#my weakness... characters i'm not familiar with...

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #16 死

† shooting range and dinner †

"When his insomnia slips out, you decide being a useful fuck buddy is part of the arrengement. Even if sleeping is not exactly what you want to do tonight."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 9,3k.

content: jeon taking a nap in j-hope’s office and hobi having none of it, verbal fights between friends, bestie plans being cancelled, shooting range practices that feel like lame excuses to touch, insomnia confessions, sleeping arrangements where both of them fail to simply sleep.

☠ author's note ☠

Y'ALL I'M SCREAMING. Look at my boy Jeon being all emotionally constipated and sleepless and GRUMPY! I cannot with him sometimes (⁠╯⁠°⁠□⁠°⁠)⁠╯⁠︵⁠ ⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

So I'm really exposing my kinks here, but the whole "let's sleep together but actually sleep" trope is just *chef's kiss* perfect. Insomnia-ridden boy who can only sleep well with you nearby? GIVE IT TO ME INTRAVENOUSLY, THANK YOU.

And J-Hope being all "I'm your friend whether you like it or not, you stubborn asshole" is everything I needed today. Their friendship is so beautifully dysfunctional I want to frame it and hang it on my wall.

Meanwhile, you guys in the comments are like "show us Jeon's POV!" and I'm over here like "fine, take his whole entire trauma-riddled brain, are you happy now?!" The answer is yes, you're all trauma vultures just like me. No shame in our game.

I had so much fun writing the shooting range scene though! That whole "let me adjust your stance" trope where they're basically just looking for an excuse to touch you? ICONIC. I will never get tired of it. Sue me.

And don't even get me started on that dinner scene. Jeon actually eating with another human being and not hating it? CHARACTER GROWTH, PEOPLE!

Sorry for leaving you hanging with the spicy bits but... actually no, I'm not sorry at all. The slow boil to explosion is the best part and I'm savoring every moment of your collective suffering (◕‿◕✿)

See you next chapter, you magnificent disaster enablers!

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

"Again, Jeon?"

J-Hope's voice hits him as soon as he walks in, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care. His body feels heavy, mind foggy with exhaustion.

The medical ward has become too familiar lately—the sharp smell of antiseptic, the soft hum of medical equipment, the way the afternoon light filters through the blinds.

He grunts in response, already making his way to his usual spot. The stretcher's not comfortable, not really, but it's better than lying awake in his own bed.

"You can't come here every afternoon, you know. I have shit to do and your snoring is not precisely helpful."

Jungkook almost rolls his eyes. He doesn't snore—never has—but arguing takes energy he doesn't have.

"Then put some background music."

"You—"

He doesn't wait for J-Hope to finish, just rolls onto the stretcher, facing the wall. The vinyl covering is cool against his arm, and somehow it's grounding... perhaps in a way he doesn't want to examine too closely.

"Are you for real right now? This is the third day in a row you're taking a nap in my office."

"You said yourself I should nap from time to time." His voice comes out muffled, face half-pressed into the thin pillow.

"Yes, but not in my goddamn office!"

The silence that follows is heavy.

He can picture J-Hope without looking—probably pinching the bridge of his nose, that look of exasperated concern he gets whenever Jeon's being particularly difficult. He hears the medic's chair creak as he leans back.

"Look, Jungkook." The use of his real name makes something in his chest tighten. J-Hope only uses it when he's about to say something Jungkook won't like. "I don't wanna be the one saying this to you, but you need to get your shit together."

"Well I am trying to fall asleep right now." The deflection is weak and they both know it.

"That is not what I mean you dimwit." There's that familiar mix of frustration and worry in J-Hope's voice. "Believe me, I'm glad you're finally trying to get some proper rest. But this—in my office? Just why."

Jungkook quiet, hoping J-Hope will drop it. He doesn't want to think about why he keeps coming here, why his own room feels too empty, too quiet. Why he can't sleep unless he can hear someone else breathing nearby.

(He definitely doesn't want to think about how he slept better in that tent, with y—)

"Jungkook."

Not his real name again.

Something in him snaps.

"Fine. I don't fucking know, okay?" The words come out sharp, defensive. He glares at the wall like it's personally offended him. "I just seem to sleep better in company."

"In company?" He can hear J-Hope's brain working, trying to piece together this new information. "Okay, what—? Elaborate right now."

"No."

The word is final, heavy with all the things he refuses to say.

Like the nightmares that wake him up gasping. Or how silence fucking makes his skin crawl. Or how being alone with his thoughts is becoming unbearable.

About how he hasn't had a decent night's sleep since—

"Whose company, Jungkook? This isn't about little bed-hopping habits, is it?"

It's offensive, the question, really.

But all he does is stare at the wall, trying to ignore how his mind immediately conjures up images of you. Of how he actually slept through the night in that tent.

No nightmares, no cold sweats. Just... sleep.

Four fucking years of insomnia, and the solution was this s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ simple?

"No, it's not." His fingers curl into a fist against the stretcher, leather creaking under fingers—and the sound grates on his nerves, already frayed from lack of sleep. "I ain't talking about it. Drop it, Hoseok."

Using J-Hope's real name now is a low blow, but Jungkook is too tired to care. He just wants to test his theory—see if sleeping near someone, anyone, will keep the nightmares at bay. He doesn't need J-Hope playing therapist, doesn't need him picking apart why this might be working.

Because that would mean thinking about you, about that night, about how for the first time in years he actually felt—

No.

"I'm your friend, Jungkook. And as a member of the Council of Nine, I have to know if anything... or anyone is becoming a weakness."

Jeon almost laughs.

A weakness? No. This isn't about feelings. This is about finally getting some fucking sleep without having to relive—

He cuts that thought off too. Focuses on the antiseptic smell of the medical ward, the equipment, anything but the memories threatening to surface.

J-Hope's concern is misplaced. This isn't about compromising the gang or breaking rules. It's about finding a solution to a problem that's been haunting him for four years.

So if sleeping near someone help? Fucking fine. He'll take what he can get.

Even if it pisses him off that it took this long to figure it out.

"There is no fucking weakness, you got that?" His eyes feel like lead weights in his skull. "I just need some goddamn sleep. I've gotta be sharp for the mission. That's all you need to know."

He can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, searching for cracks where light would shine through.

There's none.

It's been a long time since there's none.

But the medic knows too much, has seen too much. Was there that night when everything went to shit, when V—

"And after the mission? What then? You keep coming back here for your afternoon siestas or are you gonna be sleeping with that company?"

The implication slices through without sugarcoating. There's another word hovering in the air between them, pressing down on the air like a goddamn vacuum.

Traitor.

It sits there like poison, like the taste of copper in his mouth from that night.

Jeon pushes himself up, muscles tense, anger corroding his veins. His head is pounding from lack of sleep, making everything sharper, harder to control.

"I'll deal with it when it comes. Besides, who the fuck will notice? You gonna bitch about it to the rest of the crew?"

"Watch it, Kook." The use of his nickname is a warning, one that would mean more if he wasn't so fucking tired. "I'm trying to help you, not rat you out. But if you become a liability..."

"I ain't no fucking liability."

He's on his feet now, wrath burning through the exhaustion. His fists clench until he can feel his nails biting into his palms.

The suggestion that he'd risk the gang again, that he'd let himself be compromised like that... He does not appreciate it.

It makes something dark and ugly twist in his chest.

"You think I don't know the stakes? You think I'd let myself become another Sylvia episode?"

"Surely you're more intelligent than that."

The words hit exactly where J-Hope means them to. Because yeah, everyone thought he was intelligent back then too. Look how that turned out.

Jungkook holds J-Hope's gaze, something ugly settling in his chest.

For a moment, he considers telling him about you, about this arrangement that's purely physical—no strings, no complications, just a solution to his sleepless nights.

But the words catch in his throat. Because J-Hope isn't just asking for himself, is he? He's asking for AD too. AD, who still carries Sylvia's ghost like an open wound, who took her death even harder than he did.

Who trusted her, protected her, only to watch her choose Jungkook—and then watch her die for that choice.

The guilt sits like lead in his stomach. He can't do that to AD again. Can't make him watch from the sidelines as another woman gets tangled up with Jungkook, always wondering if history's about to repeat itself.

The weight of Sylvia's death is still a chain around his neck, dragging him down every time he closes his eyes.

So he swallows the truth, lets it burn on its way down. This thing with you—he'll handle it himself. Keep it contained. Control it before it becomes something he can't take back.

His face settles into careful blankness as he meets J-Hope's searching look.

"I fucking am. I don't need your nagging."

It's not even a lie. This isn't like Sylvia. He won't let it be. You're different—safer. You know exactly what this is.

"You sure you don't?" J-Hope's voice rises. "Because from what I recall, you've been a messy piece of shit ever since she's gone."

Something dark and ugly coils in Jeon's chest. "Watch how you sling that shit at me, J-Hope."

"Keeping an eye on it, always. Seems we all gotta tiptoe with our words 'round you, huh? Drop one mention of her, and you're all about throwing punches, no thoughts, just rage. Done you a lick of good, has it?"

"Shut your mouth!"

The words rip out of him before he can stop them, raw and ragged.

Because J-Hope's right, and that's what makes it hurt so much.

Four years, and he still can't hear her name without feeling like he's drowning in it all over again.

"Pull yourself together, Jeon!" J-Hope's voice cracks with frustration. "You've been haunted by those fucking nightmares since she died, and now what? Using someone else's body to quiet them down? Jumping from one disaster straight into another and expecting me to just watch?"

Jungkook's eyes feel like they're burning. "No one's asking for your fucking two cents. Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

He wants J-Hope to hit him, to hate him, to stop looking at him with that mix of concern and disappointment.

So his next words are not something he's proud of. But something he feels he needs to do.

"Why don't you go find a bottle to crawl into?"

It's a low blow, and he knows it. Watches J-Hope's hand shake, sees the muscle jump in his jaw.

"Don't you fucking go there, Jeon." The warning in his voice is clear. "I see what you're doing—spiraling because you're losing control. But I'm not playing that game. I'm not V."

"Right, you're not." Jeon's laugh is hollow, bitter. "At least that bastard's honest about not giving a fuck about anyone but himself."

"Jesus fuck, Jeon. You're not the only one carrying shit, you know that?" J-Hope's laugh is all broken glass. "Is that what you want? Me to knock your teeth in? You think that'll fix whatever's going on in that fucked-up head of yours?"

"Whatever. I don't give a shit."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it. Pushing everyone away—that's about the only thing you're good at anymore."

"Don't need anyone. Do just fine on my own."

"Really?" J-Hope's voice is sarcasm. "That why you're trying to sleep in my fucking office?"

"Fucking hell, man. Just drop it and let me rest. I'm not digging into your shit, am I? Let me handle mine." His voice comes out raw, desperate, and he hates it.

"You might not see it, but some of us actually give a shit about you, you stubborn asshole." J-Hope's voice softens, and that's worse somehow. "I might share that council seat with you, but I'm also your friend—whether you like it or not. I'm worried, okay? This isn't how you deal with your demons."

Jeon closes his eyes, exhaustion settling into his bones. "Maybe it's exactly how I deal with them."

Maybe he deserves them.

He doesn't say that.

"It's a shit way of dealing with anything, Jungkook." The softness bleeds out of J-Hope's voice, and something in Jeon's chest loosens.

Anger he can handle.

Concern?

That's harder to dodge.

"Fuck, I'm not watching you spiral down that rabbit hole again. You can hate me all you want, but I won't stand here and watch you self-destruct. Not a second time."

"I get it. Like I said—not your cross to bear."

Jungkook can feel J-Hope's eyes on him, cutting through his bullshit like always.

"Fine, Kook. Hoard your secrets. But the moment it fucks with the mission, you're answering to me—and the Council."

Jeon knows that tone. It's not just a threat—it's a lifeline J-Hope's throwing him, begging him to get his shit together before everything falls apart.

The anger sits like acid in his chest, but he swallows it down.

This isn't about him and J-Hope anymore. This is about the mission. About the gang. About not letting his f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ weakness compromise everything like last time.

"Got it," he mutters, dropping back onto the stretcher and turning to face the wall. The stone is cold against his face, grounding in its indifference.

Behind him, J-Hope's chair scrapes against the floor as he turns back to his work. The sound is harsh, angry.

But it's okay if he's angry. Better that than worried. Better that than watching Jeon like he's a bomb about to go off.

"Fucking Sylvia," J-Hope mutters.

Then, silence drops.

For all his crankiness, J-Hope won't kick him out. Can't, maybe, because under all that anger is the same guy who dragged Jeon's drunk ass home after Sylvia, who patched him up when he picked fights he knew he'd lose.

J-Hope's right to be worried—secrets in Kkangpae have a way of turning lethal. One wrong move, one slip, and everything goes up in flames.

Again.

(But this thing with you isn't like Sylvia. It isn't. He just needs to figure out how to sleep through the night without—)

Jeon closes his eyes, lets the antiseptic smell of the medical ward fill his lungs.

Maybe if he lies here long enough, sleep will finally come.

Maybe this time, he won't dream.

𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝟻. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛.

The message glares at you from your phone screen, all business and no explanation. Typical Jeon.

𝙹𝚎𝚘𝚗?

．．．

𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯

Great. He's seen it and can't be bothered to reply. Fantastic.

You stare at your phone, trying to will a response into existence. Nothing. Just that stupid "seen" mocking you. It's like talking to a brick wall, except the wall probably has better communication skills.

Jeon and his one-word texts. The man's got a gift for saying absolutely nothing while still managing to ruin your plans. You had a whole evening of doing absolutely nothing planned, and now? Now you're apparently going to the shooting range. Yay!

You toss your phone onto the bed; angry, petty. It bounces once, screen still lit up with Jeon's oh-so-eloquent message. His profile pic is just a blank space. Of course it is. God forbid he show an actual human emotion. Or, you know, a face.

With a sigh that could probably be heard three floors down, you drag yourself to the bathroom. For once, it's empty. Small mercies, right?

You tie your hair back into a ponytail, all business. Can't have stray hairs getting in the way when you're handling firearms. That's a safety hazard or whatever. Plus, you know Jeon would probably lecture you about it.

Mr. Safety-First-Unless-It's-About-Emotions.

The mirror shows you a face that's equal parts annoyed and resigned.

This is your life now—dropping everything because Jeon decided to grace you with a whole six words. Six! He's feeling chatty today.

You stare at your reflection, wondering for the millionth time how you ended up here. Not just in a gang, but at Jeon's beck and call. The man's like a black hole—impossible to ignore, drawing you in whether you like it or not.

(You like it. You hate that you like it.)

Time to go play with guns, apparently. Because nothing says "fun night out" like potential bullet wounds and Jeon's silent judgment.

This better be good, you think. But with Jeon? It's always a toss-up between mind-blowing and mind-numbing.

Guess you'll find out which one it is tonight.

You finish tying your hair back and grab your phone, typing out a quick message to Yunjin. Your fingers hover over the keys for a second because ugh. You were actually looking forward to dinner with her.

𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖. 𝚁𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔?

The card reader beeps when you swipe your ID, sound echoing through the empty hallway like some ominous warning bell.

The elevator ride feels like you're being delivered to your doom, each floor passing with total indifference to your impending crisis.

Ding.

Third floor. You step out into a corridor that feels way too quiet. Your sneakers barely make any noise against the floor, which just makes your heartbeat sound louder in your ears.

You reach the shooting range and—because you're not a complete idiot—you don't just barge in. Instead, you peek through the reinforced glass window like some s̶t̶a̶l̶k̶e̶r̶ cautious person.

And fuck.

There he is, in his own little world of violence.

He's wearing his usual dark t-shirt, fabric's stretched across his shoulders in a way that's honestly unfair for every other man. His combat pants are doing that thing where they show off every muscle without being obvious about it, and his boots are planted like he owns the ground he's standing on.

He hasn't spotted you yet. He's too focused on the gun in his hands, handling it with the kind of familiarity that reminds you he does this for a living. The protective gear—ear muffs and glasses—should make him look dorky, but nope. In your brain that simply catalogs as hot.

Each shot he fires is like... well, it's like watching someone who knows what they're doing. Which, you suppose, makes sense.

The recoil doesn't even phase him—his body just absorbs it like it's nothing. Spent casings hit the floor with little metallic pings, and you find yourself weirdly fascinated by the way his fingers adjust on the grip between shots.

(You're definitely not thinking about what else those fingers can do. Absolutely not. That would be unprofessional.)

You watch him reload—movements quick and methodical—like he could do this in his sleep. Probably has, honestly. This is Jeon's comfort zone, after all.

You step inside, and it hits you again how different the air feels in here. Smelling like gunpowder and that underlying tension that always shows up when you're around him.

Jeon doesn't turn around, too focused on whatever target he's destroying. You can't help the little smirk that tugs at your lips because finally—a chance to catch Mr. Perfect off guard. He's so zeroed in on his shooting that he might actually not notice you for once.

(You should know better by now, but hope springs eternal or whatever.)

Your sneakers don't make a sound on the rubber floor as you creep closer. You're already planning it—maybe a sudden clap, or yelling his name. Something to make him jump, even just a little. The thought sends this weird thrill through you, like you're about to get away with something.

You take a deep breath, ready to execute your master plan, when—

"Don't even think about it."

Motherfucker.

He doesn't even turn around. Doesn't move a muscle. Just keeps standing there like some statue of Perfect Shooting Form, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

It's not fair how he does that—makes you feel like you're being predictable without even looking at you.

"You got radar in your head, or what?" you ask, trying to play it off like you weren't just caught being an absolute child.

Your voice comes out light, playful, which feels kind of wrong in a room designed for practicing how to kill people efficiently. But that's kind of your whole thing with Jeon, isn't it? Finding these little moments of tomfoolery in between all the violence and duty.

Sometimes you wonder if he lets you get away with it because he needs those moments too.

Jeon turns around, and as usual, there's this look in his eyes. Could be the fluorescent lights, could be him being a smug bastard.

He sets down his gun with this final-sounding click that somehow makes the room feel too quiet.

"Let's just say I've got a good sense of when someone's lurking in my blind spot."

The corner of his mouth twitches, and you're starting to think he practices that almost-smirk in the mirror.

You watch as he moves to the gun rack, all fluid movements. He picks out this pristine semi-automatic that gleams under the shitty range lights like it's showing off.

"Come on." His voice drops the playful edge. "If we're going to have your back in the field, you need to be able to hold your own. No hesitation this time."

This time.

The words bring back memories of your first shooting lesson with him—how your hands shook, how the gun felt too heavy with the weight of what it could do. You weren't ready then.

But now, with this mission hanging over your heads like a guillotine, you don't have the luxury of not being ready.

You step forward, closing the gap between you. When he hands you the gun, his fingers brush against yours, and even that tiny contact sends electricity up your arm. The metal's cold against your palm, but you grip it like you mean it. Like you're not thinking about how those same hands felt on your skin just days ago.

"Good." He nods, and something warm unfurls in your chest at his approval. "First, your stance—it's all about balance. Feet shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead of the other."

You follow his instructions, hyper-aware of his eyes on you. It feels like being under a microscope, but like, a really hot microscope that you maybe want to kiss again.

You plant your feet, trying to look like you know what you're doing.

"Now, grip. Not too tight—imagine holding someone's hand. Firm, but you're not trying to crush it."

He moves closer, and suddenly the air feels thicker. His comparison makes your brain short-circuit because now all you can think about is holding hands, which leads to thinking about holding other things, which—yeah, nope.

Can't think about that. Not while you're holding a deadly weapon.

His hands come up to adjust your grip, and it should be clinical. Professional.

But there's this undercurrent of something between you, like static electricity looking for a place to ground itself. Like every little touch is loaded with meaning.

You find your rhythm with the breathing, in and out, as Jeon steps back to give you space. He's watching you with that unreadable expression of his, but his eyes are intense, like he's trying to will you into not fucking this up.

"Align the sights." His voice drops low, and fuck, it shouldn't affect you when he's teaching you how to shoot people. "Focus on the front sight—everything else is just background noise. Breathe in, breathe out, and on the exhale—that's when you squeeze the trigger."

You narrow your eyes, zeroing in on the target downrange.

It's not just a paper outline anymore—it's a test.

Another thing you need to prove you can handle in this life you've chosen.

You let out a slow breath, and with it goes some of that nervous energy that's been making your hands shake.

Right now it's just you, the gun, and this need to show Jeon—and yourself—that you're not out of your depth here. That you belong in this world of his, even if it's just at the edges.

The shot cracks through the air like a whip, and the recoil hits your palms. It's jarring but real, solid proof that you're actually doing this. That you're becoming whatever it is you need to be to survive in Kkangpae.

Jeon gives you this little nod, like yeah, okay, maybe you're not completely hopeless. But then—oh. Then his mouth does this thing, curling up at the corners into what might be the most dangerous smile you've ever seen.

"Good job."

Two. Words.

Just two fucking words, but the way he says them—all low and pleased—makes heat pool in your stomach.

It's not fair how he can do that, turn a simple phrase into something that feels like innuendo, voice wrapping around you like smoke, seeping into places it has no business being.

You're starting to think weapons training with Jeon might be hazardous to your mental health. And not for the obvious reasons.

Because the fucker is not just hot—though fuck, he absolutely is—he's something else entirely.

The way he handles a weapon, the easy confidence, how he makes everything look so effortless? It's doing things to you. Things that have nothing to do with training and everything to do with how his hands looked wrapped around that gun.

"Let's try again. This time, focus on consistency. You want to be able to replicate that shot every time."

He moves behind you, and suddenly breathing becomes severely underrated.

You try to focus on the target, but your brain's too busy cataloging every tiny detail—how his breath stirs the baby hairs at your nape, the way his chest is just shy of brushing against your back.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, but that's a mistake because now all you can smell is him.

Pine and wood and leather.

Jeon.

The gun feels heavy in your hands as you line up another shot, and your attention is split between the target downrange and the way Jeon's presence seems to fill up all the space around you.

The shot immediately cracks through the air, perfect center mass.

You should feel proud—and you do—but mostly you're trying not to think about how close he is, how easy it would be to lean back just a little...

Because you know he's all business, laser-focused on getting you ready for the mission. Completely professional. But there are these tiny tells—the way his fingers linger when he adjusts your stance, how his eyes sometimes drift from the target to your face, staying just a second too long.

It's driving you insane.

Like there's this invisible line neither of you is willing to cross first, even though you both know exactly where this tension is heading.

You've been there before, after all. That night in his tent wasn't that long ago.

You lower the gun, trying to ignore how your hands are shaking—partly from adrenaline, mostly from something else.

The way Jeon's looking at you right now.

"Just like that. Keep it up."

You manage a nod because words? Not happening. Your throat's too dry, and honestly, you're afraid of what might come out if you open your mouth.

Another shot rings out, and you can't help wondering if Jeon feels it too. This crackling tension that makes your skin feel too tight. Or maybe you're just losing it, getting all hot and bothered over a man who's literally just teaching you how to shoot people.

"Reload. Keep your focus sharp."

He hands you a fresh magazine, and your fingers brush against his again—and honestly?

This isn't fair.

You're supposed to be learning important gang shit here, not mentally cataloging how good his hands feel.

Your brain keeps replaying every tiny touch, every moment his body was pressed against yours while "correcting your stance."

Which, by the way? Totally unnecessary.

You're pretty sure proper shooting form doesn't require his chest being that close to your back.

Focus, you tell yourself. You're here to learn how to handle a weapon, not daydream about handling... other things.

You need to prove you belong here, that you're more than just another recruit who can't keep it in their pants around the hot Chief.

(Even if said Chief is making it really hard to think straight right now.)

You grip the gun tighter, channeling all that frustrated energy into your next shot. The bang echoes through the range, and you pretend it drowns out the voice in your head that keeps suggesting alternative uses for this private training session.

The magazine clicks into place with maybe more force than necessary, but whatever. You're determined to get through this without embarrassing yourself. More shots follow, each one a desperate attempt to focus on anything except how good Jeon looks when he's in instructor mode.

(It's not working, but at least you're hitting the target.)

You're about to take another shot when something catches your eye.

Jeon looks... off.

There are shadows under his eyes that makeup can't hide, and his movements are slower than usual.

Most people wouldn't notice, but you've been trained to spot weaknesses.

"You look like shit."

The words slip out before your brain can filter them. Because you're such a professional, apparently. But now that you've started digging this hole, might as well keep going.

"When's the last time you actually slept?"

Dark eyes snap to yours, and you swear something raw flutters behind his eyelashes. Doesn't last long-as never anything really does with him. The walls come slamming back up.

"I'm fine."

His tone screams drop it; the voice in your head screams 'don't.'

Good thing you've always been good at hearing yourself first.

Besides, this isn't exclusively about him anymore.

You set the gun down, turning to face him fully. "Look, I get it—we all have our shit. But if you're walking around half-dead, that's not just your problem. That's how people end up getting killed."

He gives you a death stare, and you're pretty sure he's about to pull rank and shut this conversation down. But then he exhales, and something in his posture just... gives.

"Insomnia's an old friend." An admission that comes out rough, like he had to force the words past his defenses. "Been dealing with it for years. It doesn't affect my work."

"Bullshit." You shouldn't push, but your mouth's apparently on autopilot today. "You slept fine in the tent—"

His eyes narrow, and okay, maybe that was too far. But you're not wrong. You remember how peaceful he looked that morning, no trace of the tension that's radiating off him now.

"That was different."

His voice drops low, warning you away from this topic.

But there's something else there too—like maybe he's trying to convince himself more than you.

He doesn't deny it though.

So you nod, letting the subject drop. But you tuck that little piece of information away like a secret—Jeon sleeps better when he's not alone. When he's with you, specifically. You're not sure what to do with that knowledge yet, but it feels important somehow.

Silence falls. You turn back to the range because it's easier than trying to decode whatever's happening here.

The gun in your hands is simple, straightforward. Point, shoot, repeat. No complicated feelings or midnight revelations to deal with.

You cycle through the weapons Jeon's laid out, each one different but serving the same purpose. Pistols feel natural now, like they belong in your grip. Shotguns still kick like a mule, but you're getting better at handling them. Each shot echoes through the room, filling the space where words should be.

It becomes almost meditative after a while. Load, aim, breathe, squeeze. The routine helps quiet your mind, pushes away thoughts of Jeon and sleep and whatever's going on in that cold brain of his.

You're here to learn how to stay alive, not psychoanalyze your Chief's sleeping habits.

When you switch to the rifle, you can't help sneaking a look at him. He's lurking in the shadows like some kind of sexy gargoyle, watching your every move. Even exhausted, he's still intimidating as hell.

But there's something different about him now—like seeing him tired makes him more... real. Less Chief of Tactical Assassinations, more just Jeon.

The rifle's recoil brings you back to reality. You line up another shot, remembering everything he's taught you.

Breathe in, hold, squeeze, exhale. The bullets hit close together, forming a tight group that would definitely ruin someone's day. Jeon gives you this tiny nod that shouldn't make your stomach flip, but it does anyway.

The sun's starting to set, painting the room in long shadows. Empty casings litter the floor around your feet like tiny brass confessions. Neither of you has said much, but somehow it's not uncomfortable.

You've learned two things today: how to shoot better, and that Jeon trusts you enough to show you some of his cracks, even if he doesn't mean to.

