in concern.

Renly’s chest tightened, her words stumbling over each other as the reality of what she was facing hit her like a wave. She struggled to keep her composure, but the dam broke. "I don’t know, Jayce..." Her voice quivered, and before she knew it, she was breaking down, her body wracked with sobs. "I can’t... I can’t just stand by, and watch Viktor destroy himself, not now, not ever." Her breath hitched as the panic overtook her, her chest tight and her vision blurring with tears.

She felt like screaming, but the scream died somewhere inside her.

Jayce was instantly beside her, his hands hovering around her as he tried to comfort her. "Renly, hey, hey, it’s okay," he said, his voice calm but insistent. "Tell me what to do. What do you need from me?"

Renly managed to lift her trembling hands toward him, clutching onto his shirt as she tried to steady herself. "Okay... okay, I have to..." She gasped, forcing herself to breathe through the tears. "Breathe, Renly. You have to breathe."

"Okay, okay," Jayce said, his voice soft but steady. "Breathe, Renly. I’m here. You’re not alone in this." He stayed with her, letting her take the time she needed to regain control, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of her emotions.

As her breathing slowed, Renly wiped her eyes, her face flushed with the intensity of her breakdown. "I can’t just let him do this, Jayce. I can’t stand by and watch him think that he’s doing this for me. I’ve never told him that he doesn’t need to. He’s perfect the way he is, and I’ve never told him that. And now... I think he believes he has to change for me."

“Renly, he is in pain,” Jayce said softly, holding her in his arms, her body folded against his chest. Even though his argument was intact, he wasn’t sure he believed it himself. He missed something, something important in all of this.

"So what!" she snapped, her voice raw and childish in its frustration. "There are ways, Jayce, to ease the pain." Her voice grew weak as she held onto Jayce’s hands, almost crushing his large palms in her grasp. "Have you ever told him? That you love him, that he’s perfect the way he is?"

Jayce hesitated, his throat tightening. "I... I don’t know," he admitted, guilt creeping in.

"I would give him my own leg if it changed anything," Renly whispered, tears brimming again. "But it won’t. As long as he believes there’s something wrong with him, it won’t change a thing. And he will die searching, and I..." Her voice faltered, choking on the enormity of her guilt. I will forever be guilty of this. I will forever be alone in the world without him.

"Ren," Jayce started, his voice softening, trying to soothe her, but before he could continue—

“What is this?” Viktor’s voice sliced through the tension in the room. He stood in the doorway to the lab, his expression tight and unreadable.

"Viktor," Renly gasped, her hands still clutching onto Jayce’s.

“What is this?” He repeated, his tone turning sharper, more demanding.

“Vik, we’re just talking,” Jayce said quickly, his words laced with a hint of nervousness.

"Really?" Viktor’s voice grew colder, sharper still. "Or are you debating what my life should or shouldn’t be, without me being present?" He took a step into the room, his gaze flickering between Jayce and Renly, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

Renly's heart pounded in her chest, and she felt the weight of everything hanging in the balance, unsure how to bridge the gap between her words and the truth they all needed to face. “Viktor, please—”

“I am not a child. Nor do I need to be guided and guarded. Nor do I need other people to tell me what to do with my life,” he said quietly, his eyes glinting in the dark. Anger tore him apart. Anger at her, at Jayce, at himself. Surely, if Renly was allowed to make her own decisions, he should be granted the same right.

“Vik,” Jayce started but was quickly cut off.

“I will ask politely for the both of you to leave,” Viktor’s voice was cold and final, the words biting as they left his mouth.

“Viktor, you can’t be serious,” Jayce pushed back, disbelief edging his voice.

Renly only looked at him, her eyes welling with tears again, her heart sinking with every second that passed. She couldn’t say the words she wanted to. She couldn’t explain why it hurt so much, why it felt like the world was collapsing in on them.

Viktor turned toward her as she stood to leave. “I will see you later.”

She nodded, her lips trembling, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything more. She simply turned away, the sound of Jayce’s scoff echoing in the space between them, followed by the loud thump of the door closing behind them.

Viktor stood still for a moment, his chest tight, and then a long, shaky sigh escaped his lungs. His eyes burned uncontrollably as the weight of his thoughts was pushing him down into the floor. He had measured everything, except for this. Except for Jayce’s anger toward him, except for Renly’s unspoken plea for him to listen. He had to. He had to try before it’s too late. Before Heimerdinger got his hands on the Hexcore and destroyed it. Before the Council turned it into a weapon. Before both he and his work went to dust.

