#he grew up but he's still just... like that

[shroomyv]

ᢉ𐭩GOOD BOY(‘S) [1]

Pairing: mark grayson x sinister mark x Mohawk mark x viltrumite mark x F!reader (god damn)

Synopsis: been awhile since the invincible war ended. A few of them ended up being captured in your world and kept in the prisons. Cecil allows you to visit them and (clearly) has not a damn clue as to what you’re saying or doing with them. Usually, it’d be complete chaos and nothing would change or happen in the room. However, you finally try something new with them…all of them…(should be good to mention here that you have powers…if u didn’t you’d honestly be stupid going into that room with confidence 🧍🏾‍♀️)

Warnings: story will lead to smut, slightly suggestive, harsh words (like bitch, pussy, or slut), not proofread, some corny dialogue (bear with me pls)

W.c: 2,086 (rlly doing my big one)

A/N: (there’s alot I have to say so pls bear with me 😭) first off, thank all of u for all the constant support on my other fics and even my shitty little doodles I posted. Means a lot to me. This is my first series/series writing and it’s also the first fic I’ve made with multiple ppl speaking let alone mark variants. So I’m begging you, please bear with me. If anything is overly fucking terrible or bad feel free to dm me advice. Also I’ll be making a master list soon for all my writings. Or wtv. This is part one to the series and it’ll get super smutty in the next one so I hope u js enjoy this one for now. It’ll be meh…(I highkey think it’s bad but wtv)

Long after the Invincible War, you were still intrigued by all the versions of your boyfriend that had come into your world to reek havoc and chaos. Most were dead, some were in prison, and some were thrown into whatever place they went to. Being a superpowered scientist under Cecil had its perks–you got to not only examine and see these variants, but you also got to speak to them (only with the supervision of your world's Mark of course). Your visits grew more and more frequent to them, it went from once a month, to once a week, to 3 times a week. They had memorized the times you visited, the clack of your heels, and your pen clicking before you entered their cell each time.

Your Mark always complained–sometimes it was genuine concern for your safety and reasoning, other times, it was clear and blatant jealousy. 

“Why do you always want to go see those bastards, they almost destroyed the entire world. Not only that one of them almost crushed you to fucking death! If this gets too bad we're not seeing them again…” he was annoyed–making good and fair points. Sadly, you were too stubborn to attempt to listen to them. 

“You've almost crushed me to death before,” you said with a shrug as you kept walking down the long hall getting ready to get to the cell that held the marks. 

“WHAT!? When was this?” Mark had stopped for a second now having genuine concern as he hadn't remembered ever doing that. He tried his best to make sure you were protected from anything and everything.

“You crushed me plenty of times in bed–it's ok though because I've crushed you back just as much so we're even.” you had one smug ass smirk on your face seeing Mark's annoyed one before you two finally made it to the room. Before you could swipe your keycard to enter the room, Mark grabbed your arm having you stop and listen to what he had to say. “I'm serious babe…let them get out of line and we aren't seeing them again, they'll just rot in here till Cecil finds something to do with them.” 

You used your free hand, swiping the keycard as the door opened. You turned to your mark lifting his chin with your pen as he looked prepared to hear whatever you had to say. 

“I will decide when this research is over. However, you know if you want it to truly end and for me to stay out of this cell, you would only need to tell Cecil you won't accompany me anymore. Until you do that…we're continuing.” 

You were stern and stubborn, meaning every single word you said. You finally pulled the pen down—giving his cheek a soft kiss before walking into the cell.

“Well, we see who wears the pants in your little relationship.” The mark with the mohawk said before he just started laughing trying to bother and mock your mark as best as he could. 

“Hey well at least I get to leave here, I'm not locked in a fucking cell with my arms hanging up!” your mark snarled back–getting closer to Mohawk Mark as they glared each other down.

Sinister Mark cut into the conversation, having a lot worse to say about your mark and his “submission” to you. 

“Hey, does she fuck you too? I just wanna get a full scope on how pussy you are! God, you're pathetic…weak…” 

They were being little assholes ganging up against your mark, all besides the viltrumite one. He was just silent, observing your behaviors. As those 3 bickered,  you walked up to him with crossed arms.

“Nothing to say?” You asked leaning in closer to his face. He backed up as best as he could, struggling to even move a bit because of his restraints but he found small ways. 

“No…bitch…” he said before scrunching up his lips. You just leaned into him closer and closer knowing he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “Don’t your people have a thing for respecting higher-ups? Am I not higher up right now?” You were absolutely smug watching as his expression kind of dropped. He knew you were right and he hated every bit about it. 

The cell was silent now…the other marks wondered why he stopped fighting back, falling silent. 

“Don’t tell me you're all pussy now too!?” Mohawk Mark had said in a snarky tone. Your mark was walking up to you to pull you back from him. You raised your hand stopping him from coming closer as you used your other hand, softly rubbing viltrumite Mark'sk'sace. 

He jolted from your touch for a second—not being used to anything like it at all. However, he had been in that cold cell for days, weeks even, with no warmth whatsoever. He melted into your hand as you kept rubbing it softly—he felt odd…like he had never felt before. He released soft huffs the whole time until you finally stepped back. 

“W..wait-“ he exclaimed trying to get your attention again. Before he could even say what he wanted, sinister Mark butted in.

“What the hell did you just do to him!? He’s never been like that ever!” 

Your mark wanted to be filled in as well, waiting for your response.

“I just touched 'em relax.” You were honestly shocked yourself. 

“C'monn…let’s go, your mark said wanting to get the hell out of there. The other marks were getting angry and you were touching another mark…one that wasn’t yours—it made him a bit jealous. 

                                      

“Wait wait…I wanna something…” you said with a grin as you rushed to Mohawk Mark. He looked a bit annoyed but intrigued. You drew closer and closer as the other marks watched once again—it’s all they could do…

“Listen whore, I’m not your mark…so hands off.” He said in a snarky tone. You just kept moving your hands towards his face not giving a damn, you were testing every ounce of patience he had.

“I will fucking bite you! I promise it…” Mohawk Mark tried to move his head back as quickly as he could to get away from your hand. Eventually, it landed right on his forehead before moving upward, softly stroking his hair. He tried to bite you for a second so you used your powers. With a hard glare from your eyes, his body was paralyzed in mere seconds as you rubbed it softly. You released your hold on his body just as fast as you used it.

You kept stroking his head, you saw him moving his head forward as best as he could so you could keep going. Your other hand reached up to his face, squishing it softly before you began to stroke it. He let out a noise of pure satisfaction…a soft moan. As soon as he realized, you backed up satisfied with your work on his behavior. He went from snarling and snapping to melting in your hand.

Your mark grabbed your shoulder, making a notation to get the hell out of there. You just gave him a soft kiss trying to keep him satisfied as you had one more mark to deal with. You knew your mark was getting jealous quickly so you had to hurry it up.

As soon as you walked over to sinister mark in his restraints he spat on your face. The other marks watched waiting to see what happened your mark dashed over to you as he began a screaming match with sinister mark. 

Ignoring them and all their noise, you just spat right back on his face as the room fell silent. You were even now—the only difference was you could wipe the spit off of your face but he couldn’t get it off of his. Your hand reached up to his face as he prepared to bite you but you flicked his nose before continuing. You rubbed his hair—making it messy in mere seconds before you looked him dead in the eyes, smiling warmly.

“I promise you, if you ever spit on my face again I will break your face in.”

Your mark was just frozen in the spot waiting for this interaction to finish. Sinister Mark's eyes widened a bit before going back to normal—he was surprised at how you could look so gentle while threatening him. 

“Yes bitch…” he said in a snarky tone trying to get some power back in the situation. You smiled before pinching and twisting at his nose. He couldn’t do a single damn thing about it.

“Huh? What’d you say?” You waited for him to change his manner of speaking. Your mark reached to pull your arm down as you 2 shared a look. He was trying to figure out what you were even doing but you gave him a glance that said you could handle it.

“Yes…ma’am” sinister Mark said in an annoyed tone this was basically his version of surrendering defeat. Your hand went to his face stroking it just like you did to the others. At first he acted like he didn’t give a single fuck about you or your touch—seconds later he was melted into your cheek moving his own face to have it happen faster. You stroked his face slower and began scratching his hair as Mohawk Mark began complaining how that wasn’t fair. Sinister mark was losing himself—lifting his chin to have that touch and rubbed to. He bit his lip trying to keep in any sounds he would’ve made but eventually one slipped out.

“F…fuck…” he moaned out roughly before you moved your hand away from him

“Good boy.” You said back with bliss in your voice. You honestly felt aroused by the fact you had 4 Marks folding for you just at the simple touch of your hand and sternness in your voice.

“God…what did she do to us…” Viltrumite Mark said sounding embarrassed or even frustrated that that even happened. The other Marks (sinister and Mohawk) just told him to “fuck off” as they kept their heads down in a bit of shame. They were absolutely in shock at how they folded that fast but knew they wanted more. They were pissed that they clearly weren’t getting more.

You had them fold enough for the day. Plus, your Mark looked like he wanted to snap sinister Mark's neck for spitting on you. He was tired of being in that damn room for the day. Your mark grabbed you by the waist giving you a look that said “You needed to leave” You just nodded and let him lead you out of the cell. You and your mark left the cell making your way out of the building. Mark was flying you 2 home as he wanted to talk about what the hell happened. 

“So…what was that..” he asked in a genuine and jealous tone. He wanted to know what was up with all of it. Why did you guys keep going back, why were you touching them, how did you make them fold that easily? He wanted answers…

“Honestly…I don’t know. I didn't even think it’d work on the viltrumite one but as soon as it did I just had to try it on the rest of them and it worked. Guess you’re just weak for me in every universe?” You gave the best answer you could to your mark waiting for his response.

“Not gonna lie…I was a bit jealous. They practically killed everyone and now they wanted to fold just cause you touched them!” Mark exclaimed before you kissed his face softly. He had calmed down quickly just from your lips. 

“Relax... you're the one who gets to take me home. You win either way. However...I do need you to take me back there tomorrow. It’s something I wanna do with you there. All of you…” you had something a little sinister and against the rules on your mind.

“Again!? What is it…I’m so sick of that place…” your mark wanted to know what you’d do if you went back. He was tired of going there and honestly was ready to never go back again. However, he was trying his best to trust your judgment and see where it’d go. 

“Don’t worry about it…just know that you’ll have fun. All of you, trust me. You said with a smile before Mark finally landed, bringing you two to your house. You had plans…foul plans…and you couldn’t wait to put them into action tomorrow. 

[youthguk]

Front seat surrender | jjk (m) | Parasocial

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: smut, car sex, oral (m receiving), best friends with benefits, a little bit toxic, jungkook and reader are a little messy and ruin life’s of people around them

words: 4,6k

summary: jungkook was yours even if you had a boyfriend and another girl was warming his bed. you had him wrapped around your finger. one sharp breath, one heated stare— two bodies reckless in the backseat

this is a part 2 of parasocial series. however, this can be read as a stand alone story!

Reason #2. Front seat surrender

​​"The hell is wrong with you tonight?" The words cut through the party noise, making you wince.

You slouched deeper into the couch cushions, your plastic cup dangling limply between your fingers. The bass thumped through the floorboards as people laughed and danced around you, their joy making your mood feel even more out of place.

The summer breeze drifted through the open windows, carrying the sweet scent of June flowers. Your first year of university lay conquered behind you - a battlefield of all-nighters, caffeine-fueled study sessions, and those nerve-wracking moments before exam results. But through it all, Jungkook had been your constant, your anchor. The same guy who'd shared your elementary school lunch table was now sharing your college journey, your paths parallel even as you pursued different dreams - you in the biology labs, him in the maze of computer science.

"God, you two are totally dating, right?" The question followed you everywhere like an echo, bouncing off hallway walls and floating across cafeteria tables.

The memories of that night in senior year still burned bright - Jungkook's fingers intertwined with yours, his whispered words against your skin: "It should be me. I want it to be special for you." After that, something shifted. The careful dance of friendship blurred into something more intimate. His touch lingered longer - an arm sliding around your waist in crowded corridors, pulling you onto his lap during lunch breaks, his palm warm against your thigh. You found yourself melting into these moments, your fingers absent-mindedly playing with his hair while he hunched over textbooks in your room, or curling into his side during movie nights, his heartbeat steady under your ear.

The whispers grew louder. Even as Jungkook worked his way through the university's dating scene, you remained his constant star in an ever-rotating constellation.

"We're just friends," became your mantra, even as something deeper stirred in your chest, unacknowledged and unnamed.

Each time he disappeared with another girl, you swallowed the bitter pill of jealousy with a smile. Because no matter whose bed he woke up in, you were still the one he'd drop everything for at 3 AM if you needed him.

But watching him with others carved little wounds in your heart, each one deeper than the last.

Then Ren appeared - all soccer-star swagger and magnetic charm. His pursuit was relentless, and you found yourself drawn to him like a moth to flame. The resulting explosion with Jungkook was nuclear.

"What the hell does it matter to you?" Your voice had risen with each word, hands trembling.

Jungkook's eyes had flashed dangerously. "What does it matter? Are you seriously asking me that?"

"Yeah, I am! You're out there hooking up with half the campus, but God forbid I actually date someone!"

"That walking STD clinic?" Jungkook's voice had softened then, that familiar tenderness creeping back in. "You deserve better than that, baby. You deserve the world."

"Maybe I want to decide what I deserve." Your chin had lifted defiantly. "I'm giving him a chance."

Six months later, that argument still simmered between you, erupting periodically in heated exchanges and meaningful glares.

Ren, your golden boy with his campus king crown, was everything Jungkook wasn't - and that was both the appeal and the problem. He couldn't comprehend your relationship with Jungkook, couldn't understand why your best friend's hands still found their way to your waist, why his lips still brushed your cheek in greeting. Jungkook, for his part, seemed to delight in pushing those boundaries, his touch growing more possessive whenever Ren was watching.

"Have you fucked him?" Ren's question had come like a thunderbolt after watching Jungkook's hand slide dangerously low on your back.

The lie had tasted bitter: "No." You'd avoided his eyes, guilt churning in your stomach. What was there to tell? It was ancient history - well, sort of.

Despite his obvious hatred for Jungkook, Ren stayed. He took you on proper dates, showered you with gifts, and yes - the sex was good.

When Jungkook found out about that last part, his reaction was explosive.

"You should have talked to me first!" His voice had cracked with emotion.

You'd laughed, sharp and defensive. "Since when do I need your permission for my sex life?"

"Don't you remember-" He'd run his hands through his hair in frustration. "Why are you cutting me out because of him?"

But you weren't cutting him out - you were just drawing lines that should have existed all along. Every time you did, Jungkook acted like you were severing vital arteries instead of creating healthy boundaries.

His possessive tantrums had been almost entertaining - until Teri. Tall, blonde, and apparently more than just another notch on Jungkook's bedpost. A month had stretched into two, and now she was everywhere - at group hangouts, campus parties, even movie nights. The sight of her made your stomach twist.

"Want to catch Anora?" You'd called him last week, missing him and any attention while Ren was away despite the constant stream of texts from your boyfriend.

"Already saw it with Teri." His casual response had felt like a slap. Since when did Jungkook take his hookups to movies? "But hey, Teri's roommate is throwing this end-of-year thing next week. You in?"

"I..." The lump in your throat had made it hard to speak. Their campus was an hour away, and the thought of watching them together made you feel physically ill.

"Come on," he'd coaxed, his voice holding that special warmth reserved just for you. "I'll drive you there myself."

An hour alone in his car? "Okay," you'd agreed before your brain could catch up with your heart.

But now, a week later, at this very party, you were sitting there with a sour expression that you weren't even trying to hide.

Everything started not as you wanted when he picked you up to get to the party. 

The car ride started with Jungkook pulling up in his cherished '98 Toyota Supra - the same one that had carried you through countless high school adventures. You tugged at your tank top, the summer heat providing a convenient excuse for the revealing outfit and short denim skirt you'd chosen for this hour alone with him.

"Remember when we almost crashed this thing trying to learn stick shift?" you asked, sliding into the familiar passenger seat.

His laugh filled the car. "You mean when you almost destroyed my clutch?"

The conversation flowed effortlessly in your little bubble, words tumbling out unfiltered between bursts of laughter. Your hand found its way to the back of his neck - an old habit - fingers threading through the soft hair there. Usually, this would be when his hand would find your thigh, that familiar touch that always sent warmth pooling in your stomach.

But something was different today. Each time his hand drifted toward you, he'd pull back sharply, as if burned. The sixth time it happened, you couldn't help but notice how white his knuckles were on the steering wheel.

"What the fuck?" you muttered under your breath. Since when did Jungkook hold back with you? Was this about... her? The thought of Teri being the reason for this new restraint made your chest tight with an emotion you refused to name.

"You okay?" he asked, glancing over.

"Peachy," you replied, forcing a smile. What right did you have to feel this way? Ren's latest text sat unread in your phone, a reminder of your own relationship status. So you swallowed the bitterness and kept the conversation light, even as jealousy gnawed at your insides.

The house came into view, music already pulsing through the walls, fairy lights twinkling in the growing dusk. Jungkook's hand found its usual spot on your lower back as you navigated through the crowd of drunk students, his body a protective shield behind yours.

Teri spotted you from across the room, Annie and Tom trailing behind her. Her face lit up at the sight of Jungkook, and she moved in for a kiss. Your stomach lurched, but Jungkook - after catching your eye - only gave her a quick hug.

"I'm sooo glad you made it," Teri slurred, swaying slightly. You couldn't help but roll your eyes.

After a few dances with Jungkook, his hands stayed firmly on your waist - no wandering touches like before. Your skin tingled where his fingers should have been but weren't. The bass pulsed through your body as you watched Teri and her friends whisk him away, leaving you alone with Annie and Tom on the couch. Their lips locked together while you nursed your drink, stealing glances at Teri hanging off Jungkook's neck, her lips brushing his ear. Despite staying sober to drive you home, he seemed to be enjoying her attention.

"Hello? Earth to space cadet?" Annie's voice cut through your brooding. Tom finally came up for air, both of them staring at you.

You drained your beer, pushing yourself up from the couch. "I'm out."

Annie's hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. "Are you crazy? It's barely been two hours!" She spun you toward the dancing crowd, where several guys were already eyeing you appreciatively. "Look at all these guys checking you out."

You rolled your eyes. "I have a boyfriend, Ann."

"Funny how you only remember that when it's not about Jungkook," Annie muttered, but the alcohol buzzing through your system let you brush it off.

"Boring. I'm leaving," you insisted, pulling away.

"It's late, and dressed like that? Have you lost your mind?" Genuine concern laced Annie's voice.

Your lips curved into a mischievous smile. "I'll find someone to drive me. Didn't you just point out all my admirers?" You winked at her.

Weaving through the crowd, you zeroed in on the most attractive guy you could spot through your beer goggles. "Want to give me a ride, handsome?" The words dripped like honey from your lips. His eyes darkened with desire and understanding. The attention, even this kind, soothed the ache in your chest, numbing the cocktail of anger, hurt, and jealousy burning in your stomach.

He nodded, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as he led you toward the door. The crowd's energy vibrated around you as you pushed through. A flutter of nervousness tickled your stomach, but something in the back of your mind told you this night would end exactly as you planned.

The stranger stopped so abruptly you collided with his back. Like clockwork. Showtime.

"Get the fuck out before I make you." Jungkook's voice rumbled like thunder, and the stranger vanished like morning mist. You lifted innocent eyes to meet Jungkook's, watching his broad chest rise and fall with barely contained rage. "What the hell are you thinking?"

Victory danced through your veins. Just as you knew he would, your Jungkook had been watching, even while entertaining Teri across the room. Your Jungkook would never let you leave with anyone else.

"I just wanted to go home," you murmured, pushing your lower lip out into a pout and furrowing your brows. Pure innocence. Jungkook's scowl began to soften around the edges, even as he fought to maintain his anger.

You flashed him an angelic smile, bringing your index finger to your lips in that way you knew drove him crazy - one of many secrets you'd shared over late-night conversations about what got you both going, even now with other people in your beds. "My head's spinning... I can't stay here anymore," you whispered, and the last of his frown melted away.

How could he stay mad at you?

"You know I would've taken you home - all you had to do was ask!" He guided you toward the exit, his frustration evident in every step.

The June night air kissed your skin as you walked to his car. "You seemed busy," you purred, and Jungkook's growl sent shivers down your spine.

"Bullshit. You know I'm never too busy for you." He ran his fingers through his hair, jaw clenched. God, he looked good when he was worked up.

"Sorry," you gazed up at him through your lashes as he steadied you with a hand on your waist, helping you into the car.

"I forgive you, but I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to you." He gripped the steering wheel tight, starting the engine.

"Kookie," you cooed, reaching out to stroke his neck. "Isn't it amazing that we have each other?"

A smirk played at his lips. "You could say that."

"No, really..." Your fingers traced the curve of his bicep, giving in to your body's constant need to touch him, to confirm he was still yours. Completely.

His arm tensed beneath your touch, a fleeting reaction, but you felt it. His gaze flicked toward you—dark, hungry—before snapping back to the road. A muscle in his jaw ticked as his eyes had taken in the way your legs, bare under the short skirt, angled toward him.

Yet, Jungkook kept his hands on the wheel. Kept his focus.

“We’ll always be in each other’s lives. I won’t allow anything else,” he murmured, his tone as steady as if he were reciting the time.

Your thighs pressed together, heat pooling between them, betraying you.

“Stop at that little shop and get me some ice cream,” you said, your voice feigning nonchalance. “And get some for yourself too.”

Jungkook let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. “Well done, Y/n. You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.” Yet, he pulled into the lot without hesitation.

The gas station shop stood mostly deserted, its neon sign buzzing faintly in the night. Your pulse quickened as you realized—no audience. Of course, Jungkook’s windows were tinted, but if your little plan worked, you wouldn’t want any spectators anyway.

Jungkook stepped out, leaving you alone in the car. You watched him through the windshield, eyes trailing the broad line of his back, the powerful way he moved. He’d always been good-looking, even in high school, but university had sculpted him into something more—a man.

Your fingers curled against your thighs, pressing hard. A slow, traitorous thought slithered through your mind. If his body had changed this much, what else had?

You threw your head back against the seat, exhaling sharply. Fuck. This was Jungkook. Why did you start this?

Ren.

Your stomach twisted. You had a boyfriend. A serious relationship. Or at least, it could’ve been serious—could’ve become something real.

Your eyes flicked back up, catching Jungkook’s reflection in the glass door as he stepped out, two ice creams in hand. And just like that, the guilt evaporated.

He slid into the driver’s seat, handing you yours, but before he could start the car, you stopped him.

“Wait. Let’s eat here.”

He stilled, turning his head slightly. His gaze dropped again, just for a second, to your skirt before he forced it back up. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel. “It’s dark,” you continued. “We’ve got half an hour left to drive. Let’s just sit for a bit.”

Jungkook’s lips pressed together as if he were testing the weight of your words. Then, with a slow nod, he leaned back. “Amazing reasoning for someone who was ready to leave with a stranger ten minutes ago,” he muttered, a trace of irritation lacing his voice.

You swatted at his thigh—a playful tap. But the way his muscles jumped under your palm wasn’t lost on you.

You ate in relative ease, chatting about summer plans, laughter slipping in between bites. You avoided mentioning Ren’s lake house, the two weeks you were supposed to spend there. Jungkook talked about work, how he was saving up for a new car.

The ice cream melted, sticky and sweet.

Your thumb smeared with a drop, and instinctively, you brought it to your lips, tongue darting out to clean it. But not before making sure Jungkook was watching.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“You’ve got something…” His voice was rougher now, his thumb gesturing to the corner of your mouth.

You blinked at him, feigning innocence. “Where?”

He pointed again, this time on himself.

You tilted your head, pretending to inspect your reflection in the mirror before sighing. “Better clean it yourself, Jungkookie.”

His breath hitched—just barely, but enough. He reached forward, swiping his thumb across your lips. The warmth of his skin sent a shiver down your spine.

You caught his wrist before he could pull away, guiding his touch. Slowly, deliberately, you let him trace the outline of your lips. His pupils blew wide as his breathing grew heavier.

You parted your lips, drawing his thumb inside, your tongue curling around the pad of it.

Jungkook went rigid.

His fingers twitched, barely brushing against your teeth, his breath coming out in shallow, uneven bursts. You sucked lightly, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on his. The effect was instant—his chest rose sharply, his other hand gripping his thigh.

“Y/n, you—”

You sucked harder, feeling the way his body jerked, the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His free hand found his belt, gripping it like an anchor.

Poor thing. Big, intimidating Jungkook, the guy everyone feared—sitting before you, struggling to keep himself together.

You pulled his thumb from your lips with a wet pop.

“I…” You leaned closer, voice dripping with intent. “Want to take care of my friend.”

Your fingers trailed down, tracing the outline of his jeans. Even through the fabric, he was already straining against it.

Jungkook cursed under his breath, eyes dark and unreadable. “Fuck, Y/n, don’t joke like that.”

You smiled, wicked and knowing.

Still, he barely hesitated as he shoved his seat back, giving himself more space.

His legs spread wide, head tilted back against the headrest, breath shallow.

The space between you crackled with unspoken words, heavy breaths filling the car like a storm about to break. His fingers trembled slightly as they brushed your waist, hesitating—just for a second—before his hunger swallowed his restraint whole.

“Fuck,” Jungkook muttered, his voice raw as his forehead met yours, eyes dark and unreadable. “We shouldn’t—”

“We already are,” you whispered, undoing his zipper with slow, deliberate precision, your touch both a challenge and an invitation. His breath hitched, his restraint fracturing as your hand wrapped around his hard cock, warmth searing through your palm. His jaw clenched, a curse escaping between gritted teeth.

You felt him, hot and heavy in your grip, marveling at how thick and perfect he was. The way he twitched in your grasp, the heat radiating off him, made your mouth water. The anticipation pulsed between your legs, the ache undeniable as wetness pooled between your thighs.

His head fell back against the headrest as you leaned down, the tip of your tongue teasing him, tasting the anticipation on the tip of his dick. The groan that tore from his throat sent shivers down your spine, deep and guttural, like he was losing himself in you..

“Fuck, baby…” His fingers found your hair, gripping tight—too tight, a contradiction between wanting control and surrendering to you entirely.

You let him guide you, let him use you, taking him deeper, reveling in the way his composure unraveled with every flick of your tongue. The way he cursed your name, a plea and a punishment in one breath. You moaned softly around him, reveling in the weight of him on your tongue, in the way he barely held himself together under your touch. The way he filled your mouth, stretching your lips, sent an intoxicating thrill through your body. You were dripping for him, your thighs clenched together, desperate for friction.

The car’s interior felt suffocatingly small, filled only with the slick sounds of desperation and the raw edge of something neither of you wanted to name. You were lost in it, lost in him, lost in the way he unraveled for you so beautifully. And when his body finally tensed, his release shattering through him, the sound he made sent a shiver down your spine—a sound so unguarded, so devastatingly undone that you felt yourself trembling in response.

But the hunger wasn’t satisfied. Not yet.

Even as he came undone in your mouth, his body still thrummed with hunger. Lust. That damn longing neither of you could outrun.

His breathing was ragged as he grabbed a condom, his fingers shaking just enough for you to notice. He slid it on swiftly before pulling you onto his lap, hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d slip away.

His fingers found the hem of your tank top, pushing it up with deliberate slowness, his eyes darkening as your breasts spilled free. He groaned, dragging his thumbs over your nipples before taking one into his mouth, his tongue circling, teeth grazing, making you arch against him.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his voice wrecked with desire.

You stared at each other in the dim light, breath mingling, hearts hammering against ribs like they wanted to break free. His lips parted, something unspoken lingering there, but neither of you dared voice it.

Because this wasn’t just lust.

It was poison, dressed as passion.

And yet, as you sank down onto him, your body stretching to take him in, the only thing that mattered was the way he filled you, the way his hands gripped you tighter—like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the moment.

“God, you feel…” Jungkook's voice broke off into a growl, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, his hands roaming your body with reverence and possession.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of your short denim skirt, shoving it up roughly to expose the slick heat between your legs. His grip tightened as he thrust up into you, the stretch so intoxicating it made your head spin.

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure crashed through you in waves. He groaned, his hands steadying your hips before he snapped his own upwards, burying himself deeper. The force of it sent a cry tumbling from your lips, the intensity overwhelming as he set a brutal pace.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he panted, his voice trembling with restraint, but the way his hips surged up against yours betrayed his desperation. His hands wandered, one gripping your waist possessively while the other trailed down, slipping between your thighs. The second his fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, your entire body tensed.

Your breath hitched, vision blurring as pleasure coiled tight, unbearable, electric. His touch was ruthless, his thrusts pushing you closer and closer to the edge until the pleasure became too much to hold back.

“Jungkook—” His name broke from your lips in a strangled moan as you came undone around him, waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. Your walls clenched tight around him, pulling him deeper, making him groan as he chased his own release.

His movements grew frantic, desperate, his teeth grazing your shoulder, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. And when he finally let go, his release spilling into the condom, he clung to you like a drowning man.

The air between you was thick with something more than lust—something dangerous, something that made you forget why this should’ve never happened in the first place.

And when you finally collapsed against his chest, panting, trembling, your bodies tangled together in the sticky heat of the moment, you knew it wouldn’t be the last time.

No matter how much you wished it would be.

You gripped the car door handle, knuckles white against the cool metal as the engine rumbled beneath you. Jungkook's cologne filled the space between you, mixing with the crisp night air that whistled through a crack in the window. Neither of you spoke, but your racing heartbeat seemed to echo in the silence.