You're not sure which lesson is more dangerous.

(Probably the second one.)

You start packing up, going through the familiar motions of cleaning and storing the weapons.

"It's getting late," you say, mostly to break the silence.

When you turn around, Jeon's standing there with his arms crossed, staring at nothing. Or maybe at something only he can see. He doesn't react to your voice, like he's been aware of every move you've made since you started cleaning up.

The lighting in here is shit, but it's not bad enough to hide how exhausted he looks. The shadows under his eyes are getting deeper, more obvious. You think about what J-Hope would say if he saw Jeon like this—probably something cranky and concerned wrapped in medical jargon.

"If it helps," you start carefully, like you're approaching a wild animal, "we can sleep together again. No bullshit—just sleep. Seems like you could use it."

For a second, his face goes completely blank. It's that perfect mask he wears when he's processing something he doesn't want to deal with.

Then—there.

His shoulders drop just a fraction, like someone's loosened a wire.

"I don't need charity."

The words come out defensive, but they're missing that sharp edge he usually uses to keep people at a distance. You recognize deflection when you hear it—you work in the Seduction Division, after all.

"It's not charity." You click the last weapon case shut, buying time to choose your next words carefully. "Consider it... part of our arrangement. We're no good to each other tense or half-awake."

The silence stretches out so long you start to wonder if you've fucked up. Maybe you pushed too far, got too personal. But then he nods, just barely, like he's trying to convince himself he's not giving in to anything.

"I'll think about it."

His voice is gruff, but there's something else there—a hint of relief, maybe. Like you've given him permission to want something he thinks he shouldn't. You pretend not to notice how his eyes linger on you as you finish packing up, like he's already made up his mind but isn't ready to admit it yet.

You glance at the clock, and shit—it's really fucking late. The castle gets quiet around this time, most people already finished with dinner or working night shifts.

Speaking of dinner... you were supposed to meet Yunjin, but someone had to drag you to impromptu target practice.

A thought hits you, and you can't help the little smile that tugs at your lips. It's probably stupid, definitely pushing your luck, but...

"By the way," you say, closing the weapons case with a satisfying click. "Since it's already so late... How about grabbing some dinner together at the cafeteria?"

Jeon looks at you like you've just suggested robbing a bank in your underwear.

There's this tiny flicker of surprise in his eyes that would be funny if it wasn't kind of sad. Like the concept of eating with someone is completely foreign to him.

"Dinner? I eat alone."

His voice is flat, but it's as though he's actually considering it, even if he'd rather die than admit it.

"I know, but it's late." You shrug, going for casual even though your heart's doing this weird skippy thing. "Few people will be there, and I had plans that got... rearranged."

You give him a pointed look because hey, this is technically his fault.

"Don't feel like eating by myself."

He stares at you for what feels like forever, face doing that blank thing he does when he's processing something unexpected. Then his mouth quirks up at the corner.

"I don't usually do dinner dates."

You actually laugh at that. "You wish.Think of it as a tactical debriefing over food. Can't strategize on an empty stomach, can we?"

His smirk gets a fraction wider—the Jeon equivalent of a full grin. It's rare to see him look actually amused, and something warm unfurls in your chest at being the cause.

"Tactical debriefing, huh? That's a new one."

"Come on, Jeon. It's just dinner." You try to sound nonchalant, like you're not weirdly invested in his answer. "Besides, you're probably starving after all that shooting."

He does that thing where he goes all still, like he's running risk assessments in his head.

Finally, he nods. "Alright, but this isn't a habit we're starting."

"Of course not, you have a reputation to maintain, thundercloud."

You can't help the smirk as you head for the door. The nickname slips out before you can catch it, but whatever. You're already in deep.

"Not like anybody would believe you anyway, sunshine." He rolls his eyes, but follows you out.

The way he says sunshine—like it's both an insult and something else—makes your stomach do a little flip. But you're not going to think about that.

This is just dinner. Just two gang members having a totally normal, professional meal together.

The walk to the cafeteria is weirdly peaceful.

Neither of you says anything, but it's not that awkward silence that makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

It's just... quiet. Your brain's still processing everything—the training, the arrangement, the fact that you're actually going to dinner with Jeon of all people.

The cafeteria's practically empty when you walk in. Just a few night owls scattered around, most of them looking like they're running on coffee and spite.

It's nice, though. No curious eyes, no whispers. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes.

The buffet spread looks like heaven. Your stomach reminds you that you haven't eaten since lunch, growling at the sight of steaming bulgogi and kimchi jjigae. The castle chefs don't mess around—everything looks magazine-worthy, even at this hour.

You load up your tray like you're preparing for hibernation: bulgogi because duh, japchae because the noodles here are actually insane, kimchi fried rice because comfort food is a thing, and those spicy braised potatoes that make your mouth water just looking at them.

Jeon, for his part, goes straight for the protein—galbi ribs, bibimbap loaded with meat, and bossam like he's got something to prove.

You're about to head for a table when you catch him adding even more bulgogi to his already meat-heavy tray.

"Got enough protein there?" You can't help the teasing tone. "Or are you planning to feed a small army?"

Jeon's mouth does that thing where he's trying not to smile but failing.

"I need to keep up my strength." His eyes flick to yours, dark. "Never know when I might need to pin a smartass against a wall."

The laugh that escapes you is only partly nervous. You lead the way to a corner table, far from the few other diners. It feels weirdly intimate, having dinner with someone who usually eats alone.

The food works its magic. You feel the day's tension melting away with each bite, and even Jeon looks more relaxed. That permanent frown he carries around is smoothing out as he tackles his galbi like it's his division's target.

"Holy shit, this is good," you mumble around a mouthful of noodles.

The chefs here could probably work in any five-star restaurant, but instead they're cooking for a bunch of criminals. Life's weird like that.

Jeon makes this little grunt of agreement, cheeks full like a hamster's. He swallows before speaking because apparently assassins have table manners.

"Only decent perk of this place."

You fall into comfortable silence after that, both focused on demolishing your food.

It's strange how normal this feels—just two people sharing dinner, like you don't kill people for a living, like you haven't had your hands all over each other hours ago.

"That rifle technique you used today was solid. Got good instincts."

Coming from Jeon, that's practically a love letter. You hide your smile behind another bite of food, but can't resist poking the bear.

"Well, I have a good teacher. Even if his people skills need work."

He snorts, stabbing another piece of meat with maybe more force than necessary.

"I don't coddle. You get better by doing, not talking."

"True, but positive reinforcement helps too." You gesture with your chopsticks. "I'm only human, thundercloud."

The look he gives you could melt steel. One eyebrow goes up, and there's something dangerous playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hmmm. Almost sounds like you want to be coddled, sunshine."

The way he says it makes heat pool in your stomach. Because that wasn't about teaching at all, was it?

You laugh to cover the way your breath catches. "In your dreams, Jeon."

You ball up your napkin and throw it at him, which he catches without even looking because of coursehe does.

Show-off.

"Still," he says, ruining the moment like he's allergic to peace, "your reaction time needs work."

"I'll keep practicing." You shrug, aiming for casual. "Can't have you worrying about me in the field."

"Who said anything about worrying?" But his eyes give him away—that split-second flicker before his face goes blank again.

"Oh please." You wave your chopsticks at him. "You were watching me like a hawk in there. Probably counting my breaths or something equally anal-retentive."

He just shakes his head, suddenly very interested in his food. But you're on a roll now, feeling brave or stupid or both.

"Admit it, you care about my progress." You lean forward, grinning. "It's almost sweet."

Jeon looks up then, and oh. His gaze is intense.

"I care about not getting shot because you can't handle your weapon, sunshine."

You can't help yourself. Really, you can't. "Mhm? Thought I was getting better at handling weapons, thundercloud."

His lips twitch, just barely, but you catch it. It's fascinating, really, how you've somehow stumbled into this easy back-and-forth with him. How beneath all his sharp edges and your sass, there's this... thing.

This rhythm that shouldn't work but does.

Dinner's winding down, and you notice something different about Jeon. The tension he usually carries—the one that makes him look like he's ready to snap someone's neck at any moment—has eased up. Even his face looks softer, less murder-y than usual.

"This was... not terrible," he says, like admitting it physically pains him. His eyes meet yours across the table. "The food, the company... both exceeded my low expectations."

"Oh my god." You press a hand to your chest, going for maximum drama. "Was that a compliment? Should I call J-Hope? Are you feeling okay?"

He snorts, and there's this little uptick at the corner of his mouth that you're starting to recognize as his version of a smile.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get used to it."

"Too late." You stand up, gathering your plates. "I expect this level of praise at every meal now. Maybe we can work up to actual sentences by next week."

"Don't push your luck, sunshine." But he's still got that almost-smile as he gets up too.

"I mean, you already admitted you don't hate my company. That's practically a love confession by your standards."

Jeon shakes his head, but there's something soft in his eyes.

"You're really something else, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

You drop off your dishes, and both head for the elevator, falling into comfortable silence.

You reach for the elevator buttons, aiming for the fourth floor where your room is. But Jeon's arm suddenly appears in your peripheral vision, his chest almost brushing your back as he leans forward. There's this tiny pause—blink and you'd miss it—before he hits the button for the fifth floor instead.

You turn your head just enough to catch his eye, raising an eyebrow. No words needed.

You both know what this is: him taking you up on that offer to help him sleep. Simple as that. Like picking up takeout or scheduling target practice.

The elevator starts moving, and holy shit why is it so slow? The silence should be awkward, but it's not.

Maybe because you both know exactly what this is. No bullshit, no complications. Just sleep. Like you said in the training room—you're no good to each other half-dead from exhaustion.

It's probably stupid, spending the night with your Chief. But you've already crossed that line in his tent, and honestly? If sleeping next to you helps with his insomnia, then whatever.

You're already fuck buddies—might as well be helpful ones.

The doors finally open to the fifth floor, and Jeon steps back. He's giving you space, making it clear this is your call. Which is... weirdly considerate, actually. You step out because why not? This isn't some dramatic decision. It's practical. Logical, even.

The walk to his room feels longer than it should. Your feet are dragging because yeah, you're fucking tired. Today's been a whole thing—training, dinner, and now this weird arrangement that somehow makes perfect sense.

Jeon stops at his door, giving you one last look. Checking if you're sure, probably. You nod because duh. This isn't complicated. You're both adults who sometimes fuck and apparently now sometimes sleep (just sleep) together.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you get your first look at Jeon's private space.

So this is where the Chief of Tactical Assassinations sleeps. You can't help but snoop—it's basically in your job description as a member of Seduction Division.

The room is... exactly what you'd expect from Jeon, honestly. It's like someone took his personality and turned it into interior design.

Everything's black, white, or gray, like he's allergic to color. It matches his whole aesthetic—the guy who sees the world in shades of gray, making calls about who lives and who dies. Maybe the monochrome thing is some kind of metaphor. Or maybe he just really likes black.

There's this massive king-sized bed against one wall, all black sheets and dark gray duvet. The bed's made diligently, but you can see the slight wrinkles that mean he's actually slept in it. Unlike some people who just have fancy beds for show.

Next to it is this super minimal nightstand with just a lamp and—oh. An ashtray. Right. His stress-smoking habit.

The furniture could be from one of those fancy minimalist catalogs. Everything's black wood, clean lines, no fuss. There's a dresser that probably holds his endless supply of black t-shirts, a desk that looks barely used, and a chair that seems more decorative than functional.

What really gets you is how empty it is. No photos, no personal stuff, nothing that says "someone actually lives here."

It's like a really expensive prison cell or one of those model rooms in furniture stores.

You spot a door that has to lead to a private bathroom, and fuck, that's not fair. You're sharing a bathroom with like five other girls while Mr. Chief here gets his own shower? The perks of rank, you guess.

The floor's spotless—like, you could probably eat off it. Not a speck of dust anywhere. The whole place is as buttoned-up as Jeon himself, like maybe if he keeps everything perfectly ordered, the rest of his life will fall into line too.

"Well, it's very... you," you say, because what else can you say about a room that looks like it was decorated by a very organized ghost?

"I don't need anything else." He shrugs.

You hover by the bathroom door, suddenly feeling weirdly out of place. Being in Jeon's private space is... different. Not bad different, just different. Like seeing your teacher at the grocery store, except your teacher is a hot assassin you occasionally fuck.

"Hey," you start, trying to sound casual, "mind if I grab a quick shower first? I always wash up before bed, especially after training." You scrunch your nose. "Pretty sure I don't smell like a spring meadow right now."

Jeon's eyebrow does that thing—that infuriating arch that makes you want to either kiss him or kick him.

"What, you saying I stink, sunshine?"

"We both worked up a sweat today, cloud." You roll your eyes, but you're fighting a smile. "No judgment, just stating facts."

He jerks his head toward the bathroom door. "Go ahead. Towels and shit are in there."

You can't help yourself—really, you can't. As you pass him, you throw out: "Maybe take a page from my book and grab one yourself after. You know, freshen up a bit."

The snort he lets out is almost a laugh. "Watch yourself. I don't take orders in my own quarters."

But his eyes are doing that thing where they get all dark and playful, and you know that look.

Intimately.

"Just a suggestion between... friends."

You draw out the last word, letting it hang there like bait. Because that's what you are now, right? Friends who sometimes sleep together. And sometimes fuck. But tonight's just for sleeping.

(Sure it is.)

"So pushy." His smirk should be illegal. "What, you wanna shower together now? Could've just asked, sunshine."

You roll your eyes because it's easier than admitting how tempting that sounds. "You wish, thundercloud. I can handle washing myself just fine."

You head for the bathroom, but pause at the door because apparently, you hate yourself.

Glancing back over your shoulder, you add: "But you know... my back is kind of hard to reach..."

"Nice try." His voice has dropped lower, rougher. "But we said only sleeping tonight. Go get cleaned up. I'll be here when you're done."

The way he says it—like a promise and a threat wrapped in one—makes you seriously reconsider this whole "just sleeping" thing.

The bathroom is exactly what you expected—black and white everything, minimalist as fuck. It's like the room outside but with more tiles and chrome.

You turn the shower on hot enough to steam up the mirrors and step under the spray, letting it pound against your shoulders.

The water pressure is amazing. Of course it is—Chief privileges and all that. Your shared bathroom on the fourth floor can barely manage a decent drizzle, but this? This is heaven.

You take your sweet time, enjoying the luxury of a private shower where no one's going to bang on the door telling you to hurry up.

When you finally emerge, wrapped in one of Jeon's obscenely fluffy black towels (seriously, where does he get these?), steam billows out behind you like you're making some dramatic entrance. Your hair's twisted up in another towel, water still dripping down your neck.

You feel Jeon's eyes on you before you see him. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, and the weight of his stare makes your skin prickle.

His face is doing that careful blank thing, but his eyes? They're giving him away.

"Shower's free," you say, aiming for casual even though the tension in the room is thick enough to choke on. "You know, if you want it."

He just makes this low humming sound that absolutely does not make heat pool in your stomach.

Instead of moving, he just... looks at you.

His eyes track down your body, slow and deliberate, like he's memorizing every inch.

Like he's thinking about what's under that towel.

You refuse to squirm under his gaze. Two can play this game.

"Like what you see?" You cock an eyebrow, channeling your inner seductress (which is technically your job, so).

His mouth curves into that dangerous almost-smirk. "Maybe I'm just waiting to see if you'll drop that towel."

"You wish."

You turn your back on him (which is definitely not just an excuse to give him a better view) and head for his dresser.

The drawers are organized because of course they are. You find his t-shirts, all neatly folded like some department store display.

"I'm borrowing this," you announce, grabbing a shirt that looks big enough to work as a dress. You glance over your shoulder, catching his eyes again. "Unless you'd prefer me naked?"

His smirk grows, and fuck, that should be illegal.

"Be my guest."

The invitation in his voice makes your skin feel too tight, but you're not giving in that easy. This is a game of chicken now, and you're not about to lose.

Even if losing sounds really, really tempting right now.

You unwind the towel from your hair and toss it at Jeon, aiming for his face but hitting his chest instead.

"Just sleeping, remember? Go shower."

The towel slides down his front, and you catch this tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth—like he wants to smile but his reputation won't let him.

He stands up in that way he does, all fluid grace and barely contained power. Without a word, he heads for the bathroom. The door clicks shut, and soon you hear water running.

You grab his brush (because of course he has one, Mr. Perfect Hair) and start working through your damp hair.

It's weirdly domestic, sitting here in Jeon's room, wearing his shirt, using his stuff. The brush is probably expensive—it glides through your hair like it's made of silk or something.

Speaking of his shirt... You pull it on, and fuck. It smells like him—pine, wood, and smoke.

The fabric drowns you, hanging off one shoulder, falling to mid-thigh. There's something stupidly thrilling about wearing his clothes, like you're getting away with something.

Once your hair's somewhat tamed, you twist it up into a bun. The mirror catches your eye—one of those full-length ones that probably cost more than your monthly salary. You can't help checking yourself out, tugging the shirt down a bit because apparently, you still have modesty or whatever.

That's when you see him in the reflection.

Oh.

Jeon's fresh out of the shower, water still beading on his chest, towel riding low on his hips like it's trying to start something. He's got another towel in his hands, drying his hair as he sits on the bed, but his eyes?

His eyes are locked on your ass like it's his favorite meal.

The mirror gives you a perfect view of his face, and holy shit. The way he's looking at you—it's not subtle. At all. His gaze is heavy, hungry, like he's thinking about all the ways this "just sleeping" arrangement could go very, very wrong.

(Or very, very right, depending on your perspective.)

The temperature in the room spikes, and it's definitely not from the shower steam. You can practically feel the heat of his stare through the mirror.

So much for keeping things platonic tonight. A smirk tugs at your lips as an idea forms. Because if Jeon wants to play this game?

Well, two can definitely play.

You reach up to your bun, pretending to mess with the hair tie.

Oops—it "accidentally" slips through your fingers, falling to the floor with a silent grace that would make your Seduction Division trainers proud.

"Oh no," you say, channeling your best innocent voice. The one that fools absolutely no one but works anyway. "How clumsy of me."

You turn your back to Jeon, and fuck, you can practically feel his eyes burning into you.

Bending down—slowly, because you're nothing if not thorough—you give him a view that you know from experience he can't resist. The borrowed shirt rides up just enough to be interesting.

You take your sweet time "looking" for the hair tie, even though you can see it right there. Your fingers trail across the floor like you're putting on a show, which... yeah, you absolutely are.

When you finally grab it, you throw a look over your shoulder.

Jackpot.

Dark, obscure eyes pin you in place. Absolutely hungry. You'd bet good money that towel isn't hiding much anymore.

"See something you like?" Your voice comes out honey-sweet, but there's nothing innocent about the way you're looking at him.

Before he can compose himself enough to answer, you straighten up and sashay over to the bed. The sway in your hips isn't natural, but who cares about natural when it makes Jeon's breath catch like that?

You slip under the sheets, turning away from him because you're evil like that. The mattress dips as he lies down next to you, and you have to bite back a smile.

"We should get some rest." You keep your voice light, casual, like dismissing every inch of space between you. "Long day tomorrow."

He makes this grunt that could mean anything, but you know him well enough by now to recognize the sound of him wrestling with his self-control.

You can picture his face—brow furrowed, jaw clenched, probably glaring at the ceiling like he wants to shadowbox with it.

You wait, barely breathing.

Maybe you read this wrong.

Maybe he's actually planning to be good tonight.

Maybe he really does just want to sleep.

That's fine. Totally fine. This was his idea anyway, right? Just sleeping.

You're about to give up, admit defeat, when the mattress shifts.

Jeon rolls toward you, and suddenly his chest is pressed against your back, all heat and hard muscle. You fight back a shiver as his hand finds your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles that make your skin buzz. His breath fans hot against your neck, and fuck, this is so much better than sleeping.

"I need to ease some tension, sunshine."

His voice is pure sin, rough and low right by your ear.

Heat pools in your stomach as you roll onto your back, meeting his gaze. His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel how much he wants this.

"Oh?" You hold his stare, watching his control slip. "I thought you'd never ask."

You're definitely not getting much sleep tonight.

But hey, that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

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@secretcrazy

Ok the parent one: he was going on a rant about how college should literally be the most important thing in all of our lives. Live breathe eat sleep college nothing else matters. But then ig he caught himself and he was like "well if you have kids then your kids come first. I can't even imagineeeee omg bc college is like basically just as important as your kids and probably actually more important 🧐 good luck lollll I mean I have so much admiration for parents in school 🙏 probably . or something. Anyway if you don't prioritize my cooking classes above everything else in your life (*except children ig) then I will kill you personally" skdhskdnsk

Im gonna try to be as word for word accurate as possible for this one: "I love that all the students in this class are women. The culinary industry is a very male dominated field but we're seeing more and more women coming in and i love that. And I just want to help all my female students. Bc you know... [this is where I'm fuzzy on specifics but it had just been in the news that a famous chef Mario Batali was really creepy and abusive to his female employees and also stole his waiters' tips i think? I didn't read about it much but he had been on food network and then it came out that he was super gross and awful. So he said like all that stuff about Mario Batali just came out....] and I want to teach my female students not to take crap like that. To be strong enough to stand up to jerks like that." ...... 👍😀👍

The one about the industry being abusive and it is what it is was mostly all that was really said on his side if not in so many words. But the thing that really got me about it was another chef had just told us like. Days before. That the culinary industry is abusive. And he's seen it and it sucks. And he doesn't want to send us into that environment. And we are the next generation of chefs and it is up to us to break the cycle and be better managers and it was really important to him to teach us to be better. Instead of just going along with it bc that's how it is. And then Head Chef Man was like. Working in kitchens SUCKS and you will be MISERABLE and I NEVER SLEEP and people will YELL AT YOU and THROW STUFF AROUND THE KITCHEN and its NOT FOR THE WEAK because it's TERRIBLE but I LOVE SCREAMING AT PEOPLE so i think it's kinda cool actually!! GET USED TO IT NOW!!! I WILL MAKE YOU GET USED TO IT NOW!!! IF YOUR MENTOR CALLS YOU A DUMBASS YOU'LL NEVER EXPECT YOUR EMPLOYER TO BE NICE AND YOU SHOULDN'T BECAUSE CHEFS ARE MEAN!!!!!!!! To be so for real that other chef should have been the program head. He had more experience and had worked in the industry more recently and was a Better Person. And he told us that he was more qualified and he would run the program very differently. I really wish he did.

(The Gordon Ramsey and Bobby Flay one is so funny to me bc like lol of course. I'm sure this man thinks its so funny to watch Gordon Ramsey cursing people out over potatoes. The thing is tho that Gordon Ramsey isn't actually Like That. It's a character. But it's not a funny character because behavior like that shouldn't be normalized. And Bobby Flay ISNT EVEN THAT TALENTED PLEASE. If you watch Beat Bobby Flay it's just him stroking his ego by having his friends compliment him and GOD FORBID someone actually Beats Bobby Flay 😭 the only thing he does is make things SPICY . That's not talent. That's not even a flavor. I think he thinks he's a special white man who knows what spice is.)

And the docking points ones go together. So we had to taste everything. And if we didn't then it docks points. Which i understand to a degree bc yes you have to taste your food and you have to be familiar with flavors and people could be like "oh I don't like tomatoes :/" and would miss a lot if they just didn't eat whatever wasn't particularly appealing to them. Fine. You could get around this if you were allergic to something AND had a doctor's note. Well. Again I get it to a point like if someone is vegetarian just because they want to be then they made that choice to not eat something and I can understand docking points for that. But religious beliefs???? I questioned that when I saw it in the rules but I don't have any religious food restrictions so I didn't think about it that much but then I was in class with someone who was Muslim. And he said he wouldn't eat pork one day. And this man was like "ok. Well you know you'll lose points for that. Are you sure you want to lose points for that? Fine. But don't be surprised when you lose points for that." And he kept going on about it in front of the whole class like dude !!! He was trying to break him down!!! And I'm so glad it didn't work and he stood up to him but I can't believe it cost him lab points oh my god (also this kid was 16!!! I was 17 and I wasn't the youngest!!!). But the cheese one actually happened to me. So I knew you're supposed to have a doctor's note for allergies but I didn't think I had any food allergies so I didn't bother. Well we're going around tasting a bunch of different cheeses. And we get to the blue cheese. And he says the Blue part is penicillin. Bruh i am allergic to penicillin. I knew it was mold but I didn't know it was penicillin. So when it got to me I was like uhh did you say penicillin? And he said yes. And I said I'm allergic to penicillin. And he said ok do you have a doctor's note? And I said no. And he said well you know all allergies have to have a doctor's note. And I said yeah but I didn't know it was a food allergy. I thought it was just a medicine allergy. Oh my god when I said that. The way he looked at me. Like I was the dumbest person alive. Like he couldn't comprehend that level of stupidity. And then he said ok well you can eat it or you can lose points. (Mind you. At this time I had already gotten low lab grades from him bc he didn't like how quiet i was. So i wasn't trying to lower my grade even more. He also didn't say how many points it would cost so I didn't know what I was wagering here.) A very nice person next to me said her husband was also allergic to penicillin and didn't know that blue cheese was the same and he was always fine eating it. So I got the tiniest amount imaginable and avoided any Blue part of the Blue Cheese. Bc i was scared. And it immediately felt all tingly on my tongue . like pins and needles from that tiny amount. So I wonder how much blue cheese it would take to send me into anaphylactic shock!! That would've been funny SKDHSKDHSK

*paraphrasing bc character limit but I am not exaggerating the gist. You can ask for the full story if you want 😭😭

[what-have-i-unleashed]

alone on a friday night? me too!

(early) birthday gift to @freakstertoff. this thing is freaky so i'm tagging this account of yours lol

note: i don't know much about the epic sanses so treat this as ooc as far as i'm concerned.

(cw: voyeurism/exhibitionism, some vague smut description)

"hey, you're epic, right?"

epic turns his head and sees another skeleton with strange markings down his eyes. his white eyelights have a light orange hue to them. both of them are standing in the only administration building left standing in the omega timeline right now. with a huge influx of refugees from a multitude of universes, all the workers here are frantically accommodating everyone and answering every question. epic pities them - he should feel lucky to not have a service job in his life up til now.

"who's asking?" epic asks his sudden inquirer, his hands in his pockets, as his coat billows in the invisible wind. the other skeleton looks at him with a twitch in his eye ridge.

"call me delta," he says. "seems like they're putting us in the same temp house."

"oh, you're my roommate, bruh!" epic exclaims. "wait, there should be another with us, right?"

"he's with me already," delta says, leading epic out of the crowded area. "his name's color by the way."

and epic can understand why he's named that. the dude is positively flashing rainbow colors, a real epilepsy warning. not to mention the crack he has on the side of his skull where fires are coming out constantly. so he's a fire hazard too - cool!

"i know, he's fucking awesome," delta grins, gesturing at color.

"ayo, bruh, mind the color-ful language, would ya?" epic says with a smile on his face, as delta turns to him and color snickers behind his hand. it is a nice sound, epic absentmindedly notes.

"... oh stars, you're also into puns," delta groans. and epic laughs.