A cruel joke. Finally, he was alone—with his own thoughts. The two things he had desired most, polar opposites of each other. Yet here they were, colliding in the same breath. He had to try, though.

Viktor walked to the centre of the lab; his steps measured but purposeful. He circled the Hexcore, observing it as if searching for any lingering hesitation within himself. There was none. It was so faint, so weak, and he was so ready. All the time he’d spent on this, all the sacrifices, the sleepless nights—it was all finally coming to an end.

Himself, born anew, was within arm’s length.

He sat down, his hand trembling slightly as he ran his fingers along its surface. The energy it emitted tugged at him, magnetic and undeniable. Tentative, almost reverent, his touch felt like brushing against something on the edge of existence—a fleeting spectre of both promise and peril.

Viktor’s hand trembled as it hovered above the Hexcore, a moth courting the flame. The air around it shimmered, thick and pulsating, as though it were alive and watching him in return. For a fleeting moment, his rational mind begged him to stop, to turn away, but the promise of what lay within drowned out reason like a tidal wave. He closed his eyes, steeling himself, and reached into the shifting glow.

The moment his fingers made contact; reality fractured.

It wasn’t pain, not at first. It was an unravelling, as though the fabric of his being was torn apart strand by strand. Threads of thought and self—unravelled in every direction, carried away by currents of something ancient and unrelenting. He saw visions—no, not visions, but glimpses of a thousand possibilities. Each one glimmered like a jewel, just out of reach. He could be whole. He could be more than he was. He could rewrite his limits, ascend beyond the constraints of flesh and frailty.

But every shimmering possibility came with a price. In the periphery of his fractured consciousness, he saw shadows, dark tendrils coiling around the edges of the light. They whispered to him in languages he didn’t know but somehow understood, showing him the cost. His humanity. His mind. His soul. The weight of it all crushed him, bearing down on him like the pressure of the ocean’s deepest trench.

Then the pain struck—blinding, searing, like molten metal coursing through his veins. It was excruciating, a fire that consumed not just his body but his very essence. His mind cracked under the strain, splintering into pieces as the Hexcore took its toll. Somewhere in the chaos, he realised the truth: he couldn’t pay the price. He wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t willing enough.

With a desperate, guttural cry, Viktor wrenched himself free, breaking the connection. He collapsed to the floor in a heap, his body shaking violently as he gasped for air. His vision swam with purples and blacks, the remnants of whatever the Hexcore had done to him. His limbs felt leaden, his chest tight, but as his eyes adjusted, he saw it—a glowing, fluorescent purple vein snaking its way through his leg, vivid and alive.

Terror seized him.

He stared at the vein, his mind racing with the implications of what he had just done. The Hexcore had marked him, changed him in some way he couldn’t yet understand. He curled up on the cold lab floor, trembling, his arms clutching his knees as he tried to slow his ragged breathing.

The price had been too high. And yet, he had paid part of it.

Fear coiled tightly around his chest, sinking its teeth into his heart. For the first time in his life, Viktor wasn’t sure if he had the strength to face what came next.

[xsweetcatastrophe]

You Broke Me First

part 34

authors note: 2 chapters in 2 days WHO IS SHE

trigger warnings: fainting, bleeding - there will be mentions of pregnancy & miscarriage in the next couple of chapters. if that’s triggering or a sensitive subject for you, please do not read!

Cillian woke up the next morning at 9am, immediately rolling over to check his phone.

He had some emails, a text from his brother.. but nothing from Zoe.

To say his stomach sank was an understatement.

This is exactly what happened with his ex-wife. His ex-wife, whom he was madly in love with, his best friend, the person he chose to share his life with. He thought he was going to have kids with her, grow old with her, everything - and it was ripped out from under him.

He dwelled a lot on the breakdown of his marriage, and some days he blamed himself more than others. He could never forgive himself for being so blind, so unaware and ignorant while his wife was struggling. Could he have helped? Was there more he could have done? She, of course, didn’t communicate as often as she should have. They were both at fault, but Cillian was the bearer of it all. He now had to watch his ex-wife marry someone else and live the dream that was taken from him.

There were dark days when his ex-wife moved out. A lot of sleepless nights, drinking in the living room, poor hygiene… thank god for his brother for constantly checking in, going food shopping for him, forcing himself into the shower… even when Cillian still had his clothes on.