"So." His voice cut through the quiet, lips curving into that familiar half-smile. "Is this your way of telling me you and Ren are over?"

Ren's name hit you like a punch to the gut. You pressed your forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching streetlights blur past. "No," you whispered, your reflection avoiding his gaze in the darkened glass. "I... I don't know what's gotten into me."

Jungkook's low chuckle vibrated through the car. "I do."

Your gaze snapped to him. "What?"

His eyes caught yours, dark and knowing. "This was your way of checking if I still belong to you."

Your chest tightened. "That's not—"

"Don't lie to me, baby." His words sliced through yours, wrapped in a velvet laugh. "I know you better than you know yourself."

The truth of his words sank into your skin like ice water. Your reflection stared back at you, cheeks flushed with shame.

Your nails carved crescents into your palms as you clenched your fists in your lap. Every cell in your body screamed with self-loathing - for the betrayal, for the way your skin still tingled where Jungkook had touched you, for knowing you'd never look at Ren the same way again.

Jungkook's voice dropped to a husky whisper. "How do you plan on fucking him now?" His words dripped like honey laced with poison. "Now you that you remembered how good my dick feels?"

Heat bloomed across your face, equal parts shame and something darker, hungrier. You smacked his arm. "You're an asshole."

His laugh filled the car as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Maybe." Those eyes found yours again, gleaming. "But you love it."

The next morning, you blinked against harsh fluorescent lights as you emerged from your last biology lecture. Your notebook was filled with sketches of cell membranes and chemical equations, but your mind kept drifting to other things. The strap of your bag dug into your shoulder as you pushed through the heavy doors into the summer air.

Your lips curved upward as fragments of last night flickered through your mind - the way Jungkook's fingers had branded your skin, how perfectly he'd filled you, the rough edge in his voice when he'd...

"Y/N."

The sharp voice shattered your daydream. You spun around, and your stomach plummeted to your feet. There stood Teri, her manicured nails digging into the strap of her designer bag.

Her mascara-rimmed eyes blazed, lip curled back in a snarl. "Slut." The word cracked like a whip in the space between you.

Your jaw clenched tight enough to ache. "Excuse me?"

In one fluid motion, Teri reached into her bag and hurled something at your feet. The familiar scrap of black lace made your blood run cold. Your underwear.

The ones you'd left tangled in Jungkook's backseat.

Shit.

Whispers rippled through the crowd of students gathering around you, but they felt distant, underwater.

Teri's voice trembled, each word sharp as broken glass. "You think I'm stupid? You and Jungkook—using people like we're fucking disposable while you two play whatever twisted game this is?" Her voice climbed higher, cracking at the edges. "You clearly have feelings for each other. So why the hell are you dragging the rest of us into your mess?"

Your mouth opened and closed, but your throat had sealed shut. What defense could you possibly offer?

She stepped closer, close enough that you could see tears gathering in her eyes beneath the anger. "You could've just had him. Why mess with others?"

The guilt pressed against your ribcage like a physical weight. But underneath it, something else unfurled - a dark satisfaction that purred: She's gone now. Jungkook was never meant to be hers anyway. She was just trying to be another obstacle between you and him.

Because what you and Jungkook shared was sacred. Untouchable. Beyond anyone else's understanding.

part 3

[ateezscupid]

─── BIG BAD WOLF ♡

SUMMARY / You find yourself face to face with a touch-starved, heat ridden werewolf.

warnings ✩ PORN LINK, SMUT W/ NO PLOT, a sprinkle of fluff with a dash of comedy, switch sub leaning!san, switch fem!reader, san is a werewolf and reader is a werebunny, fantasy au, size difference (san is HUGE compared to reader), san is in heat, unprotected sex, literally just rough and raw, "fur" is referring to his body hair!!

word count ✩ 2,51k

tags ✩@desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @lezleeferguson-120 @hwallazia @ddeongmatz

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

You trotted through the woods, your soft bunny ears perked up as you listened for any signs of danger. Your whiskers twitched in the gentle evening breeze, and you took a moment to appreciate the warmth of the setting sun on your fur. You normally took fun little walks like this as a way to unwind.

You knelt down in front of a patch of wild berries, your nose quivering as you decided which ones to pick. The sweet scent of the berries filled your nostrils, making your mouth water. As you reached out with your tiny paws, a sudden rustling in the bushes behind you made you freeze.

You turned and saw…nothing. Was it your imagination? Were you finally going crazy? You took a deep breath and turned back around to the berries, trying to convince yourself that you were just being paranoid. But as you began to pick them, the rustling grew louder, closer. You dropped the berries and jumped to your feet, ready to bolt.

Out of the shadows emerged a creature, and not just any creature - a werewolf, massive and terrifying. You recognized him immediately. It was San, from the neighboring village. He was known to be a solitary creature, but he looked more desperate than you had ever seen. His fur was matted with sweat, his eyes wild with a hunger that made your heart race.

"You smell amazing." he breathed out, his voice low and gruff, not quite the melodic tenor you heard him sing in the village square. San took a step closer, and you felt the heat radiating from his body, almost like a furnace.

"What-" you began to stutter, but San was already on his knees, his nose sniffing the air as if he was trying to inhale every atom of your scent. You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. "San, what are you-"

"Please." San's voice was strained, the word barely a whisper. His eyes had turned a fiery amber, and his pupils were dilated with need. You could see the internal struggle playing out across his furry features as his wolf instincts warred with his humanity. "I need…I need to touch you."

"Why? Are you okay?" You asked, your voice quivering, as you took another step back, trying to maintain the distance between you. San's eyes remained locked on yours, his breaths coming in ragged pants.

"It's my heat." He explained, his words strained as if the very act of speaking was a battle. "I… I haven't found anyone to ease the change. My pack… they left me." His gaze dropped to the ground, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Did they leave you? Seriously?" You felt a twinge of pity for the poor werewolf. You'd heard about werewolf heats before, how intense and painful they could be. It was a biological necessity for them to find someone to ease the transition, and if they didn't, they could go mad from the pain.

"Well," he gulped. "I mean, I annoyed them a lot before they left. But still, it's not their responsibility to deal with me when I'm like this." His words were filled with a mix of embarrassment and pain. You could see his desperation growing with every second that passed, and despite your fear, you couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for him.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You were a werebunny, known for your gentle and nurturing nature. It was in your instincts to help others, especially those in pain. "Okay," you whispered, your voice quivering. "What do you need?"

San looked up at you, his eyes pleading. "Just…just touch. Anywhere. It'll help with the pain." His voice was raw with need. You cautiously stepped closer, your hands shaking slightly as you reached out to touch his ears. It was coarse and hot to the touch, but as your hand made contact, you felt the tension in his body ease slightly.

"Can I be inside of you?" San asked, his voice a desperate growl. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze making your knees feel weak.

You took another step back, your heart racing. "Inside of me? Like…mating?" The very thought made your stomach flip. You weren't quite ready for that. San's face fell, his desperation palpable.

"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, his voice a mix of embarrassment and pain. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just need…someone to be with me." He looked away, his ears drooping with defeat.

You chewed on your bottom lip, considering your options. The thought of mating with San was overwhelming, but you could tell he was in agony. Plus, the bond between a werebunny and a werewolf during heat was known to be incredibly strong. It wasn't something to be taken lightly, but you didn't want to leave him to suffer.

"San," you began tentatively, "I can't… w-what'll happen if you claim me? Or if you come inside of me? What if-"

"Please. I-It's just for my heat. It won't be a full bond. I promise," San begged, his voice hoarse with pain. His eyes searched yours for any sign of understanding. You felt torn, but the sight of him in such distress was more than you could bear. You took a deep breath and nodded, your body trembling as you made your decision.

"Really?" San's eyes lit up with hope, the desperation in his voice subsiding slightly. You nodded again, taking another step closer.

"Just be gentle." You whispered, your voice shaking as you allowed San to approach you. His movements were deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours as he stepped closer. You felt the warmth of his breath on your skin as he leaned in, his massive hands reaching out to touch you with a tenderness that belied his size.

And within seconds, he had you laying on your back on the ground, your dress pulled up and his hot, rough hands on your bare thighs. San's touch was surprisingly gentle, his fur brushing against your skin like a warm, living blanket. You felt the heat from his body envelop you like a fiery embrace. His eyes searched yours for consent, and you gave it with a shaky nod.

He struggled to remove his pants, and soon just decided to push them down a little. He pushed your panties to the side and lined himself up with your entrance. He was so large that you could feel him touching you everywhere. He slid in slow, inch by inch, stretching you to your limits. You gasped as he pushed through your barrier, the pain briefly overwhelming before it subsided into a warm, pulsing ache.

"Oh fuck-" you whimpered, your eyes squeezed shut as San's thick, hot cock filled you completely. Your body stretched around him, adjusting to his size, and you felt your insides clench around him. San stilled, his eyes shut tight and his hands gripping you like crazy.

"S-San-?" you squeak out his name and he doesn't respond. "San, are you-"

"I'm gonna come," San grunted, his eyes snapping open, the amber in them burning like molten metal. His grip on your thighs tightened, his claws digging into your skin just enough to make you gasp. "I can't hold it back."

"It's okay, just-" you gulp, sitting yourself up on your elbows. "For as long as you need."

San's eyes widened slightly before a pained expression flashed across his face, his teeth bared in a grimace. He began to move, his hips rocking into yours with a force that made the ground beneath you tremble. You felt every inch of his massive cock as he claimed you, filling you so completely that it was almost too much. But as the initial shock wore off, you felt yourself begin to respond, your own body reacting to his primal need.

"S-Shit you're so good, y-you feel so good," he gasped out, his hips stuttering as he was already approaching his orgasm. "G-Gonna fill you up,"

You nodded, your eyes wide as you felt the pressure building within him, his movements becoming more erratic. His skin was sticky with sweat, and you could feel his heart pounding through his chest. You reached up and touched his face, feeling surprisingly soft under your fingertips.

"You gonna come?" you smile a bit despite the overwhelming situation, your voice barely a whisper. San's eyes flicker with surprise before he nods, his movements growing more frantic.

"I'm s-so close," he groaned. Unexpectedly, he slowed down, emptying his load much faster that he thought he would, his groans turning into whimpers as he filled you up. The warmth of his seed spilling into you was almost comforting.

"You need more?" you asked, your fingers gently caressing the skin of his cheek. San's eyes fluttered open, the amber fire in them dimming to a soft glow as he looked down at you. All he did in response was lay down on top of you, placing his hand underneath your head and beginning to move his hips again.

"Y-You feel amazing," San murmured, his voice strained with pleasure as he began to move inside you again. His body was like a warm cocoon, and the weight pressing down on yours was surprisingly comforting. He was so much bigger than you, but he was careful not to crush you, his movements gentle and tender.

"G-Gonna give you pretty pups." you knew he was babbling at this point, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his climax, but his cock remained hard. You felt a thrill at his words, a mix of excitement and fear. San's eyes searched yours for a reaction, and you could see the vulnerability hidden beneath his wolfish exterior.

"Please can I," he even played with your ears, his hips moving faster. "P-Please, I need-- I-I need to-" San's breath was hot against your neck as he nuzzled closer, his teeth grazing your skin lightly. The gentle sting sent a shiver down your spine, and you nodded, your own body responding to his need.

You felt him swell even larger inside you, the pressure building as he approached his climax again. His fur was slick with sweat, and your own body was flushed with heat. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as you met his rhythm with your own. His claws dug into the earth beside you, his growls turning into desperate moans.

"Gonna fill you up, give you pups," he heaved out, breaths ragged against your skin. "Y-You're gonna look so pretty all full."

Your eyes widened at the thought, your body responding to the primal need in his voice. The heat inside you grew, and you found yourself matching his rhythm, hips rising to meet his. The idea of being filled with San's pups was strange, but something deep inside you stirred with a want that was unmistakable.

You could feel his knot beginning to swell, and the sensation was overwhelming. You've heard about werewolf knots before, how they lock into their mates during heat, but feeling it was an entirely different experience. You bit your lip, trying to keep the whimpers of pleasure from escaping.

"S-San, fuck, please," you whimper. "I-I need it," your voice is high and needy. You could feel your own orgasm approaching, your walls clenching around his thick cock, your tail wiggling underneath you. San's movements grew more erratic, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought to hold on.

"C-Come for me," he urged, his teeth grazing your earlobe. The sensation sent a bolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you couldn't hold back any longer. With a cry that echoed through the woods, you climaxed, your body shuddering beneath his as waves of pleasure washed over you. San's knot grew larger, pressing against your insides until it was all you could feel.

The pain was intense, but it was quickly overshadowed by the heat of his seed filling you up, his knot locking you together. You could feel him pulsing inside of you, his orgasm lasting what felt like an eternity. His weight grew heavier, his breaths coming in short gasps as he emptied himself into you completely. The bond grew stronger with each beat of his heart, each pulse of his cock.

"San," you panted, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes snapped open, and he looked down at you with a mix of shock and wonder. The reality of what had just happened washed over both of you, and you could see the realization in his gaze. He had claimed you without a full bond.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked, his voice filled with concern, his gentle touch at odds with his powerful form.

"N-No, no I'm fine." You assured him, your voice still shaky with pleasure. The knot was definitely uncomfortable, but the intimacy of the moment was too overwhelming to focus on the pain. "It's just… it's a lot to take in."

San nodded, his expression filled with a mix of relief and regret. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he whispered, his warm breath ghosting over your face. "But your scent was just… I couldn't resist."

"Really? I didn't even shower this morning…" You replied with a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood. San chuckled, his nose still buried in your neck.

"It's not just your scent," he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. "It's your warmth, your softness. I want you for every heat." His words were a gentle caress against your skin, sending goosebumps down your spine.

"Every heat?" You whispered back, your voice trembling. The thought of being with San, in this way, for the rest of your life was a lot to take in. But as you felt his knot slowly shrinking, and his cock still lodged inside you, you realized that the bond was already forming. It was a mix of fear and excitement that coursed through your veins.

San pulled away slightly, his gaze searching yours for any signs of regret. "If you don't want me to, I won't," he murmured, his voice filled with a vulnerability that seemed impossible for such a powerful creature. You took a moment to consider your answer, feeling the warmth of his seed still inside you, the ache of his knot.

But there was something in his eyes, a desperation that went beyond just the physical need. It was a connection that you hadn't felt before, a bond that was more than just skin deep. And despite the fear and the unknown, you found yourself nodding. "I… I want you, San." The words slipped out before you could second guess them.

San's eyes lit up, his smile genuine and filled with relief. He leaned down and kissed you, his lips rough but tender against yours. It was a kiss filled with passion and promise, a seal to the unspoken agreement that had just been made. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting and exploring as his cock remained lodged inside of you.

[madamechrissy]

Just Friends!?

-Art in the banner from nek0zuu_ on X-

Pairings- Former Nerd! Gojo and popular F! reader

Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.

Warnings - Will be explicit and smutty (it's me!?) Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- his chap, mentions of sex/getting turned on, Gojo being an ass tbh, welcome back Jock Sukuna and say hi to bitchy model Samantha lol, some angst and mutual pining, lots of feelings

Based HEAVILY on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of my amazinggg moot @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙

<<<Part One - Masterlist

Part Two

Your POV

It was odd, being back in your hometown after years of living on your own, but when your family needed help with their bar, and with student loans piling up -  teaching did not pay very well - you couldn’t help but come back home for a bit. The shifts at the hometown bar helped, and staying with your parents for just a few months was definitely a life saver.

It’s not exactly where you saw yourself, teaching lay offs all over, now you have a preschool class here and you love it, but it’s definitely not enough to cover everything. You feel so… just upset, that you’re back here at your first job, grabbing beers for familiar faces, people who never left their hometown, and some that have, but came back like you did.

Despite it being Spring, it was freezing where you lived, some cold spurt that brought on snow in March, so many of the town were curling up by the roaring fire, bundled up laughing and drinking to stay warm. The bar had quite a cozy atmosphere, it reminded you of home, truly, you grew up here, from bussing tables and cleaning to serving drinks.

“Hey love, you look amazing.” You see Suguru and Shoko then, Shoko has a cigarette between her fingers, a familiar smile that makes you beam, as you come out from behind the bar, hugging them both.

“I missed you two oh goodness!” You receive a kiss on each cheek from them, as you hug them together.

“We heard you were back in town, how have you been?” Suguru asks softly, you sigh a bit, peering up at the tall man.

“I can’t believe I’m back here. Layoffs.” They frown then. “I heard you all run a whole dentist office!?”

“Sugu is a hot dentist.” Shoko teases, and he smirks a bit.

“Shoko runs the clinic attached to it. She outranks me.”

“Always.” You laugh with the two of them, hands on their shoulders now.

“I’m so proud of you two, what? Doctors, I can't believe that.”

“Hey now, teaching is important.” Shoko brushes your hair back softly, earning your flushed cheeks at her praise.

“They definitely don’t make enough.” Suguru says, earning your sigh.

“You’re telling me. Let me get you all drinks!” You eagerly bounce back, mixing them up drinks, Shoko loves a lemon drop from what you remember, and Suguru always enjoyed a rum and coke.

“You remember!” Shoko winks as you hand her the pretty drink, garnishing it with a little lemon swirl and grinning. The noise of the bar fills your ears, as you lean across the polished bar table, glinting under the soft lights overhead.

“Of course I remember. Gosh, it’s been four years since I’ve seen you all I think.” You all start catching up, but of course it starts to get busier, and you begin to take care of all the customers as Suguru and Shoko start tossing darts at the black and red circled board.

You smile at them, they’d always been the perfect couple, making that longing fill you too much. You fully expected to be married with kids by now, sure it was quite a homey little dream, that white picket fence, maybe two kids and some cute golden retriever, but that’s what you always dreamed of. Unfortunately, your bad taste and men did not end in high school.

“Speak of the devil…” You murmur nervously, when you see him, Ryomen Sukuna looking just as good if not better than high school, he still wears his damn letterman’s jacket from college, where he’d become an all star player, you hear now he’s even going pro.

What’s he doing back home?

He grins over now, red eyes sharp as ever, and you fully anticipate him bothering you, saying something pervy, as he walks across the crowded bar, stopping to talk to almost everyone, he was quite a name here. The only person more famous from your little town - there is a population of fourteen thousand and perhaps four stop lights- was Satoru Gojo.

You’d seen him on the damn cat walk, recently he was on the cover of Vogue, him and some other really famous model, this little smirk on his face that just doesn’t fit the boy you knew. If you thought he was cut before, his body was damn near godly, so perfect it was intimidating, and he’d only gotten prettier, not that Satoru wasn’t always so pretty.

He just didn’t know it then.

You think of him sometimes, hurt initially back when summer break hit after high school, and he refused all your calls, he refused to see or talk to anyone when you all lived so fucking close. You tried everything you could, feeling awful because it was your party and you didn’t know, could you have done more? Could you have shoved everyone out?

You were fully planning to if he’d just given you a moment. Your yearbook to this day is something you cherish, and reading his sweet words over and over, he’d taken over an entire page, with words of love you’ve never felt before. But to say it was all ‘a joke’ and leaving, never accepting a friend request, shit he didn’t even talk to Suguru or Shoko, his other best friends.

Satoru never spoke of his hometown in interviews, and when you saw his mom recently, you learned he’s never come home. You know things were hard on him, brutal even, but you wish he knew just how much you loved him, cared for him, sure it was more of a beautiful friendship, but you also were attracted to him, though you were scared to ruin that friendship.

If he just gave you a damn moment.

A friendship you built your entire life demolished, and you miss him even now, you miss the quiet mornings you two would study at the library, you miss the cup of coffee he’d have for you every morning. You missed the little sleepovers, playing pokemon games together, battling it out on the Wii, the amount of things the two of you shared, gone in a moment.

Sukuna leans across the bar, shaking you out of your reverie, his familiar, arrogant smirk just a little softer as his ruby eyes drape down your body, you’re just in some jeans and a polo, nothing too sexy for the family bar here. But he seems to take pleasure in every slow inch, murmuring your name.

“Look at you, even hotter than high school, shit.” You heat up a bit under his gaze, tilting your head and running your hand across your neck.

“Thank you, Sukuna. You look good too.” You earn his wide grin, as he swipes a hand through his pink hair, snowflakes melting just a bit as he leans his hip against the bar now.

“I’ve wondered how you were doing, aren’t you a teacher?”

“I am, but… layoffs.” Sukuna frowns a bit. “I’m teaching preschool here for now, but it’s…”

“They don’t pay shit.” On this, everyone agrees,

“Mmhmm, but it’s my passion. So here I am, working the student loans off.” You wink at him, and he softens then, resting his elbow on the bar, a hand in his chin.

“So pretty you shouldn’t be working.”

“Oh… no. Not at all.” You clear your throat, something is so different about him, he’s not the asshole you remember, or so it seems. “But just temporary, I’m finishing up a couple classes to teach higher education.”

“You always were smart, you’ll do well.”

“Oh… thank you, Sukuna.”

“Used to call me Kuna you know.” You giggle now, easing a bit, even under his gaze, which keeps darting down your body. “God you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Say that to the freshman fifteen that never left.” Sukuna chuckles then, when you turn and bend over, grabbing a beer.

“Went to your nice ass-”

“Sukuna!” You glare behind yourself, and he’s chuckling. “Here I was thinking you were all sweet.”

“I am sweet, thank you. Shit I’d love to catch up sometime?” You hand him his beer, sighing then.

“I don’t know…”

“Lunch or something?”

Satoru’s POV

Satoru’s stepping into the bustling bar with the most annoying model ever, cock hungry too, who’s clinging to his arm, looking at the little bar in disgust, while he eyes the familiar surroundings. He scoffs as he sees Sukuna’s letterman jacket, so pretentious really, and eyes everyone around, surely… your parents still run this place, he wonders, do you ever come visit?

“It’s so… quaint.” Comes Samantha’s voice next to him, running her fingers along the dusty bar, grimacing, she’s as tall as Satoru in her heels, perhaps one of the few women who he doesn’t tower over. All models were pretty tall, but typically he still had a couple inches, but Samantha was the best in her field, and maybe longer legs than Satoru Gojo himself.

“Yeah, I guess compared to LA.” He murmurs, the surroundings oddly comforting, despite how much he thought he’d hate it here. Something about shivering in the cold and then coming to this warm, bustling bar was…

Homey.

It gnaws at him, as people recognize him, and they begin to all come up, many who used to pick on him. He clings to that pretty model of his tighter, putting on a bright grin and lowering his black Gucci shades, the two of them are decked out in Saint Laurent and looking like a million bucks. Even in public, you had to make sure you were dressed to kill.

“Holy shit…” Satoru sees Suguru and Shoko then, their mouths drop as they come up to him. He's spoken to them a little here and there, but overwhelmingly has not said much since college was over. “Look at you two!”

“Look at you, all preening like a peacock.” Shoko rolls her dark eyes, sipping on a drink as she assesses him and his ‘girl’ who is clinging to him, laughing far too fake to ever be taken for as genuine, grating on his nerves.

“How cute, townies!” Samantha says, tossing blonde hair back, and Satoru scowls over at her.

“Who’s the snob?” Suguru asks boldly, making her gasp as Satoru’s muffling his laughter.

“Be nice.” Satoru warns, hands in the pockets of his red dress pants, a ruby so bright and bold it’s ridiculous for a place where people wear jeans and flannels.

“They’re not nice, Gojo. I don’t like it here!” She’s stomping her feet, and Satoru sighs, shaking his head.

“Go get a drink, hmm?” He turns her and smacks her ass, she cringes then.

“Myself!?”

“Become immersed in the small town, it’ll be good publicity, sweets.” He winks as she pouts and saunters off, ignoring the men and at one point hissing at one.

“She’s on drugs or…” Suguru trails off, and Satoru snorts.

“She’s definitely on a good Adderall / Xani combo. Shit… I missed you guys.” He ruffles Shoko’s hair, and shoves at Suguru good naturedly, Suguru smiles a bit, dark hair even longer than Satoru remembers.

“Sure you did. Come back to visit?”

“Uh… no.” He peers at his phone, sighing now. “Our suite for whatever reason isn’t available, I was stopping here and going to call Mom, since I have no reception whatsoever.”

“Why would you bring her to your mom’s, doesn’t she suffer enough with you as her kid?” Shoko earns Satoru sticking his tongue out, picking up the phone and dialing.

“Toru, sweetie!” Satoru sighs, he loves his mom, but to this day she really treats him like a child, even now.

“Hey mom, cool if I stay a few nights? I have a modeling-”

“You’re coming home!?” Satoru winces, pulling back the phone as Suguru and Shoko laugh.

“Yeah, if it’s-”

“I’ll make your favorite, baby, triple stack pancakes with sundae-”

“No, no, too many carbs.” He hears his mom’s sigh of disappointment, and clenches his jaw just a bit, looking over to see Samantha taking pictures of herself on her fancy phone, throwing up a pose now. “I guess yeah, I’ll eat pancakes.”

“My baby, oh I can’t wait, let me get started now!” His mom hangs up, and he can’t help but feel that fondness, the emptiness he’s had for so long just the tiniest bit filled by her voice.

“She’s excited.” He muses, sighing then. “I need a drink.”

Suguru and Shoko eye each other, and Satoru’s blue eyes narrow, studying their odd expressions. “Yes, you should, bartender she’s amazing.” Shoko’s smiling, and Satoru’s lips purse a bit.

“Hmm, guess I’ll see. I’ll be back.” He pats their shoulders again, heading over and passing more and more familiar faces, gosh none of them left, huh?

He leans against the bar, poking around on his phone as he hears Sukuna, asking then - 

“Lunch sometime?”

He snorts, eyeing the tall, big man who used to torment him, now eye to eye with him, and damn near his size. Sukuna blinks in surprise a bit when Satoru eyes him with humor.

“Lunch is friendzone territory, ouch.” Sukuna glares now, fists clenching on the bar, and that’s when…

You see him.

Satoru Gojo.

“Maybe I like lunch.” Your voice shocks him then, he eyes you, wide blue eyes going to the face of the girl he loved.

Your face.

You’re so pretty it makes his heart thud out of his fucking chest, you’re just like you were, maybe a bit more mature looking now, but god it was like a blast from his past, the ultimate memory of you couldn’t compare. You’re so beautiful, this fucking glow around you still, that comfort he has been craving hitting him in one instant, as he just stands there.

Satoru Gojo, who got whatever girl he wanted, was just standing there, staring at you, with his lips parted, you are heating up under his scrutiny, unsure of just what he was thinking, biting that lower lip a bit and shifting. He notices now, that you’re not fawning over him, drooling, like women did, if anything you’re glaring just a bit, your jaw set.

“I… you… here…” He can’t compute a fucking word - stupid, stupid - why did you reduce him to pathetic again, after all these years!?

“Yes, I work here again. I know, it’s not what I imagined either.” Your soft, devastated words attack him, making him feel like you punched him right in the gut, as Sukuna raises a brow at Satoru.

“Friend zone, did you just say that?” Satoru’s sputtering now, before clearing his throat, shutting his eyes and taking a breath.

He’s not some ‘nerd’ anymore.

He’s Satoru Fucking Gojo.

He smirks and leans against the bar, eyeing you slowly, pulling off pretentious shades that make you miss his tortoiseshell glasses. But when those piercing, swirling blue eyes hit you, trailing like Sukuna’s had, you feel so shy suddenly, so nervous around him, after so long. Surely he was looking down at you, surely he was so high and mighty that your life seemed sad to him.

You stand a little straighter now, while the two men, who have changed so much, both eye you, a blast from fucking high school if you ever saw one. “Look at you…” He murmurs your name softly, like a caress- shit his voice is deeper, it’s so sure, so cocky and conceited, not the sweet boy you miss. “You look great.”

“Thanks, so do you.” You manage softly, he’s in some suit worth as much as your year of work you’re sure, open with a vest showing of chest muscles, fuck he has red silk gloves, it’s so ridiculous you almost laugh.

He’s gorgeous but…

Who is he really?

“Working here again, huh?” He means it to be casual, but the way it comes off makes you straighten your shoulders, as Sukuna winces.

“All that money, all those women and you never learned.” Satoru scowls at Sukuna now, while you turn away, giving him a view of a body he’s dreamed of, fuck you’re even sexier now, those jeans sitting just right, is none of you not perfect, not beautiful?

“What can I get you, Gojo?” You ask after grabbing another beer for Sukuna, who takes it with a smile, and he tenses at that.

Gojo.

When did you ever call him anything but ‘Toru’?

But, you all are literally strangers now.

“Martini.” He says, earning Sukuna’s snort, Satoru’s scowl heads his direction once again as you start to get the ingredients together, shaking it up in the gold shaker like a pro.

“Little bitch drink.”

“Beer is disgusting, fuck that.”

Sukuna glares as he sips the drink, and you pour Satoru his martini, garnishing it and giving a small smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “One martini.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” You falter, at his soft voice, at the way he says everything as if it were some caress.

“You’re welcome.” He hands you far too much money then, making you blink. “It’s only ten bucks.”

“Keep the rest, love.” He winks now, and you feel your face heating up, did he think you needed it so badly? Does he pity you?

Does he care?

“Thanks… um, sure on lunch, Sukuna.” Satoru’s teeth clench, like watching history repeat itself. “Even if it’s ‘friend zone’ I’m fine with meeting up.”

“Perfect, here’s my number…” He writes it right on one of the pretty white napkins, and you take it carefully. “I’ll be in town all week.”