"whaaaat? a sans not into jokes? you're a riot, a true rebel, bruh," he puts his arm over delta's shoulders, smiling wide. "we'll get along just fine."

epic was told by a harried service worker that it should take about two months before a permanent house can be provided to him. so for now he has to share a temporary flat with delta and color for the time being. the flat is smaller than he expected, with one modest kitchen and a living room with a small dining area. there's only one bedroom as well as one bathroom. at least there are bunk beds with quite some space in the bedroom. epic claims the top bed, while color and delta takes the bottom beds. fair enough - color is an old man, and delta seems to be the kind to move around in his sleep. still, it's a bit sad not to have anyone on the other top bed where he can throw some fun stuff at.

it's been a week since the trio moved into the flat. and all in all, everything is fine. epic volunteers to work at the refugee center himself, delta works at some construction site, and color is socializing with other people for now. they all have their own schedules, but still living together requires them to interact a lot and divide the chores. epic has to say, delta and color are best roommates he's had, but considering he never had a roommate before, that's not saying much.

until one faithful night it is. epic wakes up in the middle of the night, throat parched and skull throbbing from the frequent nightmares. checking his phone, it is about 3 am. he looks down from his bed. the other two are silent - they must still be asleep. quietly, he shortcuts to the hallway, then down the stairs.

the lights illuminating from the kitchen make him pause. okay... so one of them is also up at this hour. silently, he walks up to the kitchen, and pauses.

he can see delta's back facing him, thankfully blocking most of what is happening because he can hear the muffled sounds from where he's standing, and they're not exactly family-friendly. he can see color's flames peeking out behind delta's form, as color seems to be sitting on the kitchen island and enthusiastically responding to whatever delta is doing. oh stars, not the poor countertop... epic literally uses it every single day.

epic knows he should just slink away and pretend to not have seen anything. but his sleep-deprived mind forces his mouth to blurt out.

"yo my bruh-migos, what in the freaky flip."

with a yelp, delta stumbles back away from color as he swivels his head around to see epic's sleepy stunned face. delta's face is bright orange, and epic tries very hard not to stare at his wet ecto-tongue still hanging out.

"bruh, i cook there..." epic finds himself say.

"oh my void, i'm so sorry!" he hears color exclaim apologetically as the stout skeleton moves off the countertop. "we just didn't want to wake you up, since you were sleeping and all."

"... how many times did you guys, uh, rendezvous on that countertop?"

"we didn't- i mean, we-" delta stammers. it's the first time epic sees him so flustered, which was oddly funny and cute at the same time. thankfully for the blubbering orange mess, color swoops in smoothly to save him from further embarrassment.

"we haven't fooled around in the kitchen, if that's what you meant. we usually just meet up in the inns, actually."

"yeah," delta scratches the behind of his neck. "don't want to make it feel awkward in here or anything…"

epic looks at both of them for a while, his mind trying to fire off some sensible thoughts but unable to. there's an odd sensation pulsing in his rib that he doesn't have the time or clarity to examine just yet. in the end, his mouth utters, "it's fine if you guys wanna do it in the flat."

"what?" "are you sure?" delta and color ask simultaneously. stars, they're such a cute couple, aren't they?

"yeah, i don't mind," epic shrugs. "just don't do it in the kitchen. fire hazard and stuff. also, not on my spot on the sofa either, my bruhs." he adds a wink at the end, hoping to convey how unbothered he is by all of these constant punches of surprise.

delta and color exchange an indecipherable look before color says to epic, "if you're sure…"

epic doesn't know why color is talking as if he doesn't believe epic. it's quite an offense to his chill guy persona honestly. he's totally cool about his two friends-slash-roommates hooking up! well, maybe if he can show them how cool with it he is, then maybe…

the next few days are definitely awkward. epic has a nagging feeling that delta is avoiding him as much as possible, which is to say not much considering they share the same flat and also the bedroom to say the least. the usually brash skeleton is unusually reserved around epic, a blushing mess whenever epic addresses him. at least color still acts normal around epic, but the fact that he doesn't seem to be affectionate towards delta in front of epic lately makes the ex-scientist feel even worse.

so, one evening, as he puts down the extravagant meal he has made with his blood, sweat, and tears - from cutting the stars-damned onions - he speaks directly to both his roommates sitting across from him.

"look, i'm not homophobic."

delta chokes on the mouthful of rice he has inhaled, as color pats on his back. the colorful skeleton turns an incredulous look at epic.

"uh, what brought this up?"

"just because i like the opposite sex doesn't mean i don't vibe with the lgbt, bruh," epic huffs. "i'm totes fine with gay people."

"... okay...?" color raises an eye ridge at him, hand still on delta's back. and epic can't help but feel the side of his head burn hotly.

"look, all i'm saying is: i'm not bothered by you guys dating!" he bursts out, finally. "it's fine that my two friends are in relationship and we live together! i wouldn't mind if you guys start getting lovey-dovey with each other! i wouldn't even mind if you guys have sex in the same house," yeah, that sounds good enough as an endorsement, right? "or heck, even in front of me!" wait, what.

"what," delta echoes the last thought in epic's head. color is dead quiet. all three of them fall into an awkward silence.

"epic..." color tentatively reaches across the table, one hand holding epic's cold glove. "are you saying what i think you're saying?"

"... what am i even saying," epic breathes out, his mind in a spiral just like the electric fan above them.

color and delta exchange a meaningful look. ah, the perks of lovers and their inexplicable telepathic communication. they're just so cute together, aren't they?

"do you want to watch us have sex, epic?" color asks, as blunt as a hammer. epic can't help the blush spreading across his face, abnormally flustered by something he should be quite used to joking around about. the multi-colored skeleton continues, paying no heed to epic's turbulent thoughts. "because you're always welcome to do that."

"what he said," delta chimes in, looking intensely into epic's eyes with his orange-hued eyelights. epic finds himself unable to even lie with those pretty lights directed at him. his mouth opens, and he knows at that moment what he's going to say, wishing he won't make a mistake.

what happens next is a blur as far as epic is concerned. all he remembers is all three of them moving to the cramped living room, their meal halfway forgotten on the dining table. he remembers being treated to the sight of his two closest friends deep inside each other's mouth, delta watching him stupidly gape like a fish with a smug smile in his eyes. he remembers automatically blurting out how they needed to use a condom when the pair of lovebirds collapsed on the sofa and color gigglingly asking him for one, one hand outstretched like a particularly enticing olive branch. he remembers the breathless sounds from both of them, inviting him to come closer to see. he remembers stammering like an idiot, staying in his watching spot, a warm sensation buzzing in his bones as he watched the couple indulge in each other. he remembers the flushed and satisfied expression on color's face in the throes of pleasure, the grunted sounds coming from delta as he reaches completion. he remembers feeling all lightheaded himself, his palms sweaty as if he was the one having run a marathon and not the pair in front of him, who are now cuddling each other on the sofa, bundled under a blanket that epic has hastily brought to them after they were done.

"how was that?" color asks epic, startling the normally laid-back memelord. delta has fallen asleep next to color, his face so peaceful epic couldn't take his eyes off of it. color's voice is warm like the sun, and his flames are lazily dancing, shooting little sparks in the air like colorful fireflies.

epic finds himself speechless for once. he feels a sudden need to scoot closer to color and delta, but resolutely stays in his armchair facing the sofa. stars, what would he be to interfere in his friends' already amazing love life?

"... good, i think," he mumbles at last. "thanks for... all this." he gestures towards color and delta. color chuckles.

"glad you like it," the colorful skeleton says, tilting his head to the side. epic averts his eyesight, looking at a spot above the naked monster. "you can watch us next time too, if you want."

"oh yeah?" epic asks, a choked laugh escaping his throat. "and what does delta think about it?"

"he won't mind," color replies automatically. in a softer tone, he continues. "we're not dating, you know?"

epic jumps at the unexpected statement. "you're not?"

"hmmm not sure," color traces a hand over delta's skull. the sleeping skeleton scrunches his nose, cutely. "we've never talked about it. right now, it's just this, sex that is. so," color looks at epic, "don't feel bad, okay?"

epic swallows, not knowing what to say. color has always been the most perceptive of them after all. he leans back in his armchair, watching color fall into sleep next to delta. epic doesn't sleep himself, knowing another nightmare will just wait for him as always - not like it matters anyway.

he stays awake, guarding the two souls in his vicinity - the two most important souls in his current life. the silence pricks at him, but he perseveres, like he usually does.

dividers by @\anitalena here and @\fairytopea here

[deathbxnny]

Maybe a part 2 of the arcane characters saying things they regret, but they're apologizing because I can't live after reading a angst 🫠

Making up with Arcane characters after a bad argument. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

(Previous part)

Fine, fine, here is a happy part two guys. Take it as an apology for the tears and pain I've caused.✨️

Content: Swearing, accusations of cheating, slight angst, making up, fluff, potential spoilers for season 2, established romantic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not proofread))

》VI

She knew that she had fucked up. There was no way to deny or refute it either. And your absence was further proof of that.

You were always there for her, even when things got bad and she became even worse. No matter how much she yelled or drank, you were there afterward to nurture her back to health. It was so unfair of her to expect it still, after all she had said to you. She hated herself. She hated how weak and pathetic she had become. How she can't even stand straight anymore from the alcohol and couldn't win a single game since she had lost you.

And instead of Caitlyn haunting her like she used to, it was only you now. But you were crying every time. Asking her why she hated you so much. Why she couldn't care for you the way you cared for her. Why you were always the second choice despite having been there since the start.

Why, why, why.

Gritting her teeth against the headache, she made her way through the dark, familiar lanes to your small home that you once shared together. She had to talk to you. She really, really had to. Even if it's far too late now after a week of silence in-between the two of you. She had taken the time to reflect and think about everything, especially about your relationship. And it made her realise that nothing in this world was losing you too.

Knocking on your door, she nervously waited as she heard your footsteps quickly approaching her from inside. You opened the door carefully, ironically just how she had taught you, before freezing at the sight of her. She gave you a weak smile, attempting to look calm and friendly, but it still scared you off. "Hey cupca-" You tried slamming the door into her face mid greeting, but her foot was faster to jam itself in the way.

"H-Hey! Wait, please hear me out!" "Fuck off, Vi. I'm not in the mood to hear more of your bullshit. Go back to Caitlyn since I know how badly you want that!" You never cursed, and every word you spoke made her flinch. She, for some reason, didn't expect you to be this mad. But it hurt, and she deserved it. Another thing she underestimated was, unfortunately, your strength since you somehow managed to push her away and shut the door again. "Come on! Please! I... I didn't mean what I said. I just... have been losing my shit ever since what happened. The guilt is killing me, and I know it's not an excuse! You're right, I have to stop this shit! You're right, I need to stop treating your love for granted!"

She didn't know if you were even listening to her anymore, but it didn't stop the tears that burned in her eyes. "I don't give a damn about Caitlyn like that! I never did! It always you for me. You... you cared for me when no one else ever wanted to, and I was such an idiot for not appreciating it more." Her hand slammed against the wood in defeat, her head coming to rest against it as her body trembled. She was so scared of losing you. This can't be the end. "Please. Please just give me another chance to prove myself. I know I'm a fuck up but I swear I'll do better now."

Vi nearly fell right through your house entrance when you opened the door wide with a teary huff. "God, you're such an idiot... get in already before the neighbors complain." You didn't let her reply as you simply dragged her inside and locked the door again. The pitfighter watched you do so with a gentle gaze, one that felt so familiar to you. "... Fine, I'll give you another chance... but no drinking or fighting anymore. Please." You whisper to her, and she nods quickly before engulfing you in a warm hug.

She knows that she isn't fully forgiven yet, but she'll do everything in her power to prove herself worthy of your love again.

》CAITLYN

"You're still up." Caitlyn's voice was calm and gentle now, so different from the stern and cold tone it had before. You ignored her, however, knowing better than to fall for this again. She always got like this when she knew she had screwed up and was trying to crawl back into your good graces. But this time around, you didn't allow it that easily. You refused to speak to her if she hadn't come back to apologize. And yet... you couldn't help but allow yourself at least one sharp dig at her. "And you're late to bed once again. But I suppose Officer Nolan's 'report' was just that interesting, no?" You were perhaps the only person in all auf Pultover that could ever accuse her of something so scandalous as adultery and get away with it.

It certainly would have been amusing if Caitlyn didn't feel so sick at the thought of you believing that.

Sighing, she placed her hat onto a clothing hanger, her jacket following suit. You were facing away from her on the bed, trying to read a book and rest, despite the pain in your heart. It was hard being angry at her when you loved her so deeply. But her insults had struck much deeper than that.

The bed dipped behind you, and soon enough, you felt her strong arms surrounding your body and her nose tickling your cheek. "I'm sorry, my love. I really am. I... have lost my cool, and that was wrong of me." You scoffed at her words, finding them too shallow for the pain she had caused earlier. Yet you struggled to get out of her strong grasp on you. It felt desperate. And you hated the warmth and security that it made you feel. "If that is all you have to say, then you can leave." You hissed out weakly but couldn't find any malice in it. Just heartbreak, that solidified in more tears burning in your eyes. "Because how... how could you ever say that I could betray you? Do you know how that makes me feel? Do you care?"

Caitlyn hummed against the nape of your neck soothingly, a way to acknowledge the plight she had caused you without revealing her own tears. The grief had made her into a monster. A monster that hurt its friends, family, and most importantly, you. It was unforgivable, and yet she wanted to prove herself worthy of you anyway. She wanted to show you that she hadn't changed deep down like everyone claimed. She was still yours.

"... I will find a way to end this war and resolve it peacefully as soon as I can. I swear it to you." She began, her voice low and gentle, as she listened to the sound of your hiccups and sniffling. This wasn't what she wanted. "And I apologize, truly, for what I called you... I know that you are loyal and trustworthy. Much more than I ever could be... I'm still your Caitlyn." The last part was whispered quietly, as she tried everyone in her power to not break down in front of you like this.

She hated what she had become deep down. She knew it was wrong and that her mother must've been turning in her grave at the sight of what she had done. But what she couldn't handle at all was you hating and leaving her.

There was a moment of silence before you turned to face her and immideatly hugged her impossibly close as you cried into her arms. She rubbed your back lovingly, understanding that this was your way of accepting her apology. But forgiveness will still be a long journey she was willing to take.

For now, she'd rest in your embrace thankfully.

》JINX

Deep down, you knew that she didn't mean what she said. She never would do anything to hurt you. Silco's death was just killing her more than anyone could have expected, and it was hard for everyone to deal with. But you just couldn't take the pain and hurt she caused you anymore. You've been there since day one. You were always at her side. You always took care of her when no one else wanted to. And you understood her better than she did herself. But it was ultimately just not enough. Or so you thought.

The young girl that was now dragging you through the lanes reminded you of her too. She didn't speak a word to you, and for some reason, you didn't have it in you to protest against her odd actions either. She somehow seemed to recognize you the second you bumped into her. And that was enough for her to take your hand and lead you to a very familiar hideout. Perhaps it was fate that brought you here again when you needed Jinx the most.

"Hey kid, who's our little guest-?" The rest of the young woman's words died on her tongue, and it left you simply staring at each other. There was a familiar haze in her eyes, one that you often saw when the voices were taking over. She once mentioned that you sometimes became a part of her hallucinations during longer absences, and that reminder alone made your heart ache. You shouldn't have run away that day. But what other choice did you have? She didn't trust you anymore. She didn't think you should be together anymore. Why were you even here?

"S-sorry... I'm just going to leave..." You muttered as your ears rung and that familiar burning in your eyes made your sight blurry. You felt suffocated and somehow also angry, wishing she could just see how much you loved and cared for her. But just as you were turning away to run again, her strong hand was quicker and held you back by your arm. "Wait. Let's just... talk, alright? Like we always do?" That was your thing. Whenever things got bad, you'd sit down and talk calmly to her about it. She used to scoff at it every time... yet she was the one who suggested now for once. Something about it shook you so hard that it made the first tears finally spill at the recognition she had given you for all the work you've put into her.

Jinx panicked a little at that, unsure of how to comfort you, yet at Isha's stern frown and cross of her small arms, she just hugged you for the first time in a while. And god, did she miss it.

Perhaps it was good to show the little girl a picture of you after all.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I swear, sweetie! I... I won't ever say stuff like that again. Just don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I just, I was just-" You hushed her by just hugging her tighter and shaking your head. "It's okay... just hold me for a while. We can talk later... I missed you so much." You whispered, voice breaking into sobs. Jinx hummed weakly and sighed against your hair, the familiar scent making her relax and feel better at last.

Isha grinned to herself behind you before quickly sneaking off to let you talk things out.

》EKKO

To say that the entire firelight hideout was pissed at him would be an understatement. Absolutely everyone disagreed with the way he treated you, and the side eyes he got very much confirmed this. But the worst part of it all was definitely you avoiding him like the plague.

Every time he entered a room, you were the first one to leave in a hurry. Every time he tried speaking to you, you either ignored him or found an excuse to get away. Every time someone even mentioned his name to you, your mood seemed to dampen. And that hurt so much that it killed him. This isn't how he wanted you to feel about him. He was your boyfriend, damnit it. Yet he acknowledged that he was failing at his job way more than he should've allowed himself to. He had to fix this somehow.

Ekko couldn't just lose you over his own foolishness. You were the one person who motivated him to keep going even on his worst days. You were the light he fought for. The person he battled to come home to every day. He couldn't handle your absence any longer, especially at night when he laid wide awake in your empty bed without you.

And so, he finally had enough and cornered you one night up in the tree during a patrol you had together. One, he definitely didn't pull the strings for to happen. And ever the one to abide by his orders despite your current dismay, you were now avoiding his gaze whilst you watched your sleeping home below. It was peaceful and calm, but the pain lingered between you two too much to enjoy the moment. He didn't know how to break the deafening silence, and it made him think of backing out on his initial plan... until you surprised him by speaking up first.

"I'm... sorry for avoiding you. I didn't mean for this to become your last resort. I just... didn't want to be a burden anymore." "Wait, wait, wait... who said that you were a burden, I... I should be the one apologizing right now. Because I was wrong about every fucking thing I said to you." The words spilled out in panic at the mere thought of you blaming yourself. He never wanted you to feel like this. It made him feel even worse about himself. This wasn't right. "You're not useless. You do so much for us, for me, and I take it all for granted like the asshole I am! And I fully acknowledge that now... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. There is no excuse for it." He shook his head in disappointment at himself, wondering if this was it now. He'd understand if you broke up with him now... but instead, you seemed to be in the mood to surprise him alot today.

"Did you... like the food I made you?" He blinked at your question in confusion, yet answered honestly. "Best thing I had all week." "Then I guess I'll forgive you... just don't do that again." Ekko chuckled weakly at your words, relief filling his senses whilst he pulled you close to press a kiss to your head. "Would never dream of it... wanna ditch patrol and fly around town?" You mirrored his sly smile, glad he had the same thing on his mind as you did. "Sure thing. But let's make it a race."

He let you win.

》SEVIKA

She took some time to cool off after your argument and returned later into the night with a clearer mind. Sevika had actually reflected on what you had said to her, and she knew you were ultimately right. She was extremely overprotective and stubborn, two things that didn't mesh well and often ended in her thinking you couldn't take care of yourself. Even if she knew better than to actually believe that.

You were strong, especially mentally. It's what drew her into you to begin with. But with the fall of Silco and a war being on the verge of breaking out against Piltover, she had no choice but to make sure that you never left her sight. And if you did, then you had to be somewhere she knew was safe and away from all the chaos she dealt with daily. It helped her focus and stay calm to know that you're okay. Yet despite how much she cared, she still fucked it all up for herself again.

And now she had to fix it, something she was never good at.

She felt awfully guilty at the sight of the things you've lovingly prepared for her, now laying forgotten and cold on the kitchen counter. She truly didn't deserve someone as kind as you. And yet she considered herself too selfish to let you go.

Slowly approaching the bedroom door, she paused to hear if you were awake or not. Unfortunately, you were, but she only knew this from the faintest sound of your sniffling and sobbing that drifted through the wooden door. Sighing to herself, she knocked once, deciding to just rake things slow and as calmly as possible. You had sustained an injury after all, and her mind was reeling at the thought of it getting worse without any proper care. "What do you want?!" Your weak voice yelled at her, and it made her frown. Yeah, you were definitely beyond pissed.

"I want to talk." Her gruff voice said, and it may have sounded like a demand if the underlying care and worry didn't overshadow it so clearly. Your silence made her initially think you were ignoring her until the door slowly opened and revealed your disheveled form. "... well, go ahead." You muttered, one hand cradling the side of your hip that was clumsily bandaged up by you. You were never good at stuff like that.

"Let me take care of the wound whilst we're at it. Can't have ya dying on me because of an infection." She sighed out before simply dragging you to your shared bed and pulling out your medkit. You didn't protest or complain and let her do as she pleased, whilst you carefully listened to her speak with an unreadable expression.

"Listen. I... get it. I really do. The way I treat you isn't right, and I know you're grown enough to take care of yourself, but... I can't risk losing you too now. It drives me crazy to think about. Even if that ain't much of an excuse, and I get that too." She was never this honest before. Usually, she simply deflected or blamed someone else. But here she was, for once admitting openly to being the problem. "Just... be more careful out there. That's all I ask of you. I won't comment on it otherwise anymore though, unless you're in serious danger. I promise." Finishing the last of her bandaging, she hummed at it now looking much securer. This way, you are sure to recover much faster.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded your head at her words, deciding to give her another chance to prove herself. You understood where she was coming from after all. "Okay, fine. I'll accept your apology... if you help me cook." She grinned at that slightly with a casual shrug. "Fine by me, if I get a taste of your heavenly cooking, sweetheart."

[avonnimimi]

❀·°∗✧🌸✧∗°·❀

Attitude Adjustment

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an: this is my first little drabble, please be nice, I hope you all like it, lmk if you want more or any other characters my asks are opennnn:) (no i did not spell check this or read it over) MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: college!au, kind of porn with a plot, mean!vi, strap-on-sex (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving) brat taming?, dom!vi, one pussy slap, multiple + forced orgasms, edging?, choking, degrading names, hair pulling, breeding kink, cursing. (lmk if i missed anything)

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It wasn't like you to be so miserable especially not toward Violet. But she'd been gone for four whole weeks, off training with an elite professional boxer, and it was driving you insane.

Sure, she called every night, texted you every morning, and checked in whenever she could, but now it was ovulation week, and she knew it. She knew exactly what her absence would do to you.

You'd tried to take care of yourself, desperate for relief, but your fingers couldn't fill you the way hers did.

Frustration festered in your chest, spiraling into a dull ache that left you feeling empty and irritable. Now, you were curled up in your dorm bed, naked, fat tears brimming in your eyes as you clutched the phone.

It vibrated in your hand.

Vi was calling.

You answered immediately.

"Hey, princess," her familiar voice drawled, warm and affectionate.

You huffed. "Hi, Violet."

She chuckled softly, but there was concern in her tone. "What's wrong?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't.

Instead, you did something you never thought you'd do-you hung up.

Vi always made you feel heard and loved, but the irritation of missing her, the ache in your chest and between your legs, had you acting out of character.

You buried your face in the pillow, ignoring the buzz of your phone as it vibrated relentlessly for the next 15 minutes. Call after call, message after message, it was all Vi.

Still, you didn't respond. Your body, overwhelmed by exhaustion and longing, eventually lulled you to sleep.

But the peace didn't last long.

A loud pounding on your dorm door startled you awake. Your heart leaped into your throat as you scrambled for your phone, ready to speed-dial Vi, but what could she do? She was miles away.

Tugging one of Vi's old shirts over your bare body, you crept to the door. Your hands trembled as you unlocked it, cautiously pulling it open.

"V-Vi?" There she was, in all her glory, and she looked furious. She didn’t tell you she was going to be back early.

You stepped back, fingers fidgeting with the hem of the oversized shirt, eyes wide. Vi didn't say a word as she pushed the door open wider, her sneakers heavy against the floor as she made her way to your couch.

She sat down, legs spread wide, one hand resting on her thigh. "You gonna explain what the fuck that was earlier?"

Her voice was sharp, cutting through the thick tension in the room.

You closed the door quietly, too scared to meet her eyes. You'd rarely seen Vi upset, but this? This was something else entirely.

"C'mere," she commanded.

You hesitated but obeyed, walking over to stand in front of her. Her piercing gaze followed you as you slowly straddled her lap, your legs trembling slightly as you draped them over hers. Her hands immediately gripped your hips, pulling you flush against her chest.

You froze, your breath hitching when you felt her bulge press against your clit.

"Not gonna speak?" she murmured, her voice low and dangerous.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, but Vi

wasn't having it. She grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at her. Her thumb brushed over your bottom lip, her eyes dark with frustration and something deeper desire.

"You never use your mouth when you're supposed to," she said, her tone laced with mock disappointment. "Let's put it to use now."

A needy whimper escaped you. "I'm sorry," you whispered, but the words sounded weak even to your own ears.

Vi didn't respond. She slid two fingers into your mouth, her calloused fingertips brushing against your tongue.

Instinctively, you sucked, hollowing your cheeks in a desperate attempt to please her.

Her eyes fixated on you, watching the way your puffy lips wrapped around her fingers. Her thumb stroked your jawline, almost as if she was admiring her handiwork.

Then she adjusted in her seat, her hips shifting so that her bulge pressed harder against your sensitive clit. The friction sent a shockwave through your body, and a moan escaped your lips, muffled by her fingers.

Vi smirked, her annoyance melting into something far more predatory.

"Yeah," she muttered, her voice a low rumble. "That's what I thought."

Her tone sent a shiver down your spine, and when she pushed her fingers deeper, you gagged, your throat tightening around them. A satisfied hum rumbled in her chest as she slowly withdrew her fingers, a thin string of saliva still connecting you.

Before you could catch your breath, Vi scooped you up effortlessly, her strong arms cradling you against her chest. Desperate to make amends, your lips found her neck, kissing, licking, and sucking across her warm skin in frantic, apologetic motions.

She didn't say a word, her expression unreadable, but the heat of her gaze pinned you in place as she carried you to the bed. Gently but firmly, she set you down, her fingers already tugging at the hem of your shirt. She pulled it off in one smooth motion, leaving you bare and exposed under her intense scrutiny.

"Ass up. Now."

Her voice was low and commanding, leaving no room for argument. Your body moved instinctively, heart pounding as you obeyed, presenting yourself just the way she liked.

You felt her shift behind you, her calloused fingers spreading your slick folds with ease. "Fuck me," she groaned, her voice dripping with need.

"So fucking wet. This what you wanted? Wanted this slutty little pussy pounded in, huh?"

When you didn't answer fast enough, a sharp, stinging slap landed right on your swollen clit, sending a jolt through your body.

"Yes!" you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation. "Wanted it so bad, Vi... please," you whined, your hips instinctively pushing back toward her.

Your back arched deeper, presenting yourself fully, your body begging for her to finally give you what you needed. The tension in the air was electric, leaving you waiting, trembling with anticipation.

"I know, baby, I know," she murmured, her voice low and soothing as her thumb pressed against your puffy clit, tracing tight, deliberate circles over the sensitive bud. The touch was perfect-just what you'd been craving for weeks.