“Sober up!” he’d yell, as Cillian stumbled and fell into the corner of the shower, water soaking his sweatpants and shirt that he hasn’t changed out of in 3 days. “You lost your wife, but you didn’t lose your family. You still have nephews who look up to you and have been asking about their uncle. get it together man,” Padi had yelled.

So, Cillian slowly re-built his life, day by day, hour by hour.

Some days, when the pain was overbearing, he had to go minute by minute.

The pain that once consumed his entire life slowly only consumed days, like Sundays when he knew she would be teaching a pottery class downtown (I wonder how that class is going? Is enrollment up for the next class?), in addition to birthdays and anniversaries. He wondered if he would never get a text from her on his birthday.

He didn’t.

Then, pain shrunk from days to hours, like when he knew when she would be on the 405 coming home from work (I hope she took my advice and take the other way I showed her, to avoid traffic.)

Pain, that was once an entire novel in his life, dwindled into just a chapter.

Then a page.

Then a paragraph.

Then a word.

The pain would always be there, but it wasn’t all consuming.

It did, however, affect how he approached relationships… and by that, he avoided them completely.

He will never allow someone to up and leave him again, he was fairly confident he wouldn’t be able to survive it again. He avoided any spark of emotional connection to a woman, and shut them down before they could even attempt at making a move.

That is, until Zoe and her tape recorder came along.

Cillian showered and ordered some tea from room service. He wanted to relax until Hannah got here at 10, and just sit in silence. He knew he shouldn’t dwell but …. an hour couldn’t hurt, right?

10am, Hannah knocked and entered. “Good morning!” She announced, cheery and wide awake.

“Hey.” Cillian responded with no emotion.

“Uh-oh, everything okay?” Hannah said, dropping her work bag onto the table.

“Yea it’s just… Zoe,” Cillian said, putting his head in his hands.

“Oh no! what’s wrong?” Hannah said dramatically, sitting down at the table.

“She saw the photos and .. I don’t know. I think she’s taking this harder than I thought she would.”

“Well Cillian, if she can’t handle it, you know what you have to do,” Hannah shrugged, making the scissor motion with her hand.

“Jesus,” Cillian said, shooting her a look. “That quick to just end things, huh?”

“I’m sorry, but this is your career, your life. This won’t be the first time you’re away from her for work. If she can’t handle it, she can’t handle it. It’s not easy dating a successful actor,” Hannah said, smiling, hoping the compliment stroked his ego a bit.

“I’d give up everything if she told me to,” Cillian mumbled, looking out the window.

“Are you NUTS?” Hannah exclaimed, breaking her composure. She caught herself, before continuing, “You’re only dating her. It hasn’t even been a year. Don’t jump to conclusions. And don’t make rash decisions based on emotions. Let’s just focus on today… What would Tommy Shelby do? He would have a new girl in his bed every night,” Hannah winked.

Cillian broke his stare from the window and looked at Hannah.

“I’m not Tommy.”

——————————

Cillian made his way to the lobby to wait for the rest of the cast for their “outing.” He didn’t understand why there were so many “team building” activities as of lately. He begrudgingly pulled on the clothes wardrobe pulled for him - khaki pants, a black button down, and shoes. He had on his heavy winter coat and sunglasses, hoping they would hide his identity even a little bit.

His phone pinged. His heart stopped. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket - an email from a girl named Cynthia, who worked with Zoe. She was assigned to re-doing the interview and wanted to know available dates.

Why did it have to be re-done? he wondered.

He bit the bullet and pulled up a text to Zoe.

Cill: morning bunny. I got an email from someone named Cynthia asking for availability for a redo on the interview we did?

Cill: Also, I hope you slept well. I haven’t stopped thinking about you and how much of a mess this is. I miss you badly. I don’t want to do this distance anymore. Come here. Or I'll fly home on the weekends. Let’s fix this. please. I love you endlessly. Me and you, remember?

Cillian wanted to stay strong so bad, but he couldn’t help but add the 2nd text. He wanted to fight for her. He had to show her he was 1000% devoted to her and only her, and would go to the ends of the earth for her.

“Hey Cillian!” He heard Lizzie from the elevator. He looked up and saw Lizzie walking towards him, in dark blue skinny jeans, brown leather riding boots, and a tan oversized sweater. She had her hair swept up in a ponytail with some hair falling out, framing her face. Her smile was bright, her skin was clear… She was the definition of beauty and perfection.

But… she was no Zoe.

“Ready to go?” She said once she got closer to him.

“I’m the first one here. We should wait for everyone else," he said, confused.

Lizzie giggled. “Oh no, it’s just me and you. Didn’t Hannah tell you?”