“Alright, sounds good.” Sukuna tips you, not the exorbitant fifty dollars Satoru just handed you, but a twenty, with a little nod of his head, as he passes Satoru now, and Samantha comes right up to him.

“Oh look at you, all star for the-” She’s flirting but Sukuna ignores her, winking at you and making you want to giggle, but you barely hold it in. “So rude! Gojo, can we please leave this shitty little bar?”

You scowl right up at the tall, beautiful model who pouts over at Satoru, clinging to his arm, he stiffens, but you see it, clearly they’re… together. “The ‘shitty little bar’ is owned by my family. And you are more than welcome to leave.”

“Oooh, you’re feisty.” She’s giggling psychotically, using her hand to make a clawing motion. “Rawr!”

“The fuck…” You shake your head, sighing as you set back to work, Samantha’s hands running down Satoru’s chest, irritating him to no end.

All he can see is you, and you’re just turning away, the girl he…

He left.

He left you.

No word, no goodbye, and he thought maybe it wouldn’t feel like this, maybe after eight years and endless women in his bed, he could stop feeling like this, stop the love he had. He tried to chalk it up to puppy love, you were the nicest person to him, of course he developed feelings, right?

Wrong.

He watches as you head out from behind the bar as Samantha’s going on and on about some Instagram post, downing the rest of his martini. “We’ll leave in a minute, go wait in the car.”

“I can’t believe we don’t even have a driver, ugh!” Satoru blinks at her, turning her now, watching as you stop and talk to Suguru and Shoko, smiling so sweet, lighting up the whole fucking room.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Oh fine but…” She drags him down by his tie, whispering in his ear then- “I can suck you while you drive.”

What would once excite him doesn’t compute, he just nods and pushes the crazy woman to the entrance of the bar. “Sure whatever.”

“No pictures, please.” She throws on her sunglasses, as curious people wonder just what this woman is talking about, and Satoru feels your eyes on him then, his catch yours across the room. He watches you tense, as he steps closer, and Shoko and Suguru depart, giving you both one moment.

“Hi.” He manages to say, and for once, the pretentious rich model reminds you of him, the boy you grew up with, the one you miss so badly it feels like he’s a dream.

“Hi.” Your soft voice ends him, you’re shifting side to side, Satoru towers over you, making you feel so small then, as he presses a hand against the wall over your head, tilting your chin up with his other hand. Your eyes go wide then, breath catching, heart hammering.

“I’d love to catch up, I am here for a few days, I’ll be at mom’s.” You blink a bit then, looking down, gently taking his hand off your chin by his wrist, the contact making you both pause. For a moment he pictures it, kissing you, making every move he failed at in high school, taking your lips over.

He pictures so much, up to and including you under him, shit maybe now he’d have a chance with a girl like you, maybe he could taste your sweetness, could inhale that vanilla body spray you somehow wear eight years later. Could show you pleasure he bets you never got before, cock aching just being in your presence, he has to will it to go down.

“Your mom, I just saw her.” You ease his hand down, back resting against the wall just a bit, hair falling across your shoulders, you gasp when he brushes it back, another move he had tried and failed at back then.

That night should have been his first kiss.

You should have been his first everything, fuck.

“Could we do dinner or drinks?” His tone reminds you of what he said earlier, so you smile, a little mean glint in your eye.

“Maybe lunch.”

“Lunch!?” He’s glaring, thin white brows lowered, and you giggle.

“Coffee?”

Shit.

“Or is that too ‘friend zone’ for you, Gojo.” Satoru blinks a bit, hand falling, barely brushing your shoulder when it falls, you try to ignore how good it feels, he tries to act nonchalant, not like the fucking world is faded, aside from you. That the entire bar is just an echo, it’s just you.

And you’re furious, he can feel it. “No, no I mean it’s fine. If you want… coffee we can do coffee.” He can’t believe he’s saying this, he brushes his white locks back, winking down then. “We can do whatever you want.”

“Uh huh. Well, coffee then, if you want to catch up I’m surprised, considering it all though.” Satoru’s jaw clenches just a bit.

“I’d like to catch up.” You soften at his first vulnerable statement, the first thing that feels real. “How about in the morning, are you staying nearby?”

“I’m living with my parents for a couple months.” He frowns at that, you suddenly feel so insecure, a rich model right in front of you, just as he said that day- that he’d make it, and you all…

Would just burn out.

Maybe you did.

“Oh, you are, is something wrong?”

“Helping them a bit, big teacher layoffs nationwide.”

“You teach?” His smile is finally genuine, as you nod, so shyly, his shoulders relax, as his hands slip in his pockets once more. “You always wanted to.” Your eyes shoot up to his now, swirling beautiful blue, a hint of the sweet boy you adored.

“You remember?”

“How couldn’t I…”

“I figured you forgot us all.” Satoru gulps down the guilt, as you manage to pull yourself together, sighing. “Come by my parents in the morning, if you remember where they are.”

“How can I forget, it’s across the street.”

“All right then… I look forward to it.” He awkwardly leans down, as you wrap a friendly arm around his waist, inhaling his cologne, much different than the boy who wore axe body spray and always sucked on lifesavers. His hard body against your much softer one feels a little too good, when he rests his chin on your head.

Nothing has ever felt better than holding you in his arms.

Memories swirl for the both of you, but it’s different, Satoru seems like some bold and pretentious stranger, but for a moment you remember. You remember crying in his arms, over this breakup or that, you remember his sweet hugs during study sessions, you remember laughing and watching the dumbest movies. You exhale just a bit, as a big hand presses the small of your back.

Satoru missed you.

He doesn’t say it, he can’t say anything, pulling back and looking at you then, hand coming to cup your face, opening his mouth to speak when Samantha starts shouting “I’m bored Gojo! I’m so bored!”

The entire bar turns her direction, you fall back a bit, as Gojo internally curses, seeing the brat that is his partner crossing her arms in that fur coat. “I’m coming okay, shit!”

“Your girlfriend is bored.” You’re giggling then, you can’t help it, covering your face as Samantha glares.

“Not my girlfriend, jesus. Um… okay, the morning.” You nod, walking off now, past Samantha, who hisses at you like the psychotic bitch she is, making Satoru grimace with Suguru and Shoko walk up to Satoru.

“You fucked that intro up.” Suguru says, snorting as he puts his arm around Shoko’s waist, and she’s laughing.

“Fucked it up bad.”

“Oh like you’re any help.” They just shake their head, eyeing Satoru’s screaming model bestie.

“See you in eight more years.” Suguru’s words sting, as Satoru feels it then, the guilt eating away at him, but Samantha won’t shut up long enough for him to process, he drags her out into the cold, chilled air, seeing you climbing up into what appears to be your SUV, your eyes flicker to him for just a moment, before you shut the door.

“You like townies hmm? Can’t stop eye fucking girl next door.” Satoru’s eyes make even Samantha falter then.

“Who I like is none of your fucking concern. In.” He plops down in the rental, an audi of course, god forbid Satoru Gojo or Samantha would be seen in anything less, on that they are the same.

“You’re so cranky, she’s hot, just… gives those girl next door vibes.”

“Yeah well, she was the girl next door for me. Almost.” He feels her hand now, trailing over his thigh, she leans over and laughs in his ear, making him cringe. “How’d I get stuck with-”

“Let me make you feel so good, should I suck little Gojo?”

“Little Gojo!? It’s not little, Samantha.” He shoves her off, and she pouts again, crossing her arms.

“How’d I get stuck with you is the question, no fun. Now we have to go stay in poorville.”

“It’s the fucking suberbs.”

“Poor. Poor. Poor. Boring, boring.” Satoru almost pushes her out of the goddamn car, no blow job would be worth it, even if it would shut her up for a moment, even if his cock twitches thinking of you.

He pulls up to his home, his mother already has it opened when he walks up, hugging him tightly, kissing his face all over and making him wince. “Mom…”

“My baby, I never thought you’d come home.” She’s got tears in her pretty blue eyes, she visits LA once a year or more, but now the way tears fall from eyes that match his wracks him with guilt.

He could have come back at least once, right?

No, no he couldn’t.

“And this is…”

“Samantha.” She shakes his mom’s hand, tossing back long blonde locks and smiling. “You have such a quaint little home.”

Satoru’s mom blinks rapidly, brows together, this wasn’t a small home, it was four stories and lovely, left to them from Satoru’s dad, but he supposes to a rich, spoiled brat like Samantha, it’s ‘quaint’. “Um, thank you, and you’re staying too?”

“Unfortunately.” Satoru’s mom raises her brows, as Samantha clings to Satoru once again, grinning.

“I get to meet the mom, huh? I’m so special-”

“Let’s eat.”

Satoru finally leaves a snoring, annoying model brat Samantha alone in the guest room, when he walks inside his childhood room, frozen. Time has been frozen, his mother hasn’t changed a single fucking thing, up to and including pictures of you and him all over the walls. He gulps down his emotions, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click, undressing carefully.

He sees his old nerdy ass sweater, one you’d gotten him, still folded on his desk, like he never left. His fingers brush the fabric, as he stares at his reflection, feeling like he’s a ghost in his own room. The connections start to build, the mirror he kissed that night, the endless photos and mementos he kept. He eyes that box now, opening a letter carefully, crumbled and faded ink.

My Toru, I hope you have the best day, I can’t wait for the movies!

Toru, can you believe how the year has flown by!?

Do you want to go bowling Y or N

Your new glasses are so cute I love them!

Bad day today, sorry I’m quiet.

Tears fall down his cheeks, he only notices when the blotches form on the ink, all the times you’d write to him every day, passing little notes in class with hearts all over them, brightening his day. He’d kept every single fucking one, and there were so, so many in this tin box, stuffed inside like all of his fucking feelings.

He wipes his eyes quickly, shaking it off, pulling out his luggage with his own clothes and getting dressed in sweats for the night, curiously pushing on the cd left in the player, sighing then. Your favorite song, it’s that mixed CD he was making you, the one he never gave you. Satoru quickly turns it off, the button a resounding click, walking to the corkboard littered with you.

Knock knock knock.

“Come in, mom.” She does just that, peeking her pretty face, still so young looking, so sweet as she smiles at him. “You didn’t change any of it.”

“No, I always hoped you’d come back, at least for a day.” She walks up to Satoru now, seeing the photos he’s staring at now, Satoru and you sipping a milkshake together with two straws, in the middle of a diner. “You two were so sweet, she’s back in town you know.”

“I know… I’m seeing her in the morning.” His mom’s eyes light up, and he laughs a bit. “Don’t get excited, my life isn’t here mom.”

“Part of it will always be.” She cups his face, smiling up at him. “I hope you have fun with her, she has kept in touch all these years you know.”

“She has?”

“Yes, she… misses you. She asks about you when she visits town.” Satoru blinks back emotion, turning away now, clearing his throat.

You asked about him after all this? After he'd gone out of your life for good? What if he just heard you out, what if he…

“I’m tired, mom.” Mrs. Gojo nods, a hand on his back for a moment.

“Good night, Toru.”

“Night.” He lays in his bed, phone blowing up, his agent with details, a coordinator for the show, friends from LA teasing him on having to come back home, but he quickly turns it off, holding a photo of you, the only one he brought.

He gently touches it, sighing, wondering…

Will you like him now, could he be good enough?

While you lay in bed, tossing, turning, fuming damn near at Satoru Gojo’s audacity, sitting up finally, putting on Satoru’s favorite song, on that mixed CD you had been making him, before he disappeared. Your childhood room is the same as it always was, littered with photos of you and Satoru, your best friend that just disappeared, and came back a different person.

You touch a photo, one where he’s grinning so big with his cute little braces, holding up a science award, and you’re so overcome with emotion you have to hold back your tears, touching the polaroid gently. Was that boy in there somewhere, the boy you knew, the one who deserved the world - he seemingly got it of course.

Would he find you so boring? He hung out with celebrities, he walked runways, he’s clearly got a beautiful - batshit insane but- girl on his arm. Was it some pity, did he feel bad you were in a little bar? Your mind can’t handle it all, as you plop down in your childhood bed, mind racing.

Who was Satoru Gojo now?

Ah why'd I tear up when Satoru goes home? Next part we see just how coffee goes lol

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[fictionalcharacters-mybeloved]

(Be) Satisfied, Danny.

Danny didn't have a good life, he didn't notice it until he grew up, of course, but he noticed it.

He noticed when Tucker's parents did remember his birthday (while his parents were still in the basement, creating the most important thing in their lives).

He noticed it when it was Jazz who healed his wounds when his bullies were especially cruel (and his parents were still in the basement).

He noticed it when he spent hours lost in one of the most dangerous cities in America and the only one who cared (and noticed his disappearance) was Jazz.

And so many more things, Danny noticed all the time that his life was not good, but he had good things.

He had Jazz, space, Tucker, Sam and, at a time that is now a bittersweet and painful memory, he met Bruce.

He knew that talking to and trusting strangers was bad (after Bruce told him so and Jazz repeated it to him), but it was easy to trust Bruce.

He was someone nice who listened to him prattle on for hours about the stars, planets, Nasa and space in general, listened to him with such attention and interest that he just kept talking until somehow they got to his hotel and Bruce left him with Jazz.

Of course, little Danny wasn't about to let his wonderful audience disappear from his. Life so soon after they met, and after quite a bit of insisting (and some crying), they stayed in contact.

Danny kept growing up, of course, and Phantom happened, because he thought meeting Bruce meant life would get better from there, but no, he only had momentary peace.

Bruce noticed his change in behavior (unlike his parents), Bruce who had a life of his own and several children he obviously loved more than anything (not that Danny is jealous of that, not at all), but he noticed the change in Danny.

"I don't even know why I can't-I just-" Danny doesn't finish speaking, she couldn't, not yet. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me." His voice was tearful and shaky.

There is silence on the other end of the call for a few seconds, until Bruce's voice is heard. "You want to talk to me about constellations?" He asks quietly, non-judgmental, non-pushy.

And of course, Danny talks to him for hours about the stars, the shapes of the constellations, their names and their stories, forgetting for brief, wonderful hours everything else, just like when he was ten, and just like at that time, Bruce listened to him as if it was completely new information, as if he didn't already know all that.

Bruce was like... not a father, but like a male figure in his life whom he valued very much.

Danny was not blind, he knew Bruce was not perfect, even if they could only communicate by phone, they had had little disagreements here and there, but they did not walk away, because Bruce listened to him and did not immediately dismiss his words, because he wanted to improve, because Bruce was trying for Danny, and wasn't that a wonderful thought?

Of course, when he was finally planning to tell Bruce about Phantom is when it all goes to shit.

Losing everyone you love and having to run and hide from a freak so you don't turn into a bloodthirsty monster was, to say the least, fucking horrible.

Danny remembers the pain, the feeling of choking, the lump in his throat that wouldn't let him speak, the disbelief, the agonizing need to just disappear, Danny just wanted to close his eyes and die like his family and friends and-

And then his phone rang.

Bruce always had to show up when Danny was lost, right?

He doesn't even remember what he told him on the call or how he spoke in the first place, only that after four years he had Bruce in front of him, talking and promising that he would help him, that he would take care of everything, that he wasn't alone, not anymore.

Of course living in Gotham was quite an adjustment, the moving process made him cry several times, lately he would cry over anything and it was horrible, however, lately he also had Bruce there with him.

They still talked on the phone quite a bit, but now Bruce could also visit him, hug him, comfort him on a particularly difficult day.

Sometimes Bruce would talk to him about what it was like when he lost his parents, about when he lost one of his sons, sometimes they would both end up crying, but they were together and it eased the pain a little.

Speaking in a soft, gentle voice, Bruce would say that the pain would become more tolerable and that one day it would stop tarnishing the good memories, that someday he could put the pictures back on the shelves, that eating would no longer be horrible because eating meat would no longer feel like betrayal and eating vegetarian food wouldn't hurt, that someday he could open a tech magazine and play video games without feeling like he'd never enjoy anything again, that someday he could stop seeing his sister in every redheaded girl he saw on the streets, and that while that was happening, Bruce would be there for him.

And although the pain remained horrible, it became bearable.

There were good days and bad days, but he enjoyed when Bruce could visit.

Danny knew Bruce kept it from his sons more for what he didn't say than what he did say, but he understood and actually preferred it that way, because when Bruce came to the apartment they could both pretend to be father and son (not that they called each other that), without irreparable mistakes or painful loss, at least on particularly good days.

Danny also felt that he was special, that someone preferred him, that plain, boring Danny Fenton was special (even if he wasn't).

Life, for the first time, wasn't bad, it wasn't good either, the pain sometimes wanted to consume him completely some days, he still cried most nights but also... he felt accompanied, loved.

Obviously he felt loved before, his sister, his friends, he knew they loved him, but with Bruce he also felt understood.

He felt (and knew) that Bruce saw him, that he saw the little, idiotic, pathetic, troubled Danny Fenton and decided he was worth it, that when he found out about 'Phantom' he only talked about helping him hide it and, when some time passed, about how smart and talented he was in learning to handle his powers without guidance, that Danny was special because of who he was even before Phantom, powers were nothing without brain, that Phantom was what he was because of the guy behind it.

In turn, Danny saw (and understood) Bruce, the man was always overly worried about those he loves, every little thing, and he was smart, he worried and his treacherous brain wouldn't leave him alone (and that was painfully similar to Jazz).

How could he ask him not to worry when he already found a thousand ways for everything to go wrong and for him to be the one to ruin it?

How could he judge him now that he also knew how much it hurt to lose the ones you love?

So they would talk, it wasn't always easy because Danny was used to not being given so much attention and Bruce could be too controlling, but... well, talking helped a lot, because because they listened to each other, apologizing was easy after talking.

They almost always ended up watching B movies and judging them after they made up, or watching documentaries, because watching them with Bruce was interesting, he always had things to add, interesting fun facts that Bruce enjoyed saying and Danny enjoyed listening to.

Bruce was trying so hard and always seemed to feel it wasn't enough, that Danny couldn't help but resent his sons (the real ones) a little.

Danny knew they were not bad, Bruce always spoke of them with love and so, so much pride, it was always Bruce who was to blame for everything, the bad guy, the villain of the situation...

To Bruce his sons deserved a better father, but if anyone asked Danny, Bruce deserved a better family.

Say no to this, Bruce.

A few days ago Bruce had a fight with his sons, now he doesn't even remember why, it was probably something stupid that escalated and he didn't know how to stop it, it was probably his fault.

He was alone at the mansion, Damian was at Dick's house, Jason was ignoring him more than usual and Tim was on a case where he didn't want help, not from him at least, even Duke was away, it wasn't a good week for Bruce.

He grabbed a phone he had hidden and only took out before going to sleep alone in his room, hesitated for a few seconds and sent a message to the only number added.

His "thing" with the boy, Danny Fenton, had started four years ago, the boy was lost and Bruce found him when he coincidentally went for a walk as a civilian.

Danny was so charmed by Bruce (for some reason) that he gave him his hotel room number to keep talking about the universe, and later his home number.

Danny was a good, funny and witty kid, a very smart too, with parents who didn't deserve him because they didn't notice their son's brilliance.

Danny was a good boy with a not-so-good life, a strong, independent boy who wasn't always positive but didn't always let himself fall apart.

That's why when Danny answered his message with a call with him crying and asking for help, he could only go to his rescue without looking back, barely remembering to tell Alfred of his departure.

When he arrived he found only tragedy.

His family and friends had died, an explosion at an unfortunate time, Danny had no one in the world besides his godfather and Bruce, and he didn't want to fall into Vlad's clutches, so he was desperate.

He also told him about Phantom, and Bruce could only hug him and promise him that no one was going to find him.

The first thing that came to his mind was to take him to his mansion, Danny was like his son, it was the most logical action... except that Danny still looked up to him and trusted him a lot, and wasn't that a scary thought?

Bringing Danny to the mansion would involve many things, Danny would meet his children, which might make Danny see him differently, goodbye to his admiration and affection, goodbye to spending time "together" watching bad movies to criticize them, goodbye to quiet conversations and asking for advice, goodbye to trust.

Bringing Danny to the mansion would mean having him physically close but keeping him away in every other possible way.

"Danny doesn't want anyone else to know about Phantom." Bruce repeated to himself as he took Danny to a small, hidden apartment in Gotham, a cozy little place where Vlad wouldn't find Danny (and neither would Bruce's family).

[mggslover]

learning sign language so you can make inappropriate comments to spencer while at work and you sign “want to suck your cock” and spencer just looks at you all bewildered like “since when did you know ASL?”

dirty talking to spencer in ASL genre: sfw with sexual innuendos word count: 1,8k a/n: a lil something while i'm working on kinkfest :)

Spencer Reid is a man of many talents. People say — well, specifically, Spencer once told you that learning a new skill is easiest around the age of ten and how the process will be more difficult once you reach the age of eighteen. Something about neural connections forming rapidly, the unconscious system, the critical period… To be honest, you lost your focus the moment he mentioned the new skill he’d learned: sign language. 

Spencer was excited to tell you about this new skill. He already knew a handful of languages, from Russian to Yoruba, but what appealed to him most about ASL was the hand motions. How he didn’t need to pronounce any of the words. You still chuckle to yourself when the memory of him pronouncing a Spanish sentence pops up in your head. How vividly you could picture Elle correcting him. There was nothing funny about him using ASL, though. In fact, you remember the way your throat tightened and your cheeks heated when his hands started moving — long fingers, decorated in veins, flexing into different symbols at a speed that other beginners would envy.

“That means ‘I love you, and that sweater looks pretty on you’.”

You had laughed. Had leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I love you,” you replied. A hot pink flush made its way onto his face, a shy smile tugging on his lips. 

“Does this mean you’ll be speaking to me in sign now?”

Your comment was meant as mere teasing, but Spencer had taken it as a challenge. He’d made sure to at least communicate a couple of ASL sentences to you every day. You could imagine it being a good way of practice for him. For the both of you, actually. Because over time you started to recognize some of the movements. A sign you had mistaken as rock and roll before, you had now concluded meant I love you. A swipe of his hand over his face? Pretty. There were a few others you could recognize, but as the sentences grew longer and his signs faster, you gave up.

You had always assumed everything Spencer signed to you was something sweet. You’d smile, kiss him as a thank you, and forget about it, assuming he was complimenting you. That was until Derek caught Spencer in the act, signing something to you before the elevator doors closed in front of him, ready to head over to the lab for another case you were on. 

“My man,” Derek chuckled heartily, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Your brows furrowed, the smile that had lingered on your face moments before dropping instantly. “What?”

He kept laughing, not noticing the clear confusion you were in.

“Derek!” you said, giving a soft punch to his arm to catch his attention.

“Oh, you don’t-” He raised an eyebrow, pointing to you and the closed elevator doors before laughing even harder.

“Stop it!” You cried, getting embarrassed by the scene you were causing in the middle of the bullpen. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, pretty girl,” he started, taking a deep breath to recover, still grinning widely. “Pretty Boy over there should be getting the title of Dirty Boy from now on.”

Your mouth opened, then quickly closed when no words came out. “I don’t understand.”

Derek looked around the bullpen, finding no one near. Still, he leaned in, shielding his mouth with his hand as he recited Spencer’s words to you.

You gasp, hand clutching your chest dramatically as if starring in a soap opera. “He didn’t,” you say in full disbelief.

“Oh, yes he did,” Morgan smirked in full pride.

“How would you even know that?”

“My buddy works at a youth center. I teach the kids football from time to time. Some speak ASL.”

You scoff. “Kids have taught you these words?”

Derek shrugs. “What can I say? It’s the dirty words that are most fun to learn.”

-`♡´-

You had struggled to think of anything else after that encounter, your mind wandering to every possible naughty sentence when Spencer signed to you from then on. It was frustrating, really, how he must be gleaming knowing you had no clue what he was saying. As long as he knows that you’re also up for a challenge. 

After work that day, you told Spencer you’d be home later, having to pick something up from a friend’s house. It wasn’t completely a lie — you had to pick something up, just from a different location. You parked your car in the parking lot in front of the public library, feeling like a criminal as you knocked on the glass doors. A woman in her late sixties greeted you, her kind beady eyes framed by thin glasses that hung low on her nose.

“You’re the one who called? From the FBI?”

You nodded, smiling. “Hi, yes, that’s me. I am so sorry to be bothering you at this hour, but we’ve got a killer on the loose, and it’s very urgent.”

The older woman cringed at the mention of a killer, muttering some words under her breath, and turned to grab an entire stack of books. You reached your hands out, accepting the heavy weight of the books, the title A Beginner’s Guide to ASL written on the top one. 

Her hand trembled lightly as she tapped the front cover. “This one comes with a DVD.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. Thank you for your help.”

“You better catch that bastard!” You nodded confidently in response as you turned on your heel.

-`♡´-

Unfortunately, Spencer was right: learning a new language as an adult was far from easy. Especially with the lack of time you had because of working a demanding job. You had to make do with the rare free weekends and some late nights during the week to study as much as possible.

You were tucked underneath a blanket on the couch, laptop in your lap, as you were watching a YouTube video Derek had recommended: “Sign Dirty to Me: A Guide to Dirty Talk in Sign Language”.”

“The next sentence we’ll be learning is ‘I want to give you a blowjob’.”

“A what?” 

You screeched, lifting yourself up on the couch at a speed that made the laptop fall on the ground with a thud. You mutter a string of curses as the video continues playing, using your foot to stomp the laptop shut.

“Jesus, Spencer, can’t you knock?”

You turn your body, spotting your boyfriend's tall figure leaning against the open bedroom door, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “I think you’ve forgotten that you’re in my house.”

You groan at his smug grin, trying to find an excuse. 

“What were you watching anyway?” He asks in curiosity before you could explain.

“Nothing!”

He takes a stride toward you, and you scramble from the couch to grab the laptop, holding it tight in your arms as a safety measure. Spencer leans on the plush frame of the couch, appearing rather relaxed as a gleam sparkles in his eyes. “Don’t tell me you were watching-”

“No!” You exclaim in offense.

“I wouldn’t mind it if you were.”

“I was not watching anything.”

The content look doesn’t fade from his face. He looks rather pleased by the scene you’re making. The tips of his fingers brush against the bare skin of your arm. Those damn fingers. “I don’t mind, angel. I would just offer you my help instead.”

You swallowed. He was distracting you, and you were not going to fall for his dirty ploys yet again. No way.

“I’m good,” you squeak, hurriedly standing up from the couch. You point at him while your other hand clutches your laptop. “I will go to the bedroom now, and you will stay here. Don’t even think about moving an inch.”

Your words were only making you sound more suspicious, but you didn’t care. It would be worth it in the end.

-`♡´-

Two weeks had passed since you and Derek had exposed Spencer’s dirty, little secret. Two weeks in which you had spent all your free time learning ASL. You had been nervous all morning while getting ready for work, trying to resist the urge to sign something to him. But you wanted to do it in the bullpen; you needed to see him get flustered in a crowd. 

Your fingers had been nervously tapping on your desk, eyeing Spencer at his desk opposite yours. You were waiting on Derek, who you had promised could be there for the “big moment”. 

“Where are we going?” Penelope’s voice sounded through the bullpen as Derek grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the desks. You throw your hands up in frustration, it wasn’t the plan to make it that big of a show. “Are you kidding me?” You mouth toward Derek.

“Now,” he mouths back as he stays at a safe distance against the far wall.

Here we go.

A single kick to Spencer’s shin was enough to grab his attention. “Ouch! What did you do that for?”

Biting down on your lip to hide your smile, you began moving your fingers, a little exaggeratedly, to make sure he understood. 

Look what new skill I learned.

Spencer beams, smiling brightly as the realization dawns upon him. “Hey! Since when did you know ASL?”

You don’t give him an answer right away, not wanting to get out of your flow, so you continue signing the variety of sentences you’ve learned, each one even dirtier than the last.

You knew you were doing a good job when a few snorts came from your right at certain words, Derek understanding what you were saying. Looking at Spencer confirmed it — his eyes stood wide open, red blotches of heat forming on his neck as his lips moved in a struggle to find the words.

Stop it. Right now. He eventually signed.

You grin, pride washing over you as you can understand him. This new method of communication truly opens up worlds.

But I mean it. You sign back.

He hides the small smile that forms on his face, tugging away a piece of hair before finding the courage to respond back to you.

What else would you like to do, then?

Penelope nudged Derek, looking puzzled. “What are they doing? Are they…? Oh my god, they’re trying to get in each other��s pants? Right in front of us?!”

Derek threw his head back laughing. “That’s right. They’re not so innocent anymore, huh?”

“But dirty talk is our thing!” Penelope protested.

Derek shakes his head. “I hate to break it to you, baby girl, but they’re outdoing us.”

[dollgxtz]

Five More Minutes?

Word Count: 6.1k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, morning sex, biting, injury, a bit of blood, teasing, fingering, nicknames like good girl, kitten, my love, grinding, humping, overstim, breeding

Summary: You have to get up soon for a team meeting at your job but Sylus shows you all the reasons you should stay in bed with him instead :3

His warm breath danced across your ear as he left gentle kisses, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, "Just let me make you cum again." His words were a gentle persuasion, a soft coaxing that seemed to seep into your very being. "You don't really want me to stop, do you?"

AN: Man, it feels SO good to be back writing again. I hope you guys enjoy this little fic I wrote up over the weekend! Another fic idea crossed of the list! Enjoy!

The room is still, wrapped in the muted hush of early morning in Linkon City. The faint glow of dawn filters through the blinds, casting soft, golden lines across the walls. Outside, the city stirs, but in here, time moves slower. The only sounds are the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the steady, even breaths of the man beside you.