You clutched the sheets beneath you, a shaky sigh escaping your lips as relief washed over you. Finally, finally, she was giving your needy pussy attention. Soft whimpers spilled from your mouth, your hips grinding back into her hand, desperate for more.

"Mhm, yeah," she cooed, her voice laced with teasing affection. "My baby gets so miserable when she doesn't get what she wants, huh?"

Before you could respond, her middle finger slid inside you with ease, her knuckles brushing against your entrance. The stretch sent sparks of pleasure coursing through your body, and your head fell back against the pillow.

"F-fuck.. Vi," you gasped, your voice trembling as your walls clenched around her.

Before you could fully adjust, she slid in another finger, the stretch making your walls flutter around her. "But y'know what I don't like?" she asked, her tone sharp, almost mocking.

You gasped as her thrusts grew deeper, faster, leaving no room for your protests. "V-Vi, wait-" you stammered, your voice barely above a whine.

"I don't like when my girl gets all bratty just because she doesn't get her greedy little cunt stuffed up," she growled, her voice dripping with dominance. Without hesitation, she added a third finger, forcing another gasp from your lips.

"Fucking slut," she spat, her fingers curling perfectly to press against that sensitive, squishy spot deep inside your gummy walls. "So desperate."

The obscene squelching of your soaked pussy filled the room, mingling with your broken moans that grew louder with every thrust. Your body trembled, completely at her mercy, as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

—

Three orgasms in, Vi had her strap so deep inside you that it felt like she was rearranging your insides. She hit every spot so perfectly you couldn’t even think straight. Your vision blurred, stars swimming behind your eyelids. Your face was smashed into the pillows, her hand pressing down hard to keep you there. She didn’t want to hear a single sound out of you, but fuck, you couldn’t help it. You tried to stay quiet, but the way she was fucking you? It was impossible. She’d never been this rough before. Was it bad that you liked it? No. Of course you liked it. You loved it.

You tried to say something, tried to beg, or explain yourself. You just wanted her to understand, you missed her, that’s why you acted out, that’s why you got upset. But the words wouldn’t come.

“You want a break? Hm?” she sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. You couldn’t even answer, too fucked out to form anything close to a response. Your pussy clenched around her cock like it was starving for it, drooling all over her strap. She noticed, of course. How couldn’t she?

She grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you up, dragging your body back against hers until your back arched so deep it nearly hurt. “Fuckin’ knew it,” she growled in your ear, slamming into you even harder. “Such a cockslut. You don’t need a break, you need me to ruin you.”

And you did. God, you did.

Your mouth hung open, words replaced by gasps and moans you couldn’t hold back. You could barely think, let alone speak. She shoved your face back into the pillows like she was disgusted by the sound of you, pulling out until just the tip of her strap sat there, teasing you, before slamming back inside without warning. You cried out, fat tears streaking down your face, soaking into the sheets.

“Shut the fuck up,” she snapped, giving your hair another sharp tug. You tried. you really did, but every thrust knocked the air out of you, made your body betray you all over again. Your cunt was so wet, so messy, it was loud enough to echo in the room. Vi fucked you like she didn’t care, like you weren’t hers, and you fucking loved it.

Your hips moved on their own, trying to meet her thrusts, but she wasn’t having it. She pinned you down harder, her grip unrelenting, her pace brutal. You felt like you were falling apart under her, barely holding on, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the way she fucked you.

Your body gave her all the answers she needed—your pussy creaming for her, clenching so tight it felt like you never wanted to let her go. And you didn’t. You didn’t care how rough she was, how raw this felt. You wanted her to keep going, to leave you wrecked. You wanted all of it.

“Mmm, cumming—gonna cum… V-Vi, I’m gonna cum again, fuckkkkk—” you whined, your voice cracking as your body trembled. But just as you were about to fall apart, she pulled out, leaving you empty, throbbing, and desperate. You barely had time to complain before she flipped you onto your back, manhandling you into a brutal mating press. Your knees were pushed up damn near to your shoulders, leaving you completely exposed.

“Don’t fucking cum,” she growled, her voice low and mean. “Gonna show you what happens when you pull bullshit with me.”

Before you could even catch your breath, she slammed her cock back inside you, filling you to the hilt in one sharp thrust. You cried out, your hands clawing at the sheets, but she didn’t care. Her thumb found your clit, rubbing it just enough to make your head spin. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted you to break. She wanted you to cum—so she could punish you for it.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me? Don’t cum, baby,” she teased, grinning down at you like she had you completely figured out. And she did. You were already shaking, your body on fire, the pressure building so fast it felt like you were going to explode.

“W-wait! No, c-can’t—” you babbled, words falling apart as you hiccupped between gasps. You were so close it hurt, and she knew it. She fucking knew.

“Fuck, I wish I could get you pregnant,” she said, her voice rough and breathless. “Breed this fucking tight cunt.”

The filthy words sent your mind reeling, your pussy clenching hard around her cock. You couldn’t stop it—your body betrayed you completely. But that’s exactly what she wanted.

You came hard—so hard you couldn’t breathe. Your chest heaved, your body spasming uncontrollably, but Vi didn’t stop. Not even for a second. “Yeahhh,” she groaned, her voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Cream all over this dick. Let me see it, baby.” Her words were filthy, but the way her hips snapped into you made it impossible to care. You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even think. The overstimulation was unbearable, every nerve in your body lit up and sparking like fireworks.

Her hand found your throat, her grip firm but teasing, just enough to make you whimper. “Whose pussy is this, huh? Tell me,” she growled, her tone sharp, commanding. Her eyes bore into you as her thumb pressed into the side of your neck, daring you to answer. But you couldn’t. You were still cumming, your body jerking beneath her as she drilled into you, her pace unrelenting. Her cock slammed so deep it felt like she was splitting you open, her tip slamming into your cervix over and over again, sending sharp waves of pleasure and pain straight through you.

“You can’t even talk, can you?” she sneered, her lips curling into a cocky grin. “God, look at you. Fucking wrecked. You like this, don’t you? Being my little cumdump?”

Her thumb dragged over your clit again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made the pressure inside you skyrocket all over again. Your legs trembled violently, your back arching so hard it felt like you’d snap in half. “Come on, baby,” she taunted. “Wonder if I can make this little pussy squirt. You wanna squirt for me? Hm? I know you do.”

“N-no! I can’t—I c-can’t—” you babbled, tears streaming down your face. But your body betrayed you. The way your pussy clenched around her cock, the way you gushed every time she hit that perfect spot—it told her everything she needed to know.

“Yeah, you can,” she growled, leaning in closer, her lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna squirt for me, baby. Gonna fucking soak me, aren’t you? I know this pussy can do it. Fuck, I wish I could knock you up—fill you up with my cum and watch you take every drop. I’d breed this tight little cunt every fucking day if I could.”

Her filthy words sent your mind spiraling, the heat in your stomach boiling over. “Vi, please!” you sobbed, but you didn’t even know what you were begging for. Relief? More? It didn’t matter—she wasn’t stopping.

“Bet you’d look so fucking good, all round and full with my baby,” she continued, her voice rough and breathless. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Make you a mommy, let me breed you over and over until this pussy’s mine forever?”

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and the pressure inside you snapped all at once. You screamed, your body locking up as a gush of wetness exploded from you, soaking her cock, her thighs, the sheets—everything. She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, her thrusts pushing you through it as more and more juices poured out of you, leaving you shaking and completely spent.

“There it is,” she groaned, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Knew you had it in you. Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect, baby. Look at this messy little pussy.” Her hands gripped your thighs, pinning you down as you tried to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure. Your body twitched and jerked with every thrust, tears streaming down your face, but she wasn’t letting up just yet.

“Vi, please,” you cried, your voice hoarse and broken. “C-can’t—too much—”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she slowed down, her thrusts easing until she pulled out completely. You collapsed onto the bed, trembling and gasping for air, your body completely wrecked. Vi stayed there for a moment, watching you, her chest heaving as she caught her own breath. Her cocky smirk was painted across her face, but there was something softer in her eyes now, a tenderness creeping in as she took in the mess she’d made of you.

“Fuck, baby,” she murmured, leaning down to brush her lips against your temple. “You okay? You still with me?”

You nodded weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Y-yeah… just… fuck.”

Vi laughed softly, her hand coming up to stroke your hair. “Yeah, you’re a mess,” she teased, her tone gentler now. She pulled the strap off and tossed it aside, then scooped you up into her arms, holding you close against her chest. “Shhh, it’s okay. I got you.”

She pressed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, anywhere she could reach, her hands rubbing soothing circles into your back. “You did so good for me, baby. So fucking good,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth.

You buried your face in her neck, letting her steady heartbeat calm you. She stayed like that for a while, just holding you, until your breathing evened out. Then she shifted, reaching over to grab a towel. “Hold still, sweetheart. Let me clean you up,” she said softly.

Her touch was careful but firm as she wiped you down, murmuring soft apologies whenever you flinched from sensitivity. She took her time, making sure you were completely clean before grabbing a fresh blanket to wrap around both of you. Once she was satisfied, she pulled you back into her arms, tucking you against her like she never wanted to let you go.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked again, tilting your chin up so she could look into your eyes. “I didn’t go too hard, did I? You’d tell me if I did?”

You shook your head, a tired smile tugging at your lips. “No… it was perfect. You’re perfect,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Vi smiled back, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “Nah, you’re the perfect one,” she said softly. She kissed you again, slow and tender, before pulling you even closer. “Close your eyes, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

You melted into her, letting her warmth and soft words lull you into a peaceful haze. She stayed awake a little longer, stroking your hair and whispering sweet things, her voice the last thing you heard before sleep took you.

—————————————————————————

this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

[reiderwriter]

Hi, so I have a request, but please don't feel pressured to write it now.

I was wondering if you could please do a scene or scenario where Spencer shouts out in desperation and panic "where's my wife" after a close call with the team on a very dangerous case.

A/N: I put a bit of a twist on your request so I hope you still enjoy it! Thank you for requesting~♡

Warnings: minor injury to canon characters, explosion, temporary loss of hearing, sight, etc.

The force of the blow was so strong that when Spencer Reid finally came to, a few seconds after hitting the ground hard, he couldn't hear a thing. 

Whether it was adrenaline, or an injury, or pure shock, his senses were numb, and the only thought in his head as he started screaming was of you. 

“Wh-where,” he coughed, shaking his head to try and focus. “Where's my wife?” 

His voice was quiet and weak at first, but it didn't matter to him. After all, he couldn't hear the words at all. He just felt his lips form the words and knew the familiar vibrations in his throat meant the sound was escaping into the wind. 

You pushed through crowds with a scream as you tried to get through to your team. Spencer wasn't the only one close to the blast. 

Emily, JJ, Morgan, and Hotch were all in various states of disarray around you as you ran back from the car across the street. You'd run back to check some files, feeling something off, and the heat and loud boom behind you was the confirmation you'd been looking for that you were right. 

After his first few attempts, Reid still couldn't see you, much less hear you or touch you or press his arms around you and not let go. He struggled to his feet and began calling again. 

“Where's my wife? Where is… WHERE'S MY WIFE?” His voice broke, and he  coughed gasped through each word, but he didn't stop. 

He stumbled forward, looking to see you through the haze of dust that had erupted from the blast site. Morgan ran to his side just as he tripped, pulling an arm under his as they stumbled together away from the rubble. 

“Where is she? She was right here, I need-” he coughed, leaning more on Morgan than he was walking for himself as his ankles twisted under him. 

“Hey, hey kid, we're okay. We need to get away from the blast, okay? Away.” 

Spencer kept rambling, though, his ears ringing as he blinked away his confusion and the panic creeped in stronger. 

“My wife, where is she? Morgan, I have to find her, she could be hurt,” he demanded, his voice stronger now as he pushed out of Morgan's grip. 

Ambulances and police cars were beginning to pull up, half of them already having been on route when your team had pulled up. 

Spencer searched through the crowd, sorting through faces until he found the one he desperately needed to see. 

Emily and JJ had been thrown back towards the cars, but both seemed to have missed big shrapnel and other injuries. He watched them clutch each other and stumble behind the cars as they called into their phones, requesting backup. 

Hotch was similarly talking fast to surrounding officers, and though he looked fine, he clutched his knee in his hand. The already dark material of his pants was somehow darker, and shinier in places, and it was only a moment later that Spencer realized a large chunk of shrapnel was jutting out of his leg, just above the knee. 

Rossi had been the furthest from the blast, bar you, and it was him that Spencer saw next, dusting off his clothes as he moved quickly to assess the scene. 

Morgan was still worriedly trailing behind him as he tripped over his feet. 

“Where's my wife? Where's my wife?” 

He finally saw you then, as you dove into the dust and smoke to assist your team. He was just about to fall to his knees when you ran to him, holding him up under his arms as he wrapped himself around you. 

“Found you. I found you, you're okay?” He asked, hands gently cradling your cheeks as he asked, tears in his eyes. 

“I'm fine, Spencer. Are you-” 

He silenced you with his lips, mouth slanting down on yours as he pushed every fear, every emotion, every ounce of adrenaline into your body. He kissed you like you'd never been kissed before, with desperation and longing and relief. 

And when he pulled away, he collapsed into your arms. 

Luckily, Morgan had been only steps away and took some of his weight off you as you stood, gasping for air and reeling from the kiss. 

You were so dazed, you collapsed to the floor, your knees giving in beneath you, and both Spencer and Morgan came down with you. The three of you were weak and traumatized, and emotions were running high, which is why you tried not to be offended by Morgan's line of questioning. 

“How long have you two been married?” He asked, and you were suddenly taken further aback. 

“What?” 

“Reid was looking for his wife. He was shouting ‘where's my wife? I need to find her.’ He was desperate. He was pushing away from me, and then he saw you, and he relaxed.” Despite the blow of the explosion and the now whirl of shrill sirens surrounding them, Morgan laid every word out carefully, like you would blow just as easily given the chance. 

“I'm not… we're not…Morgan, we're not even dating. I don't know what that was but…” 

Your hands carefully stroked Spencer's hair, gently smoothing it out of his eyes as you searched for answers in the man's unconscious form. 

You didn't stop until the paramedics arrived four minutes later, sitting unblinking as they hooked him up to an oxygen tank and carted him off to the nearest hospital. 

XXX 

The second time Spencer Reid awoke, it was dark outside, and the lights were low. But you were at his bedside, sleeping with your head by his legs, and your breathing was steady. So he let his eyes close again, not registering any of the pain the day had inflicted, and let himself sleep beside you. 

XXX

The third time Spencer Reid awoke, you were gone. He wasn't alone, though. Rossi sat upright in a chair beside the window of his hospital room, reading from what looked to be a case file. 

“Spencer, glad to see you returned to the land of the living,” Rossi said, noticing the younger man's movement and walking to his side. He pressed a button, and a doctor raced in, closing the door gently behind him. 

“Where is she? Where is-” 

“Spencer, it's okay. Everyone's okay. The doctor needs to run through some questions with you to check if you're feeling okay. Do your best to answer, okay, genius?” 

Spencer nodded, ignoring the small ache in his head, so similar to the headaches he'd been plagued with in earlier years. 

The doctor ran through standard questions, checked his blood pressure, checked his reactions, and made sure physically he was fine before moving on to more probing issues. 

“Doctor Reid, I'm going to ask you some simple questions about yourself now to assess for any neurological damage.” 

Reid nodded, regretting it instantly, but wanting to get out of the hospital as fast as possible to see you.  

“How old are you, Doctor Reid?” 

“Thirty, I'll be thirty-one this fall.” The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Where did you grow up?” 

“Las Vegas, Nevada. My mom still lives there. She's a patient at Bennington Sanitarium.” 

The doctor nodded and continued. 

“Are you married, Doctor Reid?” 

“Yes, my-” Spencer had to cut himself off as he processed the question fully. Was he married? No. He didn't remember any wedding. He had no romantic arrangement with anyone at this point in time. So why was he saying yes? 

Your face flashed into his head, and he grabbed his chest as his heart ached. It wasn't your face as he usually saw it, but that dazed and shocked expression you'd worn after he'd kissed you. 

He blanched and reclined slightly, suddenly needing all the pillows on the bed for more support as he realized the weight of his mistake. 

“Doctor Reid? Doctor Reid, did you understand the question?”

“What? Oh, no. No, I'm…I'm not married, I guess.” 

Rossi and the doctor shared a look before the doctor took his leave, promising to check in on you again in a few hours. 

The concerned look from Rossi as his bedside was almost too much to take. 

“Stop looking at me like that, Rossi,” he said, grumbling to himself, suddenly upset at the end of his delusions. 

“Like what? I'm not allowed to look at you now?” 

“You're not allowed to pity me. Where's everyone else? They're okay?” 

Rossi took a seat next to him and sighed.

“Hotch is in surgery - non-critical. They just want to be sure the shrapnel that landed in his leg didn't strike anywhere near a nerve or an artery. Morgan survived with a few bruises and scrapes that make him look even more like an action movie hero. He's coordinating with local law enforcement to catch out bomber.” 

Reid nodded along to each revelation, but his patience was growing thin. Rossi was watching him squirm. Reid, waiting for your name to pop up in conversation so he could talk about you, think about you with a valid excuse. 

“Emily and JJ are back at the motels, Penelope met them there to help them out. Emily's left arm is broken, and she has a nasty cut on her face, JJ twisted an ankle and sprained it pretty bad, so she'll be sitting for a while. I, myself, survived with pleasantly few cuts, a boon given my advancing years-” 

“Y/N, what about Y/N?” Reid finally burst, looking pathetically down at Rossi from his hospital bed. 

“Eager, aren't we?” 

“I need to know she's okay, and that... that she doesn't hate me.” 

“You can find those answers out yourself, kid. My shift is almost over.” 

Rossi stood and grabbed his cup of coffee, saluting Reid as he strolled out of the door. 

Reid was confused until the door opened again thirty seconds later, and you rushed in, breathing heavily as you took in his appearance, checking for damage. 

“Y/N,” he said, sitting up again. “Listen, I'm so, so sorry for kissing you yesterday. My mind must've been jumbled after the explosion and- and I thought you were actually my wife, and we were married-” 

You closed the distance between you quickly, grabbing his cheeks like he had grabbed tours only a day before and planting your lips back on top of his again. 

You kissed him the way you'd been kissed once before. With desperation, and longing, and relief. And when you pulled back, there were tears in your eyes that you didn't let fall, as you pressed yourself into Spencer Reid's arms. 

“Don't. Don't scare me like that again. I thought we'd lost you, I thought you'd kissed me and then - and then died!” You ranted, your arms gesturing wildly, every few seconds pausing to rake a hand through your hair. 

“You're not angry?” 

“Yes. Yes, I am angry, Spencer. You got hurt again, I'm seething.” 

“At me. You're not angry at me for kissing you?” He asked, smiling up as you goofily, a little bit worse for wear, but still shining nonetheless. 

“Oh. No. I was confused, but I'm not angry.” 

“Good,” he said, nodding, the two of you falling into an awkward, tense silence. You picked at dust on his shoulder as he stared at you, neither of you bold enough to say another word until the tension was palpable and Spencer Reid burst open. 

“Can I kiss you again?” 

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader ✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

They watched you succumb to death in every twisted, agonizing way in their universes. Unable to prevent it, in this universe... ♡ It would be different ♡ Parts Available: The series is completed - 10 parts

☆ characters: MoHawk Invincible, Omni Invincible, Sinister Invincible, Viltrumite Invincible, Prisoner Invincible, No Mask Invincible, Phantom Invincible(Full masked), and Emperor Invincible.

☆ TW: Reader is manmade 'Viltrumite'

☆ WC: 5k+ [Part 1-]

☆ Author's Note: I'm truly sad I can’t find much Invincible variants x reader stuff, so I decided to make a story myself! This is going to be a long story with many parts, and I mean lonnggggg. If writer's block doesn't succumb me :P I also plan to include sexual content as well in later chapters. First time posting on tumblr, kinda nervous (ᵕ ´ ∇ ˋ ˶) ––––––––––––––––––

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The ice cracked, a shudder running through my suspended form, the cryopreservation ending once again. It was a sensation I'd grown intimately familiar with – the cold, the forced awakening, the metallic taste of the seemingly invincible shock collar tightening around my neck. The small sparks of electricity traveling to the wet muscle trapped inside my head. 

My dull eyes flickered open, adjusting to the harsh glare of the white lights of the GDA facility.

"Experiment 1-01, designated Y/N, reactivation complete," a cold, clinical voice echoed from the speakers. Cecil's voice. Always Cecil. The weak, old white man.

"What is it this time?" I growled, my voice rough from disuse. 

My body felt heavy, a dull ache permeating every muscle. Slunking down on the platform I hiss. The heaters appearing from each side of the enclosure wall to warm my aching body back into submission. 

"A… situation," Cecil replied, his tone unusually strained, "Multiple hostile entities, Invincible variants… Viltrumites in origin, are causing widespread destruction. We require your… assistance."

Hostile Viltrumites? My mind struggled to process the information. They were sending me, me, the weapon they kept locked away, against Viltrumite variants of Invincible? This had to be bad.

The ice finally fully melted away, and I was lowered onto the transportation platform. The shock collar pulsed, a constant reminder of my captivity.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the raw power thrumming beneath my skin. My wet hair sticking to the skin of my back. The tight suit clamped to my skin.

They'd honed me, pushed me beyond any natural limit. I was an experiment seemingly born in this dreadful prison. A test tube for them to fill with anything they dreamed of, and use needlssy. Dissecting my body apart to inject with the results of false experiments. Viltrumite blood, from the one Omni-man himself… I was their ultimate weapon in the face of no return. Crafted as the last stand in the face of no return, even if they were terrified to use it.

"What's the mission?" I asked, my voice flat. My eyes glued to the one sided glass wall, where I could sense the heat Signatures of multiple scientists and Cecil standing behind.

"Eliminate all hostile Invincible variants. No collateral damage," Cecil instructed, his voice laced with a thin veneer of control through the speaker.

No collateral damage? They were asking the impossible.

The transport platform hissed, lifting me from the cold, sterile chamber throught the many levels of the base. Finally to the surface of the GDA's hidden base. 

My eyes widen, as I see the sky for the first time in so many long years. The soft blue sky, the cool chill crisp of fresh air, beautifully painted clouds strengthening across the blue canvas stretched above me. I raised my arms spinning softly with a laugh. Fuck it feels good to be out again! The shock collar suddenly pulsed, a cold, insistent command that made me freeze. "Eliminate all hostile Invincible variants," Cecil's voice echoed in my mind.

With a grumble, I launched myself into the air, a surge of raw power propelling me upwards. The world shrank below, the GDA facility becoming a mere speck in the distance. 

I spread my arms, feeling the wind whip through my damp hair, as it instantly dried in the strong breeze of fresh air. The raw energy of flight coursing through my veins. This was what I was made for.

Zooming through the sky I break the sound barrier, flying into New York. 

The city was a chaotic tapestry of destruction, plumes of black smoke rising like grotesque fingers, the skeletal remains of skyscrapers reaching towards the sky. Building Collapsing.

Once again I break the sound barrier with a thunderous boom, the air around me shimmering with heat. The raw, untamed power of flight, the sheer speed, it was soooo intoxicating.

The scents of the city assaulted my senses – burning metal, acrid smoke, the coppery tang of blood, and the faint, terrified screams of the dying citizens trying to hide and running. It was a symphony of chaos, a macabre orchestra conducted by the Invincible variant in New York. 

And I, the weapon, was here to silence it.

A jolt of electricity from the collar snapped me back to the mission. "Focus girl. Eliminate target in New York. Identification, Mohawk Invincible."

My eyes scanned the ruined cityscape, looking onto a scene of imminent destruction for any sign of the killing machine.

A child, no more than a few years old, stood frozen in terror beneath a crumbling building, its foundations groaning ominously. I felt a flicker of something, a faint echo of… what? It was quickly extinguished by the collar's control. A child...weak...protect? No, mission.

With a burst of speed, I was there. I braced myself, catching the falling building with my bare hands, the concrete groaning under the strain as I held the collapsing building up.

I glanced at the child between my legs, its face a mask of terror streaked with tears and mucus. With one arm still bracing the collapsing structure, I scooped the small body against my chest. Its warmth was shocking—so different from the cold sterility of my existence. The tiny heart hammered against my suit, a frantic rhythm that stirred something protective within me.

Releasing my hold on the building, I launched us both skyward as tons of concrete and steel crashed to the street below. Dust and debris erupted in a massive cloud, consuming everything in its path as I carried the child to relative safety, landing on a section of street that wasn't actively burning.

The asphalt cracked beneath my feet, blackened and weakened by the heat of nearby fires. The child in my arms whimpered, one limb bent at an angle that spoke of fracture and pain. I placed the small form on the ground, studying it with clinical detachment as its eyes—wide with terror—stared up at me. Unintelligible words tumbled from its lips, a litany of fear I couldn't process.

"Stay," I commanded, my voice devoid of warmth or reassurance. Yet as I reached down to brush a speck of blood from its cheek, a spark of something undefinable flared within me as tiny fingers clutched desperately at my hand. Why? Why do I feel this?

"Saving citizens is important, but defeating the threat is top priority." Cecil's voice intruded into my moment of connection, the implant in my head ensuring his control remained absolute.

I turned away, the mission reasserting its primacy in my consciousness. But a blur of motion caught my peripheral vision—a figure streaking across the sky on an intercept course.

"Finally, another fucking hero for me to fucking obliterate!!" A voice laced with manic glee echoed through the ruined streets as the figure—Mohawk Mark—accelerated toward me.

There was barely time to react. I pivoted sharply, using my body as a shield for the child, intercepting the charge with my shoulder. The impact was cataclysmic—like colliding with a runaway train. The force sent us both hurtling through the concrete wall of a nearby building, pulverizing it instantly. The shockwave rippled outward, shattering windows for blocks in every direction.

My body shot through the other side of the building, into the street where people were running. 

The bodies of fleeing civilians exploded like fleshy water balloons as I crashed through them, the force of the impact turning them into a spray of blood and bone. I spat, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth as I picked the strand of intestines off my shoulder, flicking it away. The child I'd tried to protect was now unrecognizable, I was clumsy and squeezed the child so tightly against me it exploded. reduced to a pulped mass of tissue in my arms, its blood staining the front of my suit. A flash of anger and envy flickered through me—this child's suffering was over while mine continued indefinitely—I felt a flash of anger and envy, before the emotions quickly dismissed within me. 

"Insignificant," I hissed, dropping the remains with a wet splat onto the blood-slicked sidewalk.

Rising to my full height, I ignored the pain radiating through my system. Pain was merely information, and information could be disregarded. The mission remained paramount: eliminate the target. And now, the target had revealed himself.

Debris from the shattered building continued to rain down around me as I steadied my stance. My eyes—cold, calculating, devoid of mercy—locked onto the figure hovering above the rubble. Mohawk Mark. His blue and black suit hugged a physique identical to the original, but the spiky mohawk and the arrogant smirk set him apart. It was a face I had been programmed to destroy.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with cruel amusement that barely masked something deeper, "What do we have here? Another hero comes to play?—" His expression shifted, eyes widening slightly as he studied me more carefully. Recognition dawned in his gaze, followed by confusion that seemed genuine. "Wait... Y/N?"