Cillian’s deadpanned expression answered that question for her.

“Oh man, I'm sorry Cill. I thought Hannah told you, at least that’s what my manager said. Do you wanna not go?” Lizzie responded apologetically.

Cillian sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not in the right mind for a fun day today. My girlfriend ….” he looked at his phone, drifting off. “Things aren’t good right now. and it’s killing me.”

Lizzie patted his shoulder. “It's hard. My boyfriend struggled with it too.” She looked out the door and sighed. “Wanna go for a walk anyway and talk it out? I’m a good listener, and a good friend. Happy to share anything that helped me when I was experiencing this.” she smiled.

Cillian smiled back. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good. Thanks Liz”

“One condition though,” Lizzie said, very seriously. “If you bring that phone, you’ll be half present, half waiting for it to go off. Go put it in your room,” She said, pointing to the elevators.

Cillian looked at the elevators, and sighed. “I’m on the top floor…” Cillian said, his laziness kicking in. His eyes scanned the hotel before bringing his gaze back to Lizzie, but stopped short when he saw Hannah at the hotel bar working on her laptop.

“Okay, deal.” Cillian said, walking towards Hannah.

“Hey Hannah, can you hold onto my phone for me?”

——————————-

Zoe sat at the table across from Dana at dinner, reading her text messages from Cillian.

As tough as she wanted to be, her heart melted at his 2nd text.

That was the Cillian she knew and loved.

“I don’t buy it.” Dana said, taking a sip of her drink and interrupting Zoe’s train of thought. “Don’t let him sweet talk you.”

Zoe rolled her eyes.

“I’m going to answer him. Maybe I'll call him later. I hate this. This has been draining on me, I even feel like shit now,” Zoe said, clutching her stomach. She had horrible cramps, the kind you have to take deep breaths to get through, but they seemed to be getting worse.

“Fine.” Dana replied.

“You’re not mad?” Zoe squeezed out before wincing from a cramp, rubbing her abdomen.

Dana sighed. “Listen. I'm team Zoe forever. I'll be here for whatever you decide. Whether I agree or not. I won’t stop being your friend…. but i’ll be sure to let you know when you’re being a dumb bitch” She said, chuckling.

“There’s a compliment in there somewhere,” Zoe said.

Zoe felt a sensation between her legs.

Shit, did I just get my period?

“Do you have a tampon? I think i just got my period, I need to go to the bathroom,” Zoe said, standing up. She felt her dress soaked between her legs, entirely too much. That’s odd, I never used to bleed this much ….

She never got a chance to hear Dana’s response, because she fell to the floor unconscious as she took her first step from the table.

tags: @lau219 @cillianmurphyvevo @bleakmidwinter00 @amelyyyyyyy @teawonderfultea-blog1 @lavender-haze-01 @cillianinlove @supershadowymiraclestudent @shopgirl6us @allie131313

[s4svnn]

Out of bounds . JJK

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; his love subjected you to the true extent of deception, a merciless lie wrapped in the illusion of paradise, until the truth tore it apart - he was always out of bounds.

↳ Jungkook x reader

↳ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: ongoing

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter Thirty Three

My heart slammed against my ribs as I stared at him, my fingers unconsciously tightening around the edge of the counter. A million thoughts crashed into me all at once, each one louder than the next, but only one question managed to escape my lips.

"How are you here right now?"

Jungkook tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes watching me with quiet amusement. He looked completely at ease, as if this wasn’t the most surreal, intrusive thing in the world. As if he hadn’t just waltzed back into my life out of nowhere.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk. “I flew in this morning.”

His voice. Smooth, deep, familiar in a way that made my stomach twist uncomfortably.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

Jungkook exhaled slowly, like he had expected that question. “I wanted to see you.”

A bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. He wanted to see me? After everything? Just like that?

I shook my head, anger bubbling up through the initial shock. “Yeah, no. I don’t have time for whatever game you think you’re playing, so do us both a favor and leave.”

I turned back to the register, deliberately avoiding his gaze, hoping—praying—he’d take the hint.

But of course, he didn’t.

“No,” he said simply.

I froze. My head snapped back up, my eyes narrowing into a glare. “No?” I repeated, incredulity laced in my voice.

Jungkook’s gaze was steady, unwavering. He wasn’t smirking anymore, wasn’t wearing that smug, unreadable expression. He was just… looking at me.

My chest tightened, my fists clenching at my sides. “You made it damn well clear that you were only using me,” I hissed, my voice low but sharp. “So why the fuck are you here now?”