Warmth cocoons you—thick blankets tangled around your legs, the lingering scent of laundry detergent on the sheets, and the solid, unmistakable presence of Sylus pressed against you. He’s a furnace, radiating heat even in sleep, his arm heavy across your waist, fingers curled loosely around the skin of your arm as if, even unconsciously, he refuses to let you go. His face is buried somewhere near your shoulder, breath warm and slow against your skin.

Right. He stayed over last night.

The memory unfolds in fragments, soft and hazy around the edges. He’d brought a bottle of wine, a gift for you, though you’d insisted—pleaded—that he share it with you. It had taken a bit of coaxing, some playful pouting on your part, but eventually, with a quiet sigh and a small, indulgent smile, he had obliged.

And then…

Your face heats up.

The night plays back in your mind, moments flickering like warm candlelight—his quiet laughter, the way his eyes softened as he listened to you talk about any and everything, the casual brush of fingers against skin that grew less accidental as the night went on. The pinkness of his face as he poured you both another glass. The slow unraveling of space between you. Then suddenly you both weren't wearing clothes.

Though he hadn't even bothered to remove your underwear, electing instead to just move the fabric aside for quicker access. The moans, the sweat, the pleasurable ache of him pushing inside you, filling you completely until you felt like you couldn't breathe...

You shift slightly in his grasp, your pulse quickening for reasons that have nothing to do with the morning chill.

But something tugs at the edge of your awareness, a vague, creeping sense that you’re forgetting something. A loose thread in your mind, pulling tighter with each second you lie there.

Your hand fumbles across the nightstand, fingers clumsy with sleep as they search for your phone. The cool surface meets your palm, and you bring it close, squinting against the harsh glare of the screen. The sudden brightness stings your tired eyes, and you blink rapidly, trying to focus. The numbers staring back at you make your stomach drop.

Shit.

A team meeting. In an hour.

For a few seconds, you just stare at the screen, mind sluggish, like a machine still booting up. Right. You need to move. Shower, throw on something presentable, maybe down an entire pot of coffee before suffering through whatever motivational spiel Captain Jenna has planned this morning.

You exhale through your nose, slowly, carefully, and begin the delicate process of slipping out of your bed.

The sheets rustle as you peel them away, inch by inch. You shift just enough to lift Sylus’s arm, careful not to wake him, careful not to disturb the heavy warmth of sleep still clinging to him. The air beyond the blankets is cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of the body beside you. You manage to slide his arm just far enough—his fingers loosen their hold, giving you the sliver of space you need.

And then, just as you begin to rise—

His grip tightens.

A soft, barely-audible noise escapes him—a quiet sigh, laced with something almost petulant, as his fingers curl tighter against your stomach. Before you can react, he shifts, using that lazy, effortless strength of his to pull you flush against him, caging you in with an arm that’s now locked like steel around your waist again. His face buries deeper against the crook of your neck, breath warm, slow, and completely undisturbed.

You freeze.

For a moment, you don’t move, barely daring to breathe. Maybe, just maybe, if you wait, he’ll shift again, loosen his hold, let you slip away without incident.

But no. His grip remains firm, steady, an unspoken claim that keeps you anchored in place.

You sigh, staring at the phone still clutched in your hand.

Well. So much for an easy escape.

You squirm against him, frustration creeping in as you attempt to loosen his grip. His arm is a dead weight around your waist, unmoving, solid, like he’s anchored you to the bed on purpose. The warmth of his body radiates into yours, making it all the more difficult to convince yourself to leave the comfort of the blankets. Still, you have a meeting. You have to get up.

“Sylus,” you whisper, testing the waters, voice hushed in the stillness of the room.

No response.

You shift again, pressing your back against his chest, hoping that if you disturb his sleep enough, he’ll finally wake up. But he remains perfectly still, save for the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing. You know he’s usually a light sleeper so something about the way he’s too still makes you suspicious.

You try again, this time a little louder. “Sylus.”

Nothing.

The stubborn warmth of him seeps into your skin, lulling, dangerous, tempting you to sink back into sleep. But you refuse to fall for it.

Fine. If he’s going to be difficult, you’ll make him wake up.

You shift your elbow into position, drawing in a breath before—

Thud.

Your elbow connects with his chest, firm but not enough to actually hurt him. The effect is immediate.

A low grunt leaves him, but it’s short-lived—quickly swallowed by a laugh that shakes through him, low and unreasonably warm. The sound vibrates against your back, spreading through your chest before you can stop it. It’s deep, rich, full of amusement, and completely unbothered by your attack.

You glare at him over your shoulder, but he’s already grinning—lazy, smug, red eyes half-lidded with sleep but entirely too awake for someone who was just pretending to be unconscious.

“I figured,” he drawls, voice thick with lingering sleep, “if I just held still, you’d eventually give up and fall asleep again.” He pauses, another chuckle slipping past his lips, muffled as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, leaving soft kisses into your skin. The heat of his breath tickles your skin, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “My bad for underestimating your stubbornness once again, kitten.”

Your stomach twists, an annoying mixture of warmth and irritation bubbling in your chest.

“You’re an ass,” you mutter, shoving weakly at his arm, though there’s no real force behind it.

He hums, unconcerned, tightening his hold around you with zero intention of letting go. “So you say. Just five more minutes.”

The weight of him presses against you, steady and familiar, and despite yourself, you stop struggling. You could fight it. You should fight it. But the way his body fits against yours, the way his warmth seeps into every inch of you—it’s too easy to melt into it, to let your body settle even as your mind screams at you about responsibilities.

His breathing evens out again, and just for a second, you let yourself sink into the warmth, into the comfort of him.

Five minutes.

Just five.

No, wait. You have to get up.

The thought pushes through the haze of warmth and sleep, clawing its way to the forefront of your mind, insistent and unyielding. You have a meeting. You have things to do. You can’t just stay here, no matter how comfortable, no matter how tempting the weight of Sylus’s body is against yours.

Still, the bed is so warm, the heat of him wrapping around you like a cocoon, the soft rhythm of his breath lulling, dangerous. He smells like remnants of cologne, a hint of last night’s wine still lingering on his skin, and something purely him, something familiar and grounding that makes it incredibly difficult to want to leave.

But you have to.

Sighing, you shift against him again, gathering just enough resolve to push at his arm, attempting to free yourself. His grip doesn’t loosen—if anything, his fingers curl tighter against you, securing you in place like an unyielding anchor.

"I can't stay in bed all morning, Sy" you murmur, voice slightly hoarse from sleep. You push again, trying to inch away, but it’s like trying to move a stone wall. "I have a team meeting soon." You pause, bracing yourself for the inevitable resistance. "I'm sure you have things to do as well."

There’s a beat of silence. Then, a low hum rumbles from deep in his chest, the kind that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end.

And before you can react, he moves.

Not to release you. Not to let you go.

No, instead, Sylus shifts forward, pressing impossibly closer, his bare chest firm against your back, his lips suddenly hovering at your ear. His voice drops into something dangerously smooth, velvety in its teasing amusement as he whispers,

"Mm…but didn’t a certain kitten beg me last night never to leave her side?"

Your entire body locks up.

Heat floods your face so quickly it’s almost dizzying, embarrassment crashing through you in waves as your mind scrambles to process his words. His breath, warm and deliberate, ghosts over your ear, and every single nerve in your body reacts all at once. A shiver works its way down your spine, traitorous and impossible to suppress.

He remembers.

Of course, he does.

The memory of last night unfurls in your mind like a film reel, every single moment flashing in humiliatingly vivid detail.

You’d been tired out by multiple orgasms, softened by wine and warmth, curled against him in the very same bed, murmuring words you hadn’t really been thinking through.

"Stay, don’t go, just a little longer. Never leave me, please?"

Of course he had assured you that he hadn't been planning on leaving in the first place. How silly of you to even beg him for something like that in the first place.

The pleas had slipped from your lips too easily, too naturally, and at the time, it had felt like nothing. But now? Now he was using it against you, and from the smugness dripping from his voice, he was enjoying it far too much.

Him and his constant teasing.

Your face burns hotter, the warmth of him unbearably close, suffocating, intoxicating. In a fit of sheer embarrassment, you thrash against him, twisting, wriggling, desperate to escape. "Oh, don't act like you didn't eat up every word I said! Let me go!"

But Sylus?

Sylus doesn’t listen.

He never listens.

Instead of loosening his hold, instead of giving in even an inch, he does the exact opposite.

He moves again, his hand gliding down the length of your body—slow, deliberate, maddening. His fingertips ghost over your side first, tracing a path too gentle to be ignored, before slipping lower, skimming along your waist, then back up in a slow, torturous caress. His touch isn’t demanding, isn’t forceful—it’s light, teasing, patient. The kind of touch that coaxes a reaction before you can stop it.

You shiver—visibly, undeniably.

And he feels it.

You don’t even have to look at him to know the smirk that’s surely curling at his lips. His fingers continue their featherlight path, unhurried, infuriating, utterly controlled. It’s like he’s memorized every spot that makes you react, testing, playing, pushing just enough to remind you that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Then, in that same, low, velvety tone, he murmurs,

"Shh…don’t strain yourself."

The words are a command, soft but firm, and before you can even process them, he adds, "Just call out."

Your breath catches.

You know what he’s doing.

He’s making you choose.

Stay or fight. Surrender or resist.

And worse?

He already knows which one you want.

"I can't just call out," you groan, frustration thick in your voice as you shift again, squirming against the warmth wrapped around you. "I've already called out four times in two weeks! Unless I have a good excuse this time, I'll get punished with desk duty..."

The thought alone is miserable. Trapped in the office, drowning in stacks of paperwork, stuck behind a desk instead of being out in the field actually doing something meaningful? No, thank you. You’d rather suffer through whatever mind-numbing speech Captain Jenna had planned this morning than subject yourself to that.

But the unshakable weight of Sylus’s arm draped across your bare skin tells you he has other plans.

For a moment, there's silence. A pause long enough that you think maybe—just maybe—he's drifting off again, and if you time it right, you can slip free. But before you even begin to try, he lets out a low chuckle, the kind that vibrates against your back, a lazy sound of acknowledgment that makes your stomach twist with anticipation.

His voice is slow, unhurried, still thick with sleep. "Punished with desk duty, huh? Yeah…that does sound rough…"

For a brief, foolish second, you almost think he's sympathizing with you. That he’ll finally loosen his grip, let you go, maybe even roll over and let you salvage what little time you have left before your meeting.

But then—he leans in again.

His lips hover just beside your ear, his breath warm as it fans over your skin. A barely-there whisper of heat, enough to send a shiver curling down your spine before you can stop it. His grip around you doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens—just slightly, just enough to remind you that he’s still in control here.

"I mean…" his voice dips lower, conspiratorial, teasing, smirking without even having to show it. "I could forge a doctor’s note if you really need it."

You blink, caught completely off guard.

"What?"

Sylus shifts, settling himself more comfortably against you, like this is just another lazy morning where neither of you have anywhere to be. His fingers begin to move again—absentmindedly tracing slow, meandering patterns across your stomach. Light, feather-soft strokes that aren't urgent, but they are distracting.

"Yeah," he murmurs, dragging his fingers idly up your ribs before dipping back down, his touch effortless, as if he's not even thinking about it. "I’m pretty good at it, you know. Could make it look real official—some tragic, unavoidable emergency."

You snort. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

He hums again, like he’s actually considering it. "Food poisoning? Appendicitis? Oh, I know." He presses in closer, lips brushing so lightly against your ear that you almost don’t register the words before he says them. "You were in a car crash."

A genuine laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. It startles even you, bright and amused, shaking your body just slightly against his. "A car crash? Really?"

"Of course," he replies smoothly, as if this is the most logical solution in the world. "A controlled one. Just enough damage to make it convincing. Maybe even get you some sympathy points—hell, you might even score a few extra days off to lay in bed with me."

You shake your head, still giggling, pressing your face briefly into the pillow before turning slightly to glare at him over your shoulder. "You are ridiculous."

But your amusement vanishes in an instant the moment his fingers graze lower.

The movement is so subtle—a mere shift of his hand, like he's still idly tracing those lazy shapes against your skin—but it lands over a sensitive spot just below your exposed breasts. The reaction is instant.

Your breath hitches.

Your body betrays you, tensing instinctively, muscles twitching beneath his touch. Your fingers reflexively shoot up to grip his hand, holding on like that might somehow stop him from noticing.

But he notices.

Of course he does.

His fingers pause for just a second, like he’s taking mental notes, cataloging the reaction, committing it to memory. Then, in a way that feels entirely too intentional, he moves again—this time even slower, more deliberate.

A soft, barely-there stroke, skimming over the tip of your nipple.

Your stomach twitches.

A sharp exhale catches in your throat.

You hate how easily your body reacts to him, how he barely has to do anything, yet your skin is already burning. You can feel the smirk on his lips even though you’re not even looking at him.

His voice is quiet, teasing. "Seems you haven't had enough of last night, kitten."

Your entire body goes rigid. Oh, no. No, no, no.

This isn’t good.

You stay still, hoping, praying, that maybe—just maybe—he’ll leave it alone. That he’ll stop before this becomes something you’ll never live down.

But of course, he doesn’t.

His fingers continued their deliberate dance across your skin, each stroke igniting a fire that spread from the bare expanse of your stomach to the very core of your being. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the heat of his body pressing closer, the unmistakable hardness of his cock brushing against your panties, sending electric shocks through your body.

Your breath hitched, an involuntary reaction that betrayed your desire to remain composed. Sylus, ever attentive, noticed your body's response, the way you tensed and shivered under his touch, your nipples hardening further, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Are you sure…” he murmured, drawing out the words like honey, “you don’t want to stay in bed?” His breath was warm against your skin, a tantalizing whisper that sent shivers racing down your spine.

As he spoke, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, slowly, deliberately pulling them down, exposing your bare skin to his hungry gaze. The cool air on your exposed skin sent shivers down your spine, a contrast to the heat of his touch.

Your body betrayed you, the wetness pooling between your legs a clear testament to your desire. Each brush of his fingers sent waves of heat coursing through you, an insatiable yearning clawing at your insides. You wanted him—needed him—yet the game he was playing was as intoxicating as it was maddening.

His fingers danced lower, their path a tantalizing tease, tracing the edges of your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You shifted, your back arching, your hips moving involuntarily, your body instinctively craving more of his touch, drawn to the heat and pleasure he offered.

Your heart raced, a wild drumbeat that echoed in your ears as you felt the heat of his gaze on you, his fingers poised tantalizingly close to the edge of your desire. You swallowed hard, the words stuck in your throat, a delicious mix of defiance and longing swirling within you.

“I…” you began, but the breathy whisper faltered, caught between shyness and the primal urge coursing through your veins. The way he leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, made it impossible to think straight.

"Sylus stop...I need to..."

"Hm?" he pressed, his voice a sultry murmur that coaxed the truth from your lips as his fingers moved lower. With a deliberate slowness, he dipped the tip of his finger inside you, the sensation igniting a spark that shot straight to your core. You gasped, your body instinctively tightening around him, the warmth of your walls welcoming his intrusion.

"Mghn!"

The way he toyed with you was maddening; it was as if he could sense the storm brewing within, each twitch of his fingers a spark igniting the kindling of your desire. You could feel his cock twitching behind you, hard and insistent against your thigh, and it sent a jolt of need straight to your core.

His warm breath danced across your ear as he left gentle kisses, sending shivers down your spine as he whispered, "Just let me make you cum again." His words were a gentle persuasion, a soft coaxing that seemed to seep into your very being. The warmth of his lips against your ear sent a flutter through your chest, making your heart skip a beat.

He knew exactly what to say to unravel your defenses, to make you surrender to the sensations coursing through your body. His voice was a low, husky whisper, a sensual temptation that seemed to wrap itself around your resolve, weakening your resistance. "You don't really want me to stop, do you?" he murmured, his words a provocative challenge, a dare to admit the truth - that you were helpless against the pleasure he was unleashing upon you.

The way he spoke, the words he chose, it was all so deliberately crafted to break down your barriers, to make you succumb to the desire that threatened to consume you. And yet, despite the warning bells ringing in your mind about your meeting, you couldn't help but feel yourself being drawn back in, helpless against the tide of pleasure that he was so expertly manipulating.

Dammit, he knew exactly how to play you, and you were powerless to resist.

“M-make it quick...” you finally breathed, the words spilling forth with a desperate honesty that hung heavy in the air between you.

His eyes darkened, a glimmer of satisfaction sparking within them as he shifted, pressing his hardness against you more firmly, the friction sending waves of heat cascading through your body. “Good girl,” he crooned, his finger finally dipping deeper into your slick folds with a teasing gentleness that made your breath hitch once more.

You gasped, your body arching instinctively into his touch, craving more, needing him to explore you fully. “Fuck…” you begged, the desperation in your voice a heady cocktail of need and surrender that only fueled the fire between you.

The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment, the morning lighting casting long sun rays that seemed to merge with the heat of the encounter. The scent of anticipation lingered in the air, intertwined with the musky aroma of arousal. Every sense was heightened, every touch magnified, as if the world had narrowed to this single, electrifying moment.

You were drowning in a sea of sensations, the rhythm of his movements synced with the pounding of your heart. The emotional undercurrents were as intense as the physical ones, a primal dance of dominance and submission that left you breathless and yearning for more.

As his finger moved with deliberate precision, you became more acutely aware of the symphony of sensations enveloping you. The aching pressure already building in your lower stomach, the heat, the teasing gentleness, it was too much and yet not enough all at the same time. The dialogue between you was minimal, yet every word, every moan, seemed to speak volumes.

You tried to keep your focus on the upcoming meeting, the fear of being late and the prospect of desk duty looming in your mind. But as Sylus continued to orchestrate pleasure within your soft walls, the rising heat between your legs became all-consuming, your thoughts dissolving into a haze of pleasure.

But when he added the second finger, you didn't have the strength to make him stop any longer.

Your grip on his arm tightening, your nails digging into his skin as you arched into his touch, your body moving in rhythm with his fingers, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The sound of your own moans filled the air, a testament to the pleasure he was delivering, your mind unable to focus on anything but the sensations he was evoking.

"That's it, my love," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Nice and loud, you sound beautiful". He sounded close to unraveling himself, cock now straining impossibly hard against the roundness of your ass.

As Sylus's words washed over you, your body responded instinctively, your muscles clenching around his fingers, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, each exhale a warning to the building pleasure. Your climax approached like a rising tide, your body trembling, your voice reduced to a series of gasps and moans, your nails digging into his arm as you surrendered to the sensations he evoked.

"S-sylus! Im-!".

"I know, I know" he whispered, panting and grinding into your backside. He deftly curved his fingers, hitting that spongy part inside. Your body responded to his movements, your muscles clenching and releasing around his fingers, your breath coming in shorter, sharper gasps, your climax building to a crescendo, until you cried out, your voice hoarse, your body trembling, your release a powerful wave that left you breathless and sated, the fear of work and its consequences now a distant memory, replaced by the all-consuming pleasure Sylus had delivered.

As you lay there, still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, Sylus took advantage of your heightened sensitivity, pushing his cock fully inside you in one smooth motion. Your body, still slick with arousal, offered little resistance, and he filled you with a solid thrust, his girth stretching you, his length filling you completely.

You cried out, overwhelmed by the sensations—the overstimulation of your orgasm blending into the pleasure of his intrusion, which quickly morphed into a slight pain as he began to thrust inside your tightening hole. "So fucking tight," he growled, his voice a low, primal sound.

His grip on your body tightened, almost possessive, as if trying to keep you from moving, from escaping the pleasure he was delivering. You struggled to breathe, your body shaking, your senses overloaded. "Sylus...too much!" you cried out, your voice hoarse, your body practically shaking with the intensity of the sensations.

"You're okay, kitten," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Bite down on my hand."

He offered his hand, his fingers curling around yours, urging you to bite down, to ground yourself as he continued to thrust, his pace relentless, his body a cage of pleasure and pain, his grip on you a reminder that you had no choice but to surrender and take every thrust he was giving you.

You bit down on his hand, your teeth sinking into his skin, grounding yourself in the physical sensation as his thrusts continued, relentless and powerful. The pain and pleasure mingled, creating a heady mix of sensations that overwhelmed your senses. Your body shook, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, your nails digging into his arm as you clung to him, your body moving in rhythm with his.

Despite the pain, he didn't flinch, didn't try to pull his hand away. Instead, he seemed to lean into it, his movements becoming more insistent, his body moving in perfect sync with yours. The friction between you was almost palpable, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with every thrust.

Sylus's movements suddenly became slow and sensual, his thrusts a a new gentle rhythm that built pleasure anew. Your bodies, slick with sweat, moved in sync, your moans filling the air, a symphony of pleasure and desire that seemed to echo off the walls.

As he moved, his cock rubbed against your G-spot, sending shivers through your body, making your toes curl and your fingers dig harder into his skin. His pubic bone pressed against your clit, adding an extra layer of sensation, making your body tremble with anticipation. Your moans grew louder, more insistent, as he continued to thrust into you sensually, lovingly

"Y'know..." he whispered, his voice hoarse and strained, his words barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "I could give you a really good excuse to miss work for nine months" His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine, making your body arch into his touch.

Your entire body locks up.

The weight of his words crashes down on you like a lightning strike, your mind screeching to a halt as it fully processes what he just said. Nine months. Nine. Months?

Oh. Oh.

Your breath stutters, your heart hammering so loudly you can hear it in your ears. A fresh, unbearable wave of heat floods through you, burning up from the inside out. You can’t even think properly, your thoughts spiraling into what ifs and impossible images that make your stomach flip so violently you almost feel lightheaded.

Your lips part—you want to say something, anything, but your brain is completely fried, every coherent thought erased by the sheer weight of what he’s implying. Instead, a strangled, breathless noise escapes you, somewhere between a choked gasp and a disbelieving scoff.

Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your body trembling on the edge of release. His thrusts became more insistent again, his pace quickening, his body moving in rhythm with yours, his voice a low, primal growl that seemed to vibrate through every cell in your body. You felt yourself getting closer and closer, your body coiling tighter and tighter, until you were a spring ready to snap.

You find yourself biting even harder on his hand, moaning and choking curse words into his skin.

Sylus still didn't flinch, thrusts didn't even falter, even as your teeth dug deeper into his skin. "That's it, kitten, let go," he urged, his breath hot against your ear, his words spoken with raw desire. "Cum for me". His voice was like a spark to dry tinder, igniting a fire that had been building for what felt like hours.

You surrendered to the building pleasure, your body convulsing around his length, your release a powerful wave that left you trembling and breathless. As you came, your body milked his cock, squeezing and releasing in a rhythmic pattern that seemed to draw him in, pulling him closer and closer to his own release. Sylus followed, his own climax a hot flood within you, his body shuddering as he filled you with his cum, his breath ragged against your neck. You felt his cock pulsing inside you, releasing wave after wave of heat, making your body tremble with aftershocks.

Even as you came down from the peak of your orgasm, you still bit down on his hand, the pain a reminder that you were still alive, still present in your body. Tears streamed down your face, your eyes closed as you struggled to process the intensity of the feelings that had just torn through you. Sylus didn't seem to mind, didn't try to pull his hand away, instead wrapping his other arm around you, holding you close as you rode out the aftershocks of your climax.

The air between you is thick, heavy with the aftermath of what just happened. Your body still hums with sensitivity, the lingering warmth of his touch ghosting over your skin even in the places where he’s no longer touching you. Your breath comes fast and uneven, mingling with his in the limited space between you. It takes a few sluggish seconds for your mind to catch up, for reality to seep through the haze of warmth, exhaustion, and the overwhelming presence of him.

You shift slightly, the movement sluggish and lazy, tangled in sheets that are now an absolute mess beneath you. But something catches your eye, a faint streak of red between his index and thumb—small, but unmistakable. Your gaze sharpens, the fog in your mind clearing just enough to process what it is. His hand. The mark you left there.

Your stomach twists.

Turning fully toward him, you reach for his hand without thinking, grasping it between your own as you bring it closer to examine. The skin is broken, a faint indent of your teeth still visible, a thin smear of blood welling up along the fresh bite wound. You swallow hard, something warm—guilt, embarrassment, maybe a little bit of both—curling low in your chest.

"Sylus," you murmur, tracing the edge of the wound with gentle, careful fingers, your touch barely a ghost against his skin. "You're bleeding. I'm so so sorry."

The reaction you expect—a wince, a sigh of annoyance, maybe even a scolding remark about being too rough—doesn’t come.

Instead, he chuckles.

A deep, amused sound that rumbles through his chest, utterly unbothered. His free hand moves almost lazily, fingers threading into your hair as he pulls you in just slightly. Before you can protest, he presses a warm, lingering kiss to your lips. Then another. And another. Each one deliberate, soft, like he’s trying to reassure you that he’s perfectly fine. That, despite the evidence on his skin, he doesn’t mind.

"You're so cute when you get all worked up and worried about me," he muses, voice drenched in amusement, his lips never straying far from you. "You've seen me bleed before. I healed just fine, this is no different."

You let out a breath, one you hadn’t realized you were holding, but you don’t let go of his hand. Your fingers tighten around his slightly, still feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your own. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen him injured before—this is different. The mark is from you. You did this. The thought makes something in your chest twist, a tangled mix of emotions you don’t have the energy to sort through right now.

Sylus, on the other hand, doesn’t seem the least bit concerned.

He tilts his head slightly, brushing another lazy kiss against your temple before murmuring, "Since you’re so worried, and since you’re already late for your meeting…you can help me bandage up."

You blink.

The words take a full second to register in your mind.

Then, suddenly—panic slams into you like a freight train.

You jerk upright so fast that the blankets tangle around your legs, the soreness in your muscles protesting immediately. But you ignore it, lunging for your phone as a pit of dread sinks deep into your stomach.

No.

No way.

This can’t be happening.

Your fingers fumble against the screen, tapping it awake, and the moment your eyes land on the time, your heart stops.

You stare.

The numbers blink mockingly back at you, taunting you with undeniable proof that your absolute worst-case scenario is now reality.

You were supposed to be in that meeting fifteen minutes ago.

Fifteen. Minutes. Ago.

For a moment, your brain completely short-circuits.

Your breathing is still uneven, your body still warm and exhausted, and yet—somehow, all of that disappears beneath the sheer force of realization slamming into you. Your stomach drops into oblivion, a rising sense of dread climbing up your spine as your pulse kicks into overdrive.

Slowly—mechanically, like you’re in some kind of fever dream—you turn your head, your wide eyes locking onto Sylus.

He’s watching you, still completely relaxed, utterly unbothered. One arm is lazily draped behind his head, the other still in your grasp, and there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips that tells you he knows exactly what’s happening in your brain right now.

You open your mouth, ready to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a strangled, breathless, "No way."

His smirk grows. "Oh?"

You snap your gaze back to your phone, as if staring at the numbers harder might somehow make them change. But they don’t. The reality is unavoidable.

You lunge back toward him, shoving his shoulder as the weight of the realization crashes over you. "No way. No way! There’s absolutely no way our—" You flail your arms wildly in emphasis, words momentarily failing you. "Activities lasted an hour!"

Sylus lets out a low, knowing chuckle, one that does absolutely nothing to ease your growing panic.

"You sure about that?" he muses, arching a brow.

You open your mouth to argue, to deny, to insist that there’s no way you just completely lost track of time like that—but then you stop.

Because, unfortunately, the evidence is right there.

The sluggish ache in your limbs, the dull soreness still lingering in your muscles, the aftershocks still thrumming beneath your skin—all of it is proof.

Your jaw clenches shut.

Your entire body slumps forward, collapsing back onto the bed, an absolutely defeated groan ripping from your throat. You drag a hand over your face, squeezing your eyes shut, as if that might somehow undo reality. "I'm so screwed."

Sylus’s laughter vibrates through the mattress, deep and thoroughly entertained. You don’t need to look at him to know he’s loving this.

A moment later, his good hand finds your waist again, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded patterns against your still-sensitive skin. His touch is warm, soothing, completely unrepentant.

"Relax, kitten," he murmurs, his voice a slow, indulgent drawl.

You hear the smirk in his tone before he even says it.

"The offer for that car crash is still on the table y'know..."

[yutarot]

1999. l.mk

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ husband!mark, assassin au, romance, enemies to lovers

wc. 10k

warnings. violence, suggestive, lots of fighting, they literally spend half the fic tryna kill eachother idk, mention of alcohol, guns, angst, heavily inspired by +82 pressin and mr and mrs smith (2005)

synopsis. after accidentally nearly killing another assassin, you both get assigned the task of taking eachother out. but what happens when the assassin you’re after turns out to be a lot closer to you than you had ever expected? do you ignore your feelings? or do you listen to your heart, risking both of your lives in the process.

notes — hiii!! i rlly enjoyed writing this it was sooo much fun. i sorta got this idea after seeing the mv for +82 pressin and ive been wanting to write something based on mr and mrs smith for a whileee so it sorta worked perfectly in my head. i hope u enjoy!!! (p.s. thank u @sungbites for being my writing motivation hehe love u)

it’s a night like all the rest, darkness falling through the window like a shadow with nowhere to go: lost, helpless. you’ve always liked night-time, enjoyed the tranquility of the silent hours as thoughts pass through your mind with no clear destination. you lie there, a moment of peace stilling within you as you slowly begin to fall into slumber. 

your peace is cut short, all tranquility lost when a voice from beside you arises. ‘babe, can you turn off the light please?’

you roll your eyes in a secretive protest before turning to face your husband, a smile now plastered on your face. 