The name struck me like a physical blow. Something flickered in the recesses of my mind—a half-remembered dream, perhaps, or an echo of a life that had been systematically erased. I groaned, clutching my head as fractured images threatened to coalesce into meaning. The collar responded instantly, electricity searing through my neural pathways, burning away the nascent memories before they could fully form.

My mission remained untainted by sentiment: eliminate the target.

I launched myself at him. My fist aimed for his jaw with enough force to shatter concrete, but he reacted with equal speed, blocking the blow and retaliating with a devastating kick to my ribs. Blood erupted from my mouth as the impact sent me crashing through yet another wall. The concrete disintegrated around me, offering no more resistance than tissue paper.

I rose from the wreckage without hesitation, the pain relegated to some distant corner of my consciousness as I assessed my opponent with newfound respect. It had been a long time since anyone had landed a blow with such force.

Mohawk Mark landed before me, his expression a mix of confusion and something else I couldn't name. He was hesitating, holding back his attacks. Why?

"Y/N, what are you doing?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion. "Don't you remember me? Or did the fucking Mark of this universe not meet you?! Love you!" he hissed, frustration clear in every word.

"Target identified," I responded, my voice empty and cold. I ignored his words completely - they meant nothing to a weapon. "Elimination protocol engaged."

I lunged forward with everything I had, throwing punches that could level buildings. Each blow carried enough force to shatter concrete, aimed to destroy rather than just hurt. But he was good - too good - dodging and blocking with growing desperation in his movements.

Something was wrong. He wasn't fighting back with full strength. He was holding back, his eyes fixed on me with an expression I couldn't understand.

"Fucking stop, Y/N!" he yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. "You don't have to do this y-you bitc–!"

I ignored him completely, focused only on my mission. Finally, an opening! My uppercut connected with his jaw, sending him flying skyward. I followed immediately, delivering another crushing blow to his chest that sent him crashing through the roof of a nearby building.

I zoomed to where he landed, pulling my fist back for what should be a finishing blow. But he caught my punch, his eyes wide and filled with emotion that made me hesitate.

"Y/N... please," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper. When I saw he wasn't defending himself anymore, I delivered a savage kick to his ribs that sent him smashing into a burning bus. The metal folded around his body like it was made of paper.

"Shut up," I growled, feeling nothing as I approached. "You're a target. Nothing more."

He struggled to his feet, his mohawk now crooked, his blue and black suit torn and stained with blood and dirt. Despite the beating, his eyes never left mine.

"But... it's me, Mark! Don't you fucking remember?!" The pain in his voice wasn't just physical.

Remember? The word bounced around inside my empty mind. Remember what? My life was the cold lab, the endless tests, the collar's constant shocks. There was nothing before that. Nothing to remember.

I charged at him again, aiming for his throat this time. He dodged, grabbing my arm as he pulled me down for a punch and suddenly freezing as his eyes locked onto the collar around my neck. Something changed in his expression - understanding dawned.

"Shit, I mean it, stop!" he yelled, his voice mixing anger and desperation. "You don't have to do this! Are they fucking controlling you?!"

The collar sent a massive shock through my body, making my vision blur and my muscles spasm. I stumbled backward, momentarily stunned. He used the chance to grab my head, his fingers pressing against my skull as he pulled my head back to look at him directly. My eyes drazed against his fierce ones.

"Fucking listen to me!" he pleaded, his grip gentler than it should be. "I know who you are! I... loved you in my universe! B-before you—" His voice caught in his throat, and I watched, strangely fascinated, as tears formed in his brown eyes. His hands loosened, now almost cradling my head instead of restraining me.

Loved? The word was strange, meaningless to me. What did it mean to be loved? I shook my head, trying to clear the fog from the collar's shock. For a brief moment, I felt the control slipping, something else trying to surface. But it passed quickly, and I snapped back to my purpose. Kill.

"Fucking listen to me, Y/N," he begged, his voice rough with emotion. "They're controlling you! That collar... it's controlling your damn mind!"

I answered with my elbow, smashing it into his face with all my strength. I felt his nose shatter under the impact. Blood sprayed as he staggered backward, yet he looked unharmed. I didn't hesitate, unleashing a storm of punches that would crush a normal human to paste, but he wasn’t normal, he was a variant, of Invincible. He easily blocked, dodged, but I was relentless.

"Eliminate... target," I mumbled, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears.

As I paused to gather strength for another attack, he lunged forward and grabbed me by the shoulders. Despite everything I'd done to him, his grip was surprisingly gentle.

"SHIT, you have to fight it, Y/N!" he urged, his eyes burning with intensity. "You're stronger than this! Tell me who's controlling you! I will fucking murder them!"

I struggled against his grip, my body fighting like a puppet on strings as the collar shocked me repeatedly. But something about his words, his voice - they were cutting through the fog in my mind, stirring something buried deep inside me. Fight? How could I fight what I was?

"She's not listening," a new voice called out, calm but commanding, making both of us freeze. "She simply can't.. She wasn't made for you, she was made for me."

A new figure landed beside Mohawk Mark - another Mark variant, but this one wore a red and gray suit. A mask with black eyesless goggles. Omni Invincible. His mask couldn't hide his grim expression as he studied me. "Plus, the collar has her completely under their control."

"We have to stop her," another voice hissed as a figure in dark blue and black landed heavily on the rooftop. Phantom Mark. His voice carried deep pain and barely controlled rage. "She's being used... I can't bear to see her again... not like this..."

Used? Why did they care what happened to me?

"Used?" A mocking voice cut through as another Mark variant landed directly in front of me and Mohawk. This one wore black and yellow - Sinister Mark. His smile was cruel as he stared at me with open interest. "She's a weapon. A god damn killing machine. And we're her targets." His grin widened, predatory and cold. "She's perfect, so much better than the fucking pathetic Y/N of my universe."

Perfect? What did he mean? Another… me? 

More Mark variants began to arrive, surrounding me on the rooftop. Each one showed recognition when they saw me, their faces displaying a mix of shock, grief, and something that looked like desperate hope. Viltrumite Mark, Emperor Mark, Prisoner Mark, and No Masked Mark all landed around me. Every threat I was supposed to eliminate was gathering in one place.

"Y/N," Viltrumite Mark said softly, his voice almost tender, his brown eyes wide with disbelief. A stark contrast to his white suit. "Wow... you look just like her. Just like my Y/N. Your face, that beautiful face... and your—" He stopped suddenly, his gaze fixing on the collar around my neck. His expression shifted from wonder to anger.

They all knew me? How was that possible when I didn't know any of them?

I felt something touch my back - warm, gentle - and it broke my frozen state. I lashed out blindly, my fist connecting with No Masked Mark who had tried to hug me. The impact sent him flying across the rooftop. Warmth? No. Target.

The electricity from the collar intensified, becoming nearly unbearable. I staggered under the pain, blood dripping from my nose as my vision blurred. My arm froze mid-swing as my muscles began to lock up. My strength was fading. But I must keep fighting.

"I believe she's too far gone," Emperor Mark said grimly, resignation heavy in his voice. "We have to disable her..."

"Are you fucking insane?! Hell no!" Mohawk Mark shouted, stepping between me and the others. His voice shook with fierce protectiveness. "I watched her die in my universe and I will not let it fucking happen again!"

Die? What did that mean?

The Marks surrounded me, their expressions complex mixtures of determination, sorrow, and fear. They weren't attacking to kill - they were trying to subdue me, to break the collar's hold. But every hit made the collar shock me harder.

Phantom Mark attacked first, moving faster than I could track in my weakened state. His fist aimed for my shoulder, and I managed to catch his arm, but the force still sent me staggering backward. I wasn't prepared for this coordinated attack, especially since they seemed to be holding back.

Omni Mark followed with a precise kick to my ribs. I twisted my body to block, but the impact still sent shockwaves of pain through me, launching me into the sky.

Viltrumite Mark and Emperor Mark moved together with perfect coordination, their attacks aimed to disable, not kill. They fought with ruthless efficiency, their movements showing years of combat experience. I blocked and countered as best I could, but their combined assault was overwhelming.

Prisoner Mark and No Masked Mark fought with less precision but equal power. Their attacks were wild and unpredictable, making them hard to counter. I dodged a powerful swing from Prisoner Mark only to be caught by a kick from No Masked Mark.

Mohawk Mark moved differently from the others. His eyes never left mine, filled with desperate pleading. His attacks lacked killing intent - he was trying to restrain me rather than hurt me. He repeatedly tried to grab me, to hold me still, but I was too quick.

And then there was Sinister Mark. He moved like a predator stalking prey, his attacks brutal and precise. His eyes gleamed with cruel enjoyment, fixed on me with disturbing intensity. He wasn't just fighting - he was enjoying every moment.

He feinted high before kicking my knee with savage force. Pain shot through my leg as I stumbled. He immediately followed with a vicious uppercut to my jaw that made my vision go white for a moment. I spat blood, the metallic taste filling my mouth as I nearly bit through my tongue.

"Come on, Y/N," he taunted, his voice low and excited. "Show me what you've got."

Unlike the others, Sinister Mark wasn't holding back. He reveled in the violence, moving with brutal efficiency. A predatory grin never left his face as he aimed to cripple me. His fist connected with my jaw again, sending another shockwave through my skull. I managed to retaliate with a kick to his chest that sent him crashing through a skyscraper.

New York was completely destroyed around us. I couldn't handle all eight of them at once. It was too many... but I had to fight. Must focus.

"Enough!" Omni Mark shouted, his voice echoing through the ruined city. His face was set with grim determination. "We have to end this!"

He launched himself at me with perfect control and precision. Before I could dodge, he grabbed me in a powerful bear hug, pinning my arms to my sides, his chin pressing to the top of my head. I struggled against his grip, trying desperately to break free, but he was too strong, and I was weakening by the second.

The other Marks surrounded me, their combined strength impossible to overcome. Their expressions mixed pain and resolve as they held me tight. I hissed and fought, biting Sinister's hand when he tried to touch my face. He pulled back, laughing as he licked the drop of blood from his hand.

"She's so feisty, I love it~" he purred, eyes gleaming.

"Enough! Come on guys, we have to get this fucking collar off," Phantom Mark said, his voice strained with sorrow. "That's the only way to free her."

Mohawk Mark reached for the collar, his fingers trembling. Fear and determination battled in his eyes as he hesitated.

"If we remove it, she could lose control," Omni Mark warned gravely. "She could destroy everything, or worse... we could lose her."

"It's the only chance we have," Mohawk Mark replied firmly, his fierce eyes locked with mine. For a moment, they softened with an emotion I couldn't name. "We have to trust her."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and gripped the collar around my neck.

"AHHHHHHH-!" A scream of pure agony tore from my throat as he tried to break the collar. The device unleashed its final defense - a massive electrical current that ripped through my entire body and into anyone touching me. The pain was beyond anything I'd ever felt, beyond what any human could survive.

The world around me faded to white as electricity consumed everything.

The air crackled with raw energy, the shockwaves from the collar's defense system rippling outwards like violent tsunamis across the already devastated rooftop. Y/N's screams tore through the ruined city—a primal, guttural sound that sliced through the hearts of the gathered Marks like a heated blade. Her body convulsed violently in their grip, crimson streams of blood trickling from her ears as her eyes rolled back, revealing only whites.

Omni Mark's muscles strained beneath his crimson and slate-gray suit, veins bulging like ropes under his skin as he maintained his vise-like grip on Y/N. Despite the electrical current surging through him, his face remained a mask of controlled determination—only the slight twitch at the corner of his right eye betraying his agony.

"Hold steady," he commanded, voice unwavering despite the pain. His analytical gaze never left Y/N's face, studying every microexpression with obsessive intensity. "The collar's defense system is activating exactly as anticipated. Maintain your positions." Behind his disciplined exterior, a possessive gleam flickered in his eyes—the calculated look of a general who had just discovered his most valuable weapon.

"FUCK! This hurts like a motherfucking BITCH!" Mohawk Mark roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he yanked at the collar with manic desperation. His once-proud mohawk now drooped pathetically to one side, plastered to his scalp with sweat that poured down his face in rivulets. His wild, bloodshot eyes darted frantically between Y/N's contorted face and the other Marks. "Back the FUCK off, assholes! This is MY moment with her!" he snarled when Emperor Mark moved closer, his voice cracking with equal parts pain and possessiveness.

Viltrumite Mark held Y/N's thrashing legs with unwavering strength, his pristine white uniform now marred with smoking char marks. Unlike the others who grimaced and cursed through their pain, he maintained an almost regal posture—back ramrod straight, chin lifted imperiously even as electricity danced across his skin.

"Such primitive technology," he remarked coldly, his voice carrying the smooth, cultured tones of someone accustomed to absolute obedience. His steely gaze traced the contours of Y/N's face with unmistakable ownership. "In my empire, she would have been conditioned properly. My Y/N required no such crude devices to ensure compliance." His fingers tightened possessively around her ankles, leaving white imprints on her skin.

No Masked Mark hovered anxiously at the periphery, bouncing on his heels like an impatient child. His unmasked face—so similar yet different from the others—contorted with a peculiar mixture of eagerness and uncertainty.

"Will she remember me when she wakes up?" he asked, voice tinged with childlike hope that seemed bizarrely out of place amid the destruction. His eyes never left Y/N's face, a hungry desperation evident in his gaze. "I won't let you suffer like William and my Y/N did," he murmured, the words tumbling out in a rushed whisper before his expression hardened again with determination.

Phantom Mark's grip on Y/N's arm was white-knuckled, his midnight blue and obsidian suit smoking where electrical feedback scorched the material. Unlike the others whose focus remained entirely on Y/N, his haunted gaze occasionally darted to the ruined cityscape surrounding them, as if seeing ghosts in the debris.

"We're going to lose her!" he cried out, voice thick with an emotion he couldn't fully suppress. The perpetual fury that typically blazed in his eyes momentarily gave way to raw grief—a glimpse into the trauma that drove him. "She looks just like my Y/N when they took her from me." His grip tightened, unwilling to let go even as the pain intensified, a guttural yell tearing from his throat as another surge of electricity pulsed through them all.

Emperor Mark strode forward with the confident swagger of royalty despite the crisis unfolding before him. His uniform, adorned with subtle gold embellishments, smoldered at the edges as he moved to assist despite Mohawk's furious objections.

"This primitive technology is beneath us," he declared, his voice carrying the practiced resonance of one accustomed to addressing multitudes. His movements were precise, efficient—a ruler accustomed to servants handling menial tasks now forced to act himself. "In my empire, she would have been treated with the respect befitting her connection to me." His eyes tracked possessively over Y/N's convulsing form as he grasped part of the collar, a barely audible hiss escaping through clenched teeth as electricity surged through his fingertips.

Through it all, Sinister Mark prowled the perimeter of the group like a predator assessing wounded prey. Unlike the others who betrayed their pain through grimaces and curses, his lips curled into a twisted smile that never quite reached his cold eyes. The black and yellow of his suit seemed to absorb the shadows around them, making him appear more demon than man as he circled the struggling group.

"Look at you pathetic fuckers," he sneered, voice dropping to a dangerous purr that somehow cut through the cacophony of pain and destruction. "All of you, burnt and crying over her like she's the last woman in the multiverse." His eyes gleamed with cruel delight as they raked over Y/N's suffering form, lingering on the places where her suit had torn during the battle. "Mine was weak, useless when it mattered," he continued, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. "But this one..." His voice trailed off into an appreciative growl. "This one has real potential."

He continued circling them with predatory grace, each step deliberate and measured, like a lion stalking gazelles. The others, too focused on Y/N and their own pain, barely registered his calculating assessment until he suddenly stepped forward with decisive purpose.

"We'll do it my way," he declared, voice slicing through their collective agony with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. "Otherwise she's fried, and none of us gets what we want." There was no benevolence in his offer—only ruthless pragmatism and thinly veiled desire.

Sinister Mark moved into position with fluid grace, eyes locking with each Mark in turn. His gaze was sharp and challenging, daring them to defy him while simultaneously asserting dominance. "We're going to rip that collar off her neck, all at the same time. Understand that, you pussies?"

"But the shock—" Omni Mark began, his typically calculated façade cracking slightly as another surge of pain tore through his body.

"The shock is killing her!" Sinister Mark snapped, genuine anger flashing in his eyes like lightning. For the briefest moment, something almost like concern flickered across his features before being submerged beneath his usual cruel demeanor. "We either pull it off now, together, or she dies. Are you all going to be useless now?"

Despite their differences, despite the simmering tensions and individual desires to claim Y/N for themselves, the Marks exchanged glances of reluctant agreement. In this moment, keeping her alive took priority over their competition.

Sinister Mark positioned himself beside Omni and Mohawk, placing his hands on the collar with surprising gentleness. A low, unsettling laugh escaped his lips as electricity coursed through him—the pain seemingly pleasurable to his twisted mind. Prisoner and No Masked Mark grabbed the other side, their faces twisting into grimaces of determination. Phantom and Viltrumite followed suit, hissing breaths escaping through clenched teeth.

"On my mark," Sinister commanded, voice cutting through the chaos with sharp authority. "One..." His fingers tightened around the collar. "Two..." His eyes locked onto Y/N's face with possessive intensity. "THREE!"

With a collective roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of what remained of New York City, the Marks pulled. Omni Mark and Mohawk Mark yanked with such force that tendons stood out like steel cables in their necks, while Viltrumite and Phantom used their strength to counter Y/N's violent convulsions. The air around them crackled and sparked with deadly energy, the building beneath them crumbling further as a deafening SNAP echoed through the ruins.

The collar broke free.

The electrical storm ceased instantly, energy dispersing into the air with a final concussive shockwave that sent debris flying in all directions. Y/N's body went limp between them, her screams fading to an eerie silence that felt more ominous than her previous agony. The Marks, exhausted and scorched, collapsed around her on the rooftop, their breath coming in ragged gasps that disturbed the settling dust.

Sinister Mark recovered first, shoving Mohawk aside with unnecessary force to kneel beside Y/N's still form. His eyes traveled over her with unmasked hunger as he reached out to trace the line of her jaw with surprising gentleness—a predator admiring his prize. "She's still alive," he announced, voice unexpectedly soft, almost reverent. "But barely..."

"Get your fucking hands off her," Mohawk Mark growled, struggling to his knees despite his injuries. His normally arrogant demeanor was stripped away, leaving raw desperation in its place as his eyes never left Y/N's face. "I found her first, you sick piece of shit."

"In your juvenile fantasies perhaps," Emperor Mark countered icily, moving closer to Y/N's limp form despite his weakened state. His regal bearing remained intact even while injured, chin lifted with imperial disdain as he regarded Mohawk. "She requires proper care and guidance, which only I am qualified to provide."

Omni Mark silenced them with a sharply raised hand, his authoritative presence reasserting itself even while injured. "Enough," he commanded, voice brooking no argument. "She needs time to recover before any of us make claims." His eyes, however, told a different story—calculating grey depths already mapping out strategies to separate Y/N from the others when the moment was right.

The Marks exchanged wary glances, temporarily united by their shared goal but irrevocably divided by their desire for the same prize. They had saved Y/N from the collar's control, but the battle for her had only just begun—a new war brewing beneath the surface of their temporary alliance.

"We need to get her out of here," Omni Mark said, his voice low and urgent as his eyes methodically scanned the horizon. His brow furrowed in a deep, concerned frown that belied his typically impassive demeanor. "Angstrom won't wait forever. We still have a mission to complete."

A tense silence fell over the group, heavy with unspoken implications. The mission. The destruction of this universe. It was their objective, their reason for being here. But now, with Y/N lying before them, their priorities had irreversibly shifted.

"What now?" No Masked Mark asked, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes, wide and filled with an almost childlike worry, never left Y/N's face. His features drawn and pale, he anxiously gnawed at his lower lip—a nervous habit that revealed the youth beneath his power.

The original mission, Angstrom Levy's directive to destroy the mainstream universe, loomed over them like a shadow. They were here to wreak havoc, to dismantle this reality and claim it for themselves. But the discovery of Y/N had thrown their carefully orchestrated plans into beautiful disarray.

"Well we can't just fucking leave her here, dipshit," Mohawk Mark snapped, his voice cracking with emotion despite his attempt at his usual abrasiveness. His jaw set in a determined line, eyes blazing with fierce protectiveness as he hovered over Y/N's still form. "Not like this anyway. We need to find somewhere safe—" He trailed off, gaze darting around the ruined cityscape as if a solution might materialize from the rubble.

"A safe place?" Prisoner Mark scoffed, voice dripping with bitter cynicism. The scarred tissue of his face twisted into a mocking grimace as he gestured at the devastation surrounding them. "In this ruined world? We destroyed everything worth saving." Despite his harsh words, his eyes betrayed a flicker of concern as they drifted to Y/N's unconscious form.

"We'll find one," Viltrumite Mark stated with cold certainty, voice carrying the weight of imperial decree. His eyes, usually hard as flint, softened imperceptibly when they fell upon Y/N. "There must be somewhere untouched by our... activities." The slight hesitation in his typically smooth delivery revealed an unusual uncertainty.

"We can't abandon Angstrom's mission either," Omni Mark countered pragmatically, crossing muscular arms over his broad chest. His analytical mind was already formulating contingencies, weighing variables with machine-like efficiency. "He'll notice something is wrong if we deviate too significantly from the plan."

Sinister Mark rose to his full height, rolling his shoulders as if shedding a burden. His eyes—cold and calculating—swept across the ruined cityscape with predatory assessment. His features hardened into a mask of ruthless determination as he reached a decision.

"We'll do both," he declared, voice a low growl that somehow carried more authority than Omni Mark's reasoned commands. "We continue the destruction," he elaborated with a careless shrug that belied the intensity of his gaze, "but first, we take her somewhere safe."

He sighed—an oddly human gesture from such a monstrous figure—and pointed toward the outskirts of the city, where the skeletal remains of skyscrapers gradually gave way to the dense, seemingly untouched wilderness beyond. "There," he stated with absolute certainty. "We'll find a secluded spot, somewhere Angstrom won't think to look. Somewhere we can... protect her."

The way he lingered over the word "protect" sent an involuntary shiver through the group, but none dared contradict him. With a collective nod of reluctant agreement, the Marks carefully lifted Y/N's limp form, each positioning themselves to maintain contact with her—their movements gentle despite their immense strength. Viltrumite Mark delicately wiped a droplet of blood from her cheek with a tenderness that seemed entirely at odds with his imperial bearing.

They rose into the air in tight formation, carrying their precious cargo through the smoke-filled sky, leaving behind the ravaged husk of what had once been New York City.

Eventually, they found a secluded cabin nestled deep within the dense forest, a small, unassuming structure that seemed miraculously untouched by the chaos they had unleashed upon the world. Inside, they discovered a lone occupant—an elderly man whose rheumy eyes widened with terror at the sight of eight identical men, each bearing the face of destruction that had dominated emergency broadcasts before they failed.

A swift, brutal act silenced his frightened cries, leaving the cabin empty and waiting for its new occupant—a practical necessity that none of the Marks questioned or regretted.

They laid Y/N on the worn wooden floor of the small cabin with surprising gentleness. Her body remained still and pale against the rough-hewn planks, face tear-stained and peaceful despite the violence of her liberation. Tendrils of her hair fanned out around her head like a dark halo, slightly frizzed from the electrical assault she had endured. The Marks gathered around her in a protective circle, their expressions a complex mixture of concern, determination, and barely concealed desire as they gazed upon the woman who mirrored the one they had each lost in their respective universes.

"We'll take shifts," Omni Mark announced, instantly assuming command with practiced ease. His calculating eyes scanned the modest room with meticulous attention to detail, mentally cataloging potential threats and escape routes. "Someone will stay with her at all times. The rest will continue the destruction, maintaining our cover while we monitor her condition."

"And the mission?" No Masked Mark questioned anxiously, raising his arms in a helpless gesture. His youthful features contorted with uncertainty, clearly torn between their original destructive purpose and this unexpected development.

"We'll continue," Omni Mark replied with firm assurance, locking eyes with No Masked Mark. He placed a steadying hand on the younger variant's shoulder, grip firm but not unkind. "But we'll approach it strategically. Create diversions, spread out our forces, minimize unnecessary collateral damage. We'll maintain the appearance of following Angstrom's directives, but our true priority remains here." His eyes flickered meaningfully toward Y/N's unconscious form.

"She'll wake up," Mohawk Mark insisted with desperate conviction, roughly wiping at his reddened eyes with the back of his hand. The vulnerability in his voice was startling, stripping away his carefully constructed arrogance to reveal raw emotion beneath. "She fucking has to. She can't leave me again... not after I just found her."

Sinister Mark observed Mohawk's naked emotion with evident disgust, a contemptuous sneer curling his lip. Yet when he moved forward to kneel beside Y/N, his movements possessed an unexpected grace, almost reverent in their precision. His fingers—capable of crushing steel and ending lives without effort—traced the delicate lines of her face with obsessive gentleness, exploring every curve and hollow as if committing them to memory.

"She will," he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl that seemed to vibrate through the cabin's wooden bones. Unlike the desperate hope in Mohawk's tone, Sinister's words carried the weight of absolute certainty—a predator's confidence in claiming what he considered already his. His eyes—typically cold and calculating—burned with an intensity that made the other Marks shift uncomfortably. "And when she does, we'll be ready; waiting for those beautiful eyes to reopen to us."

The possessive emphasis he placed on "us" fooled no one—least of all himself. His fingers lingered a moment too long on the pulse point at her throat, his expression momentarily softening into something almost tender before the mask of cruelty slammed back into place.

The Marks had a new mission now. The destruction of the mainstream universe still bound them by obligation and necessity, but they were now equally bound by a newfound sense of purpose—a desperate, collective desire to protect the woman they had found. She was both stranger and intimately familiar, a phantom made flesh, the woman they had each lost in their respective universes, and now, the woman they were collectively determined to save—from others, from the world, and perhaps from themselves.

They began dividing their forces with military precision, Omni Mark drafting plans with Emperor Mark's input while Viltrumite offered cold, tactical suggestions. They would spread across different continents, maintaining the façade of random destruction that Angstrom expected, while rotating shifts to ensure Y/N was never left unguarded. Paris would fall next, then Moscow, Tokyo, and beyond—a symphony of calculated chaos designed to mask their true priority.

The first day of their war against this universe was far from over, but the discovery of Y/N had fundamentally altered its purpose. What had begun as simple conquest—the destruction of one universe among infinite possibilities—had transformed into something far more complex and personal. Each Mark now fought with renewed purpose, their actions guided not merely by Angstrom's directives but by the silent promise they had made to the unconscious woman in the cabin.

The mission was no longer just about conquest; it was about salvation—about reclaiming a lost love, about rewriting a tragic fate that had played out eight different ways across eight different realities. In their own universes, they had failed her, each in their own way. Too weak, too late, too cruel, too blind—their regrets took different forms but shared the same bitter taste. This Y/N offered something none of them had dared hope for: a second chance.

They would keep this Y/N safe at any cost, jealously guarded even from each other. None spoke this truth aloud, but it hung in the air between them, a silent agreement underscored by watchful gazes and lingering touches.

"Mohawk stays with her first," Omni Mark announced, his tone making it clear this was not a suggestion but a command. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the flash of rebellion on Sinister's face. "He found her first. We'll rotate every six hours. No exceptions."