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

His jaw tensed, his fingers pressing against the counter like he was holding something back. But then, his expression shifted—just slightly, just enough. A flicker of something I couldn’t quite place crossed his features, something I almost wanted to believe was regret.

But I wasn’t going to fall for it.

I scoffed, shaking my head again. “Unbelievable.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping an octave. “I never used you.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, really? That’s funny, because from where I’m standing, that’s exactly what it felt like.”

He didn’t respond right away. He just stood there, watching me like he was trying to find the right words, like he knew anything he said would never be enough. And he was right. It wouldn’t be.

I had spent too long trying to make sense of what we were, of him, of the way he made me feel like I was something, only to rip it all away the second it got too real. I wasn’t about to let him do it again.

I took a step back. “Just leave, Jungkook.”

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he leaned in ever so slightly, his voice low and deliberate.

“I can’t.”

My breath hitched slightly at his words, my body tensing as I processed them. I should have been furious—hell, I was furious—but there was something in the way he said it, something in the way his voice dropped, like it was heavier than he wanted it to be.

My lips parted, my voice unconsciously quieter now, hesitant. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Jungkook exhaled slowly, his fingers flexing against the counter like he was debating something, like he was trying to figure out how much to say.

“I just… can’t,” he said finally, his tone rougher now, like the words tasted bitter in his mouth.

That wasn’t good enough.

I shook my head, my hands pressing into the counter to steady myself. “That’s not an answer, Jungkook.” My voice was sharper now, regaining its edge despite the lingering shock. “You don’t get to show up here after months of silence, after making me feel like I meant nothing, and just drop cryptic bullshit like that.”

His jaw clenched. His hands curled into loose fists at his sides, and for the first time, he looked… frustrated. Maybe even pissed off. But it wasn’t the usual detached arrogance he carried—it was something else.

Something raw.

“You think it was easy for me?” he muttered, almost to himself, before shaking his head. His eyes met mine again, and for once, they weren’t guarded. 

I scoffed. “You sure as hell made it look that way.”

Jungkook exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” I shot back, stepping out from behind the counter now, needing to put space between us but also needing to see him, to understand why he was doing this.

He looked down for a moment, pressing his lips together before looking back at me. And when he did, I felt something in my chest tighten.

Because there was something in his eyes—something torn, something conflicted.

Something that looked too much like regret.

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” he said finally, voice quieter now.

A humorless laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it. “Oh, really?”

His expression darkened. “You don’t understand—”

“No, I don’t,” I interrupted, my heart pounding now. “Because you never let me. You just do what you want because all you want is control.”

Jungkook’s eyes burned into mine, his chest rising and falling with barely contained frustration. Then, out of nowhere, his voice erupted—sharp, raw, and laced with something I couldn’t quite name.

"What control?!"

I flinched at the sudden outburst, my body going rigid as my breath caught in my throat. My mouth fell open slightly, but no words came out.

I just stared at him.

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight, his expression stormy. “I don’t have control over anything—not my own goddamn thoughts, not my own feelings, and not my own fucking life.” His voice dropped, still rough but quieter, like he was forcing himself to rein it in. “Everything i’ve ever done has been dictated by others and i’m so fucking sick of it. I’m so fucking sick of having to play by the rules so that the people around me are happy whilst I’m left to overthink about shit that no one else seems to care about. I tried to leave you behind. I tried to move on. But you know what?”

I swallowed, still too stunned to respond.

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You never left my fucking head. No matter how far I ran, no matter how much I tried to push it all down, you were always there.” His hands curled into fists at his sides, his gaze locking onto mine like I was the only thing anchoring him in place. “And it’s driving me insane.”

Something inside me wavered, but I fought it down. I crossed my arms over my chest, schooling my face into something cold, something detached—even though my heart was thundering against my ribs.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” I asked, my voice sharp despite the way my stomach twisted at his words.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, his tongue running over his bottom lip as his hands found his hips. He looked away for a brief second, shaking his head like he was at war with himself. 

For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something—needed to say something. His lips parted slightly, but then he hesitated, as if the words were stuck in his throat. His hands twitched at his sides, his whole body tense like he was barely holding himself together.

His reaction only fueled my anger.

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “What? Nothing to say?” I taunted, my voice colder than even I expected. “No clever comeback? No denial?” I tilted my head, my eyes narrowing. “You made your choice, Jungkook. And now, you think you can just show up and—what? Say a few pretty words and expect everything to be fine?”