‘of course, honey.’

you hate mark. every single moment of every day, you spend each waking hour questioning yourself of why you ever married him. whether in detestation or disgust, you hate him. but your marriage isn't based on love or hate, so you do what you must: you hide it, conceal your hate behind joyful smiles and the blissful art of routine. after all, you’re good at keeping secrets.

abruptly, he rolls back over to face away from you and you do the same.

‘goodnight, babe.’ he murmurs.

‘goodnight.’

you don’t acknowledge each other again, drifting to sleep in nothing but your own mind.

a night like all the rest. 

each morning is always the same: wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30, wave off your husband as he leaves for work at 8, always accompanied by a quick kiss as he walks through the door, and each morning you suppress your hatred just as much as the last. this morning was no different.

as you sit at the dining table, your breakfast laid out before you, you both eat in silence. this is how it’s always been, this marriage, days of simple routine and empty discussion. you don’t know anything about him, not really. yes, you know where he grew up, what movies he likes, what his favourite kind of bread is, but you don’t know what goes on in his mind. evidently, you're okay with that, because it means that he doesn’t need to know what goes on in yours. it’s a marriage of mutuality, an understanding that your life is your life, and weirdly neither of you question it. neither of you question if the love is fake, or if it just isn’t there at all.

however, there’s one, tiny detail which you know you’ll never share with him, a side of your life untouched, undisturbed. on the outside, you’re the symbol of a perfect housewife, compliant, clean and kept, staying home during the day whilst he’s out at work, tidying the furniture and cooking up dinner by the time he gets home. that’s all he sees, thats all he knows. but what he doesn’t know, is that you’re none of that, not a single bit. 

after finishing your breakfast and placing down your cutlery, you look up at your husband. 

‘delicious, sweetheart, just like always.’ he says, reaching for a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. he always did sound patronising when he compliments your cooking, but you give him the benefit of the doubt; its the only thing, besides your looks, that he can compliment you for. it's the only talent you show him.

you feign a smile in response, ‘i know just how you like it.’

‘you do.’ he grins back.

you’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this act, pretending like you’re in a happy marriage, and you wonder how much longer he can do the same. but you have to, you’ve done it for the past four years, you can suffer the restriction of a few more. 

all for the sake of concealment.

mark gets up from his seat at the table, ‘i had better go, baby, i can't be late; we had this huge data crash at work last night, and there’s lots to fix.’

‘of course, honey. i'll make your favourite for you tonight.’ you lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek as you hand him his jacket, waving him out the door. 

its tiring, the act of deception. you watch as his car reverses off of the drive of your house before driving around the corner. you wait a few moments, making sure he really is and truly gone out of your sight. or more importantly, you're out of his.

and once you are, your real day begins. 

untying the apron around your waist, you walk steadily and with purpose, climbing the stairs and walking into the room which you call your closet. only it's not only a closet, not really.

pulling back a few items of clothing, you expose the keypay at the back of the room, pressing in the passcode. 

0417. the date you got married. 

the lock springs open, giving you access to your secret, and highly personal safe.

as always, laid inside are two items of significant importance.

your work phone, and a gun. 

you pocket the gun before picking up the phone and selecting the first number in your phone book. 

‘agency.’

you hold the phone to your ear, it doesn’t even ring once before the other end picks up; they expect your call, just as they do each morning. 

‘i am now alone, will be there in 15.’ you speak, before hanging up and placing the phone in your other back pocket. 

the agency is a grand, foreboding building, dark shadows cascading between its outer walls and falling over its glass panels like a shroud. you walk inside, scanning your keycard through the main entrance before making your way to the front desk.

‘yn lee.’ you recite your name. ‘im clocking in.’

the receptionist nods. ‘mrs K wants to see you in her office.’

‘what for?’ you ask. 

the receptionist shrugs, implying that whatever your boss wants you for is confidential, and therefore, important.

after a quick journey to the 10th floor via the elevator, you make your way through the white lined corridor, the shiny black marble at your feet causing each step to echo, bouncing off every wall as you step further and further towards the door looming ahead of you. 

you knock the door twice before she calls for you to come inside, which you do so quickly, closing it behind you. 

she motions for you to sit down, her short, black and perfectly cut hair framing her face and emphasising the gap between her neck and the shoulders of her pristine, grey suit. 

you sit, looking at the woman in the desk in front of you as she speaks. 

‘it’s an interesting life you lead, agent lee.’ she says, head tilting to the side. 

presuming she’s talking about the faux relationship with your husband, you respond quickly. ‘i’d get lonely in that house by myself.’

‘that’s not what i'm implying.’

oh?

she speaks again, standing from her desk as she does so.

‘this job; you’ve been a level 2 agent with us for four years, and despite countless attempts at recruiting you for level 1, you’ve always declined. why is that?’

you take a moment to ponder her question, to truly decipher what she's asking of you. 

‘i'm comfortable.’ you reply. 

‘nothing about this job is comfortable.’

she’s right. your job is to kill. being a level 1 just means you have to do it alone, estranged from working in groups, harder jobs and more secretive clients. you stay silent as she continues. 

‘the reason i wanted you here, mrs lee, is because our agency has discovered an almost identical rival agency in the market. same jobs, same asking price and same level agents. what i mean, in short, is that we now have competition, and that doesn’t happen by coincidence.’

‘you think someone’s leaking intel to a rival agency?’

‘not think, know.’ the red of her lips twist into a scorn of seriousness, as if shes trying to intimidate you. 

‘and you think i have something to do with it?’ you ask, disbelief briefly cascading over your thoughts. 

she sits back down behind her desk, reaching for a drawer and shuffling through files and files of paper. 

‘quite the contrary.’ she replies, and you look at her in confusion before she continues. ‘actually, you're one of the few that i know don't have something to do with it.’

finishing her sentence, she slides an envelope across the desk, nodding for you to take it. 

she gets back up from her desk, looking you directly in your eyes, a shift of tone in the air around you.

‘once i've left the room, you’re going to open the envelope, mrs lee. i have two armed gunmen outside the door, under my command, waiting for you to leave. think of it as a little test of what that envelope contains. and, agent lee?’

you don't say a word, looking back at her to continue.

‘this time, i'm not asking.’

her smile is sickening. but you have no time to reproach her before she's out of the room, leaving you with nothing but the cold envelope in your hands and the ever-impending threat of death which falls over you. 

after your limited amount of time, frozen in your seat, alone in your bosses office, your mind finally goes back to the envelope in your hand. you open it, pulling out the contents inside. your mind is a state of anger; in your hand lies two pieces of paper, one, a picture of a man in his late 50’s, a cool, silver moustache lining his lip, and one, a letter, addressed directly to you. 

agent 1270.

with this letter, i have enclosed a portrait of your first job as a level 1 agent. configurations confirmed him a regular gambler at the artemis casino on 34th street. don’t fuck this up. if you do, i won't hesitate to get rid of you; we have a lot on the line. 

K. 

p.s. my gunmen are inpatient. 

moments after you even get a chance to finish the last word of the letter, two men in black suits burst through the door of the office. you roll under the desk, pocketing both items as gunshots ring out around you. 

‘shit.’ you hiss, reaching for the gun in your back pocket. with no time to waste, you emerge from the side of the desk, aiming your gun at the head of the man furthest to you, using your momentum to swing your heel swiftly into the closest man's chest as your first bullet flies through the air. with one man down and the other one winded on the floor, you take your opportunity, walking up to him as he struggles to breathe. 

you kick the gun out of his hand. 

‘why is she doing this? why make me a level 1 agent?’ you ask, the gun pointed towards the man below you. 

he gasps for air, shaking his head. with nothing but raw frustration and pent up hatred at the woman forcing you to do this, you pull the trigger. 

anger boils within you, years of working for the agency and never have you stooped so low as to have been forced to kill one of your own. she’s testing you, seeing what you can do, and you’re going to find out why.

you find your way to elevator, pressing the button for the 5th floor. checking your freshly ironed suit for any specks of blood or evidence of your previous fight, you step out of the elevator. you’re instantly met with the level 1 offices, people in suits everywhere, some sat at desks and some engaging with conversation. everyone notices you, but noone says a word. its a very private industry, the industry of assassination, no questions are asked and none are answered. 

you walk over to what looks like the main desk of the floor and the woman checks you in, showing you swiftly to your new office. the walls are a pristine white, with a glass desk and an illumination of light that's almost blinding. you set down the documents from K’s letter, examining the mans face. you don't know who he is, you never do, and it’s in your best interest not to care. all that matters is getting the job done, and under current circumstances, it matters more than ever. since, unlike before, it's not only the hidden identity from your husband that's on the line, but as is your life. 

you’re not sat at your desk for long, K’s threat looming over you. 

you check your watch. 3.14pm, exactly 14 minutes since the artemis casino opened its doors for the evening. tonight, you’ll make sure that someone will never leave them. 

after being assigned your own personal assistant, who you've learned to know as agent 4916, you request only three items for your plan to work smoothly and quickly. a dark red satin dress, a vial of poison and it’s respective antidote - not that you expect it to go wrong, but you can never assume the best in a job like yours. even so, you've never once failed a mission, and you were not about to take the risk of failing on the only mission where you don’t give yourself a backup plan; that’s what the knife strapped to your thigh is for.

you thank your assistant with a nod as you step into the taxi you ordered, covering your shoulders with a thick fur coat you acquired secretly from the evidence room. 

‘where are y’ headed?’ the taxi man asks, puffing an exhale of cigarette smoke out of the window. 

‘artemis casino, please.’

the man grins, ‘you a golddigger, huh?’

you roll your eyes, ‘im married.’ men like this disgust you, always assuming the worst of women. if only he knew. 

‘what does he do?’ he asks. it’s at this where your confidence is knocked; you can't exactly say ‘i dont know.’..

so instead you pause, waiting until the car comes to a halt outside the front of the casino before stepping out, replying back with a sly yet dismissive response as you pass him his money through the front window. 

‘none of your business.’

the casino is a lot busier than you had hoped, groups of old men and rich couples sauntering amongst the tables. there’s an indistinct mumble of voices, layering perfectly over the chime of jazz music, not enough to drown it out, but just enough to make you listen out for the instruments. 

you keep your mind fixated on the picture of the man you're looking for, but as you wander around, a sharp eye scanning all the faces, you spot him, sitting and smiling cruelly in a circle around a poker table. you label this as a perfect opportunity; there’s nothing like the emotion of overconfidence to blind a man's senses. 

walking over, you lean a hand on the back of his chair. 

‘that’s interesting.’ you say as you peak over his shoulder at his cards. 

you catch his attention as he looks up at you. 

you continue, ‘i won’t expose you,’ you giggle, feigning emotion comes natural to you now, ‘don’t worry.’ continuing your act, you walk off and head straight over to the bar. 

just as you planned, he walks after you. 

‘what are you playing at?’ he asks. you ignore him. 

the bartender looks at you expectantly, waiting for your order. 

‘vodka. neat.’ the bartender nods but the man beside you turns to you in disgust. 

you laugh at his reaction before catching the bartender's attention, ‘make that two.’ you say.

the man speaks up. ‘wai-’

‘unless.. this man can't handle his drink?’

he stops talking. 

after a moment of silence the bartender brings you your drinks. 

you stand up, your drink in hand. you’ve done this many times before and each is as flawless as the last. 

you walk around him, slowly, and as if unplanned, you trip, your drink flying straight across his blazer, soaking its expensive lining with the sweet stickiness of the clear liquid.

he stands up, a suppressed rage emerging from within him. 

‘oops,’ you say innocently, ‘here, have mine.’

he nods in reply. ‘leave it on the side.’ he says, before storming off to the bathroom to clean himself up. 

perfect.

it's then that you set the final action of your plan into place, it's then that you slip the poison into his drink. 

not wanting to be with him when the poison takes action, you hurry yourself out of view, climbing to the second balcony floor and placing yourself with perfect vision of the bar you were just at, the drink sitting there, a note you placed reading ‘bottoms up, pussy. i'll be watching’, tucked under the glass in attempts to urge him on. 

you watch for a minute, then two, and when it gets to the third, you begin to grow anxious. 

but it’s not the extent of time that makes your worry flutter; it's the sudden man sitting at the bar, at the exact seat where the glass is placed. 

the wrong man.

you can’t see the stranger's face, only the sharp outline of his back as he slumps over the drink, reading the note you placed under it.

you watch intently as he looks around, his face still under too much shadow to properly decipher his features. the shine of his all black suit glimmers from the point of his shoulders as he reaches for the drink. your stomach drops.

shit.

you stand up in vigour as his lips touch the glass. 

you were about to kill the wrong man. 

you were about to kill yourself. 

clenching your jaw with an abandonment of your mission, you stealthily follow the man from the bar as he clutches his stomach, breathing heavily as he swings himself into a bathroom cubicle. you stand outside the door, listening to his laboured breaths and the sudden bang as his body slumps over the toilet bowl. you can’t see him, but you decide suddenly that you can’t let him die, you can’t fuck up this job and kill the wrong guy, you’d look like a fool.

you slide the antidote under the door of the cubicle with your foot, hearing a breathless, pained whisper of ‘the fuck?’ from the other side, but you don't stick around to exchange pleasantries, not when you nearly killed the man. 

you turn to leave, but just as you take a step towards the main door of the bathroom, something on the floor catches your eye, something that the man had dropped in his haste to reach the cubicle. 

a business card.

you pick it up, slowly peeling it from the floor.

your face grows stern.

dread envelopes you. your legs grow weak, feeling as it tries to weigh you down.

on one side is a logo you know all too well, the rival agency your boss had warned you about. 

on the other side, one word and one number. 

agent 1999. 

the man you had nearly killed was another assassin.

an assassin from a rival agency.

and he had just fucked up your job. 

you’ve been sat at your dinner table in silence for the last ten minutes and mark hasn’t come home yet. part of you is relieved, not having to uphold your character as his wife under all the stress that you're under after failing your mission. however, there’s a part of you that’s waiting for him, the abruption in your daily routine throwing you off, despite how much you hate him. 

that’s when you hear the front door click shut, mark coming through to the dining room.

‘honey? what are you doing awake?’ he asks, setting down his briefcase, the tie to match his brown, tartan suit loose around his neck, top button undone. he looks dishevelled, whatever had made him late had ruined him.

you stand up, rubbing your eyes out of exhaustion. ‘you can’t just come home late like this.’

‘im sorry, baby. a lot happened at work, okay?’ he says, walking up to you. he leans forward to catch your eye contact. ‘some idiot sent me the wrong file and the whole network crashed.’

you nod, pushing in the dining table chair as you prepare to leave the room and go to bed. 

‘goodnight, yn.’

‘goodnight.’

you can’t help but feel that something is off. 

like usual, you wake up at 7, cook breakfast at 7:30 and wave your husband off as he leaves for work. each morning is the same, a list of routined actions you perform, a pretend life you wish you could lead. only this morning, you fear it could be your last. 

as you tread down the white hall of the 10th floor of the agency, eventually standing at your bosses door in anticipation, you knock. 

she calls you in and you shut the door behind you. there she sits, black bob swaying above her shoulders and thin, red lips pressed into a straight line of discontent. the bullet holes on the desk from yesterday still remain, a reminder of what your boss had promised would happen to you if you had failed to complete the job.

not only had you done that very thing but to make matters even worse, you had also accidentally held an attempt of assassination on a man from the rival agency.

‘good morning, agent lee.’ her voice is stern, deep.

you nod, taking a seat. 

‘you know why you're here? yes?’

you nod, not daring to say a word.

‘then i believe you understand the vitality of the situation we are now in because of your mistake.’

again, you nod. 

‘words, mrs lee.’ her voice raises, causing you to sit up in your seat.

‘yes.’

she nods, crossing one leg over the other. ‘good. then you shall be pleased to know that i'm giving you a chance to redeem yourself.’ 

your mind is going a million miles an hour, thoughts racing each other in a swirl of confusion. the perplexion must have been evident on your face as K begins to explain. ‘the agent that intercepted your mission is agent 1999 of the sparta agency. we have reason to believe that he is the source feeding our information to his agency, that’s how he knew you were going to be there.’

it all makes so much sense yet none at all. why would a random stranger pick up an unattended drink at a casino and drink it? unless..

a thought sparks in your mind. ‘you think he drank the vial on purpose?’

a small grin peaks at the corner of K’s upper lip before she continues. ‘he gambled that whoever was on the mission would have had an antidote on them. sparta agency aren’t to be messed with, agent lee, they will use any means to intercept our missions, and with this intel they are our biggest liability.’ she rises from her seat, walking to move over to her wall-panel window, scouring the view that lays beyond it. ‘after this, whoever agent 1999 is will most likely be given the task to kill you; they can’t risk the fact that you might know what he looks like.’

her back is still facing you as you reply. ‘but i don't know what he looks like, i didn’t see his face.’ 

she turns in your direction, a smirk which you haven’t seen before now plastering her features. ‘and he didn't see yours either. that’s why i'm giving you the task of taking him out, it’s a race of who can find and kill who first, if he’s smart, he’ll always be where you are, it only makes your job easier.’ 

to take out a criminal is one thing, but to take out a highly skilled assassin is another. you stay silent, conflict in your mind overwhelming you. you love your agency, and you love your job, but you fear that this task is nothing but fated suicide.

K steps back to behind her desk, sitting again to face you as she speaks. ‘if you do this, mrs lee, you would have regained my approval.’ she shuffles through the files on her desk, looking up at you through her brow at her next words. ‘not just anyone can take out two of my men with just a pistol and two bullets. i'm trusting you with this. you have 24 hours to complete the job.’

you check your watch, it’s 10:45 am.

12 hours.

12 hours to take out a high class, heavily skilled assassin. 

she really was testing you.

you waste absolutely no time deciding what you’re going to do, rushing to your office and calling for your assistant. 

‘give me whereabouts on agent 1999 of the sparta agency, i want all the information you can find.’ you say, and she nods before scurrying out the room. 

you’ve never questioned a kill before, knowing nothing but their faces, merciless in all aspects. but there’s something incredibly ironic about this one, something that you’ve never had to deal with before.

he’s just like you. 

your assistant returns and you sort through the printed files until you find his personal profile. like the rest of your jobs, you expect to see his face, printed in the top corner, usually a CCTV picture or a mugshot if you're lucky. but much to your surprise, you’re faced with nothing but a grey square, a question mark placed in the middle, almost mocking your lack of knowledge.

you look up at your assistant, a brow raised.

‘there’s no record of what he looks like. not a trace.’ she says.

you nod, a forced sense of acceptance. this man knows what he’s doing. 

continuing to search the files, one catches your attention: his previous kills. 

671. 

‘he uses a revolver..’ you murmur to yourself. 

this fact, this small, minor detail, changes everything; revolvers are exceptionally loud guns. meaning almost each and every one of his kills would have been done in private, in basements, elevators.

if you want to lure him in, get him somewhere he will follow, you need to find somewhere private, somewhere you can confront him one on one. 

that’s when the perfect idea hits you.

you grab your car keys from your desk drawer, pocketing them in the inner pocket of your blazer. a motel, somewhere far enough from the city but somewhere close enough that he will follow you there. 

you’re just hoping that, right now, he’s sat outside your agency waiting for you to leave, waiting to follow you home. 

but you’re not going home. not today. 

your suspicions are correct when you reach the border of the city, a blacked out mercedes maintaining its speed a few cars behind you. you know it’s him, agent 1999, you don’t need to see his face to be sure.

you pull up to the first motel you see, the lack of cars in the parking lot signalling a perfect place for the job you're about to undertake.

before he can swing into the motel behind you, you step out the car, sprinting to the reception. 

you push open the door in eagerness, rushing to the front desk. the receptionist looks up upon hearing the bell on the door ring at your arrival.

‘one night. please.’ you say before sliding a $100 bill across the desk. ‘keep the change.’

the receptionist looks at you in disbelief as she hands you a key with the number 8 engraved on it. 

you waste no time, rushing round the corner to the stairwell. it’s just as you make it past the line of sight that you hear the reception bell ring, that agent 1999 has come through the front door. 

your curiosity is screaming at you to peek around the corner, to find out who this man is that you’ve been given the task of killing before he kills you. but you refrain, your urge to survive overwhelming you as you begin to climb the stairs, past room 6, past room 7 and past room 8. instead, you go to room 9, placing a gamble that it’s that room that the receptionist will assign him. 

you don’t move, don’t waver from your stance outside his door. 

not even as you hear the door to the stairwell open, not even as you hear the slow, antagonising echo of his footsteps.

not even as he comes around the corner.

fear. 

not the kind that paralyses you, but the kind that makes you regret. that’s what you feel when you see him, that’s what you feel when you look down the barrel of his gun: fear. 

but it’s not the gun that scares you.

it’s who's holding it. 

the assassin you’ve been hired to kill, the man who's been hunting you down, is none other than the man you had least expected it to be.

your husband..

you lock eyes with him, but you see none of his usual warmth, his usual empathy. all you see is the eyes of the man trying to kill you. 

‘mark.’ you breath, raising your gun at him, a mirror of his pose.

slightly, ever so slightly, you see him flinch as you say his name. he’s holding back. 

‘babe.’ he says, sarcasm lining his tone. ‘why aren’t you at home?’

a smile of annoyance lines your lips, eyes rolling. ‘could ask the same of you.’

you’re ever so aware of the guns you have pointed at each other. his eyes never leaving yours, he speaks again. ‘i have important business to attend to.’

of course you do, you think to yourself. 

its a pity you never liked him, never got to know him. atleast now, you understand why.

‘as do i.’ 

suddenly, gunshots blast through the air. 

amidst the confusion and fear of who shot who, you run to the door labelled ‘8’, turning the key and quickly running inside. but your attempts to shut mark out are quickly abandoned when he swiftly places his foot between the closing door and it’s frame.

you jump back, reaching in your back pocket for the small knife you stashed earlier, hiding around the corner of the room. he kicks the door open, standing in the doorway, gun still in hand. he walks in slowly, treading lightly as he scans the room with his aim. 

but just as he gets into the room, you stop him, grabbing his arms from behind him and twisting the gun out of his hand. 

he attempts to kick you off his back, mind increasingly aware of the knife you have placed to his throat.

hesitantly, he turns, putting his hands up. 

once you’re face to face, you take no time in tackling him. he grunts, the wind knocking right out of him as he hits the floor. 

straddling his waist, both of your faces are emotionless, void of any of the pretend love you were used to maintaining.

‘did you know?’ he grunts, breathless, eyes glancing slightly at the blade you have pressed to his throat. ‘did you know it was me?’

you push the knife closer to his skin and he winces. 

‘answer me, yn.’ his voice is hoarse, struggling to speak. 

you take a deep breath, deciding to tell him the truth. 

‘no.’ you say, but curiosity peaks in you again, and this time, you’re taking no chances at missing out. ‘did you?’

his jaw clenches.

with a sudden sense of energy, he kicks you, causing you to fall on top of him, your knife going slack in your hand as he knocks it to the side. he flips you both over in the process so that he’s now above you, taking a hold of both of your wrists. 

‘no,’ he says, anger lining his words. ‘well,’ he chuckles, ‘i knew one thing.’

you furrow your brows. 

he continues, ‘you’ve always hated me. i’ve always been able to see it in your eyes. you detest the thought of ever marrying me.’

you go to speak, but before you can reply, he cuts you off. 

‘i wouldn’t worry, it’s a mutual feeling.’

with that, you reciprocate his anger. all those years of marriage, of putting up with a man you hate in order to give yourself a sense of security, all of it, has come down to this. pushing him off of you, you crawl to his revolver, laid out across the other side of the room. 

your hands gain purchase to it, lifting it up to point at him. 

your finger rests on the trigger. he’s in perfect shot. there’s no one around, you would complete your mission and regain your boss's trust back. but somehow, something stops you. 

as you look into his eyes, the deep brown hue of his pupils looking at you in disgust and anger, you snap. 

you just can’t do it. 

because whilst his eyes may be looking at you in a new light, it’s those same eyes you have grown accustomed to seeing everyday. nearly every other set of eyes you see, looking back at you, you only get to see once before they’re closed forever, no one being granted the experience of ever viewing them again. but his, you’ve always known that, no matter what, you’d see them at the end of the day, that you’d wake up to them after every nightmare. 

you just don’t think that you could let them go. 

that you could let him go.  

he notices your hesitation, a hint of a smile now making it’s way to his features.

‘you can’t do it, can you?’

you stay silent, finger still hovering over the trigger. 

‘over five-hundred kills and now you’re hesitating.’ he taunts. 

you stay still, shaking with anger. ‘you’ve done your research.’

‘had to make sure i knew what i was dealing with. although, nothing could have prepared me for this.’ he laughs, as if this whole situation is funny to him. 

‘okay then,’ you say, lowering the gun. turning it in your palm, extending the handle out towards him. ‘kill me.’

he looks at you, a stern expression on his face, as he takes the gun from your hand. 

but what he’s not expecting is for you to put your palm to his shoulder, making him sit himself down on the bed as you climb to straddle his lap. 

he looks up at you, a mix of hatred and annoyance lining his features. slowly, you take his left wrist, guiding his hand to hold the small of your back. his eyes travel to the curve of your waist before looking back up. even slower, you take his right wrist, the one holding the gun, moving it so that the barrel presses firmly against your temple.

you let go of his wrists, the index finger of his left hand drawing circles on your skin, something he used to do years ago, in the age where you used to cuddle up to each other to watch movies. then, you accepted it because you had to make eachother think you loved the other. now, he’s doing it because he knows you don’t.

his face is close enough to yours now that you see the golden specks of his eyes as he looks at you, they swim in the pool of colour, drowning in the light that reflects off of them. 

gun still pressed to your temple, mark lets out a deep breath. ‘you really want this?’ he whispers. 

barely there, you nod, eyes falling to his lips. 

he chuckles, hand at your waist now tracing its way up to the back of your neck. 

his eyes flutter as he leans in. it's smooth, gentle but so incredibly angry as he kisses you. in all the years of your marriage, you’ve never kissed mark like this, never shown him enough emotion to be able to connect this deeply with him. your mind soars into a place of nothingness, beyond your world of killing and death, but it’s quickly brought back when you hear a sudden click from the pressure at your temple. 

the gun.

you pull away, marks face a look of irritation as his eyes travel between the empty gun and you.

he had tried to distract you. 

he had tried to kill you.

you slap the gun out of his hand before climbing off of him, dashing for the half open door. 

you hear his footsteps clamber after you, chasing you down the motel hall. sprinting down the stairs, knowing he’s behind you, you keep running and running and running. 

but it's not the fear of death that's urging you on, it’s the fear of knowing you didn’t have it in you to kill him.

and he did.

you didn’t go home to cook dinner that night, the image of his eyes on you scarring your memory, the feeling of his lips invading your mind. 

instead, you go home with nothing but one intention. 

this time you’re not going to let him distract you. this time you’re not going to let him leave. 

his eyes were not going to stop you. 

driving down your street, an invigorating anger consumes you. a resurgence of betrayal floods your actions as you press down on the gas pedal as though your life depends on it. all because now it’s evident that if you don't kill him, he will kill you. 

pulling your car sharply around the corner and onto your driveway, you step out the car, pistol in either hand. you scan the building with your eyes, the warm exterior of your house now a cold shell, a place for death.

someone, tonight, is going to die here, and you will not let it be you. 

as you creep around the house towards the back door, silence swarming you, you see a sudden flicker of light from the kitchen. 

there he is, usual home comfort clothing, usual messy hair. to him, you’re not a threat; he’s seen it first hand, witnessed your hesitation. 

but not anymore, not after he had tried to kill you. you won’t let him take your life away from you anymore than he already has. 

you slowly walk towards the back door, twisting the handle to pop it open, but just as you do, the kitchen light switches off. the entire house turns to black. 

he knows you’re here. 

you walk inside, past your immaculate kitchen, past the stairwell. but it’s when you get to the living room that you hear a shuffle amongst the furniture. 

and you’re right next to the light switch. 

you reach your hand towards the switch, inches away from turning the light on before a hand clasps around your wrists. you twist, shooting blindly at the figure behind you, an attempt to defend yourself. 

‘nice try, honey.’ you hear his voice whisper from beside you. 

you turn again, trying to gain an idea of where he is, but before your eyes can focus, a rally of gunshots explode at the wall beside you. unfortunately for mark, he misses, similarly blinded by the darkness surrounding you, but fortunately for you, the fire of his revolver illuminates from the barrel, signaling exactly where he’s positioned from across the room.

moving before you can even think, you run towards him, launching yourself in his direction. you meet the hardness of his shoulder as you knock you both onto the floor, rolling away from each other. you attempt to regain your balance on your feet, but a sound from across the room stops you in your tracks: the chilling swipe of a knife being drawn from the kitchen drawer.

mark has never deviated from his selected weapon before. 

he is desperate.

still unable to see each other, you speak out as you eventually stand up. 

‘have you ever considered couple’s therapy, sweetie?’ you taunt, hoping a joke would distract him as you crawl across the room to find one of your pistols. 

he laughs in reply, ‘with you, or the fake wife i’ve been married to for four years?’

‘i have no idea what you're talking about.’ your voice is sweet, an innocent persona you’ve been willing to upkeep. 

his voice sounds closer, raspier. ‘you know, i always wondered why you hated me.’ he says, the sound of his words circling you as you freeze. ‘i thought, maybe you knew what i did for a living, that you despised me for it.’ he stops walking. ‘but now i know that you really do just hate me.’

with that, he lunges in your direction, circulating his arms around you from behind, knife held firmly against the front of your neck. you feel his breath on your cheek, hear his heartbeat. 

and it’s racing.