The others nodded with varying degrees of reluctance, Viltrumite's jaw tightening with barely contained objection while Emperor Mark's fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against his thigh. Only Sinister Mark seemed truly at ease, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if he already saw moves ahead in a game the others didn't realize they were playing.

As the Marks departed one by one to continue their orchestrated destruction across the globe, Mohawk Mark settled beside Y/N's still form. Alone at last, his carefully maintained façade of arrogance and anger crumbled like the buildings they had destroyed. With shaking fingers, he gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch feather-light against her skin.

"I found you again," he whispered, voice cracking with emotion he would never show the others. "And this time, I won't fucking lose you. I swear it."

Outside the cabin, a gentle breeze stirred the trees, nature continuing its rhythms oblivious to the schemes of gods and monsters. Inside, a different kind of war was just beginning—one fought not with fists and fury, but with patience and possession. Eight versions of the same man, each determined to claim what they believed was rightfully theirs alone.

And at the center of it all, still and silent, lay Y/N—oblivious to the tempest her very existence had unleashed, unaware that she had become the eye of a storm that would reshape this universe and perhaps beyond.

–––––––––––––––––– ☆ TBC!! ☆

Hope ya'll liked it ♡ Leave a comment on whatya think!! next chapter will be from Mohawk's p.o.v Please keep reading, lovely!(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ Pt.2 ☆ 10 parts total! - The series is completed

Smut included with Sinister and Mohawk -

Fluff/Smut series following main one!! (𝙰𝚣𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚜) pt.1-2-3

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

baby girl. l Clint "Freaky Tales"

Summary: you barely knew him, but he was the one who helped you

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut (+18), aggressive boyfriend and toxic relationship, violence (mentioned, but also described a bit), some blood, unprotected sex (don't do that), fingering

A/N: my first story for this character. please be gentle. i don't know if i'll go down this path, i wanted to try and maybe i pushed myself too hard. let me know what you think.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist]

"Girls like you aren't common here."

A low but pleasant voice reached you despite the music playing in the dim pub. You tore your gaze away from the group of men playing pool on the other side and looked at the guy who was leaning against the bar right next to you.

A black leather jacket hugged his broad shoulders. His dark hair was slicked back, but you could see a few strands of gray in it. A prominent nose, brown eyes that looked almost black in this poor lighting, a mustache, and a light stubble. The scar marred his face, but also gave him a dangerous look of a guy not to be trifled with.

Clint. You knew his name, although it was the first time you had heard his voice.

"What kind of girl do you mean?" you asked, turning your gaze back to the players.

"Smart. Sly." you smiled, shaking your head "Delicate. Beautiful. With a good heart."

"I'm neither of them." you replied.

"Are you sure?"

Your gaze wandered back to Clint, who took a sip of beer and seemed to pay no attention to you. He was a frequent guest here, but you had never talked before. Honestly, it was rare for a guy in this place to talk to you. The girls were more like decorations here, trophies that accompanied their men. Or maybe owners? Clint always came alone though.

You knew that well, because there was no way you could miss his presence. Quiet, commanding respect. However, when your eyes met sometimes, you noticed a slight nod, a quiet greeting, to which you responded with a barely noticeable smile.

"Maybe you really aren't that smart." he muttered after a moment as if thinking it over "You're hanging around with that shitty guy from Max."

"Hey, you're talking about my boyfriend." you hissed, feeling it was your duty to defend someone who hadn't paid attention to you for almost an hour.

"I know who I'm talking about. And you know I'm right." Clint took another sip of beer. "You didn't meet him in the library, so how did you get into this?"

You didn't answer for a moment, staring at Clint's profile and wondering where this conversation was headed.

"What's your problem? And why do you care?" you finally replied. "I am where I want to be."

He nodded, accepting your weak answer and not asking any more questions. He finished his beer in silence, put a few dollars on the bar, and then reached into his other pocket and pushed a rectangular note towards you.

"If you need help," he added quietly.

You glanced at the phone number written on the note. "What made you think I'd need it?"

Clint shrugged, then looked over at the guys playing pool. "Just a hunch."

You bit your lip when you heard the connection sound in the receiver.

"C'mon, c'mon..." you repeated quietly, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel.

Maybe no one will pick up? Maybe it was a sign that you shouldn't do this? You were about to hang up when you heard a familiar voice on the other end. You closed your eyes feeling relieved.

"Clint?" you whispered.

"Hey, baby girl. What happened?"

He didn't expect to hear your sobbing and immediately felt a cold shiver run down his spine. "Where are you?" a short question, one of a few he had to ask you.

"I-I..." you stuttered, but you took a deep breath and finished "I'm in the car, on the side of the road outside the city."

"Okay. Are you hurt?"

Another deep breath. "N-No, not really. We started arguing. He was drunk, he started shouting and, and then..."

The silence on the other end was so loud that you were at a loss for words. You gripped the steering wheel tighter and looked around the dark area. It was already around midnight. Finally, Clint's voice rang through the receiver again.

"There's a motel not far from where you are."

"The Misty Valley. I saw a sign. But what..."

"Go there. Michael will give you a room, tell him I sent you."

"Clint, I can't!" you whined, tears escaping from under your eyelids. "I should... I should go back."

"No." He interrupted you abruptly, you heard a slam like a car door closing. "Go where I told you. And wait."

"For what?"

The phone fell silent.

You didn't know if it was what you expected when you dialed Clint's number. A few weeks have passed since your conversation. You didn't talk much, it was rather quiet nods, gentle smiles. His hand, which brushed your arm slightly, so that only the two of you knew about it.

You met him once in the city. That was the first time he called you "baby girl", and you didn't protest. You didn't protest either when he put his hand on the small of your back and offered to give you a ride. It was the beginning of the end.

The soft carpet muffled your steps as you walked through the small hotel room for the hundredth time. The clock on the nightstand showed that it was already after one in the morning, but you didn't feel sleepy at all. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins like a drug not allowing your brain and muscles to rest.

Your phone was silent. Michael asked you to close the door properly and you did so without asking unnecessary questions. Every now and then you would sit on the bed, but then you would get up again and walk around in circles.

Only a knock on the door made you snap out of your trance.

"It's me, baby girl." a familiar voice rang out, and you sighed with relief.

With trembling hands you took off the chain and opened the door, noticing a familiar face behind it.

"It's you." you whispered.

But Clint didn't smile at the sight of you. Quite the opposite. He frowned and made a move as if he wanted to step back and leave, but in the end he nodded. His hand went to your face, he watched you closely.

"You didn't say anything about that..." he said indignantly "Fucking bastard!"

"It's nothing." you tried to calm him down, your fingers tightened around his wrist, drawing his attention to you again "What did you..."

"Not enough." he interrupted you "Can I come in?"

You opened the door wider and stepped back, smelling the cigarettes and remnants of Clint's cologne. The door closed with a quiet click and the hotel room became your safe place. 

Clint took off his jacket without a word, threw it on the armchair, went to the bathroom and returned a moment later with a wet cloth.

“Sit down,” he ordered, and you wordlessly complied, sitting on the bed.

He sat down next to you and you hissed in pain when he put the cloth to your lip. The intense emotions made you completely forget about what had happened. You knew about the cut lip because you could taste the blood, you could also have a swollen cheek.

"Son of a bitch." Clint hissed. "Did he do this for the first time?"

You nodded.

"Good girl. Although you should have left earlier. I saw him dragging you..."

"It was nothing. It was just today... He was furious and..."

Clint's dark eyes met yours. You had the impression that he was scanning you through, that he read your face before you said anything.

"What was it about?" he asked.

"You."

You saw that he swallowed hard. He could probably guess it. But that wasn't important now.

"What did you do, Clint?" Brown eyes averted from yours. "Did you..."

"I didn't kill him, even though he deserved it." he replied, his voice stern and cold. "You can be sure that he'll think twice before he lays a finger on a woman. And I also met with Max. He'll take care of him properly."

Although his voice scared you, you felt a spark of satisfaction burning in your chest. Your guy wasn't perfect, but you didn't expect that from him. The infatuation made you blind to his dark side and it was only what happened that brought you back to earth.

"Thank you..." your voice was quiet but determined "Thank you, Clint."

"He'll never touch you again, I promise. And if he tried..."

He flinched as he felt your hand close around his and squeeze slightly.

"Thank you."

He looked at you. Clint's eyes were full of everything, even the things he couldn't say.

"You know, he was jealous of you." You said, looking down, feeling how pathetic your words might be. "I told him that we were just friends, that he had nothing to worry about. That you never looked at me differently. But he..."

Clint cleared his throat and straightened up. "What did he say?"

"Ummm, he said that one of his friends saw us. He also knew that we met a few times at the video store." You snorted. "I told him that we never... That it was stupid, because you never..."

"He was right to feel insecure." Clint mumbled. "But I would never do something that you wouldn't want me to do."

It was a shock. You stared at Clint like he was crazy. Yes, he was nice to you, he treated you differently than your boyfriend and his friends, but you would never think...

And those accidental touches? His lingering gaze, even when you weren't looking? And somehow you always met him when you were alone and in neutral places. Clint never treated you like others. He was different. Maybe you even waited for these meetings?

"I should apologize to you." he said after a moment of silence. "If I knew that my attention would bring something like this to you... You didn't deserve it."

"Clint, you're not the one who did this to me. Don't say that. If I had something against it, or if you crossed the line, I would have told you, I swear."

"But if it wasn't for me..."

"I don't want to think about what would have happened if it wasn't for you."

Your words hung between you. Clint stared at you, and you didn't look away either. Maybe that's when it hit you. You were free. You were safe. And it was all thanks to Clint.

"Thank you, Clint. Thank you for what you did. You didn't have to..."

"But I wanted to, baby girl. I would have done much more to keep you safe."

You didn't need more. Your warm hands cupped his face, and you moved closer, kissing his soft lips tenderly. You were pleased to feel his hands grip your waist, kneading your body gently. He wanted you, what a relief.

Clint ran his tongue over your lower lip, and when you spread them apart, he pushed it deeper, drawing a sweet moan from your throat. You had no idea how long he had been waiting for this, to be able to feel your taste, or the warmth of your body. You didn't protest when he laid you on the bed and covered you with his solid body. Kisses went down to your neck and collarbone, his hand slid under your shirt.

"Tell me you want this..." he whispered. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you. I want you so bad, Clint."

He wanted to have time to take care of you, to caress your body like you deserved, but that would have to wait until next time. Deft fingers unbuttoned the belt of his pants and his hard cock slipped out of his jeans, leaking and hot.

"Shit!" he hissed as you grabbed him, stroking several times. "I've thought about it so many times. About you."

"Yeah? And what did you think?" you whispered, seeing him close his eyes from the pleasure you were giving him.

"I've thought about what I would do with you if I had the chance and if you only wanted me. You were always so fucking hot with that expression on your face."

"What?" you chuckled. "What are you talking about?"

He smiled as if he remembered something pleasant. A colossal hand pulled up your denim skirt and grabbed the edge of your panties.

"I-don't-give-a-damn-about-you-all" face." he replied, sliding them down your thighs to your ankles "But when you looked at me, that's when I saw the real you. Just the way you are, baby girl."

You were speechless for a moment. 

"Does that surprise you?" he asked, his fingers sliding over your slippery folds "I wouldn't be in this shit hole if it wasn't for you. And that weird idiot who thought you were his." Two fingers slid inside you unexpectedly stretching you pleasantly. "You deserve a real man who will take care of you, the way it should be done."

The fingers started moving faster and you clenched your hands on Clint's broad shoulders trying to hold back a moan. His thumb found your clit and pressed it, then began to make small and fast circles. Your nerves were raging, and your walls were spasmodically clenching around his fingers. You didn't even feel when his lips pressed against your collarbone and left a mark there, a mark that you were his.

"Oh, I can feel you squeezing my fingers. I'm sure you'll do the same with my cock, right? Good girl." his lips brush your ear. "Come, come on my fingers, then I'll give you what you really want."

Your body was completely obedient to him, in an instant your walls tightened around his fingers, and a moan of ecstasy escaped your throat. It was as if someone had restarted your brain and you finally started seeing everything clearly.

It wasn't accidental, nothing with Clint was accidental. Of course, he didn't want to expose you, he knew that your guy could be impulsive and stupid, he counted on you to understand what you got yourself into. So he was next to you, watching over you even though you didn't know about it. 

All those tender and small touches, accidental glances - those were his stolen moments with you. That was all until you looked at him differently, until you saw that you could be treated better. Because Clint would definitely treat you like his lady.

"I want you inside." You panted, and he smiled "I want you inside me, Clint. Now."

"What my baby girl wants, she gets." he murmured.

His tip slid over your heated entrance and he slid inside you in one hard motion, all the way to the base. Damn, he was huge and for a moment you lost your breath.

"I've got you. I've got you. I know it's a lot, but you're doing great." he murmured, kissing your neck and chin. "Now I'm going to start moving. Slowly and..."

Neither of you were ready for this. Your bodies seemed to work together perfectly, as if they had always fit together. Eventually, the room filled with your quickened breaths, moans, and the sounds of skin slapping against skin. 

Even though he seemed dominant, you didn't feel threatened by him, quite the opposite. His eyes stared at you with delight. Clint wanted to see everything, every grimace, hear every sigh he had caused. To him, you were a dream come true, something he wanted to hold in his arms but didn't believe would ever happen.

But in that moment, you were real. His cock deep inside you, your thighs gripping him tightly, and your nails digging into his shoulders. He didn't want to be anywhere else but right there with you.

"I've wanted you for so long." he gasped, feeling like he couldn't hold it in any longer.

"And now you have me... You have me, Clint."

As he kissed your lips your body gave in, another wave of pleasure flooded your senses, your back arched and legs clenched tighter, pressing Clint harder against you. He only managed to slam into you a few more times as he flooded your walls with warm seed. A strangely but familiar taste appeared in his mouth and he opened his eyes, moving his face away from yours.

"Oh, poor thing." he sighed.

Your lower lip, from the force of his kiss, cracked again and began to bleed slightly. Clint rubbed it and kissed it lightly.

"What now?" you asked. "I can't stay here."

“Let’s stay here for a while. Michael won’t be mad.” Clint replied and slid off of you, laying on his side and watching you carefully. “You can stay with me if you want. Would you like that?”

For a moment you stared at the creamy ceiling, feeling his cum lazily drip down your thigh. In a few hours, everything changed. The pace was terrifying, but Clint… You felt like you really wanted to jump on that train. Take a chance.

"Yeah, I guess so." You replied.

You smiled, feeling his fingertips run over your chin, neck all the way to your sternum. His eyes were glued to you, he wanted to remember you from that first time with him. Your glowing skin, parted lips, tousled hair... Everything about you was perfect.

"Will you have breakfast with me? I know a good place."

You turned your head and smiled. "Breakfast? Don't you want to invite me to dinner?"

"Breakfast will be sooner, baby girl." Clint replied and leaned down, kissing your lips gently.

"I would love to."

You jumped on that train and let yourself be carried away.

With Clint.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[oik-tooru]

HQ BOYS WHEN YOU HUG THEM AFTER A MATCH

characters miya atsumu, kozume kenma, sugawara koushi

a/n can you tell suga's my fave character. that is my boy <3

miya atsumu

— after a close but victorious match against the opposing team, the inarizaki members couldn't help but run to the stands, eager to share their victory with their loved ones. atsumu scanned the crowd, immediately spotting your familiar figure running towards him, the biggest smile he's ever seen plastered on your face.

without wasting a second, atsumu opened his arms just in time for you to jump right into them and bury your head in his neck. his hands came up around your waist to support your body against his.

"congratulations tsumu! you did it!" you cheered gleefully, pulling your head back to look at your boyfriend's face. his smile mirrored your own as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours.

"thank you beautiful," he murmured. he held you close to him for a few more moments before letting you go, watching as you excitedly ran over to osamu and pulled his twin in for a hug. it seemed as if the whole world slowed down and all atsumu could see was you, his chest flood with such a warm feeling that only you could invoke.

kozume kenma

— kenma heard you running before you saw you. before he could react, however, he immediately felt the force of your body collide against his. he let out a soft oof and sighed when familiar arms wrapped around his middle.

"i'm so proud of you kenma," you beamed, resting your chin on his shoulder.

as much as he tried, kenma couldn't fight off the small smile growing on his face. without so much as a word, he turned around in your arms, allowing himself the opportunity to tug you closer and stuff his head into your hair. his body immediately relaxed in your hold as your hand came up to stroke his hair.

"i'm so tired..." he mumbled. "...but thank you."

you giggled as you continued to hold him, occasionally waving at the other nekoma members when they walked past.

sugawara koushi

— koushi felt his legs go weak. his hands grabbed onto the shoulders of the person next time, which happened to be ennoshita, as he tried so hard not to break down. the loud cheers from the other karasuno members were drowned out by the ringing in his ears, but as soon as he heard your voice from the distance, he snapped right out of it.

"koushi!"

the sight of you, sprinting towards him with the most beautiful smile on your face, was enough to push him over the edge. letting out a small sob, he stumbled towards you as you caught his sniffling body into your arms.

"we...we won," he cried into your shoulder, hands gripping onto the back of your shirt. blinking back tears of your own, you let out a laugh and held onto him tighter, refusing to lighten your grip for even a second. more arms wrapped around the two of you, and you recognized the other third years crying into your shoulder. yet all you could focus on was the sweet boy in your arms.

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

You Have A Panic Attack | One Piece HC

Another one from the drafts. This one is a few mini blurbs. If you're someone who has panic attacks (like I do *cough cough*) then here's how they'd react.

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law

CW: Panic attack, panic attack symptoms mention, GN!reader, no specific relationship mentions, could be early relationship/pre-relationship, use of (Y/N)

Check out my masterlist if you like stuff like this! I'm trying to clear out my drafts and get some stuff out for Valentine's Day.

LUFFY

The first time you had a panic attack in front of Luffy, he’s admittedly a little confused. You were hanging out on the deck of the Sunny, as per usual, goofing around and enjoying the warm sun with Luffy, Usopp and Chopper. Laughter and peace filled the air, a nice reprieve from the usual busy schedules you Straw Hats kept. It was like a switch went off, though. Seeing the change in your face, the way you politely tried to walk away and excuse yourself to go through it in private, it all set off alerts in his mind. 

“Hey, where ya goin’?” Luffy asked, following you inside the ship like a confused puppy. He couldn’t hide his disappointment that his best friend had walked away.

The moment your panic attack really set in, he grew concerned. The flushed cheeks, the heavy breathing, the look of pure dread and fear in your eyes. He had never seen you look that way without provocation, and certainly not when you were having a pretty good day up until this point.

“Whoa, whoa, what happened? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just a p-panic attack. That’s all. I get ‘em all the time.” You tried to reassure him, though it was also an attempt to reassure yourself. Your heart was racing in your chest, pounding in that familiar way that typically made you feel so weak.

“Panic attack?” Luffy asks, tilting his head. “What’s that?”

“It’s-...Luffy, I, uh…can’t really explain it right…now…” You responded, your voice growing just a little breathier. You leaned against a wall on the inside of the hallway, your hand resting over your chest in an attempt to calm yourself. 

Luffy stood there in minor shock, unsure of what to do for a good few moments. His brain was processing, taking in what facts he knew. You were upset, sure, and normally he’d just tease someone for something like this. The look in your eyes looked so vulnerable, though - this wasn’t you acting out of anything other than pure...well, panic.

It suddenly hit - a lightbulb going off in his head. He didn’t exactly know what a panic attack was, no, but he understood vaguely the feeling you were having. Flashes of his time after Ace flooded his mind, making his own heart ache in sympathy.

“C’mere.”

Before you even know what’s happening, Luffy’s wrapped his arms around you into a hug. It’s one of his signature ones - not too tight, not too loose. It’s perfect and warm; just like Luffy. At first, you weren’t sure what to do or say, but slowly you found your arms wrapped around him in return. 

“Don’t know why you’re freaking out, but I get it. I hope you feel better.” He murmured into your ear, and his chin moved down to rest on your shoulder. 

Enveloped in Luffy, you felt your rapidly beating heart gradually, slowly, starting to steady into a slow, easy rhythm. The drummer in your chest seemed to finally have enough. Your arms tightened around his form after a moment, and Luffy returned the gesture easily.

“Thank you.”

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

ZORO

Training had become a ritual for you every morning. To your surprise, Zoro would somehow manage to claw his way out of bed early enough to join you almost every day. There’d rarely be exceptions, so you’d both fallen into this routine high up in the crow’s nest - Zoro would work on his form and swordsmanship, and you would work on basic conditioning. It was an easy way to get the blood pumping, and neither of you minded the company. 

Sometimes, though, there was a tendency for you to overdo it. When life got particularly stressful, waves of desperate anxiety and despair had a habit of ripping through you. Even with the attempts of exercise to serve as a preventative measure, it wouldn’t always help. It was on one particular morning, with the beams of the sun shining over the floorboards, that you finally fell victim to one in the presence of the swordsman.

At first, Zoro just figured you were exhausted. With a small huff, he took his sword out of his mouth, holding two of them at the same time in one hand just to laugh at you. After all, it’s kind of funny that so little activity got you huffing and puffing.

“Come on - you that out of shape?” He mocked.

But your face looked numb - empty, even. And Zoro didn’t like that at all. Shakily, as you stood up from the weight bench, you felt that familiar racing heart leave you unsteady. Great, how the hell are you gonna get down like this? You didn’t bother answering Zoro, your eyes darting to the hole in the floor that led to the ladder. It’s a long climb down, and with the sweat on your palms, you weren’t certain you could make it. Maybe that’s what made this particular panic attack worse.

That’s when the hyperventilating really set in. And Zoro didn’t like that, at all.

“Hey, what gives? You okay?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, yeah, just…” You say, attempting to sound dismissive but the breathy quality of your voice gave away your anxiety. You couldn’t even finish the sentence, and your legs felt like lead as they carried you to the exit of the crow’s nest.

“(Y/N), don’t be an idiot.” Zoro interjected quickly, reaching out to grab your wrist. It wasn’t firm, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. As you turned to look at him, all words died on his tongue. You looked scared. He let go of your wrist, looking you up and down. “Seriously, what’s wrong? You look like you’re freaked out.”

“I just…I get them sometimes, it’s not a big…” You tried to say, but your voice sounded shaky. You couldn’t trust it, and talking felt like such a monumental task paired with the exhaustion of your racing heart. 

“Get what?” He asked, furrowing his brows as he looked at you. Yeah, he didn’t get it. Not one bit. Zoro had seen you countless times on the battlefield, holding your own against some of the toughest enemies. Not once had he seen this expression from you before, at least not during a simple training routine. 

“Um…panic attacks. It’s just…my body likes to, um…” You stammered, and Zoro felt his heart clench. What the hell is a panic attack? But it didn’t matter. Whatever it was had stressed you out, and Zoro didn’t like that. At all.

Setting his swords aside, he moved over to one of the walls and took a seat easily. He looked up at you expectantly, and no words needed to be exchanged before you walked over to join him. Thighs touching, Zoro put his arms behind his head and leaned back against the wall. 

“I ever tell you about the bounty hunting I did before joining the crew?”

You were caught off-guard, and it’s enough to temporarily confuse you. Shaking your head, Zoro took it as his cue to proceed. It was a long story - he had gotten lost leaving his village and decided to pick up bounty hunting, call it training. As you leaned against him and listened, you eventually began to interject with your own comments and questions. Jokes spilled out of both of you, and that vein pulse through your body steadily went to the back of your head. Before you knew it, laughs became less breathless and the stable feeling of Zoro’s arm against yours felt like an anchor. Maybe later he’d ask you about panic attacks, what they are, and how long you’ve had them. For now, though, he was content to just talk to you and see that smile return to your face.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

SANJI

You weren’t exactly sure what started it - whether it was the loud noises at dinner, the texture of the food as you scraped the pans clean, or the fact that you had carelessly dropped a dish and shattered it onto the ground. Regardless of what had actually gotten to you, your body felt that familiar rise of dread and paranoia that always signaled the start of a really, really long night. Sanji had assured you when you dropped the plate that it was fine, that he could clean it, and that you really didn’t need to help him clean up after dinner. After all, it was his responsibility, even when you insisted on spending this time with him every night.

That wasn’t enough to ease your mind or your racing pulse.

You sat down on a chair at the edge of the kitchen, hoping to catch your breath. You pressed your cool hands against your face, but it did nothing to abate the flush of anxiety pooling blood to your cheeks. Sanji being Sanji, it took him all of five seconds after throwing away the broken glass to notice that you weren’t okay.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, quirking a curled eyebrow as he looked at you. That look in your eyes when you turned your attention to him made his heart clench. Something was very, very wrong. “Don’t worry about the dish,” He added quickly, hoping that maybe this was the issue, “We have plenty. If you’d like, I can-”

“Sanji, please.” You murmured, burying your face in your hands again. This wasn’t like you, and that set off warning bells in his head yet again.

Taking a few measured steps forward, he bent down on one knee to look at you. You were shaking, your face was flushed, and it didn’t seem like you had any reason to be afraid. Yet, here you were, hiding your face from him in his kitchen.

“Mon amour, can you look at me?”

Something about that made you want to curl up into a ball and disappear. Maybe it was because he was so gentle, or maybe it was the shame of having this happen in front of him. Regardless, with a lot of reluctance, you peeked your eyes over your hands to meet his gaze. You were met with Sanji’s brows knitted, his eyes narrowed as he observed your expression carefully. For his part, Sanji had taken particular notice of your unsteady breathing. He thought he had an idea of what was going on, even if he didn’t fully understand what had started it. With a sigh, he stood up and took his pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“Can you do something for me?”

Your hands slowly dropped from your face down into your lap as you looked up at him. You watched as he lit up a cigarette, and he took your silence as you were either too upset to talk or at least willing to listen. With that permission, he continued.

“I want you to count down from a hundred. Can you do that? And when you’re finished, tell me how many things in this kitchen are blue.” He said simply, taking a drag from his cigarette. He was careful to blow the smoke away from you, and it was something that even in your panic attack, you appreciated. He was always so considerate.

“What?” You asked, your voice breathless. 

Sanji hummed at your question, flashing you a warm smile.

“Just trust me. Do it aloud, okay? I wanna hear it.” 

So, after a few moments of careful contemplation, you did. Unsteadily, you closed your eyes as you focused on each number. Your voice was still shaky when you reached the end, but you managed to get through it. When you opened your eyes, you looked around the kitchen and easily identified each blue item. Some kitchen towels, Sanji’s shirt, his eyes, a few cooking utensils. Sanji would occasionally ask for details, and by the end of it, you realized you weren’t shaking anymore. Your body was still, your heart was normal, and you felt…exhausted, but better. In your silence, Sanji let out a small laugh and put out his cigarette before walking over to the counter across the kitchen. He had to resume cleaning up, after all.

“That always helped me when I felt weird. Figured it might help you, too.” He answered as if he had predicted exactly what you were thinking. “Next time it happens, come find me. I’d be happy to help you out.”