His jaw clenched harder, his nostrils flaring slightly.

“You don’t understand—”

“Oh, I understand perfectly,” I cut him off, stepping forward now, the anger burning too hot in my chest to hold back. “I was the fool, wasn’t I? The stupid designer who got played, just like Jade wanted. And you? You let her. You let me think I was nothing more than some temporary distraction while you went back to her.” My voice wavered slightly, but I refused to break, refused to let him see just how deeply his choices had cut me.

Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes darkening with frustration. “You think that’s what happened?” His voice was low, edged with something sharp, something almost dangerous.

I folded my arms across my chest, tilting my chin up defiantly. “I know that’s what happened.”

Jungkook let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Decide the narrative before I even have a chance to explain,” he shot back, his voice laced with frustration. “You paint me as the villain so it’s easier to hate me. And maybe I fucking deserve that. But you don’t even know the half of it.”

I stared at him, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Then enlighten me,” I challenged, voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “Go on, Jungkook. Tell me how I’m wrong.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in the way he exhaled, in the way his fingers curled into fists before flexing again. He was holding something back—I could feel it.

But then, just as quickly, he let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his tone.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered, searching my face, like he was looking for some kind of opening, some kind of permission to be honest. But instead of speaking, he did something that sent a chill down my spine.

He stepped closer.

Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. Close enough that the scent of his cologne—rich, intoxicating—wrapped around me like a memory I didn’t want to relive. My breath hitched, but I didn’t move back. I couldn’t.

I took a breath, steadying myself. “I’ve moved on, Jungkook.”

His expression didn’t change at first—just a flicker of something unreadable behind his dark eyes. “Moved on?”

I nodded, forcing my voice to stay firm. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Then, his jaw ticked, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“What,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, “with your fucking boss?”

I froze.

My stomach dropped, my breath caught in my throat. My lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Because how the hell did he know that?

Jungkook let out a bitter scoff, shaking his head. “What? No snarky comeback?” His voice was sharp, biting. “No denial?”

I forced myself to blink, to recover. “How do you—”

His laugh was humorless. “You think I don’t know?” His eyes were burning now, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You say I don’t care about you, but here I am, thousands of miles away, still keeping tabs on you, even when you want nothing to do with me.”

My pulse was racing. I felt like the air had been knocked out of me. “You—”

“I what?” He took a step forward, closing the distance between us, his voice dropping lower. “I shouldn’t know? I shouldn’t care?” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locked onto mine. “Too fucking bad, because I do.”

I swallowed hard, my mind scrambling to keep up. “That’s—”

“That’s what, huh?” Jungkook’s lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a sneer. “Crazy? Possessive?” He let out another humorless chuckle. “I don’t give a shit. You think you can just move on and pretend like none of this meant anything?”

My fingers curled into fists at my sides. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Oh no?” His voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing. “So what, then? You just got bored of waiting and decided to settle for some guy who signs your paychecks?”

I felt my own anger flare up at that, my body tensing. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

Jungkook let out a short, bitter laugh. “Wow.” He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching. “You really think this guy gives a shit about you.”

My stomach twisted, but I refused to let him see it. "I don’t need your opinion on my relationship."

"Relationship," he scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re calling it that like it means something." His eyes flickered with something dangerous. "Does he even know you the way I do?"

I scoffed. "I don’t think—I know. You didn’t care to actually know me, Jungkook. You just wanted to keep me under control. The rules, the expectations, the way you always had to have the last word—it wasn’t about us, it was about you and whatever need you had to dictate everything."

His jaw tightened, and for a second, I thought he might actually acknowledge it. But instead, he let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "That’s bullshit."

"Is it?" I shot back, stepping forward now, the heat of my anger burning too hot to contain. "Then tell me, Jungkook. What the fuck do you even know about me? You never put in the effort to find out when we lived together, so what makes you think you have the right to act like you care now?"

His eyes flashed, something unreadable flickering behind them. "That’s not fair—"

"Not fair?" I cut him off, my voice rising. "You don’t get to stand here and act like you know anything about me when you never bothered to try. You just set rules, made sure I stayed in my place, and convinced yourself that was enough. But it wasn’t."

His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his whole body taut with frustration. "You weren’t just some fucking—project to me."

"Then what was I?" I challenged, my heart pounding.

Jungkook’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze locked onto mine. But he didn’t answer.

I let out a dry laugh. "That’s what I thought."

“Aylah I–”

Before Jungkook could finish—another voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"You need to leave."