‘you won’t do it.’ you say, fear consuming you. 

you feel his lips twitch into a smile from beside you. 

‘you’re naive, baby.’

‘then do it.’

there’s a moment of stillness, mark’s breath halting, his heart still pounding. 

the pressure at your throat lingers, but it doesn’t increase. 

instead, it’s the silence that speaks volumes.

the knife drops to the floor, clattering at your feet, his arms still enveloping you. 

he turns your body by your shoulders, and the stillness of the room allows your eyes to focus.

there he is, hair dishevelled as he looks down on you. it’s almost impossible to tell, but amongst the flood of darkness you think you see a hint of a smile in his eyes. 

he looks down at the floor, his arms falling to his sides. 

‘im sorry, yn.’ he says. 

you furrow your brows in confusion. 

‘wh-’ 

but before you could ask what he means, you feel the warm embrace of his arms around you, head falling into his chest as he pulls you towards him, a hand running through your hair. 

you stay like that for a moment, basking in each other's comfort, memories of the start of your marriage flooding back to you. 

it’s now that you realise the extent of your fear, it's now that you realise what you really feel. 

it’s not mark’s eyes that reel you in, not the warm brown or the golden specks that you urge to drift away with, no, it’s just him. 

the man you have despised for all these years, for this entire marriage, is the man you don’t.

before you could have it in your heart to figure out why, a high pitched screech blurs around you, a whistle you both know all too well. 

‘yn!’ mark pleads, pulling your wrist towards him as he ducks behind the wine cabinet, its bronze structure serving as the perfect shield as he holds your body towards him. 

you don’t know why, but you trust his embrace.

as if perfectly timed, the hot surge of the explosion traces your skin as the kitchen falls to ruin, the cabinet protecting you both from the heat of the blast. it’s only a small explosion, erupting only a meter within itself, but your heart pounds at the nature of it.

you look up at mark as you pull away from each other. 

‘that wasn’t me-’ you begin, but a shock in mark’s eyes stop you from talking.

you turn, facing the direction of the explosion. 

emerging within the rubble of your kitchen wall, is a figure. 

the smoke conceals them, hiding the details of their features from you. 

but as the second figure emerges from the dust, you recognise their silhouette almost immediately. 

agent K. your boss.

‘fuck.’ mark mumbles to himself as he holds an eye contact with the first person so extreme that it has you questioning. meanwhile, you do all you can to avoid K’s glare, feeling her eyes burn into your skull.

both yours and marks. 

K and the man you don’t recognise both stand in what’s left of your kitchen, eyes trained on the proximity of you and the man beside you.

you don’t dare to speak first. 

‘agent 1270. agent 1999.’ K begins, breaking the silence. 

you check your watch, fear and terror consuming you as you read the steady pace of the clock hands.

10:44 pm. 

it’s been exactly 11 hours and 59 minutes. 

you’re completely and utterly fucked.

K continues, ‘there's a little someone i would like you to meet.’

after her cue, two men in black walk towards you, dragging a half limp man between them,  black cloth over his head as they place him on his knees ahead of you. 

after receiving a nod from K, one of the two men reach for his hood, lifting it off his head and revealing the terrifyingly familiar face of the man it belongs to. 

he smiles, his silver moustache smiling with him. 

it’s him, the man you were supposed to poison when you had accidently poisoned mark instead. 

mark clenches his jaw beside you, hands digging in his pockets as he glares at the man in front of him. 

and suddenly it all pieces together. 

your mind draws back to your conversation with your boss.

‘it’s a race of who can find and kill who first.’ 

that is what she told you when she gave you the task of killing mark, that is why she gave you the job. 

because he was set to kill you too. 

you were set to take out eachother.

‘this was your plan all along.’ you say, eyes flickering between K and the stranger beside her, completely ignoring the man as he gets dragged away again out of sight. ‘this is what you’d hoped for. you knew, this whole time, what you wanted.’

mark looks at you, and you can see the pieces falling together in his head. 

K looks angry, livid even, but it only adds fuel to your flame, so you continue.

‘there was never a rivalry between our agencies, was there?’ you ask, not waiting for the answer; you already know what it will be. ‘there was never any competition.’

K’s anger slowly morphs into a smug look of distaste as she begins to speak, slowly walking towards you. 

‘mrs lee, do you really think i would have assigned you such a task? you, an inexperienced solo assassin set to murder a gambler at a casino?’ her eyes search yours. ‘it was all under the plan i had constructed. i instructed you to slip poison into the gentlemans drink, under oath that if you fucked up i would get rid of you, and agent H here,’ she points at marks boss beside her, ‘was to instruct agent 1999 to take a sip of the drink, reasoning it as an interception of rival plans and promising him an antidote he wasn’t going to receive. killing both of you in the process.’ you feel the anger in mark shift beside you. ‘what we didn’t expect, however, was for you to give it to him yourself. so, by all due means, we had to improvise. if we couldn’t take you out, then you would have to take out each other.’

by this point, K is directly in front of you, the scent of her navy suit filling the air around you with an aroma of sweet spice. 

but as you look into her eyes, you decide that, really, you’re not scared of her. 

you peek at mark beside you, his attention elsewhere, trained on his boss as he remains across the other side of the room, a smug look on his face.

mark speaks up. ‘why? why go through all that trouble to kill us?’ he says, directly aimed at his boss.

agent H comes forward, until eventually, he is side by side with agent K. 

your boss smiles, ‘because marriage is a dangerous sport, agent 1999.’

your heart thumps in your chest, your skin crawls.

she knew. 

she knew everything. 

‘a distraction.’ she sneers, ‘a liability.’

you don’t say anything, you can’t.

‘and though you liked to pretend you hated it, mrs lee, i knew, truly, deep down, there was a vow more important to you than any job you could have been given.’

the silence is deafening, scorching the air around you. 

but its not K that finishes the sentence, it's the voice of the man beside you, the voice of the reason behind all of this. 

he’s breathless, but the words are laced with nothing but raw honesty as he whispers them, a realisation sparking from within him.

and now he’s finally aware.

‘till death do us part.’

it’s only after those words are uttered that the whole world breaks loose. 

shots erupt from wall to wall, glass smashing around you as you follow mark, his hand wrapped firmly around your wrist. 

you both burst out the door, his hand letting loose of yours so that you can sprint your way over to mark’s car. 

‘get in!’ he yells at you from the driver's seat, but your mind betrays you, a plan of strategy forming in your wits.

‘hang on.’ you yell back at him and with little time to spare, mark rolls his eyes.

he rolls down the window. ‘we don’t really have time for this, yn.’ mark grunts through his teeth, anger enticing him to just drive off without you, to let you die. but he can’t, not like this.

you ignore him, legs close to giving in as you run to the keypad on the gate to your driveway. urging mark to drive through, you press in the numbers, closing the gate before climbing over, jumping into his car on the other side.

‘go, go, go.’ you yell, gunfire belting off the metal of the cars exterior and you shut the door.

skidding the car round the exit of the street, the rubber of the tyres producing a thick layer of smoke behind you, mark calls over to you, ‘what did you d-’

but before he could finish his sentence, your entire house explodes in a massacre of flames. 

you grin at him in succession, ‘self destruction code.’

he laughs back at you, ‘you’re crazy.’

‘i know.’

as you begin to gain speed on the highway, mark sliding the car skillfully between the cars around you, you start to notice three other cars doing the same behind you, gaining speed, and the familiar black tint of each window signalling who they belong to.

‘shit, they’re after us.’ you wince, mark looking in the rearview mirror and cursing at the sight. but before he can suggest anything, he peeks over at you, watching as you reach under the seat and find yourself a set of machine guns.

noticing his questioning look, you turn to him, ‘what? that’s where they are in my car, so i could only guess.’ you shrug.

he laughs, in awe at this new version of his wife, ‘i think i can get used to this side of you.’

‘you’d better.’ you reply, before reaching up at the sunroof and pulling it across, making a gap for you to emerge out of. manoeuvring yourself so that you're kneeling on the centre console of the car, you push your upper body out the top of the car, aiming the gun at the cars chasing after you. 

beginning to fire your guns, aiming for the cars’ tyres and successfully stalling one of the drivers, you seem to start to lose your balance.

‘mark!’ you call. 

‘you okay, baby?’ he yells back, noticing your struggle.

you roll your eyes. ‘you’re driving like a coward’

‘you’re kidding, right?’

you look down at him, peeking your head back through the sunroof. ‘let me drive.’

he sighs in acceptance before you reach your legs over to his side of the car, swapping places with him. 

but mark has better ideas. 

‘open the trunk.’ he demands, picking up both machine guns from the passenger seat and climbing to the back. 

you press the button, the trunk opening up and giving mark a full view of the cars behind him. 

you speed up the car, weaving through the traffic in an attempt to divert their bullets. 

‘it’s too busy, babe, i can’t aim like this.’ he yells back to you. 

‘hang on.’ you call as you speed past cars until you find a junction in the road. you turn the car, slipping across it and nearly flipping the car in the process. 

‘holy shit.’ mark yells, clinging onto the handle on the car roof.

you laugh, ‘sorry.’ 

now with a clear aim of the cars behind you, mark crawls on the backseat, shooting desperately after them.

you begin to grow eager, listening as mark wastes all the bullets you have at your disposal. that’s when an idea begins to form in your head, an impossible yet incredibly daring plan. 

amidst all the chaos, you call for him again. ‘mark!’

‘yeah?’ he says, ducking behind the seats to avoid the other cars’ oncoming gunfire, panting in exhaustion. 

‘you got any explosives?’

mark’s head tilts, ‘under your seat. why?’ 

you reach under your seat, grabbing the grenade and passing it back to mark. 

‘i need you to open the left door at the back.’ you yell, and he does so, other hand holding on by the seat belt to keep himself upright. 

you continue, ‘when i tell you to, throw it out that door.’

‘shit, okay.’ he replies, leaning back against the seat, wincing in pain at the strength to keep himself going. 

noticing a straight length of road up ahead, you ready your hand on the car’s parking brake. when you gain enough speed, you quickly turn the steering wheel to the left, forcing the car to a stop in the process. in a whirl of gravity, the car spins on its side as the cars behind you are forced to stop. it's then that you call for mark to throw the explosive. 

a bright white light erupts from beside you, a hot breeze brushing past your skin.

the cars go up in flames, both of your bosses inside them. 

it's over.

everything is over.

after a few moments of tranquility, mark is already outside the car, pulling you from the driver's seat and bringing you to your feet. 

‘you okay?’ he turns to you, eyes searching yours in a second of sincerity that you’ve never seen from him before. 

it’s cruel, the way he looks at you, as though nothing has changed, as though you're still that same innocent wife you once were. the thick atmosphere of reality struggles to set in between you as you look back at the damage you’ve made.

both physical and not.

‘they’re gone’ you whisper, ‘it’s all gone.’

he feels everything you feel, he always has, every thought, every emotion, all of it. so he does what he knows he also needs the most, as he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head and wrapping his arms around you in warmth. he knows you're hurting, and for once in his life, he has the power to stop it. 

side by side, you walk. not a word is uttered, not a thought exchanged. you don’t need to, you both understand. it’s bittersweet, but yet terribly foreboding, so you don’t say a word. 

you had managed to find yourselves in a nearby town, not a care where you had ended up, home no longer a fortified place, destroyed and abandoned. you stand, complete yet broken, at the front of the town's local church, looking up at the grand design of its wooden doors. 

it’s as if you both had gravitated here by some external form of fate, woven into your lives, repeated like a mantra, forcing back to you everything you had seemed to have forgotten. that’s how you find yourselves where you are now, feet facing each other as you stand at the altar at the front of the church hall, the echo of the stone walls reflecting your silence. 

for once in your life, you look into his eyes knowing that they’re his.

‘till death do us part.’ you whisper, and you know K was right; you do mean it.

he smiles back at you, dimples showing.

‘till death do us part.’

mark looks at you, really looks at you, a softness in his features and a new found sincerity in his heart. 

it was at that exact moment that you realised why you had hated marrying mark lee.

it was attachment: something so incredibly forbidden yet increasingly enticing. all you wanted, all you really wanted, was to love in honesty, but it wasn’t mark that you wanted to love.

it was agent 1999. 

two weeks later 

the room is plastered in an ugly hue of grey, carpet stained and window forcing a breeze to flow through the curtains. mark sits beside you, listening to the question of the woman before you. 

‘so, what made you both want to come here for couples therapy?’

mark turns to you, a smirk lining his lips. you smile, trying to conceal your laugh.

‘i guess you could say we kept a few secrets. isn’t that right, mark?’

he looks at you, eyes wide and heart full. 

‘something like that.’

[kosmoem]

So like yes! Yes please! But also this:

And then what about somewhere in between?

Like Damian sees Tim as his better and thinks that his place is threatened by Tim existence. He sees that as a challenge to get better and he loves a challenge. (You can not convince me that one of the reasons he strives to be better is because he sees everything as a challenge and grew up loving a challenge because he knew that if he 'won' it would make his mother and grandfather proud.)

So it starts with Damian trying to one up Tim and prove he's better (EX. Damian trying to kill Tim at least twice that I know of). Making it seem like Damian hates Tim to everyone else.

Damian doesn't actually hate Tim, if anything he looks up to Tim, and Tim knows it. Damian knows Tim knows it. Tim knows that Damian knows that Tim knows that Damian looks up to Tim. So on and so forth. No one else does.

Damian proceeds to have character growth. How doesn't matter. Fuck make it that time Jon goes to space and comes back older (I heard about it one time I don't know shit about what happened there) and Damian believes Jon's dead or not going to be able to make it back. He's done though just like older than Damian now and not as child like. Just something that makes Damian realize that the people he cares about won't always be around and so he has to find away so show them that he cares about them so that they know before something can happen to them and he loses that chance again.

Start with his friends, start with it small things. He brings them food on days that he knows they won't eat school lunch. He draws them art of their favorite things or makes drawn collage/aesthetic boards of things that make him think of them.

Then go to family friends or adults that he likes.

The art teachers that made it easy for him to start getting into art and helped him find joy in it? He starts leaving new supplies for them in front of their offices/class rooms.

The Kent's? He helps Ma and Pa with the animals and occasionally in the fields (if they have those) when he originally came over to hang out with Jon. He'll go with Clark and Lois to the Daily Planet and learn what they do there, make it a chance for him to learn something new and for them to teach him something that they enjoy doing.

Selena? He goes with her to the animal shelters that she donates her time to to spend time with her in spaces that make them both comfortable.

Others who I don't know enough about to give them specific, like Lucius Fox? He finds a way to give them something, help them, or spend time with them, in ways that makes both him and the other person happy and comfortable.

Then it's to his family.

It gets a little more personal with them. Mostly because he's around them the most but also because they are his family. And though it may not seem like it the Al-Ghul's, well they aren't really people people, they do care about family to a high degree. And the Wayne's, do I have to explain? So family is a big deal on both sides of his parentage.

So when it comes to family he learns, what they like, to do, to eat, to read, to play, so on and so forth. But he learns these things and then he uses those things to get closer to his family. All of them, Alfred, Bruce, Kate, Babs, Dick, Jason, Cass, Steph, Duke, he'll slowly start being around them more, doing things with them more. But is slow, a few minutes at a time, so they don't realize that he's doing it until he's got a board of times of when he's going to be with which family member. He's still got time for himself but unlike when Bruce first took him in where he's spending most of his free time by himself, he's now spending most of his free time with others. And well Damian isn't huge on being around people that he doesn't know he can be around his family for a decent amount of time before his introvert battery dies.

All that that leaves is Tim. Over time Damian has noticed that Tim cares about the family just as much as Damian does. He also sees now that his place isn't threatened by Tim because Tim isn't out to take his place. But he does still see Tim as a challenge he hasn't beaten yet.

So that's what he does. He faces Tim like he's a challenge that can teach him. So he learns, he asks Tim to teach him how to be better, and Tim does. What it looks like to the others is this older teen and young adult (because Damian is at least 15 or 16 at this point) fighting, butting head, and slowly it start to shift. The fighting turns into sparing lessons, the butting head doesn't change its just become more brotherly, more like they are rivals instead of enemies even though they are neither.

By the time Damian is 17 almost 18 and Tim would is about 24 they are clearly bothers. Like people with siblings will look at these two and go 'oh they are brothers'. Damian and Tim are probably the closest person the other has other than who ever they are dating.

Which makes for some fucking chaos when they're paired together against just about anything. Work, the Rogues, their family on all sides. It's like Demon Twins type of chaos with how crazy they drive the people around them. Of course it's not all the time, it's just often enough though that people can tell that they are close to each other.

They especially like fucking with Ra's, they get the most fun out of him.

I know where this was going, it was supposed to go on about how Damian hates Tim, but slowly they start to get along, see each other as brother, and cause chaos, but it got away from me. And I don't know where it went..... Nor how to bring it back... But anyway hope this made since to whoever decides to read this ramble of words.

Damian should be Tim’s biggest fan, and I’m tired of pretending otherwise.

Tim is the perfect intersection between Batman and Ra’s Al Ghul and Damian would 100% recognize and respect this

He’s one of the biggest thorns in Ra’s side and he’s the only person who can effectively lie to Batman, and is an intellectual match to both of them.

I’m tired of Damian and Tim being at each others throats all the time, give me Damian and Tim being borderline supervillains on a mission together, give me Damian being Tim’s right-hand henchman.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

When R and the baby get to go home rafe just absolutely pampers R won't leave her side, making sure she's eating and feeling ok and also taking care of the baby so she can rest

༄｡° i've got her, i've got you - rafe cameron

series masterlist

As the last of the Pogues filtered out of Tanneyhill, the backyard grew quiet, the only sounds the fading crackle of the fire pit and the distant hum of the ocean. JJ slung an arm around Pope, shouting a final, “Take care of our girl, Rafe!” over his shoulder as they disappeared around the corner. Sarah lingered longest, pressing a gentle kiss to Jojo’s forehead and squeezing your hand with a soft, “Call me if you need anything, okay?” before slipping out with John B. The chaos of the welcome home party ebbed away, leaving just you, Rafe, and little Josephine—Jojo—cocooned in the stillness of the grand house.

You sank onto the plush sectional in the living room, the exhaustion of the day settling into your bones. The hospital stay, the drive home, the whirlwind of love from the Pogues—it had all been beautiful, but draining. Rafe set Jojo’s car seat gently on the coffee table, her tiny chest rising and falling as she slept, oblivious to the world. He straightened up, his eyes locking onto you with that intense focus you’d come to recognize as pure, unfiltered devotion.

“Alright, baby,” he said, his voice low and firm, like he was issuing a command to himself. “You’re done for the day. I’ve got this.” Before you could protest, he was already moving, crossing the room to grab the throw blanket from the armchair and draping it over your lap. His hands lingered, tucking it around you with a care that made your heart ache.

“Rafe, I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice betrayed how tired you really were. He arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, and crouched down in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees.

“You just pushed a whole human out of you, carried her for nine months, and sat through JJ’s terrible jokes for three hours. You’re not fine—you’re a fucking superhero, but you’re not fine.” His lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, but his eyes were serious, searching yours for any sign of discomfort. “Let me take care of you. Please.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue, and honestly, the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made it impossible to say no. You nodded, and he exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for your permission.

First, he disappeared into the kitchen, returning minutes later with a glass of water and a plate piled with leftovers from the party— sliders, some fruit Sarah had cut up, and a couple of Pope’s meticulously roasted marshmallows on the side. “You need to eat,” he said, setting it on the armrest beside you. “And don’t even think about saying you’re not hungry. I’ll sit here and feed you myself if I have to.”

You rolled your eyes but took a bite of the slider, the savory warmth hitting your stomach and making you realize how ravenous you actually were. Rafe watched, satisfied, before reaching for the water and pressing it into your hand. “Small sips,” he instructed, like you were the one who needed coddling now. You couldn’t help but smile at how serious he was about it.

Once he was sure you were settled, his attention shifted to Jojo, who let out a tiny whimper in her sleep. Rafe was on his feet in an instant, carefully unbuckling her from the car seat and lifting her into his arms with a tenderness that still caught you off guard sometimes. The sight of him—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, the once-reckless Kook prince—cradling your daughter like she was made of porcelain was enough to make your breath hitch. He rocked her gently, murmuring something too soft for you to hear, and her whimpers faded as she nestled against his chest.

“She’s good,” he whispered, glancing back at you. “You rest. I’ll handle her if she wakes up.” He didn’t wait for your response, just carried Jojo over to the bassinet by the window, setting her down with a kiss on her forehead before turning back to you.

He didn’t sit down, though. Instead, he hovered—adjusting the blanket when it slipped, refilling your water before you even asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a touch so light it felt like a promise. “How’s your head?” he asked suddenly, frowning as he studied you. “You’ve been squinting. You need Tylenol? I can grab some from upstairs.”

“Rafe, I’m okay,” you said, laughing softly despite yourself. “It’s just the lights. I’m tired, not dying.”

“Still,” he muttered, already dimming the overhead chandelier with the remote. “Better?” You nodded, and he finally sat down beside you, though his body stayed angled toward you, like he was ready to jump up at the slightest hint of need. His hand found yours, fingers lacing through yours, and he rubbed slow circles on your palm with his thumb—a habit he’d picked up when you were pregnant, something to keep you both grounded.

For a while, you just sat there, the quiet wrapping around you like a second blanket. Jojo slept soundly, her tiny breaths the only sound breaking the silence. Rafe’s gaze flicked between you and her, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real—that you were here, that she was here, that he got to have this. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he said suddenly, his voice rough with emotion. “I mean it. I don’t know how you do it.”

You turned to him, catching the raw honesty in his eyes. “I don’t do it alone,” you whispered. “You’re right here with me.”

He swallowed hard, nodding like he was trying to convince himself he deserved that credit. “Always,” he said simply, and you believed him.

When your plate was empty and your eyelids started to droop, Rafe didn’t hesitate. He scooped you up—blanket and all—ignoring your half-hearted protest of “I can walk!” and carried you upstairs to your bedroom. He set you down on the bed, propping pillows behind you with military precision, then darted back downstairs to grab Jojo’s bassinet. He positioned it right beside your side of the bed, close enough that you could reach her if she stirred, but he made it clear with a look that he’d be the one getting up if she did.

“Sleep,” he ordered, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “I’ve got her. I’ve got you.” And as you drifted off, the last thing you saw was Rafe settling into the armchair by the bed, his eyes on Jojo, his hand resting lightly on your arm—a quiet, unwavering guard over the little family you’d built together.

©RAFESGREASYCURTAINBANGS ⋆˙⟡ est. 2025

[sobbingscripter]

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼 wc. 1705 🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

You’re not really sure when things start to go south. If it’s after the death of the Guardians, or when Mark joined a stupid team of teenage heroes.

But the inseparable trio slowly grew into a duo.

“Well, uh… Kiddo, Mark’s… meeting new people. People with… Abilities and such. And he’s… apart of a team. Of heroes. And you might not see him… As much.”

Nolan’s voice is quiet, fingers laced and brilliant blue eyes lowered to the spinning turbines, windmills that pierce the fluffy clouds above and you nod your head. Gaze fixed on the rolling hills, fresh meadows and pasture fields as far as the eye can see.

“Mr Nolan, are you telling me that Mark’s outgrowing me?” You cock a brow. “I’m not a snowflake, I can take the bad news in stride.”

“He’s outgrowing his human age group.”

And you let out a low, bellowing whine. “My Shayla.”

Before a snort of laughter breaks the façade of heartache, and Nolan scoffs, rolling his eyes at your dramaticism. Before bumping his shoulder against yours, glancing down his nose at you, watching as you continue to nibble on some stupidly sugary treat.

“You okay, sport?” Nolan raises a brow and you hum. “No.” You answer. Honest and transparent, before bringing up one of your fingers, a manicured and glittery nail scratching at the bridge of your nose. “But it’s fine’s. It’s not that deep.”

Nolan’s face tugs into a frown, your expression of nonchalance faltering just a little bit as you continue to try to occupy yourself with your treat. Trying to ignore the sting in your eyes, as well as the lump In your throat and the heavy pit in your belly.

“You’ll still have Debbie. And William. And you know, normal people.”

“Mr Nolan, you’re not very good at trying to make me feel better.”

“Well, we don’t… on Viltrum, we don’t deal with things like these.” Nolan hums softly.

And there‘s a silence between the two of you before you break it.

“I know you killed the Guardians.” And you glance towards Nolan, taking another bite of your ice cream sandwich. And he lets out a sound from the back of his throat. Before letting out a breath. “You probably had a good reason though, right?”

You stare up at Nolan from beneath your lashes, brows scrunching and he lets out a breath.

This makes him feel a little bit guilty.

Nolan thinks back to Mark’s baseball game. Barely to his hip, tiny legs carrying him on the wind, sunshine beating down on everyone.

But Nolan particularly thinks of the way he scooped Mark up into his arms. The moment his humanity grew.

“Did you see, Dad? Did you see?” Mark chirps with excitement, toothy grin plastered on his chubby face as he stares up at Nolan, feeling as he sets him down on the soft, emerald hued blades of grass.

“Sure did, champ.” Nolan beams, meaty fingers ruffling Mark’s hair before the seven year old trudges towards you, bouncing on his feet as he stands in front of you. Just a few inches shorter than you.

“Did you see? Did you see me run?” Mark cheers, voice bubbly with excitement, dimples in his cheeks and you nod, enthusiasm oozing from you.

“You ran like a motherfucker, Mark!” “Hey!” Debbie’s ears burn with embarrassment, Nolan’s brows raise. “No cursing, young lady.”

“But Mark did run like a motherfucker.”

“Yeah, I ran like a motherfucker!”

“SHHHH!”

Nolan remembers the way Debbie stressed, trying to keep your foul mouth shut with incessant ‘shushing’. But parents’ head still turned in your direction.

Your excitement was contagious if anything. Especially when you whooped.

“Marky ran like a motherfucker!”

Nolan presses his lips against the crown of your head, heart clenching as he hums.

“Yeah, kiddo.” Nolan nods. “A good reason.”

There’s a soft silence, comfortable but it belies more to come. Worse to come. And you swallow, eyes staring ahead at the emptiness of the pasture fields, green grass and bright turbines and windmills that break the horizon.

“Mr Nolan?”

“Hm?”

“Can you run like a motherfucker”

“Yeah.” Nolan snorts. “I can run like a motherfucker.”

⋆⑅˚₊୨🥀🌼🌺୧₊˚⑅⋆

You never really expect yourself to get caught in the middle of villain attacks. But you’re eternally unlucky.

Except now.

“Any last words, girl?” The Mauler twins gleam at you, meaty blue arms crossed over broad chests before a stupidly large gun is pointed at your forehead.

And the dread mixes with a twisted sense of ‘they mad sexy’, all in the pit of your belly, and you think. Long and hard as to what you’d what scrawled on your tombstone.

“B-O-A-F.” You spell. “Boaf.”

Your eyes squeeze shut when a chunky digit rests over the trigger, readying itself as deep, burly chuckles echo around you. “Funny girl, aren’t you?”

The air around you whips.

“Can you ever be serious?”

Mark’s voice breaks the tension, and your body nearly melts, and you stare up at him. He flies effortlessly, easily gliding through the sky like he’s been doing it all his life. He's a flash of blue and yellow, a bold beacon in the shining afternoon Sun, and you can’t help your intrusive thoughts.

Reaching a hand up and you begin to flick at his earlobe. Teasingly and the giggles that slip from you annoy him a much as it makes him wanna smile. Mark bites the inside of his cheek to bite back a grin, craning his neck as far from you as he can without dropping you.

“Stop-stop it— hey—” he glares down at you from behind his goggles, “—stop it.”

But you can’t take Mark serious when the corners of his mouth are twitching, and his fingers flex as he looks down at you.

Just a bit frazzled, but what really catches his eye, is that Seance Dog T-shirt you’re wearing.

His.

“Klepto.” “Dork.”

Mark lets out a huff, shifting you in his grasp and he presses you tighter against his chest, your ear placed right over his beating heart. And you can hear that unsteady and rapid thumping.

But you just chalk it up to the adrenaline.

“Where do you want me to put you down?” Mark questions you, his gaze fixed on yours and all he can focus on his how fucking cool it’d be to kiss you at the top of the building his hovering right above.

A 50 story high corporate building. Not the Empire State, but meh. Make do with what you have.

“Anywhere you think is—"

“Invincible! I need you!”

A flurry of pink assaults your eyes and within a second, Mark’s setting you on the roof of the corporate building below you. “I’ll be back, promise.” He flies off, and you swallow.

Hard.

“She could’ve said something else…” You mumble to yourself, before settling down on the building, resting your chin on the banister that keep people from tripping over and you watch.

And watch.

And watch.

You even watch as Mark flies off, and your lips tug downwards into a frown.

Brows knitting, and you run your tongue along your bottom lip, taking a sharp breath to even out your voice as you fish your phone out of your pocket.

“What’s up, sport?” Nolan’s voice is just a bit staticky, the sounds of thrashing, followed by bone crushing as well as demonic gurgles.

“Are you busy, Mr Nolan?” Your voice is tiny.

“Never too busy. What do you need?”

You go quiet, teary gaze locked on the way the sin disappears behind the horizon, a golden and bronze glow emanating in the sky above you.

“Can you come get me, please?”

“Sure thing, kiddo. I’m on my way.” Nolan’s voice is considerably softer. “You want a happy meal?”