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

LAW

You were walking through the halls of the Polar Tang, intent on getting some work done. Life wasn’t always easy on the ship, but the crew itself made it feel as though the sun wasn’t all that far away even hundreds of miles beneath the surface. It had been weeks since the ship had been anywhere near the open air, though, and that craving for freedom was starting to grate on everyone’s nerves.

You made it just outside of Law’s office, holding a logbook of some patients under your arms that you intended to show him. As your hand came up to knock on the door, though, the panic attack set in. It came as it always did - quickly, brutally, and with a raging need to be attended to immediately. You took a deep breath, trying to force your body to calm down with the knowledge that you’ve already knocked on Law’s door. It’s too late to walk away and come back later.

The moment Law opened the door, his face as neutral and uncompromising as always, he knew something was wrong. He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something off about you. You looked almost surprised to see him there despite the fact that you knocked.

“(Y/N)-ya?” He asked, his tone as disinterested as his expression.

You took another deep breath, grabbing the book beneath your arm with shaky hands and holding it out to him.

“Here. I just needed to…give you this.” You said, your voice shaky and noticeably just a little labored.

“Thank you…” Law replied, a hint of skepticism in his tone as he accepted the book. He noticed the way your hands lingered on the book, almost like you were forgetting to let it go, and that was the last straw for Law. Something was clearly wrong. 

As you began to turn to leave his office, his hand darted out to gently grab your wrist. This didn’t help your anxiety, not one bit, and you froze in response. This didn’t go unnoticed by the surgeon.

“Hey, come in for a minute. I want to show you something.” He said, and his tone was as stern as usual, leaving no room for argument. Not that you could argue right now, anyway. 

You let him lead you into his office, the familiar cluttered spaces making you feel all the more claustrophobic. Ah, that’s what it was - the walls were closing in, leaving your lungs lacking air and your heart palpitating. Sometimes it was a little game to figure out what had set off the panic attack in the first place. 

And it seemed Law had somehow figured that out, too. He led you to his chair and gently sat you down, letting go of your wrist. You didn’t bother watching as he fumbled with something behind you, and before you knew it, a bright light shined down and provided warmth. You finally turned back to look at him, your brows furrowed. You’re met with that same unaffected stare as he moved around you, leaning a hand and his hip against his desk.

“It’s not good to be without sunlight for so long. I picked one of these UV lamps up at a port a few islands back. I think I’ll be buying a few more for the sub.” Law explained, speaking of it as if it’s something as mundane as the weather. For you, though, you feel your heart spike. This time, not with anxiety - anticipation.

“Really?” You asked, and that hopeful lilt in your voice made the doctor smile just a fraction. 

“Yeah.” He responded simply, and he turned his gaze to a porthole on the far wall. Then, to your surprise, he kept speaking. “Panic attacks are pretty common, (Y/N)-ya, and I know them when I see them. I have some reading I’d like to give you, and maybe we can talk medication at some point. For now, just try to relax and soak in the UV.”

You were nearly floored at his response. You’d tired yourself out so often having to explain what panic attacks were, how they affected you, and why they came up. But Law knew. Of course he did. You remained silent for a moment before leaning back in his chair, closing your eyes to take his advice. This pleased him more than words could say.

Your heart was still racing, that dread making you feel dizzy, but the warmth of the UV light was almost soothing. You heard Law rustling with some things on his desk, busying himself, and he began to read some of the logs from the book you’d given him out loud. You weren’t sure if it was more for himself or for you, but his voice did add that last touch to help relax and calm you down. When you felt your heart return to normal, and your lungs were satisfied with the oxygen you provided them, you finally settled down into a restful sleep in Law's chair. He was grateful that you couldn't see the small smile that rose to his lips.

[keferon]

Ok i said i would do itater, but this was done for my sister who got really hurt and wanted comfort out of my drabble, shout out to you @saltynsassy31 XD

This will probably be very OOC bc again, i am NOT too acquainted with these characters

So apologies in advance, but i think this will still be very entertaining for you :]

So yeah, here's part 2!

---

Jazz was tired, they haven't given him much time to rest since he came back. And even if they did, it's not like he could rest anyways, thinking about....about Prowl.

No way he could have just left him, right? After everything....it just didn't feel right, and the way they spoke to him about it too. Call him crazy but something in his gut told him they were hiding something from him. But it just never seemed enough to push him to look into it (oh how he would regret that for the rest of his life)

Today was supposed to be a normal routine check to the new mechas, with new recruits coming in for him to teach.

Jazz was given a new mecha suit, despite his protests to it (which surprised even him honestly, but it just didn't feel right). He hadn't gotten the chance to see it yet, today was the day they would present the new model, though it was said to be in its early stages still.

...

He doesn't know how it happened, how he'd gotten here, but all he knew was that he had seen red. When he gotten to see his new mech suit, it seemed oddly familiar in touch, in fact something about it made him feel sick to his stomach.

Small dents and scarring coated the plating around the panels that opened to the cockpit. He recognised that plating, from crawling on it with his magnets, sleeping on them comfortably despite being made of metal (there was something so warm about it, but that warmth was....lost. He wanted to puke). But what broke the string holding him together, a scar, a scar so familiar it sent him back to the exact moment he witnessed his partner getting it in the first place.

Jazz had weilded that shut himself, they had gotten in a bad scuffle a while back, and with worry he wanted to try and make sure Prowl wouldn't be in too much pain before they could get some proper help.

"Jazz?" Someone called out to him. That was the last thing he remembered.

Now? Now he stood by the halls in which they didn't allow the likes of him inside, the halls in which the scientists worked on. He made a fast dash to the last room, the room one of the scientists told him had the one he was looking for (though he wasn't proud to admit he had perhaps aggressively gotten that answer out of the poor guy). He had a weird unknown blaster weapon with him that he had ripped from the mech suit he was supposed to try out (deep down, he hoped that weapon didn't belong to Prowl. He hoped that he wasn't too late), using that, he blasted the door open hoping that would keep anyone from stopping him from getting inside.

As soon as Jazz layed his eyes on the scene before him; his partner hanging from wires holding him into place, chain keeping him from leaving, mutilated almost beyong recognition save his face, and with a small weak staticked cry from his partner, "Jazz?" the small bit of awarness he had gained back was gone again. All he could do in that moment was to yell, a desperate cry that came from the pits of his lungs.

"GET AWAY FROM MY PARTNER!"

And in another flurry of motions he didn’t have complete control over, he was beating the ever living hell out of the prick who decided it was a good idea to mess with HIS partner! He didn’t even know how long he had been at it until the twisted man he called a boss scratched his face, small bits of blood flowing out. In shock and pain, he grabbed the man by the neck of his shirt and threw him to the otherside of the room. Once he was certain that he wouldn't be getting up again, he turned to face Prowl once more, running and calling out to him as he ran to scoop up his beloved's face, blurting out a mess of an apology.

"I'm so sorry, i shouldn't have brought you here- we, we need to get you out-"

Oh did the guilt eat him up from the inside, he- he shouldn't have brought him here. Prowl probably hated him right now, but the sudden distant bell of an alarm down the halls had him scrambling to his feet to try and make things right.

Suddenly, as adrenaline slowly faded off, he realised how much damage he had actually taken throughout his rampage, a limp on his left leg catching up to him. Stinging pain on his face and limbs, but he needed to keep moving, they weren't safe yet.

"I have to get you to a safe place," he mumbled, mostly to himself, "and- and then maybe call for help. Oh but who could i even go to?" As he spoke, he started to set Prowl's limbs free from it's chains, gods they were so damaged, he could barely look at the missing parts. But as he worked his way through, he let out small sighs of relief to see that at least, he seemed to not be missing some vital parts. He could still maybe make a run for it, if only he could stall the facility long enough-

"You really shouldn't have...."

Jazz turned in shock, Prowl's voice snapping him out of his panicked haze.

"Prowl..." if he wasn’t crying already, now he certainly was. Gods he fucked up badly.

Not having the courage to face the other just yet, he turned back to the chained leg he had been working on. Prowl didn't seem to have wanted an answer either way, sitting up as he watched the organic do his work (Jazz tried to ignore the missing arm).

As he finished getting rid of the chain, he got up again, letting out a hiss of pain from his injuries (which did not go unnoticed by the mech). Clutching his left side as a bleeding cut let out a terrible stinging sensation which he doesn't think he'll ever get used to, he walked over to the final limb stuck under chains. As he walked over, he briefed over the quick plan he thought of

"Look, i- i know you might not trust me right now-" a huff, almost soundling like a disbeliefing chuckle, was heard from the mech, Jazz ignored it. "But there is a place you can go to and hide, hide- hide until maybe i can get help or- or find a way to send you back-"

"You wouldn't make it that far." Prowl spoke, matter of factly, which got a hit under Jazz's skin

"I know that! Which is why you will make a run for it. There's an exit by the other side of this room where you can leave-"

A sudden realisation hit Prowl. Jazz wasn't planning on coming with him.

And the human nodded, seeming to understand that Prowl finally got what he was saying. As he reached the last final screw to Prowl's chains, he finished off what he was trying to say "I'll keep them busy long enough for you to leave," before he could finish, as the final screw was let lose and Prowl was free to move, he felt himself be lift up from the ground and let out a startled yelp. "Wha- HEY!"

It took Jazz being shoved inside Prowl's cockpit for him to realise that he had been picked up by the mech (maybe a possible concussion he thought to himself). Jazz couldn't even try to jump out as, despite it missing the plating to shut him inside, Prowl placed his servo up to close to exit.

Desperately and confused, Jazz called out, "What are you doing?!"

To be entirely honest, Prowl wasn't sure himself, he was just as confused as the human to his actions, usually so full of logic. This one was acted apon pure emotion. Emotion of fear, anxiety, anger but most importantly

Desperation

Because somehow, this stupid human had his spark between his fingers, and he'd be dammed if he let him get himself killed just for him.

This isn't how he would want to say goodbye

---

Thanks again, to my sister who pushed me to write this, and also helped out in some parts!

Might have done more if i could, but it's super late rn lol (it's 4am and our mon will kills us for staying up this late).

Again sorry for any OOC moments, but i hope this was to your enjoyment! Maybe i can do a part 3 to this, but idk enough about how things work to do that, so i let anyone be free to mess around with this :]

Oh my... oh fuck I can't. I just keep thinking about Prowl pressing his palm on his chest even when other humans eventually get to him and start shooting. He's a mess, half of his armor is missing he's probably leaving an energon trail behind him. But he knows that while it would take a lot of bullets to take him down, it would take only one lucky bullet to kill Jazz. I'm. AUGh

[lxkeee]

Just read your thing about lucifer with a morticia addams like character, and I already had alot of thoughts like, how would it be if lucifer then took her to the hotel to introduce her to the others, what would it have been like if she was at the hotel when lucifer came to see charlie, things like that, it was so great!

LUCIFER X OVERLORD! FEM! READER

—part two!

I'm gonna add a little twist to this;)

Which is jealous Lucifer lmfao.

PART ONE |

“Darling, are you sure you wanted me to be there? I don't want to intrude on your little family reunion with your daughter.” [y/n] says, her hand over her hips as she looked down (literally) on him. Her antlers form a shadow over his form, majestic.

“Darling, I promise you won't be intruding and yes, I want you to be there. I need your support.” Lucifer says pleading making [y/n] sigh softly, a small smile on her face.

“Alright, anything to make my darling happy.” she says with a giggle.

Everything she says and does makes his knees weak.

He's whipped.

Arriving at the hotel, [y/n] told him he should go inside first as she needed to take care of some... Pests...

Both of them are powerful beings so they are bound to have enemies that follows them.

[y/n] managed to sense those familiar presence who always wanted to take her down but failed spectacularly.

“Wait... I should go with you.” Lucifer says worriedly, holding her hands. [Y/n] just squeezing his hands in assurance.

“Do not fret, it's not something I can't handle and besides, they're nothing but pesky roaches that I could easily crush with a flick of my finger.” [y/n] says with a smirk before leaning down and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“I will return quickly, and enjoy some personal time with your daughter. You owe it to her, hmm?” she says with a raised eyebrow and Lucifer sighs before nodding with a smile.

“Alright, just... Be careful okay? Promise me.” Lucifer says with a worried tone, [y/n] had to pat his hear.

“Of course, darling. I'll always come back to you.” she says with a small genuine smile, her sharp teeth can be seen before morphing her body into a shadow and camouflages with the surrounding shadows. Leaving him behind to deal with the threat near the hotel.

Lucifer sighs before eventually walking towards the door of the hotel.

Lucifer eventually met the staff and guests of the hotel along with Charlie. He doesn't like that Alastor guy, gives him bad vibes.

“And this is Niffty, she's our house cleaner.” Charlie introduces as Niffty begins to crawl Lucifer just so she could face him face to face, “I clean.” Niffty says with a giggle.

Charlie was nervous to say the least, she's nervous about what her dad is thinking about the hotel. Suddenly there was a knock on the hotel door.

The sound causing everyone to keep quiet. Charlie decided to open the door to see the infamous shadow demon, standing tall and ominous with a large grin on her face.

“Gree—” the tall demoness greeted but was cut off as the door was slammed shut.

Charlie decided to open it again to make sure she didn't imagine things, didn't imagine one of hell's powerful overlords in her doorstep, “tings—” the demoness continued but the door was slammed shut again.

Lucifer had to face palm while Alastor's grin widened as he heard the familiar voice of his deer friend (badum tsss) while also feeling a sense of deja vu.

“Charlie, dear. Can you open the door? It is rude to slam the door on someone's face.” Lucifer sighs with a chuckle making Charlie laugh nervously before eventually opening the door.

“May I speak now?” the tall demoness asked with a grin.

“You may.” Charlie said hesitantly but her hand was quickly grabbed as the demoness shook her hand.

“It is finally a pleasure to meet you sweetheart, your dad has been telling me so many good things about you!” the demoness says with a large grin on her face as she entered the hotel.

The princess of hell was confused.

“Wait... My dad told you things about me...?” Charlie asked as Lucifer walked beside the tall demoness.

“Um yes... Charlie, I would like you to meet [y/n] she's my.... lover...” Lucifer says, voice getting shyer at the end.

Charlie blinked, [y/n] just grins.

Charlie finally processed his words.

“She's your girlfriend?!” Charlie asked, mouth agape.

“Yes, for a few months now.” Lucifer says with a chuckle.

The others just stared at the couple, blinking as they tried to process it.

Well... They are both powerful and they kinda look like each other's type. They thought as they looked at the two.

“My word, I didn't expect you to snag the king of hell my dear friend.” Alastor says with a smirk, his familiar static voice catching [y/n]'s attention.

Lucifer's eyes twitch. This bastard knows his woman?

“Is that Alastor I hear?” [y/n] says with a grin, morphing her body into shadows as she teleports next to Alastor's side.

“[y/n]! It's been awhile since I've last seen you, how have you been my dearest friend?” Alastor greeted, bowing down to place a gentle kiss on [y/n]'s knuckles, a subtle smirk on his face.

Lucifer's left eye twitched as he looked at the scene in front of him.

He's not angry at [y/n], no, no. He is pissed at Alastor though.

“I should be the one asking you that! You've disappeared for seven years, I thought you already kicked the bucket my friend.” [y/n] laughs and Alastor laughed with her.

Lucifer quickly appeared on [y/n]'s side, holding a protective arm around her waist.

“Darling, I didn't know you're acquainted with this man.” Lucifer asked, his eyes glaring at Alastor.

[y/n] just chuckles, intertwining her hand with Lucifer's hand.

“Alastor here is an overlord so it would make sense we know each other. Considering we have our annual overlord meetings.” [y/n] explained, giving him assurance.

Alastor finds entertainment in teasing others and right now is a perfect opportunity to tease the king of hell more.

“[y/n] here is a charming woman, her presence is a real head turner. I couldn't resist getting acquainted with her.” Alastor says with a grin.

The others just looking at the scene happening between the three.

“Oohh... Drama...” Angel whispers to Husk, making Husk chuckle.

*cue the chandelier falling in front of them*

*cue the hell's greatest dad scene.*

[y/n] sighs, a small smile on her face as he watched Lucifer being shown around the hotel by Charlie and Alastor. [Y/n] decided to stay in the lobby as she wanted to get acquainted with others.

“So you and the short king?” Angel says making [y/n] snort.

“Indeed, quite a catch really.” [y/n] chuckles as she sat on the bar stool. Husk preparing her a drink.

“You know what they say, the shorter the height the bigger the—” Angel was cut off by Husk.

“I swear to God if you say dick!” Husk remarked.

“Heart! Goodness, Husk. Get your mind out of the gutter!” Angel laughed.

[Y/n] bursts out laughing, these people are so fun to be around.

“Goodness, you guys are so hilarious!” [y/n] says in between laughs.

Safe to say the others warmed up to her and her to them.

[y/n] spent the rest of her time just joking with the others, occasionally giving Niffty cleaning tips and Vaggie some suggestions on how to improve the hotel.

*Cue the loan sharks destroying the hotel*

Lucifer and [y/n] stood next to each other as they watched Alastor deal with the loan sharks. [Y/n] had an amazed look in her eyes while Lucifer just watched in slight caution.

[y/n] may be the type of demon who finds joy in others pain but at this moment, she places her hand on Lucifer's shoulder as a warning. [Y/n] can tell that Charlie was getting upset from Lucifer's remarks.

“Darling, calm down.” [y/n] says softly but Lucifer's emotions are controlling his actions.

“How can he have faith in me but my own father can't?” Charlie asked, clearly upset.

“Charlie, sweetie...” [y/n] says softly, approaching the poor girl. Squeezing the poor girl's hands in assurance.

Mother is mothering fr.

[y/n] can sense that Charlie and Lucifer needed to talk this out. Giving the girl a pat on her head before walking to Lucifer's side.

“Lucifer... I think it's time to tell her.” [y/n] says softly in his ear. Squeezing his hand in assurance before joining the others. Angel offered her some popcorn which she gladly accepted.

[y/n] looked so proud, watching the father and daughter hug each other. Her eyes sparkled in amazement as she looked at Lucifer's wings. It never fails to mesmerize her.

Lucifer finally agreeing in scheduling Charlie a meeting with heaven.

“Good luck, kiddo.” Lucifer says and extends his hand towards [y/n]'s direction. [Y/n] accepting his hand.

“You can do it Charlie.” [y/n] grins before the couple finally left the hotel in puff of sparkling red smoke.

“I hope Miss [y/n] visits, I like her.” Niffty says with a small laugh.

“Your dad's new lover doesn't seem so bad.” Vaggie says as she stood beside Charlie.

Charlie just smiled, “Yeah, she doesn't seem so bad.”

Charlie is glad her father found someone like [y/n], she can see the chemistry between the two.

“Are you okay?” [y/n] asked softly as she spooned Lucifer on his bed. Her arms wrapped protectively around him.

“I'll be fine. Thanks for being here with me.” Lucifer says softly, blushing slightly as he felt her place a gentle kiss on the nape of his neck.

“Anytime.” she says softly.

[kwanisms]

It’s the season of love, or lust. Here’s a collection of 14 separate tales to keep you company this Valentine’s season. demon/incubus!Idol × fem!Reader

» back || playlist || taglist « ❑ WORDCOUNT —  ❑ WARNINGS — adult language, female reader, shorter reader, reincarnated reader, chubby!Reader, smaller reader, jealousy and possessiveness, mentions of: marriage, travel, homesickness, food & alcohol consumption, history of drug use, depression & thoughts of suicide, feelings of isolation, past love, heartbreak, major character death, reincarnation, severe depression, loneliness, minor character death, food & alcohol consumption, occultism, witchcraft, demonic summoning & rituals, PTSD, graveyards, ghost hunting, communicating with spirits, hospital environments, long working hours, bodily trauma, blood, gore; see each part for full warnings! ❑ CONTENT — angst, fluff, smut; supernatural, fantasy, demons & angels, biblical, established relationships, office setting, boss!Reader, coworkers to lovers, ER doctor!Reader, demon!Idols; non idol au, demon au, farm au, hospital au; see each part for full content lists! ❑ NOTES — happy valentine's, my loves! Here is something no one asked for but I'm delivering anyway! I've got 14 stories here, 11 of which are sequels to existing aus I've created and three new ones! They're all of my existing demon aus! From Seventeen to Stray Kids to Day6, all of my demon characters are being revisited here! Taglist is open and will close at the end of January so sign up now! Thanks for the support thus far babes and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

 ➥ incubus!Kihyun × fem!Reader summary: After the events of her story, Y/N has had her curse broken and succubus powers removed, allowing her to live a normal life. She has managed to keep a low profile, getting a job in a diner, her entire world is turned upside down when one of the men she was tasked with seducing in her previous life shows up at the diner late one night with a bone to pick with her. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 1

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 ➥ incubus!Hongjoong × fem!Reader × Seonghwa summary: After being banished to hell, Hongjoong manages to find a weak point and escapes back to the mortal realm. He only has a short time before the hounds of Hell are sent after him to bring him back and he makes the most of his time by tracking down his former servant only to find Seonghwa’s vampire curse has been broken and that he’s now happily married to the woman who destroyed everything Hongjoong built up. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 2

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 ➥ incubus!Jisung × fem!Reader summary: Now that all his friends are seeming to settle down with their respective partners, Han decides to venture out on his own and explore a new city. While there, he meets someone who flips his world upside down and turns it inside out. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 3

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 ➥ demon!Jeonghan × fem!Reader summary: Jeonghan lost his chance at love by being stubborn and cruel. Since then, he’d been drifting through the world, finding no meaning at continuing his meaningless charade. He refused to return to Hell but being on Earth was even more torture. He thought about just ending everything when the world came to a halt upon spotting a familiar face on the streets of Paris. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 4

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 ➥ incubus!Johnny × fem!Reader summary: Y/N has been living her best life, having climbed the social ladder at work and now heads her department, thanks to the promotion she landed. She can’t forget the reason for her success and one night while at the office working late, the demon she made a deal with comes back to check in. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 5

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 ➥ demon!Mingi × fem!Reader summary: Summers spent in the country used to have a sense of nostalgia but now, as you helped clear out your aunt’s old farm house, it was just hot and all you did was sweat. When you come across an old, tattered black book, things go from hot to hotter when you are transported to an alternate dimension where you meet a mysterious man who inhabits your aunt’s house on what he calls the ‘Other Side.’  read now »» coming Feb 6

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 ➥ incubus!Sungjin × fem!Reader summary: Since the incident at the museum, involving the old grimoire, Y/N has kept a low profile and quit her job at the museum, instead getting a job at a bookstore in a quiet part of town. It’s been three years and she still has the book, keeping it locked in a glass case in her house. The demon has not appeared since but she can’t shake the uneasy feeling she has as the fifth year anniversary of the Summoning approaches. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 7

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 ➥ incubus!Yeonjun × fem!Reader summary: After a visit to the old graveyard with her friends, Y/N has had this uneasy feeling of being followed or watched. Maybe she’s being paranoid, or maybe it's the result of playing around with a Ouija board but one thing is certain; she keeps seeing someone or something watching her from the window in her bedroom. read now »» coming Feb 8

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 ➥ incubus!Jongho × fem!Reader summary: As a result of passing his seduction test, Jongho has become a full-fledged incubus. He’s now among the ranks of those who have made names for themselves. He finds that being an incubus comes with a great amount of freedom and responsibility. Responsibility he shirks because he can’t seem to stay away from the one who helped him pass his test: Y/N.  read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 9

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 ➥ demon!Seungmin × fem!Reader summary: Your idea of fun was playing video games with your friends or playing beer pong at a frat party. It did not include summoning a demon in the basement of the creepy, old abandoned house at the end of Willow Avenue.  read now »» coming Feb 10

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 ➥ demon!Chan × fem!Reader summary: Ever since she summoned him, Chan hasn’t been able to get Y/N out of his mind. He returns to her after some time and insists that she accept the proposal he made to her the last time he was there. He wants to be bound exclusively to her. Y/N is hesitant but Chan tells her to think it over while he makes his trip to visit her worth both their time. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 11

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 ➥ incubus!Chanyeol × fem!Reader summary: Since their encounter and Chanyeol’s nature as an incubus exposed, he and Y/N have had a secret relationship which tends to bring out the worst jealousy in both of them. They often sneak around the hospital, meeting in secret places.  read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 12

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 ➥ incubus!Hyunjin × fem!Reader × witch!Felix summary: After his visit, Hyunjin has moved into the house next door to Y/N and Felix, making himself at home as their neighbor and tormenting Felix by plaguing Y/N’s dreams. Hyunjin seems determined to make Felix’s life a living hell and drive a wedge between the witch and his girlfriend. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 13

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 ➥ incubus!Joshua × fem!Reader summary: Ever since that fateful night where Joshua revealed himself as a demon, Joshua and Y/N have built a life for themselves, living together in her house and working at the antique shop together. When Joshua decides to take her out for a romantic Valentine’s dinner, his jealous side emerges when he thinks the waiter is flirting with Y/N so he takes her home to remind her who she belongs to. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 14

©️ kwanisms 2018 - 2025 | all written and artistic works on this blog are protected under copyright. reposts, continuations, and translations of my works are not permitted. All graphics made by me.

[futilemillipede]

𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 × 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 || 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝟏𝟖+

[warnings: smut, 18+ content, piv, fluff, creampie, unprotected sex, dominant/switch nanami, fem!reader, praise kink lowkey]

[A/N: this is my first fanfic + english isnt my first language so bear with me LOL also i never watched JJK and idk shit about the show so this is purely out of my own understanding of Nanami's character and a few headcannons which ive seen ppl give him :3 pls dont hunt me down if i mischaracterise this beefcake of a man]

Click.

"Darling, I'm home."

The apartment door opened, signalling the arrival of your husband, Nanami. The mere sound of your husband's soothing, baritone voice was enough to make you perk up from the kitchen and come rushing towards him. Nanami stumbled back slightly from the sheer impact of you practically lunging yourself at him in a tight embrace. A soft smile graced his lips as he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his nose in your hair, taking a big inhale and murmuring, "Missed you."

"I missed you too, love. Too much." You mumbled into his chest, your voice slightly petulant but Nanami knew that it was all just an act and that he could turn you into a whimpering mess with a few touches. Nevertheless, he decided to play along. "Hm? Really, darling?" He purred, his voice sending a pleasant tingle down your spine yet you managed to keep a straight face and respond, your voice slightly shaky. "Y-yeah. What? Don't believe me?" You huffed, tilting your head back to see the slight smirk tugging on the corners of his lips. God, you could feel your cheeks heating up at the thought of his lips exploring every inch of your body.

"No, no, it's not that I don't believe you..." He trailed off, his hands swiftly moving to lift you up and carry you to the living room couch in bridal style. Once you were secured on his lap, your thighs on either side of his hips, straddling him, he continued his words with a touch of oh-so-familiar cheekiness, "I just expected that my lovely wife would demonstrate how much she missed me."

There it was. The words, the tone, the damn look of pure admiration and lust in his eyes that made you feel weak in the knees. Without a second thought, you crashed your lips onto his. The moment your soft lips met his, he reciprocated the kiss back, a moan slipping into your mouth as he deepened the kiss with his tongue. Nanami's hands wandered down from your waist to cup your ass, the feeling of the supple flesh already making his mind go haywire and his slacks tighten. You pulled away from the kiss, your tongue slightly out and a string of saliva on the corner of your mouth. Nanami was already flushed but his grip on your ass was relentless. Before you could even think of what to do, Nanami moved his hips upwards, grinding against your panty-clad core and making sure you felt how hard he was even through his work attire.