Jungkook’s head turned slightly, and my stomach twisted as Adam stepped forward, his presence solid, unwavering. He didn’t touch me, didn’t grab my arm or make some grand protective gesture, but the way he stood beside me, the way his voice held that quiet authority, said enough.

Jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk, the sharp edge of it making something uneasy settle in my chest. "Who the fuck are you?"

Adam’s expression remained calm, unreadable. "Someone who doesn’t want to see her dragged into whatever game you think you’re playing."

Jungkook let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Man, you guys love that word, huh? ‘Game.’ Like I’m just out here wasting my time for fun." He tilted his head, looking Adam up and down before his gaze flickered back to mine. "So, this is him? The guy you settled for?"

I tensed, but before I could respond, Adam spoke, his voice steady. "She doesn’t owe you an explanation."

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "Look at you. All protective." He clapped his hands together mockingly before shoving them in his pockets. "You got her all figured out, huh?"

My breath caught, and Adam stiffened slightly beside me. "At least I know how to treat her like a person, not something to control."

Jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor behind it—only cold calculation. He leaned in just enough for his words to reach Adam’s ear, his voice low and lethal.

"I’d watch your mouth if i were you, I can buy this café and have you sleeping on the streets by the end of the week."

Adam stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He just held Jungkook’s gaze, a storm brewing behind his eyes.

Jungkook let the threat hang in the air for a moment before stepping back. His expression smoothed out into something almost indifferent, like none of this had even mattered to him. Then, just as he reached the door, he paused.

Turning his head slightly, he locked eyes with me, his stare unreadable yet piercing, sending a chill down my spine.

"I’ll see you around."

And with that, he walked out, the door swinging shut behind him with a finality that didn’t sit right in my chest.

I stood there, my heart still hammering against my ribs, my mind scrambling to process what had just happened.

Adam’s voice broke through the tense silence. "Are you okay?"

I swallowed, shaking my head slightly to clear the lingering weight of Jungkook’s gaze. "Yeah, are you?… What did he say to you?"

Adam hesitated. It was brief, almost unnoticeable, but I caught it. His shoulders squared, his expression neutral as he shook his head. "Nothing. Don’t worry about it."

"Are you sure?" I frowned, unconvinced, but before I could press him further, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Go home, AJ. Get some rest."

I exhaled slowly, nodding. But as I grabbed my things and stepped outside into the night, the feeling in my chest didn’t go away. Because no matter how hard I tried to push it down, I couldn’t shake the weight of Jungkook’s words.

I’ll see you around.

Jungkook’s POV:

The city stretched endlessly beneath him, a dazzling maze of neon lights and restless movement, but Jungkook barely noticed any of it. The vibrant skyline, usually a source of comfort or distraction, felt distant and detached, a blur of colors that failed to hold his attention. Instead, his gaze remained locked on his own reflection in the towering floor-to-ceiling window of his hotel suite, the faint glow of the city casting sharp angles across his tired features. His dark eyes, usually sharp and unreadable, were clouded with frustration, his brows drawn together in a tight furrow as his thoughts spiraled in endless circles.

Dressed in nothing but a loosely tied robe, his skin still warm from the shower he had taken in an attempt to clear his mind, he stood rigid, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if physically holding himself together. Every muscle in his body was strung tight with pent-up frustration, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, but it did little to quell the storm brewing inside him. The events of the night replayed over and over in his mind, each moment fueling his anger, his regret, his overwhelming sense of helplessness.

Then, as if the weight of it all suddenly became unbearable, he let out a sharp, guttural groan, his hands raking down his face before falling limply to his sides. His fingers twitched as he exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging slightly under the crushing pressure of emotions he had spent too long trying to suppress.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough and edged with frustration, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. It wasn’t enough to encapsulate everything he was feeling—not even close—but it was the only thing that managed to escape his lips. The only thing that felt remotely within his control.

He was an idiot. A complete fucking idiot. He’d flown across the world to see her, to try and make things right, and yet the second he was in front of her, all he’d done was let his anger and jealousy take control. He hadn’t said the things that mattered. He hadn’t told her what she actually needed to hear. Instead, he’d pushed, provoked, and now? Now she was slipping further away.

His fingers rubbed at his tired eyes as he exhaled sharply, racking his brain for something—anything—that could fix this. What could he do? Buy her something? No, she wasn’t the type to be won over by gifts. Show up at her place again? No, she’d just shut the door in his face. Apologize?