A teary laugh slips from you, and you sniffle, wiping at your nose with your sleeve.

“Yes, please.”

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

You fiddle with the toy in your hand. Appropriately, it’s an Omni-Man action figure who karate chops. Never once have you seen him do it, but you’re not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth.

Especially when you fiddle with it, making it chop against your knee before you take a bite of your burger.

“I’m… sorry, kiddo.” Nolan whispers softly. “I’ll have a talk with—”

“It’s okay, Mr Nolan.” Your voice is soft, quiet as you chew, gaze lowered to where cars occupy the previously blocked off road, a construction team already at work where the twins had fucked around. “Atom Eve needed him.”

“You did too.” Nolan whispers. “You were at the top of a building for Christ’s sake.”

“I know.” Your voice cracks and there’s a heaviness in your heart that you didn’t have before. A pit in your belly that makes it hard to chew properly and the lump in your throat makes it hard to swallow. And your brows knit into a little frown, features scrunched and you wipe at your nose. “I know.”

⋆⑅˚₊୨🌼୧₊˚⑅⋆

Your attention is firmly on the screen in front of you, your thumbs working at the controller in your hands, jaw clenching and your brows are knitted.

“Psst! Pssssst!”

Mark stares out of his window, hands braced on the pane as he waits for you to turn him.

Dorkish grin plastered on his face and when you face him, your grin doesn’t mimic his.

And the lack of your crinkling eyes, your rising cheeks makes his brows knit and he swallows.

“Hey, what’s wr—”

Your hands move to shut the window, shutting the curtains and effectively, ignoring Mark.

He swallows again. Hard.

Your face… it was so cold. No warmth, not a lick of kindness in the way your brows were knitted. No amusement. No offer to play alongside you. Mark’s throat tightens and there’s a lump there. So, so very heavy and he trudges out of his bedroom, eyes glossy and wet.

You haven’t closed your window in roughly 12 years.

Why now?

Mark steps down the stairs, his footsteps just a bit too slow to be normal and Debbie raises her gaze from the book in her hands, pristine brows furrowing in confusion.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I— I don’t know, Mom…”

T🌼A🌼G🌼L🌼I🌼S🌼T

@lucky-beheaded ; @queen-of-gotham ; @coldvirginbitch ; @wittyjasontodd ; @a-n-a-n-a1 ; @dearlyya ; @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @daydreams-and-peace ; @misstyy12 ; @fruticake ; @httpstes ; @waterflowersblog ; @glowinthedarkjellyfish ; @vm4879bb-blog ; @monaekelis ; @radlovesfics ; @allycat4458 ; @bigbodycity ; @feral010 ; @anesthesia-4rizzle ; @princesstrunkz ; @blackfox774 ; @sh1d0uryus31 ; @your-lovely-rose26 ; @slugstarzz ; @ripcolel0l ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @verysynical ; @kikiiguess ; @missam ; @luvvfromme ; @luvvcharxo ; @alma-ru3 ; @mxvoid26 ; @urfriendlyfrog ; @the-good-kooshe ; @troublesome-nara ; @secretaccountlol ; @syubseokie; @atanukileaf ; @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere ; @i-love-frensh-fries ; @love3vivian ; @boyofroyo1 ; @tamaranblaze ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @etphonehome0623 ; @markgraysonlover ; @icanmeltanigloo ; @itzmeme ; @buckturd

[punkshort]

Swept Away: Season Two

Chapter Four: Oh, sugar, sugar

Paring: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You finally tell Joel about the letter.

Chapter Warnings: language, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv sex, very small breeding kink (blink and you'll miss it but consider it a warning for more in the future), alcohol consumption, reader has a rocky relationship with her parents, angst

WC: 6.8K

A/N: Please see my pinned post for info on future updates.

Series Masterlist

Your plan was to tell Joel about the letter. It really was.

Before he even had a chance to start his day, you were going to sit him down at breakfast and come clean. You had it all planned out the night before, even down to what you would order for room service.

You only got as far as setting the table while you waited for the food to be brought up before Joel had snuck up on you. He had just finished working out in the hotel gym. It was early, so he was careful to enter the room quietly, just in case you were still asleep. But when he spotted you wrapped in a loose, silk robe, barefoot and humming to yourself while you cleaned off the dining room table, something came over him.

It always stirred something when he happened to catch you doing something innocuous and domestic. It was comforting. He liked to imagine you doing those same things well into your future as you grew old together, maybe even with his kids nipping at your heels.

He never thought he was the kind of man who wanted those things until he met you. Now, he often found himself getting lost to the fantasy of what your lives might become, and it excited him.

So when his hands curled around your waist and you spun around with a surprised yelp, only to instantly relax in the safety of his arms when you realized it was him, he simply couldn't help himself.

His name barely slipped past your lips before his mouth was on yours. Greedy fingers bunched up the soft fabric of your robe as you melted into him, always so eager and willing. His tongue flicked impatiently at the seam of your mouth and your jaw dropped, allowing him to deepen the kiss with a rough groan. You were so perfect and soft and warm that it had him rushing, something he rarely did when it came to you, yet his fingers still tugged open your robe with haste before he scooped you up by the backs of your thighs and plopped you on top of the table.

A rush of air left your lungs upon impact. His hips pushed your thighs open and you moaned into his mouth when he pressed his stiff cock against your lace covered center.

"Jesus — Joel," you gasped when you finally managed to pull your mouth away. But his lips kept trailing down your jaw and over your throat, hot tongue leaving a wet trail over your skin as he went. Your fingers clutched helplessly at his soft black t-shirt, still damp from his workout. Each kiss he left on your skin had that letter pushing further and further from your mind.

"W-what's all this about? Breakfast — shit — it's g-gonna be here any minute," you stammered, head tipping back in delight when his mouth latched onto your exposed breast. Your fingers quickly got tangled in his sweaty hair and you pulled him closer to your chest as he sucked and pinched at your nipple, making your back curl.

"Got breakfast right here," was all he said, releasing your breast before easing you down to lay flat against the wooden table. Your pulse thrummed fast in your throat when you watched him sink to his knees. His fingers hooked around your panties and he yanked them off, hardly giving you a chance to process what was happening before his lips sealed over your pussy with a groan.

The muscles in your stomach pulled and your breath stuttered. Heat flushed your chest and neck almost instantly. His tongue dipped to part your folds, prodded teasingly at your opening, and then swiped back up to swirl over your clit. The pressure was intense, not like his usual slow buildup. It felt urgent. It had you tensing with every circuit. His jaw hung open wide so he could mouth sloppily at the entirety of your sex while his hands held your thighs down firm against the table.

You squirmed and whined in his grasp while his hot tongue licked and sucked mercilessly at your core. It was quick, the buildup too fast and intense. Your fingers grabbed at his hair, trying to keep him right where you needed him, rutting frantically against his face.

He suddenly pulled his head back with a gasp, your fingers slipping through his curls. You wailed out his name and blindly reached for him, angry and confused that he would stop when you were so fucking close, but his shirt was already abandoned on the floor and his sweatpants were next.

"M'sorry, baby," he mumbled, "really need to fuck you." But his voice sounded distant, and when you peeled open your eyes, he looked a little crazed. Like he was in a trance with only one thing on his mind.

Joel cursed softly under his breath when he nudged your knees apart. With heavy eyes, you watched him lazily stroke his cock, looking like he was about to devour you. He was staring at your cunt, soaked and aching from being denied release. His hand started to work faster and he made a little noise in the back of his throat when the tip of his cock began to leak over his knuckles. You whimpered and arched your back impatiently — stop touching yourself and just fuck me.

"Yeah, you need t'be full of me, hm?" His eyes cast down your body, muscles tense with anticipation, chest rising and falling with excitement. He smirked when you let out a frustrated huff and your fingernails scraped against the wood table. "'S okay, you can tell me. Lemme hear it. Say: Joel, I want your cock."

You pinned him with a vicious glare and he chuckled, low and deep. How the hell did he manage to turn the tables on you so quickly? He's the one who stormed into the room poised to fuck you stupid when you were minding your own business, and now you're the one about to beg for it?

His fist continued to pump up and down his shaft, looking down at you with a sly smile, knowing full well what he was doing. But you could see the redness in his chest and neck. He wanted it just as bad, if not worse.

"C'mon. You know I'll give you anythin' you want. All you gotta do is ask real nice."

You sighed and rolled your eyes, but couldn't deny it. He was right — he would, and has, given you anything you've ever wanted and more.

Joel tilted his head to the side with a knowing look.

"I know you love it," he said lowly. You pressed your lips into a thin line. "Quit bein' stubborn 'n lemme have it."

You wiggled impatiently, back already aching from the unforgiving tabletop.

"Joel," you began, instantly drawing his full attention. His hand stalled and his eyes locked with yours. You licked your lips and took a deep breath. "Please. Please — I want your cock."

He groaned, deep and low. "Alright, alright. Just—" He inched forward, free hand gripping your thigh as he lined himself up. "Just relax. I'll make you feel good, baby, I'll—"

He cut himself off as he pushed inside, parting your walls and stifling a moan. Your eyes fluttered closed, sighing with relief and spine curling off the table. It always felt so good with him, so exciting and so fucking perfect every single time.

"—always b'like t-this?" you mumbled incoherently.

"Huh?" he rasped. One last inch and he fully buried himself inside you. His chin tilted towards the ceiling for a moment, fighting back the urge to pound into you recklessly, but he knew he was losing the battle.

"Will it — always be like this?" you tried again. He could hear the tension in your voice. The sound of your heavy breaths. He dropped his chin to his chest and looked down at you.

"Yeah," he said, "I promise."

You smiled. "Gonna make me beg for it, even when we're old?"

"'Specially then, 'cause I probably won't be able to hear you."

You giggled and bit your lip. He grinned and slowly dragged his hips back, only to slam back inside you with a loud grunt, relieving some of the discomfort between your thighs almost immediately. Your head fell to the side, brows knitting together when you gasped his name.

"F-fuck," you stammered. His hips began to snap steadily, driving himself deep and fast inside your soaked cunt. Every thrust left you breathless. Every strained noise from his throat had you clenching around him. His hands squeezed your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin of your lower abdomen so firmly, you wondered if he could feel how deep he was underneath his fingertips.

"Always so ready for me," he muttered, pounding into you faster. The loud slap of skin on skin began to echo across the massive room. "Always so fuckin' — wet."

He wasn't wrong. There was something about him, always something so magnetic that drew you to him early on. It was more than just his looks, more than how smart he was or how he always commanded a room, although admittedly those things didn't hurt his case. It was something deeper. You hated the word soulmates, it always made you cringe. But fuck, sometimes Joel really had you thinking twice about the concept because you struggled to come up with any other possible explanation for the connection you felt.

His hips shifted, switching from harsh smacks to deep and purposeful thrusts. He watched your eyes roll to the back of your head and your mouth fail to form any words and he smirked. He knew you too well. He knew he was hitting that one spot that always had you falling apart in record time. Yet he still asked—

"There?"

You let out a little noise and nodded furiously with your eyes still closed. When one of his fingers suddenly found your clit and he began to press tight, perfect circles, it had your body nearly levitating off the table.

"Joel—"

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned. "So tight a-and warm."

You heard the stutter in his voice, but just barely. Your blood was surging so fast through your veins, heart pumping so loud, that you couldn't focus on anything else. For all you knew, room service could have been knocking for the past five minutes — something that concerned you at first but no longer seemed to matter.

"—such a pretty girl, takin' my cock so — so good, baby. Fuck, that's —" Joel cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath when you began to clamp down around him. You couldn't help it. He always knew the right angle, the right amount of speed, the perfect thing to say... it had a blaze of heat tearing through your body in a matter of minutes. Years ago, you might have been embarrassed from how fast he could make you come, but you learned quickly with Joel that he saw that as an accomplishment and wore it like a badge of honor.

"Just — just needed to fuckin' have you," he gasped. Your muscles pulled tight, white hot heat swirling low in your stomach, poised to snap you in half. "Saw you lookin' so pretty, s-so—"

You couldn't hold back any longer. Pleasure ripped through you and you tossed your head back with a loud thunk against the hard tabletop, brokenly crying out his name.

"—that's it. Shit, yeah, there you go—"

Joel's grip on your waist tightened, and he began to slam into you. If you had the wherewithal to open your eyes, you would have seen how tight his jaw looked and how the muscles in his chest twitched as he chased his high.

With a deep grunt that melted into a moan, his body finally went rigid and his hips slowed to a stop. A second later, you felt the familiar warmth of his release flooding your cunt. You writhed a little when he ground his hips against you, making sure to give you every last drop and only easing up when his body sagged with relief.

Joel dropped forward, resting his forearms on either side of your head. Your chests heaved in sync when your mouths collided, inhaling and swallowing down shared breaths until your hearts slowed and your legs stopped shaking.

"Can't wait to marry you."

The confession he whispered against your lips made you smile. Joel lifted his eyes up, just enough to look over your head and out the window, where the sun had finally risen.

"Looks like it's gonna be another beautiful day," he said, pecking one more kiss to your swollen lips before carefully sliding out of you. You inhaled sharply at the loss and watched from the table as he gathered your clothes.

"I'd marry you right out on that beach today if you'd let me," he told you while slipping your panties back up your legs. You giggled and lifted your hips so he could pull the fabric up to your waist.

"We'd piss off a lot of people if we did that."

Joel paused for a moment like he was considering it, then shrugged.

"Yeah. Probably right."

You expected a laugh or a joke. Instead, he helped you sit up and draped your robe around your shoulders with a much more stoic expression than you expected.

A loud knock came at the door, destroying your train of thought, and a young woman's chipper voice sang out, room service!

"Can you get that? I gotta shower," he said as he walked backwards towards your bedroom, stark naked and arms filled with his clothes.

You hurriedly tied your robe and ran your fingers through your hair. "Uhh..." you stammered, sounding panicked. You swiveled around for something reflective but then Joel whistled, hauling your attention back towards him. He was about to slip into your bedroom, but first he shot you a wink and a playful smirk.

"You look gorgeous, little mama."

You felt your cheeks instantly heat up from the compliment. He noticed, you could tell by the look in his eye, and then he was gone. God, you hoped he would always make you feel like that.

Another knock came at the door and you cleared your throat.

"Coming!"

"Isn't she so fucking talented?" you murmured quietly to Zoe so Ellie couldn't overhear from across her studio. She was listening to something Dina, her sweet and perfectly matched girlfriend, was saying about being mindful of the humidity level in the house so as not to wilt her plants. You didn't even know why you were talking like it was a secret — Ellie was so talented, it made you sick, and you made sure she knew it every time you spoke.

An adorable grey cat brushed up against your legs, purring and nudging your calf. You stooped down to scratch her behind the ears and you laughed when her purring got so loud, it sounded like a car motor.

"She seriously is. Every single piece in here is amazing," Zoe replied while she walked around the studio, admiring all of Ellie's completed works that were currently up for sale. Now that she had finished her contract for The Parador, she had more time to create at her leisure, and her plan was to have another exhibit in a few months. "Trevor gave me his black card before I left, told me if anything stuck out that I should buy it," she added coolly, but you could tell by the way she tried to stifle a smile that she was stupidly in love.

"Well, isn't that just so generous of him," you replied with an arched eyebrow. "Sounds like things are going well with Mr. Perfect."

Zoe sunk her teeth into her lower lip and grinned, but kept her eyes trained on the artwork before her.

"I mean, yeah... things are kind of amazing, actually."

The tone in her voice had you zeroing in on her like a hawk.

"Go on..."

She tried to shrug it off casually when she said, "Glenn's ready to hand over the reins to the business soon. He thinks Trevor's ready, Trevor thinks he's ready. They want to make a formal announcement in a couple months, after the quarter or something, I don't know," she said, waving her hand in the air nonchalantly.

"That's great!" you exclaimed.

She nodded happily then paused in front of a painting to look at it closer. "There's just one thing that's bugging me..."

"What?" you asked, the smile slipping from your face.

She sighed heavily and lowered her voice before turning to look at you. "Brooks," she answered. Your spine immediately straightened at the mention of his name. "He says he's clean, he seems like he's doing well... there's no reason not to believe him. But..."

"But... what?" you breathed nervously.

Zoe rolled her shoulders and swallowed. "I don't know if I trust him yet. I feel like, after what happened, he should have to prove himself, you know?"

You nodded in agreement but remained silent.

"I'm also kind of worried he's trying to wedge his way back into Glenn and Mary's good graces so he can get a piece of the company," she admitted with a sigh. "I don't have any evidence, it's just a hunch, but whenever I see him, it just feels like he's trying too hard. Like he's faking it. And after all the hard work Trevor put in, he deserves the position — he earned it. And now I'm getting the feeling Brooks might take that away from him."

You chewed your lip nervously for a second, then glanced over and Ellie and Dina.

"Let's get lunch after this — I have some stuff to tell you," you said quietly when you spotted the girls as they made their way over to you.

Zoe nodded covertly and whipped around right as they approached.

"How much for this one?" she asked excitedly. Zoe always amazed you. On the surface, she came off a little ditzy, but you realized after spending time with her that it was all a front — she was smart, she played her hand close to her chest, and allowed people to underestimate her to her own advantage.

"The peonies?" Ellie clarified, pointing to a yellow and green canvas. Zoe nodded.

"I love it! It's so bright and just makes me feel so, I don't know... hopeful? Maybe that's not the right word," she laughed.

"I think it's the right word if that's what it makes you feel," Dina said warmly. "The beauty of art is sometimes a piece just speaks to you. You might not know what it's saying right away, but eventually, when you allow yourself time to sit with it, it'll come to you."

"God, you got yourself a great saleswoman and partner!" Zoe told Ellie, causing a ripple of laughter amongst the four of you.

While Zoe was paying for her painting and arranging delivery, you wandered over to Dina's side of the studio to check out her plants. She was in the middle of telling you a story about a massive one in particular that she revived after she found it tossed in the trash when your phone beeped.

"You can take that, I don't mind," she said with a smile. You glanced at the screen and shook your head.

"It's just my Mom and Dad. We're picking them up later for dinner, they're probably just confirming the time," you replied before slipping your phone back into your purse.

"Oh, I didn't realize they were visiting! How nice!" Dina gushed. You forced a smile and nodded.

"Yeah, it is. They're supposed to come with us tonight to check out these fire dancers at this restaurant by the beach," you explained. "Joel and I saw them here the last time we visited together and we wanted to hire them to perform at the wedding."

"Exciting!" she said, clapping her hands. "Have your parents ever been here before?"

You shook you head and dropped your gaze to focus on a plant with thick, broad leaves. You gently pinched one between your fingers when you said, "No, they aren't big on travelling. They're the types of people that just really like their little town and the people they know. I think it's a comfort thing." You realized you were rambling so you cut yourself short. "I'm hoping they'll think the fire dancers are cool, at least."

"I'm sure they will," Dina said. "What's not to like?"

Oh, I'm sure they'll find something, you thought to yourself.

"Ready?" Zoe called from across the open space.

You said your goodbyes to both Dina and Ellie with the promise to stop by at least once more before you left, then headed back outside. Zoe linked her arm with yours and leaned in.

"Is this a fancy lunch or a we need to get some fucking drinks lunch?"

"Oh, the second one, for sure," you said quickly, then steered her towards your waiting town car.

Three drinks later, you spilled your guts to Zoe.

You told her that Glenn asked Joel if Brooks could apologize to you. You told her about Tammy flirting with Joel right in front of you and Scott. And lastly, you told her about the letter.

Needless to say, her jaw hit the floor.

"What did Joel say?" was the very first thing she asked. You made a guilty face and she sat up straight in alarm. "You... didn't tell him?"

"Not yet," you said meekly. She shook her head so fast, it made your vision blur.

"You gotta tell him," she said, "Right now. Call him and tell him—"

"No! Not right now! He's in meetings!" you exclaimed, grabbing your phone from her hands.

"Then tonight. You have to — who knows what that could mean?"

"I know," you pouted. The restaurant you chose was filled with lively and upbeat music, even in the middle of the day. It was colorful and gorgeous and meant to be a place where people went to have fun and relax — not stress about being blackmailed.

"I planned to tell him this morning, I really did." You felt the need to explain yourself. You were feeling even more guilty than before and you had no one else to share this with except her. "Especially after Tammy's little secret comment last night. I just can't get it out of my head — I think it's her."

"Well, why didn't you tell him this morning?"

You casually rolled your eyes towards the ceiling and pressed your lips together as you tried to come up with a lie, but through the alcoholic haze, it was hard to think on your feet.

Zoe pieced it together in under a minute.

"You two are unbelievable," she laughed. Your face went hot and you took a sip from your drink.

"It was his fault," you muttered. "How am I going to tell him tonight? We have dinner plans with my parents and we'll probably get back late — wait, shit, I forgot—"

You picked your phone up from the table and squinted dramatically when the bright light nearly blinded you. You tapped on your messages and scrolled to open the one you missed from your mother.

"Oh..." you trailed off as you scanned the text. "They're cancelling. They don't feel well — they think they got a stomach bug," you announced with disappointment.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Zoe said sympathetically.

"That's alright. They probably wouldn't have liked the fire dancers anyway," you told her after you quickly sent a reply to your mom. "I feel bad, but they've been kind of bringing me down lately."

You went on to tell Zoe how your parents weren't thrilled about Joel, being careful to tiptoe around the timeline. Zoe wasn't aware you had lied about being engaged when you first met her, and although you could trust Zoe, you didn't want to tell her the truth without running it by Joel first.

"That's really fucking shitty, I'm so sorry," she said with a pout, chin resting in her hand.

"It's okay. They'll come around. They'll have to," you said firmly.

"Well, at least now you'll have a chance to tell Joel about the letter," she shrugged. You groaned and buried your face in your hands.

"He's going to be so pissed," you whined. "Especially when I tell him I think it's Tammy."

"Why?" she asked while waving down a waiter for another round.

"We had a little fight about her and Scott when we were coming up with the guest list. I didn't want to invite them, but he insisted it would look bad if we didn't."

You leaned back and gave your server a polite smile when he placed two refills in front of you.

"I mean, yeah, he's got a point," Zoe admitted after your waiter left with your empty glasses. "They've known Joel for years. Kind of suspicious if you didn't invite them but it's too bad they didn't decline."

"Right? Wasn't she the one who was lecturing me on the yacht about destination weddings?"

Zoe's eyes widened at the memory. "Oh my god, you're right! She said guests wouldn't want to travel..."

"Exactly! So why did they RSVP lightening fast?"

She tapped her chin in thought while you took a sip from your straw. "Maybe Scott did it," she offered.

"Yeah," you replied slowly. "Or it's all part of some masterful plan and she's trying to drive a wedge between me and Joel."

Zoe arched a brow at you and gave you a look. "You're giving her too much credit. What's her motive?"

You shrugged and let your eyes wander around the restaurant, which was slowly beginning to fill up. "She's in love with Joel and she hates me."

She hummed and thought it over for a few minutes before you asked the million dollar question out loud.

"But what's the secret?"

"Well, I thought that was obvious," Zoe said, immediately sobering you up.

"What do you mean?"

"If you think it's Tammy, the secret's gotta be only one thing — she's gonna go public about their affair and ruin his reputation right when the hotel is opening and his name is plastered everywhere."

You scrunched up your face as you tried to follow her logic. "But... that would ruin her life. Scott would find out —"

"Maybe Scott already knows," she mused. Then her eyebrows shot up when an idea hit her. "What if it's Scott?"

You scoffed and shook your head. "No way. He..."

Weirdly enough, Scott didn't seem phased when Tammy was flirting with Joel in the lobby. It also seemed like they were having some heated discussion before they spotted you. Was it really that far fetched of an idea?

"Think about it! Tammy came clean, or maybe Scott found out somehow — doesn't matter — and now he's pissed Joel got the bid and fucked his wife."

You visibly winced at the last part when an unwelcome image of Joel and Tammy together entered your mind.

"Sorry," Zoe said when she saw your face.

"It's fine," you assured her, blinking the intrusive thoughts away. "Alright, so — it's gotta be one of them."

"Or both," she added.

"Or both," you agreed. A dull throb began to ache right behind your eyes. Too much alcohol and too much drama was bringing on a massive migraine.

"Thanks for talking this all out. At least I won't sound crazy when I tell Joel," you sighed as you began to flip through your wallet for some cash.

"Oh, he's definitely going to think you're crazy," Zoe laughed, adding to the pile of money on the table. "But who else could it be?"

He probably didn't do it on purpose, but Joel ended up wearing a green crochet top to dinner — a shirt you helped him pick out your first day together on the island, back when you were relative strangers pretending to be in love. The sentimental factor wasn't what was distracting you, though. It was the plunging neckline that exposed his smooth, sun-kissed chest that had your eyes wandering from the fire dancers every thirty seconds.

"What's on your mind, darlin'?"

"Nothing."

"Don't seem like nothin'."

His eyes found yours across the table. He lifted his glass of whiskey and kept his gaze pinned on you as he took a slow sip. His dark eyes sparkled with the reflection of the flames being thrown around on the beach, but while everyone murmured in awe of the dancers, you were only focused on him.

You licked your lips and took a drink of water. You could not let him distract you — you absolutely needed to talk to him tonight, no matter what.

"How was your afternoon?" he asked, snapping you out of your trance. "How's Ellie?"

"She's good," you replied. "Dina, too. They're prepping for another exhibit soon."

Joel hummed and nodded his approval. "And Zoe?"

"She bought a painting and then we went for drinks. Had a nice time," you said as your heart began to beat faster in your chest. He was giving you the perfect opportunity to bring up the letter but you wanted to wait until you were back in the room where you could tell him about it in private.

You heard him tut under his breath, and with a smirk, he asked, "That why you ain't drinkin' tonight? Had too much fun earlier?"

"Maybe," you laughed.

A pair of children raced by your table hand in hand, giggling as they went. They couldn't have been older than eight or so and it was evident they had managed to slip away from their parents to get closer to the beach. Joel watched them dodge through the tables and mumble apologies along the way. He smiled to himself when they slid to a stop at the edge of the crowd and the boy, who was taller and likely older, reached protectively for his sister's hand. It had something stirring in his chest, something that was long dormant until recently.

"When we get back to the room, I need to talk to you about something," you said over the applause from the crowd. The dancers were wrapping up and about to perform their grand finale.

Joel tore his eyes away from the kids and looked at you. "Yeah, I wanna talk to you 'bout somethin', too."

You didn't expect that, but going by the look on his face, it wasn't something bad, which is why you were about to encourage him to go first when you arrived at The Parador after dinner.

Unfortunately, your hand was forced when Joel stepped inside the room. The lights were already on that time so his eyes landed right on the crisp, white envelope shoved underneath your door.

"What's this?"

You were locking the door behind you when he spoke. When you turned and saw the blank envelope in his hand — one that looked identical to the one hiding amongst your belongings in your room — your blood ran cold.

"Uh—"

"Were you expectin' somethin'?"

He flipped it over in his hand and tucked his thumb underneath the flap, tearing it open as he strolled into the kitchen area. You kicked off your heels and hurried after him.

"Joel, wait—"

His back was to you when he pulled out whatever was in the envelope. You knew because he came to a sudden stop and his shoulders immediately tensed, but he remained perfectly silent.

You went around so you could stand in front of him, then gasped when you saw what was in the envelope.

"What the hell is this?"

You stared down at the picture in his hand and swallowed the lump in your throat.

"It's — it looks like —"

"I know what it is," he snapped, "who the fuck is leavin' us a picture of the agency under the goddamn door?"

The agency — specifically, the one you and Joel used when you first met. The agency Celine belonged to — an upscale dating service is how they advertised themselves, but it's easy enough to read between the lines.

You could feel the anger radiating off of Joel. He grumbled under his breath, flipped the photograph over a dozen times just in case he missed a note, and checked the empty envelope.

"Who the fuck leaves this without a note?"

His voice was getting louder and it had your hands shaking when you took a deep breath and softly confessed, "There... was a note."

His eyes furiously darted up to you but you kept your gaze pinned shamefully on the floor.

"What?" he hissed. You squeezed your eyes shut.

"I'm— I'm sorry," you whispered. "I was— I meant to tell you. I was going to—"

"Show me."

Your eyes began to water at his harsh tone. "Joel—"

"Show. Me."

You nodded, pressed your lips together tightly, and hurried to your bedroom. You dug around in your suitcase, sniffling to yourself and fighting tears until you found what you were looking for. When you swiveled back around, you nearly jumped out of your skin when you found Joel waiting quietly the whole time.

He held out his hand, the expression on his face hardened. You handed it over and dropped your gaze again while he snatched it and read the note. He huffed in disbelief and raked his fingers through his hair.

"How long you been hidin' this from me?"

"I wasn't hiding it," you argued. "I just... didn't know what to do with it. At first, I thought it was a prank or something. But then I was talking to Zoe, and we think—"

"Zoe?" he roared. His brows knit together like he was in pain, and it broke your heart a little. "You told Zoe 'fore you told me?"

Okay, it looked bad. Perhaps if a second letter didn't come at the worst possible time, you would have been able to have a calmer discussion over the note and your choice to keep it from him, but there wasn't much you could do now — he was pissed, so you figured you'd just tell him everything.

"I'm sorry!" you cried out again. He scoffed and began pacing anxiously around the room, re-reading the note and looking at the photo over and over. Still, you pressed on. "We— we were thinking it was Tammy. Or Scott. Be-because last night in the lobby, Tammy said something to me about keeping a secret—"

"When are you gonna stop holdin' this shit over my head?" he yelled. It felt like a thunderclap, and you flinched. He came to a stop on the other side of the room and gave you a look that told you he was at the end of his rope. "I'm so fuckin' tired of hearin' her name—"

"I'm not holding anything over your head! And you need to stop yelling at me right now!"