"C'mon, darling. Don't keep your man waitin'" He whispered as he began adorning your jaw and neck with kisses and love bites. A moan escaped your lips at the feeling of his teeth sinking into the skin of your neck, leaving a red hickey. "Y-you're so impatient, Ken..." The words came out as a pouty mumble, your words barely coherent from the heat of the moment. You pushed yourself down on him, grinding in a teasingly slow manner against his rock-hard cock, earning a low groan from your husband. His head lolled back on the couch cushions and he shut his eyes tightly as he basked in the pleasure. "Quit being a tease, love." He muttered but the sight of your hardworking husband being reduced into a moaning, desperate mess after a long day of work was a sight to behold.

You slowly stopped your ministrations but before Nanami could complain, your fingers quickly undid his belt. The sound of the zipper opening echoed in the otherwise quiet apartment, the air thick with desire and anticipation as Nanami watched your reaction to his thick length straining the fabric of his black boxers. "Perv." You grumbled and playfully rolled your eyes as your index finger lightly grazed the tip of his cock, beads of precum already staining his boxers causing Nanami to subconsciously jerk his hips forward, begging for more of your touch.

Nanami let out a soft chuckle at your words, his eyes crinkling from both amusement and adoration. "Only for you, Y/N." His words were strangely sincere despite the rather intimate scenario you both were in, but that's what you could only expect from him. A genuine smile tugged on the corners of your lips as you pulled down his boxers, his thick cock springing out and throbbing. Without another word, you slipped out of your panties and hovered just above his aching length. Nanami could feel the heat and slickness so close to the tip of his cock. He needed to be inside you.

"Darling, please-" Nanami's words were cut off by a low moan escaping his lips the moment you sunk down onto his cock. "Y-you're so big, Ken..." You mumbled mostly to yourself, the sensation of his cock stretching your slick cunt never failed to make you even wetter. You slowly began to move your hips, each thrust and movement eliciting erotic moans and gasps from both of you. Nanami gritted his teeth trying to let you take control as you began to bounce your hips faster. His fingers were digging onto the supple flesh of your ass as he tried to restrain himself from flipping you over to your stomach and pounding into you relentlessly. He wasn't used to letting you lead, after all.

His thoughts were cut off the moment you began riding him at a faster pace, angling your hips so that his cock would hit a particularly sensitive, deep spot. "Y/N, f-fuck..." He moaned your name over and over again like a prayer. His thoughts were a mess and his words were basically incoherent with the only word he could muster up being your name. God, he was so easy to wreck. You could feel his cock twitch inside you, nearing closer and closer to his release. You were right about to come yourself but that was long forgotten once Nanami flipped you over to your stomach onto the couch and hovered over your vulnerable form. "Hey, baby wait-" Your words died on your tongue as Nanami began to pound into you relentlessly. You buried your face in a pillow, the sound of skin-to-skin contact reverberating through the walls. As for Nanami, his pace was fast and deep. His eyes were glued to the sight of your ass recoiling with each thrust, the view only fueling his determination to fuck you senseless.

"Such a good little wife for me." He punctuated his words with a deep thrust, causing you to whine in pleasure. The muffled sounds of your moans and whimpers almost made Nanami lose his rhythm. Almost. The lewd sounds of your wet cunt taking his cock was loud enough to earn him a noise complaint from the neighbours the next morning but that was the last thing on his mind when his pretty wife is being dicked down by him in the living room couch.

"K-ken... I'm gon-" You pathetically mumbled into the pillow, feeling the overwhelming heat pool in your gut and the slick walls of your cunt tighten as Nanami drove you to your climax. With one last, deep thrust, you both came. Your juices coated his cock and his warm cum filling every inch of your needy cunt. The mix of both of your arousal leaked onto the couch cushions, further increasing the intimacy and eroticism of Nanami's 'display of love'. Despite your climax, Nanami wasn't done with you — he slowed his pace, his finger reaching down to toy with your swollen clit as he continued to fuck you, the overwhelming sensations prolonging both of your climaxes. He slowed down and finally stopped, taking a moment to admire the feeling of being inside you before carefully pulling out. You gasped at the sudden emptiness you felt but it was quickly overshadowed by embarrassment and arousal as you felt Nanami smearing the cum leaking out of your filled cunt onto your ass.

"You're so mean, Ken." Your words were muffled as you buried your face into the pillow, hiding your bright red cheeks from your husband who was looking down at you with a flushed yet cocky expression. It was clear that he took great pride in making sure his wife's needs were met, no matter how much of a fuss you put on.

"Not my fault you're easy to please." Nanami chuckled and began placing kisses down from your shoulder blades to your spine. "I'm not done with you yet, darling. We have a long night ahead of us." He murmured in-between kisses, the words were soft and reassuring, yet still having a hint of dominance in it.

ty 4 reading this fanfic babes

tagz:

[libraryraccoon]

Ok, so, imagine the overblot hand with a yuu that has a gigantic griffin as a familiar, I'm talking 10' feet for more. Oh yeah, that's just my partner and their

12' FEET TALL GRIFFIN???

Raccoon Note : YES. JUST A 12' FEET TALL GRIFFIN WITH A LIL' WITHOUT MAGIC TEENAGER Genre : GN Type : Headcanon Characters : Overblot boys + the apparition of Grim and Crowley Infos about the fic : Griffin are seeing as one of the most dangerous thing in Twisted Wonderland and hard to find (it's a twisted world after all). Yuu's world Griffins are NOT the same as the ones in Twisted Wonderland. TW : English isn't my first language, bad english. I don't really know a lot about griffins but I tried, the griffins in Yuu's world are NOT the same in Twisted Wonderland.

Crowley was looking for the new student, they had opened their gate by themselves and left ! This had never happened before ! Now, Crowley had to search them without any help !

He walked towards the garden, where he saw a student (probably the new one) with some kind of cat with blue fire similar to those of the Shroud.

Crowley approached, preparing his magic to deal with the animal, when a large animal charged at the cat and- WAS IT A GRIFFIN ?!

No need to tell that Crowley thought he was dreaming when you said that that Griffin was your familiar.

He brought you back to the ceremony, praying that your griffin could pass through the doors normally, without breaking everything.

Spoiler : The griffin was too tall. The doors are broken now (and Crowley is crying looking at the costs he will have to pay for repairs).

When you entered in the ceremony room, all attention was on the griffin that had just broken down the door to get in.

(I will rename the griffin Cloudwing because they need a name)

Cloudwing was looking everywhere, searching for a potential menace, until you told them to stop and that nothing bad would happen.

When the studiants saw that the griffin was listening to you, they were sure you will be sort at Diasomnia. I mean, a human that have a giant griffin must be really powerful, right ?

No need to tell the shock they had when the Black Mirror said you had no magic.

Grim took advantage of the confusion of the students and the headmage to create chaos, saying that he wanted that without magic-human place.

"Catch him." Was all you said to your griffin, not even looking at Grim.

5 seconds after this order, Grim was trapped under one of the griffin's legs. The griffin looked at Grim in the eyes, wanting to eat him.

"Cloudwing, don't look at the weasel-cat-whatever this is, like that. You're going to scare him."

The griffin huffed but looked away to look at you, waiting the next order.

The students all looked at you with fear and respect. No one had seen a griffin obey at a human so well before- but one without magic ? That had never happened in history !

And Crowley...

"Teenagers scare the livin' shit out of me-"

At the end, you had to stay at the school at Ramshackle.

Funfact : When Crowley said that you were gonna be the school janitor/handyman, Cloudwing attack him before you could stop them, and Crowley was so scared that this griffin will unlive him that he said "You know what ? Ignore that, you can be a student-" in a very fearful way.

Riddle Rosehearts

When you met him, you thought he was a tyrant who's rules are dumb and useless.

I mean, cancelling the magic of others because they have break a rule ? Does he want the students of his dorm to fail their classes ?

You didn't like him, and Cloudwing too.

The only reason you were going to their un-birthday party was because you didn't want Ace and Deuce going back to their dorm alone, not with that tyrant in there.

And you didn't trust Trey and Cater, not when they were close with Riddle. They could betray you for all that you know.

And spoiler : they did.

-

During his overblot, you were at first analyzing it, looking for any weakness.

The two only ways to defeate it was to make Riddle faint or to destroy his phantom.

The glass of the phantom didn't look very strong- it looked like normal glass.

So you did what you thought was the best..

"Cloudwing, detroy that glass head."

You didn't have to say it twice before Cloudwing sinks their claws into the glass, scratching it, destroying it, the black substance (was it the blot ?) spilling onto the floor.

After about a minute, all that remained of the Overblot was a passed out and injured Riddle, along with a huge black/blot puddle that was once the phantom.

-

When Riddle woke up and learn that you were helping, he didn't believe it.

After all, why would you help him ? All that you knew about him was that he was a tyrant.

When he apologized to you, you quickly accepted the apology and asked him if you could come to the un-birthday party Ace had requested.

The un-birthday was good, even the salty pie wasn't that bad.

Even if your griffin had another opinion about the pie..

Leona Kingscholar

You didn't talk with Leona a lot before discovering it was him who was the mastermind behind all the injuries of the magift players.

And when you and others confront him about it, he overblot.

That time, Cloudwing didn't destroy the phantom, no, they attack Leona directly.

Leona's unique magic touches you, and Cloudwing was scared that you will die, really scared. So they acted on instinct.

There was a lot of blood shed on both sides, new scars.

At the end of the Overblot, Leona got some new scars in the shape of griffin talons, and Cloudwing got some lion's scars.

Leona wasn't really happy to have new scars, but it was the price for overblotting, he guess.

You apologized for the scars Cloudwing gave him before living the room, letting him alone.

-

"I know you were scared, but remember : they aren't in their normal condition when they ovetblot. Try to be a little more careful when you fight with them next time, or just fight the phatom behind them. We don't want you to kill someone, right ?"

The griffin didn't answer, but looked disappointed in themselves.

Azul Ashengrotto

The water wasn't you element, and wasn't Cloudwing's element too.

It's for that you didn't sign Azul contract and decided to do a coup d'etat/overturn.

It was simple, really.

Leona owe you a favor since you saved him from the Overblot, he was indebted.

So you will use the students from his dorm to create chaos in Azul's restaurant, Ruggie will steal the contracts and give them to Leona who will destroy them with his unique spell.

See ? Simple. What could goes wrong ?

You haven't tell anything to Ace, Deuce and Grim because you didn't want them to ruin your plan.

And- oh ? How did you knew you could destroy the contracts ? Well, let just say you had some help for finding that information (if anything, it's between you, Rook, and the trees).

What you didn't plan was the overblot.

Yeah, another one-

"Why ?" You asked to the ocean, while the others were fighting.

Cloudwing had a little more trouble beating Azul's phantom than Ridde's, not being used to fighting underwater.

But, at the end, you win ! But at what cost ?...

"Crowley, you can't be serious."

"I, actually, am-"

"I'm NOT paying or helping for rebuild the restaurant just because Azul offered to give you 25% of their revenue if you let him keeping it."

"But-"

"Cloudwing, chase him."

Jamil Viper

The moment he tried to use his unique magic on you, Cloudwing attacked him.

Jamil managed to cover his face with his arm just in time for Cloudwing's claws to not tear his face apart.

His arm though... The medics said he would be scarred by Cloudwing's claws for life.

It wasn't a good moment.

You didn't go to Scarabia, not after what Cloudwing has done.

But, when you heard that there was another overblot at Scarabia and that the Octavinelle trio was involved.. You just knew you had to help them.

That time again, Cloudwing have tore Jamil's phantom apart, but not before giving Jamil a few swipes with his claws.

Looks like you should apologize for the scars... again.

-

Jamil was confused when you apologized.

He was the one who overblot, tried to manipulate you, put you under his unique magic. The scars were just a price to pay for his mistakes, so why were you apologizing ?

You ignored his confusion, and finished your apology before leaving the infirmary.

-

"Cloudwing , do you think one day I will have a normal month ? Without any overblot ?"

Cloudwing didn't answer, but you didn't need to have one for knowing the answer.

Vil Schoenheit

You've saw some of the movies he plays in, and you find it sad that he never win, even if he play a really smart character.

You and Cloudwing always prefer his characters in movies (that is always the smart villain) rather than the one that play Neige (that is always the dumb, naive hero).

But, it was normal considering the fact you come from a world with a lot of anti-heroes, villains characters with a sad backstory, that win.

"What will happen if I make a movie where Vil, the villain, win against Neige, the hero ?"

Cloudwing think a few seconds before speaking (although you didn't understand what they were saying because you don't speak Griffin (is it even possible to learn it ?)).

So, when you met him, you were really excited.

You said that you love the characters he played and find it sad that he never win, after all, sometimes a good villain deserve to win.

You didn't see the look on his face when you said that. He was surprise that someone thought that the characters he played, the villain, should win over Neige characters, the hero.

-

Having them in Ramshackle wasn't that bad, but you made some rules :

Don't poison the food or water

Don't criticize the dorm, we can't afford to renew it and Crowley would rather lose his wings than pay for the dorm.

Don't insult the ghosts (they are quite susceptible).

Don't left your room after 11pm.

Don't do freeky things (looking at you, Rook).

Some rules can be add with times.

It was all the rules you have place.

When Vil said he wanted to make them go on a diet, you asked him if he was going to seek help from a nutritionist to do it, and if he knew about possible allergies that the others had, to avoid any kind of incident.

The day after, you and the others went to see a nutritionist. It has reveal that Ace had an allergy for cucumbers (it's not canon, I just needed someone to have an allergy).

You and Rook became best stalking friends since Azul by the way. You love stalking people for informations. I just place that here.

Half of the living room of the dorm is always taken by Cloudwing.

One day, all the dorm (even the non-permanent members) rode on the griffin back to class because it was late and you didn't want to be late at class. Since then, you always do that.

-

Vil Overblot wasn't really long compare to Azul's one, but the damage Cloudwing have done...

If Malleus wasn't here for fixing it, you just know Crowley would have ask to Cloudwing (and you, maybe) to leave the NRC. Or he would have complain about it for months. You don't know what is the worst.

Vil, surprisingly, didn't have any scars. He was tired, and not okay, but he didn't have any scars.

But you have lost the VDC, because of the traitor Rook is.

-

"Rook... I didn't know you were like Trey and Cater ! Traitor !"

"We already apologized about it !" -probably Cater.

"I didn't forget !"

And Cloudwing agreed with you on that one.

Idia Shroud

You never saw him before his overblotting.

No need to tell that meeting someone when they are overblotting isn't a good thing.

Especially when he stole your son friend before that.

"Show him no mercy."

Maybe you were a little too much thinking with your emotions when your order that to Cloudwing.

But who could blame you ? You didn't know what he had done to your son Grim, or why he was unconscious.

You were holding Grim tight, listening to his heart beat.

Hewasalive,hewasalive,hewasalive,hewasalivenotlike-

You only realize the overblot was over when Cloudwing put his head on yours, like if they were trying to comfort you.

You take a big breath before looking at where Idia was, the phantom was in a puddle of blot, and Idia was injured- not a lot, but he will have one or two scars.

-

You apologized to Idia for the scars, knowing it was your griffin who made them, before finally leaving Styx with your griffin and Grim, ready to go back home to Ramshackle.

You were surprised that the VDC Team had help you with Ramshakle when Crowley didn't, you were feeling like you should pay them back for that.

"Well, if ever you need something, tell me. I owe you a lot for that."

Malleus Draconia

When you met him, you were curious. And he was too.

And how could you not ? He didn't wanted to say who he was, and he was acting like he is famous.

You started to watch movies at first for knowing if he was an actor or no, and he wasn't.

So you thought he was part of the royalty.

So you search on internet and books who were the actual princes/kings. And you found him, after two months.

(You actually just search "Malleus Draconia" on internet because Leona was so angry about him that it made you curious about who he was).

You never said you knew who he was because, well, nickname privilege. You didn't want to stop calling him Hornton. And you thought you would loose it if you say that you know who he is.

"I always knew who you were, I just didn't tell it because I didn't want to loose my nickname privilege." -Yuu, during book 5.

"You can still call me Hornton, if you want." -Malleus, book 5, not knowing that would lead to Yuu calling him like that in public just for fun or for flying with Cloudwing.

Yes, you two fly on Cloudwing back. Or sometimes Malleus take his dragon form and fly next to Cloudwing. It's canon I'm sorry.

During his overblot, you were sad. You didn't want your night best friend to overblot like that. Even Cloudwing was sad.

"How dare he make Cloudwing sad-" -You in the dream, not knowing how to react to a sad Cloudwing, that was the first time and hopefully the last that they will be sad.

Cloudwing didn't want to fight him, in dream like in reality. They were focusing on his phantom, but it was strong.

It has take hours to finally beat him in real life. And it was exhausting.

-

When Malleus woke up, you, your Griffin, and the ones that helped stopping his overblot, were all with him.

Some apologize were made for always letting him alone, for not inviting him at important thing like the ceremony, and more.

You had all a big hug, and the griffin wings were surrounding you all, shielding from view of others.

Some thoughts about you having a Griffin :

Riddle Rosehearts

He thought the griffin was dangerous. Even after seeing that they were listening to you.

For him, griffins were violent creatures with no morals, something dangerous that shouldn't be approch.

He was scared the first time he saw the Griffin at the un-birthday party. He thought that they would kill him.

Especially after he ask to the pie Ace had made to be throw away.

The only reason he think he's still alive, is because you told your griffin to not do anything.

He only started to think at your griffin differently after his overblot, when he was still injured and in a bed and that your griffin layed their head on his bed, looking at him.

"He want you to that you pet him." You said from the door. "Don't worry, Cloudwing is a good griffin, they won't hurt you."

And, for a moment, nothing happen.

But, carefully, Riddle started to pet them.

And your griffin- Cloudwing, Cloudwing- didn't nothing violent. They were just resting in peace.

And that was new for him. A good new.

Leona Kingscholar

Like Riddle, he thought your griffin was dangerous, and you too.

One day, years ago, he saw a griffin attacked Savanaclaw. He remembers the damages the griffin had done, all the blood-

Seeing your griffin reminded it to him.

He decided to not approach you until he's force to.

And he thought that, even if you had no magic, you were dangerous because only a really dangerous person can have a griffin listening to them.

He told what was happening to his brother, even if he don't like him, he wanted him to know the danger that was at the NRC.

Like Riddle, his opinion change a little after his overblot.

When he saw that neither you or your griffin -Cloudwing, you called them- were doing any arms except during the overblots.

He, one time, even sleep on Cloudwing's back. How ? Well, he was asleep on a tree, and fall on Cloudwing that was passing by. And, for some unknow reasons, he didn't wake up and you decided to stay here, waiting him to wake up normally.

But, even after all that, he was still on his guard around you two, just a little less than before.

Azul Ashengrotto

He knew griffins were dangerous, but inside him, after seeing your griffin listening to you like if he was a dog, he couldn't help but think-

"I want one."

After all, if a no-magic, useless person can have one, why couldn't he ? Imagine how powerful he would be with them...

In the contract, he wanted the griffin in exchange of all the anemones. But you refused, and he wasn't okay about it-

He only calm himself after the overblot, when he saw how close you two were.

Before, he didn't understood your choice. A griffin before your friends and all the students free ? Even Ace and Deuce were shock.

But now, he can see that you two are like half of the other, in a platonic sense. Like if you couldn't live without your griffin, and them without you.

He also understood that he can't have a griffin- too dangerous and he's not enough powerful.

But he's curious about how you got one, thing that is supposed to be impossible.

But you won't answer, keeping it a secret. He will discover it, one day, he swears.

Jamil Viper

Like Leona, thought that you two were dangerous.

Feeling that was accentuate after your griffin attacked him, leaving him scars.

After the overblot, he was still scared of your griffin and you.

He only stopped when there was the VDC and that he had to live with you two.

He change his opinion after he realize that you weren't going to hurt him, and that your griffin was, in fact, pretty chill.

Thought for a moment Cloudwing was just a dog disguised as a griffin, but stop when he saw them beating Vil's phantom ass and destroyed everything around them.

Still think you two are dangerous, but only if people make you mad.

Try to stay on your good side.

Vil Schoenheit

Again, thought you two were dangerous.

But he was really curious about how a griffin of all listen to you.

When you two talk for the first time, he was a little surprised that you were a fan and that you thought that he should won in the movies he plays.

"I don't care if you play a villain, you're characters are smart and deserve to win against a naive person, even if it's a hero. And why can’t villains win sometimes ? It could be cool and interesting, changing the game, the rules."

And he was more surprised when he saw the griffin nod in agreement.

But what shock him the most was when he was at Ramshackle, what do you mean your griffin has their own room ? Accept to have people on their back ? Flying with people on their back ? Being pet ? Aren't griffins dangerous and violent ??

Rethinking he's whole life and all he know about griffins.

You have his respect for having a griffin listening to you. Especially after seeing Idia and Malleus overblot and how Cloudwing fight.

Idia Shroud

Was and is still scared of you and your griffin.

He have seen the cameras of his overblot and saw your griffin beat his phantom like it was nothing and sometimes hurting him.

Man is traumatized.

You can't do anything, he won't go outside if you're outside.

But he was forced by Ortho.

You apologized but even then, that man is scared and won't stop before Malleus overblot, when Cloudwing protect them.

Malleus Draconia

He was curious about you and your griffin.

How a little fragile thing like you had a griffin ? And stop ignoring the question.

"Your name and I tell you how."

He was at that 🤏 to say it for having the answer.

But decided not, he didn't want to loose his only friend.

But does that make two with Cloudwing ?

Love Cloudwing, the two love flying together.

Even after his overblot, he's opinion about them didn't change.

For him, he was a strange griffin, preferring protecting than fighting.

That change of the griffins of here.

Crowley and the NRC

You asked Crowley to let you do a lesson to everyone in the NRC about griffins in your world.

In your world, they were protective creatures, not violent like in their.

You had made 30 lessons in total about your world and how the creatures are in it. There was a comparison made between the creatures of the two worlds and how they acted.

And oh- was it something to learn that Griffins were violent creature here.

[always-just-red]

Hello! Y'know that one line of Sylus talking about his muscles saying "They're not real. But they move." The way he casually admits to not being entirely human

Could I request something angsty where Sylus has an uncanny valley aura about him where you just FELL something's not right and Sylus is all :( cause he can't make the MC feel comfortable around him but it's not like he can fix it either

Just a quick little fic for this whilst I work on a longer fic! Realised like two paragraphs in that I had the opportunity to do the most evil thing ever, so I did!! 😇 I'm really proud of this one guys pls show it some love! And thanks for the prompt, anon! You are my co-conspirator in all this evilness, mwa ha ha DISCLAIMER: This work does not reflect the feelings of the author, who would die for Sylus! Wants to hold Sylus's face in her hands and tell him he is everything good and pure in this dark, cynical chess game we call life! 😎✨

Monster

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: A Deepspace Hunter's instincts never lie...

Genre: angst oh my GOSH so much angst

Warnings/Additional tags: f!reader, AU I guess as this is a different spin on an existing scene, *passes you some tissues* here you might need these! 🥰

| Word count: 800 | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

You know monsters.

Earth-shattering. Sky-shearing. Teeth, reckless: always striving for something soft to sink into. To make a home in and to eviscerate. You’ve been grazed by it— kissed by that violence more times than you can count— and you are not soft anymore; there isn’t space for it. There are scars and then there’s armour, the kind you carry with you, the kind you couldn’t shed if you tried, and you haven’t tried, because why would you?

Horror isn’t loud and cataclysmic, it’s quiet. It’s those few seconds before your Hunter’s watch signals a fluctuation of Metaflux. A premonition, trained, or maybe just human instinct, raw and vulnerable: something is wrong, here. That prickle on your skin— the tip of that claw, raked, snaked down your spine. You feel it whenever a Wanderer lurks in the shadows, or beneath a stretch of water that’s unfathomably deep and far, far too still.

Sometimes, you feel it when you look at Sylus.

I know monsters.

Before you, a fragment of a mural tells a very old story, and beside you, a red-eyed man is thinking of flowers. It’s late, and the museum is quiet. You look at the fragment’s centre, where a female warrior is plunging a blade through a dragon’s heart. “Look,” you say, nodding at the figure with a half-smile. “My predecessor.”

Sylus hums thoughtfully. “What makes you say that?”

“Because that looks like a standard Tuesday to me. Some things never change, huh?”

But other things do. With a chuckle, Sylus draws closer to you. The rumble of his laughter is warm and familiar, and his hand is near yours as he bends to examine the mural. He wants you to take it, to thread your fingers through his like you do when you resonate, when you need his power and he needs yours, except neither of you need it now. Why, then?

You know. Of course you know.

The man is all softness, voice and gaze like an afternoon sun in late summer that lulls you to sleep with thick, golden light. Always trying to evoke a dream. It’s weakness, it’s the dragon on the mural with a split heart, bleeding, and you’ll never understand why Sylus wears his on his sleeve.

It’ll be the death of him, one day. It’s set in stone. Right here.

When Sylus touches you— when the tip of his finger catches yours and makes an honest, desperate request— you don’t pull away. Something inside tugs at you, warns you, tells you a monster without a sword in its chest is one that can bite. What colour of blood would your hands prefer? His? Your own?

Your veins are cold and something is wrong, but no, you don’t pull away, because Sylus knows monsters too. Some declare themselves with twisted horns, razorlike wings and a long, barbed tail. Others declare themselves with something as subtle as a touch, withdrawn.

When Sylus steps away from you, that gash of dread closes up inside you. Heals like his wounds: no mess, no scar, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

He’s had a long time to look at the mural, and he smiles wistfully at the woman at its centre. “Some things never change,” he echoes, and it sounds as though there’s blood in his lungs, his throat, and that he has to swallow it down to say anything at all. It must sting.

“All in a day’s work for a Deepspace Hunter,” you joke flatly. You’re not even sure Sylus hears it.

Both of you stare at your fragment of history: an execution, a liberation. A matter of perspective. “Maybe…” Sylus begins, but then thinks better of it.

“Maybe what?”

He’s seeing something you don’t.

“Maybe what, Sylus?”

He spares you a glance. “The pose,” he says, indicating the warrior. “It’s ambiguous. Perhaps she isn’t slaying the beast, she could be—”

“Saving it?”

You’re considering a new perspective. Tapping a finger against your cheek as you lock eyes with your history— that elusive dream— ever oblivious to what’s behind you:

There’s a look of sheer, infinite longing— a gaze that’s been empty of you for too long, so sick of starvation, and determined to have its fill in the few, fleeting moments it can. It’s ravenous: dangerous, sharp, and irrevocably yours, if you would only turn around.

There are teeth and claws, but they’re all of them tame, and that makes them soft, doesn’t it? You could trust them on your skin. Turn around.

You do, and you are not the girl from the mural who tucked wildflowers into his hair and who sung him a song he still hears in his sleep. Sylus’s heart aches.

You are the girl from the mural who’s slaying a dragon, because it’s the oldest story, the only story.

Your eyes harden.

“Who would pull out a sword to save a monster?”