Jaw tight, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to force his thoughts into something coherent. There had to be something he could do, some way to shift things back in his favor. Apologies weren’t enough, and words alone wouldn’t fix this—not after everything. He needed more than that.

His fingers drummed restlessly against the edge of the desk, his mind racing. And then, as if the answer had been lurking just beneath the surface, a thought took hold.

Slowly, his hand stilled. His expression hardened, resolve settling into his features as he reached for his phone. His fingers moved without hesitation, finding the number he needed. The line rang twice before a voice picked up on the other end, casual and expectant.

Jungkook’s grip on the phone tightened.

"I need you to do one more thing for me," Jungkook said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

There was a pause, followed by a low chuckle. "I’m all ears, man."

Jungkook inhaled slowly, his grip tightening around the phone. "I need you to get me someone’s phone number. You think you can do that?"

The person on the other end let out an amused laugh. "Give me ten minutes tops. Whose number we talking about?"

Jungkook gave the name.

There was a beat of silence before the response came. "I’m on it."

As the call ended, Jungkook set his phone down on the desk, exhaling slowly. His fingers drummed against the surface, his mind racing with possibilities. This was a risk. A long shot.

But as he stared back out at the glowing city below, he muttered under his breath, "This better work."

Jade’s POV:

Jade’s heels clicked sharply against the floor as she stormed into her office, her pulse already quickening with irritation. The tension in her jaw was palpable as she flung her coat over the back of the chair, her gaze hard and unyielding.

“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. Her eyes were trained on the secretary, who was standing nervously at the edge of the doorway, her fingers twisting in her hands.

The secretary hesitated, her breath hitching in her throat. “H-He went to London, ma’am,” she stuttered, her voice shaky under the weight of Jade’s intense gaze.

Jade’s brows furrowed, her fingers curling into tight fists at her sides. “London?” she repeated, her tone colder than ice. The secretary nodded, her eyes darting downward.

“Y-Yes, he said he had some business to take care of.”

Jade’s lips curled into a tight smirk, but it was more a gesture of disdain than anything resembling amusement. She crossed her arms over her chest, the slow hum of annoyance settling deep within her chest.

“Well, then, I guess I’ll deal with this myself,” she muttered under her breath before addressing the secretary once more, her voice dripping with venom. “Get out of my sight.”

The secretary’s eyes widened in fear as she scrambled to gather her things, fumbling as she rushed to leave. Jade didn’t even spare her a second glance, her mind already shifting into a different gear as she took a seat at her desk. She crossed her legs slowly, her heels tapping rhythmically against the polished wood of the desk beneath her.

Her gaze flicked down to her hands as she rested them on the surface, the tap of her finger against the desk breaking the silence. She was irritated, yes, but she knew she wasn’t powerless. No one ever got the best of her, not for long. And Jungkook... Jungkook would realize just how much he needed her. He always did.

“London, huh?” she muttered to herself with a smirk, her eyes narrowing. She leaned back in her chair, watching the light glint off the smooth surface of her desk. Her mind was already working, a plan forming in the back of her head, a strategy for getting exactly what she wanted.

Without missing a beat, she reached for her phone, dialing a number she knew all too well. She brought the phone to her ear, her eyes dark and calculating. The moment the line clicked, she spoke with cool precision. “You better have everything under control.” she said, her voice cold and authoritative.

The voice on the other end responded with quiet assurance. “Don’t worry, I do.”

Jade’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was playing a game, and she was going to make sure it went her way. “Keep her in check,” she commanded, her voice low but firm. “I don’t want him slipping up.”

There was a brief pause before the voice spoke again, more assured this time. “I am.”

Jade’s lips curled into a slow smile, but there was nothing pleasant about it. It was the smile of someone who knew they had the upper hand. “Good,” she murmured, satisfaction threading through her voice. Her eyes flickered with something darker. “Oh and don’t forget, blood’s thicker than water. You get too close, and I’ll remind you of that. Your loyalty has its limits, but mine is unwavering.”

She leaned forward, her gaze intense, her fingers curling around the phone. “Finish this,” she added, her tone laced with finality.

Without waiting for a response, Jade ended the call, her smile lingering—cold, calculating—as she slowly leaned back in her chair. Her fingers drummed thoughtfully against the armrest, the faintest hint of satisfaction curling at the edges of her lips. Jungkook might have convinced himself that he was taking control, that he was running off to do things his way—but she knew better. She’d played this game far too long to let anyone, least of all a pathetic little designer, help Jungkook slip through her fingers. The pieces were in motion, and she’d make sure they both stayed within bounds.