You had no idea where your outburst came from, but apparently it was exactly what you needed to do because Joel fell silent and you thought you saw his expression soften a bit.

Then you felt the hot tears streaming down your cheeks and you realized that might have played a factor in the storm clearing.

"I'm sorry," he said softly before crossing the room and pulling you into his arms. You melted into his chest and allowed him to murmur apologies in your hair while he soothingly rubbed your back. "I shouldn'tve yelled. It ain't your fault, baby, I'm sorry."

"I should've told you," you admitted, voice muffled by his shirt. You nuzzled closer until you found his bare chest and you breathed in deep.

"'S'okay. We'll figure it out," he assured you. "I'll call my lawyer, they'll know what to do."

"But- but they aren't even asking f-for money or anything," you blubbered, probably sounding absolutely pathetic by that point.

"Not yet, but that's probably comin' next," he said. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and looked up at him with your chin propped on his chest.

"What about Scott and Tammy?"

"What 'bout 'em?"

"You don't think it could be them? They're staying in the hotel, they know where our room is, she made that comment last night about keeping a secret. Me and Zoe thought Scott might be trying to ruin your reputation if he finally found out about the affair —"

You stepped back out of his hold and took the photo from his hand. "Looks like they got it on Google maps or something," you sniffled, squinting through puffy eyes. "Do you think Tammy and Scott found out how we met?"

Joel shrugged. "Maybe. But I'd put my money on someone else 'fore them."

You frowned and tilted your head to the side. "Who?"

"Brooks," he stated simply. "Glenn called me again yesterday. Says Brooks really wants to meet with you. I told him no, said I ain't lettin' you near that bastard, 'specially not alone—"

"Wait, wait — what? Why didn't you tell me?" Your head was spinning and it was growing difficult to keep everything straight.

"Same reason you didn't tell me 'bout the letter," he said, "didn't wanna upset you."

You lowered yourself onto the bed while you tried to process everything you knew.

"Okay... okay. But — Brooks? Why would he do this if all he wants to do is apologize?"

Joel gave you a soft smile and sat down next to you. "You're too sweet for your own good, y'know that?" He kissed the top of your head and took your hand in his. "Think 'bout it: 'cause of what happened with you, Glenn and Mary shipped him off to rehab. They pulled the rug out from under him, removed his stake in Glenn's company. He's got fuckin'... nothin'. You don't really think he's lookin' to apologize, d'you?"

A shiver went down your spine. The more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Could Brooks really be behind the letters? Could that be why he wanted to meet so badly? So he can make his demands and collect some money?

"Zoe was just telling me today she's worried Brooks is trying to weasel his way back into the company..." you said slowly.

"See? He ain't trustworthy. He's playin' some game and I ain't givin' him what he wants."

Joel dropped your hand so he could pull his phone from his pocket.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm sending my lawyers an email," Joel said. "With the time difference, they'll probably get it in a few hours. They can make some moves overnight, do what they need to do to find out who's behind all this —"

"What if we ask my dad? He used to be a detective. He could help. Maybe call in a few favors," you offered. Joel paused and looked at you quizzically.

"Your parents already hate me as it is. Let's not give 'em more reasons, alright?"

"They don't hate you," you began, but Joel was already focused on his email again. "But I won't tell them. I promise."

The days events began to catch up with you so you stood to get ready for bed while Joel took pictures of the letters and finished writing his email. Grabbing a fresh set of pajamas, you went to the bathroom to wash up, mind still reeling. You were so convinced just a few hours ago that it was Scott and Tammy behind the letter — now, you weren't so sure. There were too many possibilities.

You were washing your face, feeling drained and defeated, when Joel appeared in the doorway.

"Just 'cause they're gonna ask — you never moved your copy of the contract, right?"

You dried your face with a towel and shook your head. "Nope. It's still in your safe back home, next to yours."

"Good."

"How do you think someone found out?" you asked when you slipped into bed. He was sitting on the edge of the mattress, clearly too wound up to sleep and most likely running through every possible culprit, same as you.

"I don't know," he sighed. Then he looked at you and gave you a sad smile. "None of it matters, though. I don't care if the truth gets out."

"It won't—"

"But I don't care," he repeated, then twisted around to stretch across your side of the bed. He gently took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a little pinch before pressing his lips languidly against yours. You felt the air leave your lungs and the stress melt from your shoulders instantly, then he pulled back.

"I don't care if everyone knows," he said again, "'cause I got you, and that's all that matters."

The sentiment made you weak. It was sweet, it really was, but you knew deep down what something like that might do to Joel's career and reputation.

You just really, really hoped you wouldn't find out.

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

[rosierin]

stem wars | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; osamu can tie cherry stems with his tongue so atsumu, suna and (y/n) try to one-up him.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It started innocently enough.

The four of them were gathered around the dining table, bowls half-full of fruit, the soft drone of an animal documentary playing on the TV in the background. The narrator’s voice was mellow, British, and mildly bored:

“The leopard uses stealth to approach its prey, crouching low in the tall grass…”

Atsumu had one leg propped up on the chair, slowly chewing on a cherry, fully engrossed in the program. Suna sat opposite, slouched with his hoodie half-zipped, eyes flickering idly between the screen and the bowl. (Y/n) had a cushion behind her back and one of her legs tucked under her, snacking contentedly. Osamu was methodically pitting cherries and lining up the seeds on a napkin like some sort of serial killer.

The mood was calm. Peaceful. Nobody saying a peep—until a rogue thought crossed (y/n)’s mind.

Then—

“Hey,” she piped up, chewing thoughtfully.

She earned a chorus of hums, all varying in pitch and interest.

“Can you guys do that thing where you tie a cherry stem with your tongue?”

The documentary kept droning in the background.

Atsumu blinked. “That’s a thing?”

Suna glanced over. “Can’t say I’ve tried.”

Osamu didn’t even look up. “I can.”

(Y/n)’s eyes lit up, her grin spreading like wildfire. “You can??”

Atsumu looked personally offended, cast his brother a judgemental stare. “Since when?”

Osamu shrugged, picking out another cherry. “Since I’ve been eatin’ cherries.”

Suna nodded slowly, twirling one of the fruits between his fingers. “That’s pretty impressive.”

“I ain’t buyin’ it,” Atsumu scoffed. “I don’t see how it’s even possible.“

“No,” (y/n) insisted, leaning forward now, “it’s a legit thing! Some people can just do it.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow and plucked a stem from the bowl. “Wanna see?”

All three of them responded in unison:

“Yes please.”

“Yeah.”

“Duh.”

With all the nonchalance of someone tying their shoelaces, Osamu popped the cherry in his mouth. His jaw shifted slightly. A few seconds passed.

He stuck out his tongue.

The stem was tied in a perfect little knot.

Atsumu dropped his cherry pit onto the table. “What the actual hell—”

Suna blinked. “Damn. He can actually do it.”

(Y/n) let out a breathless laugh. “That’s sick!”

And just like that, the table descended into silly competition.

Everyone suddenly had a cherry stem in hand.

Atsumu was determined. He shoved one in his mouth, brow furrowed like he was solving a math equation.

“How the fuck are ya supposed to—”

“Don’t choke,” Suna warned, already working on his own attempt.

(Y/n) giggled. “Okay, wait—how do you even start? Do you fold it or just like… twist it around?”

“Use your tongue, obviously,” Atsumu snapped, still mumbling around the stem. “What else are ya s’posed to use?”

She snorted. “It’s harder than it looks!”

Osamu leaned back with his arms folded, watching like a proud sensei. “Just takes practice.”

Then, without warning, Suna casually stuck out his tongue—and lo and behold, his stem was perfectly knotted too.

“WHAT?!” Atsumu practically shrieked. “How’d you do that?!”

(Y/n) gave him a look, mocking his tone. “By using his tongue, duh. What else are ya s’posed to use?”

Atsumu shot her a glare.

Suna shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m multi-talented.”

(Y/n) gasped. “Okay, what is this? How are the two of you so good at this?!”

Atsumu spat his stem onto a napkin, clicking his tongue irritably. “Mine broke. This is rigged.”

Osamu, grinning now, lazily spun his tied stem between his fingers. “Guess I’m just better at usin’ my tongue. No big deal, guys.”

(Y/n) choked on air.

Atsumu’s head whipped around. “Fuck off—”

Suna’s smirk grew three sizes as he brandished another perfectly knotted cherry stem on his tongue.

(Y/n) gawked, cheeks hot as she looked between the very smug Suna and casual-as-ever Osamu.

“What?” he said, too innocently. “Just statin’ facts.”

Atsumu looked personally attacked. “Nah. You both know what yer doin’.”

Osamu bit into another cherry, lips quirking. “Can’t help it if you’ve got a dirty mind.”

(Y/n) giggled helplessly, chasing the less-than-appropriate thoughts from her head.

Atsumu reached for another stem, undeterred. “One more. I swear ’m gonna do it.”

“Give up, 'Tsumu,” Osamu drawled. “Some people just don’t got it.”

Suna tossed a cherry into his mouth, casting a sly glance at (y/n). “Then there’s those who do.”

Atsumu groaned at his third failed attempt, lobbing the seed at the wall like it was the cherry’s fault.

Osamu clicked his tongue. “Ya better pick that up.”

Atsumu huffed, picking up another cherry with unnecessary force. “Not until I figure this shit out.”

(Y/n) stilled, tugging on their sleeves. “Guys—guys—the leopard is hunting.”

Nobody paid attention.

[scoupsakakitty]

little sister reader (scoups or mingyu) where she gets verbally attacked by fans for being close with ateez (wooyoung or San)?

Just Friends | idol!Scoups x sister!reader| angst, fluff | mentions of Wooyoung

Y/N had been through internet drama before. It came with the territory of being one of the biggest influencers in Korea—and, of course, being the little sister of Choi Seungcheol. She knew how quickly rumors spread, how fast people turned on you, how suddenly the internet could love you one second and hate you the next. But this? This was something else entirely.

It all started with a shopping trip.

Y/N had spent the afternoon with Wooyoung, one of her closest friends, just casually strolling through the streets of Seoul, laughing, chatting, and occasionally stopping to snap pictures of cute accessories and clothes. They weren’t hiding. Why would they? It wasn’t like they were doing anything wrong.

But when you had millions of followers, and your friend was an idol from one of the biggest boy groups, every little thing turned into a scandal.

By the time Y/N got home that evening, her phone was buzzing nonstop. Her social media was exploding.

[BREAKING] ATEEZ’s Wooyoung spotted shopping with influencer Y/N! Dating rumors ignite after viral photos surface. #WooyoungY/N #NewCoupleAlert

Y/N groaned as she scrolled through Twitter (or rather, the battlefield formerly known as Twitter). The pictures were everywhere. Some of them were innocent—just her and Wooyoung walking side by side, laughing. But others…

One particular shot showed Wooyoung playfully fixing a strand of her hair while she smiled up at him. Another caught him holding her wrist gently as they crossed a busy street.

And of course, the internet lost its mind.

Some fans were thrilled, gushing about how cute they looked together. Others? Not so much. Hate comments flooded her notifications.

“She’s just using Wooyoung for attention.” “She’s not even an idol. Why does she get to hang out with him?” “I knew she was a clout chaser.”

Then there were Carats who had mixed reactions. Some were protective, defending her, while others were… less kind.

“Why is S.Coups’ sister getting involved with idols? This is embarrassing.” “She needs to stop bringing scandals to Seventeen.”

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. She hated this. No matter how much time passed, no matter how much she grew, people still saw her as nothing more than “S.Coups’ little sister.”

A loud knock on her bedroom door made her jump. Before she could respond, the door swung open, and there stood her brother, arms crossed, an unimpressed expression on his face.

“Y/N,” he sighed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Oh boy. Here we go.

She tossed her phone onto her bed and crossed her arms, mirroring his stance. “I was thinking that I’d spend the day with my friend. Didn’t know that was a crime.”

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know exactly what I mean. You and Wooyoung, in public, acting all… close. Did you really not think people would start talking?”

“Acting close? We were literally just hanging out.”

“Tell that to the internet,” he shot back. “Do you have any idea how much of a mess this is? My phone’s been blowing up all evening. The company is already getting questions about it. Not to mention, people are dragging Seventeen into this because you’re my sister.”

Y/N clenched her fists. “So what? I should just stop having friends because people might make up stupid rumors?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” Seungcheol said, voice softer now. “But you need to be more careful. You know how this industry works. People see what they want to see. And Wooyoung—”

“What about him?” she snapped.

Seungcheol hesitated before shaking his head. “I just… I don’t get it. Why are you so close with him? Since when?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Since forever? You know Yeonjun, right? Well, he introduced us a while back, and we just clicked. He’s fun, he’s easy to talk to, and he doesn’t treat me like I’m some fragile little sister who needs to be protected all the time.”

Her brother’s jaw tightened. “That’s not—”

“It is,” she interrupted. “I get that you’re worried, but Wooyoung is one of my best friends. That’s all there is to it.”

Seungcheol studied her for a long moment, then let out a sigh. “Don’t lie to me, Y/N. I know you have feelings for him.”

Her breath hitched, but she quickly masked it with a scoff. “So what if I do?” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. “It doesn’t matter that I have feelings for him. We are still just friends.”

Seungcheol’s expression softened. “Y/N…”

She shook her head. “No, seriously. It doesn’t matter. It won’t change anything. He doesn’t see me that way, and even if he did, it wouldn’t make a difference. The world wouldn’t let it.”

Seungcheol looked like he wanted to argue, but instead, he just sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “You should still be careful. Not everyone will believe that you’re just friends.”

“I know,” she muttered, suddenly feeling drained. “But I can’t live my life based on what strangers on the internet think.”

Seungcheol’s expression softened even more. “I get it. I really do. But if things get worse, let me know, okay?”

She managed a small smile. “Yeah. Okay.”

As her brother left the room, Y/N picked up her phone again. Her notifications were still a mess, but this time, she saw a new message at the top of her chat.

[Wooyoung]: You good? Don’t let the haters get to you. Yeonjun and I are ready to fight if needed.

She laughed quietly, shaking her head.

No matter what the internet said, she knew one thing for sure: she had real friends who had her back.

[shroomyv]

ᢉ𐭩-GOOD BOY(‘S) [3]

Pairing: mark grayson x sinister mark x Mohawk mark x viltrumite mark x F!reader (we are so back)

Synopsis: one mark is fun…but 4, that’s a whole new level. After finishing your little (big) session with them, you knew you couldn’t just leave them in that cell to rot…you weren’t usually on the side of stealing but…you just had to take them home with you. Now since you wanted to make this choice off the top of your head—you had to make this fucking work. Good luck~

Warning: continuation story/3rd part (if u don’t read the first two it won’t make sense at all.) , fingers in mouth, mention of saliva, reader dominationnnn (your in charge!), corny dialogue. (Final warning: this story literally will not make sense unless u read pt 1 and 2, this story picks off righttt where pt 2 ends)

W.C: 2.3k

A/N: so…the first 2 parts absolutely blew tf up and there are ppl still begging for more so…HERES MORE AYYEEE. Ok ok, so this part is a bit slow…it’s a bit slow because it’s laying out the ground work for how home life with the marks will work. It’s laying out the pavement…trust the process trust trust…I hope you enjoy this part js as much as the others and if not it’s ok! To each their own. Also also some of the inspiration for this part is from @martinys-world (promised to credit them and they were a part of this series even being able to continue from js a few comments. I also saw Mickey 17 today and that most definitely helped inspire this story more 😭) ANYWAY thanks for all the support so mother fricken much. Yapping over enough the story.

“What…babe…” your mark huffed out trying to shake you a little bit awake to get an answer out of you. He got your eyes open for a few seconds—you were back awake but ready to go back out in an instant. So he asked again.

“Hey…hey babe? What do you mean by “all of us are coming home with you?” Your mark asked again leaning in closer so he could hear everything you had to say. The other marks were still laid out in the pile with you holding parts of your body, cuddling at you since they didn’t wanna let you go.

“Just…just get us all home—I’ll explain there. Just do it, Mark. Cameras are still frozen for now…” you said in a low tone before blacking out once again. You were exhausted—sure, it was fucking worth it but it definitely took the fucking wind out of you. Your mark thought you were absolutely fucking nuts. What would Cecil say, how would they even get out of the room without being noticed, where would they even stay? Even though all these fucking good questions flew through his mind…he couldn’t say no…he just couldn’t refuse you. So, like you asked him to, he got you all home…

In and out of consciousness as you heard little bits and pieces of what each mark had to say. Piecing together their voices as best as you could as you were trying to wake yourself up.

Mohawk Mark was the first to have something to say “She was stupid to let us go”

“Hey! Let her regret it and I’ll send your ass right back to that jail cell. I’ll make up a lie—say you got out or something. Don’t make me regret it.” Your mark scoffed out at him before they started bickering. Their bickering stirred you awake as your eyes started to open.

You knew this place…you were at home… Mark must’ve taken you home and had them come to.

“Mmm…stop arguing…” you mumbled out rubbing at your head. Their heads twisted to you almost instantly as it honestly made you wake yourself up a bit more. You were laid down on the couch watching their eyes on you like hawks.

“Finally awake…did we fuck you too hard” sinister mark said with a snicker before your mark hit him in the head with a magazine.

“Cut it out she just woke up and you’re already starting.” Your mark snarled out as the two began back and forth with each other again. The argument grew louder and louder until the two began tussling on the floor like they were some wild ass animals. It was honestly starting to piss you off. You wanted to get up—shout, scream, get some control back to keep them in check. However, your legs were so fucking sore…you felt weak.

You still had to fucking do something…so as best as you could you lifted yourself off the couch—standing over the both of them as they tussled.

“Mark…other mark…” you said with a sternness in your voice as they just kept going. You reached down grabbing the back of both of their necks—pressing your finger into it as they choked up for a second. You were up, you were mad, and you were clearly about to put them in their place for the 2nd time.

“You two are bickering over absolutely nothing…nothing at all! You’re basically just doing it for the fucking fun of it” you snarled out at them rubbing your finger into their neck more—not to hurt them…but to get them to melt into your clutch again. You kept rubbing at their neck, finger moving deeper before lifting and circling again.

“B..baby…I’m sorry..” your mark cooed out as he practically already gave up—didn’t take much for you to calm him down and correct his behavior. You were glad about that but sinister mark still gave you a challenge…you liked challenges though.

Sinister Mark bit onto his lip not trying to give you the pleasure of hearing another reaction from him. You just smiled at his naivety—he was an absolute fucking fool to think you would give up. You released your mark as your other hand went to Sinister Mark's face. You continued to massage his neck as best as you could before your fingers went to his mouth.

“Open.” You demanded softly as he looked to the wall for a second trying to look at anything but you. You got closer to his level—whispering in his ear softly.

“open.” He finally opened his mouth as your fingers slowly slid into it. Your other hand went from his neck to his face rubbing it softly as you spoke to him passionately.

“Good boy…”

Even though you were weak in the legs—your mind was still strong. You knew how to get your mark in check and clearly, the same methods worked on these variants too. You just had to push harder on them. And you’d do exactly that.

“Now…let’s get this situated shall we?” You turn to the other marks as you lift away from sinister mark pulling your fingers out of his mouth. You weren’t just gonna grab a tissue like a normal person—you rubbed his saliva on his face letting him deal with that himself. He just sat in silence being put in his place.

It was time for you to figure out where the fuck you’d go with this with the rest of them. They were either supposed to rot in jail until they were able to be sent back to their home dimension or be killed and executed at the thought of any escape.

Now they sat in your fucking living room…sitting quietly as they waited for you to figure something out.

One mark was easy…you loved your boyfriend to death. He is special and perfect, you wouldn’t change him for the world. You had never even thought of 2 marks, let alone 4. Now you had 4, all with different mindsets and personalities that you had to figure out how to deal with and how to keep them in check.

Anyone else would’ve quit in a fucking heartbeat—they wouldn’t even have visited the cell of these fucking murderers. You, however, you were fucking insane…you were up for any challenge. Any at fucking all.

The more the merrier in your eyes—a big plus to the situation was that they were all basically your fucking boyfriend. They were all versions of your precious mark. You couldn’t think of being with anyone other than him…however…you could absolutely get with the idea of getting with more than one of him, it was still him—your perfect mark.

“Mark…my mark, cmere please.” You said calling him over to you as he stood by you waiting for what you needed.

You grabbed his face—softly smushing it in your hand. He was a bit surprised but used to it nevertheless.

“Alright…listen up. All of you.” You said with a sternness in your voice—even though you were so fucking excited you were gonna pop. 4 versions of your fucking boyfriend in your house…4. You’d be satisfied for life.

“See this one right here?” You used your mark as an example shaking his face softly before pulling his face down a bit. You wanted him to go down more and he eventually realized as he sunk himself. He stood on his knees, face right by your waist as your hand stayed on his face—smushing it closer to your waist and rubbing it like he was being rewarded.

“This one is obedient…he acts right, usually does what I say the first time without questioning it, I could go on and on.” You spoke to the marks trying to show them how well-behaved yours was. You had to give them a rundown before they stayed at your home so you kept going.

“You all don’t leave this house until I figure out what to do with you. Only my mark can leave this house because he’s the one of this universe…you all are fugitives as well. Leave this house and we will know—fuck up something and I promise you we will know. As of right now, you are a guest, I'd like to let you keep staying here forever but you have to prove yourself to me as well. Besides…the more the merrier and it’s what, 4 of you and 1 of me. Call me crazy but I think there’s enough for me to go around.” You said with a sternness in your voice trying to get a message across. If they fucked up even once—you’d find a way to lie your ass off and ship them back to Cecil in that cold ass cell.

They were silent…you understood they were taking in what you said but that wasn’t gonna cut it—you needed to know they understood. You let go of your marks face walking to Viltrumite mark.

“Do you understand?” You asked in a gentle tone as you rubbed his face. He leaned into your hand melting like butter almost instantly. God—he couldn’t leave this…he couldn’t go back to that old dirty ass cell and not have you there. Any other day he’d say fuck off or fuck you…but he needed you…he’d just have to put his murderous spree aside for a bit…till he got back home to his universe of course.

“Yes maam…” he said in a low tone—looking away bashfully. You let go of his face walking to the next mark…Mohawk mark.

“Well, do you understand?” You asked in a bit of a more strict tone knowing how he was. You rubbed his face softly pinching at his cheek here and there and your other hand rubbed at his Mohawk…he adored your touch. He liked to pick and fuck with you…so you’d have to be harder on him. He was annoyed he couldn’t wreak havoc…but you’d probably keep him satisfied enough to where he’d forget he even needed to do that

“Hmm…sure why not, lady.” He said with a smirk coming to terms with the agreement. He didn’t have shit else to do unless it was going home.

3 down, 1 more to go. You stood in front of sinister mark—your hand reaching down to his face to lift his chin. You had to make sure you got through to this one…you know he’d reek chaos in a heartbeat.

“So…do you understand?” You waited patiently for his answer—moving your other hand to his face while you waited. You couldn’t get enough of touching their faces. Each one felt different, each one was special in their own fucking way. Your hand snaked to his mouth as the other one still held his chin up to look at you. Your thumb popped into his mouth as he nibbled on it softly before finally giving you an answer.

“Yes…yes maam…” he choked out before you walked away from him. You finally had all the answers you needed from them before you walked down the hallway of your house. They all say confused in the living room wondering where you were going before you spoke.

“Well? Hurry the hell up, don’t know about you guys but I’m still fucking exhausted…let’s figure out these sleeping arrangements and go to fucking bed!” You slapped your thigh—basically calling for them to come here as if they were puppies. They reminded you of them anyway…

They rushed down the hallway—following behind you as you went to the bedroom. You had them sit on the bed while you took a shower as they started up conversation with each other.

“Ok so…do we get to take those showers with her? Have you ever taken one with her?” Viltrumite Mark asked for your mark as he honestly wanted to know and take one with you.

“No you don’t get to take showers with her every time…and yes I’ve taken plenty with her…” he said back in an exhausted voice. He was still taking in everything but seemed ok with the arrangement you were making.

Mohawk Mark was the next to ask a question about the showers, except he was a little more personal.

“Did you two ever like…y’know…fuck in there.” He said with a grin across his face. Your mark just rolled his eyes but nodded yes…it was the honest truth.

You had finally finished your shower—coming out in a t-shirt and underwear as you heard them speak.

“What you boys talking about?”

They didn’t answer—they were just watching you once again like a hawk. It was weird and you liked it. It was hard for you to tell them apart besides personality and Mohawk mark of course…so…you grabbed a marker going one at a time.

“This is my mark…” you said softly before writing initials on his back. He jolted up a bit not expecting it but knew why you had to do it.

“This is sinister mark…this is viltrumite mark…and your Mohawk mark but there’s no need to put initials on you…”

You said before rubbing his Mohawk making it as messy as you could. You finally leaped into bed as they followed right after you—crawling up to you to try and be the one to cuddle you.

You were in fucking heaven as they wrapped their arms around you like snakes—holding you tightly as they wanted to be the one to snuggle with you or kiss you.

You kissed every one of them as best as you could…some sloppy…some gentle and sweet…you looked at all of them speaking one final time before going to rest with them.

“This is just the beginning…I’ve got plans for you…all of you. I do however expect to be woken up with all of you cleaned and showered…and maybe food ready…”

Your final demands for the day were made. You could finally melt into bed with these marks…your marks…

(A/n: Ahem ahem, there will most definitely be another fucking part…🥸🤞 tune in…for more submissive mark content…let’s get em pregnant)

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

The Cold Night 

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: <1k

Summary: Sharing warmth with Lando, in unique ways.

⸻

The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the occasional sound of Lando’s restless shifting beside you. You were warm, snug under the thick covers, blissfully unaware of the slight chill in the room. It was the kind of night that made you want to melt into the sheets and forget the world outside.

But apparently, Lando wasn’t feeling quite as comfortable. You could hear him grumbling softly, a low murmur that grew louder as he shifted again.

“Y/N,” he complained, his voice muffled by the pillow as he half-turned towards you. “It’s freezing in here.”

You blinked lazily, stretching out a little as you tried to sink deeper into the warmth of the blankets, blissfully ignorant of his discomfort. “It’s not cold, Lando. You’re just not sharing the blankets,” you teased, barely opening your eyes.

He groaned in frustration, the sound of him tugging at the sheets making you grin. “I’m going to freeze to death,” he muttered, his voice laced with mock despair. “You know, we could’ve just turned up the heat.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his dramatic tone, but you knew he was right. You had definitely claimed more than your fair share of the covers. The blanket was nearly over your head, leaving him shivering from the cold air.

Turning toward him, you finally gave him your attention, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Oh? You’re cold?” you asked teasingly, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him.

Lando sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. “I’m freezing, and you’re hogging all the warmth. What kind of partner does that?”

You bit back a smile, looking at him thoughtfully. The situation was admittedly a little funny, but you couldn’t deny the way he was looking at you with those big, pleading eyes. The temptation to tease him further was strong, but you figured it was time to show him a little mercy.

“Well, Lando,” you said with a wicked grin, “since you’re so cold… maybe we can do something about that.”

His brows furrowed, clearly curious but not quite sure where you were going with this. “What are you suggesting?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you stretched out beside him, the covers still tangled around you like a cocoon, and extended your hand toward him. He hesitated, eyeing your outstretched fingers as if trying to gauge your intentions. You only smiled, offering him a soft, inviting look. “Take my hand.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion in his gaze. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” you said innocently, though there was definitely a glint of mischief in your eyes. “Just trust me.”

After a moment’s pause, he gave in, his fingers intertwining with yours as he let you guide his hand beneath the covers. You both shifted so that you were facing each other, the bed creaking slightly as you moved. Your hearts beat a little faster in the quiet of the room.

The warmth from your body was almost tangible, and as you led his hand lower, you could feel the tension in his fingers as he realized where you were taking him, in between your thighs. He paused for just a second, clearly surprised, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he gave you a teasing, curious smile. “So… this is your solution?”

You chuckled softly. “I mean, you said you were cold. Now, you’re warm, aren’t you?”

Lando’s lips curled into a grin, and he let out a soft laugh, but there was something more in his eyes now—something that told you he wasn’t complaining anymore. “I guess you’ve got a point,” he said, his voice softer than before.

You held his gaze, the playful teasing between you fading into something deeper. You could feel the warmth radiating from him now, not just from the physical touch but from the way his presence seemed to settle over you like a comforting blanket.

There was a shift in the air between you, the earlier banter turning into something more intimate. Lando’s hand lingered between your legs, the connection between you both growing stronger with every beat of your hearts.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent now. “You know, I think I’m going to hold onto the covers from now on.”

You laughed softly, your breath hitching just slightly as you met his gaze. “Deal,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer.

Lando didn’t hesitate. His arms found their way around you, pulling you into the warmth of his chest as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel his breath against your skin, warm and steady as he held you.

“Next time,” Lando whispered, breaking the silence, his voice full of that familiar mischievous tone, “I’m making sure I get the covers first.”

You smiled, nuzzling into him. “I’ll let you have them,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut. “But only if you promise to keep me this warm.”

Lando’s fingers brushed against your back in a soft, reassuring motion. “It’s a deal.”

And with that, you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep, the warmth of each other’s presence more than enough to ward off any lingering chill in the air.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